Harry Potter 1. Day 1: Monday

A/N: Everything but the plot belongs to JKR. No copyright infringement is intended.

This is canon through GOF, but Cedric is NOT dead. All will be explained, so keep your shirts on :)

This is, as of yet, un-beta'ed, so please bear with me. I'm in the market, if anyone's interested.

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**Day 1: Monday**

The perpetual numbness which had shrouded Hermione's heart for nigh six years receded only to be replaced with the sharp pain of said heart nearly stopping dead in her chest.

_Sirius Black Caught After 13 Years_! The headline read. Beneath it in smaller letters: _To Stand Trial in Two Weeks_.

At some point during her stunned perusal of the article, Hermione dropped her mug onto the dingy linoleum floor, shattering ceramic. She was heedless of the scalding hot coffee spattered across her bare legs like black blood. Each word made it harder and harder to breath. Each sentence ripped open wounds she was so sure had healed.

_This can't be happening. He's dead_.

But it was. Complete with a photograph of the skeletal inmate. The years had not been kind to Sirius.

"Oh, God."

Vision blurred with unshed tears, Hermione raced to the loo and vomited.

* * *

Hermione did not know how long she sat on her kitchen floor staring at the 31 July, 2006 edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Having dropped it in the puddle of coffee, the rough paper now held a sick, yellowish hue.

It was ironic that the announcement was made on Harry's birthday. He should have been twenty-six today. Those dumb fucks at the _Prophet _probably thought they were paying their dead war hero tribute by telling the world that the man who betrayed his parents had finally been re-apprehended.

Hermione thought it was cruel. She was the only person alive who truly knew how much Harry had loved Sirius, knew how much it had broken Harry's heart that he had never been able to clear his beloved godfather's name. Just like it had broken Hermione's heart to have the three people she loved most be stolen away – one of them before she got the chance to tell him just how much he meant to her.

Sirius.

She had spent the last six years gluing her heart back together, picking up pieces of herself all over Europe. After moving three times, Hermione finally settled in Prague where she had a tiny loft all to herself and a job as a receptionist at the British Consulate. She was a far cry from happy, but at least she wasn't hounded by press, having the deaths of so many wonderful people shoved in front of her continually.

Three days after the cataclysmic final battle, Hermione had simply vanished from her hospital bed at St. Mungo's without looking back. The hospital was thoroughly scandalized when it was leaked that they lost the body of the famous Hermione Granger, best friend to the Boy-Who-Triumphed-But-Didn't-Live. There was nothing in Britain for her but constant reminders of those dearly departed. So she left.

And now she had to go back.

She lost him once; she could not bear to lose him again.

She was the only one who could save him.

* * *

Hermione sighed heavily when she stepped out of the Floo into a mercifully vacant Leaky Cauldron. The heavy nostalgia nearly crushed her with the weight of her own memories. Memories of the summer before her third year when Sirius had first escaped. If only they'd been able to bring Wormtail to justice thirteen years ago she would not be doing this right now.

Her reverie was interrupted when Tom, ever the barkeep, a memorial to what once was, entered the dining area from the kitchen. He was studiously wiping a glass with a semi-clean rag, humming to himself. Hermione didn't recognise the tune – a testament to her lengthy absence from the Wizarding world.

Not realising the presence of another, Tom went to the bar where he stowed the glass and began wiping down the counter top. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tom apologized, looking up at her. "I didn't hear the Floo. What can I – Merlin, Circe, and Morghana! They said you were dead," he finished in a whisper.

"Hullo, Tom," Hermione said wearily. She seated herself at the bar and dropped her valise on the floor at her feet.

"I've always been rather adept at Memory Charms, you know. Those Healers never saw what hit them."

The ordinarily effusive barkeep gaped like a fish at Hermione's unheralded return and glib conversation.

"I'll be needing a room for two weeks and a rather large Firewhiskey, if you will."

Tom shook his head as if to clear it before pulling a tumbler from beneath the bar and a bottle of dark amber liquid from behind it. He poured her a double and slid it towards her. She caught it easily, and immediately swallowed half the contents. It burned all the way down, but the feeling was not unwelcome. Hermione needed a reminder that she was actually in the Leaky Cauldron avoiding the eyes of a dumbstruck Tom and not in her flat having a very surreal, very bad dream.

Hermione finished her drink in one gulp and set the glass down on the counter with a hollow thunk. "How much do I owe you?" she asked as she slid off the barstool.

He waved his hand absently, not bothering to hide his slack-jawed stare. "On the house."

Hermione swallowed her grimace and forced a smile. She did not want special treatment, but she also knew there was little point in arguing with the old barkeep.

"If you insist," she said, hoping she sounded gracious. "I'm going to use the Floo; would you bring my valise to my room?"

"I think I can, Miss Granger."

She nodded her thanks and retraced her steps to the fireplace from which she'd re-entered the Wizarding world a mere five minutes past. Throwing a handful of the silky powder into the fire she shouted, "The Atrium!"

With a sigh of resignation, Hermione stepped into the green flames.

* * *

The Atrium had been rebuilt after the battle into an exact replica, but Hermione did not – could not – notice. The blood rushing forcefully in her ears successfully drowned out all of her other senses. She hadn't set foot inside the Ministry of Magic since the night Harry, Ron – and Sirius – died. The urge to turn and jump back into the Floo was intense; the surge of emotions the vaulted room brought was too much.

She spun around to do just that only to collide headlong into a tall man with sandy brown hair who was exiting the Floo behind her. With catlike reflexes, he reached out and caught her before she fell. Hermione berated herself for her childish behavior; running like a scared little girl.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled quickly. "Excuse me." She tried to extricate her arm from his firm, calloused grip, but he held fast.

"Do I know you?" he asked, curiously studying her face.

Cautiously, Hermione met the man's startling blue gaze. Recognition hit her like a ton of bricks.

_Bugger_.

It was Cedric Diggory.

Not trusting her voice, Hermione shook her head, and prayed to any and every deity who would listen that this conversation would end with her negation.

Cedric looked at her skeptically, as if willing her lie to reveal itself. "My mistake," he said slowly, "you reminded me of a girl I went to school with. Forgive me."

"No harm done," Hermione replied with a nervous smile. She cursed herself soundly for her anxiety. She was about to announce her return to the whole world, what difference did it make if Cedric Diggory knew or not?

Cedric reached inside his robes and withdrew a white business card. She accepted it and read it swiftly. Hermione was a little surprised to learn that Cedric had become and Auror. Had he been there at the same time she had? She had never pictured the former Hufflepuff in law enforcement.

"If you ever need help, miss, let me know."

"I will, thank you." She slid the card into her jeans' pocket.

Cedric gave her one more appraisal before nodding his adieu and sweeping gracefully off towards the lifts. Hermione released a breath she had not realised she had been holding. She just wanted to see Sirius and get the hell out of there.

Steeling herself for the encounter, Hermione walked to the other side of the gaudy fountain and queued up for the front desk. Five minutes later, she stepped up to the counter and waited for the unattractive witch at the desk to acknowledge her.

Name and destination," she said in a terribly bored, scratchy voice. Dorothea – or so her name plate read – did not even look up from the stack of parchments she was stamping with a large 'REJECTED' in red ink.

"My name is Hermione Granger, and I'm here to see Sirius Black," she said, mustering every ounce of confidence she possessed and pushing it into her voice.

Dorothea snorted. "Nice try, miss. Hermione Granger had been dead for six years."

"I assure you, I'm quite alive," Hermione responded with a wry smile.

The grumpy witch finally tore her eyes away from her work, prepared to tell Hermione off. However, the annoyed expression melted clear off her heavily made up face. Her thick base was creasing in the lines surrounding her mouth and her garish eye makeup was an exact match to the royal blue robes which clung precariously to the older woman's scarecrow frame.

"My file number is MLE-AD-HG190979-96," she said, matter-of-factly. "See for yourself."

Dorothea's eyes widened perceptibly before spinning around in her wheelie chair and scooting over to what looked like a mail slot in the wall. She scribbled something on a slip of parchment and shoved it down the slot. A moment later, a mechanical chime was heard, and Dorothea opened a small cupboard next to the slot. Inside was a thick manila folder with Hermione's file number stamped across it in large block font. Gingerly, Dorothea laid the folder on the table in front of her.

"Moment of truth, miss," she said. Her voice grated on Hermione's already frazzled nerves. "What's your password?"

Hermione pulled out her twelve inches of vine wood and dragon heartstring and tapped it to the file.

"_Aequitas_."

The folder flipped open. Hermione found she was staring down at an upside-down, much younger, much happier image of herself. She hardly recognised the woman in the photograph, but there was no doubt in Dorothea's mind that Hermione was who she said she was.

"Merlin's beard," she said under her breath.

"Fantastic," Hermione bit out, not appreciating the wonderment on the older woman's face one bit. "Now that we've established my identity, I would be very much obliged to you if you would tell me where Sirius Black is being held."

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but no one is allowed to see Sirius Black." She spat his name like it left a foul taste in her mouth; Hermione's blood boiled.

She huffed her frustration, but stood up straighter nonetheless, owning her full five-foot-five stature. "Is Kingsley Shacklebolt still the Chief of the Auror Division?" she inquired, sure she sounded sufficiently imperious.

"Yes," Dorothea answered slowly. "He's in his office, bu-"

"Call him and tell him I'm on my way to see him," Hermione interrupted. Before the receptionist could reply, she stormed off purposefully towards the lifts.

When Hermione reached the floor which housed the whole of Magical Law Enforcement, she walked down the all-too-familiar hallway to the last door on the left. The plaque on the open portal identified it as the Auror Division offices. The large room was a labyrinth of cluttered desks through which Hermione navigated with ease. Some things never did change.

She paid no attention to the curious eyes of various Aurors who tracked her progress all the way to the very back. When she reached the door that had _K. Shackelbolt_ inscribed in large gold letters, Hermione threw the door open without hesitation and marched into the office. Her former boss was seated comfortably at his desk, reclining in his chair with his fingers steepled pensively in front of him. The mannerism reminded her of Dumbledore. He looked up at her arrival, as did the man with whom he was conversing before her intrusion.

"I want to see Sirius, and I want to see him _now_," she demanded.

The silence that hung in the room was palpable.

"Ah, Auror Granger. I see dead people are cropping up everywhere this week. Wouldn't you agree, Diggory?"

Hermione's eyes darted toward the other occupant. She flushed scarlet when she met Cedric's piercing blue gaze. Her heart skipped a beat.

_Perfect._

"Aye," he said, simply, belying the quiet intelligence Hermione saw reflected in his eyes. He was calculating the situation even as it developed. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, feeling exposed.

_When did Cedric become so…intense? _

"I came to see Sirius, and I'm not leaving until I do." She felt like a broken record.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that, Granger."

"Why the hell not?" she ground out.

"Because, regardless of whom you are, he is still Sirius Black. The warrant issued for his arrest – and approved by the Wizengamot – states that no one is to have contact with the prisoner until his trial other than his guard. He's a dangerous man, and will be treated as such."

"How can you say that?" she asked in disbelief. "You knew him. You fought beside him. How much-" Hermione had to stop; her throat constricted painfully and her eyes were threatening to spill hot tears down her cheeks. She swallowed hard. "How much evidence do you need to believe he's innocent?"

"My personal opinions and my duties are often two very different, very exclusive things," Kingsley said, sternly. "Come back in two weeks. I'll see what I can do then."

Hermione glared at the none-too-subtle dismissal before storming from the room, slamming doors behind her. She needed to get out of the building post-haste before she did something even more idiotic than going there in the first place. Of course they were not going to allow her to see him! He had escaped once and then evaded them for thirteen years. She was a security risk; the one person left who still maintained his innocence.

Hermione was almost to the lift when a firm hand on her elbow spun her around. "What is it?" she hissed.

Cedric was unfazed. "Why?"

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," she bit out.

"Why do you want to see him so badly?"

"Because," she said, passion stirring in her breast for the first time in years. "I have lived the past six years of my life believing he was dead. I have to see him; I have to know he's real."

Not wanting Cedric to see her shaking, Hermione turned back to the lift and pressed the button. She felt like an idiot, wearing her heart on her sleeve like that in front of a man she hadn't seen since she was fifteen years old.

"Where will you go now?" Cedric asked.

"Home. To bed."

"Where's home?"

Hermione sighed impatiently.

_Where's the bloody lift?_

"For the next two weeks – the Leaky Cauldron."

A moment later the lift finally arrived, and when Hermione stepped inside, Cedric was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Day 4: Thursday

Day 4: Thursday

_A/N: Thanks to all of you who've reviewed and stuck it out with me. I hit a huge road block with this fic, but I think I'm past all that now. I reposted chapter one; there are no major changes, but you may want to check it out again anyways._

_This is still un-beta'ed, so don't shoot me if there are huge mistakes… Sometimes it doesn't matter how many times I read it - I still miss things. Although, hopefully, I cleaned it up fairly well. Please review and let me know what you think :D Pretty please…_

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**Day 4: Thursday**

Hermione sat in the back of the Leaky Cauldron in a high-backed booth, slowly nursing her second drink of the evening. It was nearing midnight on a week day so she had not been bothered by any curious patrons, despite the uproar her unannounced return had caused. She had been expecting _a_ reaction – surely it would have been incredibly naïve _not_ to – she just hadn't planned on it being as enthusiastic as it had been. She was hard-pressed to step outside of her room without being harassed by someone, media or otherwise.

This made trying to see Sirius doubly difficult. Every attempt at string-pulling or protocol-circumventing had been thriftily undermined by start-struck underlings. It was positively infuriating. She was running out of options; truly, the only two available to her at this point. One would be to ask Mr. Weasley if he could help her out, something she was dreading and would be unlikely to succeed. She was uncomfortable returning to the Weasleys after leaving the way she had. They had been a second family since she was twelve years old, and, after her parents' death, the Weasleys had become her only family. She was ashamed that she had left them to deal with Harry, Ron, and Bill's death as well as her own. No, she was definitely unprepared for that reunion.

Unfortunately, her only other idea was to break in. The problem with that, however, was the fact that she had no idea where in the Ministry Sirius was being held. She knew he was somewhere in the building, she just could not discover where. Apparently, Kingsley Shacklebolt, being the intuitive and knowledgeable man that he was, had warned just about everyone she had spoken with that they were not to give her any information whatsoever.

The worst of it was that Hermione knew that she had spent the best part of four days trying to do something she probably would never be able to accomplish, while she should have been searching for Peter Pettigrew. With the exception of a few, who were mostly all dead now, the disgusting little man had concealed his continued existence from the world for almost twenty-six years, and she now had a measly ten days to find him.

Never mind she didn't have a bloody clue where to begin. Pettigrew had made hiding an art form, and he was the master. _That_, of course, was assuming he was still alive. There was always a chance that he had died either during the final battle in his Animagus form and no-one recognised it or at any point during the past six years. Merlin knew Sirius had had a hard enough time of it. But Hermione tried not to think about that possibility. Pettigrew _was_ alive. End of discussion.

Even though Hermione was facing away from the room, she heard the man coming before he reached her booth, and was unsurprised when he seated himself, uninvited, opposite her. It really would have been asking too much to avoid harassment the entire evening. She was, however, surprised by the intruder's identity. Taking a sip of her drink, she stared into startlingly blue eyes.

Cedric pulled his hood back, leaned across the table and whispered, "Is there someplace a bit more private where we can speak?" His eyes darted suspiciously around the room before he spoke again, his voice even lower. "It's about Black."

It was safe to say that Cedric had her attention, but she was still cautious. "Are you here as an Auror, or a curious citizen?" Even Hermione cringed at the cynicism in her voice. She had no idea why she was taking her frustrations out on him.

"Neither, but I promise you want to hear what I have to say."

His voice held a note of true sincerity, and Hermione was finding it difficult to remain dubious of his intentions. And there was something in his eyes, something that begged to be trusted. Besides that, Hufflepuffs were hardly known for their devious natures. "All right," she replied after a moment. "Come with me."

Finishing her drink in one go, Hermione stood and began weaving her way through the tables toward the stairs. She glanced back at Cedric; he was following closely with his hood up, hiding his face from the room. She was most curious as to why he was so concerned with anyone recognising him. It also piqued her interest considering whom he had come to talk about.

Two flights up, Hermione stopped at the third door on the left where she fished her room key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. Cedric shut and locked it behind them and then put up privacy wards. Hermione lit the lamps, her innate thirst for knowledge making her a little more excited every second that passed. Many had been shocked by her decision to become an Auror; she had always been so bookish in school, but Hermione had decided she would put her drive to seek the truth to good use in the law enforcement system. This had also been during the height of the war when Death Eater activity was at its most brutal, so she had really been killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Cedric was waiting for her to face him, but there was an air of urgency about him.

"Well, what is it?" she said, rather impatiently.

"I've arranged for you to see Black, if you're interested."

Hermione had to force herself to breathe. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it certainly had not been there. Needing to sit down, she sank slowly onto her bed. "Go on," she said, weakly.

Cedric removed his hood, once again revealing his countenance. Hermione took the opportunity to actually look at something other than his eyes, which usually drew her attention. He was tall with broad shoulders and sandy brown hair. He had a square jaw with a slightly cleft chin that was clean shaven; he seemed a firm man, but for his lips, which looked as thought they preferred to be smiling but had trouble finding reason to do so.

Cedric spoke quickly. "I pulled a few strings, and I had to call in a favour or two, but I got you about thirty minutes with him." Disentangling his arm from his cloak he checked the time on a Muggle wristwatch. "But we have to leave now."

Hermione's head was atwirl. She had spent days trying to accomplish this very thing, while Cedric had gone ahead and done it for her. The idiotic expression on her face could not be helped; the unsolicited aid from an almost-stranger was overwhelming. Heaven sent, but overwhelming.

Cedric's deep voice snapped her out of her stupor. "Do you have any dark robes or a cloak you can put over that?" he said, gesturing to her outfit. "It would be best if no-one could recognise us even if we were seen."

Hermione glanced down at herself. In the absence of proper wizard attire, she had dressed as nicely as possible for her time in government facilities. Her charcoal slacks and black oxford were part of her work wardrobe at home. She swallowed, still a little bewildered, and said, "I don't have either. I've been living as a Muggle since I left."

This seemed neither to surprise nor worry Cedric. "Stand up, please," he said, unclasping his cloak.

Hermione obeyed dazedly, and allowed him to wrap his cloak around her shoulders and secure it at her throat. Then he took out his wand, adjusted the length of the cloak so that she would not trip over it, and then darkened his hair until it was almost black.

Suddenly, his arm was around her waist, holding her close against him, and she felt as though she was being sucked through a straw. Hermione hated side-along Apparition, and was very grateful when there was once again solid ground beneath her feet, even if she didn't have the slightest idea where she was. What she was aware of was the fact that Cedric still had his arm wrapped around her, and that she was closer to him right then than she had been to anyone in a very long time.

"You could have warned me," she said, trying for stern. "I might have been splinched."

"My apologies," he replied. He didn't sound too sorry. "Shall we, then?"

Before Hermione could so much as nod, let alone get past the dry patch in her throat, Cedric had swapped out her waist for her wrist and began dragging her down the unfamiliar street. Together they hurried down the sidewalk. Her heels clicking on the pavement and an occasional Muggle vehicle in the distance were the only sounds to be heard. The three blocks they traversed were completely deserted, leading her to wonder if the neighbourhood was charmed to repel Muggles, even if that didn't make much sense.

Abruptly, Cedric turned down a pitch black alley so narrow that Hermione would not have noticed it at all had he not dragged her into it. She felt very claustrophobic, and was extremely relieved when they stopped in front of a large iron door at the end. Cedric murmured the password under his breath and the door swung open silently. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the door clicked shut behind them and sconces on the wall lit automatically. The unlikely pair was standing at the top of what appeared to be a very long flight of stairs.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. She had been positive that Sirius was being held at the Ministry, but this was most definitely _not_ the Ministry.

"We're just north of the Ministry," Cedric responded without turning. He had already begun his descent, and Hermione hurried to catch up. "And this is the only entrance to Level Thirteen."

Hermione frowned. "There is no Level Thirteen."

"That's what I said," he said. "But I came by earlier to make sure my favour wasn't having me on. This is where Black is being held."

"I don't understand. Does this go all the way beneath the main building?"

"Apparently. It's only used for high-risk prisoners, and there are only a handful of people who know of its existence." Cedric snorted. "They actually think that Black is going to try to escape again."

Hermione was taken aback by Cedric's demeanour. Most of the Wizarding world spoke most uncharitably of Sirius, believing that he caused the Potters' deaths by betraying them to Voldemort, and they had been more than pleased when his body had been found after the smoke had cleared in the Atrium. Cedric, however, spoke as though he understood something that other people did not. They way he said it suggested that he thought it the most ludicrous idea in the world.

"And you don't think he will?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I was the one he turned himself in to." Hermione was quite sure she'd stopped breathing, and wished she'd actually read the article the _Prophet_ had published instead of simply staring at it. "He just handed his wand over and let me cuff him without any fuss at all."

No, it wasn't her lungs that had ceased functioning, it was her heart; she could feel it skipping, trying to restart itself in her chest. It was rather painful and gravity was now the only force propelling her body towards the bottom. It was a miracle that she had managed to keep her feet functional; her brain had yet to suffer from lack of blood flow.

Cedric continued. "He said that he was tired of living with his ghosts."

Hermione furiously wiped the hot tears that slid down her cheeks without permission. Sirius Black – Gryffindor, former Marauder, survivor of both wars, vivacious, tenacious, playful Sirius Black – had surrendered. He had surrendered knowing full well the Ministry would probably execute him this time around. The 'trial' was nothing more than a formality, a travesty of justice.

The August night had been balmy, and the air in the tunnel had been cool and dry, but the farther they descended, the staler, colder, and damper it became. An involuntary shiver chased up Hermione's spine; Sirius had been down here for days. He'd be lucky if he didn't freeze to death before his trial.

Hermione followed Cedric the rest of the way down the remaining flights, and was a little shocked when they reached the bottom. There was a small landing there with another iron door that opened off of the right side of the tunnel. Hermione was frozen three steps up. Sirius was somewhere behind that door, and she had a sudden and debilitating bout of insecurity.

What if he couldn't forgive her? What if he didn't love her anymore? What if he had never loved her and she'd spent the last six years with a broken heart for someone who didn't reciprocate her feelings?

She could have stood like that forever, but then her cold, clammy hand was enveloped in Cedric's warm, dry one. He tugged her down onto the landing with him. His normally intense features softened, making him look more like the Cedric she had known in school, if only for a moment.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione shook her head mutely, still staring at the door.

"Come, now, that's hardly the Hermione Granger I recall."

Finally, she looked at him, his eyes challenging her to prove him wrong. Could she tell him that that girl had died a long time ago? That she was just a receptionist in a foreign country who worked nine to six, five days a week and did not even carry her wand on her the majority of the time? That she was just a plain, ordinary young woman who was utterly shell-shocked by her abrupt re-emersion into the Wizarding world and that she felt completely unprepared to do what she returned to England to do in the first place?

"I admit that I don't know what your motivations are, but there is obviously some sort of history between you and Black. I can tell you that if you don't do this and they execute him, you will regret not walking through that door for the rest of your life."

Hermione inhaled deeply; Cedric was right. She hadn't come here for herself. In fact, she had come in spite of herself. Regardless of what she and Sirius may have or have not been to each other in the past, an innocent man's life was at stake, and it was within her power to exonerate him. The least she could do was maybe give him some hope, let him know that there was someone fighting in his corner.

Cedric must have seen some sign of affirmation in her face, because he released her hand and knocked on the door three times. There was a long pause where she was sure the door would not open for them, but it did. Slowly, it swung outward, forcing Cedric to step around it on the landing that was not made for more than one person at a time.

An extremely bored looking man dressed in official purple Auror robes was on the other side. "You're late, Diggory."

"Your watch is fast," Cedric replied in kind. "Are we good?"

The Auror nodded and addressed Hermione. "You have thirty minutes; I'll knock when time's up. If he tries anything funny, just shout and we'll be right there."

Hermione scowled. "Sirius would never hurt me."

The Auror, apparently, had no idea what to say to that. "He's in the fifth cell on the left."

Suddenly feeling very, very hot, Hermione took off Cedric's cloak and handed it to him. He offered her a small but supportive smile before she traded places with the guard. The door shut behind her with an audible click.

The corridor seemed interminably long, but Hermione found herself standing before the fifth one on the left all too soon. It was a scant two metres squared and had an extremely low ceiling. There was no door, only five centimetre thick bars spaces at fifteen centimetre intervals, affording him no privacy whatsoever.

Hermione stopped breathing altogether when she saw him. He lay there on his cot, staring blankly at the stone ceiling. Even had he been aware of her approach, she doubted he would have acknowledged her presence. She almost wished he had died, rather than become the despondent, ghost of a man who was completely incongruous with the man she fell in love with.

Hermione's legs abruptly gave out beneath her, whether form lack of oxygen or acute emotional overload she knew not. Her knees cracked painfully on the cobblestone floor, one of which landed in an icy puddle. The stretchy material of her pants rapidly absorbed the frigid water. Her face was almost touching the bars that confined Sirius and her hands each found one to hold onto for support.

"They told me you were dead," she said, her voice thick with the tears that wanted to pour down her cheeks. She fought desperately to regain her composure, knowing full well that if she allowed the flood gates to open then that she would never be able to close them again.

Sirius turned his head to identify the speaker, and bolted upright when his eyes fell on her familiar face. Hermione watched in silence as a plethora of emotions cascaded across his face, disbelief being chief among them.

Sirius had not fared well in the years following the way. His whip-like but sturdy frame was slightly emaciated. His once silky, wavy black hair now hung limply at his shoulder, and his beautiful grey eyes, once so lambent and alive, were flat and haunted. He was a heart-wrenching sight, gaunt and melancholy, and the traditional black-and-white striped prisoner's garb only enhanced the depressing sight.

Hermione hardly recognised him, but, then again, she hardly recognised herself sometimes.

With an agility that contradicted his current state, Sirius practically leapt off the cot and threw himself to his knees opposite Hermione. He pressed his body flush with the bars and held her face in his hands, twining rough fingers through her terminally untameable hair.

Hermione couldn't hold back the sob that escaped; his reaction told her at the very least that he didn't hate her, which was more than she could have asked for. And he was there – real, in the flesh, _alive_ – and she was not imagining it. How many nights had she dreamt of this moment? How many random strangers had she stopped on the street, positive that it was him? But there he was, less than an arm's length away. Their eyes locked.

"Are you some vision sent to torment me?" he whispered huskily.

Hermione let out a strangled laugh as she brushed her fingertips tentatively across his cheek. "I'm real if you are."

His eyes darted to her lips, and for an insane, heart-pounding instant, she thought he would kiss her, but he apparently thought better of it. This was more disappointing than she ever would have admitted but not entirely unexpected. Instead he untangled his fingers from her hair and took her hands in his, brushing the pads of his thumbs across her knuckles.

"I've been to your grave, even though it's empty."

Hermione brushed away the few stray tears that had rebelled against her resolve before retaking his hand. "How did this happen?" she asked. "How did we get here? You're grave has a body in it."

Sirius hesitated. "You're not going to believe this, but it was Regulus they found."

Sirius was right; she didn't believe him. "That's impossible. He's been dead since nineteen-eighty."

"And we've been dead for six years," Sirius returned. "Anything is possible in the magical world."

There was no disputing that, to be sure. "Fine, but why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I would have done," Sirius said, a touch defensively, "but you had run off with Harry and Ron to rescue Ginny. He showed up on at the door barely two hours before Voldemort struck. And Moony knew."

Remus Lupin, too, had been one of too many casualties of the final battle. And of course Hermione remembered the circumstance. The abduction of Ginny Weasley had been a smoke screen to divert Harry, who, from the day he was born had been Voldemort's most feared opponent.

"Regulus was the only reason we were able to counter the invasion that day. He'd managed to get us at least some advanced warning, but you and Harry were gone already and no-one knew to where."

"You were right," she said, softly, "it was a trap."

"You must allow me to be right some of the time."

Hermione then explained her actions without being prompted. "When I woke up at hospital, I heard two of the nurses talking in the corridor about how the body of Notorious Mass Murderer, Sirius Black had been found among the dead. I asked them if they were positive, and they said that if the Black crest on his right hand wasn't proof enough then they didn't know what was."

She swallowed around the seemingly constant lump in her throat, remembering how devastated she had been that night. How claustrophobic and suffocating her private room had seemed knowing that nearly everyone in the world she loved had died. "Three hours and about a dozen Memory Charms later, I was on my way to Switzerland."

Sirius sighed heavily. "I should have known you'd do something like that. Especially when it was announced that they 'lost' your body, clever girl."

"And I should have remembered that you have nine lives," she replied.

At this, Sirius finally looked away from her. "Looks like I'm on my last one now, though, doesn't it?"

"Sirius Black, look at me," Hermione ordered. She was surprised by how easily she slipped back into her mother-knows-best shoes. That tone of voice used to drive him crazy, but had the desired effect this time. Almost unwillingly, Sirius faced her again. "I will not hear this defeatist attitude, not from you. I'm going to get you out of here."

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm done running Hermione."

"I'm not talking about running. I'm talking about clearing your name, once and for all."

Hermione watched his face as it dawned on him what she meant to do.

"Don't," he pled. "Don't go after Wormtail."

"It's the only way, Sirius, and I won't stand by and watch you die, _again_. Not when I can do something to stop it."

"He may be a tiny rodent of a man, but he'd dangerous. I'd rather not die knowing that you lost your life for a hopeless cause!" Sirius practically shouted the last part, and a familiar spark flashed in his eyes. "Move on with your life. Forget that I ever existed. Find someone who will love you that you can grow old with!"

Hermione stood abruptly and tried to keep the heart-ache she felt from showing on her face. They had been friends first, so his concern for her well-being was not out of place, but she knew he did not love her now, if he ever had. But that wasn't going to stop her from stubbornly doing the right thing.

Straightening her blouse but ignoring the way her wet pants clung to her knees, Hermione said, "I will catch him, I don't plan on either of us dying any time soon, and you're daft if you think I could do any of those things." She took a deep breath. "Regardless of what we may have had during the war, I would still be here."

Sirius also rose to his feet. For an instant, he almost looked… disappointed, but it was soon gone. "So, is that all I am? Another charity case for the great Hermione Granger to take up?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "I'm not great and you're not a charity case – I'm a coward and you're a stubborn arse!"

"Then why the bloody hell are you going to risk your life for this?"

"Because neither of us deserve what we got, and because I-" Hermione had to stop mid-sentence and berate herself for allowing him to provoke her like that. It was bad enough that he didn't love her; she needn't make a fool out of herself in the process.

"He deserves to pay for his crimes," she continued, "and if I have to be the one to do it, then so be it."

Sirius changed tactics. "In ten days?" he said incredulously. "You expect to find a man who's been hiding for twenty-six years in ten days?" Where's that logic you're famous for?"

"It's a fool who looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart, Sirius, and if ten days is all the time I have, then I'll do it in ten days."

"This is insane," Sirius muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

"What's insane is you're actually trying to convince me to let you die."

"Why now?" he demanded, stepping to the bars that separated them.

"Because it should have been done all those years ago when we first learned he was alive, and now we've just about run out of time." Hermione really did not know why Sirius was so adamantly against her doing this. Anyone else on the planet would have been thrilled to know that there was someone who didn't think he was a murdered and was willing to put themselves on the line to prove it. Was it that he wanted to die, or did he just not want her to be the one to clear his name?

"Damn it, Hermione!"

"I should be the one swearing at you!" she returned. "I came back to a world that I purposefully left behind to _save your life_, and you're telling me to walk away! Why are you fighting me on this?"

"I chose this fate!" he shouted. "Why are _you_ fighting _me_?"

Then Hermione did something the fully expected to regret until the end of time. Grabbing a fistful of Sirius' shirt, she kissed him hard on the mouth, heedless of the fallout that kiss might cause. His lips felt and tasted just they way she remembered – rough and warm and _Sirius_ – and for the duration she neither thought nor cared about the distinct possibility that such behaviour would be thoroughly unwelcome.

For a long moment, Sirius neither reciprocated nor shoved her away, but _just_ when she _swore_ she felt him lean into the kiss a loud metallic banging echoed down the passageway. Startled and embarrassed, Hermione jumped back, breaking away completely.

She was blushing furiously, all the way down her chest, and resolutely refused to meet his gaze, opting to stare at the dip beneath his collar bones before looking away altogether. Hermione knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she did not want to see what was written all over his face. She couldn't handle the rejection, having already discarded the notion of his possible participation as wishful thinking, and decided that what she didn't know couldn't hurt her in this instance.

Before he could speak, could refuse her further, Hermione said, her voice barely a whisper, "Because I fell in love with you and don't you dare tell me that's not reason enough."

Then Hermione walked away, the trip to the door seeming much shorter. At the moment, all she wanted to do was to be numb again, to not have to think. She wanted to turn everything off and analyse it all at a later date – preferably once the whole ordeal was over.

"Hermione-"

"I'll be back in time for your trial," she said, cutting him off. "I promise."

The iron door swung open even as she approached it. Switching positions with the sentry once again, she allowed the door to close on what she knew could be the second last time she ever saw him.

* * *

Sirius swore loudly and colourfully when he heard the door slam shut. The past thirty minutes were thirty minutes he had never expected to have, and certainly not under these circumstances. He felt like such an idiot for not searching for her all those years ago, for at least not trying to find her body. Instead he had run from his pain and hid from the world, but his solitude had worn him down. He was a man who had spent the majority of his adult life alone, and five days ago he had decided that he didn't want to do it anymore and put himself at the mercy of the Ministry of Magic.

But now he wanted out, _needed_ out, if only to prevent Hermione from going on this suicide mission. He knew that she had been and Auror once upon a time, but, if Hermione had been in Switzerland like she said, then she had more than likely been living as a Muggle and would be unprepared to deal with the types of wizards and witches she would need to in order to find Wormtail. If he was alive, he would definitely be hiding with any Death Eaters who had eluded capture for some reason or another.

He couldn't let her die, not on his behalf and not with so many things left unsaid. Sirius wanted her to know he remembered that she took her coffee black, but liked honey in her tea, and that she had exactly twenty-seven freckles on her nose. He wanted to tell her that she was all of the wonderful things she thought she wasn't and that she wasn't any of the terrible things she thought she was. He wanted to tell her, at least once, that he loved her too, only he'd been too afraid of what a confession like that would mean for the both of them. And now she believed quite the opposite, and it was breaking both of their hearts.

And that kiss… that kiss would haunt him for the rest of whatever time he had left. Her lips were soft and sweet, just as he remembered them. He had been too stunned to respond at the time, and he was sure he would never regret not doing something as badly as he did not kissing her back.

But he was powerless to change any of it; he had tied his own hands in that respect. The confinement he had chosen had seemed like a relief until about five minutes past – now it was torture. Before, he had been content to lie on his cot and await the arrival of his death sentence; now an urgency had sprung to life inside of him and it was all he could do not to yank his hair out in frustration.

"Damned, obstinate girl!" Sirius shouted as he plopped down on his cot and hung his head in his hands.

"Oi! Keep it down in there," the Auror guard ordered from his perch near the door.

"Piss off."

Sirius sat like that for some time, but eventually resorted to doing the only thing he could: he lay back on the lumpy mattress and waited to learn the outcome of Hermione's ill-conceived idea, what ever it might be.

* * *

By the time the door to Level Thirteen clicked shut behind her, Hermione had her eyes closed and had completely forgotten that Cedric was still there. He watched in mild alarm as she slid down the wall and tucked her hands behind her knees in an effort to hide the fact that she was trembling like a leaf. She looked like she'd seen a ghost, which, Cedric supposed, she had.

He had been fascinated by her since he'd barged into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office and demanded to see Sirius Black. Not only was she back from the dead but her behaviour was intriguing. He had originally thought that she would want some sort of confrontation with him, perhaps on Harry's behalf, but that idea had gone out of the window when she mentioned him fighting beside Shacklebolt, who had been a known member of the Order of the Phoenix, as had Hermione. If Black had truly been the criminal the world at large believed him to be, why had two of the most upstanding citizens in Wizarding England allowed him to remain free, and why was he fighting against Voldemort? Surely Harry would not have tolerated his presence knowing that he was the cause of his parents' deaths.

That was why he had gone to such great lengths to arrange this meeting between Hermione and Black. Well, there were actually three reasons. It was mostly to assuage his own curiosity, but also to repay a debt that he never had the chance to. Harry had saved his life that night in the graveyard and, since Harry wasn't around to call in that debt, Hermione would have to do.

And then there was Hermione herself. There was this strange and inexplicable magnetism about her, drawing him in. Cedric didn't know what it meant, and he knew he was probably playing with fire, but he couldn't help it. She was an enigma and he wanted to understand what made her tick. Why had she come back after all these years? Why had she left in the first place? What was her relationship to Black? Did any one of those things have to do with another?

Cedric crouched down in front of her and said, softly, "Are you all right, Hermione?"

She started at the sound of his voice. "Jesus," she whispered, "you gave me a fright."

Cedric didn't know who Jesus was, but he got the point. He stood an offered her his hand. "Come on, we should get out of here."

"That," she said, taking his hand, "sounds like an excellent idea." Cedric pulled her to her feet, but she didn't let go of his hand. "Thank you," she said, sincerely. "I never would have been able to gain access to him on my own."

"You're welcome."

They walked up the stairs in silence, mostly for lack of anything to say. Hermione was pensive and broody, and Cedric decided that he would be patient with her and let her broach the topic, not him. He knew she had been hounded almost constantly since her return and that she would more than likely balk or dodge his questions altogether if he pressed the issue.

His plan of approach, it would see, was about to pay off. When they were free of the tunnel and beneath the stars again, Hermione turned to him and said, "The other day when I ran into you in the Atrium…"

"Yeah?"

"You said that if I ever needed help to let you know." Cedric nodded silently, giving her a chance to continue uninterrupted. "Well, how far would you go? Would you do whatever it took if it meant that an innocent man had the opportunity to live the rest of his life in peace?"

Cedric arched a brow. Was she talking about Black? "What is this all about, Hermione?"

"Would you?" she asked, more emphatically this time.

"I suppose I would," he replied. Part of an Auror's duty was not just to ensure that the guilty were brought to atonement, but that the innocent were protected as well.

Hermione sighed in relief. "Good, because I have a story to tell you."

* * *

_A/N: I don't usually do notes at the end of the chapter, but… "It's a fool who looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart," came from "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" which was written by the genius Coen brothers. I must give props where props are due._


	3. Day 5: Friday

_A/N: Another update! And so soon :D I've really been working on this a lot lately, and I hope you all are enjoying it._

_A gagillion and one thanks to India, who, by definition, rocks._

* * *

**Day 5: Friday**

**1:13 a.m.**

Cedric took a long sip of coffee, then another. Hermione had just told him the most fantastic tale. The crazy part was that he believed her. It also explained why she, Shacklebolt, and Harry had allowed Black to remain free during the war. However – and disappointingly - it still shed no light on Hermione's relationship with the escaped convict.

"So, it was Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters, and when Black confronted him, he faked his own death. He _then_ spent the next twelve years hiding with the Weasleys as Percy's pet rat."

"Right." Hermione nodded once, affirmatively. Cedric had been mulling things over silently for several minutes, during which Hermione had fiddled with the handle of her coffee mug a bit neurotically. She seemed relieved that he had finally spoken. Or that he hadn't laughed at her.

"And when he escaped in ninety-three, he went looking for Pettigrew – not Harry."

"Right," she repeated.

"In ninety-four, you, Harry, and Ron with the help of Remus Lupin, your half-Kneazle, a hippogriff, and something called the Marauders' Map, discovered that Pettigrew was alive and Black was innocent."

"After Harry tried to kill Sirius," Hermione pointed out.

"And assaulted Professor Snape." Hermione was quite pretty when she blushed. "But Pettigrew escaped, forcing you and Harry to break Black out of the Charms classroom with the help of a Time Turner you'd been using to take extra classes."

Hermione made no reply this time, and Cedric watched with mild amusement as she began spinning her empty mug in circles on his kitchen table.

"And then Black fought for the Order until the war was over?" Cedric asked.

"Yes," she responded, shortly. "May I have some more coffee, please?"

Cedric doubted she needed it, considering how jittery she was already. "Help yourself," he said, "but you'll need to put more water in the kettle."

Without a word, Hermione went to work. She refilled the kettle and set it to boil on the stovetop. Then she washed out the press and filled it with fresh grounds. Cedric recognised avoidant behaviour when he saw it. Hermione's movements were quick and efficient, but they were also jerky and uncertain, like her hands knew what to do but her head was having trouble keeping up.

Now that she had nothing with which to occupy her hands, Hermione resorted to staring out the dark window above his sink and drumming her fingers on the counter top. "Can you see the Channel from here?"

She was still dodging the subject, but Cedric humoured her. "No, but you can from the bedroom."

"Oh," she said, awkwardly. "Do you like it here? I've never been to Brighton before."

The kettle whistled and Hermione jumped at the shrill noise. She regained as much composure as she could manage and reached for the kettle, but Cedric was faster. He swiftly stood and removed it from the heat to another burner.

"Whose body is in Black's grave, Hermione?"

She stared at the counter. "It's his brother, Regulus."

Cedric eyed her sceptically. "You mean the one who died twenty-six years ago?"

"That's what I said when Sirius told me," she replied. "They never found his body, you know."

"You're telling me that Regulus Black returned from the dead only to die in the final battle, and his brother was the only one who knew? How do you know that he didn't murder someone that looked like him to fake his own death?"

That rare spark of passion Hermione had allowed him to glimpse at the Ministry lit up her face. "Because I know Sirius, and if he ever killed anyone it was in self defence. Besides," she added more calmly, "Sirius blamed himself for years that Regulus became a Death Eater. He always regretted being so terrible to him at school."

_Interesting_, Cedric mused. It was impossible to miss that the only time those big brown eyes came to life was when she was defending Black. Even just talking about him brought something to her expression that was missing otherwise.

"And Remus knew," she said softly. "I would have known if I'd listened to Sirius."

Silence settled over the small kitchen then. Cedric was trying to piece things together, and Hermione was brooding over decisions made wrongly in the past. She looked lost.

"Not that I haven't found all of this extremely enlightening, but why are you telling _me_? You do realise that you just confessed to at least four crimes, don't you?"

Hermione took a deep breath and visibly prepared herself. Drawing herself up to full height, she squared her shoulders and held her head high - but she made it look like work; like she was so used to being small that anything else took all of her effort, energy, and concentration. It was sad, really; what he remembered of her from school was a vibrant, feisty, and proud girl, but the war had left her, like so many of its survivors, broken and searching in vain for a way to move on.

He was, despite all of that, impressed by her determination, her desire to make things right. He had seen it in her eyes four days ago in the Atrium – she had been fleeing then but had turned around and marched right back in. He could see it now, too: she wanted to return to wherever it was she had come from and pretend these past few days had never happened. For her, there was resignation in the knowledge that she was coming very close to the point of no return, and yet she refused to give in to the urge to run and hide, to let her natural flight response reign.

"Because," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, "if I'm going to ask you to help me catch Peter Pettigrew, then you should know the truth."

Cedric had been expecting her to ask him for some sort of aid considering her choice of words after leaving Level Thirteen, but he hadn't been expecting that _exactly_. "Wow, Hermione, I don't know what to say," he said honestly. "Why are you asking me? Why not the Weasleys or someone else who had ties to Black during the war?"

"Because I don't have the right to ask this of them, not after the way I left. Coming back to England was a knee-jerk reaction that I thought about for a grand total of two seconds and that I didn't plan. I still don't have a plan. I don't even know where to begin looking."

Hermione had to stop then. Her hands were shaking badly, and she had her eyes squeezed shut like opening them would risk upsetting the tenuous hold she had on herself. Cedric realised with some degree of certainty that Hermione was afraid, terrified.

He was stunned by the raw emotion radiating from her entire being.

"I don't remember how to do this anymore," she said, at last. "I answer telephones and screen visitors and sign for deliveries – not chase Death Eaters and murderers. I don't know how to function in life or death situations anymore.

"The only things I know are that I can't do this on my own, and that I trust you."

She was dangerously close to crying now, and Cedric found himself inclined to help her despite the threat to life and limb or his career. Because they would be hunting Death Eaters, dying was absolutely on the table, and because, despite Shacklebolt's allegiance with Black and the Order during the war the Head of Auror Division was also a man of politics now and there would not be anything Cedric could say that would persuade his boss to reopen Black's case. That meant all of their work would be off the record, and Cedric would definitely not be able to use his badge – at least not directly. There was a distinct possibility that he and Hermione would need to completely circumvent the law in some instances, considering with whom they were dealing.

On the other hand, if Black was innocent, as he now believed him to be, then Cedric could not in good conscience sacrifice Black's life for the sake of his job. He also doubted he had the wherewithal to decline Hermione's request in her current state. She was near desperate, and it must have meant a lot to her if she were willing to ask for help in the first place. The Hermione he recalled would have chopped off her left hand before asking for help. She was usually the one solving the problems for everyone else, and it spoke volumes that she was at such a total loss.

But, if past behaviour was any indicator for future behaviour, then she would do it without his help if he refused, and that would more than likely end up with both her _and_ Black dying.

"I'll do it," he said.

"Thank you," Hermione breathed. Her entire frame slackened with relief, like it knew it was done being brave for now, and could return to a less stressful state of existence. A small sob threatened to escape, but she held it in with the back of her hand.

Wanting to comfort her, to calm her but not knowing if it would be welcome, Cedric gently placed a hand on one of her small shoulders. He was surprised when she immediately leaned against him, hiding her face in his chest and clinging to his shirt with both hands. Uncertainly, he wrapped his arm around her back and allowed her to take what reassurance she could from him.

It was a strange experience. Cedric had spent the first five years after leaving Hogwarts in politics and had spent the last six in law enforcement – the people he dealt with in both professions were cutthroat, ruthless, conniving, and completely without need of emotional relationships. Hermione was none of those things, and it drew him to her. She was raw, real, open, and honest, and had spent the majority of her life helping other people and contributing to the greater good. Despite her emotional baggage, she was a breath of fresh air.

"I don't know how I'll ever repay you," she said, looking up at him. She was extraordinarily close, close enough to allow Cedric to count the freckles peppering her nose and to see that her eyes had flecks of gold in them.

"What say we worry about that when Black's a free man?"

She nodded her head in acquiescence. A small smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, like the mere thought of Black being free was empowering, like it gave her strength to do what was necessary. "What now?"

"Now," he said, releasing her. She didn't step away immediately, causing a disconcerting flutter in his stomach. "We make a list. I have some files in my office; we'll start there."

"All right," Hermione replied, finally noticing exactly how close together they were. She blushed again. "Where's your loo?"

Cedric pointed off toward his right. "Down the hall, second door on the left."

"Thank you," she said, shyly. "I'll be right back, and we can get to work."

She left with a mysterious smile on her lips, and Cedric realised he was saddened by the fact that it wasn't meant for him.

Yes, he was definitely playing with fire.

xxx

Hermione went to the lavatory as quickly as she could without it seeming like she was running for cover. Cedric's intensity was unnerving, and she needed a moment to put herself back together again. The relief she had felt when he agreed to help her had been almost painful. She had come close to losing it completely, and would have done but for the simple act of human companionship he had offered. For the first time in a very long time, Hermione didn't feel alone or nearly as afraid, and she had Cedric to thank for that.

But still, she could not help but be curious of his motivations. He would be risking much personally, and Hermione wanted to know why. She had watched an odd series of expressions cross his face while he contemplated aiding her but could not make heads or tails of any of it.

And then there was that moment…she was confused by her reaction to him, as well as his reaction to her. That was twice in one night she'd been wrapped in his arms, and despite the fact that she knew they were completely platonic embraces, they had a strange effect on her. She found herself very aware of him not as a person or a friend but as a man, and it was overwhelming.

It made her feel guilty, like she was betraying Sirius, even though nothing had happened between her and Cedric other than a bit of breathtaking eye contact, and Sirius didn't love her. She couldn't help it; she had been carrying a torch for Sirius for years and it was hard to lay it down, despite the harsh realities.

When she reached the loo, Hermione shut the door behind her and ran the cold water. She splashed some on her face, the icy liquid burning her still-flushed cheeks, but it grounded her, helped her to put her head and her senses back in order. She still felt emotionally exposed after her painful reunion with Sirius and more than a little bewildered by everything that had happened afterward.

Cedric was so different from anyone she'd ever known. He was quiet and patient with an intensity that made her squirm. She only wished they had been able to meet under more pleasant circumstances.

_But all of this is a moot point_, she told herself as she stared at her dripping reflection in the mirror. What she needed to focus on was finding Wormtail – she could deal with how she felt about Sirius and Cedric after the next ten days were behind her. Then she could move on with her life.

She had just been hoping to move on _with_ Sirius rather than without him.

Drying her face with a hand towel, Hermione pushed any and all reservations to the back of her mind and prepared to get to work. She had a mission, a purpose, and she would not allow herself to fail.

**8:23 a.m.**

_The door had barely shut on the last departing member when he was on her, pinning her to the door and trailing a line of burning kisses up her neck before nibbling on her earlobe. Hermione couldn't help but moan as Sirius' fingers teased beneath the hem of her shirt, raising goose bumps across her stomach in their wake._

_Hermione pushed back against him as her hand fiddled with the padlock. "Sirius Black, of all the inappropriate, ill-timed things you've ever done…" she trailed off, enjoying the attention he was giving her far too much to complain properly._

_He spun her around and kissed her on the mouth. Placing one hand on the door for balance, Sirius grabbed her arse with the other and pulled her to him until her body was flush with his. Hermione melted into him, loving the feel of his body on hers._

"_Do you have any idea how sexy you were in there?" he whispered roughly in her ear. A shiver chased up her spine. "I love it when you take charge."_

"_Yes, well, as erotic as handing out Tactical directives may be, it was hardly the time or the place to run your hand up my thigh. I swear you have the libido of a seventeen year old boy, Sirius."_

"_All the better to keep up with you, little girl."_

"_In your dreams, old man," Hermione returned with a giggle. She kissed him again, sliding her tongue into his mouth as she tangled her fingers in his hair. With a growl Sirius hoisted her up, wrapping both of her legs around his waist and turned to carry her up the stairs._

_Just then, Remus walked out of the side parlour with his nose stuffed in a file. He ran right into them._

"_Watch where you're going, Moony," Sirius said between kisses. He was already on the second step._

"_Sorry, Remus," Hermione said, distractedly._

"_Honestly," Remus said, putting on his best Professor Voice. "We have a whole house full of rooms with doors and locks… don't you two think you could find someplace more appropriate for foreplay than the foyer?"_

_They were halfway up the stairs now, but the only thing Hermione recalled of the trip was the way Sirius nipped at her collarbone and laved her pulse point with his tongue. His lips were driving her mad, dragging across her skin, setting her every nerve on fire. _

_Not one to be out done, Hermione traced the shell of his ear with her tongue and whispered, "So, you like it when I take charge?"_

_Sirius hummed his agreement, but said aloud, "I think we need to find Moony a girl, don't you think, sweeting?"_

_Hermione pressed her lips to his, briefly. "Yes," another kiss, "I'll get on that," another kiss, "first thing," another kiss, "in the morning."_

"_Don't be absurd," Remus called after them. "And find a bloody room."_

_Sirius set her down when they reached the top and Hermione absently waved goodnight to Remus over his shoulder. He was unbuttoning her jeans as he pushed her down the hallway toward one of their bedrooms; she didn't much care which. Her own fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, but it was hard to concentrate when he kissed her like he'd have to watch the world end if he didn't…_

Hermione awoke with a start, thoroughly disoriented and with a crick in her neck. She felt herself flush, head to toe, when the reality of what she'd been dreaming sunk in. It was a cruel and torturous memory of one of the few carefree moments she and Sirius had had together.

With a groan, Hermione turned to bury her face in her pillow only to notice that her pillow was rather more firm than she recalled and a bit lumpy. In fact, her pillow wasn't a pillow at all – it was Cedric. She vaguely remembered falling asleep on one end of his couch but had managed to wake up on the other. The heat radiating off her face quadrupled in intensity.

Cedric was slouched down on the sofa almost horizontally and had one booted foot propped up on the coffee table. Hermione was lying perpendicular to him on her side, and when she shifted slightly she became immediately aware of his hand resting on her hip. Her movement dislodged it, and it slid up her waist to settle on the expanse of skin her bunched up shirt had left exposed.

Her heart was pounding hyperactively against her ribcage. Feeling for all the world like a teenager who had been caught snogging in the broom cupboard, Hermione attempted to steady her breathing and pretended to be asleep until Cedric awoke – just to avoid an awkward situation.

It wasn't as though she liked the way his hand felt on her skin; not at all.

**9:01 a.m.**

Cedric normally awoke slowly, taking his time before he had to force himself out of bed and face yet another day of hunting the bad guys, but not today. He came to rapidly, and would have bolted upright were it not for Hermione's head on his stomach. Then he noticed where his hand was; her skin was smooth but chilled, like she didn't produce enough body heat to warm herself.

He could tell she was awake by the measure of her breathing and the tense way she held her shoulders. He wondered how long she had lain like that, and why she hadn't moved upon waking.

Letting her think she'd fooled him, Cedric removed his hand from her waist and rested it on her arm. "It's time to get up, Hermione," he said, gently shaking her.

She stirred, slowly pushed herself to sitting and asked, "Coffee?"

He had to suppress a laugh; he would swear the stuff ran through her veins instead of blood. When he didn't reply straight away, Hermione began compulsively reorganising the mess they'd made of his table that night. He'd had half a dozen files on hand, and they had gone through them as meticulously as could be managed at that hour of the morning and had come up with a regrettably long list of possible people and locations with whom and where Peter Pettigrew might be. Today he planned to spend his day in Ministry Archives adding and removing names from that list.

Cedric sat up and caught a glimpse of her face through that wild mane of hair she had. Her cheeks were flushed, and she refused to look in his direction. "Did you sleep all right?" he asked, cautiously. "You look a bit… pink."

Giving up on the stack, she said in a rush, "What? Oh, yes. I slept very well, thank you. Now how about that coffee?"

Before he could get a word in, she jumped off the sofa and hurried into the kitchen; she seemed in a rush to put space between them. He heard the water running as she began preparing more of the caffeinated drink.

"Maybe you should miss out the coffee this morning," he suggested. She was awfully jumpy. "I think there's some juice in the icebox."

"Oh," she said, reluctantly shutting off the water. "All right."

Cedric listened to her rummaging about in the kitchen for a minute or two before he went to join her. She had just found the glasses and had her head in the icebox.

"It's hard to find a good cuppa at home, so I drink a lot of coffee now," Hermione explained, withdrawing with a pitcher of pumpkin juice. She jumped a little when she saw he was in the room but said nothing as she closed the door and poured the juice.

"Toast?" Cedric asked, heading for the toaster.

"Yes, please."

"Where's home?"

Hermione hesitated. "Prague."

_Good decision_, mused Cedric. They didn't even have their own independent Ministry in the Czech Republic; they were a protectorate of another jurisdiction. "Have you been there the whole time?"

"No," she replied, returning the juice to the icebox. "I was in Switzerland at first. I spent about fifteen months in Köln, Germany before my job transferred me to Naples. I've only been in the Czech Republic for ten months."

Promptly, the toaster popped and, after adding butter and jam, they ate in silence. Cedric was pondering the meagre bits of personal information Hermione had just shared. She had worked hard to remain hidden these six years; Switzerland, Czech Republic, and that part of Germany all had very low Wizarding populations – lower than usual, at least. Again the countless questions he wanted answered attempted to force their way out of his mouth. He decided to change the subject.

"What are your plans for the day?"

Hermione looked at him directly for the first time that morning. "I'm going to see if Wormtail is hiding at Hogwarts."

"That's quite a feat for one day, don't you think?"

"Not with the Marauders' Map, it's not."

"Ah, yes, the infamous Map," Cedric said. "Do you even know where it is?"

She shrugged. "I know that most of Harry's belongings were willed to someone in the Weasley family. I imagine they have it."

There was a false steadiness in her voice that Cedric would have missed if he hadn't already understood the enormity of what she was planning to do. She was dreading her reunion with the Weasleys but was trying valiantly to hide it. Even in their Hogwarts days she had been extended family, but she was concerned that they could not forgive her for the way she left.

"Do you want me to go with you?" he blurted out. Later, upon reflection, he would not be able to say why.

Hermione shook her head and began spinning her glass on the table again. It was a nervous habit. "I have to do this on my own." Cedric stood and put his glass in the sink. "What will you do today?"

"I'll be in Archives amending our list." He looked at his watch; it was nearing half nine. "I have to get going. If you need to contact me just send a Patronus."

"I will. Good luck, Cedric."

"You too, Hermione."

He heard her Disapparate before he'd even shut the lavatory door.

**10:10 a.m.**

Hermione Apparated directly to her room at the Leaky Cauldron. Her heart was still pounding with an unhealthy mix of excitement, terror and something else that was directly connected with Cedric. Shoving everything from her mind, she bathed and dressed, choosing worn jeans and a black tee shirt instead of her more formal attire.

Having no other reason to procrastinate further than her disinclination toward confrontation, Hermione Apparated to the drive that led to the Burrow. She stood there numb with nostalgia and unable to move for the all-consuming aboulia the sight of the familiar, lopsided house produced. It hadn't changed at all since she saw it last.

The joyous squeal of a child at play brought her to her senses. Her feet propelled her forward of their own accord. She was surprised when she felt the wards admit her; it was odd that they had not readjusted them after her death. She continued walking dumbly forward with her thong sandals crunching the gravel.

She had climbed the porch steps without seeing them and now stood before the door with her hand poised to knock, but she just couldn't seem to make the blow fall. A full minute later, with her heart slamming in her chest, sweaty palms, and eyes squeezed shut, Hermione rapped her fist on the door.

"Coming!" shouted a muffled voice.

Hermione could hear their footsteps drawing nearer. She was holding her breath, but could not for the life of her push the air out of her lungs again. The door opened in slow motion, and she knew that it was too late to change her mind now.

"Sorry that too- Oh!"

Hermione found herself face to face with Ginny. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither knowing what to say. The redhead looked like she might be sick.

"Er, hullo, Ginny."

Hermione's head was suddenly whipped around as Ginny smacked her hard on the cheek. She turned slowly back to Ginny, gingerly rubbing the handprint she could feel forming. This was not an auspicious beginning.

"I suppose I deserved that."

"Hullo, Ginny?" she nearly shrieked. "You've been _dead_, and all you have to say is 'hullo, Ginny'?"

Upon reflection, it did seem rather inadequate.

"I went to your funeral! I live in your house, for Merlin's sake!" Ginny sputtered incoherently before throwing her arms around Hermione's neck and hugging her fiercely. Hermione tensed at first, fully expecting a thorough Weasley Walloping, but was soon embracing the girl who had been like a sister to her with equal fervour.

"You silly, impulsive, silly girl," Ginny said into Hermione's hair.

Hermione realised she was crying but, for the first time in a long while, she did not bother trying to stop. How had she ever called anywhere else home? Here was her home with people who loved her and had missed her, mourned for her loss. She had never before in her life felt as unbelievably _fucking stupid_ as she did standing on the Burrow's porch at ten twenty-seven on the morning of August the fourth, two thousand and six.

"Oh God, Ginny, I'm so sorry," Hermione mumbled. "So, so sorry."

"Mumma, oo dat?"

Hermione and Ginny abruptly broke apart at the sweet voice that interrupted them. Wiping tears from her cheeks, Ginny bent and picked the little girl up and set her on her hip. She had her mother's face with strawberry blonde ringlets down to her waist and Ron's blue eyes. She had nothing on but a nappy and a pink ribbon in her hair and was sporting a two-handled tippy-cup in one hand.

In a word, she was adorable.

"This is your Aunt Hermione," Ginny said. "Can you say hello?"

"Hi!" she exclaimed, waving her free hand enthusiastically.

Hermione smiled, as foreign and alien as it felt, and waved back. "Hullo. What's your name?"

The little girl scrunched up her face in concentration before spitting out, "Janie."

"It's very nice to meet you, Janie." Hermione's heart quite literally melted.

Janie began squirming, and Ginny let her slip to the ground. "Mumma, Gwammy," she said, pointing into the house.

"Yes, yes, dear, tell her I'll be right in." Janie scampered off, no doubt to do as she was told. "Oh my," Ginny said, her eyes growing wide. "Mum's going to go right out of her head when she sees you."

Ginny then proceeded to drag Hermione unceremoniously through the house looking for Molly Weasley. They found her seated in the back garden, holding a copy of Witch Weekly with a photograph of Hermione crossing the Atrium on the cover and trying to translate Janie's nearly incoherent babble.

"Your Aunt Who?"

"Hermione, Mum," Ginny answered. Hermione could hear the smile in her friend's voice.

Molly stared at Hermione, blinked twice, and then decided that Hermione was actually standing in her garden. She rushed over and enveloped her in one of her famous bear-hugs. She returned the embrace as best she could, but her arms were pinned at her side.

Molly was saying something to her, but either she was speaking too quickly or Hermione's head wasn't processing the words fast enough to comprehend them. All she knew was that all three of them were crying now, and that she was a fool for ever leaving them - her family - behind. Being back at the Burrow was so overwhelming that Hermione was sure her head would be spinning for days.

In short order, the three women found themselves sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a pot of Molly's famously delicious tea. Janie was playing with a doll on the floor at their feet.

"Well, out with it, dear," Molly said, seating herself after placing the service in the middle of the table. "Where have you been?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Zurich, Köln, then Naples, and now I live in Prague."

"What do you do there?" Ginny asked.

"Is there a special guy?" Molly asked, forever concerned that her children would find love.

"Are you going to stay now that you're back?"

"Are you happy?" Molly asked quietly.

"I'm a receptionist at the Consulate; no; I don't know; and I am right now," Hermione replied, sincerely. "But my life's been rather dull. I want to know what you've all been up to."

"Well," Molly began, "Arthur was promoted to head of his Department two years ago, and Charlie's still at Hogwarts – has been since Hagrid died."

"The twins' business is still booming," said Ginny. "Fred runs the shop in Diagon Alley, and George is in Hogsmeade where Zonko's used to be."

"Are any of them married?" Hermione asked.

"No," Molly replied unhappily. "Ginny's the only one who's given me any peace of mind at all. She and Justin married almost three years ago."

Ginny was beaming. "Janie was two last month."

"Justin… Finch-Fletchley?"

"The one and only."

"Congratulations, Ginny. I'm really happy for you," Hermione said honestly. "Do you work?"

If it were possible, Ginny's smile grew even wider. She obviously was very proud of her job. "I'm the Deputy Commissioner of the United Kingdom Quidditch League," she responded. "I actually didn't know you were alive until about an hour ago; I've been in Canada helping them organise a tournament with the League."

"Wow," Hermione said, for lack of anything more articulate.

"Thanks. They asked me to take the position shortly after our wedding, and when I agreed, Justin took over the team."

Hermione's brow crinkled in confusion; she didn't have a clue what Ginny was talking about. "Team? What team?"

"Don't you read the _Prophet_?" Molly asked.

"Only on Harry's birthday."

There was an awkward silence; the Weasley women didn't know what to make of the new Hermione quite yet. Thankfully, Ginny had always been good at keeping conversation flowing.

"Well, between Bill, Harry, Ron, you, and Sirius… after all of the wills were sorted out, nearly all of the money was left with either me, Mum or Dad. We formed a Quidditch team with a good part of it in memory of everyone."

"We thought you'd all want something that made people happy," added Molly, thoughtfully. She reached across the table and squeezed Hermione's hand. "We've missed you, and we're glad to have you back."

Hermione's heart suddenly felt too large for her chest, and she couldn't suppress the great and heavy sigh of utter relief that escaped. "I can't believe you're not angry with me," she said under her breath.

Ginny took her other hand and gave it a squeeze. "We're hurt that you left like you did without telling us, but we really are just happy you're alive."

"You have no idea how sorry I am," she said honestly. "I just-"

"Needed to be alone," Ginny finished for her. "I, at least, understand. But don't expect the twins-"

"Especially George," Molly interjected.

"-to be so forgiving."

Hermione was unsure how to respond to that. George had been her first boyfriend – almost eleven years ago, now – but he had always been sweet on her. "I'll be sure to stop by the store and beg for forgiveness," she said at last.

Just then, Janie crawled out from beneath the table and began chattering so rapidly to Molly that Hermione hadn't a clue what she'd said. She doubted Molly understood either, but when the little girl began pointing back toward the garden, everyone figured it out.

"All right, dear. I'll take you out again, but let's find you a shirt first." Molly stood to bring Janie out to play then stopped and planted a kiss on the top of Hermione's head. "See that you get yourself over here for supper soon. And don't think you'll get off without an explanation next time, dear."

"I will, Molly," Hermione replied with a smile.

When it was just Hermione and Ginny, the redhead pushed her teacup away and fixed Hermione with her steady chocolate gaze. "Not that I'm not thrilled you're still alive, by why don't you tell me why you've really come back after all these years?"

Hermione spun her cup on the table; the grating sound the porcelain made on the wood was calming. "I've come back to clear Sirius' name," she said, softly.

"You mean you're going after Wormtail." Ginny's face had paled considerably.

"I am."

Not many people had known about Hermione's relationship with Sirius, but Ginny had been one of the few. Ron never could keep secrets from her. "Oh, Hermione, please don't tell me you've been pining over him for the past six years."

"No," Hermione lied. "This should have been done ages ago, and I'm here to do it now."

Ginny closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "I know I won't be able to talk you out of this but at least promise me that you won't do it alone. Don't be too proud to ask for help."

"I have help," Hermione replied, not at all offended by Ginny's remarks.

"Really?" Ginny said, surprised. "Who is it?"

"Cedric Diggory."

"Wow, I haven't heard that name in a long while. How did that come about? I didn't even know he was in the country."

Hermione shrugged, not really wanting to go into the details of the previous night. "I asked."

"You asked?"

"And he said he would."

"Just like that?"

"Pretty much."

"Wow."

_My sentiments, exactly._ Hermione was still a little stunned that he'd agreed. She fidgeted in her chair, which did not go unnoticed by Ginny.

"Just spit it out, Hermione."

"I was wondering if you know where the Marauders' Map is. I'd like to take a look at it."

Ginny thought for a moment, and Hermione was glad that she hadn't refused her. "I'm pretty sure that all of Harry and Ron's school things are here in the attic. It should be in his trunk. Feel free to take a look."

"Thanks."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged small talk for a few more minutes before Ginny finally announced that she needed to bring Janie home for her nap. Mrs. Finch-Fletchley departed with her gorgeous daughter, extending an invitation to Hermione to drop by for a visit sometime. It was, after all, her house. They went to the fireplace where Ginny would Floo home with Janie.

"Listen, Ginny, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone what I'm up to."

Ginny frowned; she understood how dangerous Hermione's self-appointed task was and wanted her to be safe. "I won't _tell_ them, but if anyone in my family _asks_, then I won't lie to them."

"Fair enough." The women embraced one last time.

"Don't do anything stupid."

Hermione merely smiled, offering no promises. "Goodbye, Janie."

"Bye!" Janie said, waving. Ginny opened the Floo to Rhosyncroft, and they were gone in a burst of green flame.

Knowing that Molly was still out in the garden, weeding the rosebushes now, Hermione climbed the four flights of stairs to the attic. The ghoul was gone – to where, she had no clue – but Harry and Ron's trunks were there.

She knelt before them for a long time, gently wiping the dust from their lids and remembering more carefree times. Harry and Ron, especially Harry, had fought so hard to make sure that Voldemort would never harm another soul; it was just wrong that they were not allowed to see the peace their efforts brought to England. She had always assumed that they would be a trio forever – that they would all die, or they would all live; perhaps this had been naïve, but it only seemed right that they would take that journey together, too.

But she had been left behind.

At last, Hermione opened Harry's trunk. Inside were many things she hadn't thought about in ages, let alone set eyes on. The Firebolt Sirius had given him rested on top, cushioned by his dad's Invisibility Cloak. Beneath these were the textbooks, uniforms, and robes they would have used their sixth year had it not been cut abruptly and painfully short by a partially successful attack by Voldemort during the Welcoming feast. Professor Dumbledore had died that night, and the Ministry had shut the school down immediately. Hogwarts hadn't reopened until after the war ended.

The photo album Hagrid had given him was wrapped carefully in a jumper Molly had made years ago to protect it. Hermione couldn't resist flipping through its pages. It was full of pictures of the Marauders – all of them – young and vibrant and alive. There were photographs of Sirius at Lily and James' wedding; Remus was there too, smiling fondly as his friends horsed around, even in their formal wedding robes.

She continued through the album and was surprised to find the last handful of pages occupied by photographs of the three of them and some of their closer friends. Some were from Hogwarts; some were taken during their stay at Grimmauld Place, and a very few were taken towards the end of the war after Grimmauld Place had burned and Hermione had offered her late Grandmother Crewes' home, Rhosyncroft, as headquarters.

Hermione smiled when her eyes fell on the final picture in the album. It was of her and Sirius. They had fallen asleep together on a sofa in one of the parlours at Rhosyncroft; Hermione lay on her back with a book dangling loosely from one hand. Sirius was on his stomach, mostly on top of her and was using her belly as a pillow.

She hadn't even known the photograph had been taken until then. Hermione removed the picture from the album and shrunk it with her wand so that it would fit in the back pocket of her jeans. It was such a peaceful snapshot that it could have belonged in another life altogether, and she wanted to remember _that_ instead of all the horrible things that had burdened the two oblivious people sleeping on the sofa.

Finally she found the Map. It was in a beautifully engraved wooden box that also held some of Harry's small trinkets. Along with the Map there was the Potter crest ring and a gold watch; Sirius had given him both when Harry had come of age. There was also a set of keys that Hermione was fairly sure belonged to Sirius' flying motorcycle. A velvet ring box was present as well, which Hermione discovered held two wedding bands and an engagement ring – no doubt James' and Lily's.

Hermione checked her watch; it was just after noon, and there were still other things she wanted to do before the day was out. Tapping her wand to the Map, she said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Slowly, the Map sprang to life, filling the yellowed parchment with black lines and moving dots with names attached. Because it was summer there were not that many people present, and most of them were relegated to the Great Hall where the holiday occupants were more than likely taking their afternoon meal. It had been ten years since the Map had been put to use, but it still worked perfectly. Sirius really had been amazing at Charms.

Hermione took her time searching the map, covering every nook and cranny three times over before finally conceding that Pettigrew was not at Hogwarts. Him being at the school had been unlikely at best, but she did not want to leave a single stone unturned – especially when the means of searching quickly and efficiently were at her disposal.

After returning the Marauders' Map to a blank sheet of parchment, Hermione repacked Harry's trunk and went downstairs. Molly invited her to remain for lunch, but she declined, promising to join her soon. As much as she loved all of the Weasleys, she could not help but feel slightly claustrophobic at the Burrow. It would take some time for her to readjust to being there.

Hermione used the time it took for her to walk to the edge of the wards to prepare herself for her next errand. What she was about to do came very close to breaking and entering, so she had not wanted to involve Cedric unless it was absolutely necessary. Thinking hard on an address Sirius had once mentioned to her, Hermione Apparated to Kent, just outside of Ipswich.

The Pettigrew residence was small but cosy looking. In fact, it was little more than a cottage; there were flower gardens in the front and on the eastern facing side, and the trellised exterior was covered in English ivy. The house looked like it belonged on a postcard and not at all like a traitorous mass murderer had been raised within its walls.

Again, she knew Pettigrew's childhood home was an unlikely hiding place, but it would not hurt to look, nonetheless. Hermione had followed the stone walk to the door and knocked before she realised that she had absolutely no clue what she was going to say. Her true mission would hardly put her in the Pettigrews' good graces.

Luckily, it took Mrs. Pettigrew a very long time to answer the door. This probably had something to do with the fact that she was barely over five feet tall and easily weighed three hundred pounds. The maniacal thought that Mrs. Pettigrew could probably eat Hermione whole fluttered briefly across her brain, and she was very glad to see that the small, ermine woman was in dire need of glasses and couldn't see the amused blush that coloured Hermione's cheeks.

"May I help you?" Mrs. Pettigrew said in a squeaky voice. Hermione knew which of his parents Peter had taken after.

"This is the Pettigrew residence, is it not?" Hermione said, stalling.

"Yes, who's calling?"

"My name is… Samantha Crewes," Hermione replied, choosing her mother's maiden name. "I'm with the _Daily Prophet_, and I was wondering if I could come in and ask you a few questions about your son and the recent recapture of Sirius Black."

Mrs. Pettigrew seemed unsure, but Hermione flashed a brilliant smile that not even the half-blind old woman could mistake for anything else. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," she said. "Come in. Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Crewes?"

"Yes, thank you. I would very much like a cup of tea," Hermione replied, following her through the house. When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Pettigrew asked Hermione to sit while she made the tea. "Is Mr. Pettigrew in?" she asked. The situation would be far easier to control if she could get them both in one place. She did feel a little guilty at misleading the elderly woman. "I'd like to ask him a few questions, too."

"I'm afraid not, Miss Crewes," she replied, without turning to face Hermione. "He's at work and won't be home before six o'clock."

­_Good._

"That's too bad. Maybe some other time." Then, while the woman was still turned away, she pulled out her wand and cast a quick Confundus Charm followed by a mild _Obliviate_.

Mrs. Pettigrew froze mid-motion as though she'd forgotten what she was doing, which she had. Hermione rose and stood behind the obese woman.

"Mrs. Pettigrew, you want to take a walk into town. You will remain gone for two hours and when you return you will neither remember having met Samantha Crewes, nor have any recollection of her face. Now, go."

The command took a moment to solidify in Mrs. Pettigrew's consciousness. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when she spoke. "I say, it is such a lovely day. I think I'll walk to town for a bit."

Mrs. Pettigrew left the premises without further ado. When the door finally clicked shut, Hermione quickly replaced the tea service and began her search of the house.

She descended into the cellar first, which she found to be dank and creepy but hiding nothing more than some rusted gardening tools and a bucket of various types of seeds nearly a decade expired. The ground floor took longer, as it contained most of the house's living space as well as approximately a ton of knick-knacks and lace doilies.

The first floor, it was obvious, had not been used in some time. The dust on the floors and walls had not been disturbed for years, but Hermione resolved to clear them, regardless. The first of the only two rooms had, at one point, been the master bedroom that the Pettigrews had moved downstairs, probably due to Mrs. Pettigrew's inability to climb the steep and narrow stairs. Even the cupboard was empty.

The door to the second room was locked but nothing a simple _Alohomora_ couldn't remedy. It was Peter's room, as she'd expected. It was decorated in Gryffindor colours, and the walls were covered with posters of Quidditch teams. The dust there was nearly twice as thick as in the hall; it had probably been locked up since Peter's 'murder'.

She searched the room top to bottom nonetheless and came up empty – until she looked beneath the bed. There was a bit of parchment that had been folded to the size of a shilling piece and had been dropped and promptly forgotten. Hermione opened what appeared to be a letter to Peter from Lucius Malfoy. It was dated a month before the Potters were murdered.

_Our Lord has grown impatient, and I will not continue to make excuses for you much longer._

_LM_

Hermione allowed herself a full minute to be completely beside herself with excitement. She read the note another thirty times. It _sounded_ as though Lucius was covering for Wormtail, but he was a man who never did anything for someone without personal gain.

_Or to save face_, Hermione thought grimly. Was it possible that Lucius Malfoy was in Pettigrew's debt? If he was it might lead one to believe that Malfoy was still covering for Wormtail – perhaps by hiding him away.

Pocketing the note, Hermione double checked the house, ensuring that nothing was out of place, and Apparated to her room at the Leaky Cauldron. She then went into the dining area and ordered two lunches to go. She couldn't wait to tell Cedric.

xxx


	4. Day 6: Saturday

_a/n: A gagillion thanks to all of you who reviewed! I never expected this to get as much support as it has. You guys rock._

_India, you're my hero._

* * *

**Day 5: Friday, Still…**

**1:05 p.m.**

Cedric heard her voice carrying through the otherwise silent Hall of Archives, and he easily recognised the edge of exasperation in her tone. Leaving his private study cubicle, he went to the front of Archives where he found Hermione arguing with Alan, the Head Archivist who might have made Madam Pince cower, as to her ability to refrain from mucking something up with the food she'd brought.

Cedric watched unnoticed for a moment, enjoying the way Hermione's cheeks flushed with annoyance that went unacknowledged by Alan.

"There has never been a rule restricting food and drink from Archives," Hermione said. She had one hand planted firmly on her hip and was glaring at the elderly man with a distaste that would have made school children cry. "You're being purposefully recalcitrant."

"Now, look here," Alan said, wagging a finger in her face.

Cedric interrupted the diminutive archivist before his tirade got too much steam behind it. "She's all right, Alan," he said, smoothly. "There's not a soul in the world that has a deeper respect or more concern for the preservation of knowledge than Miss Granger does."

Hermione, first startled by Cedric's intervention, soon recovered and took Alan's momentary loss of words to join Cedric. Alan was about to rally and mount another protestation, but Cedric cut him off again. "We're wizards, Alan. If we make a mess, which we won't, it will all be gone with the flick of a wand."

Before Alan could utter a response, Cedric retreated down the aisle from which he had come. Hermione was waiting for him a little ways ahead, just out of Alan's line of sight. He was curious as to why she had come; he hadn't expected to see her again today.

He wasn't complaining; not at all. He could use the help – or just the company.

When he reached Hermione, she began speaking in a rush, her eyes alight with excitement. "Sorry about that; I didn't mean to be a nuisance. I hope you haven't eaten because I brought sandwiches. I didn't know what you liked so I got a couple different kinds, and you can take whichever you prefer. I found the Map, and he's not at Hogwarts."

The abrupt turn of topic actually caught Cedric off guard. Not only had he been expecting her to go on about the sandwiches for at least another minute or so, but she seemed inordinately pleased at _not_ finding Pettigrew. When they came to the table which Cedric had claimed that morning, they stood beside it while Hermione finished her frenzied speech.

"Of course, I hadn't really expected him to be there, but it was worth a look. Did you know Ginny has a daughter? Cutest little thing – she looks just like her mum. Anyway, when I left the Burrow, I went to Ipswich and I found-"

"Hermione," Cedric interrupted. He was having a hard time following her scatterbrained monologue. He put a hand on each of her shoulders, effectively silencing her. "You're not a nuisance. I'm famished, and I'll eat just about anything that doesn't have pickles. I'm glad your visit to the Weasleys' went well, but you lost me at Ipswich."

Hermione blinked and looked at him like he'd said the dumbest thing in the world. "The Pettigrews live there," she said, simply.

"You went to his house?" Cedric asked, disbelievingly. Hermione nodded. "And, what? They just let you poke around for their murdered son-in-rat-form?"

Hermione blushed again. "Er, not exactly."

Cedric decided it was best if he didn't know; Hermione's visit to the Pettigrew residence was beginning to sound awfully illegal. He could not, however, help but smile at her pluck. She was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant breaking the law. He was pretty sure, however, that only Hermione would have the grace to be embarrassed about it.

"What did you find there?"

Hermione smiled as she set their sandwiches on the table. Her hand dove into the back pocket of her jeans and withdrew with two pieces of paper, one folded up to the size of a coin and the other stuck to the back of her hand. She didn't notice the latter until it fluttered to the floor, landing between them.

"I found this," she said triumphantly. "Oops!"

Cedric and Hermione bent down at the same time and cracked their foreheads together.

"Ouch," they said in unison. Hermione lost her balance, and while she regained it Cedric picked up what he discovered was a photograph.

"That couldn't have been more cliché if we'd scripted it," she said with a forced lightness. When Cedric tore his eyes away form the picture to look at Hermione, she was trying very hard to not look at him, but her eyes kept flicking to his face.

The photograph was of Hermione and Black sleeping peacefully together on a sofa. Cedric's stomach turned when the pieces clicked into place. She was in love with Black; he was the reason she'd left, and he was the reason she'd come back.

Cedric suddenly did not feel so well.

Without a word, Cedric put the photograph in Hermione's empty hand and took the parchment from the other. She immediately returned it to her pocket. He read the note with wide eyes; it was a most welcome distraction from the incredibly awkward moment they'd just had.

"'LM' as in Lucius Malfoy?" he said. "Hermione, where did you find this?"

Finally, she met his gaze; she seemed composed once more. "Beneath the bed in the room that time forgot. I think I was the first person to enter that room since the eighties, if the centimetre of dust was any indicator."

Cedric sat down, mulling over the clue Hermione had uncovered. She seated herself opposite him and opened the lunch bag. She pulled out two bottles of Butterbeer first and then two deli-wrapped sandwiches.

"Turkey or roast beef? Neither have pickles; I don't much care for them either," she added.

Cedric glanced up and caught the tentative smile pulling at her lips; she was making an effort to banish any remaining tension the photograph had created. "Roast beef, please."

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Cedric brought up some bad news. "About this note, Hermione," he said. "I agree that it's interesting, but Lucius Malfoy has been dead for almost a year."

Hermione dropped her sandwich back onto the paper and slowly, slowly finished chewing. She had the most peculiar expression on her face. After swallowing, she took a long pull on her Butterbeer. "In Azkaban?"

Cedric nodded. "Shortly after I returned to England he was convicted of Cho Chang's murder."

"How did he die?"

"He hung himself with his bed sheet."

"I only wish I could have killed the son of a bitch myself."

Cedric was taken aback, not only by Hermione's choice of words but by the manner in which she said them. She was truly disappointed at having been denied the opportunity to end Lucius Malfoy's existence.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," she said, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm not nearly as perfect as everyone thought I was. And wouldn't you want the chance if he'd removed gouged out _your_ parents' eyes while they were still alive before using the Cruciatus Curse on them until their ears bled and then _finally_ killing them?" she asked. Then she whispered, almost to herself, "No-one should ever see that done to someone they love."

Cedric stared at her, aghast. He had heard of some terrible things that had taken place during the war, and seen a few firsthand since, but nothing nearly as gruesome as what Hermione had just described. It was common knowledge that Death Eaters enjoyed taking their time with their victims, but it seemed a little over the top, even for Lucius Malfoy.

"Are you certain it was Malfoy?" Cedric asked. Lucius Malfoy had been a slippery bastard, and the Ministry had only barely been able to link him with Cho's death.

Hermione snorted indelicately and began spinning her bottle on the tabletop. "I'm certain. It was done in retribution. An eye for an eye, as the Muggles say."

Cedric arched a brow, and was unsure he wanted to know the answer to his next question. "What do you mean?"

Hermione leaned forward across the table. "You don't think he wore that eye patch to make a fashion statement, do you? Who do you think ruined his perfect face?"

"It was _you_ who put out his eye?" he said, not quite sure he believed his ears. No-one had ever known how Lucius lost his left eye; it was nearly an urban legend. And Lucius had been less than forthcoming with the details.

Hermione said nothing, which was answer enough. No longer having an appetite, Cedric wrapped up what was left of his lunch and set it aside. He handed Hermione a file he hadn't started on yet, wanting to distract her before she became too morose. Granted, case files on Death Eaters were hardly diverting, but they would at least keep her head busy. She accepted it willingly, and together they began searching for clues.

**3:37 p.m.**

Two hours later, Hermione broke the comfortable silence that had surrounded them. "What about Draco? Don't magical debts pass through the bloodline if they go unfulfilled? If Lucius was in Pettigrew's debt, it may have become Draco's responsibility when his father died."

"It's been known to happen, particularly with life-debts," Cedric replied. "But Draco hasn't been seen since Narcissa escaped from St. Mungo's four years ago."

"But he is alive." Cedric nodded. "I think we need to focus on him," she declared. "And I was thinking… Pettigrew, Regulus, Sirius, and I, we'd all been dead but come back. What if some Death Eaters had the same idea? Just as many of them were found with nearly unrecognisable remains or not at all; they may be hiding with Pettigrew."

"A valid point," Cedric admitted. "But what does that have to do with us?"

"I think we need to divide and conquer. You try to track down a lead on Draco's whereabouts while I double check graves and death certificates to see who's really dead and who isn't. If they're hiding together, which is highly likely, then we'll need to know whom we're up against."

Cedric considered Hermione's plan. It was a good idea, and he shouldn't have expected anything less. She was in problem-solving mode now; he had slowly watched her slip back into her old role and was glad for it. "All right, but stay away from the ones that are alive and cursing. The last thing we need is to tip them off." _Or get you killed._

"Honestly, Cedric, I'm not a complete fool," she said with a smirk that told him she hadn't really been insulted. "Let's make a new list, and then I'll help you for tonight."

It took nearly another hour to compile a list of Death Eaters that had died under suspicious circumstances or had never been seen again, and that was just from the names they had already. Hermione then split that list into Death Eaters that would be the most dangerous to them if they were alive. In all honesty, the thought that any of them might still be alive was a little nauseating; knowing that it was even possible for so many ruthless Dark wizards to be out there right under the Ministry's nose made Cedric truly upset. How many unsolved crimes in the past six years could be contributed to Death Eaters presumed dead?

After that was accomplished, Hermione helped Cedric organise his data on Draco Malfoy and his known allies, particularly people who had been in his year group at Hogwarts. That group had been a tight bunch, and the only one they'd never been able to connect with Death Eaters _at all_ was Blaise Zabini, even though they suspected he was.

They worked through suppertime with minimal conversation and then only pertaining to the subject at hand, but he had caught her stealing glances at him several times. Cedric had been thoroughly intrigued by Hermione, but, after what he'd learned, he was unsure how he felt about her.

Part of him was stunned; he'd known that she had been very active in the war but had not fully understood to what extent until that afternoon. He was… well, to be frank, he didn't know what he thought about Hermione's feelings for Black. Mostly, though, he was sad; he was sad for the woman before him who had never had the opportunity to live a relatively normal life. It was downright depressing that a lifetime of trying to make the world a better place had left her so broken.

Part of him wanted to give her something to smile about again.

Hermione unsuccessfully attempted to stifle yawn, drawing Cedric's attention. She looked exhausted but driven. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep? We're almost done. I can finish and catch you up in the morning."

She seemed about to argue the point, but thought better of it. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Reluctantly, Hermione stood, vanished her trash, and collected the few documents that she wished to take with her. "Don't stay too late. You didn't get much sleep last night, either."

"I promise I'll go home as soon as I'm finished," he replied, offering a wan smile as reassurance. "Good night."

"Good night, Cedric." As Hermione passed him on her way toward the exit, she dropped her hand on his shoulder, her littlest finger just grazing his neck, and gave a light squeeze that he felt all the way down to his toes. His breath hitched involuntarily in his chest, and his pulse quickened; he felt ridiculous, like a schoolboy with his first crush. But he knew that Hermione meant nothing by it other than as a friendly goodbye gesture.

He could feel her touch long after she'd left and spent at least five minutes willing the heat in his face to abate and attempting to force his heart rate to return to normal. With one simple, innocuous gesture she'd made him seventeen again, asking Cho Chang to the Yule Ball.

His last thoughts as he heard the main door to Archives close through the deserted hall were that he doubted anyone _really_ knew Hermione Granger, and that he had absolutely no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

**10:10 p.m.**

Hermione took the lift up to the Atrium and Apparated to her room from one of the Apparition points. Carelessly dropping her things onto the floor, she flopped back onto her bed and lay perpendicular to the head. The window was directly aligned with her body, and the moonlight blanketed her in a pool of liquid silver.

Her head was all sorts of muddled. Thoughts of Sirius, Cedric, the Weasleys, Pettigrew, and the Malfoys swirled around the maelstrom of her consciousness until she was dizzy with them. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours that it was almost impossible to absorb. The whole thing was driving her quite mad.

Desperately, she wanted to simply lie there and not move, not think, not _breathe_ even, until the spinning stopped. But every time she drew near some sort of equilibrium, her palm would tingle in remembrance of Cedric's firm shoulder beneath her hand, and she'd hear his quiet but sharp intake of breath as though he was lying right next to her. She examined her fingers in the moonlight as though she might be able to detect some residue of his presence.

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione forced herself off the bed and walked around the foot to her valise. Quickly, she stripped and donned a pair of sleep shorts and camisole. After a moment's deliberation, she rummaged amongst her toiletries until her hand found a small plastic pillbox.

She dry swallowed two of the little white sleeping pills before crawling between the cool sheets. After all, she could hardly hope to sleep when every time she closed her eyes she saw Cedric's pained look of realisation as he took in her and Sirius' sleeping forms. The mere memory of that charged moment made her pulse quicken and her stomach knot in such a manner that she couldn't help but wonder what _exactly_ she'd gotten herself into.

**Saturday, 7:30 a.m.**

Hermione buried her head beneath her pillows as what sounded suspiciously like knocking resounded throughout her otherwise silent room. She did not know what time it was, but decided that it was much too early for visitors and resolved to go back to sleep. Her caller had other plans.

Finally, with a growl of annoyance, Hermione kicked her way free of her blankets and nearly fell out of bed. She stumbled to the door and flung it open with the intention of telling whoever it was where they could stuff their wake-up call.

"One would think that my failure to come to the door would be proof enough of my disinclination to accept visitors at this ungodly hour, but one would obviously be mistaken."

"Err… sorry?"

Brushing her hair out of her face and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hermione noted with no small amount of mortification that she was standing in front of Cedric and wearing very small pyjamas. "Jesus, Cedric, I'm sorry," she said. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Half seven. I'm sorry I woke you, but I'm going to be gone all day and wanted to talk to you before I set off."

Hermione made a valiant attempt at running her fingers through her atrocious bed head but was distracted by how ardently Cedric was fighting to keep his eyes above her neck. She couldn't stop the blush that coloured every square inch, but she did resist the urge to cover up in order to avoid drawing more attention to her dishabille than was necessary.

"Let's go downstairs, then. I'll need at least two cups of coffee if you expect me to remember anything an hour from now." Without really waiting for a response, Hermione padded over to her discarded clothing form the previous day and tugged on her jeans. She considered throwing on the shirt as well, but decided on a light green track jacket instead; the Leaky Cauldron could be quite chilly in the mornings.

Double checking she had her room key and slipping into her sandals, Hermione joined Cedric in the corridor. He politely stepped aside, allowing her to walk before him. She could feel his eyes lingering on her back but was not entirely capable of putting the sensation to words. He was not merely looking at her, but studying her.

On top of that was the unhappy feeling that whatever camaraderie they had developed was under serious strain. She wondered if it had anything to do with the photograph that was still stowed in her back pocket. The real question was: _why_ had that photograph affected their relationship in such a profound way? She and Cedric had only been in each other's company for little more than a day. What difference did it make if he knew she and Sirius had been together a lifetime ago?

When they reached the bottom, Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him. "Can I get you anything?"

"Just coffee, thanks. I've already eaten."

"All right."

Hermione made her way to the bar to place her order while Cedric went toward the back and claimed the very booth at which they'd met the night he'd brought her to Sirius. After Tom quickly filled three mugs of coffee and informed her that her breakfast would be out shortly, Hermione joined Cedric at the table.

"Thank God for coffee," she said, sliding in opposite him. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Cedric popped open his briefcase, which was on the bench beside him. Hermione hadn't even noticed it before. He pulled out a depressingly thick file and handed it across the table to her. "That is your complete list of Death Eaters who died, excluding those killed during Auror Division sanctioned combat and those who have died in Azkaban. Open it."

Hermione did as he asked and began thumbing through the top pages. She was impressed by Cedric's thoroughness; he must have spent hours on it last night after she'd left him. His attention to detail rivalled hers.

"I've included a brief summary of the circumstances surrounding each death as well as maps of the various cemeteries where they're buried. I have the individual plots already marked for you." Cedric continued without waiting for her to respond. He was on a mission this morning, but Hermione was a little taken back by his crisp demeanour. "This," he said, handing her an individual piece of parchment, "is a diagnostic spell they developed in Charms when that mass grave was found two years ago."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. She hadn't heard of any mass grave and wanted to ask Cedric about it, but he just kept talking.

"The Ministry has never thought to use it to confirm the identities of deceased Death Eaters, but it will tell you whether or not the body in the grave matches the name on the headstone." He pulled a plastic badge out of his briefcase and handed it to her as well. It had her photograph on it, the one from her file, next to a large, dark purple '4'. "That badge will get you into Level Four Archives without me if you need to access birth and death records."

"Wow," Hermione breathed. She downed an overly large gulp of coffee and nearly choked on it. That had been a lot to take in first thing in the morning. "This is amazing, Cedric. Thank you." She offered him a small smile, hoping he'd return it. For some reason it was extremely important to her that they be on good terms. The thought of him helping her only out of a sense of obligation was distressing.

"Think nothing of it."

Hermione's breakfast arrived, but she pushed it aside, wanting to wait until Cedric had departed so that she would not be eating in front of him. She finished her first cup of coffee and began spinning the empty mug on the table. "May I ask what's called you away?"

He leaned forward and stared into his heretofore untouched coffee. "I'm going to Azkaban."

Hermione gasped and nearly panicked. She would never forgive herself if he had to go to prison just for helping her. "What? Why? Did someone find out about the other night?" she asked, referring to his hand in arranging her reunion with Sirius.

Cedric's eyes widened, realising Hermione's misassumption. He waved her off. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm going there to interview some prisoners who might be able to give me a lead on Draco Malfoy."

Hermione ought to have been relieved, but she was still upset that he was going there at all. Even though the Dementors had been absent from Azkaban for over a decade after their return to Voldemort, the sorrow and suffering endured there by thousand of wizards over the past seventeen hundred years had become part of the building itself; desolation had seeped into the stone, the mortar, the very foundations of the prison, and Hermione had learned first hand that even being there for a short time was emotionally draining. The first time she'd had to visit as an Auror, she'd vomited in the kitchen sink immediately upon Flooing home; she'd felt the ancient screams vibrating in her very bones. She remembered mourning for Sirius and the twelve years he'd spent there in the cramped and freezing cell not even long enough for him to lie down properly.

Impulsively and with total disregard for the distance she now felt between herself and Cedric, Hermione grasped his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "Don't go there; not for me," she pled. "I know I asked you to help but not like this."

Cedric looked her in the eye for the first time that morning, and she couldn't help but notice how utterly exhausted he looked. But he seemed moved by her concern. Absently, he brushed his thumb over her knuckles and a rash of goose bumps chased up the entire length of her arm. She suddenly felt sixteen again when George had held her hand for the first time.

But the nostalgia quickly faded into confusion as she watched the expression on Cedric's face became resigned and then hardened with resolve. Gently, he removed his hand from Hermione's and ruffled his hair, much in the same manner that Harry used to do.

"This isn't just about you and Black anymore, Hermione," he said.

"What do you mean?"

He raked his hand through his hair again, this time more out of frustration than anything. "Because the deeper I dig, the wider I cast my net, the more inconsistencies I find. I've been through property purchases, deed transfers, financial transactions, international travel records – _everything_, but I always dead end."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I don't understand. That just means that Pettigrew isn't with those people which means we're one step closer to finding who he _is_ with."

"But I keep thinking about what you said about Malfoy yesterday. The more I look at all of the unexplainable deposits and withdrawals and the overnight Portkeys to the continent, the more I think all of those dead ends aren't really dead ends at all.

"I found eleven magical properties that have been transferred without sale in the past three years, and three of them were to aliases. Blaise Zabini made nearly seven hundred thousand Galleons last year, but I can't find a single employment record for him anywhere, ever."

"And you think Draco is behind this?"

"I don't know yet, but I doubt that an enterprising and ambitious young man such as he would have been lolloping about for the past six years, do you?"

Hermione had to admit that he had a point. Draco had been a spoilt prat in school, but when the war had entered full swing, he had supported the Dark Lord whole-heartedly and ably. By the end, Auror Division had suspected that he had more pull amongst fellow Death Eaters than his father.

"So, what do you think it is? Racketeering? Drug or potion smuggling? A new Dark Lord rising?"

"Are those my only choices?" Cedric said with a rare stroke of sarcasm. "If I had to guess, I'd say all three."

**9:43 a.m.**

Cedric had left a few minutes later, and Hermione had managed to eat her breakfast in peace. At that hour most of the other patrons were too anxious to be about their Saturday business to notice her bushy head hiding in the back. While she ate, she quickly but efficiently read through the file she and Cedric had spent the entire previous day compiling. This was a task she had honed to perfection while at school and had continued to successfully apply to all of her endeavours.

After hastily downing a third cup of coffee, she had rushed upstairs to shower and dress, this time in jeans and a white tank top. She would be out of doors for the majority of the day and wanted to dress as lightly as possible without drawing too much attention to herself. After living as a Muggle for the past few years, she failed to see how Wizards could wear robes when it was well over thirty degrees outside.

After packing a small khaki messenger bag with anything she thought she might need for the day, Hermione Apparated to the first cemetery, which was in Cornwall and very close to the Burrow. She was glad she had an extremely busy day ahead of her because thoughts of anything but the task she had set for herself were just too confusing and distracting to allow.

The first grave Hermione came upon was over forty years old, and she used it to practice the Identification Charm Cedric had provided her. The first part of the spell required her to enchant a quill to record the data recovered, but the second part was more difficult to master. It took her a frustratingly long amount of time before the charm worked properly; she hadn't realised just how out of practice she was.

Partially apprehensive of what she might discover but mostly relieved to be doing something proactive, Hermione began her tedious search.

**4:05 p.m.**

By late afternoon, Hermione enthusiasm was flagging but not her determination. If Cedric could spend the day at Azkaban, she could do some simple grave-checking. Unfortunately, her task was not nearly as distracting as she'd anticipated which left plenty of space in her head for things she'd rather not think about, like her depressing situation with Sirius and Cedric's odd behaviour that morning.

In fact, she was so focussed on these things that she almost missed the first anomaly the Identification Charm had recorded. She was at the Lestrange family plot near the Scottish border and recast the charm on the grave three times before she accepted that it was not the charming Bellatrix interred there, but her sister, Andromeda Tonks.

Hermione feverishly tried to remember the last time Andromeda Tonks had been seen. She had not been overly involved with the Order, but they had been able to call on her in a tight spot once or twice. Hermione froze, recalling that Andromeda had gone missing a short three weeks before the final battle, and it was obvious that she had never been found.

For the first time since she left the Wizarding world, Hermione regretted not keeping up on current events. But this was where Cedric's diligence came through. Hastily, she flipped through the file they had spent the entire day previous compiling until she found the sheet labelled 'Bellatrix Lestrange'. Scanning the document, Hermione learned that her body had been discovered in the Atrium after the final battle complete with her Walnut wand and her wedding band and sporting the Dark Mark on her left forearm.

It was clearly Andromeda's body they'd found – the sisters were eerily similar in appearance and probably more so in death. Hermione would have put money on Bellatrix having kidnapped Andromeda with the intention of faking her death if Voldemort wound up dead. It was a shockingly faithless act on her part, being the devoted follower that she had been, but most definitely Slytherin. Self-preservation was paramount amongst Snakes.

Feeling ambivalent about her findings, Hermione hastened to finish her list.

**5:53 p.m.**

The final two cemeteries wielded, miraculously, four more names: Antonin Dolohov, Barden Yaxley, Alecto Carrow, and Severus Snape. Hermione was unsurprised that all of the Death Eaters who faked their deaths were of the first war; they were by far the cleverer and more dangerous – with the exception of a very limited few – and naturally would have been more likely to have contingencies in place should their Lord fall.

She was, however, grateful that Alecto's brother, Amycus, was in Azkaban and had been since before the end of the war; alone the siblings had been trouble enough, but together they'd been an unholy force to be reckoned with. Barden Yaxley, if Hermione recalled correctly, was as adept with the Imperius Curse as she was with Memory Charms. Dolohov, on the other hand, would pose a serious problem if he was at all involved with Draco Malfoy or hiding Pettigrew; he was not ambitious, but he was a sadist and killed without discrimination or remorse.

All three had died under suspicious and unattended circumstances with limited remains found. They had been identified based solely upon small personal effects found with the bodies. Hermione did not even recognise the names of the bodies in the graves, and made a mental note to cross reference them with Muggle Missing Persons reports after Sirius' trial.

Snape, however, was another story. As far as the Ministry was concerned he was a Death Eater, but there had been times when which side of the war he was working for had been less certain. More than once he had provided the Order directly with very useful information. Hermione was not very fond of him and had come to the conclusion very early on in the war that Snape was on his own side and no one else's. Of the total five Death Eaters who had faked their deaths, he was the only one who had 'died' _before_ the final battle, not during or after, which led Hermione to believe that he hadn't really wanted anything to do with it or that he had fallen out of favour with Voldemort. Both were plausible.

Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she hadn't had any lunch. Tired but feeling as though she had accomplished something with her day, Hermione Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron for a shower and some supper. There was much to think about and still more to do, and she was on a deadline.

**8:30 p.m.**

If Cedric had to stay inside Azkaban for one more second, he feared he'd lose his mind. He had been to the Wizarding prison many times on Division business, but never had he remained for more than half an hour. He was very grateful that he'd lived his life on the right side of the law.

To make matters worse, his interrogations had proved fruitless on the whole. None of the prisoners questioned were now, nor had they ever been Death Eaters; they were small time criminals serving light sentences for the very crimes he suspected Draco Malfoy of organising. But, either these thieves and smugglers were more loyal than he had anticipated, or they really did not have a clue for whom they worked.

Cedric still had three interviews but decided for sanity's sake that they could wait until morning. After double checking his briefcase, he went to the Control Tower where he would sign out and retrieve his wand before Apparating back to the Ministry and then home. Just as he stood on the Apparition dock, the guard manning the security desk called out to him.

"Auror Diggory, wait! A letter came for you by Direct Owl about an hour ago."

Curiosity piqued, Cedric returned to the desk to accept the post. Direct Owls were Division trained; they did not locate addresses, but people.

"Blasted bird tried to fly through the wards into the prison proper. I had to Stun it to get the letter."

"Thank you," Cedric replied, slipping his finger beneath the purple wax seal and cracking it open. Swiftly, he read the short missive:

_Diggory, see me as soon as you receive this – K. Shacklebolt, CoAD_

Wondering at Shacklebolt's urgency, Cedric stepped back onto the dock and Disapparated to the Ministry of Magic. The secure room in which he arrived held the only point of entry and egress from Azkaban. He waited patiently for the door to open.

After a moment, a mechanical female voice said, "Auror Cedric Diggory, born the thirteenth of May, nineteen seventy-seven. Identity confirmed, have a nice day."

The door slid open, and Cedric walked down the short corridor to the lift. Inserting his security clearance badge into the scanner next to the door, he pushed the button that would bring him to MLE.

Shacklebolt was in his office filing some paperwork despite the late hour. Cedric knocked even though the door was open and entered when Shacklebolt waved him in.

"Have a seat, Diggory," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

Shutting the door behind him, Cedric accepted the offer and waited for his boss to finish what he was doing. At last he laid down his quill and leaned back in his chair, regarding Cedric as though he was sizing him up for some task.

"Miss Granger is an extraordinary woman, isn't she?" he said, finally. "She's always had a knack for drawing out the best in those around her."

Cedric was flummoxed. He had a hard time believing that he'd been summoned do discuss Hermione's finer character traits. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't follow you."

Shacklebolt leaned forward again, and looked Cedric right in the eye. "I know what you're doing, and I have a pretty good idea why you're doing it. That's why I had these drawn up."

Cedric picked up the papers Shacklebolt slid to him across the desk and scanned the official-looking documents. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you sacking me for helping Hermione?"

"On the contrary. What do you know about the Confederate Intelligence Division?"

Now Cedric was really confused. "As in CID? The 'theys' and 'thems' of the Wizarding world?" Shacklebolt nodded. "No more than the next man, I expect. It's supposedly an international intelligence organisation. I don't even know if it really exists."

"Got it in one, Diggory," Shacklebolt said. "CID does exist, and those are your reassignment papers." He opened the top left desk drawer, withdrew a manila envelope and tossed it across the desk. "I've also had Miss Granger temporarily reinstated as AD Intelligence. She will be directly under your purview. Her paperwork and both of your new identifications are in the envelope. I trust you'll get them to her; I think it's best if you both avoid my office from this point on."

Cedric's Azkaban-wearied brain was having trouble wrapping around what he had just been told. Unless he'd misheard, Shacklebolt had just made him a spy – a spy for an agency that most wizards left to fiction novels and conspiracy theorists.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because Sirius Black is a good man who drew the shortest straw life had in her hand. I _did_ fight by his side, and I _do_ believe he's innocent, but you and I both know that I cannot be seen to have had a hand in this."

"I do understand that, but how does reassigning me make my job any easier?"

"You are now officially above board, but below the radar – you are above the legal system in general. As of right now, your means justifies your end. Your security clearance has been upgraded to level six, Agent Granger's to level five. Everything AD and CID has is now at your disposal. Do _whatever_ it takes to bring Pettigrew to justice."

"Whatever it takes?"

Shacklebolt nodded. "I don't want to know what you're doing, why you're doing it, or to whom. I am no longer your supervisor; I am your handler. I just file the paperwork when you complete your tasks. Contact protocols and just about everything else you and Agent Granger need to know are included in that file. Burn it when you've memorised them."

Cedric collapsed back in his seat, utterly overwhelmed. Shacklebolt had just handed him the means to either jump or circumvent nearly every hurdle between him and Hermione and finding Peter Pettigrew – and probably Malfoy as well. It was almost too good to be true. He had been prepared to work without any support whatsoever.

"Wow, I don't know what to say. Thank you, sir."

Shacklebolt waved him off. "None of this 'sir' business; I'm not your boss anymore. And think nothing of it. It was the least that I could do."

Cedric stood and offered his hand to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had just made the most difficult case of his career to date far less so. The imposing man shook his hand.

"I've already taken the liberty of reassigning your current case load to other Aurors, so you needn't worry about that. Finding Pettigrew is priority number one, as far as you and Agent Granger are concerned. Oh, and I've arranged for you to interview Black."

"What? I thought-"

"You're CID, now, Diggory. CID is not affiliated with the Ministry in any way; you are above the Wizengamot. They'll be expecting you at eleven hundred hours tomorrow. Directions are also included in the file I gave you. Good luck."

Cedric bid his former boss farewell and made his way home in a daze. This was all too bizarre. No, it was surreal; things like this didn't happen in real life. He felt like a character in a poorly written crime drama novel – complete with the attractive yet emotionally unavailable partner. He felt so ridiculous, in fact, that he almost dreaded telling Hermione; she'd probably laugh at him. That would definitely be a task left for the morrow.

_Hermione._ Cedric had hardly allowed himself to think about her since they'd parted ways that morning. He had been single-mindedly absorbed in his task at Azkaban, which was a good thing, else he might have accomplished even less than he could claim as it was. She made him feel irrationally protective and weak in the knees and about as collected as an unmade jigsaw puzzle. She made him wish that he had a chance, which was _absurd_ because they'd only been a part of each other's lives for two days. What did he have that would trump however many years she'd had with Black? _Why_ was he so concerned about where he stood with Hermione?

And now he would have the pleasure of interviewing the Notorious Sirius Black in just fourteen hours. What would he ask him? Cedric didn't know how he could bear to look at the man knowing what he knew, let alone interrogate him. Cedric wondered if Black returned Hermione's feelings.

Frustrated, Cedric made himself a pot of coffee, warmed up some questionable leftovers he'd found in the back of the refrigerator and sat down to commit as much of the information Shacklebolt had provided him to memory before he passed out from sheer fatigue. Mostly he didn't want to think about Hermione anymore. It was downright annoying to want to be near someone yet be as far away as possible from that very same person at the same time.

He wondered what she thought of him, or if she thought of him at all.


	5. Day 7: Sunday

_A/N: So, wow, has it been a long time. I really am sorry that I haven't been able to post anything in the past, like, year. But, my muse seems to have returned for the time being. -does happy dance- Thanks to everyone who's read this far and for your wonderful patience. The second half of this chapter gave me fits, so I hope you enjoy it. Please review, I'd love some constructive criticism._

_Oh, and a million thanks to India, who's the greatest beta. She handles my panic attacks so adroitly. It's amazing, really. Many thanks also to Felena1971 (check out her work, too!) for helping me write Sirius and for her excellent guidance in general. _

* * *

**Day 7: Sunday**

**4:30 a.m.**

Cedric and Sirius had engaged in a knock-down, drag out fight for Hermione's headspace. She'd been ignoring the thoughts all day, but alone in her dark room with nothing else to distract her there was really only a token protestation preventing them from running rampant. She rather wished one of them would win already.

With a cluttered head, Hermione dressed and left to wander the streets of London. It was heavily overcast and smelled of rain. The city's lights reflected dull and orange off of the low clouds, making everything feel close and dirty. She could feel a headache coming on.

She and Sirius had been through so much together. Even before they had crossed the friend-lover line they had been there for each other – no matter what. They'd seen each other at their best and at their worst. They'd been there for the good, bad and everything in-between. Hell, he'd given her most of the good memories she had of the five years during which the war had raged.

Hermione's lungs tied themselves in knots when she thought about what Sirius had said to her the other night, about moving on and forgetting him. She was absolutely mortified that she had kissed him as she had, especially since the act was, apparently, neither appreciated nor returned. Her stomach turned uncomfortably. Hermione had been in love with him for so long that she didn't know how to _not_ be in love with him. She had given him this huge piece of her heart and was having trouble accepting that it was forever lost. Sirius would take it with him to his grave.

And then there was Cedric, who was unlike anyone she had ever known. He was unscarred by the war, which was rare, but his life experiences had left him without the naïveté or delusions that their world was safe, which she found very common in other countries. Despite this, he was inherently kind and patient, and he had an understated intelligence that she found extremely attractive.

_There. _She admitted it. Hermione was attracted to Cedric Diggory. Her stomach flopped again. Was a simple attraction supposed to summon such guilt? She didn't think so, but she'd been trying to squash the feeling for two days to no effect. Why did everything in her life have to be so damned complicated?

Hermione's feet ceased carrying her forward of their own accord and she, surprisingly, found herself standing before a familiar sight. She was in Hyde Park, staring at the upside-down tree as if in a trance. As a teenager, Hermione had brought Sirius to this part of the park as Padfoot on a near-daily basis during the holidays, which were inevitably spent at Grimmauld Place.

That's when their friendship had begun – that summer after Voldemort returned. Hermione had had a falling out with her parents over Harry and the war that was coming and just about everything else having to do with the magical world, but she had refused to turn her back on everything because her parents were afraid. Not long after she, Harry, the Weasleys and Remus Lupin had set up at Grimmauld Place had she decided that she and Sirius both needed something to lift their spirits.

Everyone had vehemently protested these outings, but they would not be deterred. Both she and Sirius had needed the time away from the old mansion, the subdued air that had enveloped their loved ones and the war in general. At Hyde Park they were just a random girl with her enormous black dog playing fetch or harassing the odd footballer that came their way. Padfoot had especially enjoyed chasing the unprepared athletes; even as a dog Sirius had been more than mischievous for the both of them.

They had continued making their visits to the park until the Order moved to Rhosyncroft in September of nineteen ninety-seven. The Shropshire estate had fields and gardens galore for Padfoot, and it was well enough removed from civilisation and had enough security charms on it that Sirius was able to go outside as a man.

But that was over and done with; she would never be able to get back that easy camaraderie, and it made her want to cry. She knew beyond a doubt that she would not be able to be _just_ friends with Sirius – it was all or nothing.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione sank down onto a nearby bench and waited for the sun to rise, even though it would hardly be noticeable with the heavy cloud cover. Daybreak was marked only by a slight lightening of the sky from ominous and smoky to a silvery grey and by the lampposts flickering off.

Hermione wondered if Cedric had been at all successful yesterday at Azkaban. It would be terrible for him to have been in that awful place all day and come up with nothing. She couldn't help the shiver that chased up her spine at the mere thought of having to spend more than ten minutes in the horrid place.

It was beginning to rain. Hermione debated staying at the park and soaking herself well and fully, but decided that she had a lot to do, and now seemed as good a time as any to get started. With another tired sigh, she walked around the other side of the upside-down tree and Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom was already up and about, and as soon as he saw her he poured her two cups of coffee. "An owl came for you, not five minutes past," he said, withdrawing the missive from his apron pocket. "Same as yesterday?"

"Yes, thank you," Hermione replied graciously. She took the letter and her coffee and went to her usual booth at the back. She quickly drank half of one mug before cracking the blue wax seal and unfolding the parchment. It was from Cedric:

_Hermione-_

_We need to talk. Meet me at The Mason Arms at 22 Conval Street in Dufftown at one o'clock this afternoon._

_-Cedric._

Hermione couldn't quite say why, but the letter made her uneasy. It was so... brusque. She frowned as she refolded the parchment and put it in her jacket pocket. Cedric was right – they did need to talk.

**10:10 a.m.**

Cedric couldn't help the growl that rumbled in his chest as he glanced impatiently at his watch. He had only one interview left, but only fifty minutes before he was expected at Level Thirteen and that didn't include travel time. At last, the guard led a shackled Geoffrey Watkins into the interrogation room, where he sat and was chained to the table.

If Cedric had not already read Watkins' file fifteen times, it would have been impossible to glean any sort of information about this man's previous life simply by looking at him. He had been in Azkaban for nearly three years, and after a certain amount of time all of the inmates looked the same: filthy, emaciated, unkempt and mildly deranged. Geoffrey Watkins was no different.

He was forty-seven years old and was serving a twelve year sentence for distributing Class One Narcotic potions to Muggles. While Watkins glared daggers at Cedric through lanky, brown fringe, Cedric idly thumbed through the stack of papers before him, projecting nonchalance and not the itchy impatience he felt bubbling just beneath the surface. This was one of the first things he had learned about interrogating criminals: never let them see your true emotions - they feed off of them, toy with them, and ultimately give nothing away.

Cedric's patience paid off. Watkins broke first.

"I see the Ministry is still sending children to do men's work," he said with a sneer.

Cedric ignored the slight and continued to scan the pages of Watkins' file. "I don't work for the Ministry," he replied smoothly.

Watkins snorted. "That badge for decoration, then?"

"Something like that."

There was a pregnant pause where Watkins processed and decided how he felt about Cedric's words. He could feel the inmate's eyes boring holes through his forehead as though he could force Cedric to look at him by will alone. Cedric turned another page.

"Who _are_ you?"

It was Cedric's turn to pause. When he finally met the other man's gaze he was pleased to see that he had already made Watkins uneasy. "How's your son these days?"

Watkins' bristled. "I expect you already know the answer to that."

"Indeed. Landon Watkins, born the fourth of April, nineteen ninety, was arrested ten days ago for three counts of Malicious Muggle-baiting, Possession of a Class Two Narcotic, and for violating the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry," Cedric said matter-of-factly. "He's been in Ministry holding since his arrest. I guess the apple didn't fall terribly far from the tree."

Watkins glared suspiciously at Cedric. "If you're not an Auror, then who do you work for and what do you want?"

Cedric ignored the question. "If convicted, he's looking at seven to ten years for each Muggle-baiting charge, six to eight for the Possession – more if the Wizengamot can prove Intent to Distribute, and he'll be expelled from Hogwarts and his wand snapped for the Decree violation." Cedric paused. "He'll be nearly your age before he breathes free air again, Mr. Watkins. That's assuming he survives, of course."

Watkins paled considerably, but his voice was steady. "What's your point?"

Cedric's gaze did not waver. He was really going out on a limb with this guy, having only the assumption that he worked for Malfoy and not someone else. But he was hardly going to let this opportunity slip past; he was running out of patience, ideas, leads and - most importantly – time. This proposition was a calculated risk, but he was willing to take it. He truly felt that both he and Hermione were correct about Draco Malfoy and his potential connection to Peter Pettigrew.

"_If convicted_," Cedric said pointedly.

Incredulously, Watkins stared at him. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That depends."

Watkins cringed as though he expected saying the words aloud to cause him physical pain. "You'll get my boy off the hook?"

Cedric drew a slow, deliberate breath. This was the point of no return. "Yes."

"And what part of my soul do I have to sign away for the service?"

Cedric would have breathed a sigh of relief, but they weren't through yet. Popping open his briefcase, he removed a ready-filled quill and a piece of parchment and slid them across the table. "I want the name of your employer, all known associates, and your contact protocol."

Watkins looked like he might be sick.

Hastily, Cedric continued, "Mr. Watkins, you have been placed in the glorious position of giving your son twenty-seven years of freedom and the right to use magic. Make the right decision." Then he watched with bated breath as the inmate swallowed hard and reluctantly reached for the quill and parchment.

He began writing. "Understand: I only met the bloke once, and I don't know if this is even his real name, but he told me to call him Theo. And he was just _my_ boss. I answered to him, but he answered to someone else."

"Are you certain?" Cedric asked, fighting to keep the excitement from his voice. He had a hunch who Theo was, and if he was right then they really might be one step closer to Malfoy and Pettigrew.

"Yes," he replied irritably. Cedric noticed his hand was shaking slightly. "You better take care of my son. If they ever found out that I peached..." He shook his head and slid the parchment back across the table. "Let's just say it would have been better had Landon ended up here."

Cedric nodded grimly as he collected the parchment and quill and put them back into his briefcase. He'd read it later at lunch with Hermione. "I'll see to it. Thank you."

Before Watkins could utter another syllable, Cedric was gone. Rushing down the corridor back to the Control Tower, he glanced at his watch. It was almost quarter of eleven, leaving him approximately fifteen minutes before his interview with Black.

His stomach knotted up. Cedric hadn't told Hermione about his temporary access to Black, and he felt terrible about it. He justified his actions by saying that it would be easier to talk to Black if he was not focussed on Hermione – a legitimate concern – but Cedric was not deluded. He knew that his motivations were partially selfish as well. It would be difficult enough to talk to Black knowing how Hermione felt about him; it would be _impossible_ to do it with Hermione sitting in the same room. Her presence was already distracting enough.

After reclaiming his wand and signing out, Cedric Disapparated to the Ministry. While he waited for his identity to be verified, he removed his AD uniform robes. They had only been a ruse to gain access to Azkaban and he had to walk several blocks through Muggle neighbourhoods to reach the hidden entrance to Level Thirteen. The directions were the same; only the time of day and the password had changed.

Cedric had been preparing for this meeting since the night before, but he still had no clue what to expect. Black obviously had some good qualities to win Hermione over so thoroughly, but the man was a mystery. There were few alive who had known Black on an intimate basis, and the not knowing made Cedric feel like a first year trainee conducting his first interrogation – and he and Black were even on the same side.

All too soon, in Cedric's opinion, he came to the hidden alley with the iron door at the end. He glanced at his watch: ten fifty-three. With a deep, bracing breath, Cedric spoke the password and disappeared down the stairs two at a time to Level Thirteen.

**11:06 a.m.**

Looking at Black looking at him was making Cedric far more uncomfortable than he had anticipated. His first encounter with the inmate had been a week ago when he was sent to investigate a Trespassing Alarm that had been triggered at Godric's Hollow. That man had been a sad and defeated human being who had completely lost the strength and will to soldier on. The man observing him from the other side of the iron bars was a vibrant bundle of nervous energy who looked like he'd crawl right out of his skin if he wasn't looking at the sky, and soon. Sirius Black was not a man to be contained, and there was a fire in his eyes that would have melted steel to make his freedom a reality.

Cedric knew the only thing that had happened which could have possibly brought on the dramatic change in disposition was Hermione. She had brought him back to life in thirty short minutes, and the thought filled Cedric with a simmering animosity that left his blood rushing through his veins and his head muddled with confusion.

Why should he feel such hostility towards Black? It was not as though Cedric was romantically involved with Hermione, and he should be grateful for Black's return from the land of the Living Dead. His new-found zest for life would sharpen his mind and his memory and perhaps allow him to aid in his own defence.

So where did this caveman urge to punch Black in his perfect nose come from?

"You're the bloke who brought me in," Black said, bringing their staring match to a close. These were the first words to be spoken between them.

"Aye," Cedric replied, perhaps a bit more curtly than he'd intended. He was unaccustomed to forcing himself to remain polite. He readjusted his grip on his briefcase, being reluctant to move any larger part of his body. He did not want to seem uncertain or nervous.

Black was studying him with those sharp grey eyes again. "Are you here in an unofficial capacity, or have you misplaced your uniform?"

Cedric smirked. "Unofficially official."

Black eyed him for a moment longer before barking out a deep, genuinely amused laugh. His laugh was intoxicating, and Cedric had to fight the urge to allow his smirk to turn into a grin. He already felt himself being pulled off his guard.

With an unnatural grace, Black stepped backward and flopped onto his cot. He fairly lounged, propped on his elbows with one foot resting on the opposite knee. Anyone else would have missed the bed completely, while Black merely looked bored.

"To what do I owe this unofficially official visit?"

Cedric paused to consider the best reply, feeling an intense one-upmanship forming between the two of them. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't seem to stop it. "I'm a friend of Hermione's."

Sitting up straight, Black was immediately curious. "What did you say your name was?"

"Diggory."

"Got a first name?"

"Cedric."

Black arched an eyebrow. "Tri-Wizard Champion, Cedric Diggory?"

Cedric nodded.

"How are you involved with Hermione?"

Well, that wasn't a loaded question. "Is there something in particular you'd like to know, Black? If there is, just get it out already. I came here for a reason, and I'd rather not waste time bumping chests with you over Hermione."

In one fluid motion, Black stood and crossed to the bars. There were hardly a foot apart. "Are you shagging her?"

Cedric's modesty was outraged. "You see, now, that's what the history books just can't _quite_ capture: you have this indescribable charm about you. It's astounding, really." What had Hermione seen in this guy?

"It does defy words, doesn't it?" he replied with a cheeky grin. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Whom I chose to take to my bed is hardly any concern of yours," Cedric said with no small amount of glee. Let him draw what conclusions he chose. "Are you finished?"

"Why did you come here?" he bit out, glaring suspiciously.

"We need your help."

Black looked sceptical, before he apparently came to a realisation. "She's asked you to help her, hasn't she?"

"She has," Cedric admitted. He noticed that Black seemed considerably more at ease now that he understood Cedric's motivations. "Anything you can contribute will be greatly appreciated."

"She's told you everything?"

"Everything that matters." The tone of Cedric's voice conveyed that he knew more and how he felt about that extra knowledge.

"And you believed her?"

"Hermione is very... passionate."

"Yes, she is, isn't she?" Black replied with a hint of nostalgia colouring his voice. His eyes locked onto Cedric's again. "You like her don't you?"

Cedric considered the question and how exactly it was meant to be perceived. "I'd be a fool not to," he answered truthfully.

Black snorted. "You _are_ a fool if you're chasing after Wormtail; although, I'm glad she swallowed her pride and asked for help."

Cedric was caught slightly off guard by the statement. It seem like a concession, for the time being, that Black would deal with any possible attraction between his former lover and the Auror standing before him if it meant that Hermione would come out of the whole ordeal with her life. The metaphorical chest-bumping had apparently come to a close, and now Cedric felt a bit silly for it. There was absolutely no reason that they should not be able to work together like two mature adults.

Eyes still locked, Cedric solemnly said, "I don't want her to get hurt anymore than you do. Now, what say you lend us a hand?"

Bowing cheekily, Black said, "Sirius Black, at your service."

Cedric snorted.

**12:37 p.m.**

Despite Cedric's initial misgivings, Black was actually growing on him. They had spent the past hour and a half scouring over all of Cedric's documents, bouncing ideas off of each other and generally getting along. He couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not.

Black was upbeat and vivacious, in stark opposition to their previous meeting, offering snide remarks and witty anecdotes from time to time. Cedric found himself chuckling on more than one occasion. And Black _was_ charming, in a sarcastic sort of way. Cedric was receiving a small glimpse through a tiny window of the man who had won Hermione's heart. He was nearly as refreshing as she was.

He was disorderly, almost sloppy in his perusal, but there seemed to be a method to his madness. He saw some hidden pattern that Cedric, being so far removed from the war as he was, could not even begin to fathom. Black asked seemingly random questions to which Cedric had to dig for the answers, and would then merely hum his contemplation or look curiously at Cedric before returning to whatever he had been reading at the time. It was often infuriating that he did not share his musings with Cedric, who was pretty much just along for the ride at this point.

Cedric wondered exactly what it was that Black had done for the Order. He imagined that, due to his escaped mass murderer status, he was not involved in field operations, so what had it been? A couple of off-hand comments gave Cedric the impression that the Order had been, or at least had become, a well-run and fairly complex organisation. He had never really given it much thought until then and decided to ask Hermione about it.

There was a sudden flurry of movement from inside the cell as Black began hopping from one stack of papers to the next, leafing hastily through each until he found what he was looking for with a triumphant grin. He looked at Cedric.

"How much of this has Hermione seen?"

"About half," Cedric replied. "The other half we were planning to discuss this afternoon. Why?"

Hopping over a line of papers, Black crouched next to where Cedric was sitting and shoved a sheaf of parchment through the bars. "This property in northern Liverpool – is there still a warehouse on it?"

"I would assume so. There aren't any demolition records; although, I haven't had time to cross-check with Muggle records yet." Cedric turned his gaze form the parchment to Black, who was looking very excited. "What about it?"

"I can't believe I didn't put it together sooner," Black said, shaking his head. "It was one of the properties transferred to an alias, correct?"

"Aye, Marius Noir," Cedric recalled.

"Well, this building, unless my memory has completely failed me, was where the Death Eaters had kept all those kids they kidnapped in ninety-five and ninety-six."

Cedric shook his head in confusion. "There is absolutely no record of that whatsoever."

"There wouldn't be a record of it. The Order received intelligence that they were going to off the kids, and we didn't want to wait for all of the red tape and paperwork to clear, so we did it ourselves. It was Hermione's first mission. Ask her about it."

"And Marius Noir?"

"The name Marius Noir, I believe, is a joke by someone who is intimately familiar with my family tree."

Cedric huffed impatiently. "And?"

Black was looking very smug. "'Noir' is French for 'Black', obviously, and Marius was my great uncle on my mother's side. He also happened to be the only Squib ever born to the Black family. He was disowned, and, since his name has been scorched off the family tree at Grimmauld Place and the house burnt to the ground, I'd wager it was Narcissa, considering her charming sister Bellatrix has been dead for six years."

_Hopefully,_ Cedric thought darkly. Hermione would be able to confirm or deny that. "More and more of this is pointing directly to someone in the Malfoy family," he said, not voicing his concerns. "Hermione thinks that Draco is behind this and is more than likely hiding Pettigrew."

"Why would she think that?" Black asked.

Cedric opened his briefcase and removed the note Hermione had found underneath Pettigrew's bed and showed it to him.

"Since Lucius died last year, she thinks the debt may have been passed on to Draco."

"It's been known to happen," Black mused.

"That's what I said."

Black handed the note back to Cedric with a very grave expression on his face. "Draco was a spoilt little prat when he was a kid, but he grew up into the monster his father always wished for. Keep her away from him for as long as you can, Diggory."

Cedric had no idea what the other man felt for Hermione or to what degree, but the tone of his voice told him that he was fiercely protective of her. She had a knack for inspiring such concern for her safety.

Cedric must have had his thoughts written all over his face because Black continued, his voice heavy with regret. "A long time ago she gave me my life back. It would be a shame for her to lose hers on my account."

"I'll do my best," Cedric promised, "but you know even better than I that Hermione does whatever she feels is necessary. If it comes down to it, I won't be able to stop her."

"I know," Black replied, accepting Cedric's promise as it was. There was a weighty pause. "You care for her, don't you?"

"I do," Cedric said quietly. This was the first time he had allowed himself to admit it, to himself or aloud.

Black chuckled sadly. "She does that: one minute you're just floating along through your life and _bam!_ She's everywhere, and the only thing you know is that you don't want to let her go."

Cedric said nothing. He did, after all, have an idea of what Black was speaking. He had not spared Hermione Granger a single thought until she barged into Shacklebolt's office demanding to see Sirius Black. Ever since that moment he hadn't been able to get her out of his head.

"How is she?"

"Lonely; frightened; driven."

"Listen," Black said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "If this doesn't work out, make sure she's taken care of. Hermione does not deal with failure very well."

"I'll do what I can," Cedric said. It was a tall order, to be sure, but he was nothing if not diligent.

Again, Black accepted his words in silence. Cedric looked at his watch; it was nearly one.

"I have to go," he said.

Without a word, they began collecting files that had been strewn all over the floor on both sides of the bars. When Cedric was all packed, he stood and offered Black his hand.

"Thank you for your help."

Black shook it with a sly grin. "You're lucky I could fit you into my busy schedule."

Cedric resisted the urge to roll his eyes but smiled nonetheless and headed down the corridor.

"Oi, Diggory!"

"Yes?" Cedric said, stopping and turning to face Black.

"You're not really shagging her, are you?"

"A gentleman never tells, Black."

Black's grumbling was heard all the way to the door, and Cedric could not help the smug smile that spread across his face.

**1:05 p.m.**

Hermione had had a miserable morning. She was sick to death of people staring at her; she was sick of the whispers and the surreptitious pointing. She was sick of being treated like a heroine while the real heroes were the ones who hadn't made it.

She was sick of the anxiety that plagued her constantly. There was only one week left until Sirius' trial, and her frustration seemed to grow exponentially with each passing hour. Instead of blasting every building in her path down to its foundations searching for that despicable rat, Pettigrew, she was stuck at the Ministry researching. The rational part of her head told her such a display would be a dreadful idea, but that didn't make the process any easier to endure.

She was sick of not knowing where she stood with Cedric. His behaviour toward her was so erratic, like he wasn't quite sure what to do when he was around her. And here she was, on her way to meet him for lunch, and she couldn't decide whether she should be excited or nervous or both. Both sounded like a good idea.

And _Jesus Christ_ if she wasn't sick of being right all the time. A half a morning spent in the Hall of Records – a section of Archives that dealt only with birth and death records and that required higher security clearance – confirmed what Hermione had discovered during her search of the various graveyards throughout England: Antonin Dolohov, Barden Yaxley, Alecto Carrow, and Bellatrix Lestrange were, in fact, still among the living. It was likely that Bellatrix had returned to the Malfoys, but Hermione did not even want to think about what Yaxley, Dolohov, and Carrow had been up to these last six years.

Snape, on the other hand, was another story entirely.

What made the Hall of Records truly unique was that every single piece of information was updated magically, not manually. When a magical child was born and officially named, a Certificate of Birth was created and when the person died, the date and time were magically recorded. The spell that made it possible was very similar to the spell on Dumbledore's old register at Hogwarts, only more extensive. Hermione had checked the other names on the sign-in ledger. In the past decade, only four people had been granted access to the Hall of Records.

And Snape's was gone. Not lost, or misplaced – _gone_. It was literally as though Severus Snape had never existed.

The heavens looked as though they would open up and drown the world at any moment, so Hermione picked up the pace as she made her way from the Apparition point in Dufftown towards her rendezvous. It was just past one when she arrived at the Mason Arms.

The small local restaurant's interior was done in cream and brick red with matching tartan tablecloths, giving the room a warm and cheerful vibe. Cedric had yet to arrive and the only other person present was a middle-aged man towel-drying a row of glasses at the bar. He smiled and said hello, telling her that if she seated herself someone named Davina would see to her shortly.

Walking to the very back of the room, Hermione climbed up to a raised portion of the restaurant that held two tables. It would be the perfect place for working in relative privacy once Cedric arrived.

A flock of butterflies soared through Hermione's stomach, and she cursed her stupid nerves under her breath. Ever since she'd admitted to herself that she was attracted to him, even the smallest thought of him brought about a similar reaction. It was utterly ridiculous. How was she to spend the whole afternoon with him?

The heavy bass of torrential downpour filled the room as the rain started up again. It had been going off and on all morning and was promising to continue for the rest of the day.

Hermione had just set her attaché case on the table and was about to take her seat when the door opened and Cedric burst into the room, his hair and shoulders wet, followed by a gust of chilly, damp air. The bartender made a humorous comment about being caught in the rain. Cedric smiled and laughed as he shook the water out of his hair and then straightened it absentmindedly.

Hermione stared. She had never seen Cedric in Muggle clothing but immediately decided that she much preferred them to wizard's robes. The blue oxford clung to his broad shoulders and across his chest, and he had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean but muscular, tanned forearms. Grey trousers hung low on his slender hips; they were excellently tailored and accentuated all the right places.

Cedric must have felt Hermione staring at him from across the room because, just as she shook herself out of the trance she'd fallen into, he spotted her. The smile that had already graced his features took on a warmer note, causing her to blush. She waved him over and waited to seat herself until he joined her.

Hermione watched expectantly as Cedric bounded up the stairs. Now that they were in closer proximity, she noted that his eyes, which always drew her attention, matched his shirt perfectly.

So focussed on his eyes had she been that what happened next caught her totally off guard.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he said. Then he bent and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Hermione's breath hitched in her chest. The action had been so casual and natural. Had he meant to do it, or had it been an accident? What had happened in the past thirty-six hours to change his brusque demeanour to such an affectionate one?

Blood burned in her cheeks when she sensed him tense slightly, having realised what he'd done. He was suddenly uncertain and awkward, yet not really in a hurry to put any distance between them. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face, not when he was that close.

Funny, though, how all she could _really_ think about was how soft his lips were.

"I've only just arrived," Hermione managed to choke out as he reluctantly pulled back. She breathed in; he smelled like rain and peppermint. Why hadn't she noticed it before?

"I'm glad," Cedric said, clearing his throat. He was obviously concerned that he'd insulted her.

He politely gestured for her to take her seat before seating himself opposite her. Neither would meet the other's eyes, but they were spared the painful moment by their waitress, Davina, arriving to take their orders.

"What would you like to drink?" she asked.

"Gin and tonic," Hermione answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. Her nerves were on fire, and she was hoping to douse them.

Davina arched an eyebrow. "And you, sir?"

"The same," Cedric replied.

Davina smiled at Cedric and recited the day's special. Cedric ordered spicy meatloaf with mashed potatoes while Hermione ordered cauliflower and cheese soup. After Davina left with their orders, the tension between her and Cedric remained unbroken, but they were at least able to look each other in the eye.

"Have you had any luck?" Cedric asked.

"That depends on how you look at it," Hermione replied darkly. Her findings were disturbing, to say the least. "You?"

"Yesterday was dreadful, but today has been quite productive," he said, genuinely pleased.

"You go first. I've had just about all the bad news I can take at the moment."

Cedric looked at her curiously but did not push for details. He always seemed to know when to let things drop. He opened his briefcase, removed a manila folder and handed it to her across the table.

"What's this?" she asked as she opened it. Quickly, she pulled out the first sheet and scanned its contents. The document had the official AD seal at the top and had her name written in three different places in a vaguely familiar hand. "Cedric?"

"I went to see Shacklebolt last night, and he gave me that. I am the newest agent to join the Confederate Intelligence Division, and you've been reinstated as an AD Intelligence officer. Between the two of us, I think we may have access to more resources than the Minister herself."

Hermione stared at Cedric for a long moment, completely flabbergasted. She shook her head as though to clear it. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

Cedric nodded.

The bartender arrived with their drinks. Hermione downed half of hers in one go. Kingsley's unsought for help was a little overwhelming. If all of this meant what she thought it meant, then they no longer needed to fear legal repercussions from their actions.

Hermione smirked. "At least I know why I kept receiving departmental memos this morning."

"I'm sorry," Cedric said with a chuckle. "I expect Shacklebolt had planned on my telling you last night."

Hermione waved him off but made the mistake of meeting his gaze. She blushed immediately. It had been a very long time since someone had looked at her like that.

"You said you found something?" she said, taking another sip of her drink so she could hide behind her glass.

"Aye," Cedric said. He shuffled through his papers until he found what he was looking for. Hermione noticed how disorderly his briefcase was, which was odd because he was just as meticulous as she.

Cedric then told her about a man named Geoffrey Watkins who had worked running illicit potions for someone named Theo before he was arrested. This was potentially a really good lead, especially if 'Theo' really was Theodore Nott, as she and Cedric hoped.

He found what he was looking for and swiftly read it over. His eyes widened at something. "Here, read this," he said, handing Hermione the sheet. He then began shuffling through his papers again.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, trying to decipher the nearly illegible scrawl.

"The contact protocol Watkins gave me. Does that address ring any bells?"

"I've only been to Liverpool once, and I'm really not that familiar with the area."

From near the bottom, Cedric pulled out a small stack of papers that were clipped together. "That address," he pointed to the document in Hermione's hand, "is barely four blocks from this address." He handed her his stack. "Which was one of the properties transferred to an alias: Marius Noir."

Hermione's brow wrinkled as she read the second address. It was definitely familiar to her. She didn't think she'd ever be able to remove that night from her memory. "There's a warehouse there; am I right?"

Cedric nodded, looking relieved.

"I think we need to initiate that protocol today. It would be too much of a coincidence for this 'Theo' to not be Theodore Nott."

"I agree, but what do you know that I don't?"

Their meals arrived, and Hermione waited until Davina was out of earshot before answering "The year after you left, Death Eaters were kidnapping children of Ministry employees from Hogwarts and no-one could figure out how they were doing it. Well, it took a little sleuthing and a lot of eavesdropping, but Harry, Ron, and I eventually figured out that it was Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and, we suspected, Draco who were kidnapping the children and then sneaking them off the grounds. We actually caught Nott trying to take Ginny Weasley. He escaped, unfortunately."

"I remember hearing about the disappearances from my father when I was abroad, and I knew that they'd all been rescued safely, but the details were rather pushed under the rug."

"No, the details were set on fire and the ashes scattered over the Atlantic."

Cedric quirked a smile, and Hermione hid behind her drink again, realising how dramatic she sounded.

"Minister Bones was a member of the Order, so the Ministry was not openly against us like it was under Fudge, but there was only so much she could give us by way of support. When we got the tip, we were told that it would be at least eighteen hours before she could get any sort of tactical team off the ground because they'd have to wait for verification and reconnaissance to come back. We couldn't wait that long."

"Why not?"

"Because, according to Dumbledore, the children were to be executed at dawn the next day – a mere seven hours away. Minister Bones did not trust Dumbledore's source, so we assaulted the warehouse at two that morning. It was Harry's, Ron's and my first mission."

"Weren't you all underage?"

"Yes," Hermione replied with a slow smile. "But we'd been training all year and Alastor Moody placed this charm on us that blocked the Ministry from targeting our magic. Besides, all we really did was sneak in behind the assault and Portkey the kids to safety."

Cedric looked impressed. "I hadn't realised Dumbledore was in the habit of allowing underage witches and wizards to join the Order."

Hermione felt herself blush a little, remembering what right pains in the arses she, Harry and Ron had been the summer before their fifth year. "We were very persuasive."

Cedric leaned back and took a sip of his drink, observing her all the while. "I bet you were. I seem to remember you lot having the unique ability to get whatever you wanted some way or another."

"Yeah, we did."

"What about Black? What did he do?"

"The night of the raid? He nearly paced a hole clear through the parlour rug at Grimmauld Place, is what he did."

"I can see that," Cedric commented.

Hermione wondered what he meant and was about to ask, but Cedric continued.

"What about in general? What did he do for the Order?"

"In the beginning: nothing," Hermione said. "I think Dumbledore was afraid he would do something reckless and get himself caught or killed, but he didn't realise it was the confinement that was killing him. Sirius, more than anyone I've ever known, was not meant to be locked up. That's his greatest tragedy, I think. He's spent the majority of his life in one cage or another," she finished softly.

There was an incredibly awkward silence. Hermione resisted the urge to squirm while Cedric watched her, so she spun her glass in circles on the table. It was so weird to talk to Cedric about Sirius, despite the fact that he was what had brought them together.

Cedric reached across the table and covered her hand with his, halting the nervous motion. She had to force herself to breathe for a moment before looking him in the eye. What was he doing to her? She lost all composure in his presence.

"Calm down. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, it's all right." Taking a deep breath, Hermione spoke in a rush. "After Dumbledore died, just before we were set to start our sixth year, the Order fell to shambles and was close to disbanding. A couple of months passed with everyone bickering and floundering around without leadership and near-daily Death Eater movement, when Harry called everyone together and told them that he would be assuming control and that anyone who didn't like it could go bugger themselves." Hermione laughed sadly. "You can imagine how well that went."

Cedric's hand was still on hers, but she couldn't make her arm cooperate enough to remove it. It was soothing to have the contact.

"Eventually, most of the original members came around, and Fred and George recruited a lot of people from kids we went to school with. Before long we had numbers enough to actually combat Voldemort. Then Harry split us all into departments, I guess you'd call them, and Sirius was one of the leaders.

"His job was to coordinate between the other departments and with Kingsley when necessary. He was also sort of our emergency dispatcher – everything was routed through headquarters, and he made sure everyone was going where they were supposed to. He was perfect for the job because he never really left the house. The only problem was whatever system he had didn't make any sense to anyone else. I maintain that he didn't make any sense _at all_ and that he was just really good at pulling the right information out of his arse when he needed it."

She and Sirius had had many a row over his disorderly mode of operations. His general disregard for organisation on the most basic of levels had always outraged her fastidious nature.

"And what did you do?" asked Cedric. He leaned back in his seat, finally releasing his hold on her hand.

Hermione took another sip of her drink. This was truly the first time she had spoken about the war since its end, and it was harder than she'd thought it would be. She had put so much effort into burying the memories, and Cedric was effortlessly dragging them back to life again.

"Anything and everything. Whatever needed to be done, and there was _always_ something."

Davina appeared suddenly, wanting to know if everything was to their liking or if they needed anything. Both Hermione and Cedric realised that they'd hardly touched their food and tucked in.

She was grateful for the excuse to cease speaking about the war. Whoever said 'time heals all wounds' was a bloody moron.

*~*

After finishing lunch and ordering tea, they got down to business. Cedric listened in grim disbelief to Hermione's findings. That five of Lord Voldemort's most dangerous and cunning servants had escaped the war and justice was inconceivable. He fervently hoped that he and Hermione would not have to deal with them personally in the near future.

The disappearance of Severus Snape's birth records was equally distressing. There were not that many people with clearance high enough to gain access to the Hall of Records, and they were, for the most part, of the higher political echelons and ranking Auror officials. The theft would definitely need to be investigated once this Black business was over.

The only bright spot in Hermione's morning seemed to be that the records indicated that Peter Pettigrew was still alive, as were the remaining Malfoys.

Another pot of tea for Cedric and two cups of coffee for Hermione later, they finally completed their information exchange. Despite the excessive amount of caffeine in Hermione's system, she seemed remarkably at ease. Their lunch had begun stiffly and awkwardly, but by the end he and Hermione had reached some sort of comfort zone. His pulse still quickened when their hands brushed, and she still blushed prettily when their eyes locked, but she was no longer jumping out of her skin at the slightest contact.

And Cedric was pleased to note that his breathing had returned almost entirely to normal.

"So, what time shall we meet tonight?" Hermione asked as they walked together towards the Apparition point.

"How about eleven? That way we'll have time to go over the maps and create some sort of plan should something come up," Cedric replied. "Do you want me to drop those names off at the Muggle Liaison office? I have to go to the Ministry anyways."

"Sure, thanks," she responded. "It'll save me a trip. I've had enough of that building to last me the next decade, I think."

When they reached the Apparition point, Hermione opened her attaché case, found the list of Muggles buried in Death Eater graves and handed it to Cedric. He put it in his trouser pocket.

The silence that fell was a little awkward, but Cedric was determined to maintain the level of comfort they had achieved. He cleared his throat. "What will you do now?"

"George Weasley has a shop in Hogsmeade. Ginny all but ordered me to visit."

Cedric laughed. "You should pick up some of their less damaging products while you're there."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea. So, I guess I'll see you tonight then."

"Eleven, sharp."

Hermione chewed her lip for a moment before standing on tip-toe and briefly brushing her lips across his cheek then hastily stepping back. "Until then."

With a _crack_, she was gone.

For a long moment he just stared at the spot where she had stood, unable to help smiling. Perhaps he had a chance after all.

**3:45 p.m.**

As Hermione walked through Hogsmeade, she could not help but think how very little the sleepy Wizarding village had changed in the past six years. The town had remained untouched by the final battle, and, other than a giant 'W3' above where Zonko's Joke Shoppe used to be, the only difference Hermione could spot was that Madam Rosmerta had recently bestowed upon the Three Broomsticks a fresh coat of paint.

She took her time walking the length of the main thoroughfare, excited about seeing George again, but nervous at the same time. Ginny and Molly both had made it seem as though he would be angry with her. Not that she would blame him, but she would still like the chance to ask his forgiveness.

The streets were nearly deserted, but Hermione didn't want to draw attention to herself by pausing outside the store, so she walked right in. A soft chime sounded as the door opened, and an instant later George's head popped around the end of an aisle to see who had come. There was a thump and a crash as he dropped whatever was in his hands.

George looked exactly as he had the last time she saw him, if only a little older, but she doubted much wiser.

"Hullo, George," Hermione said anxiously.

George continued to stare, looking for all the world like he'd been punched in the gut. Hermione hadn't seen that look on his face since Percy died, and it broke her heart.

Until that exact moment, she had never realised just how much pain her actions had caused those she loved most.

After a minute or so, it became clear that George would not be moving anytime soon, so Hermione very cautiously walked to him, stopping when she was within arm's reach. His eyes bored through hers for the entirety of the short trip. She took a deep breath, knowing she was not in any way prepared for this.

"Geor-"

"Three days," he broke in, closing his eyes like looking at her face just hurt too much. "Three days I sat by your bedside waiting for you to wake up. It took three days for Mum to finally drag me home and make me rest, and when I went back in the morning one of the orderlies told me that you'd died during the night and that they'd _lost your body._"

George was trembling, and Hermione braced for the eruption. He had never been quick to anger, but Hermione knew him well enough to recognise the signs. He was _furious,_ but she knew she deserved his wrath, too.

"How could you be so fucking selfish! After everything that happened, all the people that died – fuck; all that you and I went through, how could you do something so thoughtless and cruel?"

Hermione flinched, suddenly wishing she could run away. The truth was that she had never allowed herself to ask those questions, to demand an explanation of herself. She had been callous and unkind and self-absorbed. At the time she had not been able to see past her own grief and now, looking at George's face, she was seriously regretting her decision to flee.

"George," Hermione began unsteadily, "I know that an apology would not even begin to make amends for what I've done, for what I've put you through, but it is a start.

"When I woke up in hospital," she continued, more softly, "and I remembered everything that happened during the battle and everyone that died, I panicked." She stared at her feet, ashamed. "I couldn't handle it so I ran away like a coward.

"I know now that I never should have left, at least not like I did. I know that it _was_ stupid and selfish and cruel. I also know that while I may desperately desire your forgiveness, I may never get it. And it would be no more than I deserve."

There was a long pause while George visibly controlled himself. When he spoke again, it was with a forced calmness that was nearly as intimidating as his anger.

"Okay. You panicked; I get that. But why did you _go_? Why couldn't you stay _here_ and panic like the rest of us?"

"To heal," she replied automatically.

_To heal, to heal, to heal, to heal. _It had been a mantra these six years, always coming effortlessly to her lips when she was feeling lonely or afraid. But now it stuck in her throat like bad medicine.

"To heal?" George repeated incredulously. "Like your pain was greater than everyone elses'? Like you were the only person who lost friends and loved ones? Well, I hope it was fucking worth it!"

In a stunning moment of clarity, Hermione realised the sad, ironic truth. The one thing her absence had not brought her was healing. She was no less broken at that moment than she had been sneaking out of St. Mungo's in the middle of the night.

"No, it wasn't," she answered, a bewildered expression on her face. "Not really. Not in the slightest, actually. I feel like someone pushed the pause button on my life, and I've spent the past six years searching for the remote. Only I just realised that someone was me, and I accidentally left the remote behind when I left."

Hermione fell silent, blinking back the sudden tears that were threatening to fall and trying unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in her throat. It had been a long, long time since she'd allowed herself to be so honest, and it left her feeling a little raw.

George visibly deflated as the anger bled out to be replaced with astonishment. "I think I can count on one hand the times you've wilfully admitted you were wrong."

Hermione sob-laughed. "It's not totally unheard of."

The corner of George's mouth almost curled into a smile.

Daringly, Hermione reached out and clasped one of his hands in hers. He didn't pull it away. She took a deep breath and met his eyes.

"Words cannot express how truly, deeply sorry I am. You never deserved to be treated like that. I hope you can one day forgive me my weakness and deceit."

When George made no immediate reply, Hermione began to back away, but he held her firm. He was studying her.

"If you ever leave like that again, you better have a damn good hiding place." Then he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and whispered into her hair, "Apology accepted."

Hermione sighed and returned the embrace.

Time doesn't heal shit, but a little love goes a long way.


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Romance