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Chapter Text

The Portrait of Sirius Black

By: Rae

-A “Harry Potter” Fanfic-

“The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.”

-Oscar Wilde, Preface from ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’

Hunched in a black-backed recliner in the Black family library sat one Hermione Granger, bushy hair falling wildly around her face, her hands gently parting the pages of a book. By the looks of it, it was an older book with worn pages, and Hermione treated it reverently as she read, eyes scanning the words hungrily but blankly. A few pages later she closed the book, having finished it and set it to the side on a table laden with two piles of books.

This particular book she placed on the larger pile and then reached to the smaller one for the topmost book. Taking a moment, she sighed and pulled out a hair tie which she used to pull her long hair back into a messy ponytail before picking up the book to glance at it again. Her eyes scanned over the title listlessly, and she sighed once more before laying the book on the arm of the chair and standing, stretching her back as she did so. Her back gave an enormous pop, causing her to jump slightly, and then she placed her hands slightly behind her on her lower back and pushed back again, just to make sure she had stretched properly.

A moment later she walked aimlessly out of the library, closing the door behind her. It was habit, really; no one else bothered to enter the room, especially now that Kreacher had been cowed into submission by Dumbledore and was back to maintaining the noble house of Black once more. None of the rooms required the serious clean-up that she, the Weasley’s, Harry, and Sirius had engaged in last summer. Her heart gave a pang as she remembered the laughter as they sprayed the curtains to rid them of the doxies and the amusement she’d gotten when Molly realized George and Fred had been sneaking doxies into their pockets for use in their trick boxes.

Walking past the sitting room, she noticed Harry, Ron, and Ginny sitting inside. Harry had only arrived at the Black house the week before, but with his coming, things had turned suddenly bleaker. It was depressing to be in the house with him, and Hermione was nearly broken to realize how much pain her best friend was going through. It made her heart ache to see the raw pain in his eyes when he looked around the house, and she knew it must be difficult for him to be in the house he had hoped to share with Sirius.

She, herself, was never as enamored of Sirius as Harry had been, and she knew it was her fault at times that Sirius was cool with the three of them. It was only logical, she knew, that he would be resentful of her practicality and cautious nature, considering he had always prized risk-taking and impetuous actions. But she regretted some of the harshness she’d always felt towards him, and she especially regretted anything she might have said to make him act coolly toward Harry. For herself, she didn’t mind, but with Harry, she was so worried that he might break from all the pressure he was under.

Now that he was here, she had not seen him so much as crack a smile. His heart seemed buried, and all he showed was a blankness that was starting to scare her, but for the life of her, Hermione didn’t know what to do to help him. So she took her grief, both for Harry and Sirius, with her and disappeared into the library, searching for her books.

Books had always been Hermione’s sanctuary. When she was younger and the children in school made fun of her bushy hair and big teeth, she hid behind books and learned of places she’d never seen before and histories she wished she could be a part of. When she grew older and went to Hogwarts, it was often her books, her textbooks even, that she hid behind once more in her first years when people taunted her for her looks and know-it-all nature, and more than once she had used her books as a means of ignoring the pain from one of Malfoy’s “Mudblood” comments.

With Harry here, she had found herself trying, for the first few days, to engage him in conversation and to draw him out so they could help him. Instead of erupting in a rage as she had thought he would, though, Harry only turned more sullen and remained silent, not making any comments and only responding when absolutely necessary. Hermione was at a loss as to how to get him to open up about the pain she knew he must be feeling, and when Ron and Ginny verbally chastised her for one particular moment of questioning Harry, she nearly broke down. The tension was wearing on her, and that was the last straw. So she did what she would in any circumstance. She retreated to the library and drew up a pile of books to read.

Now, however, she was hungry and quite thirsty, so she glanced into the sitting room as she passed on her way to the kitchen. Ron and Ginny appeared to be engaged in an intense game of wizard’s chess, and Harry was staring listlessly out the window. Hermione paused in her walking and looked carefully at him. She saw the signs of strain on him that he had, so far, successfully ignored. His eyes were perpetually narrowed, and there were small wrinkles beginning to form along his forehead; she knew this from her hours talking with him earlier in the week, trying to draw him out. As she glanced at him, she saw him sigh heavily, and his eyes grew somehow darker and emptier, as when a person has lost all hope. Her heart sank in her chest, and she noted his pursed lips as he continued to ignore the siblings in front of him.

Turning from the depressing scene, Hermione made her way into the Black kitchen, where she found, to her disappointment, Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin engaged in conversation. All talking stopped when she entered, as she knew it would. The two stared at her as she entered.

“How is the reading going, Hermione?” Remus asked kindly, eyeing her wearily as he sipped on his cup of tea.

She spared a small glance for him and noted the shuttered pain in his eyes and the world-weary look he sported almost all the time now. “I just finished reading Emma,” she responded quietly, going to the cupboard. “I’ve read more than half of the books I picked out. Though I do wonder where Sirius found all these Muggle classics. It seems like the kind of thing Kreacher would have disposed of immediately.”

Molly chuckled at that and grinned when Hermione turned to her curiously. “Kreacher would have if Sirius had allowed him into the library. He forbade him from entering and told him if he caught him there he’d give him clothes,” she explained. Hermione raised an eyebrow at that, and Molly caught the unspoken question. “Oh, the books weren’t for him; you know Sirius wasn’t much of a reader. But he wanted some of you all to stay with him. He was lonely all cooped up here in the house with nothing to do.”

Her voice broke off as she realized what she’d said. Turning a bit red, she bustled over to the teapot, turning on the burners of the stove and pulling out a tin of tea to put in when the pot warmed.

Hermione wondered at something Molly had said, though. “Who did he want to stay here? I mean, I know he wanted Harry to live with him, but who else did he want to have come here?”

It was Remus who answered this query. “Well, he got some of the books for me, since he knew how much I love to read,” he said, chuckling a bit at some memory that obviously reminded him of Sirius’s opinion of reading. Getting a nostalgic look on his face, Remus said, “He also knew that I wasn’t likely to get another job anytime soon, not with the Ministry’s decrees and whatnot. Sirius wanted me to move in or at least come visit as often as the Order allowed since I don’t have much else to do.” He paused, and Hermione nodded, understanding what he meant. She’d known, of course, that Sirius was lonely in the Black house with no one but Kreacher and Buckbeak around to entertain himself with.

“But who else did he get the books for? You said he only got some of them for you,” she reminded Remus, breaking him out of his reminiscence.

“That’s right,” he responded, avoiding looking anywhere but his teacup. “He got the rest of them for you. He knew that you and Ron were Harry’s best friends, and he wanted to have both of you over to visit during the summers and such. Sirius told me that he knew you’d be bored if you didn’t have anything to read when you came, so he ordered several Muggle classics and other books for you to enjoy in addition to some of the other books in his library.” His voice grew wry with humor as he added, “Of course, he couldn’t let you read all of them; there are some pretty Dark texts in there, after all. This is the Black family library, you know.” He grinned at the surprised expression on her face. “You really shouldn’t be so surprised, Hermione. Sirius could be quite thoughtful when he wanted to be.”

By this time, Molly had finished brewing the tea, and she set a cup in front of Hermione on the table, and a few minutes later she placed a small plate of snacks in front of the girl, who took the plate and cup and exited the kitchen without a word. Walking back to the library, Hermione’s head was in a fog; she’d never considered Sirius a thoughtful person or even someone who did much thinking before acting. But this showed that he not only cared about Harry’s well-being but he also seemed to care about her, Harry’s friend. It was a shock to Hermione that she’d never noticed this part of Sirius before, and she was quite confused to realize that it hurt her to only realize something like this after he was dead.

Placing the plate on top of the cup, she carefully opened the door to the library and entered it, closing it behind her, before going to her chair. She placed the cup and plate on the table with the books and sat gingerly in the chair, curling her feet underneath her and ignoring Crookshanks, who had slipped into the room earlier, when he tried to jump up onto her lap. She pulled the plate in her lap instead and took a sip of tea before pulling the book she’d picked up earlier into her hand.

She read the title once more. It was another Muggle classic called The Picture of Dorian Gray and appeared to be rather short, like Emma had been. She should be done with it in a few hours, she realized. Pulling the pages apart, she landed on the book’s Preface, which immediately caught her attention. The author, Oscar Wilde, was obviously trying to make a point with this book, and Hermione was determined to figure it out.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she turned the page to the first chapter and began to read the story of Dorian Gray.

Hours later, Hermione was still immersed in the story of the man who had sold his soul for the chance to live forever. She found the story fascinating but especially liked the dynamics between Dorian, Lord Henry “Harry” Wotton, and Basil Hallward. She had read, essentially, that Dorian Gray was the subject of a painting Basil Hallward was doing, and when he found out how beautiful and naive the boy, who was very young at the time the painting was done, was, Lord Henry decided to befriend him. Within only a chapter, Lord Henry had begun his almost innocent indoctrination of the boy to his rather odd hedonistic viewpoint, and by the time Basil finished the painting, Dorian had become strangely enamored of Lord Henry.

As the three gazed on the freshly finished portrait, both Basil and Henry were struck by the beauty expressed in the painting, but Dorian was unusually repulsed after having spoken with Henry about the brevity of youth. Looking at the painting, he finally realized how incredibly handsome he was at that point in time and that his beauty would only fade from this point on. In fact, Dorian was so horrified by this revelation that he swore he would give anything if only the portrait could age and he retain his youth.

Thus, Hermione found, the odd bargain that seemingly sucked the soul from Dorian Gray was struck, and the boy aged no more. Through page after page of vice and debauchery, she read as Dorian turned into a man, coached into adulthood by the haunting tones of Lord Henry and chastised by the reproach of Basil. She read of his love for the actress Sibyl Vane and of his subsequent rejection of her when she failed to act to his standards. Then she read of Sibyl’s suicide and Dorian’s discovery that the painting was, in fact, changing with not only his aging but also his actions.

The next chapters gave Dorian more reason to hate the painting as it changed with his continued debauchery and sinfulness, and Hermione was enraptured by the concept of the painting changing to reflect his character and age. It was like something out of a wizarding fairy tale, and she was fascinated that a Muggle had come up with this tale. Unlike other Muggle fantasies, which were much too far-fetched (even the ones about Vampires) to be believable, this one seemed almost too lifelike for her comfort. For she had seen charmed portraits, in this very house, even, that retained the personalities of their subjects for decades after their deaths. Hermione was enchanted and appalled that such a story could exist, and she simply could not put the book down.

She had just turned the page to the next chapter, where Dorian led Basil up the stairs to the room he had hidden the grotesque painting in, when the door opened. She didn’t hear it, however, so engrossed was she in her book.

“Hermione?” The softly spoken question caused her to jump suddenly, and she looked up into Harry’s blank eyes.

“What is it, Harry?” She asked softly as well, and she waved him into the room.

The black-haired boy shuffled into the room and closed the door behind him, coming to sit in the similar chair on the other side of the table. He looked at the piles of books and then looked at his bushy-haired friend. Pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, Harry relaxed into the chair.

They didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and Hermione took the time to survey her best friend once more. His eyes had closed, and she saw the wrinkles etched into his forehead from his grief, but she also knew that he was still in pain. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to get his grief out and to really mourn Sirius, and it was killing him to be in this house now without having done such a vital thing. Hermione decided she would not push him to talk; he had sought her out, and she would give him his time. Putting a bookmark in her book, she took a sip of her now-cold tea and grimaced a bit. Before she could do so much as put her book down, however, Harry spoke.

“I miss him, Hermione,” the green-eyed boy said, eyes still closed. “And it’s so hard to be here. Where he should be. With Kreacher and Buckbeak and everyone in the Order. He should be here. And I shouldn’t.”

Hermione gasped at this comment. Was Harry beating himself up for Sirius’s death? Did he really believe he should have died instead? “Oh Harry,” she sighed, not sure what else to say. But she didn’t have to say anything because he continued.

“He should be here, and I shouldn’t. Because it’s my fault he died. I should have given them the stupid prophecy, and he wouldn’t have ever had to face any of the Death Eaters,” his voice was breaking now, and his shoulders were hunched, as he spoke. Hermione could see that Harry was very close to breaking down, and she could only watch in suppressed horror as he continued his diatribe. “If I wasn’t so stupid, if only I’d listened to you, if only we’d gotten out of there when we realized he wasn’t there... I just... I don’t... I want him back, Hermione. And the thing is, I know he’ll never be back. And I’m stuck here, in this house, and have to be reminded of him all the time.”

And there it was, the moment she’d been waiting for since Harry had arrived. Hermione knew he would never grieve for his godfather with the Dursley’s; they would never let him forget it if they caught him crying for any reason. And the end of the school year was not the proper time for him to grieve either. So she had been waiting for this since he arrived on the front steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. She slipped from her chair as he pulled up his knees and placed his head on his knees.

Harry began to cry, softly at first, but slowly growing louder as he really began to let out the grief he’d had building since he saw Sirius fall through the Veil. Hermione moved over next to her heart-broken friend and sat on the arm of his chair, looping her arm around him and pulling him into her embrace. His sobs grew louder still and were punctuated by the occasional murmur that she could not place but assumed were exclamations of his grief and guilt. Holding her friend, she rocked back and forth and rubbed his back softly, murmuring in his ear that everything would be okay, that Sirius wouldn’t want him to be sad, that he would be all right. But Hermione was finally feeling some sense of relief at the thought that Harry was able to mourn for his godfather, the only thing close to a real relative he had, and she wanted him to get this out.

The door opened quietly, and she looked up to see Remus and Molly slip in, followed closely by Ron and Ginny, who all looked as relieved as she felt. Hermione continued to hold Harry and comfort him as much as she could, and the other four filed back out of the room, leaving her with him, knowing that he was finally getting some of the grief he carried out.

An hour passed, and Harry’s sobs subsided into heaving cries that eventually melted into the occasional shudder as he rested heavily against Hermione and continued to let his pain ebb from him. Hermione stayed with him all the while, even as Molly checked back in thirty minutes to see if he was all right. They nodded at one another, and the red-haired woman left once again. Some hour and a half later, Harry sat up slowly and looked over at her, his eyes bloodshot and his hair mussed impossibly.

Hermione gave him a watery grin, her own eyes growing teary with her relief that he was going to be okay. Harry gave a small smile in return, the first he’d shown her since arriving at the Order headquarters, and she felt her heart leap.

“I only wish I was able to say goodbye, you know,” he said, looking sadly down at the floor. “If we’d only gotten to say goodbye, this might not be so hard. But he didn’t even have a chance before he fell through the Veil, and all I could do was watch. I couldn’t stop him or accio him or do anything to save him.” His eyes grew watery once more, but he stopped himself from crying. “And now he’s gone, and I can’t say goodbye. Hermione, why does it hurt so much?”

“It’s hard to lose someone you love, Harry,” Hermione told him, feeling very inadequate to answering such a question. “We don’t always get the chance to tell them goodbye, but you have to believe that they understand. The people we love understand if we don’t get the chance to say goodbye because they’ve been there, too. Sirius wouldn’t be upset with you for that, Harry; he would understand. He’s been there, with your parents and your dad’s parents. He knows what it’s like, and I’m sure he’d only be sorry for your sake, not for his.”

Hermione’s voice had grown louder as she said this, and by the end the passion in her voice matched her fervor for S.P.E.W. Harry was staring at her with shining eyes, and when she finished, she realized what she’d done and immediately blushed, turning her head down to the ground.

“Hermione,” Harry said, trying to get her attention. “Hermione, look at me.” She turned her face to him, meeting his eyes reluctantly, and he smiled at her, a true smile. “Thank you, Hermione,” Harry now said, emphasizing his thanks. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh Harry,” she said, in what he had come to associate as her relieved tone of voice. She threw her arms around him, and he caught her up in a hug that landed her nearly in his lap and Harry thrown against the side of the chair. The two laughed at one another, and this was the signal that it seemed outside eavesdroppers had been waiting for.

The doors were thrown open, and Ron, Ginny, Molly, Remus, Fred, George, Arthur, and Tonks all streamed in, grinning and calling to Harry in cheerful voices. It was then that he realized what his pain had been causing, and Harry grew a bit embarrassed that everyone had been so reluctant to be cheerful or to even try to convince him to enjoy life. Glancing at Hermione, he caught her knowing look and realized she was the only one who had really tried to draw him out, and that was why he’d come to her in the end. He smiled in true gratitude at her, and she smiled back, seeming to understand what he was trying to express without needing the words.

An impromptu party was thrown in which Molly shuffled everyone along to the kitchen for a late dinner, and Harry was made to sit between Ginny and Hermione, both of whom were thrilled to be celebrating. Fred and George sent up some new Weasley Wizarding Wheezes sparklers they’d created that flared up in bright colors before fizzling out in the air only to erupt in great explosions seconds later. Mrs. Weasley wasn’t too pleased with this interruption but let it pass when she saw Harry grinning at the twins.

Dinner was excellent, as all Weasley dinners were, and Hermione found herself feeling happy for the first time in days as they began to get back to the way things used to be. Even Remus seemed to be more cheerful than he had been, which was saying much for the best friend of the man who had gone to Azkaban for twelve years only to return and subsequently die three years later. The group carried on for hours, ignoring the pending war, the death of Sirius, the problems they were sure to encounter once they re-entered school and anything else that could possibly make them feel sad once more. At least, they enjoyed themselves until they heard the front door jerk open.

Molly, Remus, Tonks, and Arthur headed to the door to see who had come in, but it was Molly’s shriek that drew the rest of them from their meals. They rushed to the front corridor only to be met with the sight of Remus levitating an unconscious and bloodied Snape up the stairs to the first guest bedroom on the right. The adults followed quickly, Tonks rushing into the sitting room to floo Dumbledore and the others from the Order before heading up the stairs herself. Only a pool of blood on the doorstep gave evidence of the sudden interruption of the party.

“Could one of you clean that up?” Hermione weakly asked George and Fred, who nodded. Fred pulled out his wand and scourgified the spot, as the others watched with morbid interest. A moment later, George grabbed Ginny’s arm and pulled her back towards the kitchen, Fred doing the same with Ron and Harry.

Hermione stood in the doorway a moment longer before turning to follow her friends and wondering as she did what could have harmed Professor Snape. Back in the kitchen, she found Fred and George already scourgifying the remains of dinner in a subdued silence as Ginny put the cold items into the refrigerator. Ron and Harry sat at the table talking quietly. When no one came down, they decided to go to bed, one and two at a time. First Fred and George moved to exit the room, muttering good nights to the others, who responded in kind. Then Ginny yawned and did the same. Finally Ron and Harry stood from the table, both hugging Hermione good night before heading up the stairs.

Exiting the now cleaned kitchen, Hermione decided to go to the library and finish her book instead of going to bed. She didn’t think she could sleep after seeing Snape in such a state, and her emotions were going haywire enough with Harry’s sudden grief and her need to comfort him. Feeling quite sure of her decision, she entered the library and plopped down in her chair, allowing Crookshanks to hop into her lap when he tried this time. Picking up her book, she continued reading.

It was long after midnight when she closed the book, stretching once again as she placed it on the larger pile of books. She was still fascinated with the story, however, and as she lowered her arms, she picked up the book again, making the decision to take it up to her room with her.

Hermione’s fascination had continued with Basil Hallward as he entered the room where Dorian hid his painting, and it had turned to disgust with Basil when he realized what Dorian’s vow had done to himself and his painting. She was horrified when Dorian stabbed Basil and even more so when he hired Alan Campbell to remove the remains. Her heart pounded in her chest when she learned that Alan then committed suicide and Dorian almost got caught by James, Sibyl Vane’s brother. She continued reading through several more conversations of Lord Henry and Dorian before lighting on the last chapter of the book.

It was this, more than anything else, that caught her attention the most. The fact that Dorian went back to his painting to see if his one good deed could make up for the horror his life had become made her pause. And when he saw that the painting was even more grotesque than the last time he’d seen it, she knew then what would happen, even if it was more of a magical ending to the story than a normal Muggle ending. He took the knife he used to kill Basil, and in a kind of poetic justice that Hermione appreciated but did not enjoy, Dorian stabbed the painting, killing himself in the process and turning into the very man he was determined never to be. She found the irony a perfect ending to the story but was still unsatisfied as she wanted to figure out if Oscar Wilde had any wizarding blood in him or if he knew about wizards because this story had her intrigued.

Pushing Crookshanks off her lap, she stood, book in hand, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, however, she heard voices, and she listened hard to see what was being said.

“We’ll have to get someone else, Albus,” Minerva McGonagal’s brogue filled the hallway, and Hermione wondered what she meant. “Severus is obviously impaired, and he won’t be able to do much with his wand for a while. You’re going to have to replace him.”

A soft sigh came from somewhere, and she knew it was the headmaster. “Yes, Minerva, but I wonder if this might not be a sign. Severus has been loyal to the cause for many years now, but I feel this might be the end for him,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll make arrangements for a replacement soon. On both accounts.” The way he said this made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up.

“Will he be all right?” Molly’s voice floated up to her. “He was so pale and there was so much blood when we brought him up. I’m amazed he made it here.”

“As long as he stays here and takes the potions Poppy left him, he’ll be fine,” Dumbledore reassured her. “But don’t let him leave, Molly. He can’t be allowed to leave until he’s fully healed, and that won’t be for a while yet.”

“Albus, he won’t be happy to hear what you’re planning,” Minerva interjected in a warning tone. “He was already making plans...”

“Yes, my dear, but Severus trusts my judgment,” Albus interrupted. “He knows that I would not do this if I didn’t find it necessary. Ah, Remus, I wonder if you have a moment to speak with me...?”

“Of course, Albus,” Remus’s calm tones reached her. “Shall we talk in the library, then?”

Hermione quickly opened the door wider and ducked into the shadows of the hallway, heading upstairs before they could get to her hiding place. She did not stop to listen but instead walked straight to her room. Walking inside, she got ready for bed quickly and slipped under the covers with Crookshanks curled on the end of the bed. Before she fell asleep, Hermione allowed the conversation she’d overheard to replay itself in her mind once more. It seemed Professor Dumbledore was going to be replacing Professor Snape, but he couldn’t be removing him as the potions master, could he? That wouldn’t make sense. Her mind caught on an idea that horrified her; what if he’d been caught by the Death Eaters? But Voldemort would have killed him for such a betrayal, wouldn’t he? Hermione wasn’t sure, and her mind couldn’t form a good explanation for what she’d heard.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but it was not as restful as she would have liked. Indeed, her dreams were filled with haunting visions of laughing skeletons glaring at her from portraits and her professor, lying on his back, pale and bloodied.  

Chapter Text

“The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.”

-Oscar Wilde, Preface from ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

The next morning Hermione awoke from a particularly disturbing dream and gasped aloud, her hand flying to her throat involuntarily. Looking around the room, she noticed that she hadn’t disturbed Ginny in the least, for which she was grateful, and she picked up her wand, doing a quick incantation to determine the time. It was 3 a.m. Hermione sighed softly and slipped out of bed, pulling on her dressing robe and slippers before heading out of the room.

She carried the book with her, determined to reread it for any signs that her dreams might be right. It had been an odd dream, to be sure, full of vague images and screaming portraits, but what caught her attention was the fact that only a magical portrait could age. She knew this would be the case, and there was something strange about the story of Dorian Gray that she was determined to figure out.

Slipping into the library, she pulled her robe closer to her body as the cool room enveloped her. Feeling the need for some tea, she sat the book down and moved to toward the kitchen to see about making some of the warm drink.

“Master wanted Kreacher to destroy it,” came a murmur from the sitting room, and Hermione snuck a peek into the room. “Master told Kreacher there’s no use in keeping charmed portraits. Not when he’s dead.”

Hermione’s eyes grew at the sight of Kreacher standing before the fireplace with various portraits lined up against the walls. Many of these held shouting wizards, all of the line of Black, screaming at Kreacher as he slowly dropped another portrait into the flames. Her mouth dropped open as she heard Phineas Nigellus’s voice coming from one of the other portraits.

“Kreacher, you do not answer to dead Blacks, but that does not mean you need to obey the commands of one who was alive only a short time ago!” Phineas seemed terrorized, and Hermione could imagine the frustration he felt as the portraits around him screeched in horror.

She wondered if Kreacher would listen to her if she tried to stop him, but she knew it wasn’t likely. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up into the tired eyes of Albus Dumbledore, who smiled faintly at her before entering the room.

“Professor Dumbledore...”

“Kreacher, you will stop this nonsense right now,” Dumbledore said in a commanding tone of voice that gave the house elf pause. “You do not have to obey any of Sirius’s commands that he gave prior to his death anymore. You will not burn these portraits.”

Kreacher turned beady eyes to the headmaster and glared before mumbling, “Filthy Muggle lover. Oh yes, Kreacher knows. Kreacher always knows, and my poor Mistress...always being put upon to have half-breeds and Mudbloods staying in her home...”

Dumbledore gave a warning glare to the elf, who finally acquiesced and picked up the portraits that were left. Turning to the door, Kreacher marched out to replace the portraits, muttering under his breath as he left.

“It is,” Dumbledore’s voice began, “a rather odd hour for you to be awake, Miss Granger.” She turned to her professor and saw him smiling kindly at her.

“Ah, well, I-er couldn’t sleep,” she replied. Then she remembered something. “Professor, how is Professor Snape? Is he going to be all right?”

Dumbledore looked at her a moment before saying, “Perhaps a spot of tea would be nice. Yes, shall we head to the kitchen then?” Hermione nodded, not sure what else to say. They entered, and Dumbledore had a tea kettle full of water on the stove before she could move past the doorway. “There, now, that’s better. Hermione, I will be honest with you. Professor Snape is in very bad shape.”

Hermione looked at the older wizard with concern, seeing that the sparkle was nearly nonexistent in his blue eyes. “But, sir, I heard you speaking with the others, and you said he would be fine as long as he took Madame Pomfrey’s potions.” Her eyes widened as she revealed that she had been listening, and she looked bashfully up at the taller man, but he appeared lost in thought.

“If Severus knows what is good for him, he will do exactly that,” he finally said, pulling the now whistling kettle towards him and pouring it into two cups. “Unfortunately, Severus has never been likely to do what he is told, and he will not like being cooped up in this house. I am afraid he will do something drastic, and that could prove deadly for him.”

Hermione gulped and then sipped on her tea for a moment, considering what she’d just heard. She wondered... “Sir?” She asked hesitantly, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. “Did the Death Eaters find out about Professor Snape?”

Dumbledore’s brows knitted together in thought, and she wondered if he would see fit to answer her, but a moment later, he sighed. “I’m afraid one of them did.” Hermione wondered what this could mean. “Lucius Malfoy now knows of Severus’s work of spying on Lord Voldemort.”

This was bad news indeed, but something occurred to the brainy young witch. “Does that mean that Mr. Malfoy is the one who hurt Professor Snape?”

The headmaster’s nod told her everything she needed to know. Hermione wondered how this would work out considering Draco Malfoy was as good as a Death Eater and most of the other Slytherins had Death Eater ties as well. She’d heard Harry’s account of the loyal Death Eaters who returned to Voldemort when he was revived. Most of them had children at Hogwarts, children who would be eager to spy on or hurt anyone who got in their way.

“I believe now would be a good time for you to go back to bed, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore finally said, breaking her out of her thoughts. He stood after she did and then said, “I am going back to Hogwarts; I need to make some arrangements. Sleep well, Hermione.”

She nodded and told him goodnight before heading back to the library. Walking inside, she shut the door and noticed the book she’d put in the chair. Hermione picked it up but didn’t feel like reading anymore. Walking around the small room, she surveyed the books, seeing titles like Dragon Keeping Made Easy and Hexes for the Vexed and various dark titles that she imagined would be quite dangerous to open.

Her eyes fell on a group of books that she found rather odd. Looking at them, she realized why it was odd. The books were encyclopedias, Muggle ones, if she was correct. Feeling curious, she pulled out one labeled with the letters V-W and began leafing through it, looking for any mention of Oscar Wilde. Her curiosity was not sated, however, when she realized it gave mere Muggle facts concerning the man.            

Sighing, she put the book back and then pulled out the one labeled O-Q to see if anything could be found in this one. Though she knew it was a rather silly idea considering encyclopedias were arranged such that you found people by their last names rather than first, Hermione wanted to see if anything could be found on portraits or paintings or even pictures. She pulled open the section on pictures and saw, to her surprise, a listing for the book. It gave a summary and introduction to the book as well as a character guide that she found intriguing but ultimately unhelpful.

Ready to close the book, she flipped back a few pages to the Os. The pages seemed to be stuck together, so she pulled them carefully apart, realizing they were stuck together by a rather sticky article stuck inside them. Pulling the old piece of newsprint out of the pages, she was going to put it back more carefully when she realized something strange. Focusing more carefully on the page, she realized her eyes had not deceived her. The people in the small picture on the page were, indeed, moving!

Setting the book aside, she opened up the page more fully and realized what she was holding was actually three pages from an old edition of the Daily Prophet. Looking down, she saw that the date was some time back in the 1800s, a dreadfully long time ago, and her curiosity filled her again as she wondered what it could be doing in the encyclopedia. Pulling the pages open, she moved over to her chair and sat, allowing the glow from the light to give her what she needed to read.

Looking at the headlined article, she nearly gasped in shock. The title was as clear as if it had just been printed yesterday, and her eyes drank in the words: “Wizard Mis-Incantation Causes Muggle Death: Lord Henry Wotton Confesses His Side of the Dorian Gray Tragedy.” Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she read the article’s author, none other than Oscar Wilde.

Pulling the paper more closely to her, Hermione began to read the strange article that she’d found. She realized immediately that Oscar Wilde’s writing could turn Rita Skeeter into one of the idiotic tabloid writers her mother occasionally picked up at the grocer’s. Her satisfaction with that thought died when she read the beginning of the article.

Lord Henry Wotton asked me to write his story, years after the tragedy that spawned his fall from grace in London’s ton. Why did he ask me to write it? It is because I am a squib. He arranged not only the printing of this article in the newspaper but also the publication of my first novel, titled ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ to be released to Muggle presses tomorrow. But before I explain that, let me begin by recreating the interview I had with Lord Henry just two months ago.

In a ramshackle house on the edge of a long drive, Lord Henry lives in relative silence. He is not harried by a wife, for she left him years ago. He has no more servants, for he realized they were merely going through the motions of service and let them go. His home is a quiet, empty place, but for the lone painting on the wall of the sitting room.

It is the painting that his eyes go to more often than not during our interview. The painting is the reason Lord Henry says he has become this decrepit old hermit, living far away from society and having fallen from the graces of the ton. His stringy gray hair is unkempt, and his once-vibrant blue eyes are now dull with age and haunting pain. The skin on his face is loose and wrinkled, and his clothes are baggy, having long sense outgrown their master.

Yet the painting is that of a master painter. It is the picture of an incredibly handsome young man in the prime of his life. His cheeks are pink with his youth, and his eyes are bright with innocence. He has the body of Adonis, Lord Henry remarks wryly, but the only mar to the painting is the stab mark in the center of the painting, right over the place where the young man’s heart would be.

Lord Henry begins his tale, eyes often going to that painting, as he paints his own picture, a haunting story that leaves his eyes duller than before. It was on a summer afternoon much like this one that he met the incredible Mr. Dorian Gray, a young man who was sitting for his friend Basil Hallward, a painter. In fact, Mr. Hallward did not initially want to introduce the two but had no choice once Mr. Gray arrived. So it was that the ill-fated beginnings of a friendship came about over the painting of a portrait.

By the end of that afternoon, Basil Hallward finished his painting, and Dorian Gray had been thoroughly indoctrinated into Lord Henry’s rather hedonistic viewpoint. As they surveyed the painting, Lord Henry noticed that Dorian grew angry with the realization that he could not stay like the painting, and he muttered that he would rather the painting grow old and allow him to stay forever young. His protest grew more vehement when Basil asked him whether he liked the painting, and the young man expressed great indignation that he should not be allowed to stay forever young in place of this portrait and that he would give anything if such a thing could happen.

What Dorian Gray did not know, however, was that both Lord Henry and Basil Hallward were wizards, wizards working on the creation of charmed portraits that could keep the wizard alive in ways he could not otherwise do. When Lord Henry heard this utterance of his new young friend, he set out to find a way to charm the portrait for Dorian Gray, feeling it would be a terrible waste to have such a beautiful young man lose his youth to age and sickness. When he felt he had the incantation correct, Lord Henry stole into the Gray home in the dead of night and cast his incantation.

However, at the last minute, he lost some of his nerve, wondering if this was the right course of action. With that single hesitation, Lord Henry faltered, and parts of his incantation came out differently than he intended. Not sure what would happen but hoping it hadn’t messed up the spell completely, he decided to leave it and see if anything changed.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Lord Henry watched as Dorian grew into a fine young man, still as beautiful, but much more disposed to cruelty. He was changing, slowly, into a mini-Henry, said Lord Henry. But what’s more, he fell in love with another Muggle, an actress named Sibyl Vane. When she failed to please him, however, he cursed her and drove her away from himself, only to find out that she later committed suicide. Both Dorian and Lord Henry were surprised to discover that not only had the picture altered after this particular tragedy, it expressed some of Dorian’s character: a cruel twist of the lips that kept him from appearing as beautifully innocent as he once did.

Time passed, and eventually Basil Hallward discovered Lord Henry’s blundered incantation. He happened upon the picture in Dorian’s home by accident, on his way back from the bathroom, and he confronted Lord Henry about it only days later. The two agreed, however, not to speak of it again, and Basil, being the good friend he was, simply remained loyal to Lord Henry and silently grieved his young friend’s corruption.

The debauchery continued until eventually Dorian shunned Basil’s friendship entirely. This broke the wizard entirely, and Lord Henry explained, he turned to his Muggle heritage and gave up wizarding forever, putting his wand away. It was for this reason, Lord Henry reported, that Dorian was able to kill Basil one night when he was visiting. Taking Basil to the picture room, Dorian showed him the horror the painting had become; when he turned away from it, Dorian grew angry and grabbed a knife, plunging it into his ex-friend’s temple.

Hours later, he hired deceased wizard Alan Campbell to get rid of the body, but it was too much for the formerly disgraced young man. Alan went to Lord Henry hours before committing suicide, telling him what had happened and how he had contributed. Lord Henry was shocked and left immediately to visit with Dorian, not realizing what Alan planned to do.

After talking with Dorian, Lord Henry allowed the young man’s ruse to continue, quietly mourning the loss of his good friend. By now, his wife had left him, and he was left with the mere friendship of a young man who had turned into a monster. Within a month, Dorian visited his picture one last time, having shut it away to avoid seeing the monster he was turning into. When he saw that his feeble attempt to reconcile himself with the painting failed, Dorian grew violent and grabbed up the same knife he used to kill Basil and stabbed the painting viciously. However, Dorian had never been privy to the secret behind his youth, and he did not know that destroying the painting would destroy himself.

Yes, it was stabbing the picture that killed Dorian Gray, and Lord Henry mourned the losses of his good friends but was especially grieved over the tragedy he’d created of Dorian Gray’s life. And now as I sit with Lord Henry, he cries over the deaths and is inconsolable as he tells me that the invention of charmed portraits came only a month after Dorian’s death. It is, indeed, a true tragedy of epic proportions.

I write this story for my friend, Lord Henry. Only two months after our interview, he died, an old, wizened man with many regrets. My story, based on the tale of Dorian Gray, was my last gift to the man. He begged me to write a novel for Dorian, one that the young man would have understood. For this reason, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ will be distributed among Muggles, that they might see Dorian’s pain, even if they do not understand the magical malady that caused it. -OW

Hermione set the paper aside, shocked at what she had just read and wondering if it was possible that it could be true.

“Hermione?” Once again, Harry’s voice pulled her from her musings, and she saw that he was dressed in his pajamas and dressing robe. Looking at the clock overhead, she saw that it was now 5 a.m., not as suitable a time to be awake as she would like but certainly more so than 3 a.m. She wondered vaguely why Harry would be awake now, but one look at his troubled expression and she knew it was the nightmares again.

“Hey,” she responded, smiling at him. He walked in and again took the seat from the day before. “How are you doing?” Her question was met with raised eyebrows, which she laughed at. “I know you’re still having nightmares, Harry, but other than that...?”

Harry shook his head for a moment before saying, “I just wish he could be here to see all of us in his home. I’m sure he’d even be happy just to see Kreacher.” He smirked when Hermione’s eyes grew comically wide in denial. “At least he could have fun bossing him around. And Buckbeak misses him; I guess they grew quite attached while Sirius was on the run.”

Hermione smiled, remembering the night they broke Sirius out of the Hogwarts tower where he was to receive the Dementor’s kiss. It was a nostalgic smile, but she was still saddened by the thought that Sirius hadn’t gotten much of his life back before he was killed. The papers still called him a mass murderer since Peter Pettigrew hadn’t been seen yet, and she knew he wouldn’t have enjoyed remaining cooped up in the house.

“Do you think,” Harry began nervously, “he’s okay? Wherever he is, I mean. Dumbledore told me they don’t know much about the Veil; that’s why it’s in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. And, well, couldn’t it mean that he’s not really dead, just trapped somewhere?”

Hermione considered that for a moment. “I don’t know, Harry,” she started to answer and then paused, thinking again. “But I think neither Dumbledore nor Remus would rest if they knew that he was merely trapped somewhere; they care about him too much to do that. I mean, if they didn’t believe he was dead, they would do everything in their power to bring him back. Don’t you agree?” She looked at him and caught his nod before saying, “But hundreds of wizards have researched that Veil and some have even gone inside, and none of them have ever come out again. I feel like if they were trapped, someone would have to know a way to bring them back again.”

Harry nodded again, considering her insight, and the two sat in silence for a while before they were joined by Ginny, who opened the door quietly and came inside, nodding at the two of them before going to sit on the arm of Harry’s chair.

“How are you?” She asked him, smiling encouragingly at him. Hermione turned to hide a grin at the obvious feelings between the two.

Neither of them had said anything, but something changed between the two of them after the battle last term. When Ginny refused to be left behind, Harry had to admit some admiration for her, and Hermione was amused by that. After hearing the story of how she hexed Malfoy, Harry had been even more impressed, and then when they all came out of the Department of Mysteries, he had looked at her differently. The same could be said for Ginny, who had stopped dating Michael Corner, and even though she was dating Dean Thomas, there was something lacking in their relationship that Hermione knew was caused by Ginny’s obvious attraction to Harry.

She sat in silence, listening to them talk and did not interrupt until the door opened once again and Ron poked his head in. Seeing them all sitting together, he walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Hey guys,” he greeted. “Everyone sleep well?”

Muted replies met his inquiry, and Hermione grimaced, remembering her dream. She quickly folded the newspaper clipping and stuck it inside her book for safekeeping.

“I wonder if Professor Snape is doing all right,” Ginny casually remarked, glancing around the room. “He looked pretty bad last night.”

“Who cares about the greasy git?” Ron grumbled. “At least if he’s sick, he can’t teach us and take points from Gryffindor all the time.”

“Ronald!” Hermione chided, glaring at her friend. “You should be kinder to him. I mean, he’s been through a lot in the last few hours.”

Harry glanced inquisitively at her before asking, “How would you know, Hermione?”

She blushed slightly before answering, “Well, I overheard the others talking after you all went to bed, and they were saying that Dumbledore’s going to have to replace him. And then I spoke to Dumbledore earlier, and he said that Professor Snape is in very bad shape and that he’s been found out.”

Silence reigned at that thought for a few moments before Ginny voiced the question they all wanted the answer to. “So does the er-You-Know-Who know now?”

“I’d imagine he does since Lucius Malfoy was the one who found out about him spying for the Order,” Hermione replied. “He’s the one who hexed him so badly. Dumbledore said something about replacing him in two places, though, so I can’t imagine where else he would need to be replaced. I mean, he can still do work for the Order once he’s healed...”

“You think they’re going to get a new Potions teacher?” Ron asked, smiling even brighter at that thought. “That would be great! Maybe the new one won’t hate Gryffindor so much and will...”

“I doubt it, Ronald,” Hermione snipped out, glaring at him again. “As soon as he’s well, I’m sure Professor Snape will be back at Hogwarts, teaching Potions like he always does. What I’m more interested in is figuring out who Dumbledore’s asked to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“He can’t get anyone worse than Umbridge,” Harry pointed out, grinning at them and suddenly calling, “Hem hem” in imitation of the toad-like woman.

“That foul, loathsome woman... what a joke of a teacher,” Hermione chewed out, scowling at the thought.

A moment later, Molly popped her head in and ordered them all to come to breakfast, and they quickly filed out of the library to the kitchen where Fred, George, Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Remus, and Mad-Eye Moody were awaiting them.

“What are you guys doing here?” Ron asked his brothers, looking somewhat annoyed to see them. “I thought you had a shop to run or something.”

“Shop doesn’t open till 8, little brother,” George replied, grinning.

“Besides, who’d want to miss Mum’s cooking?” Fred asked, smirking at his brother.

“Morning,” said Remus to Hermione as she sat down on the other side of him.

“Wotcher Hermione,” Tonks greeted. “How’d you sleep?”

“Well enough,” she replied, smiling at them and scooping a bit of eggs onto her plate.

Down at the other end of the table, Moody had cornered Harry and was now conversing with him about the need for some kind of spy detector in his Hogwarts dorm room. Hermione caught the mention of some sort of glass and listened as Harry tried, in vain, to convince the man his Sneakoscope was adequate protection.

Breakfast was, as usual, a loud affair, but when it ended, she realized all the adults seemed to be waiting for something, some kind of signal. A minute later, a piercing shriek came from the sitting room, and Molly leaped up to run inside. She came back five minutes later to stares from her children and Harry and Hermione.

“Ah, that was, er, Professor Dumbledore,” she said, smiling nervously at them and looking pointedly at her husband and the other adults. “He would like to speak with you, Remus.”

“Thanks Molly,” Remus said and pushed back from the table. He left and was back, again within five minutes, smiling about something or other. Everyone watched him with curiosity.

“Well?” Tonks finally broke the oppressive silence. “Did you get it?”

Remus’s grin broadened, and he said, “Albus said he’d be delighted to have me. And apparently Fudge has been... well, rather inclined to agree with him lately, so he didn’t put up a fuss.”

“What’s that, Lupin?” Fred asked, looking decidedly annoyed at the talking going on over their heads.

“Yeah, what’s going on with the Headmaster?” George added.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on, Professor?” Ron asked, looking put out at Remus’s large grin.

“No, I am not,” he finally filled them in. “You’re just going to have to wait and find out for yourselves.”

Groans met this pronouncement, and Hermione shoved back from the table, feeling fuller than she’d been since at least last night. Thanking Molly, she took her plate and cup to the sink to be washed and then headed for the library.

An hour later, she was immersed in books, pulled out from all around the library, and even with the limited number of books, Hermione had managed to procure various books on the subject of charmed portraits. She was poring over them now as the door opened to admit Remus who did not look surprised in the least to see her there.

“How’s it going, Hermione?” Remus asked, looking amused to see all the books she’d pulled out.

It was rather funny, she had to admit. The piles of books that she’d had on the table were still there, but there was a third pile now. And there were two books, each opened and flipped on its inside, placed haphazardly on the arms of her chair. At her feet, various books were sitting, some opened, other closed with bookmarks in them.

“Fine, Professor,” she answered, distracted. Then something occurred to her. “Professor, may I ask you a question?”

He nodded, and she continued, “I wonder if you could tell me what you know about charmed portraits.”

“Portraits?” He asked, and she inclined her head to one sitting above the nearest bookcase. “Well, there’s not a lot to be said for them, is there? I mean, they’ve been around for a long time, and they’re charmed to retain the personality of the wizard or witch in them as well as to keep some of their memories intact to allow them to better interact with other portraits and people. I suppose it’s said that there are different kinds of charms placed on portraits, but that’s the general one.”

“Different kinds of charms? What do you mean?”

“For example, I’ve read about one charm where the person the portrait is being painted of can charm the portrait to retain more life-like qualities like the ability to audibly breathe such that when you’re passing by the breathing portrait, you can feel the breath.” Remus paused a moment, thinking. “I remember learning about a group of people who tried to charm portraits to bring back the dead; that was back in the 1800s, I think. And they were successful in some aspects, but overall they ended up quitting because it was too much.”

Hermione was surprised by this information but kept her thoughts to herself. After talking with Remus a few more minutes, she went back to the book in her lap, thoughts still on what he had revealed. She wondered if it were possible that Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward could be a part of the group that tried to bring the dead back to life. It certainly seemed plausible, based on the article.

Remus sat in a chair across from her, book in hand, and the two sat together reading for hours until they were called to dinner. It was a quiet, comfortable time, but something niggled at the back of Hermione’s brain, goading her into silent contemplation and curiosity.

It wouldn’t be until the next day that she would find something she never expected, something that would change her life and the lives of those around her forever. But for today, Hermione was quite comfortable with the questions and ideas the book and her conversation with Remus had given her.

Chapter Text

“The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.”

-Oscar Wilde, Preface from ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

The next afternoon found Hermione watching an impromptu game of Quidditch. Ron, Harry, and Ginny convinced the twins to accompany them to Hogwarts, under the watchful eyes of Remus and Tonks, who were momentarily free from Order work and, for Tonks, Ministry work. After okaying their plan with Dumbledore, the twins immediately flooed Charlie and Bill, asking if they would like to join in the fun, but only Charlie was able to come.

Hermione was all set to stay at Grimmauld Place and continue reading, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. She listened to her friends for only a moment’s begging before Molly practically ordered her to get dressed and go with them, shoving a picnic basket in her hands as she went. So Hermione followed the group, enjoying the atmosphere of being with friends and even enjoying the fresh air.

She sat with Tonks, who was amused by the antics of the Weasleys and Harry, while Remus walked into the castle for a conversation with Minerva and some of the other professors. It wasn’t long before Tonks had joined in the revelry on a spare Hogwarts broom, laughing and distracting the twins and Ginny with her constantly changing faces.

When she was alone, Hermione pulled out the book that had been haunting her for two days now and continued to read it again, not noticing when Remus came and sat next to her.

“You’re very intent on that book, Hermione,” he finally commented, startling her out of her reading. “What is it?”

She handed him the book and said, “It’s some excellent writing. I really like the plot and characters. I think my favorite is Basil Hallward.” Her lies fell flat even to her ears.

“What are you thinking, Hermione?” Remus asked, genuinely curious. “You’ve obviously got more than just this book on your mind. What-oh, look, what’s this?” He had inadvertently landed upon the pages holding the article.

Hermione grabbed for it, yanking it out of his hands, and then she tried to cover up her impetuous actions. “Uh, it’s um, an article. From my hometown. Ah, my mom sent it to me. It’s-it’s about some of my old friends, and I thought I’d read it while I was here.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at that and asked, “Can I read it, then?”

“No!” Hermione blushed and then said again, “No, um, it’s really rather private. Besides, I’m sure you’d be bored reading about Muggles and their jobs. I mean, Maddie’s doing a stint with the Opera and George is getting into show business, but it’s really not that exciting.” She babbled, pulling out some of the names of distant cousins and vaguely remembering that their jobs were actually somewhat interesting. After realizing what she’d said, Hermione mentally cursed herself for it.

A muffled scream and shout of “Ginny!” caused them both to look up, only to see an unconscious Ginny falling to the ground, having been hit by a Bludger to the head. Charlie, Fred, and George were flying fast after her, and Harry had just gone into a dive, trying to save her.

Remus and Hermione could both see that they would not be able to catch her, so Remus pulled out his wand, saying a quick spell, and froze the unconscious girl mid-fall, allowing Harry, whose broom was fastest and therefore closest, to gather her into his arms. Everyone flew to the ground where Harry, Remus, and Hermione sat with Ginny, trying to revive her.

“Huh-uh, what’s happened?” She asked when they finally wakened her. Her eyes were out of focus, and she looked confused to find herself in Harry’s arms on the ground.

“You got knocked out by a Bludger,” Fred said, looking abashed and staring at her in concern.

“Sorry, Gin, it was my Bludger. Didn’t mean to do it,” George added, blushing slightly at his still addled sister.

“Come on, you lot,” Tonks now spoke, taking control of the situation. “We’ll need to get back. Molly will have a cow when she finds out what’s happened. Remus, do you have that portkey?”

Remus nodded, producing an old green bean can that looked extremely dirty. Everyone circled round, putting hands out to touch the portkey before they whirled out of sight into the alley a block away from the Black house. Harry carried Ginny, who he refused to let walk despite her constant complaining, and the twins and Ron carried the brooms, making the whole group a rather odd sight to the few Muggles roaming the streets. When the coast was clear, they all pictured the home in their minds and waited for it to become visible so they could enter.

Once inside, Molly had Harry take Ginny straight up to bed, promising to bring them both some dinner, which Hermione thought was a rather amusing ploy to get Ginny to stay in bed long enough to check out her injuries. Charlie left for his flat, stating that he had a date and couldn’t stay for dinner, something the twins found hilarious. They also left a moment later with the excuse that there was a new addition to the Skiving Snackboxes they were working on that required their attention.

Remus and Tonks went with Molly to make sure Ginny was all right, but it wasn’t long before the three of them were back in the kitchen, Molly working on dinner while Remus and Tonks sat at the table and talked to one another in quiet tones. Ron seemed at loose ends and wound up sitting in the kitchen with them, not sure of his welcome in his sister’s room and afraid to incur her wrath when she was hurt. Hermione smiled at this; it gave her a chance to head back to the library.

Once there, she started to sit down, only to realize there were more books she hadn’t glanced over. Debating about reading the Wilde book and deciding she might find something more substantial to work with if she looked at some of the other books, Hermione decided to look at the one bookshelf she hadn’t touched. It was on the far end of the library in the darkest corner, and it contained, to her eyes, very few books that were not Dark. She tread quietly and cautiously close, wondering if she might open a book and immediately regret it, but that thought made her laugh. Hermione Granger had never met a book she regretted reading. She wasn’t about to start now.

Starting at the top shelf, she began to glance at the titles. Things like Subverting Werewolves, which she wrinkled her nose at and wondered how Sirius could keep such a title, and The Practice of Vamping: Tricks of the Trade for the Frustrated Vampire made her curious but not enough to take them out. Other Dark texts looked entirely unsuitable to her nervous eyes, and she continued her perusal to the second shelf.

At the left hand of the shelf, something seemed a bit out of place. The book in question stuck out further than the rest of the books on the shelf, so Hermione reached out a tentative hand to push it back in. Her obsessive compulsive nature demanded order, and she was going to have it, Dark text or not. But when she tried to push the book back in, she found she couldn’t. It would not go further in.

Pulling it out slightly to see if it were longer than the rest, she noticed that there was another book behind it, a smaller one that kept it from being put in its place. She yanked the book out and was about to shove the rest of them over to put it back when she noticed the title of the book.

In slightly upraised, gold calligraphy, she read On the Incanting of Portraits Dedicated to Reviving Life. Hermione’s brown eyes widened to the size of small saucers and she stared, shocked for a moment. She regained her wits when the book she was holding fell from her nerveless fingers, opening and emitting a rather high-pitched whistle. Swiftly leaning over, she grabbed the book by its spine, slamming it shut to stop the noise; then she quickly exchanged it for the new one.

The front of the book had the same inscription with no author’s name. Simply gold calligraphy on black leather, and she immediately felt a pull to it that she couldn’t explain. Opening the book, she saw that it was not, as she originally thought, a published book. Or at least, it didn’t appear to be so as it had lined pages with the cultured scrawl of the author flaring across, including spots of ink that had splattered on the pages and mistakes that were scribbled over. She flipped back to the first page where she reread the title and then saw the words “By Harry Wotton” in black ink.

Her heart clattered in her chest, and she wondered if this could really be the same man as the Lord Henry Wotton from her book. She flipped a page and read:

I write this book for my friend, Dorian Gray. I also write it in acknowledgment that it is my fault Basil Hallward died. Indeed, it is my fault Alan Campbell committed suicide. On hindsight, I suppose I must also admit that I caused the untimely death of Miss Sibyl Vane as well, and with that knowledge, I must claim the fault for her brother, James Vane’s death as well.

I write this book to elaborate on my own experiments in charming portraits. Basil Hallward, Virgil Stooksbury, Argus Filch I, Bailey Knight, Sera Sheffield, and I worked on various charms that would inevitably raise a person to life again through portraits. I regret to say that none of these fine wizards and witches ever got to see the fruits of their labor realized.

This book is the culmination of my projects, from the beginning of our work together, to my individual work following most of their deaths. The insanity our charms caused in both Argus and Sera can be attributed to Virgil’s mistaken Latin; however, the results of their continued insanity can be attributed to me.

I regret only that I did not stop the pain these charms caused before it was too late.

Charming portraits requires a delicate balance of knowledge and emotion; it was for that very reason that we left off our research when Bailey and Virgil began to fight in earnest. To adequately charm a portrait to represent a wizard’s personality takes great knowledge in the one producing the charm and great patience in the one whose personality is being mimicked. It must be said, therefore, that in order to produce a stronger charm, one must have intimate knowledge of what is required to charm a portrait in the traditional magical way.

In addition, caution should be shown in trying to replicate any reviving charms as it can be extremely deadly to the wizard or witch producing the charm. The charms I discovered as a result of my own experimentation have given wizards a way to revive those who are dead, to bring them back to life once more. This is an exacting charm that requires not only great patience but also a great store of emotion. However, I will explain more about that in subsequent chapters.

My greatest regret in discovering this charm is that I was unable to use it on my kind friend, Dorian Gray. The charm, alas, does not work on Muggles. Bear it well, reader, that this is not child’s play. If you attempt any of these charms, be forewarned that you will either succeed beyond your wildest dreams or fail in such a way that you will be broken beyond repair.

It was signed with the name Lord Henry Wotton and had a seal of wax dripped upon it to make it official; Hermione skimmed her fingers over the page and felt the slight upraised portion of the seal, eyes rereading the acknowledgments above.

She sank into her chair, having crossed the room while reading, and eagerly turned the page, only to slam the book shut when she heard the click of the door opening.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Snape’s silky tones flowed into the room, and the professor walked unsteadily inside. “I should have expected to see you in here. Well, no matter.”

The man crossed to one of the bookshelves and began to peruse it with interest. Hermione held back a sigh of impatience and looked at him. He looked much better than he had two nights ago. However, his skin was much paler than she’d seen it before, despite its pale hues from his life in the Hogwarts dungeons. He turned in profile to her as he pulled a book from the shelf, and she saw a long cut along the left side of his face, trailing from his temple to his jaw. The robes he wore were two sizes too large, and she wondered if they were borrowed from someone. Perhaps Dumbledore?

The man turned to face her and walked to the chair on the other side of her small table, book in hand. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I join you for a bit of light reading,” he attempted to sneer, giving her his patented glare.

“Are you supposed to be up yet?” She could have smacked herself for asking when he glared even harder, daring her to speak again.

“I’m afraid Molly Weasley does not understand my need to move and get out,” he responded, looking sourly at the floor. “I have agreed to remain in the home until Poppy clears me to go back to the school, but Molly cannot hope to confine me to a bed and not have me hexing her every time she enters the room.” His sour look was replaced by a small smirk that made Hermione shiver slightly.

Nodding at him, Hermione decided silence was the better course of valor in this situation and slowly pulled a large book from the stacks that kept her slightly shielded from the professor’s line of sight. Opening it to a random page, she waited until Snape did the same and then carefully pulled the leather-bound journal from its place crammed into the seat between her body and the arm of the chair. She settled the journal on top of the book for safekeeping and opened it back to the first chapter, titled ‘On Understanding Basic Portrait Charms.’

The very basic charm used on wizard portraits has two effects. First, it mimics the personality of the subject, and second, it allows the portrait to share memories of the subject. This gives the portrait the surface-level knowledge necessary to speak and act like the subject. In addition, the basic charm also gives the portrait speech and movement necessary to interact with other portraits and with wizards.

The ability to mimic the personality is something most wizards do not understand. This is because the charm uses very few words to create the mimicking effect, and it must be performed by one wizard on another. In fact, the entire series of incantations used in the charm must be performed within a small radius of the portrait in question.

Once a painted portrait has been completed, the incantation is made while the paint is drying and must be finished before the last of the paint dries in order to be effective. The subject of the portrait sits directly to the left of the portrait while the charmer stands directly in front of both portrait and subject. The wand positioning is very specific; with one small flaw, the entire incantation can be disrupted and cause it to fail.

As the incantation is said, the Latin used to mimic the subject’s personality causes the wizard in question to fall into a kind of trance, from which he will not be awakened until the end of the incantation. The words used force the subject to relive some of his most memorable moments, allowing for various facial expressions, mannerisms, and quirks to be apparent to the charmer. These personality traits are sent directly to the portrait with a flick of the wrist.

Following the words used in the personality mimicking, the charmer then incants the words used to withdraw and plant memories. These words add an extra layer of mimicry to the portrait, giving it even more lifelike tendencies. In addition, they withdraw a majority of the subject’s memories, mainly those that have had a hand in making the wizard who he is. Once this part of the spell has been completed, the charmer once again flicks his wrist to the portrait, allowing the memories to flow into it.

The combination of these two parts of the spell will make the portrait glow green for a moment. While most wizards have the unhappy tendency of associating green with the color of Avada Kedavra, I have the pleasant notion of associating it more with the color of a reviving portrait.

Following the first parts of the spell, the charmer finishes with the Locomotor incantation, subtly different from the Locomotor Mortis spell but with the same basic principles. This part of the incantation twists the Locomotor to allow free range of motion and basic willpower to the portrait, creating a half-living, half-magical portrait that can be allowed to mimic the subject for decades after his or her death.

When the spell is finished, it will give the portrait a gold glow, indicating it has been completed. The charmer releases the spell from its subject, thus allowing the subject to rise from his trance-like state, and the portrait retains the gold glow until the last of the paint has dried, at which point the portrait will be able to move, speak, and otherwise interact with others.

It is important to note that most wizards also add the additional death clause charm to the incantation of their portraits, preferring not to be bothered with talking portraits until after they have died. This clause links a bit of the subject’s blood with the portrait in a sort of magical will that makes the portrait awaken upon the subject’s death.

The death clause is a tricky bit of incanting, but most accomplished charmers can do it with ease. Unfortunately, very few wizards find charmed portraits of themselves to be beneficial until after their deaths. I have discovered they find it a strange way of retaining life despite their bodily deaths, and I have subsequently refused to incant any portraits of myself. Indeed, I have burned all portraits ever painted of myself and will not allow any more to be made.

A cleared throat had her looking into Snape’s curious eyes. Apparently he had finished reading and was simply sitting and resting. “May I inquire as to what has you so intrigued, Miss Granger?” His voice was patronizingly saccharine sweet, and she grimaced.

Glancing at the book underneath the journal, she nearly groaned at what she saw. “Well,” she began, pulling it out to show it to him, “it’s a book of Muggle children’s stories. It’s by a woman named Beatrix Potter.” She stifled a grin at the immediate frown that marred her professor’s features. “This story is one about a rabbit named Peter Rabbit; it’s quite cute. I could- I could, ah, read it to you if you’d like...?”

Her eyes grew wide with fake innocence that Snape read all too easily. “That will not be necessary. I have to admit to some concern, though. Your reading preferences at Hogwarts do not generally run to such plebeian works. Perhaps Black is to be blamed considering it is his library? You can’t expect much from one such as him.”

Hermione scowled at her professor, itching to tell him off for speaking ill of the dead, but a look at the smirk on his face stopped her. She would only make him mad, and he might try to leave, and then Molly would have her head.

“I grew up on books like this, Professor Snape,” she finally said. “They are rather comforting to me, and to be quite honest, I am happy that Sirius saw fit to add them to his library.”

Snape scoffed at that and then sniffed. She was about to comment when he stood abruptly, nearly keeling over with the effort. Hermione stood, wondering if she should offer him some support when he growled, “Don’t touch me, silly girl. It’s time for dinner. Let’s go. Molly will be wondering where you are.”

Hermione knew that he was simply refraining from saying Mrs. Weasley would wonder where he was, but she kept that knowledge to herself. She wondered if it was his experience as a potions master or his exceptionally large nose that allowed him to smell dinner from this part of the house. That thought caused her to giggle, earning her another glare.

The two walked slowly to the kitchen, slowly because Severus spent most of his time leaning heavily against the wall and moving at a snail’s pace. Hermione remained behind him in case he passed out, which she was afraid he was about to do at any moment. Arriving in the kitchen, she was amused to see that Molly nagged at him for a good five minutes, berating his insolence.

“Ah, Hermione, we were just going to send Ron to get you,” Arthur greeted her, grinning. “By the way, dear, Remus here was just telling me about the article you were reading earlier. Your friends sound fascinating! Did you say one of them sailed in the Offerrer, Remus?”

“No, Arthur, one of them sings in the opera,” Remus replied, chuckling.

Hermione could have kicked herself for her mistake. She’d forgotten about Mr. Weasley’s passion for Muggles! Now how was she going to get out of this one?

“And the other, what does he do? Something about show and tell business? Does that mean he takes things and tells people about them? Sounds rather bland if you ask me.”

“No, that’s show business,” she finally said. “George is a good friend, and he’s an actor on stage. He’s hoping to make it to Broadway, but that would require him to move to London and then to New York, which is a bit expensive.”

Mr. Weasley’s eyes lit up, and Hermione spent the rest of dinner regaling him with tales about acting and why Muggles found plays so fascinating. It was just good luck on her part that she’d been in several musicals as a child and could give him an idea about what rehearsals were like and how intense directors could be when it was close to curtain time.

After dinner, Molly put her foot down and told Severus to go to bed immediately. The potions professor looked extremely put out but acquiesced when she threatened to floo Dumbledore for backup. Ron waited only until Snape was in the hallway before bursting into laughter. This, of course, caused Molly to shoo him up to bed as well.

Before Hermione could say anything, Remus asked her to go at least to the library, and she knew something was going on with the Order. She accepted gracefully and was even grateful to get back to her book to read more of what Lord Henry had to say about the subject of reviving portrait subjects.

Burying herself in the book, she continued reading the journal, curling herself more comfortably into the chair, and devouring the words scrawled in Lord Henry’s strong handwriting. An hour later, she sat up in the chair, staring at the words she’d just read.

Most wizards know that charming portraits leaves a magical trail on the portrait that can be activated either immediately following their incanting or immediately after the subject’s death. What they fail to notice is that the incantation not only leaves the portrait trail, it also binds the portrait to the wizard that is its subject. The binding is something most wizards ignore, but it gives them a powerful magic that they do not realize they can call upon.

It is this magic that some say is similar to the bond between mother and child, so powerful that it can recall in portraits memories of the subject that were not originally pulled to it. It is this power that we studied when we began our research on the effects of charming portraits and how charms could be altered to produce different effects.

Our little group never meant to experiment with reviving the dead. This is Dark magic indeed, and we wanted to experiment with other parts of charms. However, Sera stumbled upon the magical binding after a portrait of her was charmed by Bailey. The binding is almost invisible, but the charmer and the subject can see it momentarily following the end of the spell. The same golden glow that suffuses the portrait following the end of the incantation envelops the subject in a much lighter glow following the subject’s waking.

Once we discovered this tie, we began to investigate it’s causes, which I will expound upon in the next chapter; however, when we really researched it, we found that it would be quite possible to use this tie in various ways. We experimented with different incantations and began to put charms together that could be used to heal the subject or to allow the portrait to show any physical harm the subject endured. In fact, it was a variation of one of the words used in the particular charm that I used in charming Dorian Gray’s portrait, a pitiful misspoken word that caused me regret for years.

But I digress. Though my peers disagreed with me on many points, they did agree that it might be possible, though extremely difficult, to call back to life someone through his link to his portrait. We modified our research immediately to explore this possibility.

Eventually death and insanity claimed the rest of my peers, but I remained devoted to the cause. It was only after Dorian’s death that I discovered the correct incantation. It is here that I will reveal it.

In the following pages, reader, you will find the incantation to bring back to life a wizard who is the subject of a regularly charmed portrait.

Hermione stared and stared, eyes unfocused and brain running a mile a minute. This was incredible, and she couldn’t believe it was possible. Then again, she hadn’t read the rest of the book. Perhaps he would give some kind of disclaimer or caveat for the incantation that would render it unusable. Perhaps he never finished the book and thus didn’t actually put the incantation in it.

Unable to reign in her curiosity, she turned the page and saw the incantation, clear as day, lining the head of the page under the chapter titled ‘On Reviving the Dead.’ Her heart skipped a beat, and she considered continuing reading when she heard the odd sound of someone sniffing. Looking around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary until she realized someone was moving in the portrait above the book case nearest her. Glancing up, she saw that Phineas Nigellus was glaring at her.

“That text is Dark, girl,” he said in a calm tone. “You shouldn’t be reading it.”

Hermione glanced at him, “How would you know that? Were you the one who got it?”

Phineas shook his head. “No. But my idiotic grandson did. Blubbering baby couldn’t stand even regular books so no use wondering why he nearly went insane after picking up that one.”

“He went insane?” Hermione’s voice was hushed, but her eyes had widened. Even Lord Henry’s friends had suffered from insanity, according to his writing. She wondered if that might be the caveat he failed to put in the book.

“He almost did,” Phineas remarked. “I had to take the bloody book away from him before he lost himself completely. After that he was obsessed with portraits. Always wanted to get them made or charm them or other such nonsense.”

Hermione considered this. “So what happened to him?”

“Nothing. He lived a good, long life and then died. His portrait was burned years ago. He always claimed, even in the portrait, that if we’d just listen to him he could come back from the dead. ‘Course I was already dead, so there was nothing I could have done. Sirius was the one who burned the portrait.”

Hermione was surprised by this knowledge. “Was he like the- er- rest of the Black family? Um, I mean, did he share the same sympathies of Mrs. Black?”

Phineas grinned at her, an oily grin that she immediately disliked. “No. He just ranted and raved about portraits all the time. Tried to convince Sirius to read the bloody book and then yelled at him when he refused. Sirius burned it after one particularly angry fight.”

“So how do you know, then, that this book is Dark?” Hermione finally mused, not really expecting an answer.

“I don’t,” Phineas responded, surprising her. “But it drove old Lyconis madder than a hatter with obsession over portraits. No book that does something like that could be considered anything but Dark.”

Hermione hummed slightly before saying, “I think I’ll reserve judgment till I’ve finished reading it then. I doubt it will drive me mad.”

“You’d be surprised, girl. That book is pure evil if you ask me. But don’t trust the old Hogwarts headmaster. I’m just a portrait. Feel free; read it for yourself. But don’t come crying to me when you think all portraits are out to get you.” Phineas’s cackling followed her as she exited the library.

Chapter Text

“How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June... If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that-for that-I would give everything!”

-Dorian Gray, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

The weeks passed slowly for the group at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry had eventually regained his less-stoic disposition and was now happier, albeit bored with the requirement that they remain mostly indoors. Ginny and Ron took turns playing wizard’s chess and other games with him, and Hermione occasionally joined them. She had finished reading the journal only a week after finding it and was now itching to do more research on the various people involved in Lord Henry’s incanting group.

Remus and Severus had asked her repeatedly what held her interest, but she artfully avoided answering them and threatened Phineas Nigellus’s portrait if he told them what book she had hidden in her room. Her conversations with the portrait continued despite his antagonistic disposition that had her walking out on him mid-sentence at times. In fact, she almost considered Phineas to be somewhat of a friend. It was odd that she would consider a portrait a friend, but stranger things had happened. She had proof: it was all written in Lord Henry’s little black journal.

Unfortunately, Phineas disagreed with the journal on almost every point she shared with him.

“There is no way to bring back the dead, girl. Stop harping on that stupid book and come back to earth. Your head’s in the clouds, and it’s ridiculous.” Those were the words he sneered when she read the eloquently penned information Lord Henry had written in the end of the third chapter.

“I think Lord Henry was an absolute nutter, and if you find a portrait of him, I’ll go tell him myself.” This was what he jokingly said when she read the bit about the abilities of wizards to tie themselves to portraits from chapter five.

“Right, right, of course you require an emotional connection to the deceased to make the spell work... what a load of bollocks. Obviously the man was deranged; couldn’t even figure out that there’s no way to revive the dead...” The portrait muttered this and slunk off to who knows where shortly after she’d gotten through chapter six. He wasn’t too pleased with her happy smile, but Hermione was used to it now.

She didn’t stop to consider why she talked to him about everything. It wasn’t as if he was easy to talk to. He whined about her tone of voice, reprimanded her for a lack of proper respect, complained that she was becoming as nutty as Lord Henry, and otherwise agitated her, usually while she was mid-chapter. Being able to talk to someone about such a huge discovery was enough for her.

“If you don’t quit this ridiculous fancy of yours, I’m going to be forced to report it to Dumbledore,” Phineas finally told her one night as she closed the book for the last time.

Her eyes grew wide and she stared at the portrait in shock. “Why on earth would you do such a thing? Sweet Merlin, Dumbledore would take the book away from me!”

“And a good thing that, too!” Phineas grumbled loudly. “You’re obsessed! And this is severely unhealthy. Why, your poor Muggle-loving friends keep asking where you are and why you aren’t spending all your free time with them. Not that I blame you at all, even if you are a Muggleborn...”

“Just you listen to me, Phineas Nigellus,” Hermione now said, tone even and wand in hand, pointed at the portrait. “You will not be reporting this to Dumbledore, or I will hex your portrait into oblivion. You do realize, don’t you, that I’ve learned how to reverse the effects of a charmed portrait?”

Now it was his turn to stare at her. He gaped and shuddered a bit, glaring when he finally caught up with his reactions. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me.”

Phineas tried to find the girl’s weakness, tried to peg her and find a reason she wouldn’t get rid of him. He thought long and hard as she stared into his painted eyes and finally came up with a long shot. “You wouldn’t do it because then you wouldn’t know where Sirius’s portrait is, and you couldn’t bring him back from the dead.”

The words were said off-handedly, but Hermione could hear the strain in the portrait’s voice. Somehow, though, her brain seemed to have stopped functioning. Sirius Black had a portrait of himself? How had they missed this?!

That night she walked away from the portrait, not even listening when he began to backtrack and tried to convince her he was lying about another portrait. She didn’t even listen when he once again threatened to tell Dumbledore. She merely walked into her room and closed the door, throwing on headphones and turning up the music on her radio when he persisted to climb into the portrait of the Black family martyr, Aurora Black, who screeched at him from her perch tied to the stake. Flames lapped at both of them, but Phineas continued to yell even after realizing Hermione could no longer hear him, in fact, wasn’t even bothering to blatantly ignore him anymore.

In the days that followed, she hid the books and newspaper clipping from everyone. They were in the false bottom of her trunk; it was a rather facetious buy, but Hermione had always held a fascination for trunks and chests. It was probably due to her great-grandfather, who had been a war veteran and fought in the royal navy. His navy trunk was proudly on display in the front of her parents’ office and was kept open to reveal various magazines and children’s books for those in the waiting room of the dental practice.

Hermione loved gazing into the trunk as a child and even climbed inside once or twice and held an overly large broomstick that she wielded as a paddle and pretended to sail the high seas. Being an only child gave her an incredible imagination that she used with the limited toys she had, and this trunk was one of her favorite things to play with.

When she grew older, she begged her parents to let her use the trunk for her trips to Hogwarts. Now she was glad they’d refused; with the constant abuse her trunk took on its long trip from the taxi to the train to however it was transported from train to castle, she’d already had to buy another one. Well... truthfully, her new trunk was just an impulse buy she’d made in an antique shop with her parents over the summer. She fell in love with the antique clasps and old leather bottom of the trunk. It wasn’t until they brought it home that she discovered the false bottom, located by an almost invisible strip of leather fitted into a crevice in the inside of the trunk. When she pulled on the strip, the leather bottom lifted to show a space about three inches deep in the bottom of the trunk.

That was where she hid various items, including her new favorite books. She left them there and began interacting with the others, knowing the portrait Phineas watched her constantly. It was while she was watching Harry and Ron’s 302nd game of wizard’s chess that Harry made his rather entertaining comment.

“Why is that bloody portrait still watching me?” He grumbled quietly, shooting a glance to the portrait above the bookshelf where Phineas peeked out at them curiously. “Dumbledore can’t possibly want him to keep tabs on me now, can he? I’ve been doing occlumency again with Snape; he should be happy now. And I haven’t had any dreams since last term.”

Ron glared up at the portrait and whispered loudly, “Reckon Snape’s the one who told him to spy on you? Think ole’ Snape’s worried you’re going to try to prank him while he’s stuck here?”

“I wouldn’t bother asking a mere portrait to spy on Potter, Weasley,” Snape’s drawl came from behind them, and the three turned to see the potion’s professor glaring at them from the doorway. “I could easily put a tracking spell on him or even better put a intruder alert on my room. If I needed to know what he was up to, I could easily infiltrate Mr. Potter’s mind considering his poor performance at occlumency.”

Harry glared while Ron clenched his fists. “Professor,” Hermione began, to diffuse the tension, “is there something you needed?”

Snape looked at her, sneer in place, and said, “Miss Granger, I don’t suppose I need a reason to come to the library, do I? I came for a book.”

So saying, he walked to the third shelf and searched briefly before plucking a book from the shelves. Opening it and flipping pages at random, he glanced back at the group still watching him. “Feel free to continue discussing the portrait or playing your little game.” His eyes flicked to the board. “Though, I daresay you’ll lose, Potter. Mr. Weasley has your queen hemmed in.”

He turned back to the book and then moved to sit in the chair next to Hermione’s table of books a moment later. When it appeared Snape was there to say, Harry and Ron went back to their game, grumbling under their breath at the wizard. Hermione thanked Merlin Snape arrived when he did; he’d kept them from thinking too hard about the portrait. She stood and glared up at Phineas for a moment when no one was looking, and he sent a wink back at her.

Feeling thirsty, she walked out of the room to the kitchen. Three minutes later she returned to the library to find it almost deserted. Professor Snape still sat in his chair, avidly reading the book in his hands; she couldn’t see the title but assumed it had something to do with potions. Looking up, she saw Phineas still sticking his head in the door of the portrait he’d snuck into. Harry and Ron apparently abandoned their game, and Hermione could guess why. They’d never be comfortable enough around the potions professor to really have fun; they would suspect him to jinx any fun they experienced.

Walking over to the other chair, Hermione sat her glass of pumpkin juice down and settled into the seat. Picking up the first book on her pile, she recognized it as another classic, Jane Eyre. She opened to the first page and began to read.

As she finished the first chapter, Hermione realized two things. First, she was being watched. Second, she was not only being watched by Phineas, whom she was used to catching spying on her. Glancing to her right, she caught the steady stare of Severus.

“May I inquire as to why the portrait of Phineas Nigellus feels the need to spy on you, Miss Granger?” Snape’s voice was dry, and he glanced over to the portrait in question.

She glared up at Phineas, who was now smirking decidedly down at her and had come fully into view. “I believe it has something to do with boredom, Professor,” she answered, somewhat truthfully. Phineas had told her he was bored at one point. “He likes to discuss the books I read since he used to be a Hogwarts Headmaster and was quite well-read in his day.”

“Oh, of course, Miss Granger,” Phineas’s deep tones caught her off-guard for a moment. “I find it fascinating that your student, Professor Snape, feels the need to read such unusual texts.”

“I don’t see how Jane Eyre, a classic Muggle novel, could be considered unusual,” Hermione huffed, angrily glaring at the portrait.

“Arguing with the portrait, Miss Granger?” Snape’s amusement only incensed her further, but she couldn’t take her anger out on the professor. “I believe speaking to yourself is one of the last signs of insanity; having arguments with a portrait is one of the first. Perhaps we can send you to Madam Pomfrey and get your little problem cleared up...?”

She looked over at Severus, who was smirking widely with a raised eyebrow that she longed to rip off his greasy face. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Professor,” she spat out, barely able to keep her voice civil. “Phineas here was merely bored and apparently has a tendency for arguing with people, in portraits and out. At least, that’s what Professor Dumbledore told me once.”

Staring back into Snape’s eyes, she rationalized her lie. So what if she lied? No, Dumbledore hadn’t told her that, but he had said something along those lines to Harry. Besides, she had to keep that bloody portrait from saying anything about the journal.

“That still doesn’t tell me why this particular portrait is spying on you, Miss Granger,” Snape drawled, looking completely at ease. “Are you up to something with those two goons you call friends again? No more Polyjuice potion here, I’m afraid. My potions stores are far from this dismal place.”

Looking into his eyes, she recalled Harry saying that eye contact helped Snape in legilimency. She turned away, focusing instead on the portrait. “I’m not sure, Professor,” she said vaguely, giving the portrait a death stare. “You’d have to ask Phineas why he’s been spying on me. Perhaps he’s attracted to me? Or perhaps he’s trying to avoid something himself? I can’t answer for someone else.”

“Attracted to a Muggleborn?” Phineas’s haughty voice was filled with contempt. “How dare you even suggest such a thing, you filthy child. I am of the noble house of Black; we cannot be bothered to fraternize with such ridiculous creatures as yourself-”

“But you have been, have you not?” Hermione asked innocently, smiling up at him in triumph. “You’ve been chatting with me as I read, and you seemed interested in what I had to say. But I’m sure that was just an act. You’re probably bored up there in that portrait of yours; I’m sure you just needed someone to talk to, and I was here.”

Seeing that she’d turned the conversation away from Snape’s suspicions of her illicit activities, Phineas glared. A moment later the glare turned into a pleased smirk, and he nodded at her in defeat. “Yes, yes, stupid Muggleborn. You were at least someone to talk to, and I’ve always wondered how a world full of Muggles could survive without magic. I think I found the answer now.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the gleam in the painted ones staring down at her. He paused dramatically before saying, “All Muggles must survive on hot air.”

The chuckle from Snape told Hermione he understood the idiom, and she had to give Phineas credit. Even though he insulted her, he kept Snape’s attention diverted and did not give away her secret. Feeling annoyed that he’d still gotten the better of her, she glared down at the book in her hands.

Ten minutes later, both Hermione and Severus were reading again, having given up on conversation when Phineas decided to disappear from the portrait. Hermione knew he was only biding his time to scathingly rebuke her for calling him out, but she looked forward to it. Now that she had proven she was not obsessed with the journal, she could begin to inquire about this portrait of Sirius that Phineas mentioned a week ago.

But Hermione didn’t get the chance to talk to Phineas again for a week. He wasn’t around to talk to, but she knew it had something to do with the increased activity at the Black home where Order members were constantly shuffling in and out. Something had happened, and it was something no one wanted Harry to know about. Even access to things as simple as the Daily Prophet became as hard to get as entrance to Dumbledore’s office with a vegetable password would be.

The meetings became more frequent, usually happening in the dead of night after the students had gone to bed. Hermione only knew this because she often read until 1 and 2 a.m. and would walk to her room to the murmur of voices from the kitchen. She never bothered going downstairs to see if she could hear anything, though. So far she was the only one who realized there were such late night meetings, and none of the others seemed any wiser when morning came and they sat to breakfast with tired-looking Molly and Arthur. Nor did anyone notice the multiplying circles under Remus, Tonks, and Snape’s eyes.

Hermione continued her late night reading, leaving her room an hour after Ginny passed into sleep and sneaking into the library. She halfway hoped to catch Phineas there, but it appeared Dumbledore had him on some other assignment. That week was one of the tensest ones spent at Grimmauld Place, and while Harry, Ron, and Ginny all sensed it, they never figured out that the Order had taken to midnight meetings that lasted until the wee hours of the morning.

The following Sunday something changed. It was obvious in the suddenly rested looks on the faces of the adults. Hermione knew there hadn’t been another meeting the night before and wondered if something had happened. Molly had taken to hugging Harry a little more than usual, but other than that, no one showed any signs of relief or fear that Hermione could tell.

That night she found herself in the library again, unable to sleep and finishing another novel. Her pile of unread books had dwindled considerably, and she only had one left. Sighing, she put the book she was finished with on the taller pile and steadied it with her hands when it started to topple. A minute later she jumped when the pile fell with a thud of books on the floor.

“Great job, girl,” she heard somewhere over her shoulder as she picked up the books and put them in two piles instead of one. She turned to see Phineas watching her from the portrait again.

“I was wondering if I’d scared you off after talking with Snape,” she replied calmly, sitting back in her chair and watching him.

“Bah, scare me? You couldn’t scare a mouse.” Phineas smirked at her, and she smiled up at him, enjoying the caustic humor. “No, that Dumbledore’s got me running all over the place, trying to find...” He trailed off, glaring down at her suddenly. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” She asked impishly, grinning.

He leveled a long look at her before saying, “Been talking to my great-grandson, have you? That’s something he’d do, you know.”

“Who? Sirius?” She asked, feeling surprised and a little curious.

“Of course!” He gave a muffled laugh before coughing a minute. “Only a Marauder could do something like that so easily.”

“You knew he was a Marauder?” Hermione asked, more than curious now. “How did you know that?”

“He told me, of course,” Phineas answered. Seeing her dumbfounded look, he answered her unspoken question as well. “His portrait told me anyway. We had a long talk after he fell through the Veil. He told me all about his escapades with James Potter and that werewolf. Told me about that rotten Pettigrew, too. I always wondered how that one weaseled out of being put in Slytherin.”

“You did mention Sirius having a portrait...” Hermione began, trying to find the right way to phrase her thoughts. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“You haven’t been talking to him?” Phineas seemed surprised by that.

“No,” she responded, looking quizzically at him.

“I told him to come talk to you when he asked about Potter,” Phineas muttered, almost to himself. “I wonder why he didn’t come. It doesn’t make sense.”

She gave a hopeful smile and then asked, “Where is his portrait?”

“Hogwarts,” Phineas answered, still muttering to himself in a voice she couldn’t quite make out. “He’s been there since Dumbledore ordered the portrait removed from the Black house. Didn’t want Potter getting too upset seeing it hanging when he was dead.”

She sat silently, wondering if he would tell her more if she was quiet enough. Before she could get up her courage to ask anymore questions, Phineas started and then narrowed his eyes at her.

“You sure you weren’t talking to Sirius, girl?” He asked irritably. She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Dumbledore didn’t want the Potter kid to know about that portrait.”

“I haven’t told Harry about it,” she told him truthfully. He scoffed at her, and she reiterated, “I haven’t told him, okay? But you said it’s at Hogwarts? Where at?”

“That’s enough,” Phineas suddenly said, looking annoyed. “You’re thinking about that bloody journal again, aren’t you? No, I won’t tell you where it is. In fact, I think I’ll tell Sirius not to speak with you.”

Before she could protest, Phineas walked out of the portrait and headed back to his Hogwarts portrait. Hermione sat in her chair and thought about the conversation she’d just had with him. Apparently Sirius was in a portrait in Hogwarts, and Dumbledore took the portrait there to keep him away from Harry. Perhaps there was only one portrait of Sirius, making it impossible for him to roam between Hogwarts and the Black house?

Yawning loudly, Hermione looked up at the clock and realized it was almost 1 a.m. Scratching her chin, she stood up and stretched. It was really much later than she meant to stay up, especially since Molly planned to take them shopping at Diagon Alley tomorrow for their school supplies. Their owls with the book lists arrived the day before, and Molly had an all-out rebellion on her hands when she tried to convince them to stay in Grimmauld Place and allow her to go get the books herself.

She acquiesced when Remus and Tonks volunteered to come along and supervise. Ginny and Ron pleaded with her not to come at all, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. So they compromised and decided to go together and then split up for an hour or two of personal shopping. Molly wasn’t happy with the idea, but Remus convinced her the kids would be safe.

Settling in for sleep, Hermione curled into a little ball and fell into a dream she did not enjoy. It was the first time she’d had a nightmare in weeks, and she wasn’t happy when she woke up the next morning, especially when she caught snatches of her dream and realized it mostly contained a portrait of Sirius running away from her outstretched arms.

The next morning, Molly woke everyone up at an obscenely early hour that had Ron and Harry grumbling under their breath when they arrived to breakfast. The group ate quickly, ignoring the comments of the twins, who had arrived in time to eat and were now poking fun at the students still stuck at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron tried, in vain, to annoy the twins by making fun of them for never finishing school, but it was a long shot as the twins’ business had grown rapidly. They were now successful with their Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and they planned to open a shop in Hogsmeade sometime in the next school year.

The entire group set off from the floo early in the morning as well. After breakfast, Molly rushed everyone to get ready and hurry downstairs. She seemed particularly nervous about something or other, but when they tried to question her about it, she brushed it off with an airy, high-pitched laugh. Finally they trumped to the fireplace and each took a bit of floo powder.

With calls of “Diagon Alley!” and a bright flash of green light, Ron, Harry, Molly, Ginny, Fred, George, Remus, and Tonks all disappeared into the flames, leaving Hermione standing at the last. Tossing her own handful of powder into the flames, she opened her mouth and called “Dia-diachoo-alley!” having breathed in a particularly nasty bit of ash knocked up from the use of the fireplace. She had already stepped inside before realizing her mistake and was whirled away immediately.

She landed with a bang inside a particularly dark fireplace and slammed against the back wall painfully. Holding her head protectively, she chanced a glance out into the dark room before her. Hermione’s heart froze in her chest as she glimpsed ancient pieces of armor, swords, various shelves of filmy-looking liquids, and other items she was sure were not good. Crawling out of the fireplace, she wondered vaguely where she had landed and looked back at it, only to notice the hearth was littered with various items.

Staring at one, she began to recall something she’d heard. It was a withered, skeletal hand seemingly attached to a small plaque. Hermione moved to get a better view of the plaque and noticed the words written on it: Hand of Glory. Her heart beat faster in her chest as she remembered a story Harry had told her back in second year of visiting a store in Knockturn Alley where he encountered this very item!

So, she was in Knockturn Alley. Hermione mentally mapped the area and began naming all the shops that were located on her map of magical London. Thinking hard she finally came up with the name Borgin and Burkes. She must have landed in the shop’s fireplace.

Realizing that no one seemed to have noticed her entrance, she began to look around for the door, hoping to catch up to the others before they began to worry. A tinkling noise somewhere in front of her alerted her that someone had entered the shop and was now between her and the door.

“Ah, young Mr. Malfoy,” she heard a grizzled voice say, seeming extremely patronizing to her ears. “What can I do for you today?”

Hermione connected the name with the person a second before she heard Draco ask, “What can you tell me about Vanishing Cabinets, Mr. Borgin?”

She crept to the doorway in front of her and glanced inside to see Draco standing before a greasy-haired older man with a pince-nez. She caught sight of the door behind Draco and silently cursed her bad luck. Hunkering down behind a particularly large shield, she listened to the conversation going on.

“Vanishing Cabinets, Mr. Malfoy?” The grizzled voice asked suspiciously, and Hermione’s brain began to work in overtime, trying to recall what she’d heard or read about them. “They are generally large cabinets colored black and gold, and if I recall correctly, they come in pairs. You use them to transport things or people from one location to another. Were you looking to purchase one?” The shrewd eyes of the store keeper watched Malfoy carefully, waiting for any clue to his questions.

“Actually, I’m looking to repair one,” Draco drawled, sneeringly. Hermione thought about that for a moment and then listened again. “What do you know about repairing them, Mr. Borgin?”

“It’s not a simple thing, actually,” the man answered immediately. “You need to know how the cabinet was damaged in the first place and know the condition of its twin in order to assess the right means of fixing it. If, for example, one cabinet is broken and the other is just fine, it is enough to restore the cabinet, depending on how it was broken, with a simple charm. However, if both are broken, it is usually impossible to fix either of them. I have a book on the subject if you’d like...” Rummaging in a nearby bookshelf, Hermione poked her head out from behind the shield and saw the man reaching towards a nasty-looking book, mangled and dusty. He yanked it out and offered it to the younger man.

Hermione watched Draco take the book with a grimace. It truly was a disgusting piece of work, and then he tried to flip a few pages but found he could not. Looking up at Mr. Borgin in exasperation, he said, “Locking charm? Really, Mr. Borgin, that’s not necessary. Whatever it costs, you can put it on my father’s account. I can assure you he won’t mind.”

The man gave him a lingering glance before pulling out a record book from below the counter. Opening it, he noted the title of the book, the price, and the account number to be deducted. It magically noted the amount and was charmed to alert Gringotts Bank to the charge, which would be deducted from the Malfoy account and credited to the store’s.

Draco nodded pleasantly to the man, smirking a bit as he exited the shop. Hermione nearly groaned when she heard the tinkling of bells from the doorway. She’d have to rush if she wanted to get out of there before Mr. Borgin found her. Glancing at the man, she waited for him to move out of the way, but when he began to walk, she realized he was coming directly towards her.

Hermione crept out from behind the shield of armor, careful not to disturb anything in her path and half-crawled around a table covered with all sorts of interesting artifacts. Mr. Borgin continued his path to the door she’d come through, not noticing the girl to his right, moving swiftly around the table, step for step as he took them. She hit the opposite side of the table and crouched down as he made the doorway and turned, surveying the room once more before muttering to himself and stalking off into the other room. Listening hard, she heard the footsteps recede and then made her way to the door quickly, cracking it and rushing through it when the bells chimed.

Looking both ways, she recognized the street to the right had to be the way to Diagon Alley and quickly walked that way, ignoring calls from street vendors wanting to sell her horned-newt eggs and blast-ended skrewt pellets. When she made her way into Diagon Alley, Hermione finally sighed to herself in relief, vowing never to step into a fireplace and floo after sneezing again. Now to find the Weasleys, Harry, Tonks, and Remus.

Chapter Text

“An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. Some day I will show the world what it is; and for that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.”

-Basil Hallward, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

Walking the streets of Diagon Alley, Hermione began searching for her friends. She knew they wouldn’t be too far from where she was, and as she walked, she looked at the groups of Hogwarts students out buying school supplies with their parents. She caught a glimpse of Neville Longbottom and his stern-looking grandmother walking into Flourish & Blotts for a bit of parchment, some quills and most likely some ink as well.

A few minutes later she walked to Fortescue’s where she heard her name called by no less than three people. She turned and saw an angry Molly Weasley bearing down on her even as Remus and Tonks followed her. The other two had large smiles on their faces from relief, but Molly tore into her as soon as she was within grabbing distance.

Hands wrapped around Hermione’s shoulders, Molly yelled, “What is wrong with you? We thought you were right behind us, but you never showed up, and now I find you coming down the street, happy as you please! Where did you go? You should have-”

“Now Molly, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for this,” Remus said, patting her gently on the arm and convincing the irate woman to release her prey. “Hermione probably had a spot of soot or something that got into her mouth, and she must have said the wrong thing. Right, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded, feeling a bit faint with relief that Remus had rescued her from the locked grip of Molly. “I sneezed as I was saying Diagon Alley,” she explained to them.

Tonks grinned at that, “I’ve done that before, Hermione! I landed in someplace in Dover, couldn’t figure out how I’d gotten there, and the poor wizard who found me gave me some floo powder so I could go home.”

Molly shot Tonks a withering glance and then heaved a matronly sigh, saying, “Well, never you mind, the rest of them are in here having a bit of ice cream. Come and join us, dear.”

She gratefully did as she was told slinking into the small shop after Remus and Tonks and walking to Harry’s and Ron’s side of the table. She noticed that George and Fred had left, probably to check on their business, and as she thought of the twins, she suddenly had a flash of memory from back in fifth year.

He never managed to get all the words out, due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.

Her eyes widened, and she ignored the looks Remus and Tonks gave her, instead leaning over to whisper to Harry urgently, “Harry, do you remember where Montague ended up after the twins forced him into the Vanishing Cabinet last term?”

Harry gave her a startled glance, not noticing the bit of ice cream that dripped off his spoon onto the table. Thinking for a moment, he whispered back, “In the boy’s bathroom toilets, I think. I remember that was the night Snape stopped teaching me Occlumency and had to go help get him out. Why do you ask?”

Hermione shook her head at him and indicated she would talk to him about it later. Ron simply continued to eat his ice cream, ignoring their conversation, but he had heard the question she asked. As the three finished their treats, they were compelled to join the conversation that had cropped up between Ginny and the adults.

“Do you think Defense will be hard this year, Professor?” Ginny was asking Remus with a curious expression on her face.

“How would he know, Ginny?” Ron asked her, interrupting the response Remus was framing. “We don’t even know who old Dumbledore’s hired. Hope it’s not a psycho or Ministry freak.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Molly’s shrill tones caught the ears of others nearby, but she paid them no mind, focusing on her youngest son. “Your father works at the Ministry, thank you very much. How dare you call him a freak!”

“I wasn’t calling Dad a freak, Mum!” Ron interjected, voice growing louder. “I was calling the other Ministry workers freaks, especially if they’re close to Fudge! Besides, Dumbledore’d never hire Dad to be Defense professor!”

“And why not?” Molly’s voice grew dangerously high-pitched, and she said, “Your father is an excellent duelist, one of the best of his time. Are you saying you feel he wouldn’t be qualified to teach?”

“Molly,” Remus said, again in the position of mediator, “I believe Ron was referring to the fact Arthur is needed in the Ministry as an insider for the Order. He knows his father would make an excellent teacher, right Ron?” He gave the red-faced Weasley a level look and nodded approvingly when Ron gave a vague affirmative.

A few minutes later, the group headed out of Fortescue’s and began the trek to get their books and other supplies. Hermione was distracted to say the least until she began to pile books in her arms. Then her eyes lit up with the prospect of new textbooks to read, and she wondered if her new books had anything in them on portraits. Before the day was over, they were loaded down with parchment, quills, ink, potions ingredients, and other textbooks. Ginny, especially, looked appalled at her load, but being in her fifth year, she would be feeling the weight of her O.W.L.S. coming up and would most likely be a bit overwhelmed by the end of the year.

After their shopping adventure had ended, Molly hustled them along back to headquarters, chiding them when they moved too slowly and making sure they were always in sight. They made it with no further incidents back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and Hermione settled once more into the chair she had claimed in the library. Snape was there again, his nose stuck in a book much like Hermione’s usually was.

Thinking about the conversation she’d heard between Mr. Borgin and Draco, Hermione began to wonder what had become of the Vanishing Cabinet the twins had used on Montague. She glanced at Professor Snape, figuring he might have some idea of where it was, but she was hesitant to ask him. He was already suspicious enough of her after what happened with Phineas. So she settled back in her chair, enjoying the last of the novels she’d unearthed in Sirius’s library.

The next day, Molly had everyone packed and ready to leave for Hogwarts on the train. She yelled at Harry and Ron when they complained that they could pack in the morning and made it clear that they would be in serious trouble if they left their packing till right before everyone was ready to leave. It wasn’t long before everyone was mostly packed and sitting together in the sitting room, discussing the plans for leaving with Molly, Tonks, and Remus.

“Okay, Harry, you already know what a chore it was to determine if this house really fell to you on Sirius’s death,” Remus was saying and winced at Harry’s suddenly pale features. “We’ve already got Kreacher settled in at Hogwarts since you ordered him there yesterday, and he’ll be taking care of you while you’re there. I know you like Dobby, and he can still clean the dorms and visit you, but Kreacher is your house elf now whether you like it or not.”

“I still don’t see why I can’t just give him away,” Harry stubbornly argued, glaring a bit at the former professor.

“You know why, Harry,” Remus reminded him patiently, sighing and drawing a hand through his graying hair. “Kreacher could tell the secrets of the Order if you free him.”

“Couldn’t I just give him to someone? You know like Sirius gave him to me?” Harry’s petulant voice was grating, but it wasn’t Remus who responded this time.

“Absolutely not,” Hermione said in her most bookwormish voice. “You either own a house elf or you free it. They are not given away.”

Harry glared at her, but Tonks interrupted, “Anyway, so we’re going to have you all walking in pairs. We’ll leave here and hail the Knight Bus in the morning to get back to the station. Then you’ll be escorted into the station and sent straight to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Any questions?”

Ron groaned, “The Knight Bus? Do we have to? I almost threw up last time we were on there.”

“Then you’ll just have to eat a smaller breakfast in the morning, won’t you?” Hermione snipped, feeling tired and wanting to get this over with.

Ron now glared at her with Harry, but then she asked, “How are we pairing up?”

Remus answered this question. “Moody is taking Harry, Tonks has Ron, Arthur has Ginny, and I have you, Hermione. Molly will be traveling with us as well, but she’s on backup duty in case anything happens to us.” Noting the dubious looks on the faces before them, he added, “It’s Moody’s plan; you know how he gets.” Remus winked at them, and the group chuckled a bit.

Before long, Molly called them to bed, claiming that they needed to get a good night’s sleep if they were going to be traveling tomorrow. The group said their goodnights before heading toward the stairs where Hermione took a small detour to the library. Inside she found Severus, once again reading in the chair he had claimed. She walked in and sat down next to him, pulling the new pile of books she’d collected to herself as she did so.

“Miss Granger,” he began in silky tones, “don’t you think you should be getting to bed? You’ll be leaving early in the morning.”

“Won’t you be going back to Hogwarts, too, sir?” She asked, ignoring his question.

Snape’s expression soured even more as he said, “I’m afraid not, Miss Granger. Molly has insisted that I remain here for at least another week to recover. And unfortunately Dumbledore quite agrees with her.”

“Oh.” Hermione couldn’t help but think that Harry and Ron would be thrilled with this piece of news. Before she could ask anything further, however, Snape was speaking again.

“Do not think, however, that I will be staying here long. I intend to come back to my classes as soon as possible, even if Dumbledore did remove me from my post.”

The anger in his tone kept her from questioning him on his cryptic words. She returned to the book in her hands and flipped through it absently, wondering if she could find anything interesting concerning portraits in it. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk with Phineas in some time, and as it was almost time to return to Hogwarts, her curiosity about the portrait of Sirius Black was growing. She wanted to question Phineas on it and have him tell her where to find it but knew he probably wouldn’t.

After the night when he seemed so disoriented and asked her if she’d talked to Sirius’s portrait, Phineas alleged she had heard no such thing from his lips and told her she was to have nothing to do with it. She tried again to question him on it, but he refused completely and would walk out of the portraits and go back to Hogwarts when she persisted.

Twenty minutes later Snape closed his book with a snap and stood, carrying it with him as he exited the room, not bothering to tell her goodnight. Hermione didn’t notice or care as she had glanced up on his departure and saw Phineas watching her.

“Where have you been?” She asked him as he moved into the portrait to better see her.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, you nosy brat,” he said, giving her his best supercilious look. “You’re not still thinking of going after Sirius, are you?”

She grinned at him and said, “Why would I do that?”

He glared in response and answered, “Because you’re a stupid, brave Gryffindor and you’re friends with Harry Potter, the young man my idiotic great-great-grandson befriended and was low enough to be godfather to.”

Hermione didn’t appreciate the slur on Harry or Sirius. “He was your blood, you know. You should be nicer to him. And Harry’s not bad at all.”

“It’s his fault Sirius is dead, isn’t it?” Phineas persisted in blaming Harry despite the reports from his fellow portraits that left him with no doubt that Dumbledore could have stopped Harry from going anywhere near the Department of Mysteries by revealing the prophecy to him earlier.

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t know why I bother talking to you. You’re not very nice, and you hate Harry for some strange reason. Besides, how do you know I won’t be able to bring Sirius back anyway? Why is it such a big deal to you that I don’t see him?”

Phineas regarded her for a long moment, and Hermione resisted the urge to turn away from his piercing gaze. “Girl, you’re stupid if you think you’ll be able to resurrect my great-great-grandson on your own. You read the book; you should know it requires a connection with the deceased-a connection you don’t have.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down.

Hermione stared back up at him, finding it more difficult to stare someone down who was situated directly above you. “I don’t see why you think it would be that difficult to forge a connection like that. I liked Sirius.” She ignored the scoffing noise he made. “And he was very close to me and Ron by being Harry’s godfather.”

“That’s just the thing,” Phineas cackled, looking more than amused. “You haven’t any real reason to want him back. He wasn’t related to you, you didn’t love him, you didn’t see any reason to have him around in the first place. You have no connection powerful enough to bring him back.”

The resolute ending of that sentence left her feeling more than a little put out. “If I want him back for Harry’s sake, that has to be worth something,” she feebly argued, knowing it was a moot point.

Phineas muttered a bit but did not honor her with an answer, and she sighed loudly, flopping back into her chair irritably. She thought of the book lying upstairs in her old trunk and remembered what Lord Henry had written about the ability to revive someone from the dead.

It is best, of course, for this to be done between a couple who will appreciate one another’s efforts. By this I mean that it would be best for a man to return his wife, a father his child, a teacher his best student. The relationship between the two must be a close one that cannot easily be broken by the chains of death that draw the other down.

The reader should note that to attempt this is to attempt the establishment of a connection that supersedes death. You cannot be fully successful unless you have already established a deep, lasting connection through your living relationship. This is why it is best to be done between two who are either in love or who have a deep love for one another, as in the parent-child relationship. If you attempt to perform the spell without the benefit of such an incredible relational tie, you will, at best, receive no change from the spell in the least, at worst, find yourself meeting the person you are attempting to revive... in death.

Lord Henry had gone on to explain about various experiments he did in reviving things. Once he got the basics of the spell down, he continued his research on the variations of Latin used in the incantation and determined that not only did it require deep emotional ties to the person but physical ties were also somewhat helpful. In trying it out, he first experimented on his pet dog that had died. The results were successful, but only barely. The dog came back to life, yes, but it was in a zombie-like state, and Lord Henry was forced to put it down again when it refused food or water for two weeks straight. He felt it too dangerous to allow the animal to continue on when it was not being sustained by any type of sustenance.

After the death of his wife, Lord Henry drew out a portrait he’d kept of the woman after she left him for the other wizard. The Lady Wotton had been an accomplished witch herself, and she was not in the least hampered by her husband’s bizarre preoccupations with exploratory spell research. In fact, she merely attended ball after ball, enjoying the social aspects of her station until a young wizard came along who whisked her off her feet.

In his journal, Lord Henry reported that he would have enjoyed her company had she cared to stay with him, but there truly was no love lost between them at that point in their relationship. When she died, however, he began to speak to her portrait for company. By this point, he had suffered greatly from the loss of Dorian Gray and Basil Hallward, and Lord Henry was desperate to finish his spell. The woman in the portrait, so like the wife he’d cared for in his youth, ignited his desire to be with her once more, and he felt it safe to attempt the spell once more. But again, Hermione read, he had little luck. This time he successfully revived the woman from her death, but he managed to keep her alive little more than two days. She died again the third day after having cursed him for his stupidity in bringing her back to life again.

This was the pivotal point in Lord Henry’s research, however. He discovered a variant of one of the words in his spell that was hindering the ability to bring back the dead. In fact, it was a word that required some reaction on the part of the subject being resurrected. So Lord Henry began researching this particular word and discovered that when used under the proper circumstances, it brought the dead person back to life with no problems but returned them to an age when they had the greatest regret of their lives.

Once more Lord Henry began his examination of the effects of the spell and attempted to perform it on his friend Basil Hallward. Hermione had read this part with baited breath and noticed that the pen seemed to jerk across the page and there were water marks indicative of tears on the edges of the page. After giving the incantation, his wand emitted an odd, filmy, apparition-like version of Basil, who immediately chastised Lord Henry and told him he was pleased with his life and did not care to come back. Thus, Lord Henry learned that any person who had gotten past his earthly regrets and felt no remorse or desire to return to earth would not be able to be revived.

Hermione sank deeper into her chair, remembering these things and wondered if she should think of something else to occupy her thoughts instead of the odd notion that she might be able to return Sirius to life. As she sat, she remembered the tear-streaked face of Harry, tears dried from long hours in Dumbledore’s office, as he had appeared to her when he arrived in the hospital wing the morning after their mishap in the Department of Mysteries. Her heart swelled at the thought that she could erase such a sight from her memories and give Harry his godfather, and she rose from her chair, determined to seek out the portrait of Sirius Black as soon as she had a chance when she arrived at Hogwarts. So determined, Hermione exited the library, book in hand, and went to bed.

The next morning was chaotic as the group gathered their items and packed any last minute things that needed tending to. Remus and Tonks waited in the sitting room while Molly flittered from one room to the next, chiding them on their slow paces and generally trying to help them where she could. When everyone was finished eating and packing, the group gathered, various pieces of luggage strewn in the foyer, and waited for Moody to arrive.

When he came in, they immediately grabbed their things and paired off to follow him carefully outside. The group was an unusual sight, and many Muggles watched as they seemed to be going on a long trip, which wasn’t quite wrong. They followed Moody and Harry to the nearest alley where Moody immediately struck out his wand arm, hailing the Knight Bus. They hauled their things onto the bus and settled into various parts of the bus, one student to one adult in each area as Tonks paid Stan Shunpike and shuffled Ron off to the top of the bus. Hermione and Remus crammed themselves into the back of the bus underneath the cage of a rather upset bat that flew and banged into the sides of its cage in a fury.

The two had no chance to talk, however, as the bus took off with a bang, shoving them back against the bus seats, and Hermione mentally thanked Merlin that they’d gotten the back of the bus. These particular seats seemed bolted to the floor and were not sliding around as some of the others were. In fact, the seats directly in front of them seemed bolted into place as well, and she put her hands up in self-preservation, knowing the bus could stop at any moment. Hermione was rewarded a moment later when the bus banged to an immediate halt and she was able to grip the back of the chair in front of her to prevent herself from breaking her nose on it as she tumbled forward. Remus, it appeared, had the same idea, and the two spent the rest of the trip arms at the ready.

When they finally arrived in front of the train station, Hermione and Remus were the last to exit, following a green-faced Ron to the entrance of Kings Crossing. The group hustled along with their things on the buggies provided and made it to the platform entrance with little fuss. Once there, the adults handed out a few last minute warnings before rushing the group through the barrier to the train and students waiting beyond.

The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione joined the crowd of Hogwarts students, ignoring the terrified looks of the first years as they hauled their luggage onto the steaming locomotive. They quickly found an empty car which they claimed and dragged their bags and boxes into it. After settling in for the trip, they were joined by Neville Longbottom, who nearly fell into the room when the door stuck momentarily on his first attempt to open it. He was followed by Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, who was looking for Ginny. She greeted the boys happily and went with them when they asked her to come to their car. The four left settled in for a long ride.

A knock at the door had them wondering, and when Harry called to the person to enter, they saw it was Luna Lovegood, standing uncertainly behind the door and looking a bit confused. Her blond hair was pulled into two puffy buns on either side of her ears, making her look a bit like the make believe creatures she frequently referenced in conversation. Harry invited her inside, and she walked in, carrying nothing with her but a copy of the Quibbler. She settled into the seat beside Neville, who had been stroking his mimbulus mimbletonia and was now watching her apprehensively.

When the train pulled out of the station, Hermione pulled out a book and began to read. She only paused when the trolley lady came by with her perpetual sweets. Everyone bought a little something to tide them over, even Luna, and Hermione continued her reading. She was a little over three-quarters through the extra charms book she’d purchased in Diagon Alley and was finding no reference to portraits but an excess of charms she found highly useful and couldn’t wait to practice once they reached the school.

After gaining Hogwarts Castle, the students exited en masse and made their way to the carriages pulled by what she now knew were thestrals. Hermione ignored the wince Harry gave the one pulling their carriage and instead engaged the others in conversation about dinner. She wanted to distract him but was instead distracted herself when they hit the Great Hall and followed the trail of students to the House tables.

Sitting at the Head table were the usual crew of professors including Professor Dumbledore and Professor Sprout as well as Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch, Hagrid, Professors Vector and Sinistra, and even Firenze. Two new faces joined them. Or perhaps it was one new face and one old and rather unexpected face.

Dumbledore hushed the crowd and began the opening ceremony, ushering in Professor McGonagal with the timid first years for the Sorting Ceremony. Once the first years joined their new Houses, he began to speak.

“Welcome, one and all, to another year at Hogwarts! I am not surprised to see the dwindling number of first years, but I must admit that I had hoped to see more of your smiling faces.” Pausing, he looked around the room, eyes resting briefly on the Slytherin table before saying, “It appears we will be spending this year under the fog of fear the Ministry has unleashed upon us with its constant barrage of information concerning Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.” He took a moment to allow the gasps of fearful students to pass.

“I do hope you all will join me in celebrating another year here and will enjoy your time in these hallowed halls. I must stress to you that you are well protected in Hogwarts and will not easily come to harm here that is not due to the failings of a fellow student’s spell or the exploding of a cauldron in potions class. You, as the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are under the protection of myself and your professors and should feel a measure of comfort in knowing that no Dark wizards will easily infiltrate these walls.”

He looked around the room, and Hermione grinned at him, feeling happier by the minute to be back in what she considered her home. The headmaster continued his speech.

“You will notice, of course, that we have two new professors to welcome this year. I hope you all will make Professor Horace Slughorn feel at home in his position as temporary Potions professor.” He paused for the polite applause across the room and raucous cheers coming from the Gryffindor tables; Hermione noticed the frown on Draco Malfoy’s face and inwardly smirked at the thought that she knew more about his precious Professor Snape’s whereabouts than he did. “In addition, I would like to welcome back an old friend and former professor some of you will, undoubtedly, remember well. Professor Remus Lupin will be rejoining us in his position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.” Again applause and cheers erupted from the Gryffindors, but Hermione noticed some anxious looks and gasps from other sections of the room.

As the noise died down, Dumbledore gave a serious look at the students and warned, “I understand some of you have fears concerning Professor Lupin’s more wolfish tendencies, but I can assure you that you are safe here. Professor Lupin has been approved to teach by the Minister himself, and I will not hear any talk about this assignment. Now,” he clapped his hands together in the echoing silence, “let the feast begin!”

With that, the tables filled with food, and the students tucked into their meals with vigor. Hermione even enjoyed the meal with more gusto than she was used to as Harry and Ron alternately shoveled food into their mouths and talked about the surprise of having Lupin back.

“How d’you figure Dumbledore convinced Fudge to let him come back?” Ron asked, shoveling a large piece of pot pie into his mouth.

“I doubt he had much trouble,” Harry answered, ripping a bite out of the roll in his hand. “Fudge was so terrified after seeing old Voldemort come back he would have agreed to anything Dumbledore said.”

Hermione snorted at that, remembering Harry’s description of the white-faced Minister of Magic and his stuttered attempts at speech upon watching Voldemort flee the Ministry of Magic. She continued to eat her meal and was surprised when she cleaned her plate and got seconds before having dessert. The three friends were completely stuffed by the end of the meal, and they sat contentedly in their chairs watching the rest of the room finish their puddings.

After the tables had been cleared of every last bite of food, Dumbledore stood once more and said, “As usual, please feel free to acquaint yourself with Mr. Filch’s list of rules for conduct inside Hogwarts halls, which is posted in full on his office door. First through fifth years will please refrain from entering the Forbidden Forest unless you would like to meet a most gruesome end. And, finally, all students are expressly forbidden from entering the west corridor on the third floor. Now, prefects, please escort your first years to their House Common Rooms and enjoy your night back in the Hogwarts dorms!”

Hermione, Ron, and Harry followed the mass of Gryffindors to the Fat Lady’s portrait where they learned the new password was Jobberknoll feathers. Entering, they quickly fanned into the dorms on either side of the rooms, and most of the students spent their night unpacking and getting to sleep early after the incredible feast that left them satisfied and sleepy.

In her dorm, Hermione watched from her bed as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil moved around, using various ointments and creams on their faces, necks, and hands while they readied themselves for bed. Reaching over to the open trunk on the ground against the wall next to her, she freed the false bottom and pulled out the coveted journal. She opened it up and read a few quick pages before feeling sleep overtaking her. Putting it back in its hiding place, she replaced the false bottom before falling into a dreamless sleep, no potions required.

Chapter Text

“Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.”

-Oscar Wilde, Preface to ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

By the time she had settled into a routine again, Hermione was exhausted. Her prefect duties kept her busy patrolling the school at odd hours with Ron while her overloaded class schedule, including most subjects sans Divination, left her with homework piled upon homework. Her own inability to relax her standards kept her professors happy but her homework even more involved and much longer than was required.

In Potions, Slughorn was a surprising addition. He had tried to incorporate Harry into his Slug Club, which Hermione found a most distasteful name. The same had gone for Neville, for some strange reason, and Ginny, who Hermione knew was only added when she hexed Zacharias Smith on the Hogwarts Express and was caught by Slughorn in the act. Ron wasn’t invited and only grew angry when the professor held one of his club meetings and invited the captain of a Quidditch team to come speak to the students.

Hermione herself had not eluded his grip once he recognized her talent and understood she was Harry’s best friend. He didn’t seem to notice Ron’s bungling attempts to get his attention, but her quietness in his class, uncharacteristic in her other classes, left him enthralled as he directed almost every question her way. So far she had successfully avoided attending most club meetings, having patrol duties or excessive amounts of homework that she used as an excuse to beg off attending.

She heard from Ginny, who was not as lucky, that Blaise Zabini was among the group and found that annoying. Blaise was not necessarily an evil person, but he had never been her favorite for several reasons, not the least of which being he was a Slytherin and friend of Draco Malfoy. She was surprised Draco wasn’t in the group, but then again, news of his father’s sudden escape and subsequent disappearance from Azkaban had turned many suspicious eyes on the Malfoy family.

Ron suspected Lucius of lying low with Voldemort until he was ready to attack. Harry thought he was out recruiting more wizards, and the Daily Prophet reported sightings of him at least twice a week. Many of the magical community were crying for the arrest of Narcissa, but as no evidence could be found linking her to the Dark Lord--Ron always scoffed about that--she was a free woman. Hermione, after hearing about what happened to Severus Snape and how Lucius was the one to uncover his identity as a spy, had her own ideas about what had happened to Lucius, and none of them were pretty. She wondered vaguely if that particular encounter hadn’t ended with one of the wizards dying, and she knew who had lived.

Draco himself wasn’t as cocky as he had been, but Hermione wanted to know if it was because of the Vanishing Cabinet. However, she couldn’t mistake the pursed lips and worried frown on his face that constantly marred his appearance. He continued to annoy the Golden Trio, but without Snape around to constantly defend him against them, he wasn’t nearly as effective. He also found himself losing house points on a regular basis as teachers seemed to appear out of thin air when he was hexing or taunting them.

It was a Monday, several weeks into the term, when she heard Snape’s voice in the hall. She turned to look behind her but couldn’t see him as she made her way toward the library. She was about to go looking for him when she heard someone else speaking.

“I’m afraid you will simply have to deal with it, Severus,” came Albus Dumbledore’s voice, and she heard their footsteps growing closer to her place in the hallway. Looking around, she saw a doorway that she ducked into and pulled the door partially closed to hide herself. “I know I promised you the position, but after Lucius...”

“I can still teach it, and he is furious with me for not being able to take the position after finally getting it,” Severus interrupted, snarling his lip. Hermione listened as they paused in the hallway a few feet from where she hid. “He’s even angrier that Lucius hasn’t turned up after his magnificent escape from Azkaban. Even the Dark Lord didn’t know that Lucius had managed to turn some of the Dementors.”

Albus hummed softly before saying, “Does he suspect? Obviously Lucius is one of his more faithful Death Eaters, and Voldemort would not be pleased to have his man escape only to flee. What has he said?”

“Nothing. He only broods in his library, reading book after book,” Severus reported. “He asks me frequently if I have heard any of the whereabouts of Lucius and has sent Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan after him. Narcissa is being kept captive as the Dark Lord believes he can use her to lure Lucius out of hiding.”

“And Draco?”

“He isn’t worried about him. I think he’s threatened the boy into doing something, and my guess is that it involves Hogwarts. I’m afraid he might be targeting you, Albus.”

“We have discussed this, Severus. You know what to do,” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled calmly, and he took a step, signaling an ending to the conversation. “I will relieve Horace of his position. He will be glad to go back to hiding.” Dumbledore ignored the small snort Snape gave at that and continued, “Or he can remain inside the castle in another position I have created for him. I have already promised him my protection, should he want it. As far as the other position, I believe the best alternative has been made.”

“Remus should be with the werewolves.” Snape’s suggestion made Hermione cringe at the thought. “Greyback is rallying them to the Dark Lord’s command, but he’s growing. Even you have seen the number of attacks on children growing, and they’re all being led by that manic wolf. Someone needs to stop him before he gains both the werewolves and the giants. We already know the Dementors will support him.”

Their voices were growing fainter, but Dumbledore could still be heard as he said, “Remus has reported that the werewolves will not support us in any way. He does not believe they can be turned. And having him here to protect the castle will be important this year.”

It seemed the conversation was either at an end or the two had moved far enough away to not be overheard. Hermione pushed the door open and started to move out into the corridors again.

“Eavesdropping’s not polite,” a voice told her, and she whipped her head back around to see Phineas Nigellus grinning at her from a portrait of an old landscape with ruins of a castle in the background. “What would Albus say if he knew you were listening in on his conversation? Hmm?”

Hermione glared at him but having not spoken to him in such a long time kept her from being angry at the portrait’s words. “I don’t think it matters,” she responded primly, looking away from him at another portrait, her eyes landing on Sir Cadogan’s pony who had apparently migrated away from his rider.

“How are your classes going? Excited to have Professor Snape back to teach you again?” Phineas said nastily, smirking in a completely obnoxious way. “I’m certain all his time laid up in headquarters has left him raring to take points away from Gryffindor.”

“It is Professor Snape’s prerogative to do so if he sees fit,” she answered haughtily and then smirked at him. “Besides, Gryffindor always gains points eventually.”

Phineas clapped his hands and said, “Good, good, I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll let him know you’re not worried about him taking away too many points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione mock-glared at him and then laughed, realizing he was teasing her. “It’s amazing that such a pureblood lover could joke with a Muggleborn like me,” she told him, finding it amusing that he would even speak to her at that point.

“Perhaps I just want you to help Sirius,” he said, and she stopped laughing, sobering immediately.

She looked at the portrait, staring in shock at his dark, painted eyes, and he stared back unwavering. “What are you getting at, Phineas?” She asked him pointedly.

“I could just be using you to help Sirius, you know,” he answered her, seemingly unconcerned.

Hermione saw the seriousness in his eyes behind the feigned nonchalance and gave him a calculating glance. “You think that book is a joke, and we both know it. You don’t believe it could be used to bring a fly back to life, so why would you insinuate something like that now?”

Phineas looked at her levelly, seeming to size her up and then answered slowly, “Because the Order needs more help, and having Sirius back would do considerable damage to the enemy’s morale.”

“I thought you were a Pureblood through and through. You said yourself that you don’t always agree with Dumbledore. Why on earth would you want to hurt the Death Eaters?”

“They killed my great-great-grandon, the last heir of the Black family. Not only that but they took away too many good witches and wizards, Purebloods mind you, that could have done great things. They need to be stopped. Besides, no one wants a despot ruling the world.”

Hermione locked her gaze on his and saw the truth in the portrait’s eyes. “And how do you think bringing Sirius back would hurt Death Eater morale?”

“What do you think, you stupid girl?” Phineas asked, giving her an exasperated look. “Who knows that Sirius is dead?”

Hermione thought on that question for a minute and answered carefully, “The Order.”

“And?”

She was confused for a second before realizing what he was talking about. “The Death Eaters who were there at the MInistry that night. But no one... wait. Bellatrix got away. She would have told Voldemort all about what happened, wouldn’t she?”

Phineas finished the conclusion she was coming to. “And he would have announced it to the rest of his Death Eater forces. If he saw Sirius coming back from the dead, he would be in shock, unable to believe it. Everyone only believed You-Know-Who was dead because they didn’t know about his...” Phineas trailed off, looking at her with shock at what he was about to say. He amended quickly, “His uncanny ability to survive. Dark magic is powerful. But if Sirius truly came back from the dead he wouldn’t be able to deny that someone found a powerful magic, possibly more powerful than his own.”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed as she considered this. If Voldemort believed the Order had a magic more powerful than his own, he might mess up. If the Death Eaters believed it, they would be terrified and wonder how the Order had grown so powerful and perhaps believe them more powerful than they actually were. But then something occurred to her. “Wouldn’t he just think Sirius was an Inferi?”

Phineas shook his head, “No, ignorant girl, he wouldn’t because Inferi are dead who are reanimated, but Sirius would be living and breathing and quite himself with no one controlling him. He would be able to tell a difference if that book of yours is to be believed.”

Hermione thought about it and was about to respond when she heard a loud voice in the hall shout, “BOO!” She whipped around, wand in hand but saw no one. Her eyes scanned the hall in surprise only to recognize the sound of a horse whinnying shrilly and someone laughing nearby. Returning her gaze to the nonplussed Phineas, who seemed not nearly as surprised as he should have been, she caught movement to her left.

In the portrait where Sir Cadogan’s pony had been only moments before stood a youth with dark hair, laughing loudly and calling, “That’ll teach you to enter my portrait uninvited! Stupid pony!” Hermione walked closer and then saw the young man look up and gasped.

“Sirius?” She asked uncertainly, catching the man’s eyes. He must have been in his early teens when the portrait was made.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking at her for a moment before his eyes widened. “Hermione?” She nodded. “How’s Harry? Dumbledore told me what happened at the Ministry, but he wouldn’t let me go to Harry. Is he okay? He’s not hurt, is he?”

She put a hand up to stop the barrage of questions. “How did you know about the Ministry and Harry? You’re too young to have known him.”

The chuckle from the portrait surprised both of them until Phineas’s head popped into view. “You should know from reading that stupid book of yours that a wizard is bound to his portrait. Even if the Blacks didn’t know what they were doing when they originally painted it before he ran away, they weren’t about to destroy it completely. They just silenced the thing and hoped they’d all be dead and gone before it woke up. But apparently the magic that binds a wizard to his portrait is real because when Sirius’s portrait awoke, he knew exactly what had happened to him over the last years of his life.”

Hermione stared in awe at Phineas and transferred her gaze to an equally surprised Sirius. “So you know about the Ministry?” Sirius nodded mutely. “A lot of things have happened since then, but Harry’s doing better than he was. At first it was awful, though. He wouldn’t talk to anyone and was so depressed for weeks and weeks. After he came to Grimmauld Place, he was so quiet we were all worried he was going to die from grief.”

Sirius’s hopeful face had fallen, but she quickly continued, “But then one day something must have snapped cause he came to me and started talking about you. I couldn’t really say much, but he ended up crying for hours with me, I don’t think he’d cried at all before that, certainly not at his uncle’s. It must have helped though because he started talking again and is doing much better now. I think he’s happier to be here cause Grimmauld Place reminds him too much of you. He hates Kreacher, though.”

Sirius chuckled at that, grinning ruefully as Phineas scoffed. “Good, I’m happy to hear it.” He ignored the annoyed huff Hermione gave him. “Don’t glare at me, Hermione. You know Kreacher was just as much a bloody spy as I do. And don’t tell me I should have treated him better. I get that from Dumbledore all the time.”

“Perhaps next time you’ll listen to him,” she said nastily before she caught herself. Realizing how that sounded, Hermione gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, but Sirius and Phineas only laughed at her. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” Sirius laughingly said. “You meant every word, and you’re right. I should have listened to him, but don’t expect me to listen to him or you rant about that now that I’m stuck here in my portrait.”

She mock-glared at the portrait and then saw the flickering torch nearby. Realizing it must be getting late, Hermione waved her wand in the air with a quickly muttered spell and saw the time. “Oh no! I’m going to be late for curfew!” She glanced at them apologetically in time to catch Sirius mocking her. “Don’t you make me curse that portrait, Sirius Black,” she told him, glaring evilly at him. He grinned back, unrepentant, and she wheeled about, calling as she ran off, “I’ll come back to talk again!”

Skidding up to the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was barely there in time to hear the chimes of the clock in the Great Hall going off. She mentally cursed her slowness and had to bend over, panting for breath after running all the way there.

“Wonder if she’ll realize we’re here?”

“I’m not sure. She seems rather out of breath.”

“Run the whole way? She’s too goody-goody.”

“Yes, but she did keep me company this summer.”

“Would you two get out of my way?”

This was thundered in anger, and Hermione finally caught her breath enough to see that Phineas and Sirius had strolled into the portrait with the Fat Lady, causing her to bump up against the back of it as they peered at her, smirking similar smirks.

“What are you two doing there?” She asked them curiously, but they didn’t answer.

Before anyone could say anything else, the Fat Lady bellowed, “Password!” Sirius and Phineas plugged their ears in annoyance, and glared back at her. She only swatted at them, trying to force them from the portrait.

Hermione grinned smugly before saying, “Goodnight gentlemen,” giving the password and waltzing into the common room, leaving them staring after her.

A few mornings later, Hermione wandered into the common room to find it nearly deserted. Harry and Ron stood together near the fire, shivering in the cold of the early morning and whispering to one another about something.

“What are you two doing?” Hermione asked, coming to stand next to Ron.

The two jumped as they heard her voice.

“Don’t do that!” Ron scolded as he glared down at her.

She grinned cattily at him and replied, “Scared, Ronald?” When he turned red, she turned to Harry and asked again, “What are you guys doing up so early?”

“Duh,” Ron replied as Harry opened his mouth, “we’re getting ready for the tryouts!”

“Oh, right,” she said. Hermione had forgotten the date and realized this Saturday morning was the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts. Harry was up to help Ron get in one last practice session. “Well, have fun with that.” Ron looked mollified. “Good luck?” She asked as his face contorted into a grimace.

“Are you going to be there, Hermione?” Harry asked her, stopping Ron’s response before he could speak.

“Yes, it’s at 10, right?” Harry nodded. “I’m just going to go do some reading, and I’ll be there after breakfast. Really, Ron,” she added, turning back to him, “I do hope you do well. Good luck.”

With that, she turned and ducked out of the common room before they could reply.

“I was wondering when you were going to leave,” came the amused tones of Sirius Black from the portrait across from the Fat Lady’s.

Hermione looked up at him and began walking down the hall, “Yes, well, why didn’t you come into the room? Harry would have loved to see you.”

“He’s not allowed,” Phineas’s bored voice said from somewhere ahead of her. She heard Sirius grumbling in the portraits beside her. Apparently he was following her.

Hermione passed a portrait with a number of goblins eating a never ending dinner and noticed Phineas smiling an oily smile at her. “What do you mean he’s not allowed?” She asked him, stopping for a moment.

“Dumbledore made him promise never to show himself to Harry,” Phineas told her.

“Why would he do that?” She asked, annoyed.

“So I wouldn’t keep him from getting over my death,” Sirius said from her other side. She turned to look at him in the portrait of a rather portly wizard in a chef’s outfit. He continued, “According to Dumbledore, I can’t talk to Harry because he won’t be able to see me as gone if he’s always able to talk to me in a portrait.”

“But you’re dead,” Hermione pointed out logically. “Harry knows that. It’s not like you’re corporeal. You’re a portrait.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Phineas said. “He’s still somewhat like the real Sirius, and that means he might hinder Harry’s progress.”

Hermione thought about that for a moment as she began walking down the hall again. She wasn’t paying attention to anything around her, and as no students were up this early, there really was nothing to look out for. She rounded the corner and took the stairs to the library.

Pushing open the doors, she breathed in the scent of old library books and grinned like a cheshire cat with a secret. Waltzing into the one room in the castle Hermione felt she owned, she found her typical table, a cozy one near the back of the room next to a portrait full of house elves washing clothes. She plopped her bag on the table and pulled the chair out, letting the early morning light ease her tired eyes with the soft sunlight as she sank into her chair.

“I wasn’t done talking to you,” came a voice somewhere above her to her right.

She looked up and saw both Sirius and Phineas sitting on the overturned wash basins the house elves had been using. The elves were nowhere in sight.

“Well, I was done talking to you,” she said. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the journal and the book of spells she’d borrowed from Madam Pince the night before. A quill, ink, and some parchment soon followed. “Besides, I’m busy with some research.”

“You mean you’re busy doing dark magic,” Phineas muttered, glaring at the journal. “How did you get that bloody book out of the house? It’s supposed to be jinxed to disappear from a person’s belongings if they take it out of the Black family library.”

“Actually, I don’t believe I ever jinxed that one,” Sirius told his great-grandfather. “I wanted it gone, so I figured someone would have to be interested enough to steal it one day. I just never expected it to be goody-two-shoes here.” He gave Hermione a smirk to rival any of Draco Malfoy’s.

“I’ll thank you to know I plan to return this book to your lovely library soon,” she told him snootily. Then a thought occurred to her. “By the way,” she began hesitantly, “Professor Lupin mentioned something to me that I wanted to ask you about.”

Sirius looked at her askance. “Don’t believe anything ole’ Moony tells you. I didn’t do it. It wasn’t my fault.” He sounded as if he’d rehearsed and recited these lines before, and, Hermione realized, he probably had. Most likely to Lily Potter or some Hogwarts professor when they were still marauding.

“No, it’s not that,” she told him, holding a hand up to silence him. “Professor Lupin just said that you had purchased several Muggle classics for me to read when I came to visit, and I wanted to thank you.”

Sirius’s face turned a light shade of pink as he rubbed a hand across his face. “Yes, well,” he said and then stopped. Closing his eyes, he continued, “I just figured since Harry chose such a studious bookworm for a friend I needed to accommodate you.”

Hermione grinned cheekily when he opened his eyes. “In other words,” she translated, “you were thinking of me and trying to make it nicer for me when I wanted to visit Harry.”

Sirius scuffed a foot against the polished marble floor in the portrait, avoiding her gaze. Phineas cackled for a minute at his great-great-grandson’s predicament, and Hermione flipped open her book, feeling a little awkward after Sirius’s reaction.

When she couldn’t take the silence any longer, Hermione snuck a peek up at the portrait. “You know,” she said, “you really would have been an excellent godfather for Harry. He deserved someone like you to look out for him and take care of him. I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

She turned back to her book but heard his voice respond, “I’m just sorry I had to leave him. He didn’t deserve that. Everyone he loves leaves him, and I’m no better than the rest of them.”

Hermione looked up, but Sirius was already gone, walking through the other portraits in the room to get away from the two he’d been talking with.

“He’s angry,” Phineas told her. “He hates that he left Potter without a word, and he wanted to give him so much more.”

Sounding more confident than she felt, Hermione responded, “Then we’ll just have to give him that chance, won’t we?”

With that, she went back to her reading and taking notes. She’d found a book on advanced charms for those witches and wizards interested in getting advanced charms education after Hogwarts. The book was old, but it had several pages on portraits, and Hermione was determined to do all the research she could on it to find any possible problems with Lord Wotton’s theory.

In truth, she was fairly convinced that Lord Henry was perfectly correct in his theory on returning the dead to life through their portraits. If he was honest in his experimentation, then what he’d concluded would still be accurate today. Hermione had made out a list of the key points of the incantation and its necessary ingredients.

First, she noted the charm itself. Then she noted the caveats to performing it successfully: that the portrait be regularly charmed, that the dead person be a witch or wizard, that the dead person have some reason to come back, and that the performer of the charm have some emotional tie to the person to be returned. That’s where Hermione was worried.

From all the notes in his journal, that last element was the most important. Lord Henry’s wife had died after he returned her to life simply because she didn’t care for Lord Henry anymore. And if Hermione attempted to bring Sirius back to life because of Harry, the spell could backfire on her. That’s what had happened to Bailey Knight. Hermione remembered that paragraph particularly well.

I suppose it was foolish to allow Bailey to perform the spell on the man who courted her. He was a rapscallion of the worst sort, he’d even left her at the alter on their wedding night, and Bailey was enamored of him. Before he died, he’d had affairs with numerous women in the Ton, most of them leaving their husbands only to be deserted by him. We tried to talk her out of it, but Bailey was persistent. When she finished the incantation, however, a bluish form rose out of her wand similar to when I tried to revive Basil Hallward. It took on the form of the brute, and before we knew it, he had chastised Bailey in the worst way, calling her all sorts of cruel things and mocking her devotion to him even in death. When the haze disappeared, Bailey had changed completely, her complexion pale, her eyes wide, and her jaw slack. She jumped on Argus and screamed at the top of her lungs, scratching and clawing at him in an animalistic rage. She was committed to St. Mungo’s insane asylum a few days later.

Hermione sat back in thought as she paged through the charms book to the marked pages on portraits. If she tried to revive Sirius and had little emotional connection to him, she could wind up in the same room as Neville’s parents, her mind completely gone. She shuddered at the thought and closed the book. Somewhere in the halls, a clock struck the hour. Nine o’clock.

Stretching, she put her stuff away and stood up. Now if only she could figure out how to develop a relationship with a dead man. Hermione paused in her movements at that thought. Perhaps there was some validity there. Pushing the idea aside for later consideration, she grabbed her bag and headed to breakfast. She could work out the logistics of her idea after seeing Ron’s tryouts, she decided.

Chapter Text

“Nothing is ever quite true.”

-Lord Henry Wotton, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Hermione scratched aimlessly at a mosquito bite on her arm. She’d been outside for half an hour watching the tryouts and was quite bored. Quidditch had never interested her nearly as much as it had Ron and Harry. She sighed. Why must boys always be intrigued with anything that required them to move agilely, strike quickly, and face possible maiming?

Her attention was arrested by Cormac McLaggen winking at her. Hermione turned to glance over her shoulder. No one sat behind her on the bleachers. When she returned her gaze to the large young man, he smirked and repeated the wink. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. It was rather obvious he intended to win the keeper position to show off to her, and Hermione wasn’t falling for it.

Unfortunately, Cormac was quite good. He’d stopped every well-placed aim Ginny sent his way, and his reflexes were swift and startlingly graceful. Ron, on the other hand, managed well enough, but he nearly fell off his broomstick at one point, and Hermione was sure he wouldn’t last much longer against the seemingly impenetrable Cormac.

Seeing this was the last pass for her friend, Hermione mentally cheered him on, ignoring the chants of the brown-haired girl in front of her.

“Come on, Ron. Come on, Ron,” Lavender Brown said, almost to herself, from her place next to the Patil twins. Parvati had convinced Padma to come watch the tryouts, and they had discussed the high points of which boy looked best in his uniform until Ron came out. Then Lavender shushed them, which Hermione appreciated, only to begin chanting at him and nearly willing him to success with her intent glazed expression. This Hermione did not appreciate.

Cheers interrupted her perusal of the trio before her, and she looked up to see Ron grinning cockily. Obviously he’d just stopped his sister for a fifth time. Hermione smiled when he waved but groaned as Lavender waved wildly back from in front of her. Ron’s expression slid slightly into a goofy grin.

Now Ginny was racing towards McLaggen. Cormac was ready, positioned centrally to the three hoops, his eyes on the red-haired girl flying at him. Hermione was torn. Could Ron really handle five more hits if Cormac managed to stop this last one?

A cool October wind hit her, and she shivered, looking up at the looming clouds. She didn’t want to wait another twenty minutes for the announcement to be made. Looking at Harry, Hermione made her decision as she saw his worried expression.

“Confundus!” She whispered the spell under her breath as Ginny reached Cormac. With a feint, she threw the quaffle towards the lower right-hand goal. Cormac clearly saw the feint and moved to stop it, but the charm Hermione used on him caused him to jerk the opposite direction, his eyes widening comically as the quaffle sailed through the hoop.

Ten minutes later, Hermione was walking into Hogwarts with a self-satisfied expression on her face. Harry and Ron had left to change right after the announcement was made, and Ron had a mile-wide smile across his freckled face. Even if McLaggen would have been a better pick for the team, Hermione couldn’t imagine having to deal with his superior attitude, so she wasn’t going to regret messing up his chances of getting onto the team.

Besides, she mused to herself as she strolled toward the library, McLaggen was funny when he was under the confundus. He’d already walked into one of the bleachers, and though she’d normally feel badly about doing something so mean to someone, she wasn’t going to bother. Cormac was, simply put, a creep.

“Someone looks quite pleased with herself,” she heard in the deserted morning hallway as she made to push open the door to the library.

Looking to the portrait across from the door, Hermione grinned at the teenaged Sirius smirking at her. “Quite pleased indeed,” she said cheekily and then slipped into the still silent library.

Madam Pince looked over the top of her glasses but ignored the incoming student when she recognized Hermione.

Putting her bag on the same table again, she opened it and pulled out her books, parchment, quills, and ink. She opened the book to the chapter Lord Henry had written about dangerous side effects of portrait charming and opened the library spell book to the chapter on portraits. She’d begun taking notes on the similarities and differences between the two chapters the other night and intended on finishing it now.

“Are you really so boring that you have to study all the time?” Sirius’s voice arrested her concentration as he entered the portrait next to her.

Hermione groaned and looked up at him. “I’m trying to do some research,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child. “It’s very important, and I don’t need you around to distract me.”

Sirius grinned at her, a mischievous look that she thought would be well-placed with a younger Lupin and Harry’s father. “But I make such a good distraction,” he whined, kicking at a house elf that surfaced from behind the wash basin in the portrait.

Hermione glared at him. When Sirius only smirked at her and winked, she huffed. He knew how she felt about violence against house elves. He was only doing this to make her mad, she decided.

“Where’s Phineas?” She asked, suddenly realizing the other wizard wasn’t there to torment her with his great-grandson.

“He’s working with Dumbledore,” Sirius replied boredly. “They told me I wasn’t allowed in the room, and I suppose I could have hung out and eavesdropped, but all they were talking about was some ridiculous problem they’re having with that nutter Trelawny.”

Hermione scoffed loudly at that, earning her a glare from the fierce librarian. “I’m sure Phineas is loving that,” she responded. “Stupid old bat couldn’t make an accurate prediction of history, much less the future.”

Sirius laughed at her sarcasm. “So the bookworm doesn’t like the psychic?” He asked her, widening his eyes and doing a rather adept job of sounding like the Hogwarts teacher as he said, “I have seen... that you will fall in love this year!”

Hermione laughed at his imitation, and she joined in, for once not feeling the need to remain respectful of her professors. “You will face a horrible death by choking on meatballs!”

The two laughed at their continued jokes, Hermione forgetting altogether her plans of researching the books on the table. When they tired of mocking Trelawney, the two smiled at one another and conversed amiably for some time on a number of subjects.

Two hours later, Hermione realized she’d almost missed lunch. She’d been having so much fun talking to Sirius that she hadn’t even paid attention to the minutes ticking by. She grinned and began packing her things back into her bag.

“So why are you hanging out with me?” She finally asked him, not really thinking about the question as she asked it. “Aren’t there some other portraits you could be terrorizing?”

Sirius chuckled. “I’d love to terrorize old Merryweather’s portrait,” he said. “And then there are these lovely house elves everywhere, you know.” He winked when she gave him a withering glance. “You can’t blame me for hating them. It’s all Kreacher’s fault.”

Hermione opened her mouth and would have rebuked him, but Sirius quickly said, “But I prefer human company to portraits, personally. And as I can’t talk to Harry or Ron, you’re the next best thing.”

She was surprised by this. “Why can’t you talk to Ron?”

“That should be obvious. Who’s the first person Ron would tell that Sirius Black had an enchanted portrait?”

Hermione giggled softly. “Oh. Right.”

A few minutes later, she bid Sirius goodbye and headed for the main hall for a belated lunch with her friends.

Over the next week, Hermione continued her comparison of Lord Henry’s book with that of all the spell books she could find. Even in the Hogwarts library it was difficult to find books specifically on charming portraits. So she scoured what books she could find and took little time to talk to her friends unless they had classes together or were eating in the main hall.

That was why Harry and Ron forced her to go out one Saturday to Hogsmeade. It was one of the free weekends the sixth years had to go to the town, and Hermione realized belatedly she’d been so wrapped up in her research that she hadn’t made the first weekend retreat. She guiltily accompanied the guys when they told her she would be coming with them to see the town and get some butterbeer, wanting to please the friends she’d been avoiding.

“So what’s the project you’ve been working on?” Ron asked between mouthfuls of butterbeer.

“Yeah,” Harry chimed in, mulling over a puff pastry he’d ordered as he sipped on the frothy beverage. “Have you been working out a way to track Malfoy’s movements?”

Hermione groaned along with Ron as they glared at Harry together. “Are you still going on about that?” She asked in exasperation.

“He stays up for hours watching the map,” Ron whispered conspiratorially to Hermione, shaking his head at his friend. “He’s obsessed, I tell you.”

“Harry,” Hermione patiently began, “repeat after me: Malfoy is not a Death Eater.”

Harry glared back at her and folded his arms over his chest, refusing to respond.

As it happened, he didn’t have to respond. “Harry, my boy!” An overly delighted voice greeted the Boy Who Lived, and he smirked at his annoyed friends for a moment until he realized who had greeted him.

“Delighted to see you here, dear boy,” Slughorn told him, walking unsteadily to the table where the trio sat.

Taking a seat, Slughorn sat beside Hermione, and she struggled with the urge to move away at the scent of firewhiskey on his breath. “How are you, Harry?” Slughorn now said.

The former professor had been replaced by Professor Snape, surlier than usual after having lost the coveted position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to Remus again. Now Slughorn lived comfortably in his own wing of the castle, rarely coming out except for dinner. He’d been delighted with the chance to skive off from his duties as professor, but after a week returning to his old life of moving from house to house, Slughorn returned to Hogwarts to ask Professor Dumbledore for a home.

Now the man was seen wandering the halls of the castle at odd hours of the evening and heading to Hogsmeade on a regular basis. Hermione was disturbed by how much of a lush Slughorn was, and she sniffed derisively as he engaged Harry in conversation.

“So, Harry, I was wondering,” Slughorn was saying, “Professor Dumbledore has given leave for me to restart my club this year, and I was hoping you’d consent to be in it.”

Looking wide eyed with fake appreciation, Harry responded, “Of course, sir. It would be an honor.”

“Splendid,” Slughorn replied heartily, clapping Hermione on the back loudly. She cringed. His motion seemed to remind him of the others at the table, and he added, “You’re invited, too, Granger. Best witch of your year must make the shelf!”

Hermione ignored the sloshed commentary of her former professor and glared across the table at Harry as she answered, “I’d be delighted.” She gritted her teeth together to keep from chewing out the man as he took a gulp of his drink.

Slughorn, thankfully, stood then and teetered slightly as he grasped the back of his chair. “I’ll be planning several events,” he told them, smiling. “You’ll be the first to know!” Swaying once more, he looked at Ron with a wrinkled brow and finally said, “Have a good afternoon, Wimbly.”

After he stumbled off in the direction of a harassed Madam Rosmerta, Hermione turned on Harry. “I suppose this is how Dumbledore wanted you to get in with him, then?” She asked, referring to the covert meetings he’d been having with the headmaster and their professor’s request that he get on Slughorn’s good side.

Harry spread his hands slightly in apology and smiled a sour smile. “Afraid so.” He sighed and then pointed out, “You didn’t have to accept, Hermione.”

“Didn’t even ask me,” Ron was muttering. “Didn’t even remember my name.”

“Well, obviously it would be rude not to accept,” Hermione ranted in fury, banging a fist against the table. “Do you know how utterly boring this will be? Why, he’s not even a professor anymore. What are we going to do at any event he might plan?”

“You never know,” Harry said with a smirk, “it might be fun.”

Hermione clenched her fingers around the mug in front of her, itching to throw it at her friend. “I’m going to the loo,” she finally said impatiently as she jerked to her feet.

The two boys across from her stared at her in surprise for a moment and watched her walk to the bathroom. Hermione huffed to herself as she stalked off, muttering under her breath about impossible boys. She passed Slughorn as he attempted to flirt with a harried Rosmerta, and she commiserated with the older woman with an easily understood roll of her brown eyes. Rosmerta shook her head in response, giving Hermione a tired grin.

As the brunette made her way across the bar, however, she was stopped short when she saw Ginny Weasley come in with Dean Thomas. Ginny hissed something furious under her breath while Dean snorted in response. Hermione halted in her tracks when the couple saw her.

“Er, hi,” she offered lamely, waving at them.

“Hi Hermione,” Dean said with a strained smile, little lines around his eyes creasing in frustration. “Where are you off to?”

Ginny merely nodded and ducked her head, and Hermione could tell she was trying not to cry.

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, Hermione replied, “I was going to the loo, but I think I’m going to head back to the castle. I just realized I forgot to start my arithmancy paper, and it’s due in three weeks.” Pausing to gesture behind her, she said, “Tell Harry and Ron for me, will you?”

Dean nodded and started to walk off, Ginny trailing behind him. Hermione turned to walk out of the Three Broomsticks when she was assaulted by one of her least favorite people.

A quill waggled seductively under her nose caused her to sneeze as she gained the hallway, and Hermione looked around for the offending object.

“If it isn’t the darling of the Golden Trio, Miss Granger,” she heard an amused voice say.

Hermione looked up into the face of a smirking Rita Skeeter, skulking around in the hallway and wearing a bright emerald colored shirt and skirt combo that brought out the silver in her hair. The woman’s brazen red lips curled into a sneer as she leaned forward, pad of paper and quill in hand, to stare into Hermione’s eyes.

“Is it just me or is this year the most boring one we’ve seen in decades at Hogwarts?” She asked with mocking ire. “Could it be you’re not enjoying all those delectable Gryffindor bon-bons like your friend Miss Weasley this year? Hmm?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she said, “For your information, my taste in men and my choice of whom I hang out with is absolutely none of your concern.”

“Come now, Miss Granger,” Rita drawled with a grating whine, “inquiring minds want to know. Besides, you’re in the public eye. You can’t possibly believe your privacy is important anymore.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and kept her mouth shut, knowing it was more important to stop herself from giving Rita any fodder to gossip about in her idiotic columns.

“Though I imagine with two wizards on your arms, you’ve got more than enough going for you. Any other boy toys would just be fringe benefits,” Rita mused, looking curious and winking for good measure.

Now Hermione sputtered in fury. “You really think people will believe what you write just because it’s in the paper?” She asked, just to keep from saying what she really wanted to say.

“The public always believes what they want to hear,” Rita responded lazily, looking too nonchalant for Hermione’s liking. “You should know that by now.”

“Hermione?” Harry asked as he rounded the corner to the hallway. “Dean told me you were...” He trailed off when he saw the two witches eyeing each other warily. “Oh.” He sighed loudly.

“Harry!” Rita squealed, launching herself to the boy with a decided gleam in her eye. “Where have you been? We were just talking about which of her boyfriends Hermione likes better: you or that Ron Weasley.” Ignoring the narrowing of his eyes, she added in a conspiratorial voice, “Personally I hope she goes with you. Imagine all that red hair... what ghastly children they’d have!”

By now Hermione’s face was mottled with embarrassment and fury. Harry seemed torn between giving into the fear of his best friend on a rampage and giving into his own building anger.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Rita,” he said pointedly, “but you might want to check your facts.”

“Oh, so it is Mr. Weasley she’s after,” Rita cackled knowingly. “I wondered how long it would take her to go after him. She’s a fiery one alright.”

Hermione’s fists were clenched in pure fury as she breathed in slowly through her nose, trying every trick in the book to calm herself before she managed to get herself thrown in Azkaban for cursing the woman in front of her.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice was the next to break the silence as the wizard in question came into view. “Oh, there you are, Hermione! I was wondering what...” He stopped hard when he saw their third guest. “It’s you,” he said in a tone of such loathing that Rita took a step back.

Hermione and Harry exchanged confused glances.

“You nearly sent my mum to the loony bin at St. Mungo’s, you dirty piece of-” Ron managed to stop himself before finishing his sentence. His eyes, however, plainly said what his mouth did not.

Rita smirked at him, her famous dimpled smile coming out in full bloom as she remarked, “Well, maybe that’s where she belongs.”

“Stup-!”

“Expelliarmus!”

The two shouts were almost simultaneous, and Harry and Hermione were watching slack-jawed when Ron’s wand came up to point at the beetle animagus. But at the last minute a second voice interrupted what would have no doubt been a juicy story on Rita Skeeter’s part. That is, after she left St. Mungo’s for spell-damage treatment, of course.

Looking over her shoulder, Hermione saw Remus standing in the doorway to the Three Broomsticks. His wand was pointed over her shoulder, and he snatched the wand that flew out of Ron’s hand from midair. Waving to the trio, he gestured that they should go outside. He did not, however, offer Ron his wand as he passed the professor.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood in silence outside as they waited for their professor to emerge.

“Ron Weasley, what were you thinking, trying to stupefy her like that?” Remus asked congenially as he emerged from the building, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Your mother would be proud,” he added, watching as Ron’s chest puffed out in pride, “after she screamed at you about getting caught performing magic outside of school, of course.”

Ron’s happy expression turned dismal in a matter of seconds. “I can’t help it, Professor,” he complained, “that woman makes me so mad I just lose it! And she actually said mum ought to be in St. Mungo’s!”

“Since when does anyone care what Rita Skeeter thinks?” Remus asked lackadaisically, twirling Ron’s wand in his hand expertly as they walked towards the path to Hogwarts.

“But she’s just so infuriating, Remus!” Hermione spat out without thinking.

“Remus, Hermione?” Lupin asked with a raised eyebrow.

She blushed, realizing she’d slipped. “Sorry, Professor.”

The four walked further, Remus allowing Ron to cool off a bit before handing him his wand. Ron thanked the DADA professor grudgingly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Ron,” Remus said slyly. “She didn’t get off easily.”

“What do you mean, Professor?” Harry now asked, eyes lighting up at the thought of one of the Marauders getting one over on Rita Skeeter.

“I’m afraid our dear reporter will be telling the truth and nothing but the truth for two days,” Lupin replied with a dangerous smirk that had Hermione thinking of another sneaky Gryffindor she knew.

“What did you do?” Ron’s voice was excited with the possibilities. “Give her Veritaserum? Spike her firewhiskey?”

“Nothing like that,” Remus said with a laugh. “Those are Professor Snape’s methods. Give me a little credit.” Winking at the three, he added, “I did go to school with Sirius and James Potter, after all. I had to be a little creative myself sometimes.”

“What spell did you use, Professor?” Hermione finally asked when the boys had exhausted themselves coming up with ideas that couldn’t possibly work.

The professor grinned at her as he answered, “I do believe it would be cheating to tell you the spell, Hermione, but I will say it’s one that forces the person to answer truthfully and even write the truth if they are writing something down. I’m afraid Rita’s public will be rather bored with her gossip column for a few days before the spell wears off.”

The group laughed at the image of the beetle animagus’s response to having to write the truth instead of her usual trashy columns. It was a priceless picture and one Hermione would have paid dearly to witness herself. Looping arms with the boys, she allowed their professor and friend to lead them back to the castle, for once happy with her decision to not allow research to interfere with her time with friends.

Chapter Text

“You must admit, Harry, that women give to men the very gold of their lives.” - Dorian Gray, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Slammed with a load of homework she could not ignore, Hermione spent much of her time over the next few weeks working on her classes. Facing constant pestering from Harry and Ron to help her with their own overwhelming amounts of work, Hermione sought refuge in her favorite place, the library. Knowing the boys would not follow her there, she thought the solution to her problems was to be found in the musty tomes carefully overseen by Madam Pince’s all-seeing gaze. 

Unfortunately, Hermione didn’t count on a bored Sirius Black.

“Come on, Hermione, just talk to me a little,” he wheedled one sunshiny afternoon as she concentrated on translating the runes she was supposed to be interpreting for Ancient Runes. 

“No,” she said without looking up from her notes. 

Despite the constant barrage of whining comments from her portrait companion, Hermione had not sought out another table in the middle of the library where she might escape Sirius. Instead she used her well-preserved talent of working through disturbances to ignore most of his comments until they grew to taunts and threats and eventually ultimatums. 

“You must love your books more than you love anything else,” he griped another morning as she struggled to finish a paper detailing the effects of adding pickled boar’s snout to the Carpulus Vivator potion.

“That’s not true,” she replied off-handedly, flipping through another book in her lap, the table already overloaded with the amount of research materials she’d pulled. 

“I think it is,” he replied sarcastically. “No wonder Harry and Ron think you don’t love them anymore.” 

Hermione glared up at him but refused to rise to the bait. Sirius was not allowed anywhere near the two boys and couldn’t possibly know something like that. Nevertheless, his comment irked her for reasons she couldn’t understand. 

“Talk to me, ‘Mione,” he whined, during a particularly rainy evening. “Phineas and Dumbledore are constantly working, and none of the other portraits will entertain me.” 

“That’s because you’re a pest,” she replied, ignoring his pout as she practiced the wrist movements for Transfiguration, hoping she’d be able to easily transfigure a rabbit into a pocket watch without having the annoying side effect of creating bunny ears on the watch. 

“If you don’t talk to me, I’ll just have to go find Harry and Ron myself,” Sirius finally said, standing from the basin he sat on. “They’ll talk to me without sniping. I should have gone to talk to them long ago.” 

“You’re not allowed to talk to Harry and Ron, Sirius,” Hermione distractedly reminded him, turning pages in her textbook once more as her quill flew over parchment.

“Do you think Dumbledore made it impossible for me to do that?” He asked her. 

Hermione looked up in surprise. That hadn’t occurred to her before. She shook the fog from her brain as she saw Sirius smirking at her. 

“I know Dumbledore could stop you from doing it,” she hedged cautiously, wondering where he was going with this.

“He only requested that I stay away from them,” Sirius said triumphantly. “I’ve avoided seeing my godson all this time simply because that old codger asked me to.” He grinned at Hermione’s wince when he insulted the headmaster. “But I’m tired of avoiding my godson, and I want to see for myself that he’s okay. I’ll speak with you later... if Harry doesn’t want to talk to me, that is.” 

Sirius turned to saunter out of the portrait and Hermione nearly leapt out of her seat to grab him, forgetting he was only a portrait. “Stop it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Dumbledore wouldn’t tell you to stay away from Harry if it weren’t for his own good. Do you want to make things harder on him?” 

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Sirius said slowly, glaring at her from the edge of the portrait. “Do you want to make things harder on Harry?” 

The witch glared at Sirius with no small amount of venom, knowing his game and realizing she’d walked right into the middle of it. 

“Sirius Black,” she began tightly, hands clenched in fury, “if you think I will take the blame for you deliberately disobeying Dumbledore’s orders, you’re mad.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll tell Harry you were harassing me in order to keep me from visiting him,” Sirius said blandly, trying and failing to hide a smirk. 

Hermione sighed loudly, ignoring the glaring librarian, as she nearly growled, “What do you want from me?” 

“Talk to me,” he said without preamble, settling back onto his basin comfortably. “I’m bored.” 

Hermione reached one hand up to brush through her hair messily. Taking a deep breath, she said in the most patronizing voice she could muster, “All right, Sirius. What do you want to talk about?” 

“Let’s talk about your hair,” he began, eyes twinkling with some malicious intent. 

Hermione blinked. “My hair?” 

“Yes.” He spoke deliberately, “Do you wake up like that or does it take some doing to make it look like some sort of niffler made a home in it?” 

Fed up at this point, Hermione slammed her book shut, not caring that Madam Pince was fit to blow steam from her ears. Grabbing her textbooks, quills, ink, and parchment, she threw it all haphazardly into her bag, closing it with a snap. Furiously she stood and ignored the cackles of the laughing Marauder as she marched out of the library.

Entering the Gryffindor common room, Hermione saw at once she’d misjudged. The Weasley twins had recently introduced a new product to their Weasley Wizarding Wheezes line that had captivated almost every student who saw their small cart in Hogsmeade this past weekend. Now the room was filled with students cackling as they floated into the air, full of the Fizzy Lifting Liquid that George affectionately coined from a Muggle movie Hermione had convinced them to watch one year. Hermione stared as a first year gave an enormous belch and descended gently from the ceiling, laughing uproariously as his peers cheered. 

And in the middle of the ruckus, Ron, Harry, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas floated along beside a photo-snapping Colin Creevey, laughing at the other students and cheering as well. Hermione stared in disbelief. Professor McGonagal had strictly ordered the students not to bring any of the Weasley twin products into the Gryffindor common room under pain of detention. Looking around, Hermione realized most of the students were entirely unconcerned with their teacher’s threat as three more second years took gulps of their own bottles and began floating into the air.

Without a second thought, she spun around and exited the still open doorway, slamming the portrait shut behind her. 

“Gently, my dear, gently,” chided the Fat Lady, glaring at Hermione in disapproval. “You wouldn’t want my portrait to fall down, now would you?” 

Hermione ignored the angry figure and stalked up the hall towards the stairs, mentally trying to determine where she could go to find peace and quiet. If it wasn’t Harry and Ron distracting her in the common room, it was Sirius in the library. Where could she go that she was positive had no portraits he could infiltrate and annoy her with? 

“Sounds like the Gryffindors are having quite a party,” came a drawling voice from behind her. She refused to turn around. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to miss it, Hermione. Maybe I was right and you do love your books more than your friends after all.” 

Hermione whirled on the offending portrait, eyes narrowed and mouth open to issue a sharp retort when a sudden wonderful thought struck her. Her mouth closed at once, a superior smirk on her abruptly happy face as she continued walking down the hall to the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Sirius asked her, jogging alongside her through the portraits. His voice bordered on curiosity, but she knew it was eating him up to not know what she was thinking. 

“I’ve figured something out,” she told him in a sing-song voice she knew would annoy him. 

Pushing back an errant strand of hair, she made her way to the fifth floor, amused by the sounds of angry witches and wizards as Sirius pushed through their portraits to follow her. 

“What did you figure out?” He asked with a huff, stepping gingerly through a portrait of a bathroom with a tub that had overflown onto the tiled floor. 

“Something you’ll just have to wait and find out,” she continued in the sing-song voice, walking quickly to stand in front of a familiar picture. 

Pacing three times back and forth and focusing specifically on what she needed, Hermione grinned in satisfaction at a stunned Sirius when a door opened in the wall opposite them. She knew Sirius wasn’t aware of the Room of Requirement, and this chance to show him something he didn’t know about Hogwarts thrilled her to no end.

Smirking as she wrapped her fingers around the door handle, she winked at the portrait he was now standing in. “I figured out how to have peace and quiet without you, Harry, or Ron to disturb me,” she told him, tugging the door open and disappearing inside. 

Unlike their arrangements for the DA, the room Hermione envisioned was perfect for her needs. Bookshelves lined one wall, a desk and chair sat along another. There were plenty of supplies for all her homework needs, organized neatly on the desk. She’d even thought to include a roaring fireplace to counter the chill of the castle. The room was small and cozy, and there were absolutely no portraits on any walls to distract her. 

Settling into the chair with her backpack slung down beside her, Hermione grinned to herself. She easily should have thought of this solution before, but now that she had, she would be able to find a quiet place to study anytime she needed it. 

Standing, she made her way to the bookshelves, curious as to what books the Room of Requirement had produced for her perusal. Hermione was aware the room’s magic was limited to what was within the castle at any given time, and she had seen how easy it was for the room to draw things even from students‘ bedrooms and then return them once the user was finished with the room. Thumbing through the titles, she recognized many from the library and was thrilled the room had such an assortment of books she could use for her Transfiguration and Potions homework. 

She stopped short, however, when she came across the little journal that was instantly recognizable. Yanking it from the shelf in surprise, she wondered why Lord Henry’s book had been removed from her room. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked it quizzically, flipping it open at random. 

Her eyes landed on the page in front of her, and she drew in a quick breath, walking back to the chair to sit down. 

Though I have not yet had a successful encounter with this charm, I do believe the charm is finally perfected. After the experiments I have completed with my subjects, I am now convinced that under the perfect circumstances this charm will bring a wizard or witch back to life. The key is to be positive that the wizard or witch is unhappy with being dead. Many will ask how that can be achieved, but look at the nature of the person’s death, and it will be clear whether the person died in peace or left some unfinished business. 

Be careful, though, that you don’t get caught up in believing that because the person suffered some violent death he is unsatisfied with the end of his life. The truth lies in the portraits! You will know from the portrait if the person behind the painting is truly unable to come to grips with his death. In my earlier experiments, I spoke with the portraits of people that I attempted to resurrect, and in almost all of the cases, the portraits expressed no great remorse for the loss of life. 

You must be certain the person is saddened by his death! Remorse can be tricky to weed through, but using the spell to reveal other spells on a portrait can lead to understanding the mindset of a person whom the portrait portrays. 

Hermione thought about this. She wasn’t certain quite what Lord Henry was getting at, and she needed to know for sure. Quill in her fingers, she walked to the bookcase and saw now that several of the books were actually books on charms. Selecting the one titled Portrait Charming 101, she walked to the fireplace and began thumbing through it, looking for anything that might help her. She came across a section on charms to use after the portrait was completed and began reading. 

Once you have completed the charm process, you must not use the Finite Incantatem spell on the portrait. This will create a reverse effect of all the previous charms you have used, and it will result in the need to create an entirely new portrait. However, a person who is not the original creator of the portrait may use the Finite Incantatem spell to reveal and remove any spells on the painting’s frame. The Finite Incantatem will only reveal any spells outside the portrait. 

If there is a spell holding the portrait, however, the creator or any other person may use the Imago Finite Incantatem charm in order to reveal and remove the restraints on the portrait. Following this, the Imago Revellio may be used; though this spell requires more finesse and understanding of portrait charming than the Imago Revellio. Furthermore, the Imago Finite Incantatem may reverse even the Locomotor charm that imbues the portrait with life.

Chapter Text

“There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.” –Oscar Wilde

The next day Hermione woke up late after a long night of tossing and turning. She groaned, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs of her nightmarish night. Sitting up, she pulled the curtains back from her bed only to find the dorm deserted. She blinked and noticed the sun streaming in the windows. 

Stifling a curse she jumped out of bed. It took a good 15 minutes for her to grab a quick shower, dry her hair with a charm, and throw on her uniform and robes. She snatched up her bag, shoving her wand in her pocket and snagging a hair tie on her way out the door. 

Running down the hallway, she realized she was more than a little late. What time was it? She ran to the stairs, not sure which way to go and a little disconcerted by how late she’d slept. 

“Hermione?” A voice inquired, and she turned, breathless to see who it was. Remus stood in the hall, a book in one hand and a suitcase in the other. “Is everything okay?” 

She halted in her tracks, feeling entirely out of breath at the sight of her professor. Defense Against the Dark Arts was her first class on Fridays, and he seemed surprised to see her. 

“Professor!” She pushed her hair out of her face, raking it into a handful as she snapped the hair tie around it impatiently. “Professor, I’m so sorry,” she began, blushing deeply. “Did I miss your class? I’m so sorry. I overslept!” She would have continued, but he held a hand up. 

“It’s fine, Hermione,” he said, his brow furrowed, “but are you sure you’re quite alright? You’ve been a bit preoccupied of late, and I’m starting to grow concerned about you.” 

She took a deep breath, not certain how to answer. “Well, you see, sir,” she began, “I had a bad night and found it difficult to sleep. I was a bit exhausted and must have missed the alarm and the other girls leaving the dorm. I’m surprised Lavender didn’t wake me, though. She usually gloats when she’s managed to get up before me.” 

“I can tell you why she missed the opportunity,” Remus said carefully, his eyes studying her with interest. 

“Sir?” She asked, not sure of his meaning. 

Remus took a breath and replied, “I saw Lavender and Ron going to the Great Hall for breakfast together. They seemed a bit preoccupied themselves, and I’m not sure she would have noticed your sleeping in this morning.” He continued to study her as Hermione thought about his words. 

Lavender and Ron had gone to breakfast together? What was so special about that? “Oh!” She said, the wheels in her brain turning. “Professor, do you mean that Lavender and Ron are together together?” She spoke slowly, tasting the words almost as if unsure of how they should feel on her tongue. 

Remus nodded apologetically. “I don’t know how new this is,” he said, “but it appears they might have gotten together after the last Quidditch match.” 

Hermione blinked. It was the middle of October, and the Quidditch matches were in full swing. She’d missed the first one of Ravenclaw against Slytherin and intended to attend the next one where Gryffindor faced Hufflepuff. It appeared she’d miscalculated somewhere. 

Remus was still studying her shrewdly. “Hermione,” he said gently, getting her attention, “would you mind coming with me to my office? I’d like to speak with you a bit.” 

Shaking her head, she replied, “But sir, I’m already late to my Arithmancy. I’ve already missed one class, and I shouldn’t miss more than that.” 

Remus sighed for a moment and then said, “All right, Hermione, but I would appreciate it if you would stop by my office during your break so that I can catch you up on what you missed today and discuss your latest assignment.” 

She nodded and turned to go, walking quickly away from the concerned werewolf. Her mind was still full of the events of last night, but she shook away the memories, determined to get back on track for the day. She made her way across the castle to her Arithmancy class only to hear the sounds of students in the halls as she was almost to the room. 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. She’d actually missed two classes by sleeping in. She had never done this before. The students exiting the room gave her confused looks, brushing by her on their way to their next classes, and she entered the room with the intention of apologizing for Professor Vector for her tardiness. 

Ten minutes later she left the room with her homework assignment from the enigmatic professor. Now that she’d managed to miss both her first two classes, she had a free period before lunch. Hermione thought about Professor Lupin’s request that she visit him in his office and debated going that direction when she heard her name called once again. 

“Hermione!” It was Ginny, running down the hall toward her, red hair flaring out behind her. “There you are!” 

She smiled at her friend and said, “Hello Ginny! How are you?” 

“I’m good, but we were so worried about you this morning!” Ginny glared at her, putting her hands on her hips to emphasize her point. “Where were you at breakfast?” 

Hermione began to explain, “I had a bad night and couldn’t sleep, so when I did fall asleep, I managed to fall asleep so deeply I slept through everyone getting up. Why? What did I miss?” She wondered if the redhead would mention her brother and Lavender. 

Ginny colored a bit and then said, “Well, I’m actually glad you didn’t come down to breakfast. You missed Ron…and Lavender.” 

Hermione’s brow rose as she considered this. “And Lavender?” She asked, willing the other girl to explain what she meant. 

Ginny blew out a breath of air and seemed to steel herself against some unpleasant thought. “They’re dating,” she said sheepishly. “They started dating after the Quidditch game last weekend, which, by the way, I noticed you missed. Where were you?” 

Hermione knew she wouldn’t get out of answering the mini-Molly Weasley and said, “I was studying and lost track of time. Before I knew it, it was late, and I was lost in my books all day.” She knew it was a poor explanation, but it was at least one Ginny would accept. 

The other girl shook her head in exasperation at Hermione and then grinned. “You love your books, don’t you, Hermione?” Slipping her arm in Hermione’s, she began walking back down the hallway toward the stairs. “So are you going to be mad at Ron for dating Lavender?”

Hermione blinked and said, “No. Should I be?” She felt completely out of the loop. 

Now it was Ginny’s turn to blink. “I just thought, you know,” she trailed off and took a breath before soldiering on, “I just thought that you liked him. That’s all.” 

Hermione thought about that for a long moment as they walked down the stairs and then stopped to let a staircase reconnect to the base they arrived at. She supposed it would make sense for her to like Ron, and she’d had that pesky crush on him in fourth year when he screwed up asking her to the Yule Ball. But that was when she realized he had never really looked at her as a girl, and it irked her a great deal that he didn’t notice her until the last minute. 

In fifth year, Ron was nice enough, she supposed. There were no balls to get his attention, and they were too busy fielding the horrors of Umbridge and coordinating the DA to really pay much attention to one another. Besides, she’d spent much of the year sending owls back and forth with Viktor Krum in Bulgaria. 

Ginny had stopped walking and was looking at her, waiting for an answer. Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. Did she like Ron? The thought of Ron and Lavender certainly wasn’t tasteful, but it didn’t make her angry. And that was enough to tell her that she really didn’t like him. 

“I did like him, Ginny,” she said, scrunching her nose up as she tried to frame her response, “but I think it wore off. Maybe it had something to do with meeting Viktor Krum and spending some of my summer in Bulgaria, but either way, I’m not jealous of Lavender. So I don’t think I like Ron that way anymore.” 

With that explanation, the two girls descended the stairs to the front hall together. Ginny seemed content to parse through Hermione’s response while Hermione continued to ask herself whether she really was bothered by Ron’s new love life. 

They reached the front doors and exited the castle, neither speaking again till they turned toward the Quidditch pitch. 

“Hermione, is something going on?” Ginny asked, her eyes narrowed shrewdly in thought. 

Hermione cocked her head at the younger girl, surprised by hearing almost the same question twice in one morning. “What do you mean is something going on?” 

“You missed the Quidditch game last weekend,” Ginny pointed out thoughtfully. “You never miss Quidditch games. And you’ve been extra busy lately. You don’t come out with us much, and Harry’s been wondering where you are.” 

Hermione sighed, not sure what to tell her friend. It was difficult to claim she was studying something important because Ginny would ask what was so important she would skip Quidditch. And the Weasley girl was right. Hermione always made time for Quidditch. It truly was a mix-up on her part that she’d missed the match last weekend. To be quite honest, she’d thought the match was this coming weekend, so now she was berating herself. 

“I’m just worried about you,” Ginny concluded, patting her friend’s shoulder sympathetically. “You spent all summer reading in headquarters, and now you seem to be just as busy with whatever you’re studying.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when she heard the drawling voice of Professor Snape behind her. “Might I inquire why you ladies are missing lunch? Miss Granger, I believe you have missed more than lunch if Professor Lupin is to be believed.” 

The girls turned to see Snape staring down his overly large nose at them, a sneer stretched across his face. Hermione replied, for what seemed the umpteenth time, “I’m sorry, Professor. I’m afraid I overslept this morning.” 

“We were just going in, Professor,” Ginny echoed, taking Hermione’s arm again as they turned to enter the castle.

“Miss Granger.” It was a statement, and she turned to the potions master. “See that you do not miss my class. I will not hesitate to give you detention if you skive off potions.” 

Turning around, she ground out, “Yes, sir,” through gritted teeth, annoyed he threw her mistake in her face. She picked up her pace, dragging the redhead alongside her as she tried to get away from the oily professor.

The two walked in companionable quiet into the crowded Great Hall together. They saw Harry and Ron at the end of the Gryffindor table surrounded by Lavender, Parvati, and Neville. Ginny smiled at Hermione and parted from her to sit with Dean and Seamus down in the middle of the table as Hermione walked toward the end of the table. 

Harry had saved her a spot between himself and Neville. Hermione took it gratefully, watching as Ron looked up and turned almost as red as his hair at her entrance. 

“Where were you this morning?” Harry asked her, forestalling any attempts at conversation by Ron. 

“I overslept,” she told him simply. He stared at her, mouth agape. This was a first, and she knew she needed more of an explanation. “I’ll explain later,” she told him, wanting to tell him about why she couldn’t sleep. 

Suddenly feeling famished from missing breakfast, Hermione sank into her lunch with vigor, not interested in the conversation around her. Lavender kept trying to talk to Ron while Parvati seemed irritated that her best friend was ignoring her. Neville was telling Harry all about the interesting plants Madame Sprout was letting him tend to in Herbology. 

It appeared Neville’s talents in Herbology were noticed by the head of Hufflepuff house, and Professor Sprout had inquired about having Neville serve an apprenticeship of sorts after he aced his exam in fifth year. The normally shy Gryffindor was ecstatic about being singled out for such an honor, and he’d excelled at the opportunity. He was explaining the finer points of the plants he tended to Harry, who seemed to be bearing up well under the technical explanations Neville gave for the needy Cargintian flower. 

Hermione barely spared anyone at the table a second glance as she wolfed down the roast and potatoes served up by the house elves. She loaded her plate and ate quickly, listening to the others around her while trying to work out the details of the previous night. 

A hand shoved her head forward, and she barely missed having her face smashed into her plate. Hands out, she pushed backward immediately, stopping inches from the potatoes. Whipping around, Hermione glared up at the two goons flanking a cackling Draco Malfoy. Crabbe was standing behind her, one hand out, and she knew he was the offender. 

Instantly Harry stood up, wand out to defend his friend. 

“What’s up, Mudblood?” Malfoy taunted. “Skipping classes now? Perhaps the Mudblood figured out she’s not cut out for magic.” 

Harry growled, and she heard Ron crack his knuckles behind her. Lavender had gone strangely quiet. 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry demanded, wand at the ready. “Bugger off somewhere, ferret.” 

Malfoy bristled with anger at the insult. “What’s this, scarhead? Defending the Mudblood like she’s your girlfriend? Isn’t that precious?” He sneered at Harry, prompting Crabbe and Goyle to snicker at his supposed wit. 

Hermione stood then and looked at the boys speculatively. “Why don’t you grow up, Malfoy?” She looked him up and down and said, “Get lost, ferret.” 

Malfoy glared at her as his friends cracked their knuckles menacingly, but before anyone could say more the sounds of the bell rang out. Students began gathering their bags and shuffling toward the doors to their afternoon classes. Hermione slung her own bag over her shoulder and moved to walk with Harry and Ron to the Potions classroom, trying to ignore the Slytherins now following them. 

Lavender waved to Ron as they exited the Great Hall, heading up to the Divination classroom on the seventh floor. The trio then made their way down to the dungeons, loosely holding their wands as they walked and very aware of the Slytherins behind them. They made it to the classroom to find Professor Snape already inside, and the trio settled in at their table for the lesson. 

The rest of the day seemed to fly by as Hermione went through her classes. She had a break during the last hour of classes and went to visit Professor Lupin in his office to get her assignments for the class she’d missed. He gave her the opportunity to talk about what was bothering her, but Hermione ignored the rather open ended question in favor of focusing on his class. 

After dinner, she was corralled into the Gryffindor common room where Harry and Ron wanted to talk to her about what had made her late. She recounted the events of the previous evening to her friends minus her conversation with a certain portrait. Harry and Ron scratched their heads as they speculated on what could have caused the darkness. She wasn’t certain either, and they discussed it for a while before turning to Ron’s burgeoning relationship with Lavender. 

Harry seemed to watch her closely for her reaction, but Hermione remained calm and collected through the entire story of what she’d missed in the last Quidditch match. Apologizing to both her friends for missing an opportunity to support them, Hermione admitted to getting caught up in studying something. She avoided telling them what she was studying and opted for a lie about an arithmancy project she had due by Christmas. 

As she climbed the stairs to her dorm room, she rationalized to herself that she truly did have an arithmancy project coming up. Of course, she was already ahead in completing it, and she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone, but it was something she could have gotten caught up in. As she pulled on her pajamas, she wondered why she wasn’t telling Harry about the amazing book she’d found and the possible connection to Sirius’s portrait. 

It wasn’t something she’d really thought about much yet, but she was certain part of her hesitance was due to the fact she knew he would be obsessed by the idea of bringing Sirius back to life. She didn’t want to get his hopes up. She knew if she did, he’d only be completely broken hearted if the incantation didn’t work. 

Some part of her wanted to surprise him by bringing his godfather back to life. 

She fell asleep still contemplating how Harry would take the news of his godfather’s resurrection. This time she slept deeply and with no trouble. 

The next morning Hermione realized it was Saturday as she woke altogether too early for a weekend. She stretched in her bed, hearing the soft sounds of her roommates’ even breathing. It had to be early, but she was wide awake after her restful night. With a sigh she climbed out of bed and dressed before grabbing her bag to head down to the kitchens for a small snack before breakfast. 

After saying hello to Dobby and Winky (the former who grinned brilliantly and offered her a full meal and the latter who glared at her reproachfully for entering the domain of the elves), Hermione headed out of the kitchens with an eye for the library. She hummed a tune as she went and barely noticed the movement in the portraits she passed as she went. Her mind was focused on getting a bit of time to read through the book on portrait charms, and she felt hopeful as she entered her sanctuary. 

Chapter Text

“Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.” –Oscar Wilde

Hermione smiled to herself as she entered the library. Madame Pince looked up from her desk before returning to her perusal of the checkout logs. Hermione sometimes wondered why the woman didn’t just sleep in the library since she was always there so early and left so late. But she never said anything. Perhaps Madame Pince slept in a back room of the library. 

She walked to the back of the library where her customary spot awaited her. The table always looked so inviting, surrounded as it was by the most heavily populated section of library shelves. It was a bookish alcove that always brought her joy. She slung her full bag on the table and pulled out her books, quills, ink, and parchment. Setting aside the portrait charming book, she decided to start her day by getting a little ahead in her homework. 

She looked at the schedule she’d made herself for the year and checked her homework log. Hermione was nothing if not meticulous about noting down every assignment and every chapter to read in a book. She looked at her homework log and noted that she’d checked off everything due the following week. 

Shuffling some parchment around, she found the essay due in DADA. It was a foot long essay about a set of dark spells known as the Consciousness Triad. Professor Lupin had lectured on this recently, and the spells were used to alter a person’s consciousness. It was different from any of the other spells they’d learned about including the Imperio and Confundus as well as memory altering spells. 

Hermione went over her essay, searching for any errors or incomplete sentences. She’d done a little additional research on the Consciousness Triad and included information about the side effects of bungling any of the three spells. The side effects were incredibly dangerous, and they included things like erasing a wizard’s long-term memory, creating alternate identities, and developing multiple personalities. 

This particular set of spells fascinated Hermione. She’d often talked to her parents about her aunt, a beautiful woman on multiple medications to help with her mental illness. Aunt Matilda believed in many unusual things, and Hermione had speculated often that her aunt might actually be magical as she’d mentioned seeing things that Hermione knew existed in the wizarding world. Her parents, however, shushed her when she tried to bring up her theories and explained that Matilda had always suffered hallucinations and expressed multiple personalities. 

Seeing the side effects of the Consciousness Triad, Hermione wondered if her aunt might not actually be dealing with more than just a simple mental illness. But she couldn’t change her parents’ minds any more than she could waltz into her aunt’s doctor’s office and demand they take her off her medications and allow her to become the witch she obviously was. Shaking her head as she realized she’d lost her place, Hermione shoved thoughts of Aunt Matilda and mental illness to the back of her mind. 

Finished with her spot edit of the essay, Hermione rolled it up and placed it back in her bag. 

“Going to read up on portraits now?” The oily tones of Phineas Nigellus surprised her, and she looked up to find him standing alone in the familiar portrait. Where the house elves went she didn’t know. 

Hermione smiled at him and said, “Yes, I am. How did you know?” Her voice dripped sarcasm as she picked up the book on portrait charming. She was satisfied with her progress on her homework and had decided to give herself a break from studying. 

The old headmaster snorted as she set the book in front of her. “Girl, you’re going to drive yourself mad over that book,” he said. “You might be smart, but smarter witches and wizards than you dedicated their lives to the study of bringing wizards back to life. What makes you think you’d be successful where they failed?” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose in thought. She glanced down at the book she’d been reading and remembered the pieces that Harry Wotton had put together for her in his writing. She glanced up at Phineas, who seemed content to wait for her answer. 

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I might fail. I know that. And I know if I fail that I’ll die. I’m not even sure I’ll try. I want to learn as much as I can before I decide so that I don’t miss something. I still don’t know if Lord Henry had everything right.” She said this quietly, almost to herself, but the portrait still heard. 

The dark-haired former headmaster studied her, surprised at her admission. He’d picked at her time and again, trying to pin down her weaknesses while encouraging this foolish idea of bringing his great-great-grandson back to life. He wanted to convince her to try it if only for Sirius’ sake. But something she said stuck out to him. 

“What do you mean he didn’t have everything right?” Phineas asked, his brows creased in concentration. “Lord Henry wrote the whole book on bringing portraits back to life. What makes you think a man who dedicated his life to that would be wrong?” 

Hermione hemmed to herself, trying to put her thoughts into words. “It’s just,” she began, “that he may have gotten everything right, but he might be missing a piece or two. I just feel like there might be more to it than just having the portrait, the desire, and the emotional connection. Don’t you think so?” She glanced up at the portrait that was watching her. 

He remained silent as she continued her speculations, flipping through the book idly as she said, “There’s an obvious connection between leaving your life unfinished and dealing with regrets that would certainly create the motivation to return to life. And the portraits can have several spells and charms placed on them that make them so lifelike you’d never know the person wasn’t living and breathing.” She tapped her fingers on the table as she let her thoughts flow. “Of course, with any portrait charmer, there has to be some connection to the subject, but to bring someone back to life there must be a real emotional connection there. I agree with that. It still feels like something is lacking.” 

Phineas stared at her and asked, “And what might that be, girl?” He found himself interested despite his dislike of muggleborns. This particular muggleborn was truly a witch with fascinating skill and intelligence. 

Hermione talked aloud, jotting notes on a spare bit of parchment she’d pulled out. “Professor Lupin talked to us about the creation of the Neferi. The person who reanimates the dead must infuse some of his blood into them to bind them to himself as slaves. It’s only a small amount, and his blood is what gives them their half-life and the impetus to do his bidding.”

“Yes, and?” Phineas didn’t see what Neferi had to do with portraits and was curious.

“If the Neferi require blood to be reanimated, and they already have a body to reanimate, shouldn’t a portrait require more than an incantation and emotions?” She asked the question that had been plaguing her. She’d thought about it for some time now, trying to decide why Lord Henry’s incantation and requirements seemed so lacking. “I just think resurrecting someone from the dead through their portrait would take more than the skill of the charmer. There’s a missing piece, and I think it has to do with that Vita est Sanguis page I read the other night.” 

She said this last bit without thinking, but Phineas coughed at her words and caught her attention. “What is it?” She asked the portrait. 

“Did you say ‘Vita est Sanguis’?” He asked. Hermione nodded, looking down and grabbing the notes she’d taken on it. Phineas took a moment to compose himself and said, “Devlin Hamish charmed all the Black family portraits for many years.” Hermione’s jaw dropped. “After he died, our family continued to hire his students to charm every portrait we had made, and every portrait was charmed with the subject’s blood.” 

Her mind raced at the implications, and she wished she could reread the section on lifeblood from the other book. 

“Always studying, huh?” The drawl of a certain Marauder caught her attention as Sirius Black entered the portrait and nodded to his ancestor amicably. “Why are you up so early on a Saturday, anyway?” 

The younger version of Harry’s godfather stretched out on the floor of the portrait, letting his legs stretch out languidly as he settled in. He grinned down at her from his spot and seemed to await her explanation. 

“Hermione? There you are!” It was Harry, walking back to her table quickly, dressed for Quidditch practice. 

Hermione glanced up at the portrait, panicked momentarily. Sirius remained motionless, and she saw the look of longing as he finally got to see his godson full on. She wondered if he truly had been avoiding Harry as Dumbledore requested, and the sheen of tears in his eyes seemed to indicate he’d kept his word. She looked back at Harry and focused her attention on him as he pulled out a chair and sat down. 

Ignoring the urge to sneak a glance back up at the portrait, she smiled at her messy-haired friend. “Hi Harry, headed to practice?” She asked him. 

“Yeah,” he said distractedly, “but I had a thought about what happened to you the other night. Didn’t you say it sounded like someone called you a, er, uh…” He trailed off awkwardly, not comfortable saying the offensive word. 

Hermione shifted gears and realized what he was trying to ask. “Oh, yeah,” she replied, somewhat surprised. “Yeah, I thought I heard someone say that in the dark. But I’m not positive.” She shrugged her shoulders, still not certain what had happened that night. 

“Could it have been Malfoy?” Harry asked her eagerly, eyes shining with intensity. 

She realized suddenly what had him so preoccupied this early in the morning and started shaking her head before thinking about it. “No, Harry,” she said and then paused. Could it have been Malfoy? She wasn’t sure.  

Harry saw her waver and grinned at her. “See?” He said. “What if Malfoy is using the Room of Requirement to repair the broken Vanishing Cabinet? I haven’t been able to find it, and I’ve been looking everywhere. I even looked in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room to see if maybe he’d moved it there. But I haven’t been able to find it. Maybe he needed in there so he could work on it!” His voice was growing excited now as he shared his theories. “But what could he be doing? Why does he need to repair it? It’s just a broken Vanishing Cabinet, and there’s no reason to bother with it. Fred and George said it just kept Montague in some limbo state. I don’t know why he’d want to work on it.” 

Hermione wondered, too. It could have been Malfoy, she supposed. What other students actively called her a Mudblood anyway? It was his favorite insult for her, and while she wasn’t sure she’d heard it correctly, it was certainly possible. She reached back in her seat to stretch and found herself glancing to the portrait nearby. 

Sirius was glaring at her fiercely while Phineas looked simply bored with the conversation. She blinked rapidly and refocused her attention on Harry. He seemed distracted and was looking off into space at the bookshelves behind her. 

“Harry? Hermione?” They both jolted, surprised by the rather loud tone of their friend. Ron came into view, also dressed for practice, and Hermione smiled at him. 

“Harry, mate, you’re gonna be late to your own team practice,” Ron said with a grin. 

Harry jumped up, surprised he’d spent so much time in the library. “Sorry Hermione,” he called as he turned to walk out with Ron. “I didn’t realize what time it was! We’ll talk more about it later.” He turned back to wink at her, and she smiled and shook her head at her impossible friend. 

The two walked away, and Hermione heard the distant echo of the door closing and silence descending on the hallowed room. A disgruntled snort tore her attention from the two who had left the room, and she looked up at an irritated Marauder. 

“And just why haven’t you told anyone about Malfoy repairing a Vanishing Cabinet?” Sirius asked her, glaring at her. His tone was full of malice that she couldn’t place, and Hermione started at the anger in his voice. 

“Well, I didn’t think much of it, really,” she said. “I only found out about it by accident, and Harry’s the one who’s been obsessed with figuring out why all term. He’s been watching Malfoy on that map of yours every chance he gets.” She stopped talking as she realized she owed no explanation to the man in the portrait. 

Phineas Nigellus looked back and forth between the two with a smirk bordering on a sneer. “I’m curious, Miss Granger,” he began, “why the Malfoy heir would need to fix a Vanishing Cabinet when he could easily buy a pair with his father’s Galleons. There’s no end to the Malfoy vault at Gringott’s after all, or so the saying goes.” 

Hermione took a breath and said, “I’m not sure I should tell you, Professor.” She’d never addressed him this way before, and he blinked a bit at the title. “I’m concerned you might take this to Professor Dumbledore, and Harry has asked that we not repeat it to anyone in case Malfoy finds out.”

Sirius rolled his eyes at her and said, “C’mon, Hermione, you of all people should know that a Black family member is not going to blab just anything to the headmaster.” 

Phineas nodded. “Quite right,” he said, glancing at his great-great-grandson in approval. “Besides, why would the headmaster be interested in some ridiculous student project that sounds as if it will fail? He has far more important things to worry about, or hasn’t Potter told you?” 

Hermione winced. Yes, Harry had mentioned his additional “lessons” with Professor Dumbledore, and she and Ron were waiting for a time when he could reveal just how much he was doing with the professor. They had speculated, of course, but they knew that whatever he was doing must be to help in the war against Voldemort.

“The headmaster has more on his plate than just the running of this school,” Phineas said authoritatively. “He has meetings with the Ministry to attend and Order business to complete. There is no end to his work, Miss Granger, and one silly boy, Slytherin or no, is not going to change that.” 

Hermioine sighed. Feeling hemmed in by the two Black family members who goaded her, she decided a change of scenery was in order. Closing her books carefully, she began packing up. 

“Are you planning to run away again?” Sirius asked caustically. “Going up to that room you found? I understand if you can’t handle the curiosity of two lowly portraits, but aren’t you supposed to be in Gryffindor?” His voice held the bitterness she’d grown used to over the last year, and she glanced up at him, concerned. 

“I’m going to get breakfast,” she said primly, trying not to let him see how rattled she felt. “And then I’m going to watch Harry and Ron practice so they know I still support them. But I am not running away.” She glared up at the two nosy Blacks. “I am, in fact, going to talk to you later, so you can just wait. Now if you don’t mind, I’m hungry.” 

Shoving the rest of her books and supplies into her bag, she slung it on her back and marched away from the curiously similar men in the portrait.

Hermione settled into the Great Hall at one end of the Gryffindor table near the professors. It was still early, and most students hadn’t rolled out of bed yet. The table was mostly empty and bare. When she picked up her fork, platters materialized near her spot, and her juice glass filled with pumpkin juice. 

She smiled, always enthralled with the way magic was used. The house elves had such unique magic that most wizards didn’t care about, but Hermione had read up on the research and knowledge that was printed about them. She’d always been curious how they could do so much wandless magic.

Pulling her portrait charming book out of her bag, Hermione opened it to the place she’d left off the night before and began reading while she ate a slice of buttered toast. She had stopped with some of the most important charms that most of the wizarding world used in charming portraits, and she was eager to read on about their significance. 

She hadn’t lied to Phineas when she said there was something missing. It nagged at her that all of Lord Henry’s attempts to return a portrait to a living, breathing person ended in failure. He’d attributed it to lack of desire or emotional attachment. Given the meanings behind the words used in the incantation, she could see why he thought that. 

She stuck a fork in her eggs (over easy, just the way she liked), and it occurred to her that the answer might be in the way that Lord Voldemort had been brought back to existence. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. It was a feat of dark magic that brought him into his new body, but it had worked. She tried to remember what Harry had told her about his return two years prior. 

“Interested in portrait charming, eh, Granger?” 

Hermione nearly spat out the bite of eggs in her mouth in her surprise. She looked up to see Professor Slughorn standing over her. “Sir?” She asked, not used to seeing him for breakfast now that he no longer taught. 

He gestured to the book in front of her. “I daresay you should certainly consider a portrait of yourself, young lady,” he said genially. “The wizarding world can’t afford to lose an intellect like yours. Think how much more we would know if we’d only had charmed portraits earlier than the 1800s. Many of our forefathers could continue to share their ideas if they’d had the magic ability to charm their portraits then.” 

Hermione nodded, lost in thought. “That’s true, sir,” she said, distractedly. Looking up at him, she asked, “Have you gotten a portrait of yourself charmed somewhere, Professor?” 

Slughorn shook his head, laughing. “No, no,” he replied, waving his hands in denial. “Wouldn’t want to subject the world to that, you know. I know the dangers of charmed portraits after all.” 

Hermione tipped her head to the side quizzically. “The dangers, sir?” She asked. 

Professor Slughorn shook his head slightly with a shrewd glance her direction. “I imagine you’ll learn of the dangers yourself if you continue studying that book,” he told her. “But do feel free to come by my office to discuss them with me if you have more questions. You know, I knew one of the greatest portrait charmers to come out of the Hamish Academy in recent years. I’m happy to share more information with you if you’d like it.” 

Hermione smiled at him, a genuine smile for once, and she found herself surprised the potions master would have someone useful in his wizarding wall of fame. She nodded and said, “That would be lovely, sir. I’ll have to drop by sometime after I finish the book.” 

He smiled at her and then said, “Oh! And Miss Granger, the reason I stopped by is to tell you about the Christmas party I’m throwing for the Slug Club. I’ve already cleared it with Dumbledore and the other professors. I know for a fact that you and Mister Potter will be able to attend, so don’t think you can weasel your way out of it!”

Blushing she said, “Of course not, sir! I’d be honored to attend your party.” Inwardly she grimaced at the thought of attending a Slug Club party with people like Zabini and Cormac McLaggen. 

Slughorn drew himself up in a rather self-important pose as he said, “I will be sending out invitations soon, so be on the lookout. And I’m certain this party will be all the rage as I’ve a number of very big names coming.” He winked conspiratorially before wishing her a good day and making his way up to the professors’ table to join a surly Professor Snape and smiling Sprout. 

She sipped the last of her pumpkin juice, ignoring her now cold eggs and stuffed her book back into her bag. Maybe she’d find a place to sit and read while watching Harry and Ron’s practice, she thought to herself. But, if her luck held out, she’d probably get interrupted there, too. 

Hermione grinned ruefully at her thoughts and made her way out into the Hogwarts grounds without a second thought. 

Chapter Text

“Man is a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason.” –Oscar Wilde

Figures zoomed over the Quidditch pitch, racing one another towards hoops on one end of the pitch. Hermione walked slowly toward the racing figures, knowing the practice would likely end in another hour or so. Ever since becoming captain, Harry had been determined to make sure Gryffindor could stand up to the test of the other houses under new leadership. 

Hermione had been bored stiff over his and Ron’s discussions of strategy and designing new plans during the summer. She ignored most of it but was always impressed at how the boys handled themselves on the pitch. The ability to race around on rickety pieces of wood and stop on a dime always simultaneously frightened and fascinated her, so watching Quidditch was always an exercise in anxiety. 

Many games had led Hermione to clench her hands and shriek in fright. As she walked to the pitch, she remembered the times when she’d feared for Harry’s life as he’d hurtled toward what looked like certain death. The sounds of voices from the pitch reminded her that this was just a practice as she heard Harry yelling at the beaters Peakes and Coote. 

“Can you just try to block for the chasers once? You have clubs. Use them!” He shouted, zooming above the players in his role as both captain and Seeker. She giggled to herself as she saw him run his hands through his already mussed hair in frustration. 

She climbed the stairs to the stands and selected the very topmost bench to sit on, avoiding the Creevey brothers in the front row. She could hear Colin telling Dennis about his experiences photographing Harry in the past, and she rolled her eyes at the boy’s continued fanfare over her friend. 

Settling in for what she assumed would be the last hour of practice, she pulled out her portrait charming book, thinking about her conversation with Slughorn earlier. The sounds of the practice faded from her consciousness as she immersed herself in the text. 

She turned to the next chapter titled “On the Uses of Blood in Incanting Portraits.” Her eyes lit up at the idea of learning more about the concepts behind the lifeblood mentioned previously. 

Blood has always been a sacred and potent ingredient in wizarding. In many potions and rituals, blood is the key ingredient that can guarantee the wizard’s success or ensure his failure. In this chapter, we aim to describe the uses of blood in incanting portraits, but we must caution that the uses of blood in portraits can not only impart more lifelike qualities but can be a volatile addition to a portrait that creates both dangerous and unusual reactions to other spells. 

We want to begin by reminding readers that most portrait charmers discourage the use of blood in charms. Aside from those of the Devlin Hamish school of thought, most portrait charmers believe the use of blood creates a volatile environment on which to create a wizard’s portrait. This book will explain the technical aspects of using blood, and the results that come from its uses with the express caveat that the reader understand only those charmers with extensive training are ever able to make these spells work perfectly. Many, many portraits have ended in an Evanesco as a result of a blunder made with blood spells.

Before we discuss the important spells and potions that can utilize blood, we must first discuss the nature of blood and its potency. 

Each spell or potion discussed herein utilizes the blood of the portrait subject. Using the subject’s own blood guarantees that a portrait will retain memories long beyond the use of other memory charms. Blood also guarantees the portrait’s longevity. Without the use of blood, a portrait will expire after a certain period of time has passed unless the expiration charm is performed at regular intervals. 

Every spell and potion imparts a certain amount of the subject’s blood to the portrait. In all cases, there are three things that remain true for the blood used in portrait charms. First: the blood is freely given and mixes with dirt or dust to more easily apply to the canvas. Second: the blood must always be applied prior to any actual painting. Third: the blood becomes a part of the canvas but can be removed by certain incantations and returned to the wizard.

Hermione blinked and stretched, contemplating what she’d just read. She lifted her hands to the sky causing a sudden intake of breath and making her jump slightly in surprise. 

She looked over to the entrance of the stands to see Parvati walking in sheepishly. “Hermione,” she began with a smile, “you surprised me. I didn’t think anyone else would be up here right now.” 

Hermione was abruptly aware that the Quidditch team was no longer on the pitch. “Oh,” she said softly as Parvati walked to where she was seated, “I got distracted. I guess the Quidditch practice is over.” 

Parvati laughed a little at Hermione’s chagrin. “Do you mind if I sit?” She asked, indicating the spot next to Hermione in the deserted stands. Hermione nodded, and Parvati joined her with a sigh. 

The two looked out at the pitch in silence for a moment before Parvati broke the silence. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Hermione?” She asked. 

“Sure, Parvati. What’s up?” Hermione closed her book and put it in her bag before giving her roommate her full attention.

Parvati played with her hands, not saying anything for a moment. “Hermione, does it bother you that Ron is dating Lavender?” She finally asked. She looked the other girl in the eyes, searching intently for her response. 

“No, not really,” Hermione said, surprised by the question. “Ron’s my friend, but that’s all there is. Why do you ask?”

Parvati sighed, wringing her hands together. “I just miss my friends,” she burst out. “Do you know that Lavender barely talks to me anymore? And it’s not like you and I are good friends, but you’ve been so busy this year I never even see you!” She glared accusingly at Hermione, who was shocked at the change. “And then there’s Padma! I just don’t know what’s gotten into her!” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. The Patil twins had always been best friends over and above their inter-house friendships, but this was completely new to her. She tried to come up with a response but was saved the need when Parvati spoke again. 

“Padma doesn’t talk to me or anyone else anymore,” she lamented, clearly distressed. “I know something’s going on, and the word in Ravenclaw is that she has a boyfriend and is keeping it a secret. A boyfriend! Hermione, Padma tells me everything! How can she have a boyfriend and I not know it?” She reached out and gripped Hermione’s arm, shaking it slightly in her passion. 

Hermione hummed a moment before saying, “Well, maybe they’re right and Padma just wants to keep her boyfriend to herself for a little while before coming out with the news.” 

“No.” Parvati’s voice was clipped, instantly denying Hermione’s thoughts. “Padma tells me everything. She can’t just go get a boyfriend without sharing with me. We do everything together. But now she’s about as easy to find as you are!” 

That struck a chord in Hermione as she realized Parvati had actually come looking for her. She colored, feeling embarrassed for being so antisocial this year. “I’m sorry, Parvati,” she said softly, trying to help the other girl sense her honesty. “I didn’t know you missed me, and I’m sure Padma’s the same way. She’s probably going through something and just doesn’t feel like she can share it with anyone, not even you.” 

Hermione paused to think, not sure what else to tell her roommate. It was true she and Parvati weren’t close friends. Truthfully her closest friends were Harry and Ron followed by Ginny, and her rommates had always annoyed her with their penchant for gossip. Lavender, especially, was quick to pick up a piece of gossip and blab about it to everyone she saw, bringing bigger and bigger rumors back to the common room to share. Parvati, however, was Lavender’s best friend and had always been quieter than the gregarious Gryffindor. 

“I just wish Padma would talk to me. Or even Lavender for that matter,” Parvati was saying now. “It’s not like we’ve been friends the last six years or anything.” Her voice soured with sarcasm. “But no…put a boy in the mix, and I’m out in the cold.” She glared out at the empty pitch now. 

Hermione’s stomach rumbled, a reminder of how long she’d been outside, and she stood up abruptly. “Come on, Parvati,” she said, holding a hand out to help the other girl up. “Let’s go get some lunch, and then we can go hang out in the common room and talk some more.” 

Parvati looked at her puzzled before taking the offered hand to help herself up. She smiled tentatively at Hermione and replied, “Okay. I’d like that.” 

The two girls made their way to the Great Hall chatting about the classes they had. Parvati still took Divination, this year with Trelawny, but she told Hermione she wasn’t nearly as interested in it as she was her Muggle Studies class. Muggle Studies was taught by Professor Burbage, a young professor who was half-blooded and grew up with an entire half family full of Muggles who knew nothing about magic. Parvati explained that Professor Burbage was having the class do a rather unusual project this year that involved becoming penpals to Muggle students around the world. 

Hermione was surprised that the class was allowed to have contact with Muggle students in such a direct way, and the two girls talked about the project through the entirety of lunch and then back to the common room. 

When they arrived, Parvati’s face fell at the sight of Lavender and Ron off in the corner snogging. She grimaced and then straightened her back, throwing her shoulders out and marched over to the couches in front of the fireplace, currently occupied only by the Creevey brothers and a few first year students. Shooing them away, much to Hermione’s chagrin, Parvati claimed a couch for the two girls and waved Hermione over. 

They continued to discuss Parvati’s penpal, a Muggle boy in America named Edmund who was in his fourth year of high school and planning to graduate soon. Parvati told Hermione all about the boy whose parents apparently named him for a character from their favorite children’s book series. The girls ignored their fellow Gryffindors for the next hour until Harry appeared from the boys’ dormitory and joined them in one of the plush chairs. 

“Hi Harry,” Parvati said, not quite warmly but at least with less venom than last year. After their trip to the Yule Ball together, Parvati had been put off by Harry until she and Lavender joined the DA last year. She took her time forgiving the Boy Who Lived and was now over her disappointment. 

“Hi Parvati, hi Hermione,” Harry replied a bit distractedly. Hermione sat up a bit, noticing the pinched look on his face and his obvious irritation. “Sorry, Parvati, but can I borrow Hermione for a minute?” Harry didn’t seem to notice the other girl’s clear annoyance with his request. 

Parvati frowned deeply and agreed to the tune of Hermione promising to come back and spend more time together talking about Edmund. She started to head for the door when Harry stopped and walked over to the still-snogging Ron and Lavender. Hermione secretly wondered how they could go at it that long and not get chapped lips. A few minutes and an annoyed Lavender later, Ron was following Harry over to the exit. Hermione glanced over her shoulder as they left and noticed Lavender trying to get Parvati’s attention. She was pleased to see Parvati wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to talk to her friend but was giving her the silent treatment. 

Harry didn’t talk but led the trio to one of their old hiding spots in a deserted classroom on the fourth floor. He locked the door and turned, looking frustrated at his friends. 

“C’mon, mate, what’s going on?” Ron asked, disgruntled with the interruption of his previous activities. “We’re here now, and no one’s here, so spill it.” 

“I just can’t figure out what Malfoy’s doing,” Harry erupted, yanking the concealed Marauder’s Map from his robes. Hermione winced at his ire. “I keep seeing Crabbe and Goyle standing in the fifth floor corridor, and no Malfoy. I think he must have been the one to throw you out of the Room of Requirement, Hermione. They’re right there!” 

He paced back and forth between the desks and ranted to them, not letting them get a word in edgewise. “I haven’t been able to find the broken Vanishing Cabinet either!” His voice was strained as he explained, “I’ve gone to the fifth floor so many times and tried every possible combination I can come up with. Every time the door stays shut and I can’t get in! I don’t know what’s going on. Can you get in Hermione?”

She nodded but said, “I can get what I want out of the room. But I’m not asking for the Vanishing Cabinet when I go up there.” 

“What are you asking for?” Ron asked, his curiosity piqued. 

“A quiet place to study free from—“ she broke off suddenly, aware she was about to mention the portraits. Scrambling a minute with the boys’ curious gazes, she finished lamely, “from, uh, other students.” 

Ron rolled his eyes at this and said, “What? Library not cutting it for you anymore?” He scoffed and then turned to Harry and said, “And you! You’re obsessed with this map. Quit worrying about Malfoy and whatever he’s up to.” He raised his voice as Harry opened his mouth. “Malfoy is not a Death Eater, Harry, so just stop saying it!”

Hermione winced again as Ron brought up the point of contention they’d had with Harry over the last two months. 

“But he could be—“ 

“No, he can’t!” Ron nearly bellowed. “Do you think You-Know-Who is going to let some kid do his bidding? He won’t! Do we need to stupefy him and check his arm for a Dark Mark before you’ll believe us? Hermione, tell him!” 

Ron’s chest rose and fell dramatically as he took a deep breath, primed and ready to continue his rant. Hermione grimaced at the thought of ganging up on one friend with the other. 

“Harry,” she began softly, trying to break the tension, “have you actually seen Malfoy enter the room?” She prayed silently to whoever was listening for a no.

“He went in there earlier with Padma Patil,” Harry replied mutinously. 

“What?!” Hermione’s and Ron’s voices joined together in the quiet, and Harry smiled smugly at having gotten their attention finally. 

“What’s he doing with Padma Patil?” Ron asked, incensed. Hermione quirked a brow at her friend, reminded of the Yule Ball once again. “He hasn’t got her under the Imperius, has he? She wouldn’t go with him willingly.” 

“When did you see this, Harry?” Hemione broke in, wondering what the Patil twin wanted with the Malfoy heir. 

“It was yesterday, actually,” he admitted sheepishly. “I just caught it at the last moment before they entered the room. Their figures were on the map in the fifth floor corridor, and then they disappeared. They had to be going in there together.” 

Hermione mulled over this as Ron continued to elaborate on why Padma would only go with Malfoy under the Imperius. He and Harry traded jibes about why any girl would want to go anywhere with Malfoy for several minutes before Hermione shrugged back to awareness. She was caught up in her thoughts when she noticed movement in one of the portraits in the room. 

She turned her head sharply, noticing a smattering of black hair disappear from a portrait of witches at a hanging. Harry and Ron stopped speaking momentarily and looked at her askance. 

“Hermione?” Harry asked. She turned to look at him. “What’s going on? What are you thinking?” 

“Oh nothing,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “I got distracted thinking about the charms paper we have due. That’s all.” 

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes simultaneously and resumed their heated debate. Hermione glanced out the window and noticed storm clouds rolling into the area. That and a hooded figure walking to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. She watched as the hooded figure continued until he arrived outside the gate. As he turned to disapparate, Hermione recognized the greasy hair and sallow expression of her potions professor and was reminded of another potions master she’d spoken to earlier that day.

“Oh, Harry,” she broke in to the argument the boys were having. “I just remembered Slughorn stopped to talk to me this morning.” Harry looked disappointed at this, and she said, “He told me he’s hosting a Christmas party and made sure it wouldn’t coincide with any of your Quidditch practices so that you couldn’t miss it.” 

Ron smirked at the other two. “Looks like you have a fun Christmas holiday coming up,” he said, chuckling. 

Harry sighed and said, “Well, at least Dumbledore can’t complain that I’m not doing my project if I tell him I’m going to this Christmas party.” 

Ron started to ask him about it, and Harry stopped him with a raised hand. “I can’t talk about it just yet, Ron,” he said. “But it’s not forever. Just for now until we get a little further in our lessons.” 

Hermione and Ron were left to ponder this as Harry turned to unlock the door and exit the room. They followed him back to the common room, which was now filled with smoke from a batch of firecrackers courtesy of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. And with that Hermione returned to her role of Prefect, trying to round up the culprits with an unhelpful Ron at her side. 

Hours later she fell into bed exhausted but feeling more fulfilled than she had in a while. Hermione smiled to herself as she thought about what a great day she’d had despite not doing much of what she actually wanted. She mused on her conversations with Parvati, Harry, and Ron as she daydreamed before falling to sleep, a niggling thought about Malfoy lingering just on the edges of her consciousness.

Chapter Text

“Success is a science; if you have the conditions, you get the result.” –Oscar Wilde

The next day, a glorious Sunday, dawned with dew covered grass and deep red and gold leaves turning the Forbidden Forest into a picturesque landscape. Hermione stretched her limbs, looking out the windows from Gryffindor Tower at the view and smiling as she watched the Whomping Willow shake off the dew that dared settle on its limbs. 

Today was also Halloween, and she grinned at the thought of the many decorations and the feast she would enjoy. She’d already heard from Parvati that the choir had an excellent concert planned for prior to the feast. Parvati was one of the altos in the choir and had shared that it was one of her favorite parts of being in Hogwarts. The girl came from a Wizarding family, but she idolized many singers, both wizard and Muggle.

Hermione dressed with care, planning her outfit for the night’s feast when the concert would be held and the students would enjoy eating their weight in pumpkin pasties and juice. She grabbed her ever-present bag and headed down the stairs in time to see Ron and Harry come down from the boys’ side. Joining them, she headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.

They ate quickly and without interruption before Harry left to go to a lesson with Dumbledore. Ron excused himself to go to the common room and “talk” to Lavender, which Hermione rolled her eyes at. Grabbing her bag she went to the library to do some more reading. 

Having finished her charms essay last night, she was without a significant amount of homework due anytime in the next two weeks, so she pulled out the portrait charming textbook and immersed herself further in the chapter on blood. She continued reading until she came to an explanation of something she’d read earlier that got her thinking. 

Many students of portrait charming ask why the incantations and potions dealing with blood are often mixed first with a certain amount of “dust” or dirt. The typical response of those more knowledgeable is something these students find somewhat disconcerting. The traditional response is “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” 

This quote from the Muggle Bible explains the thought behind the use of dust in these particular portrait incantations and potions. The Muggle Bible describes a creation event in which man is created from the dust of the earth. We know, of course, that upon death all things, man and beast, return to the dirt, that is to say, they decompose until their bodies become part of the earth. 

For this reason, the blood involved in portrait incantations and potions must be mixed with an amount of dirt to activate the life-giving properties we look for in these spells. Without the dirt, the “where we come from,” the blood remains lifeless. The dirt of the earth creates the humanity portion of these spells, and it often results in more surprisingly lifelike spells. 

An excellent example of this is the long-restricted use of the Corporis Tactus potion, a potion developed to create the feeling of skin in portraits. The potion is notoriously tricky to brew, can only apply to the portrait it’s applied on, and can backfire in unusual ways. This potion when applied to the portrait of famed Hector Gavinnis created a portrait with the most lifelike skin to the point people would line up for hours in order to touch the portrait. 

Problems arose when the portrait refused to stay in his own picture, frequenting other nearby portraits rather than his own. Eventually so many people touched the portrait that the canvas fell apart, destroying this priceless work of art. By this point, Gavinnis was long dead, and the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Artifacts determined the Corporis Tactus potion would be restricted and require high level permissions in order to use. 

In short, the use of blood combined with dirt provides a canvas with life in a way mere incantations and potions simply cannot. Thus we agree that while blood spells and potions are extremely effective, they are too risky to perform with accuracy and have ill side effects when mishandled. 

Hermione sat back in her seat, mind whirling with the implications of the paragraphs she’d just read. She pulled out her notes from Lord Henry’s book, which were more like rewrites of what the experienced wizard had noted. Shuffling through them, she found the spot where she’d jotted down his comments about the failures he experienced. 

Lord Henry never successfully returned a portrait to life using his incantation, but he had noted every trial and error in the creation of it including his results. Each failure brought some new insight but ultimately boiled down to his beliefs that the subjects he tried to raise to life were actually happy to stay dead and had no more emotional connection with their lives on earth. 

But one failure had been so close to a success that Hermione made note of the differences Lord Henry experienced. He’d cut his hand earlier in the day on a letter opener, a scratch that he didn’t think much of at the time. That night, however, when he’d attempted to raise Bailey, his cut opened in the middle of the incantation, and blood began to seep out of the wound. 

She remembered reading that there was no noticeable pool of blood. It simply seeped out of his hand and vanished, seemingly into thin air. But the experiment that night had greater success than any before it. Bailey took on a semi-corporeal form or shade, and the ghost-like friend of Lord Henry might have become real had it not been for his magical closing of the wound. 

The bleeding wasn’t something he’d noticed at first, he’d written. It was only when his hand started to throb in pain from the bleeding that he healed himself with a quick charm. At that point the experiment went downhill, Bailey going from semi-corporeal to more transparent and finally fading altogether. 

Lord Henry, of course, attributed this to Bailey’s insanity and lack of desire to return to the land of the living. Hermione, however, wondered if perhaps the lack of blood was what stopped Bailey from returning fully. She jotted down a few thoughts about the mixture of blood and dirt as used in portrait charming, thinking perhaps there was something to the ancient ideas of portrait charmers.

“I’d try talking to Sirius before you make any real efforts,” the voice of Phineas Nigellus surprised her, and she found herself looking up at him from his perch on an overturned barrel. 

“I plan to,” she told him, surprising herself this time. She realized it was true, though. “I need to figure out if it’s even possible first, though.” She propped her chin in her palm as she mulled over her notes. “I think Lord Henry’s book is incomplete, and I think he’s ignoring blood in his incantation.” 

Phineas nodded conspiratorially and said, “Yes, for a Muggle-born, you’re a rather astute one. It’s no wonder Dumbledore encourages young Potter to confide in you.” 

Her eyebrows lifted as she asked, “What does he want Harry to confide in me about?” 

Now it was Phineas’s turn for surprise. “He hasn’t told you?” She shook her head. “Well then I won’t be telling you either. It’s up to Mister Potter, much as I wish Dumbledore would simply bring you in on it without his consent. But never mind. We were discussing blood, yes?” 

Hermione nodded skeptically, taking in the narrowed lines of Phineas’s face and the way he placed his hands so carefully on his lap, a move she’d associated with his refusal to speak more on a subject. It was an aristocratic leaning he’d passed on down the Black line all the way to Sirius, and she remembered seeing him in a familiar pose when Harry begged information about the Order.

“I just think,” she began, “that the incantation he’s developed needs a mixture of blood and dirt, similar to the ones I’m reading about in this book.” She indicated the portrait charming book on the table. “It’s all well and good that the incantation is complete, and it certainly seems that. But when he breaks down the roots of each part of the incantation, there are root words that have meanings related to life and lifeblood. Without the use of blood, I don’t think they have the power to truly resurrect.” 

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table, now talking more to herself than the portrait. “And Harry said something about when You-Know-Who was brought back that makes me wonder if he used something similar. Wormtail used a bone from You-Know-Who’s father and Harry’s blood to bring him to life.” She paused in thought and then added, “I think to bring someone back to life using Lord Henry’s incantation, you’d definitely need blood and perhaps dirt as well, but unlike the spell Wormtail used, it would need to be willingly given. It isn’t a dark spell, after all.” 

“What isn’t a dark spell, Hermione?” She jolted out of her reverie, looking up at the figure looming over her. Remus Lupin was standing next to her, not paying attention to the portrait. He grinned at her bemused as he asked, “And who are you talking to?” 

“Oh, Professor, you scared me!” She said, hand over her heart. He smiled at her apologetically, and she said, “I’m just talking to myself. I do that when I’m studying sometimes.” 

“Studying portrait charming, Hermione?” He asked curiously, picking up the textbook she’d been reading. “Why would you want to know about that?” His brows creased, and he surveyed her steadily.

Hermione didn’t want to lie to one of her favorite professors, but she couldn’t tell the truth either. 

“I was looking for information on why portrait charming only works on witches and wizards and not on Muggles,” she said, feeling lame at the poor excuse for a lie. “I’ve been interested in it since this summer, really.” She decided to try to weave some of the truth in to her lie. “Do you remember that classic I read at the summer house?” 

Remus’s smile stretched into a grin as he said, “I only remember you reading every last classic Sirius bought for you. Which one are you referring to?” 

“The Picture of Dorian Gray,” she replied promptly, laughing at his comment since it was very true. “Have you ever read it?” She knew the professor was well read even in some Muggle literature. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” Remus replied. “Care to give me the summary?” He pulled out a chair and plopped down across from her amiably. 

She grinned and began to summarize the book, waxing a bit longer than the summary might otherwise call for in her enthusiasm. Remus paid close attention, however, and she enjoyed having someone so interested in books the way she was. 

“And then Dorian grows so distraught with his portrait that he stabs it,” she finished. “He dies by his own hand, and it’s really very sad and tragic. The servants find an unidentified old man in the floor with a knife wound while a gorgeous portrait of their master sits with a stab mark.” 

Remus whistled long and low at the end of her recitation. “Hermione,” he said, “you’re an excellent story teller. Has anyone ever told you that?” She blushed at his praise. “And that does sound like an excellent book. It’s no wonder you got so interested in portrait charming.” 

“Ah! There you are, Remus!” Professor Slughorn wound his way through the tables to the back of the library. “I went by your office, but I saw your note that you’d be here instead. Ah, Miss Granger, what a pleasure.” He smiled at Hermione, and she returned the smile not at all as enthusiastic with his interruption.

Remus greeted his colleague with a smile and made to stand when Slughorn abruptly pointed to the book still in the werewolf’s hand. 

“And I see you’ve roped another professor into discussing portrait charming,” he said, clasping his hands with excitement. “Have you been able to get further in the book since we last talked?” 

Hermione noted Remus’s quizzical glance her way and mentally winced at the potions professor’s lack of tact. “Not too terribly far, sir,” she replied. “I’ve just been talking to Professor Lupin about how I got interested in the subject.” 

Ignoring her comment, Slughorn nodded importantly and said, “Of course, of course, my dear. And do you know that I decided to see if my old student Nicole Stubbins could come to our Christmas party? Owled her yesterday to see if her busy schedule would allow it. Very busy portrait charmer, she is.” He nodded again, and then he smiled brightly. “I told her I had a student who would love to meet a portrait charmer, and I’m sure she’ll say yes. She’s always been egging me on to get my own portrait done by her, but I told her I just can’t, you know. It’s always dangerous to get a portrait made after all, even if there are safety standards these days.” 

Remus stood up then, gently interrupting Slughorn’s dialogue that seemed never ending. “Well, Horace,” he said, “it sounds like you’ll have quite the turn out at your party, and I’m sure Miss Granger will be delighted to meet everyone you’ve invited.” He turned and winked at her, and she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out. “But I suppose you’ve come to get my lesson plans?” 

“What—oh, yes, the lesson plans,” Slughorn replied. “Now, of course, I can teach Defense just fine, but you know Potions has always been my sweet spot. Could do with a bit of a refresher on just how far along the classes are before I come in Tuesday.” 

Hermione was reminded then that part of Dumbledore’s arrangement allowing Slughorn to remain in the castle was that the potions master would take on a substitute role during full moons. She sighed. It seemed Harry wouldn’t get away without having Slughorn harangue him about the Christmas party he wanted to avoid after all.

The two professors made their goodbyes as they walked back to a table Remus had been using earlier to study his own subject, and Hermione remained lost in thought. It was true she didn’t want to lie to Remus, but the idea of telling him after watching him be thoroughly crushed by the loss of his best friend was something she couldn’t bear. She knew he’d tell her to stop wasting her time on something that couldn’t happen, and even if she brought up Sirius’s portrait, Remus would likely talk Dumbledore into removing it again, perhaps back to headquarters or somewhere more obscure. 

“So do you plan to bring me back to life or not?” 

She jumped. The words, uttered in a familiar drawling voice, were blunt enough Hermione didn’t want to acknowledge them at first. She looked over to the portrait to see Sirius looking down at her curiously, and she sighed. 

“Did Phineas tell you?” She asked him. “Because I’ve threatened him with reversing his charms if he spoke about this to anyone.” 

“He didn’t have to,” the portrait Sirius replied, cutting off her coming rant. “I’ve watched you reading that book. I know you stole the diary from my library.” Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t look so surprised, Hermione. You might be the smartest witch of your day, but when you leave a rather obvious black leather diary with gold trim lying on your desk, I can’t help but recognize it. Besides, my old ancestor made quite the ruckus about that book when I was alive.” 

Sirius shook his head, and she took a moment to look at him as he seemed lost in thought. He ran a hand through his silken locks, not quite as long as they were in life and incredibly vibrant, though Hermione thought that might have simply been the type of paint used in the portrait. His skin was also a warm peach color rather than the sallow yellow she recalled. She’d always assumed his return from Azkaban had changed him in many ways, some of them physical, and she was especially sure of this when she’d seen Remus’s reaction to him the night of their first meeting in third year. 

His hands were long-fingered and clearly well-manicured, a throwback to his aristocratic upbringing. He wore a black shirt with a pair of black slacks, nothing too fancy; though the gold necklace with a lion pendant was likely his rebellion against his family’s prejudices. 

She stared at him in fascination, almost not noticing when his slate colored eyes met her own brown ones. 

“So,” he drawled, a knowing smile appearing on his lips as he stood up a bit straighter, “you want to bring me back to life, huh, Hermione?” He smirked a bit at her jumpy response. “I can only tell you that old Lyconis told me enough about the book to know you have to have a close, intimate relationship to the subject you wish to bring back to life. Do you think we have a relationship like that?” His eyes sparked with something Hermione couldn’t name. 

Rolling her eyes at the portrait, she said, “Don’t get your hopes up, Sirius. Perhaps I just wanted to figure out how it’s done so Harry can bring you back instead. You can have a close, intimate relationship with him instead.” She mocked him with her tone and threw a smirk in his direction when he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Looking down at her book, she sighed and admitted, “Actually I don’t even know if it’s worth a try to do this. It looks incredibly dangerous, and the potion would take almost two months to brew before I could even begin to perform the incantations. Besides, I’m not even sure I have all the pieces I’d need to begin.” 

She glanced back up and saw a Sirius she’d never seen before in life. His face was utterly crestfallen, filled with something like pain and regret mingled together. He stared at his hands, his shoulders slumped, and she knew, suddenly, that he very much wished to come back.

“You’re the smartest witch of your year,” came the soft tones of a smug-looking Phineas Nigellus, moving into view from the left side of the portrait abruptly. “Don’t you think you can put together the pieces Lord Henry missed? You’ve already started. You might as well give it a try.” His voice was sly, and she caught his look as he glanced between her and his great-great-grandson. 

Hermione sighed, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. Of course she wanted to try the incantation and figure out the potion. She didn’t want to not try and leave Sirius in the limbo state of being that was the ridiculous curtain in the Department of Mysteries. She wanted to bring her best friend’s godfather back so that they could continue to grow as a family, but she didn’t know what that would look like.

“I’m going to go now,” she told Phineas and Sirius, glaring up at the oily former headmaster. “You act like this should be a simple problem to figure out, but it’s not. If I screw this up, I could die, or worse. And I won’t be responsible for causing Harry even more grief because I decided to do this for him and failed.” 

“Why not just get Harry to perform the incantation?” Phineas asked, smirking. 

Hermione and Sirius both cried out a loud “No!” Phineas’s smirk grew as he looked at each of them in turn. 

Hermione glared again, not sure how the portrait had so gotten under her skin in such a short time and then gathered her things. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she stalked out of the library, passing Professors Lupin and Slughorn on her way out as they pored over a few books on a table. 

She didn’t notice Remus’s glance in her direction or the consternation he directed toward the corner she’d occupied, his mind whirling with the other voice his lupine hearing had picked up a moment ago. 

Chapter Text

“Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are.” –Oscar Wilde

The Halloween feast went off without a hitch, and Hermione was especially happy for Parvati, who performed an excellent solo in the choir during the concert. She’d clapped loudly and cheered for her friend, who blushed at the enthusiasm. 

Hermione fell into a deep sleep when she arrived back in her dorm that night, not even managing to set out her clothes for the next day like she always did. She dreamed of potions and blood, waking with an epiphany early in the morning. Climbing out of bed, she shivered as her feet touched the cold stone floor. 

She dressed quickly and gathered up a few things before making her way out of the dorm quietly. The common room was mostly empty, and she breathed a sigh of relief that most students weren’t interested in early Monday mornings to start their week off right. Making her way out of the Gryffindor tower, she headed for a certain girls’ bathroom she’d made use of in her younger years. 

When she entered the bathroom, it was decidedly silent, and Hermione enjoyed the quiet as she assessed her surroundings. Since her second year, the girls’ bathroom had enjoyed a bit of notoriety as students shared the secret location of the Chamber of Secrets. It still remained mostly deserted as Moaning Myrtle’s reputation preceded her and students desired a mostly dry bathroom experience. Too many broken pipes and overflowing toilets had taken over the mystery of the bathroom, but even so, Hermione knew a few girls would come here if they had no alternatives. 

She settled on the furthest stall as the best option. Moaning Myrtle frequented the first stall and rarely used this last one. Opening the stall door, she lugged her cauldron into the toilet alongside a piece of wood she’d spied in the fireplace on her way there. Transfiguring the wood into a large wooden plank, she plopped it on top of the toilet seat and set the cauldron carefully on top of it. 

Rummaging in the bag she’d brought with her, she set out ingredients on either side of the cauldron, pleased with herself for having made the plank large enough to hold her ingredients off the floor. She pulled out the little black diary and flipped to the back where Lord Henry described the potion he used to help bring Sera’s portrait back to life. 

Lord Henry had concluded his research by saying he believed the incantation was enough to bring a portrait back to life if all three elements were perfect, but Hermione didn’t want to take chances. She skimmed over the potion and began reading what she would need to be able to make it. She had quite a few of the ingredients already in her stores, but some of the items would be much, much harder to come by, and she only had two weeks before those items would need to be added. She jotted notes about what she would need to acquire and when and resolved that she might be visiting Hagrid and possibly sucking up to Professor Snape as a result. 

That thought caused a shiver at the idea of convincing the potions professor to part with some of his store. 

Hermione set up her cauldron with the beginning ingredients for the potion and got through the first three steps before she would need to let the potion steep for six days. Having finished, she cast several charms around the stall, including a charm to dissipate any smoke and fumes that might arise from the cauldron. Closing the diary, she put it and the rest of her ingredients back in her bag, happy with her progress. 

She backed out of the stall and pulled the door closed, magically locking it. Turning around, she jumped and shrieked in shock at the sight of a pale Myrtle floating right in front of her. Placing a hand on her throat in her fright, Hermione dropped the bag she carried and breathed deeply to calm herself. 

“Myrtle!” She cried, voice tense. “You scared me to death!” 

The ghost frowned, and Hermione nearly groaned at her mistake. “Oh, really?” Myrtle ground out between her teeth, her voice full of malice. “I scared you to death, huh? How cruel! How could you say something like that to me? You of all people know what happened, and you’d joke about something like that?” 

Hermione winced, already forming the words to backpedal away from her error. “Myrtle, I’m sorry,” she said, hands in the air placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just an expression after all, and I was frightened. I couldn’t help it if it came out like that. I’m really, really sorry.” 

She waited for the ghost girl to rant at her about the injustice of it all, resolved that it was her due and she really needed Myrtle on her side anyway.

Myrtle surveyed her a moment, using one ghostly pale hand to push her glasses up her nose, her hair pulled back in its trademark ponytail. “What are you brewing in there this time?” She asked, her voice back to its normal grating tone. 

Hermione tried not to let her surprise show and responded, “It’s a potion for Harry.” She’d rehearsed this little conversation in her head on the way to the bathroom and wanted to make sure she got it right. “I’m trying to brew a surprise for him for Christmas, and I thought this would be the best place to do it since no one comes here.” 

The ghostly girl frowned again, reminded of her plight, and then she said, “And what kind of surprise is it? I never see Harry anymore, you know. And you never visit me either for that matter.” 

The bushy haired Gryffindor pushed her hair back from her face and said, “I know, and I’m sorry. I would say it’s because we’re all so busy, but you and I both know we can find time.” She paused, watching the other girl’s reaction. Myrtle’s eyes widened a moment, and she mercifully remained silent. “So I guess this is just an excuse to come visit you as well. I hope you don’t mind if I have to come back here every week or so to make sure the potion is brewing correctly.” 

Myrtle tipped her head in thought, and Hermione almost held her breath as she waited for her response. Just when she was beginning to think she’d have to leave for breakfast so no one missed her, Myrtle said, “All right. Let’s say I keep everyone out of this stall and make sure no one bothers your potion for you. Will you still visit me after Christmas, too?” Her voice was accusatory. 

They both knew Hermione was trying to get on her good side with comments about the potion and using it to visit her. Hermione sighed and said, “Yes, Myrtle, I’ll come back after Christmas. I’ll even drag Harry and Ron along if that will make you happy.” 

Myrtle’s eyes lit up at Harry’s name, and she said, “Yes, that would be lovely. But you don’t have to bring the other one. I just want to see Harry.” 

Hermione smiled gratefully at the ghost and said her goodbyes before heading to breakfast. She giggled to herself at Myrtle’s obvious crush on Harry as she entered the Great Hall. It was November 1^st and the air was cooling rapidly with the fall. The Great Hall’s ceiling reflected clear blue skies that were visible outside the windows as well, and Hermione smiled when she saw her friends already seated at the table. 

Thus started a month of busyness for all three of the Gryffindor trio. Hermione spent a good deal of time reading through the books she’d checked out on charming portraits and working on the potion in the girls’ bathroom. She made time to get all of her assignments done and even found a little time to visit with her friends, including Parvati, when she could. But it became increasingly difficult to obtain the items she needed for her potion after getting unicorn hair and lacewing fly larvae from Hagrid. 

The boys, on the other hand, were preparing for what looked like an incredibly difficult Quidditch match against Ravenclaw in mid-December. Harry had the team practicing every weekend and many weekdays. Ron spent much of his free time locking lips with Lavender in displays that increasingly reminded Hermione why she wasn’t interested in the red-headed boy. Meanwhile Harry had finally opened up about his lessons with Dumbledore after Hermione caught them returning to campus together one night when she was on patrol. 

Professor Dumbledore had merely smiled at the young witch, wishing her a goodnight after asking her to escort Harry back to the Gryffindor common room. His eyes twinkled a bit as he mentioned Harry’s need to share a bit of the excitement of the evening. Hermione knew the headmaster was right when Harry paced back and forth in front of the fireplace for almost 30 minutes before darting upstairs to get a grumbling Ron out of bed. 

The three sat well into the early hours of the morning discussing the lessons Dumbledore and Harry had been undergoing. Hermione found herself voicing concern when Harry mentioned their jaunt into a Muggle town to find the home of the Gaunt family, who were Tom Riddle’s wizard family. 

“Dumbledore’s been showing me all these memories in the Pensieve,” Harry explained, “so when we got to this town, it was like I’d been there already. And he told me that’s where Voldemort’s father is buried, too, just in another part of the town where his father’s house was. So I guess I’ve actually been there before.” He scratched his head trying to reconcile the idea that the small Muggle village could be a place of such violence. 

“What did you say the name was again, Harry?” Hermione asked him, trying to remember. 

“Little Hangleton,” he replied. Then he continued, “So we found this dirt track that took us back to this beaten up old house. It wasn’t even really a house. Just a broken down shack, really. We went inside, and I felt so cold. Dumbledore told me he could feel the Horcrux in the building, and I knew he must be right because I never wanted to leave a building as much as I did then.” 

Ron swallowed hard and said, “Did you find it?” His voice was hushed with awe after learning of the existence of such an incredibly dark magic. 

Harry nodded. “It was the ring all the time,” he said. “And Voldemort thought it would be safe to hide it in this ramshackle old house because no one could possibly know that his family lived there. Ridiculous.” He laughed a hollow sounding laugh. 

“Where is it now?” Ron asked eagerly, looking at Harry’s hands to see if the ring was on one of his fingers. 

“Dumbledore has it, of course,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Doesn’t he, Harry?” 

“Yes,” Harry admitted with a rueful smile. “I wanted to hold it, but he wouldn’t let me. He snatched it up and put it in a charmed bag that he brought to contain it until he could get it back to Hogwarts. I don’t know how he plans to destroy it, though. He told me Horcruxes are incredibly difficult to destroy.” 

Ron looked at his friend knowingly. “I’m sure Dumbledore has a plan, mate,” he said encouragingly. “And just think! You found the Horcrux, so you can kill You-Know-Who the next time you see him, and he won’t come back!” 

Hermione and Ron both noticed the tension in Harry’s shoulders at his comment, and she said, “You can kill him, can’t you, Harry? Once the Horcrux is destroyed, he’ll be vulnerable, right?” 

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “That’s part of my assignment,” he said after a long moment of silence. “Dumbledore showed me another memory that he took from Professor Slughorn. It sounds like there’s more to the story than just one Horcrux, but somehow Slughorn altered the memory. It’s like watching a movie cassette that wasn’t threaded properly. The tape just kind of breaks in the middle of the movie, you know?” 

Hermione nodded in understanding as Ron said, “No. What’s a movie cassette?” 

“A Muggle thing,” Harry explained to his friend. “It’s kind of like watching a moving picture that can talk. Muggles put tapes in their VCRs and watch the movie on the TV.” Ron was nodding along now, his eyes lighting up with understanding. 

“Oh yeah,” he said happily, “Dad has one of those VCR things hooked up in the shed. He said it wasn’t working right, so maybe he just needed one of those tape things.” 

Hermione snickered into her hand as Harry continued, “Yeah, well, basically if the tape breaks, the picture turns fuzzy and the sound is off so that you can’t understand what’s happening. That’s kind of how the memory Slughorn gave Dumbledore is. It’s like there’s more to it, but it’s all fuzzy.” 

Hermione pondered that as Ron said, “But surely there’s nothing really important in that memory. You-Know-Who couldn’t have trusted old Slughorn with any of his plans.” 

“I don’t know, Ron,” Hermione said. “Slughorn was the potions professor during You-Know-Who’s school days, so it’s entirely possible he trusted him with more than we think. Maybe Slughorn was someone that he felt could answer his questions and help him figure out his plans.” 

Harry scowled at that. “I just hate that Dumbledore wants me to try to get into Slughorn’s good graces so I can get that memory,” he said. “I know that’s why he invited the professor back here, but I just don’t think I can do it.” 

The three continued to talk until late in the morning before Hermione remembered the next day was a school day and herded the boys up to the dorms for a few hours shut-eye. 

Following their late-night tete-a-tete, Harry spent much of his time devising ways to visit Slughorn without being too obvious about his purpose. Hermione realized the former potions master might have access to some ingredients she could use for her potion and took it upon herself to join Harry in his first visit to Slughorn’s office. The two were unable to get the memory, and in fact, Slughorn nearly tossed them out of the office but thankfully gave Hermione the fangsbore root and gingernewt spawn she needed to continue her potion. 

The rest of November passed in a whirlwind of studies, books, laughter, and the occasional conversation with Sirius and Phineas. Hermione was determined to finish the brewing of the potion in time to try the incantation over Christmas break when fewer students would be on the grounds. She’d been successful so far in keeping students out of the furthest stall, but she wasn’t sure how much longer that would last. 

Sirius, for his part, didn’t know she was working on brewing what could amount to the most dangerous potion she’d ever made before. Even deadlier than messing up the Polyjuice Potion, Hermione found this Resurrection Brew, as she’d dubbed it, to be painfully tricky, and she’d even skivved off a few classes in order to add perfectly timed ingredients to the cauldron. 

Phineas Nigellus, on the other hand, constantly nagged at her about the potion. He’d become irritated when she told him where she was brewing the potion, constantly telling her it would be found and she’d have to start over. And then he asked how on earth she was going to add blood to the mix since she’d decided it was a necessary component. 

“I read up on all the different potions and incantation that used blood in the book” she told him one afternoon when she was absolutely fed up. She pointed at the portrait charming book in indignation. “Every single one calls for a mixture of blood and dirt as the very last ingredient, and most of the time it’s only added as you are charming the portrait. So I’m going to do the same thing and see if that works.” 

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance as he glared back at her. 

“Silly girl,” Phineas began. He sniffed haughtily and told her, “Blood is always added last because it’s one of the most volatile ingredients in any potion that calls for it. But how do you know that adding it last will really work? You’re not a potions mistress.” 

But Hermione had an answer to this as well, even if it meant that she’d have to go to a true potions master for the answer. 

Lugging her books onto her potions table one afternoon after double Potions, Hermione waved her friends on as they exited the classroom. She smiled and assured them it was okay before waiting for the class to empty. When it emptied, she grabbed the top book and approached Professor Snape’s desk where the greasy-haired professor was poring over the samples of Anti-Nausea Potion the class had brewed. She watched as he used a dropper to drop three drops of a yellow liquid into a sample, which instantly turned green. He sneered and stoppered the sample up before jotting something down in his grade book.

She cleared her throat, but the professor didn’t look up. He merely said, “Miss Granger, if you have something to ask, do go ahead and stop looming over my desk.” He glanced up at her with a sneer as he set the dropper back into a vial. 

Irritated but needing his help, she pulled the book open to the place she’d marked earlier. She pointed to the potion she’d found and said, “Professor, I wondered if you could explain a little bit to me about how blood works in potions. I know that’s NEWT level studies normally taught to seventh years, but I was interested in this healing potion I found and wondered about the blood.” 

Snape cocked his head at her, seemingly surprised that the Gryffindor had actually sought him out instead of her precious library for information. Indicating an open spot on his desk, he waited for her to set out the book. Snape glanced at the potion a moment before his eyes flicked back up to hers, his brows arched in a question. 

“Miss Granger,” he began in a drawling voice, “do I need to remind you of the consequences of stealing from my stores?”

Indignant, she retorted, “Of course not, sir. I simply wanted to learn more about this potion and how the blood works. I’m not actually trying to brew it.” She stared into his eyes, daring him to contradict her before remembering the accomplished Legilimens he was. She glanced down at the book instead and stuck her finger on the offending text. “This says that one must always add blood at the end of a potion or risk dangerous consequences. Can you explain to me why that is? I haven’t been able to find any books in the library with adequate explanations.” 

Seemingly satisfied with her response, the professor said, “Blood is one of the most volatile substances used in potions, more so when it is wizard blood. Because wizards have an inherent amount of magic in their very blood, it’s important to add it to the end of a potion. In the study of potions, you will find that different kinds of blood can change the reactions in a potion, and no, I do not mean different species’ blood,” he said, noting the question on her face. 

He pointed at the potion in question. “You’ll notice that this particular potion calls for the blood of the person who wants to use the potion,” he said in full lecture mode. “What this means is that this potion will only work on one person: the one who brewed it and added blood to it. It’s designed so that it feeds your own blood back into your veins and even multiplies to add white and red blood cells back into the blood stream in the event of a major loss of blood. Mediwizards tend to keep this potion stocked in bulk but without the active ingredient of blood so that when needed, they can take just a drop of the wizard’s blood and add it to the potion to activate the healing properties. It only takes moments to reheat the potion and then have the injured wizard drink it, but adding the blood is absolutely what makes it so potent.” 

Hermione listened to her professor enraptured. She hadn’t even really read deeply into this potion when she’d selected the book of healing potions. She’d merely found one that called for blood so that she could ask Snape’s advice. But now she was very interested in the way blood could so alter a potion. 

Snape continued, warming to his subject, “In other similar blood-loss potions, the blood added is not as important. You still add it at the last because it can always alter the properties of a potion depending on the magical energy expended to retrieve the blood, but in other potions like this, the blood can come from anyone. The difference here is that this potion uses blood from an individual to multiply the healing cells once it enters the wizard’s body. In other potions, the main aim is to either stop blood loss or mitigate it until this potion can be consumed. In short, Miss Granger, you have discovered the most potent of the blood-loss potions used on injured patients.” 

His voice was dry, but his eyes sparked with an intelligence that warmed Hermione. She’d always known Professor Snape was exceptionally smart, but with his trademark sarcasm and hatred of Gryffindors, she’d never had opportunity to really pick his brain. 

The bell rang then, and she realized she’d used up more time than she intended. Not wanting to leave but needing to head back to the girls’ bathroom to stir the potion, she thanked the professor for his help. 

Snape looked at her curiously. “You’re welcome, Miss Granger,” he finally said, his voice sincere. She met his eyes and saw those of a keen intellect meeting her own. 

As she walked to the girls’ bathroom, Hermione wondered how things might have been different if she’d been sorted into Slytherin house and had the potions master for her head of house. 

Chapter Text

“There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.” – Oscar Wilde

Two weeks later December and snow had arrived in full blast, freezing the castle with a cold wind. The entire castle was excited at the upcoming Hogsmeade trip that was slated to take place that weekend. Even the Gryffindor Quidditch team was allowed a day off practice in order to enjoy some Christmas shopping. 

Hermione had arranged to go to Hogsmeade with Parvati and Harry. Harry wasn’t too keen on the trip but had agreed because he needed to buy Christmas gifts for his friends. Ron was going to Madame Puddifoot’s with Lavender, but Hermione noticed a rather sickly tinge to his cheeks as he told them his plans. She hid her amusement but decided to stick by her friend and not mention it to Parvati, who still complained about Lavender’s defection regularly.

That Saturday dawned with a light crunch of snow underfoot and flurries around them as they walked to the wizarding village. Hermione smiled and laughed with Harry and Parvati and grinned when they caught up to a rather irritable Ron and Lavender. From behind they could hear the couple fighting about something, and Hermione wondered whether they would still be together by Christmas. 

Parvati shot her a knowing look while Harry just looked bored at the proceedings until Ginny and Dean joined them. The two were still dating, but Hermione had seen some tension building in the couple since the Halloween feast. 

“Hey Hermione, Parvati!” Ginny said enthusiastically, letting go of Dean’s arm to link arms with the two girls. “Hi Harry!” She smiled at her first crush, and then she began dragging the girls on to catch up to her brother and Lavender. 

“What’s the rush, Ginny?” Hermione gasped, trying to keep up with the younger girl’s quick steps. Parvati, on the other side, seemed to be having similar issues.

“No rush,” Ginny said with a smile, but she didn’t slow down. “I’m just eager to get out for a bit. Harry’s been making us work harder than ever at Quidditch practice, and I’m just happy to be going into town instead of avoiding bludgers all afternoon.” She threw a pointed look over her shoulder at the messy-haired Boy Who Lived, who blushed at her appraisal. 

“Now Ginny,” Harry said, “you know we need to be on top of things or else Ravenclaw will beat us in the match.” 

“You’re just worried that Cho will get the Snitch,” Ginny accused, sticking her tongue out at Harry playfully. Hermione caught Dean’s irritated glare at his girlfriend and wondered at it. 

The five caught up to Lavender and Ron, and as they continued walking toward Hogsmeade they heard raised voices ahead. They slowed down, listening to the sounds of two very unlikely people who seemed very angry.

“What do you think you’re doing? I thought you’d agreed not to keep this up! You told me you would stop!” An angry female shrieked the words that met the group as they topped a hill. They looked to the source of the sound and saw Padma Patil with her hands on her hips facing off against an equally angry Draco Malfoy.

“Do you think I have a choice?” The scathing words were more statement than question. “Do you think I like this? I can’t stop. I have to do this, and that’s all there is to it!” The blonde’s hands were clenched in fists, but his wand was nowhere to be seen. Hermione noted its absence with a sense of relief and consternation that the Malfoy heir wasn’t preparing to hex the Ravenclaw girl. 

“You always have a choice, Draco,” Padma spat out furiously, pointing at him. She didn’t notice the gasp from both Parvati and Lavender at her use of his given name. “You might not think you can choose differently, but you always have a choice.” 

He glared at her and opened his mouth to retort before noticing the group that had stopped to stare. Padma noticed his gaze and turned to see her sister and friends. Putting her hands over her face to hide her emotions, the girl turned and ran past Malfoy, shoving him aside roughly in her haste. 

“Padma!” Parvati called out to her and raced off after her sister. Hermione hesitated before running alongside Lavender, leaving the boys and Ginny to deal with Malfoy. 

Padma ran down the main street of Hogsmeade, only coming to a stop just shy of the Shrieking Shack. Hermione panted as she caught up to the other girls. She really needed to get in better shape. Parvati walked over to her sister where Padma had stopped and put her arm around her in support. 

“Padma, what’s going on?” Parvati asked her quietly. “What were you doing with Malfoy?” 

Her twin shook her head but didn’t answer. Lavender and Hermione exchanged glances as they wondered what it could mean.

“I know everyone’s saying you have a boyfriend,” Parvati started again, “but it couldn’t possibly be Malfoy. So I know they has to be something going on. I mean, the ferret-faced creep couldn’t possibly be interested in you, and—“ Crack!

Parvati’s head whipped back as Padma slapped her clear across the face. Hermione and Lavender gasped at the normally quiet girl who was now screaming at her sister in fury.

“You don’t know anything, Parvati!” Padma shrieked, her normally husky voice reaching new levels of shrill. “And everyone else can just shove off!” She glared at the other two girls who raised their hands in surrender. “Do you know how hard it is to deal with the whole school thinking you’re doing something you’re not? Do you?”

Her chest heaved as she surveyed the three. Hermione kept her mouth shut but wanted to chime in that, yes, she knew what that felt like. She’d been with Harry through so many things, and she knew very much what it was like. 

Padma continued without waiting for a response. “It’s bloody hard to try to help someone and not be able to tell anyone what you’re doing. And when everyone is glancing at you like you’re shagging in the broom closet, it really starts to wear you down. I am so tired of people asking me who I’m dating and when I’m going to tell them who’s shagging me senseless every night!” 

Parvati stared at her sister, and even Hermione and Lavender paused at that. “Who’s asking you about shagging you senseless?” Parvati asked her sister quietly, a hand over the red spot on her cheek. “Padma, please tell me what’s going on here. I just want to help.” 

Padma looked at her sister and then at Hermione and Lavender in turn. Sighing, she took several deep breaths. Her chest slowed down from its previous heaving, and a hush fell over the group. Tears filled the corners of her eyes as she reached out to her twin. Without hesitating, Parvati put her arms around her sister, and Hermione felt she was witnessing something incredibly special. 

Several minutes went by as the sisters’ wordlessly communicated comfort and support to one another. Lavender found a nearby rock and sat down on it to wait while Hermione stood awkwardly. She’d never been very comfortable with girls her own age, and this kind of emotional outburst always filled her with anxiety. She was happy the sisters seemed to have worked out their frustration, but she didn’t know whether she should stay or not. 

“Padma?” Parvati’s voice was soft as she pulled away from her sister finally. “Can you talk about it?” 

Padma shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone…not until it works out.” The last part was a whisper. “It’s been all year, Parvati. All year. And this is the first time he’s done that.” 

Lavender finally couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Are you dating Draco?” She asked, the question coming out harsh and blunt. 

Padma glared at the other girl and said, “No. I am not dating Draco Malfoy.” She put her hands on her hips before saying, “I’m trying to help him with a project for Ancient Runes.” 

Hermione stared at the other girl in shock. She was taking Ancient Runes as well, but she knew there were no group or partner projects. Padma met her eyes evenly and seemed to wait for Hermione to point it out. Hermione didn’t. 

She asked herself why later when she was walking to Honeyduke’s with Padma and Parvati, Lavender having excused herself to find Ron. She decided the reason she’d truly kept silent was because she knew what it was like trying to keep a secret. The three girls spent the afternoon drinking butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks and eating the chocolate they’d bought at Honeyduke’s. 

They had dropped the subject of Draco and moved on to talking about several of the popular couples in school this year. Parvati was with Hermione in thinking that Dean and Ginny seemed to be moving apart rather than getting closer, and Padma speculated about Cho Chang and Michael Corner, who had been going strong since the end of fifth year. Hermione didn’t have much to add to the conversation and let the twins gossip while she enjoyed a much-deserved chocolate frog. 

The three met up with Ron, Lavender, and Harry on their way back to the school. Harry admitted he’d been wandering around town getting gifts, and they looked at the excessive amount of packages skeptically. The group laughed and talked as they walked through the increasing snow toward Hogwarts. 

As they rounded the corner that would take them to the school entrance, they heard raised voices. In a moment of déjà vu, Hermione glanced over to make sure Padma was still with them. A second later a piercing scream split the air, and the group began running as one toward the sound. 

Katie Bell, one of Gryffindor’s Chasers, was hovering in the air, eyes open unseeingly and voice lifted in a hair-raising scream. Her friend Roberta stood stock still below her, face pale and eyes full of fear. 

Hermione, Harry, and Ron took off at a sprint toward the pair while the other three stood back a bit in fear. Katie’s face held a look of pure terror, and her body trembled with exertion. Roberta shrieked in fear and babbled something Hermione couldn’t understand as the trio got closer. 

Suddenly something plummeted to the ground, followed immediately by a limp Katie. Hermione moved closer to see what it was and saw a gleaming necklace of dark stones strung together. She didn’t reach down for it, certain it was the reason for Katie’s plight. Instead she crouched over Katie as Roberta knelt down on her other side, tears streaming down her face. 

“Katie?” Hermione said, reaching out a hand and gingerly shaking the other girl’s shoulder. She could hear Lavender and the Patil twins talking in hushed tones behind her, but Katie was unresponsive. 

“What’s this?” The booming voice of Hagrid caught her attention and she lurched up to see Hogwarts’ groundskeeper strolling quickly toward the small group. 

Roberta was babbling again, but Hagrid made quick work of the situation and stooped down to pick up Katie’s body. Hermione handed Harry her scarf. He looked at it blankly for a minute until she indicated the necklace. 

Hagrid quickly said, “Do not touch that!” Harry reached down and scooped up the necklace in the cloth of the scarf, making certain he didn’t touch it with his hands. 

Ron helped Roberta to her feet, and Hermione put an arm around the now trembling girl. The group walked back to the school in silence, the happiness from earlier shattered. Hermione’s mind worked quickly, trying to deduce exactly what was going on. She looked around at the group that was walking together and noticed a curious look on Padma’s face. 

She was wringing her hands, and her face had turned incredibly pale as she walked. Parvati and Lavender were talking quietly together as they walked, but they hadn’t noticed Padma’s silence. When she noticed Hermione watching her, Padma swallowed hard and shook her head at the other girl. Hermione lifted an eyebrow in response, and Padma shook her head again, mouthing the word, “Later.” Hermione nodded. She’d have to wait to follow up on her blossoming theory.

Hagrid rushed Katie off to the hospital wing, yelling as he went, “Get Professor McGonagal and tell her what happened!” 

Roberta moved to go to the Transfiguration professor’s office, and Harry followed her, waving Hermione and Ron with him. Hermione said goodbye to the other girls, nodding pointedly in Padma’s direction as she followed her friends. They walked together, Harry carefully holding the necklace, until they reached the Transfiguration room. They entered to see Professor McGonagal sitting at her desk rather than back in her office. 

She looked up, her pince-nez poised on the end of her nose and giving her a perpetual look of irritation. “Yes?” She asked, arching a brow and glancing with a bit more significance at Harry than the rest. “How can I help you?” 

Roberta sat down in the front row and began sobbing instantly, causing McGonagal to leap out of her seat. Rushing around the desk, she patted the girl’s back awkwardly while glancing over her shoulder at the trio for information. 

Slowly they shared what they saw, and Harry laid out the necklace on the professor’s desk. McGonagal narrowed her eyes at the offending piece of jewelry while Roberta explained what had taken place prior to the trio’s arrival. 

Halfway into her explanation, Professor Snape marched into the room, followed by Lupin. The potions professor made no indication he noticed the students while Remus at least acknowledged them with a nod. The two professors strode forward to the desk as Roberta watched them, mouth open. 

“Hagrid had a student send for us, Minerva,” Severus said as he glided past the tables smoothly, his robes flapping behind him. “He said a girl had been cursed.” 

Minerva nodded. “Oh Severus, yes, it was Katie Bell, and Roberta was just telling us about the necklace and where it came from,” she said. 

“Necklace?” Lupin asked curiously, his eyes landing on the jewelry. Minerva indicated it with a look and turned back to Roberta. Lupin and Snape walked to the table quietly as Roberta continued her story. 

“She was just acting so weird,” she said agitatedly, wringing her hands together. “I knew she didn’t buy the necklace because she didn’t have it before we got to The Three Broomsticks, but then she came out with it and insisted we leave at once.” 

“Where was she taking it?” Minerva asked her gently. 

“Here, to Hogwarts,” Roberta said. “I kept asking her who she was giving it to, but she said it was a special surprise gift and she had to keep it a secret.” 

Hermione and the boys exchanged glances at that, not sure what to think. Meanwhile Lupin was performing some diagnostic charms on the necklace. One of his quietly muttered spells caused a hiss and then a small black poof of air. He grimaced and his lips formed a thin line as he and Snape turned back to the pair. 

“And are you sure you didn’t see anyone go into the restroom besides Katie?” McGonagal asked for the third time. 

Roberta shook her head in disappointment. “No, professor,” she replied. 

“Very well, Roberta, you may go.” 

The other girl stood and made her way out of the room, not glancing at anyone as she went. 

“Professor,” Harry began, and Hermione winced at his tone. The three teachers turned to look at him. He said, “Professor, I think I know who did this.” 

McGonagal’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline as Lupin gasped. Snape alone seemed unaffected and merely sneered. Ron glanced at Hermione in a silent panic as he recognized his best friend’s intent, and she shrugged, knowing they couldn’t stop him. 

“It was Malfoy,” Harry burst out, as if he’d been waiting all year for this opportunity. “I’m sure of it! He’s been disappearing and reappearing, and I think he’s on a mission for Voldemort.” 

Snape winced, and Ron gasped aloud at the name. McGonagal’s brows creased in thought as Lupin surveyed the room. He alone seemed unbothered by the accusation, and Hermione wondered why. 

“And what,” Snape whispered, “makes you so certain Mister Malfoy is up to some devious plan by the Dark Lord? You do realize he is a student here, don’t you, Potter?” His voice lowered to that dangerous timber Hermione knew to mean either certain punishment or points docking. 

McGonagal cleared her throat then and said, “Mister Potter, that is a most serious accusation, and I would advise you to think very carefully about why you are making it. I do not believe that Mister Malfoy’s disappearances, as you put it, are any of your business, nor do I believe a student of our school would be willingly working to further You Know Who’s business while still studying here.” Her voice had reached a height previously unknown as she spoke, and before Harry could continue, she slashed a hand through the air. 

Even Professors Snape and Lupin looked up at her agitated motion in surprise. 

“Mister Potter,” she said evenly, “you need to go and take a little time to consider your accusation. I believe it would do you good to go and calm down. Mister Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort your friend back to the Gryffindor common room now, please?” 

The two gave murmurs of assent as Ron grabbed Harry by the arm and propelled him from the room. Hermione walked out with the boys but noticed a certain amount of sleek black hair moving in a portrait as she went and couldn’t help wondering if she’d be getting a visit from Sirius soon to discuss today’s events. 

Harry grumbled the entire way back to the common room about Professor McGonagal’s treatment of him. Hermione finally had enough when they reached the chairs in front of the fireplace. Most of the room was still empty as students were still enjoying their time at Hogsmeade. 

Rounding on him, she said, “Harry Potter, you listen to me.” Harry glared at her, and she continued, “You have absolutely no proof of what Malfoy is doing.” He opened his mouth, and she shook her head violently. “No! You have no proof that he’s doing anything wrong!” 

Ron nodded and said, “Yeah, mate, we really don’t know what he’s up to. I mean, you can’t say that he’s actually doing something wrong, can you?” 

“Then why is he in the Room of Requirement all the time?!” Harry’s voice carried in the quiet room as he asked what was bugging him so much. 

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t mean he’s breaking the rules!” Hermione nearly shouted back, chest heaving in her anger. “You’re getting obsessed with him, and it’s going to get you hurt! It feels just like last year, Harry, and I won’t hang around and watch you run off into danger again like that!” She stood, hands on her hips as the boys stared at her. 

Realizing what she’d said, Hermione’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed a little O of shock. Harry’s face was rapidly turning red from his own fury, and she turned and raced out of the common room, knocking into Dean and Ginny on her way out. Running down the halls, she raced blindly through the castle, not sure where she was heading, just determined to escape the feelings she’d let go of. 

When she finally ran out of breath, she stopped, her whole body nearly shaking with suppressed sobs. It was dark and quiet wherever she was, and she appreciated the lack of curious gazes. Sliding down to the floor, she sat and allowed herself a good cry. 

“What was that all about?” The smooth tones of Sirius Black filled her ears, and she looked around to find him looking down at her from a portrait across the hall. His voice was concerned as he watched the distraught witch, and she felt her eyes fill with tears again, remembering her rash words. 

She wiped her face with her sleeve, grimacing at the snot that came away and then looked up at the portrait. There were no words. 

“Are you really going to sit there and stay silent?” Sirius asked her, this time with a bit of a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stay silent like that. It must be really good for you not to spill.” 

Hermione glared at him and said, “It’s none of your business, you nosy portrait.” But her words held no bite. 

Sirius cocked his head at her, and she was reminded of his Animagus form. She could see Padfoot cocking his head in the exact same way, and it made her giggle. She stifled herself, surprised she’d let it out, and then she asked something she’d been curious about for a while now.

“Can you change into your Animagus form in your portrait?”

Sirius blinked at her in surprise. “No,” he said simply. “There are no Animagus portraits that can change that I know of. The magic doesn’t exist to make that possible.”

He looked sad, and she realized it was because of this limitation. Feeling stupid, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I know that’s a part of who you are, and it must be hard to not exercise all of yourself that way.” 

Sirius grinned at her, confusing her. “That’s okay, Hermione,” he said. “When you bring me back to life, I’ll be able to run around as much as I like.” 

Her jaw dropped. Before she could say anything, he said, “By the way, I know what you’re brewing in the girls’ bathroom.” He winked at her. “But have you considered how you’ll get my portrait there when it’s time for the incantation? Just a thought…” 

His voice trailed off as he walked out of the portrait and made his way down the hall, much to a sputtering Hermione’s chagrin.

Chapter Text

“A gentleman is one who never hurts anyone’s feelings unintentionally.” – Oscar Wilde

Two days later Hermione dragged herself out of bed slowly, trying to get her bearings. It was Monday, and she needed to get herself going so she wouldn’t be late to Arithmancy. Gathering her things, she made her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. 

Approaching the two boys she called her best friends, she noticed Ron glance her way and give a quick shake of his head. Harry didn’t even look up, but she knew she’d have to find someplace else to sit. Glancing around, she noticed Parvati sitting alone, so she made her way next to her roommate. 

Parvati looked up as Hermione approached and gave her a wan smile. “Hi Hermione,” she said softly. She took a bite of the muffin she’d put on her plate. “How are you?” 

Hermione glanced over to see Harry glaring at her. He still hadn’t forgiven her slip-up of the other day. She sighed, “Not great.” 

Parvati noticed her gaze and nodded in understanding. “Me either,” she admitted, looking over to the Ravenclaw table where Padma sat surrounded by her dorm mates. “Padma won’t tell me what’s going on with Malfoy, and Lavender is sick with a cold, so she’s headed to the Hospital Wing for a potion.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, picking up her glass of pumpkin juice and taking a long swig of it. “Is Padma talking to you at all?” 

“Yeah, she is,” Parvati said. “But when I tried to bring up what happened with Malfoy, she got mad at me and told me to back off because I don’t know what he’s going through.” She shook her head, her dark hair swaying in its ponytail. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into her! She’s never been like this before.” 

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “Maybe she really is trying to help him with something,” she told her friend. “It’s certainly possible anyway, right?” Parvati looked at her askance, and Hermione held her hands up. “Okay, so it’s extremely unlikely, but there’s like a one percent chance that maybe—just maybe—Malfoy needs help with something. Like maybe he keeps feeling the urge to sniff around on all fours like the ferret is and he thought a Ravenclaw could help keep his rodent tendencies at bay.”

Parvati cracked up at that, catching the attention of the boys and the Ravenclaw girls gathered around Padma. She stifled her laughter when Padma cast her a dirty look. The two Gryffindor girls exchanged soft smiles, and Hermione found herself really relating to the other girl. It was strange to have a female friend that wasn’t Ginny, really. 

Hermione spent the rest of her breakfast considering how different being friends with Parvati was from being friends with Ginny. Ginny just seemed to be drafted into friendship with Hermione because of her relationship with Harry and Ron, and even though Hermione would have called the other girl her best female friend, Ginny was popular. She had a large group of friends in multiple houses, and she was well liked. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was the third of the Golden Trio, the girl who tagged along with Harry Potter and was always trying to keep him out of trouble. She wasn’t very friendly, and she was extremely smart, two things that had always combined to keep her friends’ number rather low. 

But now she was sharing secrets with Parvati and learning more about her roommate. It was nice to see that Parvati had her own mind and didn’t just go along with everything Lavender Brown said and did. She’d learned that Parvati did like Divination, but the reason she liked it so much was actually rather touching. The Patil twins had a very distant relative that had the Sight and had been especially fond of the twins growing up. The relative told them all about his experiences with the Sight, and Parvati had become fascinated by it ever since. 

When she heard Parvati talk about her relative’s experiences and how she thought of Divination, Hermione had to admit that is was really interesting. She wondered if she would have excelled at it had she a different teacher, like Firenze. But it was too late now, and she had other subjects she preferred anyway. Like Arithmancy. 

As the bell rang announcing the end of breakfast, she gathered up her bag, said goodbye to Parvati, and made her way to the Arithmancy classroom. 

At lunch later, she groaned when Parvati brought up the sheer amount of homework they’d gotten in Transfiguration during second hour. She was still sitting with the other girl, but this time Lavender had joined them, recovered from her cold, and she was chattering away about what her teapot looked like after she’d attempted to transfigure it into a toad. 

“But we weren’t even trying to do that today,” Hermione said, looking at Lavender like she’d grown a second head. “We did that in second year, remember?” 

Lavender cracked up. “I know,” she said, “but I was trying to remember how to do it so I could help Cheryl.” 

“Cheryl?” Hermione asked, trying to picture the familiar name. 

“Cheryl Tubbins,” Lavender supplied. “She’s a second year, and she’s having trouble with Transfiguration. She asked me if I could help her with it the other day.”

Hermione was confused. “She asked you for help?” This was news. In Hermione’s mind, no one asked Lavender Brown for help. Her tone must have indicated her disbelief because Lavender straightened her back and glared at her a bit. 

“If you must know,” Lavender began in a haughty tone, “I signed up to help mentor younger students at the beginning of the year, and that’s when I got paired up with Cheryl.” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Hogwarts has a mentoring program?” She asked, in shock. 

“Yes, Miss Granger, we do,” said Professor McGonagal, who had come up behind her unexpectedly. “And Lavender has been an asset to the program since she joined this year.” 

“Professor,” Hermione said, in a subdued voice, “I had no idea that this was a thing. Has this been a program for a long time?” She thought back to her lonely first year and wondered if she’d missed out on something. 

McGonagal seemed to notice her disappointment. “We only started the program in the last year, Miss Granger,” she said kindly. “Professor Dumbledore thought it might be a good way to get younger students out of their shells and help them with subjects they find difficult at first. I’m sure you remember your days of learning the basics in magic.” 

Hermione nodded to herself. “Yes, Professor,” she replied. “I guess I just find myself surprised because I didn’t know anything about this mentoring. I might have joined if I’d known.”

Professor McGonagal raised her brows significantly. “As much as I know you could help younger students, Miss Granger,” she said, “I’m afraid we would have turned you down had you applied. Prefects are already very busy with patrols, and you have your responsibilities to your classes. We wanted to give other students opportunities to participate in different extracurricular activities.” 

Hermione muddled over that as the professor moved on to the teacher’s benches to eat her own lunch. Parvati and Lavender continued chatting about Transfiguration until the end of lunchtime when a number of jet-black owls began filing in from the Owlery. 

The students looked up in surprise at the spectacle. Owls typically delivered all mail in the morning, so it was interesting to see owls of the same color and type coming all at once. The owls converged on each of the four House tables, and Hermione noticed one bearing down on her. At the same time another owl swooped down to Harry, who was seated at the other end of the table. 

Taking the proffered leg, she untied the letter, and the owl took off again. A fancy wax seal of a pale green insect closed the letter. Breaking the seal, she unrolled the parchment to see an invitation. 

“Oh no,” she said to herself, rolling her eyes at the eloquent script of Slughorn’s Christmas invites. 

Lavender leaned over her shoulder and read the invitation aloud to a curious Parvati. “You are hereby invited to a Christmas Celebration in the Hogwarts’ Awards Hall. This celebration will take place on December 19^th at 6 pm in the evening. You and your guest will present your invitation at the door. Please arrive promptly for the celebration, and be prepared for such gaiety as you have never seen. This invitation is courtesy of Horace Slughorn and is for members of the Slugclub and their guests only.” 

Hermione glanced around the room as Lavender read to see who else had garnered an invite. Ginny was rolling her eyes as Dean pointed out something in her invitation. Several of the Ravenclaw Seventh Years were whispering together over their invitations, and at the Slytherin table, Hermione saw Malfoy fuming while Blaise Zabini passed his invitation among his House mates. 

A shadow blocked her view of the Hufflepuff table, and she looked up to see Cormac McLaggin approaching. He took the seat next to Parvati that was opposite Hermione. She noticed the invitation he sported and nearly groaned aloud. 

“So, Granger,” he said with a smirk, “looks like we’ll be going to this Christmas shindig. Shall we go together and ignore the lowly others who aren’t smart enough to get into the Slugclub?” 

Hermione ground her teeth and could see Lavender and Parvati sitting up straighter, affronted by the Seventh Year’s dismissal. 

Speaking even louder, McLaggin said, “I always knew I’d be invited to this, of course. I may not be the king of the Gryffindor team,” he continued, glancing down the table where a certain Weasley was growing red, “but I know my potions, and I may have the highest grades of anyone in Ancient Runes.” Some other people at the surrounding tables had noticed his bragging and were now looking their way. 

Not noticing his audience, Cormac smirked at Hermione. “You may not be the prettiest girl around, but you’re smart, Granger,” he now concluded. “And smart should stick with smart. Why don’t you come to the party with me?” 

Lavender stood up, slamming her hands on the table, and Hermione jumped. The brunette was fuming, and she stuck a trembling hand out at Cormac. “How dare you!” She nearly yelled. “How dare you!” Her chest heaved in anger, and she continued, “You’re just jealous that Ron got on the Quidditch team and you didn’t! But he’s never had an off game, and you’re the one who just can’t get over that!”

Lavender huffed in her indignation, but Hermione glanced past her to where Ron sat, the red of anger now turning a brilliant embarrassed scarlet. Harry was patting him on the back with a cheesy grin, and when he saw Hermione glancing their way, he grinned at her, too. Hermione smiled back, thrilled that her friend might be finally getting over his anger at her faux pas. 

Meanwhile Cormac had stood and was glaring back at the other girl. “I can fly circles around Weasley and everyone else on the Gryffindor team,” he blustered, “and I always get what I want. That team is too pathetic for me to join it anyway. Potter doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 

“Then why have they been winning?” Lavender asked quickly, glaring at him. “And why is Ron doing such a great job? Oh that’s right, because he’s better than you!” She practically shouted this last bit, and even the teachers looked up from their meals at this. 

Professor Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands. Cormac and Lavender glanced around at the faces in the room before Lavender returned to her seat and Cormac moved down the table to some other Seventh Year boys. 

“I appreciate everyone’s school spirit,” Dumbledore said, eyes sparkling, “but I would advise everyone to return to your meals and tuck in quickly. Classes will begin again shortly, and you certainly wouldn’t want to miss this delicious treacle tart.” He held up his own plate, and Hermione grinned at the headmaster’s persistent love of sweets. 

Sitting back down, Dumbledore began talking to Hagrid, who had come in for lunch, and the room began to fill with voices again. Hermione picked up her own bit of treacle tart and had to admit it was rather delicious, even if a house elf was required to make it out of servitude. 

“So, Hermione,” Parvati started, a curious smirk on her face, “I assume you’ll be going to Slughorn’s party with Cormac ‘I’m Amazing’ McLaggin now, huh?” 

Hermione nearly choked on her bite of tart as she cackled. “Um, no,” she said with a snort, wiping her face with a napkin. “I think not.” 

“So who will you ask, Hermione?” Lavender asked her curiously. “If you want to ask Ron, I won’t be upset since I’m not going.” 

Hermione looked at her in surprise. “Well thanks, Lavender,” she said, smiling. “I’ll let you know what I decide. I’m going to have to think about it.” 

Just then a still somewhat red-faced Ronald Weasley walked over to his girlfriend. “Um, Lav?” He asked, and she turned to him with a grin. “Can we go for a walk?” 

She stood up immediately, grabbing her bag. “Sure!” Looking at the girls, she said, “We’ll talk more about this later, okay?” She linked arms with Ron and let him lead her out of the Great Hall. 

Parvati rolled her eyes as her friend left the room, and a minute later Harry popped up next to her and sat down. “Hi Parvati, hi Hermione,” he said, bowing his head a bit bashfully as he looked at his curly-headed best friend. “Mind if I join you? Ron kind of ditched me.” 

Hermione laughed aloud at that. Parvati grinned as well and said, “Sure, Harry. If you hadn’t noticed, Lavender left us, too.” 

He smiled at the other girl, and Hermione wondered if he could ever like the Patil girl. Since his return to Hogwarts and Cho’s defection to Michael Corner, Harry had kept quiet about his interest in any girls. Hermione knew Ginny had always carried a torch for him, but he still didn’t seem to notice her. 

Glancing over at her red-headed friend, Hermione noticed she and Dean seemed to be in the midst of an argument. 

“So what did McLaggin want from you, Hermione?” Harry asked her casually. 

She found herself relating the snobbish boy’s request with help from Parvati. Harry laughed at McLaggin’s cheek, and Hermione was relieved he didn’t seem upset with her anymore. 

Harry and Hermione went down to the Potions classroom together while Parvati went back to the common room for her free period. They entered the room to find Ron already there, his ears still tinged with a bit of red. Hermione and Harry exchanged an amused look as they joined him at the table in the back of the room.

The rest of the class straggled into the room in ones and twos until the bell rang and Professor Snape emerged from his office. 

“Today, class,” he sneered, “we are going to work on individual potions. Anyone sitting at a group table needs to separate immediately.” He looked rather pointedly at the trio. Hermione grabbed her books and moved to a nearby table while Harry moved to a table on the opposite side of the room. 

Nodding after the chairs stopped moving, Snape turned to the board and waved his wand. Words appeared on the blackboard instantly. 

“You will be working on a different healing potion today,” he began, and Hermione felt her grin begin. “This is a potion that will replenish lost blood. I want each of you to read the directions very carefully before you begin, and remember that you will absolutely not add the last ingredient in these potions.” 

He looked around the room and then singled out Harry. “Potter!” He said with a very quiet voice. “What did I say about the potion?” 

Harry sighed, and Hermione watched him try to reign in his temper. “We are supposed to read the directions carefully and not add the last ingredient to the potion.” 

Unable to criticize his response, Snape simply gave a sneer and ignored the correct answer. “You will have until the end of class,” he said dismissively. “I don’t expect you’ll get through the halfway point by then, so we’ll be setting the potions aside and finishing them next class. Get to work.” 

He went to his desk and sat down, while his students began to read the board. Hermione was already on her feet, headed to the potions stores for what she knew this potion required. 

“Miss Granger.” The voice, spoken softly, carried a warning. She glanced to her professor, and he said, “Did I not just tell you to read the instructions very carefully? What are you doing, you stupid girl?” 

She felt herself go red, but she answered calmly, “I’ve read this potion before, sir, and I know what ingredients go into it.” She stopped herself from adding ‘And you knew that already.’ She wondered if he caught her unspoken accusation because his eyes suddenly lit up with cruel interest. 

“Ah yes, Miss Granger, who knows every potion before anyone else,” he drawled, loudly enough the whole class could hear. 

Hermione clenched her hands into fists but refused to rise to the bait. Deciding it was best to ignore him, she turned back to the stores and began to look for what she would need to complete her potion. She gathered the items and returned to her desk.

She ignored Ron’s and Harry’s looks of sympathy and settled into her potion-making. This was the very potion she’d discussed with Professor Snape before, and she was really interested in seeing how it would turn out. She’d never worked with some of these ingredients before, so she found it fascinating. 

By the time the hour was up, Hermione had just finished adding the eye of newt to her potion and watched it turn a deep amber. She smelled it to be sure, and she grimaced at the iron-tang of the potion. It was exactly the smell she needed it to be, and she carefully lidded her cauldron with the special glass lids designed to contain potions that were not completed. 

Professor Snape was walking around the room critiquing the students as usual. He walked by her potion and said nothing. Hermione didn’t mind, but she knew she was further ahead than the rest of the class. She only had six steps left. 

As he reached Ron’s table, she saw her red-headed friend frantically stirring what might have been a black sludge. It bubbled up, spitting noxious bubbles into the air around him. Professor Snape wore a sneer as he waved his wand, eliminating the toxic potion. 

“Weasley, what do you call that?” Snape drawled, and Hermione watched the rest of the class turn to look at her now red-faced friend. “Because I certainly wouldn’t call that a potion. Did you not read the directions where it said to carefully stir 36 times clockwise and 12 times counter-clockwise before adding the pickled plum?”

Ron mumbled something inaudible as Snape continued to sneer. The professor interrupted and said, “Well, Weasley, you’ll need to read your book and study the potion in order to catch up with the rest of the class next time.” 

Ron glared at Snape’s back as he continued around the room, and Hermione was only glad he hadn’t said anything to get himself a detention. She watched Snape walk over to Harry’s desk and noticed he had nothing to say to her friend, which had become the rather amusing norm since Harry had started studying the potions book he’d gotten from the store room earlier in the year. 

Hermione scowled as Ron sent Harry a discreet thumbs-up and Harry grinned. That book had a number of things she hated, but the biggest thing were the instructions that diverted from the printed directions for potions, giving alternate amounts and times that had somehow kept Harry at the top of the class while Slughorn was there. 

When Professor Snape returned and heard about the high praise Slughorn lavished on the Boy Who Lived, he’d insisted that Harry demonstrate his sudden excellent skill. Knowing it was a bad idea to suddenly become so adept in potions around the professor who had known him all this time, Harry reverted to the book as it was written, messing up several potions.

Snape seemed satisfied, but Harry had continued to use the Half-Blood Prince’s potions textbook on the sly, and he made sure not to be perfect but also to show “considerable improvement.” Hermione had glared at that comment from Ron, who thought it was a brilliant plan to keep Harry’s grades high while also hiding the book from Professor Snape. 

However she knew better than to argue with the two boys. When Snape finished examining everyone’s potions, he nodded at the class and dismissed them. Hermione quickly took her cauldron to the storage cubby to sit in warded protection until the next class. Harry and Ron joined her, Ron simply storing his empty cauldron while Harry settled his still-pink potion into the cubby next to hers. 

The three exited the room discussing their plans for the afternoon while Hermione mentally calculated when she needed to head back to the girls’ bathroom to add the finishing touches to her other potion.

Chapter Text

“If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.” 

Oscar Wilde

The rest of the week passed by quickly as weeks are wont to do towards the end of the year. Hermione and her friends remained busy with last-minute essays and homework assignments that had her almost too preoccupied to complete her potion. But she continued to notice a certain dark-haired Black who tagged along on her walks to and from class to offer up his own distractions. 

It was because he popped up on Wednesday afternoon that she remembered she needed to go to the girls’ bathroom after class that day to add the hellbore and one phoenix feather, an incredibly difficult item to come by. She’d spent a long November evening discussing the phoenix with Hagrid, who had always been obsessed with magical creatures. She discussed where to find them, how one was able to get their feathers to put in wands and eventually convinced him to tell her how to obtain the priceless feathers. 

Once she had the information she needed, Hermione spent the following Hogsmeade weekend at the Hog’s Head bar with a breeder Hagrid had told her about. He’d explained that under no circumstances was she to get in touch with the breeder, so she promptly sent the wizard an owl requesting a meeting. He was a grizzled older wizard who seemed wary of being seen in the open. He’d ducked into the Hog’s Head with his hood drawn close over his face and ordered a butterbeer from the equally grizzled barkeep. 

After discussing her needs, he’d quoted an obscenely high price. It took the better part of the afternoon to negotiate him down in price, and she was nearly late getting back to Hogwarts. But when she returned to Hogwarts, it was with the promise of one phoenix feather following her end of their bargain. 

Hermione fingered the soft feather with a smile as she crouched over the cauldron in the girls’ bathroom. It had taken a lot of work to harvest enough unicorn hair and a few other odds and ends under the care of Hagrid, but she’d finally managed to satisfy the exchange rates. She let the phoenix feather float out of her fingers to land softly on top of the deep purple potion. 

Instantly it sizzled and turned a vivid maroon. Hermione referenced the diary she’d now taken to carrying with her everywhere. It was the correct shade, as she already knew it would be. She’d practically memorized the potion from so many weeks of studying it and working on it. She gave the potion 24 clockwise stirs, and it settled back into a deep purple again. It smelled of old parchment and blood.

Hermione exited the bathroom and warded the door for the umpteenth time, turning to see Myrtle hovering in the background, a disturbed look on her face. “What’s wrong, Myrtle?” Hermione asked, surprised at the ghostly girl’s expression. 

Myrtle hung in the air, suspended on nothing, and remained quite still. If she hadn’t known that Slytherin’s monster had been destroyed, Hermione would have bet a basilisk petrified the girl. She waved her hand in front of the ghost’s face, and Myrtle started violently. 

“Don’t do that!” She yelled. She placed a hand over her chest and said, “You almost gave me a heart attack!” Hermione refrained from making the obvious Ron Weasley comment. 

Myrtle settled down again and said, “I can’t tell you what’s wrong because it’s not my story to tell. And you’ll never get it out of me anyway. So there.” 

Hermione cocked her head at that. “So you’ve been talking to someone else?” She asked, trying to decipher what the ghost girl meant. 

“It’s not your business,” Myrtle hissed. “He’s stressed and under so much pressure, and he needs help. But he’s been coming to see me ever since—“ She broke off and looked up at Hermione with a glare. “Never you mind,” she spat. “You’re just as bad as the others.” 

Hermione blinked in shock at the venom issuing from the other girl’s mouth. Certainly Myrtle had never been the friendliest ghost in the castle, but it was strange for her to be so upset with Hermione. She’d always given Hermione the benefit of the doubt since she at least came into the bathroom to visit. 

Myrtle moaned aloud then and asked, “Why can’t he just say no? It’s really not that hard. And he hasn’t managed to finish it yet.” 

Seeming to remember Hermione again, she glared once more and said, “You Gryffindors are all the same. I never understood why you were all so arrogant and full of yourselves. But don’t you worry. I’m going to help him, and then you’ll see how special he is.” 

Nodding to herself, Myrtle rose dramatically into the air and plunged toward the second stall, shrieking as she splashed into the toilet. 

Hermione puzzled over the conversation the rest of the day until it came time for her to work on her homework. Then she forgot all about it and worried more about how difficult it would be to complete her Ancient Runes essay and her Charms essay in the next few hours. Beside her, Harry and Ron were discussing the Charms essay and talking about the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam that Lupin had mentioned in class earlier that day.

By the end of the night, Hermione had completed both her essays and corrected the atrocious Charms essays that Harry and Ron cranked out. Then she went to her room and passed out. 

On Friday, the class worked on finishing their healing potions. Hermione pulled her cauldron from the cubby, pleased to find it still the correct color and scent. She pulled her bushy hair away from her face and into a ponytail to avoid getting any of her hair in the cauldron while she worked. Gathering the rest of her ingredients, she settled in for an hour of completing the potion. 

Next to her, Ron was quickly trying to restart his potion. On his other side, Harry seemed to be equally determined to produce a quality potion. She noticed he was chopping some roots to add to his, and she turned back to her own cauldron and desk. 

Today Professor Snape was walking around the room, and Hermione felt a bit nervous that the professor would come and call her out about her potion. But as she began the final six steps, she became so engrossed she never even noticed the greasy-haired potions master.

By the end of the hour, she’d successfully completed the potion, and it looked to be the exact shade of burnt orange described in the book prior to the addition of the person’s blood, which would turn it into a blood-like color and consistency. It smelled heavily of iron, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at the tang. 

Professor Snape walked around the room, adding a drop of blue liquid to each cauldron as he went. Hermione knew the blue must be a concoction designed to test the efficacy of the potion. Malfoy’s potion seemed to be up to snuff because Professor Snape offered him a small smile and indicated the vial to bottle up his sample. Malfoy seemed too distracted to preen like he normally would, and Hermione studied him a moment as the professor continued his walk around the room. 

Malfoy’s shoulders slumped and his hair seemed messier than she’d ever seen it. It hung limply from his head, but certain strands seemed determined to poke out at odd angles. His face was pale, and he had circles under his eyes. As he poured some of the potion into his vial, his hands shook a bit, and she watched the potion drip off the vial and back into his cauldron. He scowled at that and more carefully filled the vial. 

Her vision was obscured as a black robe swept in front of her, and she realized Professor Snape had arrived to test her potion. Without a word to her, he squeezed a drop of the blue liquid into her cauldron. The reaction was instant. 

The potion hissed in response to the blue liquid, and in the smoke that billowed out, she could distinctly see the image of a human heart. She even thought she saw the heart give a few throbs before the smoke dissipated. Hermione was fascinated by the reaction and itched to know what was in the dropper the professor held. 

Her eyes excited, she looked up to see a surprised expression on Snape’s face. It turned quickly to a frown when he caught her gaze, and he said, “Miss Granger, you will see me after class.” It wasn’t a question. 

Feeling disappointed, she watched as he continued around the room. Ron’s potion wasn’t even halfway completed, but this time it was actually close to being correct. Snape made no comment but allowed Ron to bottle up some of it in a vial as his sample. At Harry’s desk, the same test returned a similar reaction to the one hers had created. Snape scowled but told Harry to remain behind as well. 

The bell rang, and Snape ordered all the samples to be brought forward and the potion remains dispensed with. The students did as they were told with the exception of Hermione and Harry. Malfoy brushed by her with barely a glance, and Ron gave them both a wave as he made his way out of the room. 

Once it was empty, Professor Snape looked up at the two Gryffindors with a deep scowl. He fingered the dropper that still held some of the blue liquid in it and said nothing for a long minute. 

Then he said, “Miss Granger, Mister Potter, do either of you know what this is?” He held up the dropper. They both shook their heads. “This is the Integrum Medix potion. I brewed it especially for today’s results, and its purpose is to determine whether a healing potion is efficacious.” 

Harry looked a bit lost but gamely kept his eyes on the professor. Hermione, however, was eating every bit of the information up, wishing she could take notes as he explained the potion’s use.

“The Integrum Medix is a potion that will tell you how effective a healing potion is, Mister Potter,” Snape drawled, noting the puzzled expression on his student’s face. “Now I expected none of you to be able to brew this potion perfectly because it is incredibly complex. Nonetheless, the Integrum Medix never lies. In your cases,” he continued with a scowl, “you have completed this assignment with such perfection that your potions can be added to Madame Pomfrey’s stores for future use.” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Harry, too, looked shocked. 

Snape nodded at the two and said, “While I was not going to use any of today’s potions to add to the stores here at Hogwarts, I cannot deny that the Integrum Medix is accurate to a fault. I will not destroy potions that can be used in healing, so I will simply do this. You will take your potions in these bottles,” he indicated a set of glass bottles set off to one side of his desk, “down to the Hospital Wing and deliver them directly to Madame Pomfrey.” 

Before Hermione could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, he continued, “I will not require samples from you for this assignment. As these are perfect and complete healing potions, I feel they should go directly to the Hospital Wing for future use, and I will not waste them for a grade. You have both passed this assignment with Os.” 

Turning, he exited the room, and Hermione jumped up and down at the thought that she’d managed to perfect something so difficult. Looking at Harry, she could see her friend was still shocked that Snape hadn’t managed to give him detention or take points from Gryffindor. Hermione grinned and went to the desk to retrieve the bottles. 

As she walked back to the table, though, she wondered if it might not be useful to have her own store of this potion. War was certainly coming. Her experience at the Ministry of Magic last year had taught her that. She glanced over at Harry, who still seemed surprised at his good fortune, and she made her decision. 

“Harry,” she said softly, glancing at the professor’s closed office door. He looked at her with a smile. “I think we should take some of this potion for ourselves.” 

Now his brow creased in thought. “What? Why?” He asked bemusedly, still basking in the potions master’s praise. 

“It’s a potion that restores your blood if you’re injured badly,” she explained slowly and carefully. “In other words, if you’re in a war, and someone hits you with a curse, this potion could save your life.” 

Harry worked this out in his head, and while he did, Hermione retrieved two of the vials that were set aside for samples. On second thought, she grabbed two more.

“Who’s the fourth one for?” Harry asked her, not needing to agree to her plan but trusting her word. He already assumed—correctly—that the third would go to Ron. 

Hermione blushed but stated firmly, “It’s just an extra in case we need it for some reason.” 

She began to ladle out of her cauldron two vials of potion and then handed Harry the other two vials for his own potion. Then she filled the bottles Professor Snape had left. Her cauldron filled three bottles, and Harry’s filled the other three bottles. She hoped there was no precedent for how much potion the recipe should make or she might have to field some uncomfortable questions from Madame Pomfrey.

When they were done, the two gathered their potions and left the classroom, heading through the deserted halls to the MediWitch’s office. It was already past time for the next class to begin, and Hermione reminded herself they would need an excuse from Madame Pomfrey since Professor Snape had not seen to one already.

They arrived and explained what the professor told them. Madame Pomfrey seemed delighted to have her stores so nicely filled and gushed praises on the students for completing such a difficult potion with perfect accuracy. 

“Now,” she said looking at the bottles, “I suppose it can’t be helped. I would have expected at least another half-bottle, but I’m sure Professor Snape needed his samples for grading purposes.” She smiled at the two, and Hermione felt herself flush as she nodded. “I’ll get you your excuses if you’ll wait here.” 

Harry gave Hermione a look as the other witch entered her office, leaving the bottles behind. “So we’re leaving it at that?” He asked her shrewdly, a lop-sided smirk on his face. 

“Oh, be quiet,” she muttered with a shooing motion with her hand as Madame Pomfrey came back with two pieces of parchment in hand. 

Thus fortified with their excuses, Hermione and Harry headed to Charms to hand them to Professor Flitwick. After class, they fielded questions from a curious Ron, but the two remained silent on their decision to keep some of the potion for themselves. Hermione’s two vials were safely cushioned in her over-stuffed bag while Harry had his in his pocket. They’d agreed on plans to hide them further after dinner. 

The next day the whole castle woke to the excitement that was a Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch match. Hermione was as affected as the rest of her housemates and dressed for the cold and biting wind that was the weather that day. She pulled her robes over her regular clothes and wrapped her cloak around her, securing it with her house scarf. Then she, Parvati, and Lavender walked out of the common room with a number of other Gryffindor’s all heading to the early game. 

That morning she’d run up to the girls’ bathroom to give her potion the correct number of stirs and heat it to a simmer again. It would simmer all day, and then she would be on a strict watch during the most strategic hours of its brew time. She was just grateful that wouldn’t start until this evening and she could attend the match and not draw suspicion from her friends. 

Now she followed the slew of students from all houses as they marched out to the Quidditch pitch. She rubbed her gloved hands together and watched as the cold wind turned her breath foggy. The other girls were giggling together about which of the players was the hottest, but Hermione paid them little attention. 

As they settled into the stands, she noticed most of Ravenclaw seemed divided in loyalties. Some were cheering for Slytherin and others for Gryffindor, most notably Luna with her roaring lion hat. Padma was there as well, seated in the middle of a group of Ravenclaw girls and looking extremely nervous. 

Hufflepuff, on the other hand, had high hopes that a Slytherin win would push them higher in the Quidditch Cup rankings. Since they hadn’t won a Quidditch Cup in almost a century, most of the Hufflepuff stands featured Slytherin banners. Though Hermione could see a good deal of joviality from them as well and knew they really just wanted to enjoy a good match. 

Madam Hooch walked out to the center of the pitch, and with a wave of her hands the two teams marched out from opposite ends. Hermione watched Harry lead his team out and smiled at the sight of her friends and house mates. She glanced over to the Slytherin team and noticed something odd. 

“Who is that?” Parvati was asking Lavender. They’d already noticed the discrepancy. 

“I don’t know,” Lavender said. “Where’s Malfoy?” 

Indeed, Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. In his place, a sullen, skinny boy with dark curly locks and a swarthy face came walking out at the end of the Slytherin team. Hermione could see that Harry and Ron had noticed the difference, and she silently willed Harry not to go ape over a missing Malfoy.

Ron clapped his friend on the back, and Hermione noticed Harry nod. She sighed. At least he wouldn’t go haring off after his map to try to find Malfoy. 

The teams shot into the sky at the whistle, and Madam Hooch released the three balls. Immediately the game turned into a savage rivalry for control of the Quaffle. 

Hermione was concerned for her friends’ safety from the beginning but was distracted as she tracked Harry’s progress around the pitch. He’d flown by the Ravenclaw stands, and she noticed Padma Patil ducking her head as she moved toward the exit. Hermione wondered if the other girl was going to try to meet up with Malfoy or perhaps find him. She never had tracked her down to demand answers about what she’d seen, and now Hermione worried that was a mistake. 

Deciding not to go after the girl now, she settled in to watch what was turning into one of the most vicious games of Quidditch in recent Hogwarts history. If the Quidditch Chasers were good and flew well together, the Slytherin ones were simply and brutally physical. Ginny narrowly avoided being blind-sided with a well-timed shout from Ron. Instead the Slytherin Chaser found himself headed straight for the stands and only barely pulled up in time to avoid a hit. 

Gryffindor’s quick possession of the Quaffle led to a goal, but in response, Slytherin took the Quaffle quickly to the goal. The green and silver robes of the Slytherins whipped back and forth in the wind, and their Beaters managed to hit the Bludger at Demelza Robbins, another Chaser, forcing her to divert from her path alongside their Chaser. When they reached the goal, Ron steadied himself but was unable to stop the goal they made. 

The Gryffindors all groaned as the Slytherins tied up the game. Overhead, Harry and the Slytherin Seeker were searching the skies and the pitch frantically for sight of the Snitch. 

An hour into the game, Hermione was now bouncing on the balls of her feet as much from excitement as to warm her extremities. The temperature was dropping and the wind had picked up. Lavender and Parvati were sitting with their arms around each other, bouncing together with each new goal. The game had turned desperately dangerous as both sides sought to score. 

A Slytherin Beater had sent a well-timed Bludger at Demelza and nearly knocked her off her broom. She began to fall, and Ron, being closest, went to her rescue, leaving the goals unguarded for a Slytherin score. Gryffindors cried foul, but the Slytherins had acted inside the rule book. In fact, they seemed determined to do every legal action possible to win the game and had not gotten a foul yet.

In response, the furious Gryffindors had now been penalized three times for use of excessive force and unsportsmanlike behavior, most notably when Ginny nearly ran down the Slytherin Keeper with one of her goals. The Gryffindor girl took the penalty well and simply tossed her red hair over her shoulder, not reacting when the Slytherins hit their mark again.

The score now was 210-150 in Slytherin’s favor. Hermione turned her attention upward again and saw the Slytherin Seeker had stopped flying around aimlessly as he’d done earlier. Now he was shadowing Harry and trying to get as close as possible to him without touching. It clearly distracted her friend, and he was weaving in and out of the sky, trying to throw the other Seeker off. 

Finally Slytherin had the goal in their sights. Another half hour had passed, and they were up 270-160. Harry still hadn’t lost the Seeker that seemed glued to his broom’s tail. It was then that Harry dove, and the stands nearly lost it. Everyone screamed as he went into a steep dive. Hermione swiftly scanned the ground to see if he’d located the golden Snitch but couldn’t see anything. The Slytherin Seeker was gaining on him, and at the last minute, Harry turned up and made a hard left. 

The Slytherin Seeker, too, pulled up abruptly, narrowly avoiding the ground, but he missed Harry’s turn and was caught midair looking around frantically for the other Seeker. But it was too late. Harry streaked towards the Gryffindor goal posts where the Snitch hovered next to one far below Ron. 

Hermione cheered as he reached out, and he was able to grab the Snitch when two forms crashed down on him at once. Her cheer turned into a scream, and she heard the shocked screams and gasps of others as she tried to discern what had just happened. 

One of Slytherin’s Chasers and one Beater had simply pelted themselves at Harry to avoid Gryffindor’s win. Harry managed to snatch the Snitch before they hit him, but they caught him entirely off guard. The three collapsed on the ground in a heap.

Immediately the Gryffindor team swarmed the ground and their leader, yelling, while the Slytherin team made their way down as well. Madam Hooch was yelling as well, running over to the heaping pile of boys. 

Peakes and Coote, Gryffindor’s Beaters, were yanking the Beater off the pile as the Chaser started to revive. They tossed him unceremoniously to the ground, and Hermione watched as Ginny gave him a swift, and mostly unnoticed, kick in the side. The Chaser rolled off of Harry, and Madam Hooch made it to the group, shrieking about horrible conduct and rules being broken. 

Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor stands seemed to hold their breath as Madam Hooch examined the still Seeker whose hand still clutched the struggling Snitch. She waved her wand over him, and he sputtered, coughed, and started to roll over, clutching his head. 

Harry’s motion was all it took. Pure pandemonium reigned as the stands went wild over the Gryffindor victory. In moments the students exited the stands to collect their team and go celebrate. 

Chapter Text

“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.”

Oscar Wilde

Hermione stuffed herself at the Gryffindor celebration. Several of the Gryffindor team had snuck down to the kitchens to bring up enough food to feed a small army. A few others brought out some Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes firecrackers they’d been saving, and Hermione didn’t have the heart to take them away. She was too excited about the epic victory Gryffindor had just pulled off against their rival. 

She grabbed Harry and Ron in fierce hugs as soon as she could, but due to the crowd, she found herself pushed away from her friends. She settled in with Parvati and a few others on the edges as they all chatted and ate the delicious food from Hogwarts’ house elves. 

Hermione listened to numerous recaps of the fantastic plays made by the Chasers, Ron, and Harry as Seamus and Dean moved closer to where she’d settled in. Ginny had accompanied her boyfriend but stood slightly apart from him, casting him annoyed looks every so often. The recaps got old after a while, and Hermione decided she should go up to her dorm under the pretense of going to bed. 

In fact, she had no intention of sleeping. She would be staying up most of the night and finishing the last actions needed to complete her potion before it would steep until the day after classes ended. She’d settled on having the potion complete the day after classes ended so that she could go ahead and perform the incantation while she stayed over Christmas break. It would allow her a bit more freedom since most of the school would be empty. 

As she trudged up the stairs to the dorms, Hermione shook her head at the thought that her plans had been tied up so neatly. Harry and Ron thought she was going to visit her parents over Christmas break. Ron was too preoccupied at the thought of seeing Lavender over Christmas break to notice her deception. Molly Weasley had encouraged him to invite his girlfriend, and Lavender had accepted to come on Christmas Eve for a quick visit. 

Hermione wished her luck. It would take a very special girl to win over Molly Weasley where any of her sons were concerned. 

She settled into some pajamas and pulled out her portrait charming textbook to read. Curling up in bed, she got comfortable while she waited for her dorm mates to come back up for bed. She remained in bed for over an hour while the party continued downstairs. It had gone on practically since lunchtime, and she knew it had to be winding down soon. The Gryffindors were excited, but they would run out of food and firecrackers soon. 

Eventually her dorm mates turned up, still chattering excitedly and buoyed by copious amounts of butterbeer. Hermione still didn’t know where that had come from and didn’t want to think about secret passages to Honeydukes. 

She listened as they got ready for bed, pretending to be so absorbed in her book she wasn’t paying any attention. Parvati and Lavender giggled their way into sleep, and Hermione sighed as she slowly heard the sounds of even breathing she’d been waiting for. 

Climbing out of bed, she put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She was going for comfort since she’d be camping out in the girls’ bathroom with only Myrtle for company. That thought made her stifle a groan as she shoved an extra book—or two—into her bag to carry down with her. She quietly exited the room and listened at the top of the stairs for any signs of life below. 

When she heard nothing, she crept down the stairs and found the common room mostly deserted with the exception of Dennis Creevey, fast asleep on one of the couches. She slipped past him and opened the portrait door, closing it softly behind her as she stepped out. 

“And just where do you think you’re going? It’s almost curfew!” The Fat Lady glared at her from her portrait. 

“I just have to return a book to the library before it’s too late,” Hermione said, not looking the woman in her eyes. She dashed off before the portrait could question her more. 

She moved as cautiously as she could, afraid of rousing Filch or his dreaded cat, Mrs. Norris. After several minutes of climbing up and down the moving staircases, she made it to her destination. Before entering, however, she heard a quiet noise that made her look around suspiciously.

“It’s just me, Hermione,” came the silky smooth tones of Sirius Black from a nearby portrait. He was standing in a portrait that simply depicted rolling hills, and she got a good look at his lean, young body as he posed. 

“What are you up to tonight?” He asked her suggestively, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I’ve got to put the finishing touches on a potion,” she told him as she reached out to the door.

“In the girls’ bathroom?” His voice was curious. 

Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been caught. “Yes, in the girls’ bathroom,” she said primly. “If you must know, it’s a potion for you.” 

His eyes glowed as he realized what she meant. She noticed that he began surveying her more carefully, though, and he frowned. “How long will you be in there?” He asked her. 

“All night,” she said. “It’s a very tricky part to the potion, and I have to watch it carefully.” 

Sirius nodded at that and said simply, “Take me with you.” 

Hermione stared at him. “What?” 

He glanced to either side of the portrait and gestured. “Pick up the portrait and take it in with you. I’ll help keep you awake.” 

“I can’t just move a portrait. They’re stuck to the walls!” 

“Not all of them,” he told her with a wink. “Mine is stuck with a sticking charm, but this one isn’t. Really the only ones that have sticking charms are the ones that are more important, or in my case the ones that Dumbledore doesn’t want disappearing.” He scowled but then smiled again. “So? Get going. Grab this portrait and let’s go. You don’t want Filch to catch you.” 

Still not certain, Hermione stepped forward and put her hands on the sides of the portrait. Grabbing the frame, she lifted it slightly and found that he was correct. It lifted off a hook easily, and she pulled the rather unwieldy portrait down. 

“Be careful!” Sirius snapped, and she noticed he was wobbling from the effort to stay standing as she tried to balance the portrait. She nodded with a grunt and then backed into the door, pushing it open with her backside and levering the portrait inside. 

When she got into the bathroom, she marched to the far side of the room and set the portrait against the wall, propping it up before dropping her bag on the floor. Hermione rolled her shoulders back to release some of the tension and then pushed open the stall door. 

The cauldron full of potion was still simmering away happily. Hermione used her wand to lower the heat and watched as the bubbles eased off slowly. Rolling her neck now, she pressed her hands against her lower back and leaned back until she heard a satisfying pop. The potion was a garnet color now, and the fumes it emitted still smelled of parchment and blood as she expected. 

She sat on the ground with her back against the adjacent closed stall door and rummaged in her bag for a moment. Sirius, meanwhile, watched her as she pulled out the leather diary. He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a hand up. 

“I need to double check this and then we can talk,” she said, eyes focused on the book she was now flipping through. 

Coming to the page she wanted, Hermione reread the instructions for this part of the potion that Lord Henry penned so long ago. 

It’s imperative to watch the potion for at least 8 hours to make sure the simmer has not caused a negative reaction with the hellbore. To do this, drop the heat to the lowest setting and let the bubbles slow to a complete stop. If at any time during the following 8 hours you see bubbles forming along the sides of the cauldron, douse the flame completely until they go away.

The point here is to keep the potion on a low heat that will allow the hellbore to ferment properly without killing off the active ingredients. It needs a solid 8 hours fermentation time to complete the potion. As such, any signs of bubbles must be halted immediately. 

It’s important that the potion stays in a comfortable heat range of 43 to 47 degrees. Using the temperature spell once an hour, you can maintain this range and make sure the potion continues to ferment properly. At the end of the 8 hours, you will remove the potion from the heat entirely and allow it to sit and breathe to complete the fermentation process over the course of 7 days at which point it will be ready for use.

Nodding to herself, Hermione closed the book. She glanced at the potion and turned her attention to the man in the portrait. 

Sirius, for his part, had settled down on one of the rolling hills, stretching backwards, he propped himself up on his elbows. His dark shirt and pants looked good on him, she noticed, and his hair blew in what must have been a light wind from the picture. He was staring off into space, and she decided to open up conversation. 

“Knut for your thoughts?” She asked, smiling when he shifted his gaze to her. “You looked like you were a million miles away.” 

“I was just thinking about you, Harry, and Ron,” he said, looking pensive. “You’ve all been through so much already, and I don’t want to put any of you through more pain.” He nodded towards the potion. “Are you sure that’ll work?” 

Hermione thought for a moment and slowly said, “Well, I don’t know for sure, but I know I’ve brewed it correctly. I checked and double checked. I read every word of Lord Henry’s diary. I read up on portrait charms and potions, and even talked to Professor Snape about some questions I had.” 

Sirius gave her a look, and she shook her head quickly. “He doesn’t know anything about it,” she said. “I found a similar potion for healing and asked him about certain properties in it that were used in this one. That’s all. Don’t worry.” 

“So you’ve done all this work,” he mused quietly. “When’s the big day?” 

“Next Sunday, I think,” she said. “Classes end on Friday and everyone leaves Saturday, so I’ll be able to do it after that.” 

“Have you told Harry yet?” Sirius asked her cautiously. His grey eyes looked concerned. 

“No,” she said immediately. “I don’t want to get his hopes up if something goes wrong.” She sighed and then admitted, “Even Lord Henry never had success with it. I’m certain he got the incantation right because I checked all the origins of the words and double checked their magical meanings. It’s completely accurate and should work. The potion is too complex for me to research. I don’t have the right books to check the magical uses for all the ingredients involved in it, but…” 

She trailed off, looking at the still liquid in the cauldron. She had tried to look up magical uses for quite a few of the ingredients and found that some of them had dual uses that could cause some problems if used improperly. 

“What?” Sirius asked her, head cocked. 

“Most of the ones I could research had healing and life-giving properties,” she said, deciding not to air her concerns. “And I’ve decided to add to the potion as well, something of my own making so that it will be more potent and hopefully work better.” 

“Does it have anything to do with using your blood?” He asked, glancing at her suspiciously. She started, and he said, “Phineas told me about your conversation with Harry over the healing potion you made.” 

She scowled. “That man likes to spy just a little bit too much,” she said. “It’s like someone’s asked him to keep tabs on me or something—“ She looked at Sirius with a horrified expression. “Did Dumbledore ask Phineas to spy on me? Does he know what I’m planning?” 

Sirius sat up and put his hands up to calm her. “Whoa, whoa there,” he said. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions here. No, Phineas isn’t spying on you for Dumbledore. At least, I don’t think he is. I can’t be sure since I’m not allowed in the Headmaster’s office.” 

That surprised her. “What? Why not?” She asked. “Surely as a portrait you can just walk right into a painting there. I don’t see how he could stop you.” 

Sirius shook his head. “No, I can’t actually,” he told her. “The Headmaster’s office is filled with portraits of former Headmasters, and it was designed so that only the former Headmasters can inhabit portraits there. They can travel around the castle, and they frequently do. But I and other portraits are unable to enter the room.” 

“It must be some kind of magical ward,” she said to herself, thinking about the portrait charming book in her bag. “I’m sure it’s something they must do when the portraits are painted. That way each portrait can have a special ward on it to prevent entry of other portraits but still allow the subject to exit the portrait.” 

Sirius nodded. “You’re probably right,” he agreed. “Anyway, Phineas hasn’t said anything to me about spying on you. I think he just gets his jollies from following you around and seeing how this crazy idea of yours plays out.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at the exaggeration and said, “It’s not crazy. It’s been done before.” 

“Oh, you know of someone other than Lord Henry I’m-Obsessed-With-Portraits Wotton who managed it, do you?” Sirius asked her cheekily. 

She frowned and said, “No, but he came so close you have to admit that it looks completely viable with the right conditions.” 

Sirius smiled at her and replied, “Well, I think we’ll have to agree to disagree. I’ll believe it when I see it, which I guess means I’ll believe it when I can thank you in person.” 

She smiled back at him. The thought was a nice one. Glancing at the potion, she noticed it had retained its silky sheen and flat appearance. She flicked her wand and muttered a spell. The numbers that popped up indicated she’d been there less than an hour and she sighed. It was going to be a long night. 

She leaned her head back against the surface of the stall door and closed her eyes. 

“Hermione?” Sirius said. She gave a vague “hmm?” in response. “I want to thank you for trying,” he told her. Her eyes popped open and she turned to him. 

The man was sitting up and fidgeting with some grass he’d plucked. “This hasn’t been easy for you, I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you try to handle this and your homework and prefect duties. I know it’s been hard to get all the ingredients for this potion, too. So even if it doesn’t work, thank you for trying.” 

She felt warm as she contemplated his thanks. It had been harder than she expected. She carried a lot of tension in her shoulders and neck, and she’d found herself rubbing her neck more often than normal. She’d stressed about being discovered, about figuring out how to incorporate blood into the potion, and about being close enough to Sirius emotionally to make the incantation work. It felt like it had been a lot longer than three months since she started this adventure. 

“Well, now,” Sirius was saying, and he had a broad grin on his face, “it looks like it’s my job to keep you awake tonight, huh?” He winked at her. “You know, back in my Hogwarts days, I kept many a lucky lady awake.” 

Hermione groaned, scrubbing her hand across her face at the mental image. “Eww,” she said disgustedly. “Sirius, really? That’s disgusting. I don’t want to think about that.” 

Now his cheeks turned pink as he said, “I didn’t mean that!” He shook his head rapidly and continued, “I only meant that I kept a lot of girls thinking about me. That’s all. I’ll never forget Matilda Mettby coming up to me one morning to tell me she’d been awake all night thinking of me.” He now shook his head in fond remembrance. “We never even kissed, and here she was having daydreams of me.” 

Hermione made a gagging noise. “Wow,” she said. “You’re not the least bit proud, are you?” She rolled her eyes. 

“He wasn’t proud with me,” came a voice to her left. 

Hermione turned to see Myrtle drifting out of her stall and joining them. The ghost girl drifted over across from Hermione and settled in a sitting position that didn’t quite reach the floor. 

“Hullo,” she said gloomily. “What are you doing here, Hermione? It’s a bit late, don’t you think?” 

Hermione replied, “Hello Myrtle. I’m here to work on the potion. I’ll be here all night, and Sirius, here, asked to tag along and keep me company.” She indicated the portrait she’d lugged into the room. 

Myrtle looked over at the portrait and got a sly expression on her face. “Hello Sirius,” she said in what might have been a seductive tone. Hermione winced at the simpering expression on the other girl’s face. 

Sirius, however, was looking rather awkward as he responded, “Hello Myrtle. How have you been?” 

Myrtle ignored the question and instead told Hermione, “Sirius Black was always one of the ladies’ men at Hogwarts. But when he was with me, he wasn’t very proud of his skills with the ladies.” 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked her, curiosity piqued. 

“Myrtle,” Sirius warned with a slight growl in his tone. 

The ghost girl smirked at him and said, “I remember one time he came running in here to escape a few girls who were chasing him. He was terrified, and he hid in one of the stalls to try to stop them from ripping him apart. Of course, I was in my pipes when my quiet was so rudely interrupted.” Her eyes gleamed. 

Now Sirius picked up the story, seemingly decided to tell his side of it. “Yes, but I ran in here because the two girls were throwing hexes left and right,” he said, giving a mock shiver. “I was trying to protect myself! Those witches were crazy!” 

“Of course they were,” Myrtle said in a sickeningly sweet voice. In an aside to Hermione, she said, “He’d been dating both of them, and they found out. So they came after him.” 

“I was not dating both of them,” Sirius corrected vehemently. Hermione didn’t think she believed that. Sirius had been known for his womanizing ways, and she’d even heard Molly get onto him a few times about not looking at her and Ginny the wrong way. 

Sirius glared at the ghost girl and explained, “You didn’t know the whole story then, and you refused to believe me when I told you. Matilda got it in her head that I should be with her, and she started rumors that I had plans to ask her out. Verity was my girlfriend then, and she heard the rumors and believed them. She never even gave me a chance to talk, just started hexing me within an inch of my life.”

His eyes glazed over a bit at the memory as he added, “Dating Slytherins was such a rush.” He chuckled. 

“You dated Slytherin girls? I thought you hated Slytherin!” Hermione was shocked. 

Sirius shrugged. “Back then I didn’t know what I liked and didn’t like. I just knew that I liked pretty girls. I’m not proud of it,” he added at her scowl. “I just dated around back then anyway because I was still living with my parents, and no one in the ‘noble house of Black’ got away without an arranged marriage.” 

“Are you serious?” She asked him, sickened by the thought of an arranged marriage. 

Sirius just nodded, lost in thought. “I was promised to Delphina Greengrass even though my mother was annoyed at the idea of losing a Black to a Greengrass. Never mind that Delphina would become a Black herself. Diluting the bloodlines was dangerous to my mother.” 

“But aren’t the Greengrass family purebloods?” Hermione asked. She remembered Daphne Greengrass being in Slytherin. 

Sirius replied, “You don’t understand my dear, departed mother, Hermione. It doesn’t matter if the family is pureblooded. Diluting the Black family lineage meant marrying outside the family tree, like my cousin Andromeda did. Though she really did a number on the family tree by marrying a Muggle. Anyway, if you look at the lines of the Black family tree, every single marriage is to some distant cousin or relative.”

He waved his hands expansively. “My mother said it kept our magic pure,” he told her. “But I always said it brought the crazy in. You’ve seen my sweet, sensitive cousin Bellatrix, after all. Her husband Rodolphus is actually from a family branch that is distantly related to us through the Malfoys, though you wouldn’t believe it to see them interact.” He thought for a moment. “I’m even related to Molly Weasley through one of her cousins. Unfortunately for the Greengrasses, they’re so incredibly distantly related my mother was concerned they would dilute the purity of my children’s blood.” 

He rolled his eyes then and said, “It’s not like I was going to marry anyone my mother picked out for me anyway. That’s part of why I wound up living with James Potter and his family in my sixth and seventh years. I couldn’t stand the idea that she would force me to go against my beliefs.” 

Settling back onto his elbows, he said, “So there you have it, Hermione. My sordid family and their vain grasping at pureblooded marriages.” 

Hermione took it all in and tried to imagine what her life would look like if she’d had to deal with that kind of parents. “I’m sorry, Sirius,” she finally said. “That must have been awful.” 

He shrugged. “I got over it. James and Remus helped a lot. Even Peter helped,” he admitted with a frown. “When I learned what it was like to have friends outside of the social circle of the Black family, I realized I couldn’t go back to their lifestyle and beliefs. So I created my own social circle and started dating as many girls as I could just to annoy my mother. That all stopped in sixth year when the Potters invited me to stay with them, though.” 

“So you just stopped dating?” Hermione asked, thoroughly surprised. 

He nodded at her with a bit of a leer. “Believed all the rumors that I was a lecherous womanizer, huh?” He asked her and winked. “I know what Molly Weasley thinks of me,” he said, “but she and Arthur graduated well before I was a dangerous Gryffindor who dated around. She only knew me by reputation, and I think she got the wrong idea from a few women I’d dated in fifth year anyway. I’m not proud of it, but I stopped dating around in sixth year and only flirted with girls but couldn’t commit. I was too busy trying to figure out how to keep my new family safe.” 

Hermione realized he was talking about the Potters and felt sad for the family she now knew he’d lost. He was so like Harry in a way, feeling lost from the deaths of family and unable to recover from it all. She wanted to at least let him and Harry become close the way a godfather and godson should. 

The conversation drifted from the serious topics to the absurd and back again as Hermione and Sirius and occasionally Myrtle discussed school antics, family life, and the potion. Myrtle was a nice companion when she wasn’t bemoaning her ghostly afterlife, and she even showed surprising knowledge in charms when Hermione mentioned some of the charms she’d been learning from Professor Flitwick. 

By the time 8 hours had passed and 6 am rolled around, Hermione felt dead tired, but her potion had maintained its glassy, smooth sheen. She banked the heat and covered it with a shield before wrestling the framed picture back up onto its perch outside the girls’ bathroom. 

Then she went to her dorm and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

“Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.”

Oscar Wilde

Hermione spent the last week of the term in a bit of a fog, trying to prepare for the last minute projects she had due and deciding whether she would invite anyone to the Christmas party for the Slug Club with her. Cormac had hinted again that he’d like to take her, but she turned him down. He went away angry and commenting that fuzzy-headed bookworms should be more grateful. For her part, she was just glad he went away.

On Monday she turned in an Arithmancy essay and Charms essay that were due. On Tuesday, she completed a translation for Ancient Runes. On Wednesday, Professor Snape announced the class would complete a two-part potion by Friday and had them start their healing potions. On Thursday, she took a test in Transfiguration and in Defense Against the Dark Arts. On Friday, she completed the potion Snape assigned and performed an extracurricular practical DADA exam set by Professor Lupin. 

As she and Harry walked back to the castle from the Quidditch pitch where they’d completed their practical, she stretched her arms wide in celebration of their final exam day of classes. Hermione sighed aloud and grinned over at her best friend. Ron and Lavender had left ahead of them and were holding hands as they walked back up to the castle. 

“So have you decided who you’re going to take to Slughorn’s party?” Harry asked her. 

“No, have you?” She grimaced, knowing it was getting too late to even bother since the party was that night. 

Harry shook his head. “But I was thinking…,” he trailed off, looking at her. 

“Yes?” 

“What if we went together?” He asked her. “You know, as friends,” he added helpfully. “I don’t have a date, and you don’t have a date. We can just go together.” 

Hermione grinned and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “That’s a great idea, Harry,” she said enthusiastically. “Shall we meet up in the common room at 6? I don’t fancy being at the party early.” 

Harry chuckled at that. They both knew Slughorn would want to parade Harry around the room and show him off to everyone that was there, and he wanted nothing to do with the showboating. “Sure,” he said. 

They made it to the castle and went in to relax before they had to get ready for what was sure to be an interesting evening. 

Hermione had picked out her outfit for the occasion the night before, not certain how formal Slughorn would make it. She picked up her invitation again. The calligraphy was certainly fancy enough, and she already knew he had a flair for the dramatic. She’d settled on something that could be dressy and formal but also informal if needed. 

Around 5 pm, when the rest of her roommates were scurrying around preparing for the end of term feast, and while Lavender was trying to decide what perfume Ron would like best, she pulled out the dress she’d settled on. Hermione changed into the dress, slipped on the shoes she’d chosen, and put on a pair of earrings and a necklace to match. 

She put on some very simple makeup since she wasn’t nearly as obsessed with Witch Weekly and their “Charm of the Week” tips that Lavender and Parvati tossed around. Then she pulled her unruly hair back into an elegant twist, leaving a few strands to frame her face and neck. Stepping back to look in the mirror, she assessed herself. 

“Oh Hermione, you look amazing!” Parvati’s compliment was genuine, and she saw the other girl smile broadly at her. 

“That dress is so stunning! Where did you get it?” Lavender asked her, fingering the lacy material between her fingers. 

Hermione smiled at herself in the mirror as her friends continued to compliment her. She hadn’t felt this pretty since the Yule Ball in Fourth Year when she walked out to the dance with Viktor Krum. 

The dress was a deep navy blue with three-quarter length sleeves of embroidered lace. The embroidered lace created an illusion neckline with scallops across her collar bones while the silky material beneath actually came up to just cover her décolletage. The dress fit her form to her waist where it tapered into a full skirt that hit just at the knees. She’d paired it with a pair of navy pumps and a cream colored shawl. She wore a pair of pearl studs and a string of pearls at her throat to complete the ensemble. 

Her friends continued to get ready and then trickled out the door to go down to the feast, which also started at 6 pm. While Hermione was sad to miss it, she knew Slughorn would get onto her for missing his own party, and she’d already agreed to attend with Harry. Looking at her reflection once more, she nodded and walked out to see if Harry had already arrived. 

When she got into the common room, she found Dean Thomas and Cormac McLaggen waiting on the couches. She stifled a groan at the latter and went over to say hello to Dean. 

“Wow, Hermione, you look great!” Dean said before she could speak. He gave her an appreciative glance that made her blush. 

“Thank you, Dean,” she muttered, trying not to blush further. 

Cormac scoffed. “She’s okay if you like that type,” he said, glaring at her. Hermione straightened at that. “But I thought you were with the redhead, Thomas.” 

Dean glared back at the older boy and said, “I am with the redhead, but I can still appreciate a beautiful girl, McLaggen. And who are you taking to the party tonight?” 

McLaggen glared and shuffled his feet against the carpet. He muttered something the other two couldn’t hear and then shot to his feet. “I don’t have time to waste on the likes of you two,” he sneered. “Hope you don’t embarrass yourselves at the party by being so uncivilized.” 

With that he strode to the door, shoved the portrait open, and left. Hermione and Dean exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. 

“No date,” Dean wheezed with a laugh. “He’s got no date, and it’s all his own fault.” 

Hermione smirked. “Good!” She was thrilled to have the pompous windbag put in his place. “He’s a jerk.” 

Dean continued, “Saw him trying to ask a couple Ravenclaw girls yesterday, and they didn’t even stop to listen.” He broke into more laughter, and Hermione joined him, amused by the image Dean painted. 

“Hey, you two, what’s so funny?” 

They looked up to see Harry and Ginny on opposite sides of the entrance, having exited their dorms to come down. The two looked at their friends with amusement. 

“McLaggen couldn’t get a date,” Hermione spat out between giggles. “He’s mad because no one would go with him.” 

Harry and Ginny started laughing at that. They’d both seen the spectacle McLaggen made of himself when the invitations were first delivered. The four calmed down and decided to walk to the party together. On the way there, they were joined by Neville and Luna, his date. They greeted the couple and made their way down to the reserved space for the party. 

As they got closer, they could hear music filling the air, and Hermione smiled at a popular wizarding tune she recognized. The voices of a large number of people reached their ears as they came closer. A house elf had been given the job of taking their invitations, which caused Hermione a moment of consternation, but as they moved past him, they saw a large room filled with the most lavish decorations she’d seen. 

Chandeliers hung overhead had candles lit and tinsel raining down from them, causing silver and gold shimmers every time one looked up. The room had a frosty look to it, and she saw that the ceiling had been enchanted to snow overhead, but the snow evaporated by the time it hit the ends of the tinsel. On the tables that were situated on either side of the room were centerpieces of long gold and silver candles over cream doilies with silver and gold bauble ornaments artfully placed around them. 

The center of the floor had been charmed into a dark wood floor for dancing, and at the other end of the room a band played music popular on the Wizarding Wireless Network. She saw Slughorn off to the side of the band greeting a number of people she didn’t recognize. At least one of them appeared to be a vampire to her untrained eye, but she couldn’t be certain. 

She and Harry followed the others toward a table that was unoccupied off to the far side of the room. She noticed Cormac standing alone, scowling as people walked by him. Hermione felt vindicated at that and let Harry pull her chair out for her to sit. The boys agreed to go bring back food for their dates, and so Hermione, Luna, and Ginny found themselves sitting together in the rather loud room. 

Hermione looked and saw that the famous Quidditch player, Gwenog Jones, had returned for this party as well as a few Ministry officials Slughorn bragged of teaching. She saw a number of other adults, but they were mostly people she didn’t recognize, though she knew they must be on “the wall” of Slughorn’s famous students. 

Harry, Dean, and Neville were crossing the dance floor, each with two plates, when Slughorn spotted him. She saw the exact moment his eyes lit up with glee at seeing his favorite student who had no choice but to join him in this party. Despite his previous disconcertment with Harry’s attempt to pry out his true memory, Slughorn would not be dissuaded about Harry’s attendance at this most important party. 

She could see the wheels turning in his head as he descended on the three boys, his bulk largely clearing the dance floor before him. He’d been dying to get the Boy Who Lived and possible Chosen One in his clutches from the moment they’d met, and now before all these people with important jobs, he could parade around showing Harry off. It was exactly the sort of thing she knew Harry hated. 

The boys hadn’t noticed Slughorn bearing down on them, and they finished their rather hazardous crossing, placing their plates on the table as the cups magically filled with pumpkin juice. Harry put Hermione’s plate in front of her and set his at his place when she noticed a window with a curtain billowing from the movements of the guests. 

Grabbing his arm and nearly making him drop his own plate, Hermione half-dragged and half-shoved him over to the curtain, while Slughorn traded greetings with a Ministry man who had stepped in his path. 

“Hey, what gives?” Harry asked as she shoved him along. 

“Slughorn,” she replied shortly. “Hide here and I’ll get you when it’s safe,” she told him. She gave him no warning before thrusting him behind the curtain, glancing down to see how visible his shoes were. 

She turned and made her way back to the table not a moment too soon as Slughorn had just extricated himself from his guest. He continued toward their table and soon arrived, panting slightly from his exertions. 

“Well, well, well,” he boomed, causing Neville to drop his fork. “I see you’ve all made it to my little party. I’m sure you’re enjoying yourselves.” 

Some rather unenthusiastic replies met that statement, but he seemed not to hear. Glancing around the table, his enthusiastic smile turned to a small frown. “But where’s Harry?” He asked, put out. “I thought I saw him a moment ago. I was sure of it.” 

“Oh, Professor,” Hermione said, “someone caught his attention and dragged him off to meet a few people. They went that way,” she continued and pointed to the opposite corner of the room. 

Slughorn nodded. “Of course, of course,” he said. “The Chosen One, you know. He’s something of an enigma for my guests, and I’m sure one of them got to him first. No matter, I’ll find him.” Nodding to his students, he said, “Have a good time, you all.” 

And then he slumped off in the direction of the opposite corner where Hermione saw McLagen now sat. She sighed and went to grab Harry from his curtained hideout. 

When he returned, the group began eating in earnest. Ginny and Dean wanted to go out on the dance floor and dance to the music while Neville and Luna were discussing some strange insect she described as “fae-like with a bit of impishness but really very slow-witted.” Hermione heard her mention something about the insect nesting in a person’s ears to give them clumsy directions and saw Neville turn three shades of red as his hands went reflexively to his ears. 

When she finished eating, Harry held out a hand to her and asked, “Would you care to dance?” He winked at her before adding, “Slughorn’s headed this way again.” 

Hermione grinned back at her friend and put her hand in his. “Why, of course, I’d be delighted, Mister Potter.” 

They walked out onto the dance floor as the band prepared their next number. It was a slow song, and Hermione blushed as Harry led her onto the floor. He ignored her awkwardness, though, and simply put his hands on her hips. She returned the gesture on his shoulders as she watched others join the dance floor, effectively cutting off the professor’s movement in their direction. 

The music started up in a soft ballad, and Hermione hummed along as Harry swayed. He wasn’t much of a dancer, she noticed, but it was nice to dance again. It had been a long time since the Yule Ball, after all. 

“Hermione,” he said, bringing her eyes to his, “I’ve got a question for you.” She nodded mutely. “Have you been working on something?”

She almost stopped moving, but gentle pressure on her hips kept her swaying to the music. Thinking fast, she asked, “What makes you think that?” 

Harry eyed her shrewdly, and she couldn’t easily look away. “You’ve been rather preoccupied lately,” he said. “And the other day I thought for sure I saw you talking to a portrait!” She gulped. “I couldn’t see who it was, and I was too far away to hear what you were saying, but I was certain you were almost arguing with a portrait.” 

She remembered that. She’d been going between classes and had just finished her Charms pop quiz that Professor Flitwick gave them. She’d been talking to herself about the quiz as she walked down the hall, unaware she had a shadow following her in the nearby portraits. 

She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when Sirius corrected her on one of her answers. She stopped immediately to discuss it with him and found herself arguing the point. He’d eventually proven her wrong, but she wasn’t willing to concede the argument, and so she’d continued to argue silly things with the portrait as they walked the rest of the way to her Arithmancy class. 

Hermione settled on telling Harry a half-truth and began, “Well, you see, Harry, I wanted to surprise you with a project I started over the summer. It’s very involved, and I’ve been working on it so long I got used to not talking to anyone about it.” She invented as she went. “I found a book at the Summer Place that gave me an idea about doing something to help you out, and I’m hoping to finish it soon. But until then I’m going to keep it quiet in case it doesn’t work out, okay?” She gave him her best puppy dog eyes as they continued to dance with the new song that started. 

Harry looked at her closely and said, “And the portrait?” 

She laughed. “Oh it was that Sir Cadogan following me around the castle. You know how he is. He kept yelling at me to stand and fight and got me mad because I missed a question in Charms. So I stopped to yell back at him.” 

Harry seemed convinced but then said, “Just don’t do anything to get yourself hurt. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hermione.” He pulled her closer for a second and told her, “You’re my best friend. You and Ron have always been there for me, and I just want to make sure you’re okay. This project isn’t dangerous, is it?” 

Hermione considered lying to him but just couldn’t. He’d seen so much, and she knew she couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “It can have bad side effects, but so can a lot of things. I’ve been very careful to do it step by step. I’ve checked and rechecked everything. I’ve been as careful as I know how to be, Harry, but nothing is ever guaranteed.” 

His brow furrowed, but he sighed as the music faded out. “All right, Hermione,” he said. “I’ll trust you. But if you get yourself hurt, I’ll never forgive you!” His grin offset the threat, but she knew he would definitely be angry with her if she did get hurt, even if it brought back his beloved godfather. 

They stepped apart and made to go back to the table with their friends when they were intercepted by Slughorn. 

“There you are, Harry, m’boy!” His booming voice shattered the peaceful atmosphere, and they glanced at the professor as he got closer. “I’ve been trying to catch you all night! Come with me, there are so many people I’d like you to meet.” He grabbed Harry’s arm and began propelling him away. 

Hermione was caught between relief and chagrin, not knowing whether she should follow her “date” and the potions master. Before she could decide, Slughorn decided for her. 

“Come along, Miss Granger,” he called, with a backwards glance at her. “I’ve got my prodigy portrait charmer here to meet you, and she’s dying to get to know you.” 

She resigned herself to following along in his wake and ignored the confused glance Harry gave her. As they made their way to the band, Slughorn caught a young woman by the arm and quickly made the introductions between her and Hermione before moving on with Harry.

Hermione found herself face-to-face with Nicole Stubbins, the student Slughorn spoke so highly of regarding her charmed portraits. The other woman had a blond pixie cut and sharp, angular features with blue eyes set against pale skin. She was short and wore a powder blue set of dress robes and white pumps. 

She indicated a table nearby, and the two sat down together. Nicole signaled a passing waiter and grabbed two glasses of pumpkin juice for them before smiling at the other girl. 

“Horace tells me you’re interested in portrait charming,” she started. “In fact, he says you’re the best witch of your year, and you’ve been reading up on portraits for a while now.” She left the door open for Hermione, who was happy to oblige. 

“Yes,” she replied eagerly, “I have been studying them for a while. I wanted to learn more about the intricacies of the incantations used on portraits, and I stumbled upon Devlin Hamish and his work as a result.” 

Nicole nodded. “Devlin’s methods are certainly considered a bit unorthodox in the mainstream portrait world, but he’s really done some fascinating research into the use of blood. It’s only too bad that he died with his research unfinished. His students couldn’t even finish it because he charmed it to expire with him.” 

Hermione was flabbergasted. “What? Why would he want to do that?” She asked the other woman. 

“Devlin was a very vain man,” she told her. Nicole rolled her eyes and then said, “If you read his writings, especially his later works, you’ll see that he didn’t care about much besides getting his name out there for his research and potions. So when he got older, he decided he wouldn’t allow anyone else to take credit for his work and charmed every bit of research he was working on to incinerate on his death. He’d developed a potion that tied a bit of his blood into even the parchment he used to create his notes.” 

Nicole continued after a sip of her juice. “It was a wonder his whole house didn’t burn down. His students only found him when one of them dropped by to visit and noticed a blaze in the living room window. They sent for help and found his entire study and living room on fire with him dead in his bed. The only reason they knew what it meant was because of a note he left for his students. It detailed the things he’d been researching but not the actual work involved and declared his decision not to allow anyone to benefit from it.” 

She scowled and shook her head. “It’s really the only thing I dislike about Hamish. His methods are sound, and he was certainly an accomplished wizard, but he was too vain and arrogant. He wanted to outlive himself, but he never went for that kind of research.” 

“What kind of research?” Hermione asked, fascinated. 

“Resurrection research,” was the reply. Nicole tapped her finely manicured nails on the table as the band struck up another ballad. “He knew about the research into the resurrection of portraits that went on under Lord Henry Wotton’s watch, but he was never interested enough in that. Unlike a lot of us. But Lord Henry’s research was lost a long time ago and no one remembers him these days. The most you’ll hear about is someone occasionally talking about that book the squib published.” 

Hermione felt the skin raising on his arms in goosebumps as the other woman described her exact purpose for studying portraits. It seemed Nicole was interested in exactly the same thing but had no access to the materials, and Hermione thanked her lucky stars the Blacks had been greedy enough to add Wotton’s diary to their collection. 

Their conversation continued for another half hour, and Hermione learned some great information about the power of blood for portrait charming and the ways charmers prepared for a blood infusion, as Nicole called it. She mentally made notes about things she might want to change for her incantation and asked lots of questions. 

By the time Harry got back to her, Hermione and Nicole had exchanged plans to write to one another, and Nicole invited Hermione to apply at the portrait charming institute dedicated to the Devlin Hamish method. Hermione thanked her warmly, surprised at the invitation but ultimately would have to think about it over the next year. 

Right now, she just wanted to get through the next two days. 

Chapter Text

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” 

Oscar Wilde

Saturday dawned with the promise of snow in the air, and Hermione woke up with just enough time to get dressed before going to breakfast with the rest of the school. After breakfast, the Hogwarts Express would leave for London to take those students home who were leaving for Christmas break. 

Hermione threw on jeans and a sweater Mrs. Weasley made her last Christmas before going downstairs with Parvati and Lavender, who were pestering her about how the previous night had gone. Her hair was still pulled back in its twist because she’d fallen in bed without taking it down, so she left it. It looked a little worse for wear, but Hermione wasn’t leaving with the rest of the school and didn’t care. 

They arrived downstairs to find a big group of their classmates all waiting to walk to breakfast together. Hermione gave Harry, Ron, and Ginny hugs in greeting, and then the group began walking to the Great Hall. They laughed and talked, and she heard all about her friends’ plans over the holidays. 

“So what are you going to do for break, Hermione?” Lavender was asking her, arm looped through Ron’s, who looked only mildly uncomfortable. 

“My parents have asked me to come to my family’s Christmas party this year,” Hermione said. “Usually my dad’s whole family gets together for Christmas, and they go to one of his sibling’s houses to celebrate. We do a gift exchange, sing carols, play a few games, and have tons of food. It’s lots of fun.” 

Lavender smiled and said, “My favorite part is the gift exchange! Do you do the 12 Days of Christmas exchange?” 

Hermione frowned. “What’s that?” Dean and Harry looked curious about this, too. Ron, Ginny, Parvati, Neville, and Seamus all had broad smiles on their faces, though, so it must be a wizard thing. 

Lavender grinned and said, “The 12 Days of Christmas exchange is kind of a blind gift exchange among family. Everyone picks a gift, wraps it, and ties it to an owl. You each pick a name, and every day of the exchange you give and receive a gift. But you don’t open any gifts till the twelfth day. So each day you get a new gift and all you do is wrap it so you can send it on to the next person. Then on the twelfth day, everyone gets together and races to open their gifts at the same time. You’re unwrapping twelve days worth of giftwrap, so it can be hard. Whoever gets theirs open first gets the chance to keep or exchange their gift with someone else.”

“That sounds kinda fun,” Harry mused, probably thinking of watching his aunt and uncle deal with unwrapping that much Christmas paper. He had a smirk on his face.

“One year we played it, but Fred and George got a hold of our rule sheet,” Ron said. “They charmed the rules so that whoever opened his gift first got to switch everyone else’s gifts around. I ended up with some granny panties from my Great Auntie Muriel.” He scowled at the memory while the rest of the group laughed. 

“Do you remember Percy?” Ginny asked with a giggle. Ron let out a snort of laughter. She explained to the rest of the group, “George got his gift unwrapped first, and he went round and switched out gifts so all of us got something really bizarre. He switched Percy’s gift for what Uncle Billius gave, and Percy wound up with a joke pocketwatch. Percy attached the chain to his shirt pocket and it started beating him round the head. It had a permanent sticking charm, so he couldn’t remove it, and he was so mad that he’d ruined his favorite shirt.” 

The group was still laughing about Christmas gifts as they entered the Great Hall minutes later. They walked in to see the beautiful, big Christmas trees Hagrid had brought in for the end of term feast still decorated and lit with candles. Overhead the enchanted ceiling had snow falling softly. 

The group walked to the Gryffindor table to sit and enjoy their last breakfast of the term together. Hermione admitted to herself she’d miss being with the Weasleys for Christmas, especially as she heard Lavender pepper the siblings about their plans for Christmas Eve. 

“Oh, and Mom’ll have the concert on,” Ginny added, smirking at Ron. He rolled his eyes with a groan as Lavender looked puzzled. “It’s the Celestina Warbuck concert that plays on the WWN. She listens to it every year and makes all of us listen with her.” 

Hermione chuckled at Lavender’s comical expression. She remembered listening to the Celestina Warbuck concert last year at Grimmauld Place and wouldn’t recommend it. Perhaps she wasn’t going to miss out on too terribly much. 

As breakfast wound down, the students who would be leaving were getting antsy. Hermione looked around the head table and saw Dumbledore standing up to give a short speech. 

He approached the podium and raised his hands for quiet. “Well, you have survived another fall term at Hogwarts, and I am so pleased to see how well you’re all doing,” he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “I will keep this short as I know you’re all raring to head to your holiday celebrations. I will only say that Hogwarts and its staff wish you all a happy Christmas and we look forward to seeing you again upon your return. And in these dangerous times, remember that your Hogwarts home is always here for you.” He clapped his hands, dispelling the somewhat disturbed atmosphere that had fallen. “Now I ask you to enjoy your break and perhaps think about doing your assignments before you return. Might I suggest the night before?” The whole room chuckled, and he waved his hands expansively, dismissing them. 

Raucous talking and laughing broke out as students began to get to their feet and make their way to the door to leave. Hermione stood, too, turning to hug first Harry and then Ron and wish them a happy Christmas. Ginny walked around the table to hug her as well. She said goodbye to Lavender, Dean, and Neville before Parvati stopped to hug her, surprising her a bit. 

She walked with them to the door of the Great Hall when Padma came up to her from behind. “Happy Christmas, Hermione,” the other girl said as she approached. 

Hermione whirled around to see Padma looking at her shyly. “Happy Christmas, Padma,” she returned with a smile. 

Padma lowered her voice a bit and said, “Thanks for not saying anything about…you know.” Hermione nodded. “I know we didn’t talk about it, but I’ll explain everything when I come back from Christmas break, okay?” 

Hermione nodded again and said, “Sure, Padma. Safe travels.” 

Then the other girl walked off, lost in the groups of excited students heading toward the Hogwarts Express. 

“Not headed home for the holidays, Miss Granger?” Horace Slughorn was standing behind her, and she jumped. 

“Actually I am, sir,” she said, continuing the lie she’d told her friends. “But I have to wait to leave a few days while my parents are out of the country. I’ll be heading out the 23^rd.” 

Slughorn nodded with a smile. “Well, I’m off to Hogsmeade,” he said. “Got a meeting with Nicole about a portrait. I’m sure she’s just going to try to get me to commission her again, but you shouldn’t be cruel to old students. Cheerio, Granger.” 

And off he went. 

She turned around to see the Great Hall almost completely empty of students. It seemed a lot of her peers were going home to visit their families, and she’d heard several of them discussing their parents’ plans to potentially keep them home after the break as well. If the Daily Prophet was to be believed, the Death Eaters were attacking in droves, and it was becoming more and more dangerous for regular witches and wizards. 

Hermione had discussed with her classmates their parents’ fears on numerous occasions. Along with Harry and Ron, she’d touted her belief that no one could be safer than the students inside Hogwarts. But there were always the few that couldn’t believe it, like Seamus and his mother. She wondered as she gazed round the room whether Seamus would be returning after Christmas. 

She blanched when she saw Draco Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table with Crabbe and Goyle. It shouldn’t have surprised her considering his father was still a missing person and she’d overheard from Snape months ago that Voldemort was keeping his mother captive. But she still found herself surprised that she’d be sharing Christmas dinner with Malfoy. She made a mental note to avoid any areas she knew the Slytherin liked to spend time, which now unfortunately seemed to include the Room of Requirement. 

At the Gryffindor table, she realized she was the oldest student staying behind. There were some younger students, including the Creevey brothers, but the table was mostly empty. The same was true for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. 

Hermione walked out of the room and headed to her dorm. The quiet would make for the perfect atmosphere to practice the incantation she would be using in 24 hours time. And she needed to make time to go do a little digging for dirt, literally, in the Hogwarts gardens. She’d decided getting dirt from the greenhouses where so many magical plants grew could only be a help to her plans to bring Sirius back. 

As she walked, she found herself glancing in the portraits for any signs of her constant companions of the last several months. She hadn’t talked to Phineas recently, but she’d gotten used to seeing Sirius play a game of hide and seek with her as she tried to sight him between classes. But he didn’t seem to be around to visit, so she stopped looking as she got closer to the Gryffindor Tower. 

Up in her dorm, she spent the next several hours practicing the words of the incantation without using her wand. The Latin was a bit tricky, but she’d taken the time to write it out phonetically, using a handy Latin dictionary her parents had bought her, so she could practice it perfectly. It was a long incantation, and she needed to get it memorized perfectly so she could rattle it off during the formal part of the spell tomorrow night. 

It took her three hours just to get the pronunciation down and the words memorized. Then she pulled out the diary to reread Lord Henry’s description of the incantation and how it should be performed. She wanted to compare it to her portrait charming textbook to see if she should make any alterations to it. Since she was adding blood and dirt to the mix, she thought there ought to be at least some minor adjustments to her positioning. 

She found the passage and began reading.

During the incantation and use of the potion, you must position the portrait on a wall with the potion opposite it. The distance does not matter as the incantation will be used to move the potion to its correct position. As the charmer, you must stand between the portrait and potion, making a triangle. You will want to leave enough space between the two for the resurrected person to appear. 

Bear in mind the portrait will be destroyed at the end of the incantation. 

To properly assist the potion in invigorating the portrait into life, you will speak the incantation. The incantation will not only activate the potion, causing an orange haze to erupt; it will also cause the potion to begin to stream into the air. Using your wand, you will direct the potion to the portrait where it will come into contact with the subject of the portrait. 

It becomes tricky at this point. Most portraits are designed to withstand charms and potions that come in contact with them. Even if you remove every charm from the portrait, there is a magical ward built into the very canvas. When the potion comes in contact with the portrait, you will have to fight to continue applying the potion and “erasing” the subject of the portrait. Only once the entire subject has been erased will the potion and incantation cease and the portrait be destroyed. At this point the person will be fully formed in the space between frame and cauldron. 

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what it meant when it said she would have to fight the portrait, but she decided she would just have to find out directly. She flipped open the portrait charming book to the chapter on lifeblood potions. 

She skimmed through the different potions and charms involving blood and noted that in almost every case the charmer would place a mixture of dirt and blood in the space between portrait and potion or portrait and charmer. In only one case was the blood mixture smeared on the portrait, but this was as an insurance that the portrait could never be duplicated. 

As she walked down to dinner that night, Hermione had made her decision. She would get a pile of dirt from the greenhouses and place that on the floor between the cauldron and the portrait. She knew she’d have to cut herself and supply the blood, but the potions and charms involving blood had varied widely on how much blood was used. It wasn’t an exact science, and while it made her nervous, she’d decided she would simply add a little of her own blood and leave the cut open. 

A small voice in the back of her head asked her if she was really ready for this dangerous project, but Hermione shushed the voice. She’d already read, reread, and read again every book on portrait charming she could get her hands on. She’d planned and worked and decided everything she needed to do in order to make this work. 

She entered the Great Hall with the determination that everything would have to work out. As she moved up the eerily quiet hall to the two small tables that had magically been set in place of the four enormous ones, Hermione pushed any fears and worries aside. It was too late to back out now, and Sirius was counting on her. 

That night she dug into her food with enthusiasm, enjoying every last bite of the roasted lamb, creamed potatoes, yeast rolls, green beans, and treacle tart. Feeling a bit like Ron as she crammed more food into her mouth and amazing the Creevey brothers with her ability, she noted that it was a very good dinner and if she was coming down to her last meals, she might as well eat well. 

After her enormous dinner, Hermione went to the dorms and fell into a troubled sleep. She dreamed of losing her mind and entering portraits only to be trapped inside someone else’s portrait. She dreamed of watching Sirius’s portrait burn with him still inside it, screaming in agony. She dreamed of the dirt and blood turning into piles of mashed potatoes during her incantation. 

In the morning, she felt too sick to eat breakfast. Instead, she went out to the greenhouses while the rest of the castle enjoyed their meal. She carried an extra cauldron she’d borrowed from Ginny and went into first one then two and lastly three of the greenhouses, gathering dirt from different plants and choosing only those that had the richest of health benefits and required the best soils. 

A half hour later she lugged the cauldron full of dirt into the girls’ bathroom and tucked it away in the floor of the last stall where her potion still sat. The smell of parchment and blood was even stronger now, pungent and almost nauseating. She was glad she’d created a shield around the stall to keep the scent in but concerned she might have trouble trying to speak in that stench. Running out of the bathroom with her nose pinched, she took great gulps of fresh air as she went to the library to see if any new books on portrait charming had come in. 

Madam Pince assured her no new books were in, and Hermione sighed and walked the shelves aimlessly, lost in thought. 

“Hermione?” She turned to see Remus Lupin smiling at her from the other end of the aisle. “What are you looking for?” 

“Oh, hello Professor,” she said. “I’m not really looking for anything. Just browsing.” She pushed her hair back from her face distractedly. 

“In that case, would you care to join me for tea?” He asked her. 

She smiled brightly. “Of course, I’d love to!” 

He smiled back at her and led the way out of the library. They went down the hall, discussing the most recent Defense Against the Dark Arts classes he’d taught and the impressive spells he’d shown them for defense. 

Remus took her to his office, and when they arrived, he made tea and produced a number of delicious cakes and cookies from Madame Puddifoot’s. Hermione lifted a brow at that, and the werewolf smirked. 

“Madame Puddifoot knows my love of chocolate, so she lets me order from her personally,” he admitted. “I get a shipment every month, and she doesn’t badger me about my ‘furry little secret.’”

Hermione chuckled at that and settled in her cushy armchair across from her professor and friend. She took her tea and a chocolate cake with thick, fudgy icing. Madame Puddifoot really did make some of the best baked goods in Hogsmeade, she had to admit as she took a bite of the decadent cake. 

Remus must have agreed because his eyes got a slightly glazed look as he began to eat his own slice of cake. 

“So Hermione,” he began, taking a sip of tea to wash down the cake, “Harry tells me you’re planning to stay here over Christmas.” 

“Oh, yes, I have a project—“ she stopped, staring at her professor in surprise. 

Remus just chuckled at her. “I’m a Marauder, Hermione,” he said gently. “We might have been popular for our tricks, but we also knew how to weasel things out of people. Harry stopped to tell me he was afraid you were lying to him about Christmas about a week or so ago.” 

Hermione shook her head. When had her friend gotten so observant? Normally he and Ron wouldn’t notice something like a little white lie from her. She sighed as her professor watched her. 

“I shouldn’t have lied to him,” she said apologetically, “but I do have a project I’m working on for him over Christmas break.” She decided to tell Remus much the same thing she’d told Harry the night before. “I wanted to stay here to try to get it finished faster.” 

The werewolf surveyed her for a moment before taking a bite of his cake. “And what kind of project are you working on?” He asked her. “Is it something you can’t do at the Weasleys’ house?” 

Hermione thought quickly. “It’s not that, Remus,” she said imploringly. “It’s just that…you know how their house gets. There’s no quiet anywhere, and when they’re all there for the holidays, there’s no way to concentrate on anything. I just wanted to have some peace and quiet to finish this for Harry, and I knew I wouldn’t get that there.” 

He nodded understandingly. Alone of the Marauders, Remus was the one who’d always had a passion for learning and a love of books. He would spend hours reading while his friends griped about his hobby and tried to distract him. While he loved spending time with them, he also needed his space, so he understood Hermione’s need for quiet. 

“Well,” he finally said, “is there any way I can help you with the project? Maybe two heads are better than one?” 

Hermione shook her head. “No, Professor,” she said. “It’s really the kind of project you can only do by yourself. But thank you for offering!” 

He smiled at her, and they went back to their tea and cakes, Hermione learning about Lupin’s famed sweet tooth when he ate four slices of cake. She joked about him getting a stomachache, and he laughed it off. 

The two were friends and shared several intellectual interests, so it was nice to be able to step back from having him as her professor and simply chat about things they liked. When she finally left his office, Hermione found herself smiling about having learned so much from her friend and sometime mentor. 

She walked down the hall, humming a tune as she went. 

“What time should I be in my portrait tonight?” The question caught her off guard, and she glanced around to see Sirius poking his head out of a herd of sheep. 

The image of Sirius Black’s head popping out of a herd of white sheep with an angry shepherd in the background making obscene gestures at him was so comical she burst into laughter. He slowly stood up, crossed his arms, and glared at her as she continued to giggle. Tears of laughter ran down her face, and she rubbed them away with the sleeve of her robes. 

“It’s really not that funny,” he said flatly when she calmed down. 

She waved her hand and said, “I know, I know. But I couldn’t sleep last night, so I think I’m just tired.” 

“I hope you’re not too tired for the incantation,” he retorted. “But if you are, I suppose you should get an extra night of rest.” He relented a bit from his annoyance and added, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Hermione.” 

His concern touched her, and she smiled at him. “I’ll be fine, Sirius,” she assured him. “I might go take a little nap before dinner so that I can perform the incantation tonight, but don’t worry.” 

Seemingly reassured, he asked, “So when should I be back at my portrait, and how are you going to get the sticking charm off?” 

Hermione thought about that. Curfew was at 10 pm, and she wanted to get started well after curfew when fewer teachers would be out patrolling the halls. “How about 11 o’clock?” 

“All right,” he said. He continued to look at her as she turned to walk away. 

“Well, see you later!” She called and heard him sputtering behind her as she began to sprint down the hall. 

“Wait! You didn’t tell me how you’re getting my portrait off the wall!” 

She ignored him and ran on, stopping only when she made it to her common room. She huffed and puffed, causing a first year girl to stare at her in surprise, and when she caught her breath, she walked up to her room and shut the door securely behind her. 

Feeling tired from her run and the sugar crash after her slice of cake, Hermione did exactly as she’d said she would. She fell asleep and woke in time for dinner. And then the waiting really began. 

Chapter Text

“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

Oscar Wilde

By 10:00, Hermione had worn a hole in the dorm rug. She’d paced back and forth for the last hour debating whether she should just leave before curfew and risk less of a chance of being caught. She’d nearly decided to leave the dorm when the Creevey brothers broke out a set of firecrackers their parents had sent them in the common room.

She’d returned to her room, muttering curses under her breath at the Weasley brothers who had inspired such mayhem. 

She went back to pacing the floor until 10:30. Finally, unable to wait any longer, she grabbed the bag she’d packed earlier that evening. Looking inside, she tried to see if she’d missed anything she would need. She’d only packed and repacked it three times, really, so she could have missed something. 

That only distracted her a few more minutes, and then she slung the bag over her shoulder and made her way quietly down the stairs to the common room. The Creevey brothers and a few first year students were huddled around the fireplace, watching the smoldering remains of a firecracker that appeared to be a wounded green snake. It hissed and writhed in dramatic agony, and Hermione had to appreciate the Weasley twins’ creativity. She knew the Slytherin students wouldn’t be nearly as appreciative of the spectacle.

Seeing no one else in the room, she made for the door and opened it quickly to step into the hallway. She’d not even tried to ask Harry for the Marauder’s Map since he’d been so glued to it all term watching Malfoy’s movements, so she tread carefully as she walked down to the second floor where Sirius’s portrait hung. 

So far she’d avoided any entanglements, but she worried about how quickly she could move while trying to carry the awkward portrait back up to the third floor and the girls’ bathroom. 

When she arrived, she found Sirius waiting for her. He looked anxious, excited, and nervous. She smiled at him in greeting and pulled her wand out of her pocket. 

Waving it, she muttered, “Imago Revellio.” 

The portrait glowed a soft blue, and she saw a few sparks alight from the bottom of the portrait. Sirius jumped a bit and looked disconcerted. 

“What did you do?” He asked, perturbed. “That felt weird.” 

“I just performed a revealing charm,” she told him as she rummaged in her bag. “And I got what I needed to know,” she added with a triumphant grin as she pulled out a small tube. She twirled it in her fingers as she said, “I thought there was no way Dumbledore could put a permanent sticking charm on your portrait here because it’s Black family property, and I was right. The sticking charm he used isn’t a permanent one, so I can use this to free you.” 

Sirius glanced warily at the tube and said, “You know portraits are charmed to resist potions, right? My mother made sure our charmer put all the usual charms in place and a few extra ones for backup. What is that stuff anyway?” 

“It’s a Weasley twin invention, actually,” she admitted with a blush. “They call it UnStuck Yourself. It’s a Magical Anti-Sticking Lube I found at their shop.” She blushed harder as Sirius cackled at the name. “Oh be quiet!” 

“And where did you find that in their store, hmm?” Sirius laughed at her as she glared at him. “In the back of the store?” 

“If you must know, I found it in the romance section,” she finally gritted through clenched teeth. “Fred told me it could be used for unsticking almost anything, and they did enough experiments in your house to prove it.” 

That shut him up.

“Wait a minute, what kind of experiments did they do?” He asked, genuinely interested. 

She decided on one that she knew would annoy him. “You know that pinup you had from that Muggle calendar on your wall?” 

“Belinda ‘Boobs’ Johnson?” He asked her, eyes widening. “Month of May?” Hermione glared but nodded. “What did they do to her?” 

“They unstuck her,” she said simply. 

Sirius’s jaw hung open. “I didn’t know anyone could get that charm to come off. My mother certainly couldn’t,” he added. “To think, the Weasley twins could do it. I’ll have to tell Moony.” 

“Why Professor Lupin?” She asked as she unscrewed the lid. She saw the liquid lube bubble up out of the tip of the tube and moved forward to the portrait. 

“Because he’s the one who came up with the charm,” Sirius answered simply. “Moony created a few excellent defensive charms back in our day, and that was one of them. It kept my mother from prying all my Muggle art off the walls.” He looked lost in thought and then said, “Though I wouldn’t mind redecorating when I get back.” 

She took the last step up to the portrait and reached her hand above the frame. Sirius seemed uncomfortable with her proximity, and she noticed a certain look in his eyes she couldn’t place. Deciding to ignore it, she angled the tube so the liquid could slide between frame and wall. Fred had told her she only needed to use the smallest amount, so she squeezed a thin line across the top of the frame. 

Almost immediately the frame tilted forward, and she pulled her arm back to catch it, dropping the tube on the ground as Sirius cried out. 

Steadying the portrait, she leaned the now free portrait against the wall while she retrieved the tube and capped it. Stuffing it in her bag, she slung it on her shoulder and lifted the portrait slowly and carefully. 

“Well then,” she said brightly, “shall we get going?” She heard a muffled affirmative from Sirius and realized she was pressing the front of his frame against her shirt. She sat it down long enough to flip it face forward and then headed for the stairs. 

When she arrived, she had to wait a few minutes for them to stop moving, and she continued to look over her shoulder anxiously, realizing she’d dallied too long in the hallway. The stairs stopped and she went up them as quickly as she could while holding the portrait up. Sirius remained quiet, and she wondered what had him so preoccupied. 

She made it to the bathroom with no signs of Mr. Filch or Mrs. Norris and sighed in relief when she got the portrait inside. Conjuring a hook, she quickly hung the portrait up and set her bag down to prepare. 

“Hermione,” Sirius said softly as she worked. She nodded but didn’t look up. “I just wanted to say that I hope everything goes okay tonight. But if it doesn’t, I want you to know how much all this means to me.” 

Now she looked up to see him staring at her intently. 

He continued, “I’ve watched you work so hard on this potion and on figuring out how to get me out of here, and I feel so honored. I feel so honored that you would work so hard for me.” He held up a hand to silence her. “I know you’re doing this for Harry, and I know it’s for love of Harry that you even continued this despite the risks. But I’m getting the benefit of it, and you’ve spent all this time trying to save my life. And all I can do is sit here and watch you work.” 

He clenched his hands into fists as he admitted, “I hate being useless. It was the worst feeling in the world to be stuck in Grimmauld Place while the other Order members were able to go and do things I couldn’t. And I hate the idea that I’ll be right back in that position when I’m free of this portrait.” He sighed and said, “But I hate more the fact that I abandoned Harry when he needed me. And I hate that there’s nothing I can do to make it up to him and no words I can say to take that pain away from him.” 

He looked into her eyes and said, “So I want to thank you for doing this, Hermione. I know it could go all wrong, and I know the chances of success aren’t very high. Phineas has mentioned it only a couple hundred times, but you’re still at it. And I’m here now because you have faith. Thank you, Hermione, for believing in me and yourself.” 

She smiled at him, sincerely touched by his words. “You’re welcome, Sirius,” she said softly. “And I hope you know I’m not just doing this for Harry. If you didn’t want this, even a little, I’d stop now. You can tell me to stop, and I will. But I know you weren’t ready to die. You never wanted to leave Harry, and I can’t imagine a world where my best friend has to watch so many people he loves die. So I’m going to do this, and it’s going to work. It has to work.” 

She said the last bit with the conviction that had held her up through this entire process. She’d studied, plotted, and planned, and now all she had left was the conviction that this was doable and that it simply had to happen. 

Moving back to her work, she opened the door to the stall and dispelled the wards she’d placed. She wouldn’t need them anymore. The overpowering scent of parchment mingled with blood made her choke and cough a bit as she grabbed the cauldron of dirt and dragged it to a few feet in front of the portrait. 

Sirius watched her quizzically. While they’d talked a lot about this day, she’d never explained the particulars of the incantation or what would happen. She’d kept it to herself because she feared he would object to her use of blood in the spell. 

Grabbing the cauldron that was too heavy to lift, she upended it, spilling dirt into a small pile on the floor. When it was empty, she set the cauldron aside. Then she took a deep breath, went into the stall, and picked up the cauldron of potion. She carefully carried it out, careful not to disturb its contents and set it on the floor a few feet away from the pile of dirt. 

Now settled, she pulled out her wand, a knife, and the small diary she’d been carrying around all this time. 

“Oooooh, are you finally going to do it?” The voice of Myrtle floated to her as the ghost materialized just inside the door to the bathroom. She seemed very excited. 

“Yes, I am,” Hermione said. “And I don’t know exactly what will happen, Myrtle, so you should probably stay over there. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” 

Great tears pooled into Myrtle’s eyes, and the ghost whispered, “Y-you don’t w-want to hurt m-me? That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She broke into quiet tears while Hermione rolled her eyes, turning back to Sirius. 

“I’m going to have to remove any charms and spells that are on your portrait, Sirius,” she said. “It might hurt, so I wanted to warn you.” He nodded, and she lifted her wand. With a flourish, she chanted, “Finite Imago Incantatem!” 

The reaction was instant. A green flame erupted over the portrait and ripped over the surface from top to bottom, ending in green ashes that fell away with an angry hiss. Sirius cringed and curled into a fetal position, his arms around him in protection but didn’t make a sound. 

Hermione performed the reveal spell next and determined there were no additional charms that needed to be removed. The only ones left were the standard spells used to charm the portrait to life. With that in mind, she decided it was now or never. 

She set her wand down and picked up the knife. 

“What are you doing with that knife, Hermione?” Sirius asked her, his voice hoarse from the removal of the rather nasty spell his mother had put on the portrait. 

“I have to add blood to the incantation to make it work,” she said and, before he could object, slashed the knife across her palm. She winced at the pain and then walked over to the small pile of dirt she’d made and let several drops of her blood fall onto them. After counting twelve drops of blood, she turned her palm over and moved back out of the space she’d set aside for the incantation to do its work. 

At the door to the bathroom, Myrtle had stopped crying and now hovered with wide eyes, watching the other girl work. 

Hermione set her knife down and picked up her wand and diary. She opened to the marked page and skimmed the incantation one last time. Then she nodded to herself, closed the book, and laid it down. 

Looking at Sirius, she said, “If this doesn’t work, I’m sorry.” 

She took a deep breath, pointed her wand at the cauldron, and began to speak the words of the incantation. As soon as she began the incantation, she could feel the power welling up inside of her and extending out her wand. It was a most peculiar stinging sensation, and she steeled herself against it as she continued to speak. 

Meanwhile a low glow emitted from the tip of her wand, and she watched as the potion began to shimmer and shine. A small stream of the potion lifted out of the cauldron and began to wend its way up. She concentrated on the words of the incantation as she continued to speak, directing her wand tip away from the cauldron. 

She moved her wand slowly, not because she needed to but because of the immense weight pressing down on her as she tried to move the potion in the air. The incantation seemed to be weighing on her physically, and she struggled against it, moving her arm toward the portrait. 

Hermione didn’t even glance his direction. She was too focused. The potion followed the movement of her wand tip in a slow but steady manner, and she watched a thin stream of the liquid hover in mid-air over the pile of dirt and blood. She had gotten to the halfway mark, and she finished the incantation as well. 

She started the first repetition of the incantation. She would say it three times total and would have to complete her work with the potion by the third time. Renewing her focus, she moved her arm over the dirt and continued to direct the potion’s inexorable path to Sirius’s portrait. 

The moment it touched the portrait Hermione understood what Lord Henry meant about fighting. The portrait glowed with a magical sheen that evaporated when the potion touched the top of it. Sirius went rigid within, and she felt almost a magnetic opposition to her movements. Her arm muscles tightened even more and she felt the need to push the potion forward. She steeled herself and pushed her magic out of her wand and used it to force the potion to make contact with the portrait. 

As she continued to speak the words of the incantation, Hermione began to sweep her arm back and forth in a brushing motion, coaxing the potion to cover the top of the portrait. It began to erase the background of the red and black room Sirius had been painted in. She pressed harder, her muscles straining, and watched the potion reach the top of his wavy dark locks of hair. 

She repeated her brushing motion and watched as the very crown of his head began to be erased by the potion. The opposing forces pressed much harder now, and she knew the magic woven into the portrait was trying frantically to save its subject from harm. Knowing this, she kept her arm as steady as possible as she brushed down to his forehead, finishing her second recitation. 

Hermione took a breath and began her third and final recitation of the incantation. She spoke the words with a familiar cadence, focusing on moving her arm with the rhythm of the words. Now his nose was disappearing and now his lips. Her own lips opened and closed as sweat beaded on her forehead. Her arm trembling from being held up so long and from the weighted struggle. 

A moment later his chin and neck were gone, and she felt a bit of easing off as the pressure that mounted was now succumbing to the potion. She continued her work, her arm moving somewhat faster now as she made her way to the last words of the incantation. His shoulders, arms, and chest were gone now, and she brushed away the last of the image as she spoke the last word of the incantation in a whisper, feeling weak from the exertion. 

As she finished the incantation and left the portrait an empty canvas, she felt a power welling up in the potion that now hung in the air, still held captive by her wand arm. The room was pregnant with the promise of something waiting to happen, and without thinking, she directed that promise by moving her wand to point down at the dirt mixture slowly. 

The potion followed in a lethargic arc. Hermione hoped she would be able to relax once it hit the dirt because her entire body was feeling strained from all her efforts. As the potion touched the dirt, however, everything shifted. With a sudden explosion of movement, the potion lit on the dirt from every angle. The dirt was covered in the thick, blood-like potion at once and then blew out into a whirlwind, confined only by its location between the now-empty canvas and the cauldron of rapidly evaporating potion. 

Hermione found herself stuck in position, her wand pointed at the whirlwind of dirt, potion, and blood. Her muscles were completely stuck, and she couldn’t even utter a cry as she watched what was happening within the dirt vortex that whipped around the bathroom. 

She felt a tingling prick and was able to glance down to her left hand. The cut she’d made was still open and she saw droplets of blood flowing out of it slowly and being sucked into the whirlwind in front of her. A moment later, she felt the bite of paper cuts across the tips of her fingers, and she saw them open up and begin to drain of blood as well. 

The blood droplets sucked into the dirt seemed to be forming something more solid, but it was still a shapeless mass. A cut on her arm now opened up and began dripping. She felt, too, a place on her right ankle where she’d fallen and broken it as a child open up and blood began to flow from there as well. All over her body she felt wounds open, and Hermione suddenly felt the cold chill of fear grip her. 

The potion was still pushing and pressing against the mixture of dirt and blood. She felt the slice of cuts and her head began to feel very fuzzy. But she couldn’t move or even take her eyes off what was happening in front of her. 

What seemed to take hours might have only been moments as the dirt and blood coalesced with the potion into something that looked like the top of a head. Ever so slowly the head formed hair that whipped in the ensuing whirlwind. Features began to form: eyes, lips, a nose, ears. 

Hermione vaguely heard Myrtle cry out as the form continued to fill out from the head down. She felt the absence of pain and realized her cuts were no longer being used to source the blood for the potion. But they were also still dripping, blood falling to the floor of the bathroom uselessly. 

As the torso sprouted arms and legs, Hermione watched, partly fascinated and partly horrified. She wondered vaguely if Lord Henry might not have been related to a certain Dr. Frankenstein instead and hoped her curiosity was more morbid than accurate. Finally the limbs formed hands and feet, fingers and toes. As the extremities completed, Hermione realized the entire potion, blood, and dirt mix had coalesced into this human body that now seemed suspended by the end of her incantation. 

Abruptly her muscles loosened, and Hermione’s hand fell from its position, her wand slipping from her fingers as she swayed. The person across from her, who could only be Sirius, also fell, crumpling in on himself and barely able to thrust his arms out to stop his fall. He landed face down, his naked back to her, legs curled up protectively. 

Hermione felt a ringing in her ears and tried to ease herself to a sitting position but could only manage to fall gracelessly into a heap. Myrtle floated into her vision, looking curiously at the man on the floor, but Hermione felt the blood racing in her head and called out thickly. 

Myrtle turned to her as Hermione tried to put an elbow down to support herself. She was only able to manage, “G-get help…p-professor,” before she sunk down with her head on the floor, spots in her vision. She tried to finish her thought, but the apparition was already gone. 

Hermione tried to take deep breaths, but now that the incantation was over, she felt the pain of the blood loss closing in on her. The form on the floor next to her hadn’t moved a muscle, and she feared he might not even be alive. 

As blackness began to overtake her, Hermione could only think one thing: What have I done?

Chapter Text

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” 

Oscar Wilde

“Miss Granger, Miss Granger, wake up!” An urgent voice accompanied a few slaps to her face, and she moaned. She tried and failed to shake her head, not understanding why she felt so dizzy. 

“Open your eyes, Miss Granger,” came the voice again. Now she heard Myrtle wailing in the background. 

The memories returned immediately, and Hermione opened her eyes. Her vision filled with spots, and she cringed from the light overhead. Someone stooped over her, and she blinked, trying to focus on the person kneeling there. She took a moment to let her vision clear, and when it did, she saw the concerned face of Severus Snape. 

“There,” he said. His black robes were on the floor, mixing with her blood, and he looked shocked to see her in such disarray. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Miss Granger. And who is this?” He nodded to the form on the floor, and she realized what had happened. 

Hermione tried to form words, but her muscles were too weak. She felt panic welling up in her, and she took a deep breath to force back the fear and blackness that was creeping up on her again. 

“P-professor,” she croaked, and he leaned closer to hear her whisper. “V-vials…in m-my bag.” 

He glanced over and snatched her bag off the floor. Using his wand, he whispered a spell, and suddenly two vials flew out of the bag and into his open hand. He glanced at them a moment, recognizing the potion she’d only made the week before. Without a second thought, he uncorked them and lifted her still bleeding hand, letting the blood that would not clot drop into them both. Hermione wanted to protest but couldn’t. 

Lifting her head, he pressed the first vial to her lips and helped her swallow it. Within seconds she felt the potion begin going to work. The haze of dizziness receded a bit, and she felt her cuts start the clotting process. Snape was holding the second one up to her mouth, and she shook her head dizzily. 

“Not me,” she whispered. “Him.” 

The professor protested. “It has your blood in it, Miss Granger. It won’t work on someone else.” But she shook her head and refused to open her mouth. 

Snape scowled and gently laid her head back on the floor, snapping at Myrtle, “Quit your wailing at once!” 

The ghost stopped but glared at him as he corked the vial and set it aside, standing to go and turn over the body of what appeared to be a naked male student. Hermione turned her head to watch him go to Sirius, and she prayed to whatever god was listening that he was alive. 

Snape took the student by the shoulders and rolled him onto his back. His hair covered his face, and the professor felt of his neck to find a pulse before pushing the hair out of the way. Hermione had a first look at her professor’s response to her project when he jerked and fell on his backside at the sight of his school nemesis. 

Snape’s pale skin took on a sickly pallor as he looked at Hermione aghast. “What did you do, you foolish girl?” He asked her, unwilling to touch the other body on the floor. 

Hermione whispered as loudly as she could, determined to know, “I-is he alive?” 

Snape scowled and got on his knees to press his hands again on Sirius’s neck. He gave her a short, sharp nod.

She sighed in relief and then said, “P-potion. He needs it.” 

“It won’t work, you stupid girl,” Snape retorted, snatching the vial. He shook it at her. “It has your blood in it.” 

“It…will…work.” The words cost her a lot, and she had to take a moment to try to breathe again. The professor gave her a look of loathing and then shrugged. 

Uncorking the vial, he lifted Sirius’s head and forced the vial between his lips, tipping its contents in the other man’s mouth. Hermione watched as the pallor of Sirius’s skin began to recede. She felt even more relief and began to focus on getting her breathing under control as Snape set Sirius back on the ground gently. 

He looked at her, and she saw alarm in his eyes when he met hers. He looked at Myrtle and commanded, “Get Dumbledore and tell him to come at once. Don’t waste time on explanations, just tell him I sent you. And get Lupin as well. Have them come at once, and don’t go screaming round the castle.” 

Myrtle said nothing but flew out of the room at once. As she left, Hermione felt light-headed again. She knew the potion was at work in her body, but she had lost too much blood and needed more. Severus seemed to be weighing something in his mind and finally moved to her. He crouched down and lifted Hermione in his arms, cradling her against his chest. 

As he stood, though, she felt the most agonizing pain she’d ever experienced in her life and screamed in pain. Severus almost lost his footing at the sound that issued from his student’s throat, and at the same time, Sirius found his own voice, screaming as well. Between the intense pain and blood loss, Hermione welcomed the sudden blackness that washed over her. 

In seconds she had passed out in Snape’s arms. 

“Headmaster, I simply must object to this course of action!” A strident voice near her head startled her into wakefulness, and Hermione listened. 

“Really, is no one concerned that a wanted criminal is lying in one of the beds here next to a student who was found wounded next to him?” The voice of Madam Pomfrey caught her attention, and she mentally congratulated herself on succeeding in her plan. “I simply cannot allow this to go on. I must insist that we remove him to Ministry custody at once or else—“ 

“That will be quite enough, Poppy,” came the headmaster’s voice. His tone brooked no argument, and the Mediwitch went silent. “I am happy to explain to you under what circumstances I can and will send someone to Ministry custody, but this is not the time for it. Suffice it to say that Sirius Black is not endangering Miss Granger or any other student at Hogwarts.” 

Madam Pomfrey huffed, and Dumbledore continued, “I understand you have objections to continuing his treatment, Poppy, but I can assure you that this man should never have been sent to Azkaban in the first place. He is as worthy of your treatment as Miss Granger here. Though I will admit to some speculation as to his arrival.” 

The doors opened at the other end of the Hospital Wing, and Hermione kept her eyes shut, wishing she could see who was in the room with them. 

“Ah, Minerva, good,” Dumbledore said, sounding relieved. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“It sounded urgent, Albus, so I came as quickly—aaahh!” Her voice ended in a gasp, and Hermione knew she’d seen them. 

She tried not to fidget but was wondering which side of her Sirius lay on. Something told her he was on her right, but she wasn’t positive. As the other witch moved closer, she noticed her professor had gone quite silent. 

“Now, Severus, I believe you have a story for us,” Albus said. “Before we begin, however, Poppy, I must ask for your complete and total discretion. If you would like to know the entire story, I am happy to tell you, but it will require your acceptance of my offer.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. Hermione wondered at the offer Dumbledore had extended her. The other witch then said, “Albus, you know my family and you know my situation. I want to join, but I simply cannot.” 

In a sad tone, she continued, “I know what that means. I’ll see myself to the office, and you can let me know when you’re through.” 

Hermione listened to this exchange and the sound of footsteps as the witch made her way to the back of the Hospital Wing. A door shut, and she waited again to hear the story Professor Snape would tell.

“Headmaster,” Remus said, before the potions master could speak, “perhaps we should let Miss Granger explain herself before we pass judgment on her.” His voice cracked with the strain he must be feeling. 

“As Miss Granger seems duly preoccupied with the healing draughts Poppy has given her, I believe it falls to me to explain what I saw, Remus,” Snape drawled irritably. 

When no other objections arose, he continued, “I was patrolling the second floor when the ghost Myrtle flew into my path and yelled at me to come at once to the bathroom. She claimed students were dying, and while I know better than to believe her hysterics, I decided to accompany her.” 

“Please Severus,” Dumbledore said simply. Hermione ached to watch the exchanges as they happened but refused to let them know she was awake. 

“Yes, Headmaster,” grumbled the other man. “I found Miss Granger on the floor bleeding out from multiple wounds. Black was on his face, naked, unconscious. I went to her first and she told me to take a vial from her bag. I did, and it was the same healing potion I told you she’d perfected in class with me. There were two vials. I administered one to her, and she insisted I give the other to Black.”

Minerva gasped at that. 

“I’d already put Miss Granger’s blood in the second vial, but she refused it completely. So I gave it to Black instead,” he said, and she heard the disgust in his tone. “After calling the two of you, I searched the bathroom and found two empty cauldrons, a blank canvas, Miss Granger’s bag, and this diary. And you know the rest.” 

“How did this happen, Albus?” Minerva asked, her voice trembling. “Sirius died, and no magic can bring back the dead. This must be very dark magic indeed if it could bring him back. Do you think it’s the same as…?” 

“No, Minerva,” Dumbledore said. “I do not think it is the same as that which brought Voldemort back to life.” Hermione heard McGonagal’s gasp. “But I do believe we should see if Miss Granger can tell us more. You surely do not believe she would be involved in dark magic, do you?” She heard the censure in his tone. 

“Of course not! No Gryffindor would besmirch herself with dark magic!” Hermione appreciated her professor’s defense of her students. 

“You forget Pettigrew, Minerva.” It was Remus and not Severus who said this. 

“Ah well,” Dumbledore said, cutting off any response, “I believe it is time Miss Granger explains herself at any rate. Don’t you agree, Hermione?” 

Knowing she was caught out, Hermione opened her eyes, blinking at the light of the Hospital Wing. She glanced to her right and saw Sirius lying in arm’s reach next to her. The sheet pulled up over him rose and fell with his breath, and she smiled. 

Unable to contain himself, Severus snapped, “What is the meaning of this, Miss Granger? What were you trying to do?” 

Hermione cringed at his ire but met his eyes. “I wanted to bring Sirius back for Harry,” she said simply.

“Well, you succeeded,” the potions master retorted with a scowl. “How did you do it?” 

Hermione flushed at the question and looked around the room. Dumbledore stood between the two beds she and Sirius occupied, looking mildly concerned. McGonagal stood at the end of her bed, her hands clenched on the rails and mouth thinned into a line. Lupin stood next to the left side of Hermione’s bed, his face haggard and eyes hard. 

“I found it in a book,” she finally admitted to the sound of Snape’s snort. 

“Would that be this book, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked her kindly. He was holding up the diary. She nodded. “I might ask where you got it, but I believe I already know.” 

“Yes,” she answered him. “I got it at Grimmauld Place while I was there.” 

McGonagal gasped and said, “And you thought it would be okay to take it? I thought all the books were charmed to disappear from a thief’s belongings!”

“Not this one,” Hermione told her. “Sirius wanted rid of it, so he didn’t bother charming it.” 

“And just what is this book that brought such extraordinary results?” Dumbledore asked while flipping the book open. “Ahh,” he said softly. “The diary of Lord Henry Wotton. I might have known. They say this has been missing for decades, but I see it was safely kept in the Black family library instead.” 

“Who, Headmaster?” Remus now asked, looking faint and fatigued. Hermione remembered the recent full moon and smiled sadly at her professor. 

“Lord Henry Wotton,” Dumbledore began, “was a bosom friend of Dorian Gray, Cecil Hallward, and a number of other distinguished witches and wizards, most known for their experiments in portrait charms.” He paused a moment and looked at Hermione shrewdly. “And I believe I am correct when I say that they must have succeeded in their ultimate aims as Miss Granger has proven tonight.” 

The other professors looked exasperatedly between the two, not familiar with the names being thrown about. 

“I believe some background information is in order, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, clapping his hands softly. An instant later, Dobby the House Elf arrived from the kitchens, startling the adults and Hermione. “Dobby, would you be so kind as to bring us a spot of tea and a bit of something to munch. I’m rather hungry.” 

“Right away, Headmaster, Sir,” Dobby squeaked and then popped back to the kitchens. 

The professors pulled up chairs and settled in comfortably as Hermione began her tale. Dobby returned moments later, and Dumbledore passed around tea to everyone, insisting they all partake. He then waved a hand at Hermione, indicating she continue her story. 

By 5 am, she’d finally completed the story of her fall term at Hogwarts and shared what had happened with Sirius. It was as Madam Pomfrey was emerging grumpily from her office to see what was taking so long that Hermione noticed something, or someone, darting through the portraits in the Hospital Wing. 

She watched as Phineas Nigellus shoved people out of his way as he made his way to the portrait situated between her and Sirius’s beds. When he arrived, he nodded to her momentarily as she sat up to look at him. She took her time to lever herself off the pillows, still very weak from her ordeal. 

“Did it work? Is he okay?” Phineas directed the questions to her, and Hermione heard a hissing sound escape Professor Snape’s throat. She’d neglected to tell them of Phineas Nigellus’s involvement. 

In the background, she heard a humming sound from Professor Dumbledore and knew Phineas would be explaining himself to the headmaster as well. 

She nodded to the form on the bed next to her. “There,” she said, smiling in triumph. “You said I couldn’t do it, but there he is. Alive.” 

Phineas’s skin turned white from shock, but his voice was still steady as he told her, “You most certainly are the smartest witch of your year.” He swallowed thickly and said, “Thank you, Hermione.” 

Hermione stared at him, and he refused to meet her gaze. She knew this was a milestone by any standard, and she was pleased with his praise. 

“I see you knew what was going on, Phineas,” Dumbledore said, voice soft. “I wonder, though, why you didn’t tell me about this undertaking of Hermione’s. I imagine we’ll need to discuss it later.” 

Phineas said nothing but looked unapologetically at the headmaster. 

Hermione almost laughed as the former headmaster locked gazes with the current and challenged him explicitly. “You’d do the same for your family, Albus,” Phineas said evenly. 

Dumbledore stood, breaking the curious gazes of the onlookers. “Well, Poppy,” he said, addressing the glaring Mediwitch, “I’d like to hear your thoughts about Hermione’s and Sirius’s health.” 

The Mediwitch stalked over to the beds and performed a few charms on the inhabitants. Hermione felt the diagnostic spell as it was applied over her body and saw the Mediwitch jotting down a few notes on her clipboard. A second and third spell were applied, and Hermione felt a tingling sensation go through her entire body before it was enveloped in warmth that brought on the drowsiness she’d pushed through until now. 

She yawned and watched sluggishly as the Mediwitch performed the same on Sirius, whose chest continued in the steady rise and fall that gave her hope for his return. Jotting a few more notes, she finally looked at the headmaster. 

“Well,” she said quickly, “neither of them will be leaving the Hospital Wing for a while. Miss Granger has lost too much blood and will require more of the potion before she’s built up her stores again. She also has this nasty cut that is struggling to clot, so I’ll need to watch that.” 

Indicating Sirius, she continued, “He seems to be okay, but his blood type is rather odd. I’m not sure what’s happened, but it seems he replenished his blood with a different type that is now allowing him to get rest. I can’t give a more proper diagnosis until he’s awoken, but I want him to rest as much as he needs for now so his blood can continue to replenish.” Snapping shut the clipboard, her lips thinned into a line as she surveyed her patient. 

Dumbledore sighed and said, “Poppy, I know you don’t believe anything good about Sirius Black, but I can tell you he never betrayed his friends. He is not the reason behind James and Lily Potter’s deaths, and if the truth were known, he would likely be pardoned instantly by the Ministry.” He put a hand up to forestall her reply. “Unfortunately it is impossible for us to prove the truth to the Ministry without a little help, which we are working on getting, so for now, we must wait.” 

Poppy’s mouth screwed up into a grimace, but she nodded and walked away to check her stores. 

Meanwhile Dumbledore was looking at Hermione, who yawned hugely. “I believe it is time Miss Granger be let alone so that she can get some much-needed rest,” he said. “Do get well, Hermione. We can talk more about this most extraordinary event later.” He smiled at her, and she saw the twinkle in his eyes that said he was genuinely happy at the turn of events. 

As Minerva and Severus moved to exit, Remus stayed in his chair and said, “I’m going to stay a few more minutes, and then I’ll join you in the meeting.” 

Dumbledore gave a nod and headed for the door, the other two following him. 

Hermione let her gaze drift to the werewolf who was her professor, friend, and sometime mentor. Remus was looking at her with something in his gaze she couldn’t identify. 

“Why did you do it?” He asked her, voice cracking with emotion. “You could have gotten yourself killed, and then where would we be? What would Harry do without you? What were you thinking?” His voice reached a fever pitch, and Hermione winced at the accusation in his tone. 

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears as she tried to answer her friend, the man who had lost both his best friends to war. “I wanted to bring Sirius back to the people he loved best,” she said softly. “I couldn’t stand looking at Harry or you and knowing how many people you’d both lost. Yes, I was thinking mostly of Harry, but I knew that if I could bring him back, I might see you smile again, too.” 

Remus stared at her, eyes softening. “Hermione,” he whispered. He stood up and came to sit on the edge of her bed. “You’re just too kind for your own good. And you’re the most brilliant witch in your year. I’ll never stop saying it.” 

He glanced at his friend and got a puzzled look on his face. “But I have to wonder why he looks so young,” he said. “He looks like he did when we graduated Hogwarts but maybe a tad bit older. I remember him looking about like this when Harry was born.” 

Hermione looked at him, really looked, and saw what he meant. Sirius had the long, thick locks of curly brown hair that framed his face. Rather than the lank, stringy locks he’d sported on his escape from Azkaban, his hair now was shiny and vibrant. He had fewer lines on his face than he did when he’d died, and his skin was smoother and more colored. The sallow color it held for months after Azkaban was completely gone. 

But there was also a youthfulness to him that was impossible to miss. The Sirius Black who escaped Azkaban came out with years’ worth of lines that told his age. His face was peaceful in his slumber, and he looked like a young adult, not much older than she was. 

Remus was watching her gaze and asked, “Do you have any idea why he looks so young?” 

Hermione stretched her brain a bit, trying to reread parts of Lord Henry’s diary in her mind. She remembered something she’d read many months ago and not really absorbed and said it aloud, “’The subject of the portrait will return to the age of his biggest disappointment.’” 

Remus got a thoughtful look on his face, which turned sad after a few minutes. He met Hermione’s eyes and said, “Then Sirius is exactly as old as I thought. His biggest disappointment was allowing Peter to become Secret Keeper and betray James and Lily.” 

Hermione brought her hands to her face at this. It was too awful to imagine that Sirius was alive now but at an age that no longer corresponded to his peers and would bring him memories of the worst Halloween he’d ever experienced. 

“So that would put him at 22, then,” Remus mused. “Well, on the bright side, I suppose this means Padfoot can start over a bit and live his life the way he should have been able to so many years ago.” 

Before they could continue this discussion, Madam Pomfrey bustled over with a bottle of Dreamless Sleep and shooed Remus away. “This girl needs her sleep, not an interrogation,” she told him, pouring a spoonful of the potion. 

Remus took his dismissal in stride and wished Hermione well as he made his exit. She opened her mouth obediently and took the potion the Mediwitch offered her. With no further distractions to delay sleep, she felt the haze of her missed rest come over her and fell into a deep and—per the potion—dreamless sleep, finally at peace that her plan to resurrect Sirius had worked. 

End of Book 1