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Sirius fell silent. The gaunt man looked at the young witch with a mixture of wariness and defeat.
Harry had too few friends. Sirius knew what isolation felt like; he had lived in it for twelve years. He didn't want his sudden, ragged presence to drive a wedge between Harry and his most powerful ally.
But trust was a currency Sirius was short on. He had heard the rumors about this girl. The destruction of the Ministry. The cold efficiency. She was dangerous.
"Instead of wasting your time with me, you should go find that rat," Hermione's voice cut through the winter air, interrupting his brooding. She adjusted her cloak, looking bored. "I'm going shopping for sugar quills. I don't have time to chat with fugitives."
Sirius blinked, taken aback. "You know my purpose?"
Hermione chuckled softly. Her eyes flashed with that uncanny, cat-like green luminescence. "Isn't it just about finding the guy who betrayed Harry's father? Don't forget, Sirius. I'm a prophet. I know things before they happen."
Sirius stared at her for a long moment. Finally, the fight drained out of him. He slumped against the cold stone wall of the alley.
"I need your help," he rasped.
This was his gamble. He had been observing her. Lupin was trustworthy, but the werewolf was compromised by his condition and his loyalty to Dumbledore's rules. Hermione Granger, however, seemed to operate on her own frequency. She had saved Harry repeatedly. She was reliable. And frankly, she was terrifying.
If she wanted to harm Harry, she would have done it already. And if she had ulterior motives... well, Sirius knew he couldn't stop her anyway. He might as well fold his hand.
Hermione tilted her head, considering him. "Well, that's simple."
She transformed back into the sleek black cat. She stretched out a pink paw and groomed her ear casually.
Just follow my instructions, Padfoot.
As Sirius Black—once again a shaggy dog—trotted off into the shadows, Hermione sighed deeply, rubbing her furry face against a fence post.
This is really troublesome...
She just wanted to stroll around Hogsmeade, maybe buy some Honeydukes chocolate, and enjoy a rare moment of leisure. Instead, she was getting sucked into these dusty old grudges.
She had cleared the board. No Dementors. No Quirrell. This school year had no Philosopher's Stone treasure, no Basilisk to harvest, and no Dark Lord to reshape into a government employee.
To be honest, she had absolutely zero interest in the petty squabbles of the Marauders. Betrayal, revenge, secret keepers—it was all so small compared to what she was building.
Her focus was entirely on the Marvel Universe.
She had spent years cultivating magical creatures, conducting soul experiments, and creating alchemical weapons. She was ready to unveil the "Wizarding World" to the unsuspecting Avengers. She was just waiting for the Celestial Convergence to drop the curtain.
In contrast, Hogwarts felt like a retirement home. Low stakes. High drama.
But she had agreed to Sirius's request. Not out of kindness. Not out of friendship.
Stability maintenance.
She didn't want these middle-aged men causing chaos while she was busy managing an interdimensional empire. If Sirius got himself killed, or Peter escaped again, she'd have to come back and clean up the mess. That was a hassle.
She needed a quiet, stable, controllable Hogwarts. At least until the Convergence.
Seeing that the alley was empty, Hermione the Black Cat took a deep breath. She arched her back, her muscles rippling. She struck a dynamic pose, channeling her inner anime protagonist.
Flash Step—Yoruichi Style!
"Instant Roar — Thunder God Battle Form!" she whispered mentally.
...
Nothing happened. No lightning. No cool armor. Just a cat standing weirdly in the snow.
A few crows flew overhead, cawing judgmentally.
Hermione Shihōin covered her furry face with her paws and sprinted away in embarrassment.
Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks.
Hermione, back in human form, returned to the main street. She spotted a strange sight near the pub.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were sitting side by side on a bench. They weren't fighting. They weren't hexing each other. They were just... sitting.
Has the sun risen in the west? Hermione thought, tiptoeing closer to eavesdrop.
"Malfoy," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thank you. For flying down to save me at the match. I would have broken my neck."
His voice carried a hint of genuine gratitude.
Malfoy scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away. His pale cheeks were slightly pink from the cold (or embarrassment).
"Hmph. Don't get me wrong, Potter," Malfoy sneered, though the venom was lacking. "I only did it to balance the ledger. You testified for me regarding the Heir of Slytherin nonsense. I don't like owing people. Especially you."
He stood up abruptly, brushing snow off his expensive cloak.
"But..." Malfoy pointed a finger at Harry. "Don't think just because you sneaked into Hogsmeade without a permission slip that I'll turn a blind eye! I'll still report you to Snape when we get back! Watch your back, Potter!"
With that, Malfoy turned and power-walked away as fast as his legs could carry him. It looked less like a threat and more like a panic flee.
Harry stood there, scratching his messy hair, looking completely bewildered.
Hermione watched from the shadows, stunned.
Well, she mused. Britain has its own national circumstances, but I never expected my meddling to turn these two into a tsundere romance novel.
Later. The Forbidden Forest.
Harry's eyes snapped open.
He rubbed the sleep from his face, propping himself up on his elbows. "Ron? You awake?"
Ron Weasley was lying next to him, snoring softly.
Harry looked around. He froze.
Instead of the warm, red hangings of his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, he was surrounded by gnarled roots, looming trees, and thick, creeping fog.
A dream?
Harry shook his head. The cold was too biting. The smell of damp earth was too real. He clearly remembered falling asleep in the dormitory. How could he have woken up in the Forbidden Forest?
He pinched himself. It hurt.
It's not a dream. Terror spiked in his chest. I've been kidnapped.
"Ron!" Harry shook his friend violently. "Ron! Wake up!"
Ron groaned, blinking groggily. "Five more minutes, Mum..." He opened his eyes, saw the trees, and sat up with a yelp. "Bloody hell! Where are we?"
Just then, a disheveled figure emerged slowly from the shadows of the ancient trees.
Harry's pupils contracted. The matted hair. The gaunt, skull-like face. The grey, mad eyes.
It was the face from the wanted posters. Sirius Black.
Harry scrambled backward, dragging Ron with him. His mind raced. He kidnapped us. He brought us here to kill us. He betrayed my parents.
A surge of hot, righteous anger replaced the fear.
"You!" Harry shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "Why? Why did you betray them? They were your friends! You were their best friend!"
Sirius stopped. He looked at Harry with an expression of profound, agonizing grief. It was the look of a man who had screamed into the void for twelve years.
"Harry..." Sirius rasped, his voice raw. "Child... I didn't..."
"Stop making excuses!" Harry screamed, standing up now, fists clenched. "Everyone knows! You were their Secret Keeper! You gave Voldemort my home address! You killed them!"
"It wasn't me, Harry!" Sirius shouted back, desperation clawing at his throat. "It was Peter! It was Peter Pettigrew!"
Harry paused, confused. "Peter? Peter is dead! You killed him! All they found was a finger!"
Sirius's eyes sharpened instantly. He pointed a trembling, dirty finger at Ron. Or rather, at the lump in Ron's pocket.
"Peter, reveal your true form!" Sirius roared. He pulled a stolen wand from his rags and pointed it at Ron's chest.
"Don't touch Scabbers!" Ron shrieked, clutching his rat protectively. "He's sick!"
"Ron, believe me!" Sirius pleaded, his eyes wild. "That's not a rat! That's a man! That's the traitor!"
"Impossible!" Ron yelled, backing away. "Scabbers has been in my family for twelve years! He's just a rat! You're mental!"
"Twelve years!" Sirius laughed, a barking, humorless sound. "A curiously long life for a common garden rat, wouldn't you say?"
"Expelliarmus!"
In desperation, Ron raised his own wand—which was broken and taped together—and fired.
A jet of red light shot out. Sirius, weak and caught off guard, was blasted backward, the wand flying from his hand.
Harry reached for his own wand, but his pockets were empty. He looked down and realized with horror that Ron was holding Harry's wand. Ron's broken wand was lying on the forest floor.
Why do we have the wrong wands?
Before he could process it, a twig snapped nearby.