Resurrection

Day 4: Thursday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. She had been positive that Sirius was being held at the Ministry, but this was most definitely not the Ministry.

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

Hermione frowned. "There is no Level Thirteen."

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

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

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

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

"And you don't think he will?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you all right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hermione scowled. "Sirius would never hurt me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hermione stood abruptly and tried to keep the heartache she felt from showing on her face. They had been friends first; his concern for her well-being was not out of place, but she knew he did not love her now, if he ever had. That, however, was not going to stop her from stubbornly doing the right thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn it, Hermione!"

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

"I chose this fate!" he shouted. "Why are you fighting me?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hermione-"

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Piss off."

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're welcome."

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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