Chapter 15: Inconsistent Variables

Author's Note: Many, many thanks to all who review – I do read each one, and reply when possible. Your words are food for the artistic soul.

As always, reviews are much appreciated.

-o-o-0-o-o-

Chapter 15: Inconsistent Variables

Perhaps it was the tension of the past days; perhaps it was lack of proper rest or nourishment. In any case, Hermione Granger was not in such a mood as to play word games with a slightly spoiled, flitty teenaged girl. Especially when the subject was Raj MacGregor, a man she had yet to understand or trust.

Eyes narrowed dangerously; teeth grit in exasperation. Hermione spoke slowly, carefully and with meaning.

"What, pray tell, were you doing in Raj MacGregor's bedroom?" Cutting off the girl's obvious smart reply, she quickly added, "And don't give me any rubbish about an affair, as we both know you are far too young for his taste." Said with more conviction than she had a right to, Hermione only hoped Chelsea could not see through her presumption of non-existent facts. Only that Raj was a serious, mysterious flirt to her was she sure. Mayhap he did fancy young girls, but doubtful.

Blanching at the unexpected sternness, Chelsea's demeanor fumbled. Suddenly she crumpled under the authoritative manner, all haughtiness washing away, leaving scared girl-child in its place. Fearing censure, she shrank back under Hermione's gaze, her voice little above a scolded child's.

"I, er... I was just lookin' around." Nervousness grew into rapid, slightly panicked speech. "Honestly, Ms. Granger, I didn't do nothin' bad." Real concern marred her young features. She'd been caught up in whatever insinuation she'd portrayed, and now felt the consequences of such folly.

"Dad had to go to Raj's flat a while back, and I begged to follow. While they were chatting Ministry, I took a look-see about his place. Wasn't really meanin' to, mind you, but I found myself in his bedroom. Didn't touch anythin', honest. Just looked at his photos an' a couple old books of his. Right private, he is. I just wanted to know more about him." Crestfallen in shame and sudden unsureness, Chelsea looked every bit a little girl in reprimand.

Irritation warred with the need for answers, and Hermione's face softened slightly. "Have a seat, Chelsea," she instructed briskly, leaving no question it was not a request. Settled to her right, the younger witch waited with obvious fear, though Hermione could not deduce just why her concern was so great. Her next words answered.

"Please don't tell my dad, Ms. Granger." Frantically pleading, Hermione understood. Her father was strict – Chamberlain would be severe in his punishment. "He's still right tossed over last month when he caught me slinking around the evening reception in Belfast. I was only trying to get a good look-see at Raj in his dress robes, you know; didn't mean to overhear private Ministry stuff, like. Got right interrogated for that one. 'What'd you hear? Exact words, missy...' He'd kill me if he knew about this; would bar me from the Samhein Festival, dead sure," she finished with a meaningful glance at Hermione.

"Not that you wouldn't deserve it." Derisive in her speech, the elder witch spoke her immediate mind. But she was not without compassion. "But no, I won't say anything to him. After all," she added with a half-smile, "you'll not say anything about seeing me here, as I'm supposed to be out ill."

Relief dropped Chelsea's shoulders, held breath releasing in a high chuckle. "All right, then. I keep your secrets, you keep mine, eh?"

Seriousness overtook Hermione's features, and she stared inquisitively at the girl. "Yes, something like that," she began in an aside. "So tell me, Chelsea..." More intent her gaze now. "What do you know about Raj MacGregor?"

-o-

Marred were the cheap white, red-striped trays battered fish and greasy chips sat within, oil staining in increasing spots the thin cardboard. Muggle take-away had risen to prime choice for Hermione after her enlightening talk with Chelsea Chamberlain. Sadly, prime choice wasn't quite as definitive in terms of the food itself.

"So what did she say?" Slightly muffled through the partially chewed fillet, Sirius' words broke their repast silence in the single-oil lamped kitchen.

Though nearly a quarter hour had passed since Hermione had shared with him her run-in with Chelsea, no doubt did she have as to what her companion meant.

"Not much, I'm afraid." Another chip, buying her time. Thoughtfully, she continued. "She fancies him – that much is obvious – but her conversations with him... Bit odd, actually."

Sirius paused in mid-bite, focusing on the words following. Intent was his gaze, his attention. So much so that Hermione found herself needing to look away, lest the shivers suddenly dancing down her spine tell-tale in her eyes. Bloody hell, Hermione! Chastising came easy by now. Just forget your little revelation at five a.m. this morning. Yes, he's a man, but he's also... Sirius. Just Sirius. Same old Sirius. Laughing, childish, brooding, reckless Sirius. Tea-brown irises drifted just below his eyes, opting to at least appear mannered before answering. Staring at the darkened corner would be rude and questioned. So what that you've quite recently and unexpectedly noticed he has regal, refined cheekbones, a shadowing of black scruff suggesting masculine roughness, solidity, diametrically opposing of soft, tender, feminine –

But so what? All men have facial hair, and the human skull is created such that the structure involves supporting bone protrusions to help define the orbital socket. And he is a man, as previously and unquestionably established, and thus –

"And a bit odd, just how..."

Slapped from her path of self-destruction, Hermione started. "Er, yeah... Odd. Yes." Bite of fish to compose her thoughts, distracted as they were currently.

Focus, Hermione. Focus. Raj... remember? Remember Raj, the guy who has something to hide? Black hair, olive skin, cryptic personality. Remember him? Important info, that. Could be right pertinent to finding, helping, saving the boys. Sanity returned in a beat, bearing with it the situation at hand, the analytical dissertation her mind had held between Fortescue's and Grimmauld forefront again.

"Right." Sirius' prompt drew the considerations from thought to word, and Hermione shared her concerns. "He's something to hide, I'm positive. Something dark he can't afford to have known about him." Quirked eyebrow exclaimed silently her audience was at least attentive.

"It seems he has a gift for not saying anything, yet drawing loads of information from someone else. Take, for example, a chat Chelsea had with Raj shortly after he began working for her father, just about six months ago. He was over at their townhouse they keep in Muggle London, and Chelsea had asked him all sorts of questions about himself, yet after three-quarters an hour, had only learned his name – which her dad had already mentioned – and his post. Again, her father had already mentioned such. Even now she only knows about him what her father has deigned to tell her."

"That's not exactly equivalent to evil incarnate, Hermione." Sirius tipped back his butterbeer leisurely; his eyes, however, did not leave hers. Solid was the clunk resounding as the glass again found purchase on the scrubbed table. "What grown bloke wants a half-aged schoolgirl pattering after him? 'Course he doesn't want to tell her anything. And he's enough experience with the Ministry to know how carry a conversation without telling you a blasted thing. No law against avoiding a wand-tip wedding or St. Mungo's because daddy didn't like the attention you gave his little girl..."

This time his gaze shifted about lazily as he drank deeply, humor sparkling his eyes in remembrance.

Hermione bristled. Unknown reasoning gnawed his words into annoyance, crawling just beneath her skin. Several chips found her mouth, their presence solely keeping it shut against biting retorts... retorts against his questioning of her intuition; against the condescendence of grown wizards to school-girls; against witty, cocky, older men whose dog-like mannerisms greatly exceeded that of magical physical transformation.

"He's too secretive, Sirius," she argued, temper reined in once more. "Six months there, and no one really knows a thing about him. And he wasn't surprised about the Death Eaters attacking that pub in Waterford, either. Come to think of it, he didn't say anything to me until Bailey blurted out my friendship with Harry. I didn't even know his existence until Kerry. Then he nipped out of dinner just talk to me. And he's suspiciously mysterious about his life, about his family, about things I know he knows, but don't really know quite what, exactly. That is, I know he knows something I know he doesn't want known – Oh, rubbish!" Mumbled swearing beneath her breath, composure soon following.

"What I mean is, I know he's keeping something of importance from me, but it's something I should know, as his hesitations scream it. I can just tell. And it's usually something to do with Voldemort. Right." Explanations were turning into spoken musings, more to clarify to herself the connections her mind was attempting to make. "When everyone else in the Wizarding world pretends he's gone for good again, Raj is just a little too sure he's not. He won't tell me why he's so sure, either; just some rubbish about Voldemort being just like anyone else desiring power. And all those cryptic tales about his ancestors... what does he take me for, anyway? A first-year simpleton? Entranced by his tales of Arthur and Morgana, trying to impress me with his great-grandfather's association with Merlin, himself?" Agitated sigh, a flounce within her chair, slamming of palms to scrubbed wood. "No; there's something not quite on with Raj MacGregor."

At this, the last Hermione expected was the soft chuckling from the elder Black brother. Oddly, irritation faded on the spot, replaced with confusion and fascination as she again faced him. "What you told me last night... rather, this morning," he corrected himself, a wry grin pulling the right corner of his mouth. Hermione immediately slid her view to his throat: a much safer location, to be sure.

Or not.

Quick nip again. "You don't much trust the guy, but you obviously like him. Well... enough as a fancy, anyway."

"Do not!" Shot up from her chair, Hermione's indignation sprang forth like defensive tactics of old, her maturity dropping to adolescent discord. Failing to see her own childish reaction, only half-muttered, semi-coherent sentences escaped her pursed lips as she gathered the remains of her meal and made off to the bin by the counter, back solidly fixated toward him.

Again, rich, deep chuckling drifted to her ears... soft, inviting. Hermione could not decipher the immediate reaction her psyche chose. Blended in not-quite-equal measures were agitation at his assumption, vexation at his making light of the situation, and an acute awareness of the timbre of his voice, the reverberation his mirth echoed throughout her body.

Long moments passed ere she realized no breath had left her. It seemed the concept of exhalation had become foreign to her. Foreign ever since hormones had drawn a neon sign about Sirius Black, flashing in staccato that there sat an attractive, passionate man.

Wait. When did she decide he was attractive?

-o-

Flustering young girls was always a positive to life, Sirius recalled. Hermione had stiffed her stance, back firmly to him, as she wiped down the counter with a damp wash cloth. She was right fit for a row, he could see with no little amusement. This only made him chuckle more, and in turn...

Well, he could remember now why he so enjoyed teasing the girls at school. Of course, then it had often been in an effort to initiate flirtatious sparring. But not always, and if an opportunity had come up to embarrass one, or egg one into a debate, Sirius had always been game. It was good to see he'd not lost his touch.

He liked Hermione, however, and did not honestly want her angry with him. It was cute to see she fancied this kid, and as long as said bloke revealed himself neither a danger nor opposition to either her or Harry – or anyone else he cared for – then all his wishes of luck were for her. She was a good girl, one who cared deeply for her friends, and he would like to see her happy. He had always figured she'd find herself married to Ron Weasley, but it appeared as that was not the case. In fact, neither she nor any Weasley had yet mentioned them as a couple.

Not all things come to fruition as appearances suggest, then, eh?

"All right, all right," he relented with a chuckle. Tension was by now oozing from the young witch, and best it was to chivvy the situation along lest her temper catch the bit and run away with her. She was nearly all the company he had now, anyway, until he concocted a plausible story for the band. Another day or two would be necessary. Besides... the riddle Harry had owled could well be a real call for help.

The thought suddenly sobered Sirius, and he straightened. This time his tone lacked vibrant humor, instead wrapping his words in a cloak of studied concern.

"Harry's letter..." Meal forgotten, only a general sweep of his arm cleared the table before him, granting space for the parchment of mention. Eyes dashed cursorily upon the words read dozens times more before, grasping for the elusive. "First off.... If they're playing around with my family, you can bet your arse it isn't a friendly game of chess. Wizard's chess, indeed."

"Means they've been dueling, I know it." Beaten, her voice came, drifting on a reverberation, as she still spoke to the wall. This time, however, it wasn't out of vexation for him.

"Harry's smart, Hermione. And Ron won't let anything happen to him. From what Ginny's told me, he's turned out too much like Lily to be reckless with his life. They'll play it safe; here's the proof," he added, lightly rattling the letter.

Sigh of resigned agreement left her lips, shoulders dropping in weariness. Sirius knew she'd now fallen back to her inner fears of what had gone wrong, if indeed anything actually had. But he knew more was at stake here than merely an update to their days' wandering. If he had to code it so, there was cause. And help was surely being requested.

"Look... it's late. You've work in the morning, and I've a few errands, myself. I've got to make good with the band, and some other business I'd like to attend as well. What say we call it a night, get some rest, and look back over this tomorrow? We'll try to meet up after you leave the Ministry, eh?" Encouraging, light tone was attempted; logic was key to agreement.

Deep sigh and quick face rub later, Hermione turned back to Sirius and admitted his to be the best course of action. Agreeing upon a meeting time and place, Sirius escorted her to the foyer, guiding her gently with a hand to her shoulder, afraid if he didn't, she'd collapse from the strain suddenly showing on her face.

Once she'd left, he turned back to the letter. His primary concern was where the boys were, and with whom. Trouble was, he had no clue as to who Lily had spent her summers with, and the only person alive who might know...

Well, one simply did not waltz up uninvited to Petunia Evans and request an audience. Not a grown wizard with a past, anyway.

-o-

Exhausted, Hermione barely found her bed before collapsing in a dead heap. Lack of sleep had only been part of her weariness; Sirius Black and his soot-polished tresses – now long enough to lay over, teasing his lower lashes – could claim responsibility for her mental state. When the hell had she gone mad?

And mad she must be, for developing almost instantaneous attraction for a man she'd known since the age of fourteen, a man viewed as a parental-esque figure to her best friend, was absolutely barking. Taking a mental step back, she could without bias see he cut a figure of male beauty. Yes; she could admit that. One need be blind not to admit a certain handsomeness in his features. But to take a sudden fancy to him...?

Why not? the devil's advocate countered in her head. Older, experienced, tawny in build. Swooning material, he is. Lithe and refined enough to be regal, aristocratic; rough and raspy enough to be protectively masculine. And smart, Hermione... he's got brains 'neath that framing veil of fine locks. Even you couldn't dismiss him for that.

Wait! Who said anything about snogging? Or shagging?

Suggestive chuckling answered.

-o-0-o-

"Granny kicker-bobs!" hissed the voice, annoyance evident.

Testing each limb and joint experimentally, Hermione roused herself to the world of awareness, grogginess shedding its blanketing hold. Scurrying noises scratched her ears, alerting her to Shauna's mishap of notes and such, guaranteed to now be strewn upon the floor. Theatre-read through and through, the girl had a way with colorful – if not entirely logical – exclamatory phrases.

"Invest in a binder," Hermione mumbled, mouth half covered by duvet. "It'll save you loads of aggravation."

"Nice to see you up," Shauna's reply penetrated. Hint of derisive humor tempered her greeting. "Lovely sleep, was it?" Immediate suspicion washed away all the witch's remaining drowsiness.

"Why?" Furrowed brows narrowed as she rose, seating herself bedside.

Shauna laughed. "Oh, no reason. You just kept on and on about dragons and Merlin and 'Tell me who you are,'" she enlightened, fingers depicting the quote, voice rising in mock pleading. "Cor, Hermione. You must've been dreaming of Camelot and the Knights. Or rather, the España version of it."

Hermione frowned, eyes following Shauna's renewed exercise of reclaiming her study notes. "What do you mean, exactly?"

Actress skill aside, the blonde's amused curiosity revealed surprise as well when she looked up to see such serious contemplation. Forgoing further rescue, she absentmindedly laid those recovered upon her desk.

"You were speaking in Spanish. Which, by the way, I didn't know you knew. Well," she clarified, expression of allowance flattening her face, "you kept repeating 'Cebarando Dragònes' ever so often, like you were questioning it." Met with puzzlement, Shauna added, "Means 'Concerning Dragons.'"

Gut-punched by the revelation, Hermione considered her dreamscape but moments before. She'd been there again, the loch carrying scents of heather and soft laps of water to wooden bow. And he'd been there again, damn it. The one man who'd ensnared her obsessive nature like no other had ever dared. And she bloody well still didn't even know his face!

Just as Raj's voice declared all was well, and she'd begun to turn to see him behind her, the scene changed. Again the books lining a dark shelf, weak sunlight, dust hanging, floating in its beams. And the worn, green cloth enveloping the text pulled from the shelf, ring-less fingers caressing faded gold etching... Cebarando Dragònes...

Concerning Dragons.

Hagrid.

-o-

Several owls passed the mid-week day in transit between the Ministry of Magic and The Burrow, each visit bearing semi-coded questions and responses to the well-being of one formerly dead, imposter rock and roll star, as well as a thorough bitching out from one quite pregnant, ginger-haired witch. Said mother-to-be had just learned – quite unintentionally and quite un-fortuitously – that her long-absent husband and her elder brother had sent a cryptic message to her best friend. And had been kept in the dark about it. Purposefully.

Not good.

Thankfully, and by involving the twins, Sirius had managed to calm Ginny down. Relaying again the contents of the message, he assured them that if he were in threatening danger, Harry would have been more explicit for his request of assistance. Instead, it seemed highly likely that he had found something, and needed help with its deciphering.

That was early morning, when Mrs. Potter had visited Grimmauld to check on her guest. Since then, the airways to and from her childhood home had been heated with continuous wing travel. Now nearly five, Hermione was anxious to escape her duty-filled cage and meet up with Sirius and Ginny.

"You toddle on, Hermione," Bailey's congenial voice split into stagnant air. Startled jump followed, but was quickly covered through supposed readjustment of files in hand. She'd forgotten his presence, actually. Too wrapped in remembrances concerning dragons... and dream-lore... and tragically realistic phantom seducers... Well, she'd simply lost all connection with the here and now, a now that included her boss' touting of ideas for his upcoming trip to Egypt. She was supposed to be taking notes.

"Right." All she could think of, truth be known. Hermione was not one to enjoy being caught off guard, and embarrassment at yet again daydreaming before her boss held little appeal, either.

Gathering notes and filing them away, only her personal items remained to be stowed in her iridescent black dragon-hide book bag – last season's Christmas gift from the twins. Bading a quick 'Evening' to Bailey, she hurried out the office door, fighting said bag for room to include Convex Citings and Other Cryptic Codes. Last wanted was undue attention to her current reading preferences.

"Well, hello, dear," pleasant dulcets trailed nearby. Hermione looked up from her reorganization to note the previously empty corridor before her now held evacuees from the conference room to her right. Among several dignitaries, the Sherbet Lemon Liaison herself stood just before the weary witch.

Surprise merely hinted the moment, and moments passed before Hermione could form a proper reply. "Hello, Zelda." Self-conscious giggle borne in confused amusement. "What brings you here?"

Genuine smile full of life greeted the question, breaking only to say, "Nothing much posh, ducky. Just a word with Rufus and the usual lot." Hand wave encompassed the cliqued numbers gathered about the corridor.

Before given the chance to question further, Bailey's voice rang out from behind Hermione, startling her beyond words.

"Ah, there you are, Madam Luminare." Sidling up between them to her left, Mortimer Bailey took in the meeting with immeasurable glee upon his face. "I see you have met my Hermione Granger, my most brilliant protégé. Haven't seen such skill with wand or word since Drexil Zorg, back in..." No lack of bragging held his continued ramble on her attributes; blushes faded in light of mortification. Truly, he was embarrassing her beyond measure.

"A wonderfully bright dear, I'm sure," Zelda returned, her eyes bright with humor. Conveying sympathy and encouragement simultaneously, the elderly witch's expression suggested enraptured attention to the diplomat's words. Occasional nodding and affirmative or agreeing-negative vagueness kept her appearances up with Bailey, allowing his unending praise. Finally, his focus turned to his assistant.

"Watch and learn, Hermione, dear." Such sage advice was bestowed in stage-whisper confidence. "You'd never know it to hear her, but Madam Luminare holds the ear of many a leader. Not bad for the head of an oft-ignored department such as Muggle Artifacts, eh?" Polite snickering at his own joke covered Hermione's shock. Head of the Department of Muggle Artifacts?

Thump! Text now upon the polished hardwood, the young witch knelt to gather it, its loose pages dispersing about just out of arm's reach. While Bailey chatted on, Hermione could only wrap conviction around Zelda, the sweets bandit, being one and the same with a Ministry official – and one, mind you, who impressed Mortimer Bailey. Not an easy accomplishment.

Snagging the last bit of loose parchment, Hermione busied herself stashing sheets in their proper places, half hearing the conversation above her. However, a new speaker entered their party from her right.

"Good afternoon, dearest Auntie." Hermione froze. No way. Impossible. Incredulous. Inconceivable.

Surrealism knew no boundaries this day.

Looking up from crouched position, the image reflected a young man affectionately placing a kiss upon his weathered loved one's cheek, worn, calloused hands taken gently into strong, smooth ones. Speechless again, Hermione could only stare as she slowly, shakily rose to her feet, eyes wide.

"Ready for dinner?" he asked, smile tugging his handsome face into angelic semblance.

Girlish giggle erupted from Zelda's throat, eyes creasing in merriment as she swatted his broad shoulder with a slender hand. "Mind your manners now, Raj; can't you see I've company?"