Chapter 20: Broken Child Reborn

Author's Notes: Here lies my last chapter before Deathly Hallows is released. I will be taking some time off to read said book, recover from its ending (for it is THE ending, sadly), and recoup my bearings for further chapters of The Valiant Never.

**Please note: regardless of what happens in Deathly Hallows, I will NOT change my story to fit anything revealed. If my story lines further on match up, it is by mere coincidence or luck. Chances are, however, few of them will. If you read something in later chapters, and it matches up, or if you have not read Deathly Hallows, do not fear spoilers. I will stick with my original ideas throughout.

By the by, Sir (later Saint) Galgano Guidotti of Tuscany, Italy, referenced in Chapter 18, was a real knight. That is a real tale of a sword in the stone.

Subtle nod to Trevor Tchir, whose "Soul Sister" lyrics from which I borrowed this chapter title.

-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-

Chapter 20: Broken Child Reborn

It was here somewhere. The chit had hidden it. Somewhere. In this very room. Everything was too neat and tidy, too in place. Unnatural. For an office.

She knew something, and he intended to learn just what. Useful information would earn him points, no doubt. And failure after failure, he could use all the favor he could curry.

Quick this time; in and out. Security upgrade since his last visit increased chances for exposure. That would not do. Simply not.

Ms. Granger was no one's fool. But neither was she as clever as everyone believed. Oh yes, he knew those notes of deciphers were here, waiting about to grant him rank with the Dark Lord. He'd seen them. Knew what Potter had sent her, cryptic though it was. Knew what she had figured out with a little help from her friends. Nothing, however, was complete, and knowing what she knew, what Potter had conveyed, was tantamount. Plans must proceed. Nothing was allowed to err at this point. Nothing.

Else... his life was forfeit.

Searching continued.

-o-0-o-

"The Holy Grail?" Blue cocked his head in simple interest, not the expected shock Hermione's expression awaited. An oddity Sirius himself found fascinating in its own right. Unruffled by the revelation, he was still surprised. How she'd come up with that he wished to know. Far fetched, the idea was not totally beyond merit.

Expectation drew on him, he realized. Her eyes had not left him, despite Blue's inquiry.

Silent for several thoughtful moments, Sirius considered the arrangement of facts. Repeated in his head were lines from Harry's message and the possible link to Hermione's theory.

"Should Voldemort be interested in the Grail," he began carefully, covertly eyeing her reaction. "How is it the Order is not aware of this? The Holy Grail is by no means an obscure relic. Legend of its gift of immortality is well known, even if unproven. Albus Dumbledore would have considered that long ago, especially in light of the Philosopher's Stone and Horcruxes."

Slight indignation knit her brows. "Dumbledore wasn't infallible, Sirius. As he well proved when he trusted Professor Snape. Led him to his death, didn't it? And after all Dumbledore had done for him, for his mother, too."

"His mother?" Off track though it was, Sirius couldn't pass up clarification of that statement.

Huffing in annoyance, Hermione swatted out a reply as though it not were worth her time. "Yes; Madam Pince. Rather, Eileen Prince. The Order took her in, hid her at Hogwarts for her own protection. Realized this seventh year, after Harry told us what Dumbledore said to Draco when he was desperate to kill the headmaster himself, in order to save his mother. He told Draco that the Order could hide anyone better than you could ever imagine. But even with the Unbreakable Vow Hagrid believes he forced on Snape, Snape still killed him. So I'd think that puts Dumbledore's omnipotence in considerable question."

Quirked brow of disdain prefaced his reply to her energized monologue history lesson. "Snivellus never cared about anyone but himself. So if Dumbledore saved his mother, it was purely out of compassion for her. Trusting Snape was Dumbledore's defining moment of lunacy, I'll agree. But he was inarguably one of the greatest minds of the world. He wouldn't have just ignored or forgotten about such a powerful relic, Hermione. He would have considered it long ago and taken such action as to secure it from ever being an option or weapon for Voldemort."

"I'm telling you, Sirius; it's the Holy Grail he's after!" Hermione's frustration erupted, raining everything down on the man before her. He was, after all, partially to blame for her state of mind and nerves. "I don't know how or why Dumbledore didn't know. Maybe he did and didn't think Voldemort could get to it. Powerful wizards can be a bit vain, you know. Just like Merlin. Just like Voldemort."

On a roll now, she barely paused for breath, exorcising demons of hurt and longing and unrequited affections. Time to prove her knowledge, her privileged information, to show herself worthy of this quest bestowed unwillingly upon her. Childish need arose within, pressing her to show off, to belittle Sirius with her answers to questions he'd not yet voiced.

"And did you know," she went on, proudly smug in her display of knowledge, "Voldemort's in the spot he's in now because of that same vanity. Did you know that because he thought so little of Neville Longbottom, that in that fight in the Ministry two years back, he foolishly boxed Neville across the head like a Muggle teacher, not even considering him worthy enough to fire a spell against? And you know what?" Nearly sly her face became, her whole attitude slipping into the energy now spilling over. She stepped nearer, peering haughtily into steel gray.

"His arrogance..." Stressed latter, meaningful glare and cock of the head. "Led him to his failure in killing Harry that day. He'd thrown Neville to the floor without another thought. Poor Neville stumbled in his effort to gain his feet, and guess where he stumbled? Right behind Voldemort's legs. The great Dark Lord of our time tripped backwards over Neville, and fell into the bell jar, and couldn't manage to scramble out until he'd been reduced to a sixteen-year-old again. Void of most his powers as well. Had to flee, because he was too arrogant and vain to consider anyone worthy of his attention."

Conflicting emotions and thoughts raced through Sirius. He didn't understand her reference to a bell jar that left Lord Voldemort sixteen again, nor did he understand her hostility toward him. But he did recognize the challenge and insinuation in her voice, the daring of her look. She was angry with him, accusing him of arrogance. He, arrogant? Hah! Well, yes, a certain extent of his early years reveled in a sense of superiority, but that was long before Hermione knew him. Self-assuredness of his later years was altogether different, and confidence was not a sin. He'd once thought her bright, but now Hermione was teetering on a breakdown.

Knowledge that Lord Voldemort was reduced such in his power, however, was an interesting point. Useful, as well. It would help in defeating him once and for all. Sirius considered this, his mind working in leaps of fantastic bounds.

"Lord Voldemort's really reverted back to the power of a teenager, has he?"

"See what I mean!" Anger now exploded, hysterics borderline as she jumped back, pacing to seep out the inner force in controlled portions. Sirius was confused. "All that revelation, and all you could glean from it was the state in which Voldemort left the Ministry! Not a word about Neville. Not a single, bloody word. He was a hero, and you – just like Voldemort – brushed him off without one thought more.

"You know his students still ask him after every Herbology lesson to recount that fight? They don't know precisely what happened, just rumors that he was involved, and that he was instrumental in saving Harry's life. Instrumental, Sirius." Again she closed in on his face, taunting him. "He killed your cousin that same night. She, too, thought him nothing, not worthy of her attentions. And she paid for that arrogance with her life." Seethed that last tale came.

Backed off again, Sirius caught the glimmer of threatening tears well up in her eyes. All this passionate anger she held offered no explanation to him. What spell was she influenced under?

"Hermione, love, please calm down. I think that's grand that Neville performed so well. Grander still that he rid this world of my dear cousin. And it's all quite fascinating, really. But what does this all have to do with the Holy Grail?"

Belief he had approached her with serenity and respect, it was with amazement he greeted her sudden reaction.

"What is it with you bloody men?" she screamed at him, casting nominal glances at Blue, who stood by still without a first word into the conversation, such as it was. "Oblivious, all of you!" she concluded, flinging her arms in a helpless gesture as she paced once again. No longer caring to see him, she rambled on, more to herself than directly to him. "Can't see what's right in front of you. Oh, no. Have to have it spelled out for you, and when someone does, you ignore it. All because it's not what you want to see, because in your arrogance, you see them below you, not worthy of your attention because they aren't the flashy, self-conceited perfections you find interest in. You're all just alike. All of you!" On this she turned once more to face him.

"Sirius Black, you deserve to be the dark." Octave lower, throat tight. "For you're just as blind as they were."

Hesitation of a breath, then whirled about and stepped off, into the mists.

-o-

Harsh catches of her palm's heel dashed the saltwater of many emotions away. Never before had Hermione been so susceptible to tears. Sirius Black had single-handedly and unknowingly turned her world upside down. She felt as though never again would she be in control of her body's reactions or her thought's directions.

Angry tears they were, too. For once more self-doubt raised its ugly head to remind her her faults and shortcomings. No Shauna was she, nor even Lily Evans or Andromeda Black. Women Sirius found attractive, affectionate, or endearing, respectively. She was like Neville in his eyes. Never truly seen; just seen through. And it hurt. Terribly.

Dazed, minutes passed before Hermione realized her precarious position. Apparation would be more than suitable under circumstances, but fierce pride and desperate pain demanded solitary steps of expression. Turmoil of epic proportions chased her heels, pressing her deeper into the night without caution. Dangers lay only peripherally to her tunnel vision. Until one.

Appearing with three long strides from his post at a nearby elm, a young man of stringy hair and tossed cigarette ventured into her path. Trapped to her right by a low stone wall, Hermione felt she had little choice but to speed up, keeping to her original path. Show no fear, she chanted mentally. Mantra aside, she was afraid. Averted gaze and steps with purpose she clung to, her defense a matter of indirect offense.

Nearly there... nearly past him... unmarked line of contention steps away. Then she'd be past him, heading further away, proving her overactive imagination just that.

Nearing from the left, but she was almost level with him. Step... step... step... Level. Past level. Leaving him behind. Sigh of relief. Panic releasing its hold, washing down her torso in waves. Scared of her own shadow at this rate. Sirius just had her stirred up, mad with anger of his patronizing. Self-conscious with his biting appraisal. Not that he had any room to talk, really. Not when all he –

Grip like talons secured her right arm, jerking her body around in mid-stride. Holding her wrist high as a trophy won, he reeled her in close, appraising his catch.

"'lo, there..." Lazy drawl bespoke menace with tangible certainty. Sullied face and hoodlum denims, ripped concert tee with cracked, faded band logo, and miscellaneous silver chains across narrow hips suggested perhaps he was not open to a cup of tea and biscuits. Lending to such option even less so was the leer pulling across his face.

For a moment, she wasn't a witch. Frightened, vulnerable young woman in the wee hours of the darkest of nights, isolated from public... from help. Adrenaline, meek and bold, cut through veins with the same violence as her attacker's eyes. Faint orange glow cast his face in relief. Streetlamps buzzed too distant to gain visual attention. She was alone.

"What do you want?" Trembling muddled her words, triggering knowing catches in a suddenly dry throat. Silly question, really, but so much emotional upheaval these past hours had left Hermione without her signature logic.

Snide murmurings contorted his face into a distinct leer, glares licking her body like a lemon ice. Pointless question before, her one challenge now lay ridiculous between them. Sadly, nothing else did a'tall.

Foul breath laced in alcohol and rotting gums wafted in gaseous clouds against her face. Assailant code must include a knack for just the right response to any comment. Just the right grit-teeth response as to elicit the greatest fear from their prey.

"Where's your friends now, Sweet Thing?" Of course Ron and Harry were not his reference, yet a stake it drove nonetheless through her heart. For even now, with everything, she knew not the answer to that. And should he kill her – rust-strewn cheap steel stole life as well as any spell – never would she find them. They would die, if they were not already so.

Curiously cold the nicked knife was, pressed intimately below her jaw. London's promised heat failed to touch the menacing blade now digging into flesh. It was the trickle of warm liquid slowly tracing down her neck that triggered delayed reaction.

At that moment, Hermione Granger began to scream.

-o-0-o-

"Women," Sirius swore, incredulous confusion inhibiting both words and expression. Vaguely pissed off, he turned back to the enveloping fog into which Hermione had disappeared in her stalk.

He liked her – he truly did – and he understood her stress and passionate rebuttal for chasing wisps of clues all about to find Harry and Ron, to end this torturous strain of merely waiting. He'd done his share of that; restlessness driving recklessness; unease evolving into anger. But Hermione was bordering on something else entirely and taking it out on him. Normally such sacrifice of himself would come naturally, a part of friendship, compassion. For his friends, Sirius would do anything. Desire and need to heal and protect fueled his energy. Gut reaction, really, to protect. To bleed and suffer abuse in order to shield them of harm.

But Hermione...

Yes, he cared for her. Yes, he respected her... her vigilance, her strength, her empathy, her loyalty...

But he knew better than she this game of biding time, the sense of uselessness and growing agitation within. Yet not only would she not listen, but time and again she struck out at him, clawing at his veneer of self control, mistaking it for selfishness and apathy. Or arrogance and conceit.

"Is she always like that?" Sirius had nearly forgotten Blue's presence. He turned, offering the drummer a grimace of comical taste.

"Never that bad. But she's always been a bit of an overachiever."

Dry wit returned, attempting to mask the growing trepidation reeling his senses. Leave it to Granger to turn principles of reasoning into an emotional torrent. With him, it seemed she was always toeing either one extreme line or the other. Lately, anyway.

"Seemed she had a bit of a bone to pick with you, this evening. Think she'll shed some light on what all that sniping on you was for?" Blue's smirk nudged mirrored moves from Sirius.

"Only if it's decreed in the high and mighty book of rules: Thou shalt explain thy irrational and unsolicited actions against thy most confused ally."

High brow suddenly abandoned him, unnerving flights of fancy washing over him in its stead. Eyes flickering wildly about even with solid stance, Sirius sought the skies for dementors. Chills shimmied down his spine, hinting at ill, at evil, foreboding –

Screams echoed from the darkness.

Hermione.

They began to run.

-o-0-o-

"Shut your bleedin' mouth up." Growled, his words held warning, but involuntary reaction kept lungs filled and emptied in great gasps, second soprano filling the night.

Until both grasps moved abruptly. Knife hand halted the screams with a start, its acrid taste of stale smoke pushing into her open mouth, smearing double-backed inner lips with sweat and unwashed body. Metal now scraped jaw bone.

Hold of her arm vanished, only to relocate in a jolt about her waist, jerking her whole body against his stronger frame. Illness draped her, threatening stomach revolt and fainting.

Shoving her backwards... pressing into her, dominating... filth in verbal descriptions sneering from his lips... groping hand falling below her waist... biting whiskers burning her cheek... her stumbles righted by a deeper grasp to him... blurred vision of peeking stars above mocking her at every step –

Explosive impact from her left tossed Hermione roughly to the ground, away from violent chaos only meters to her right. Frozen in shock, she could only stare bewildered at two dark forms, grappling heatedly in the shadows.

-o-0-o-

Pain in his gut had little to do with physical state of health. No; Sirius' stomach felt punched the moment he and Blue came round the blind curve in the park, view cleared now to the confrontation but five seconds' dash from them. They'd stopped dead, however. And the fear clenched deep within. Such a sight would always be burned into his mind. Later, he would consider it – take it out for study and dissection. But for now, he could only react.

Rapidly moved his legs; swiftly emerged his wand; forcefully formed his defensive curse...

To no need.

Blue and Sirius slammed to another halt, disbelieving the sight before them. Emerging from depths of foliage and darkness came a mirage of speeding flesh. Cloaked in black and hood, masculine shape rammed into the unnamed assailant who dared arrest Hermione. To the ground they slammed, tossing the young witch to the side none-too-gently, but apparently unharmed.

The struggle lasted but the briefest of moments. One desperate flip over left the assailant free to gather his feet and dash for safety. Left behind lay a dark form, prone on his back, limbs testing carefully their range and bend. They made their way to both victim and rescuer in a jog.

-o-

Snapped from tunnel vision, Hermione rose shakily to her feet, greeting Sirius and Blue upon arrival with passing glance of acknowledgement. Focus intent lay on the figure before her, himself slowly adjusting, rolling to his side seeking purchase. Hands steadied torso, propping straight-armed against the damp ground. Cloak hood draped heavily upon his head, masking features even as all three upright cautiously made their way to him, crowding in semi-circle.

Blue lit a wand.

Soft glow dimly illuminated the quartet in campfire style. Sirius switched wand hands, stretching out his right in proffered aid. Movement ceased abruptly. Head tilted upward, unseen eyes peering long from beneath opaque fabric. Hand raised as though in acceptance of Black's hand, but veered instead toward the hood, hesitantly pulling back its folds.

-o-

Hermione stared down in astonished confusion. The 'thank you' she'd intended fell unspoken from chapped, bruised lips. Gringotts. The man from Gringotts. Blue eyes, regal features. Intense stare. Whose mere appearance had tricked her mind so.

"It's you..." Accusation or wonderment, her words could not distinguish.

Blue, too, stared wide-eyed at the savior in the night. Incredulous, his face said. His voice, however, favored identification. Clear, curious was his statement, as much an exclamation of wonder as a greeting of pleasant familiarity.

"Stubby..."

But neither response fazed this man of passionate protection. Haunted eyes stole no glance but that at Sirius, still standing immobile near Hermione. No offer of consolation or attention to her. For Sirius, himself, could not draw his eyes away. This stranger held all intent for Sirius Black – an intent so strong as to be tangible.

Expression indescribable, voice mute, Sirius stared. Echoes pierced his head, Hermione's agitated words looping: The Order could hide anyone better than you could ever imagine...

...ever imagine...

Air thick with fog and expectation, his voice weighed but the bounce of a needle, resounding against the night. Crystal, drawn, anguished. Hollow in its meaningful depth. Sirius Black's ability to speak returned, relying solely on one panted, pained word.

"Regulus..."