Same Morning.

Monday, Sept. 16

“Explain,” Dumbledore said, and Harry gladly obliged.

“Sirius wasn’t the secret keeper to our house in Godric’s Hollow,” Harry said, “it was Peter. He was the one who helped Voldemort find us that night. It was he who let him in.”

Dumbledore paled. “Sirius wasn’t the spy?” he asked.

“No, he wasn’t,” Harry said. “It was Peter. He’s a Death Eater.

“I can’t believe I forgot to mention this yesterday,” the boy added, self-recrimination clear in his tone.

In Harry’s defense, Hermione thought, she had forgotten too.

There was simply too much to think about; too many things to plan for, to fix, to prevent, that the girl was starting to suspect that it may very well be impossible to not forget some.

Harry kept speaking. “Sirius is innocent. He shouldn’t be in Azkaban. We need to call Madam Bones and free—”

“Harry—” Dumbledore cut in gently.

There was an expression of anguish on The Headmaster’s face that was setting off alarm bells in Hermione’s mind, and from the look on Harry’s face, the boy felt the same.

“—Sirius is dead,” The Headmaster finished.

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine and Harry looked like he was trying (and failing) to comprehend The Headmaster’s words.

To be honest, Hermione was having trouble understanding, or at least accepting, them herself.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Sirius is dead, Harry,” Dumbledore repeated, looking and sounding like the words were wrapping his heart in barbed wire. “He died in Azkaban eight years ago.”

“But—but that’s not possible,” Hermione argued.

It couldn’t be. Right? Harry had said Sirius had escaped from Azkaban in his third-year, after seeing a picture of Peter as a rat in the papers.

How could he then have died eight years ago?

Even as the girl thought those words, her mind went back to less than a week ago, when she and Harry had met the centaur Herd-mother.

Harry had idly noted then that the centaurs were different from how they’d been in the books, and had wondered what else, if anything, was different than he remembered.

Hermione looked at her friend, who sat beside her looking like the world had just vanished from under his feet.

Why did it have to be this that was different? the girl lamented.

“I’m so sorry,” Dumbledore said, and those words pulled Harry’s eyes back into focus.

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“You’re sorry?” Harry said angrily. “He was your friend. He trusted you. How could you even believe he would do something like that?”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

There had been no trial or anything. Everyone had simply assumed that Sirius was guilty, and they’d locked him up in an awful place.

No one had even asked Sirius for his side of the story.

“Why didn’t you talk to him?” Hermione asked. “Even if just to know why?”

“I did,” Dumbledore said with a far-off look, and his words caused both children to blink in confusion.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Sirius confessed,” Dumbledore said, focusing on them now. “He admitted to everything.”

“But...” That didn’t make any sense.

“Why would he do that?” Hermione asked.

“He wouldn’t,” Harry stated firmly.

“No,” Dumbledore agreed, “he wouldn’t. Not while in his right mind. I believe that Sirius was imperius’d.”

The children’s eyes widened.

“The Imperius Curse?” Hermione asked, the words dredging up the memory of her own, singular encounter with the curse.

She had come so close to killing Harry that night. Oh so close. Simply because Voldemort had asked her to.

If it could almost make her kill her best friend, then couldn’t it make someone admit to doing something they didn’t?

Dumbledore seemed to think so, because he said; “Yes, I believe Sirius was placed under it. Most likely by the true spy himself; Peter.”

Oh. Oh, yes that would make sense; all Peter had to do was place Sirius under The Imperius Curse when Sirius tracked him down, and Peter would be able to get away with everything.

After all, no one had a reason to suspect him; everyone suspected Sirius.

While Dumbledore’s hypothesis had distracted Hermione from the original topic, it only made Harry more focused on it than before, because he said: “So, what you’re saying is that, Lucius Malfoy dodged being sent to Azkaban by lying about being imperius’d. Meanwhile, Sirius, who was actually imperius’d, died there?”

Harry didn’t look angry, not anymore, he simply looked broken, and frankly, Dumbledore didn’t look much better.

Harry stared at the old wizard for a long moment, a mess of emotions playing across his face.

It broke Hermione’s heart to see.

Finally, Harry said: “You really are terrible at saving people.” Then he got up and left the office, Hedwig going to perch on his shoulder as he did.

Hermione looked from the back of her leaving friend, to the haunted face of The Headmaster.

She wanted to say something to him; felt like she should. But Hermione had no idea what to say, so she simply rose and went after Harry.

Somehow, by the time Hermione made it to the office door, Harry was already at the bottom of the spinning staircase.

She called his name, but he gave no indication of hearing her, though Hedwig did turn to look at her.

The girl hurried down the stairs, exiting it to see the boy marching down the long hallway that led to and from The Headmaster’s tower, whereto though, she didn’t know.

Hermione called Harry’s name again, and again he failed to answer; she rushed after him.

The boy exited the hallway at the first door he reached, walking out onto the lush grounds of Hogwarts even as Hermione gained on him.

“Harry,” she said, grabbing his wrist when she finally reached him.

Hermione spun him to face her, and her next words died on her lips when she saw his face.

There were tears running down Harry’s cheeks, and he looked sad, angry, and confused. Most of all though, he looked lost. So very lost.

“He—he’s dead, Hermione,” Harry said in a broken voice. “I never even got the chance to save him. How’s that fair?”

She hugged him, pressing her body as tightly as she could to his, while hating that it was all she could do.

All she ever seemed to be able to do.

“Harry? Hermione? That you?”

The booming voice of Hagrid came from behind Hermione, and she and Harry separated to look at the giant man.

The behemoth of a man walked up to them, a giant axe on his shoulder and a huge dog at his side.

His smile was a toothy gash in his heavy beard, and his steps landed with a resounding thump thump as he approached them. By all logic, he should be absolutely intimidating, but something about the way he carried himself just made him... not.

“It is you,” Hagrid said, his smile somehow getting wider. But then, as he took them in, the smile faded. “Is something wrong?” he asked them, distractedly (and casually) restraining his ginormous dog, Fang, from glomping them.

Hermione looked to Harry, then back to Hagrid. She nodded. “We just found out something awful, Hagrid,” she said.

“Oh,” the huge man said, then: “Well, come on then, I’ll make yeh some tea.”

And with that he began to walk off in the direction of his hut.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other, then with a little smile and a shrug at Hagrid’s forwardness, they followed.