An Opus Alchymicum Vol 2: The Witch-Consul's Riddle

Sirius' Tale

The dark shadows crept and lurched in the corners of the room as Harry woke, gasping for breath as if breaking the surface of water a second before drowning. He had been in the throes of a nightmare, one of crashing noises, foul smells, and a sharp, abrasive threat creeping ever closer. It had crippled him, left him unable to render aid. Then he remembered who he'd been dragging his broken body to help in the first place.

"He-mermronie!"

Harry had meant to cry out, but his numb face had slurred his speech like a melting film reel. For a moment he found it mildly amusing, then panic set in. Where was he? Much more importantly, where was Hermione and was she okay? Would he ever be able to speak again? To sing again?

Which would be quite the thing ... as he couldn't sing before! Then someone spoke - from the end of his bed!

"You're awake!" the light male voice squeaked in powerful relief. "Thank Heavens! Hermione will be ever so happy."

"Wah!"

Harry jumped back up the bed, jumped so hard and fast in his shock that he smashed the back of his head into the steel headrest at the top of the cot. He blinked stars from his swimming vision as he tried to get his bearings. He realised that he must be in the Hospital Wing, as the place had a distinctly medical feel to it. Rows of surgical beds and curtain dividers leered out from the darkness. For a moment, Harry realised the dark reality of what Hogwarts needing a hospital wing likely implied about safety at the school, and that brought his attention slamming back to Hermione and her unknown condition.

And her cat ... which had just spoken to him!

"Wah, I don' un-re-stan'," Harry tried again, but his sleep-mussed and potioned state still held him in its grip.

"Here kiddo, drink this. It will make you sound less like an Immore Alley drunk on a Friday night!"

"See-rus!" Harry babbled.

Sirius grinned down at him from the gloom. Harry hadn't even noticed him sitting next to his bed, but he watched now as his Godfather bent over him, uncorked a vial and placed it to his lips. But Sirius paused, and looked sternly at Harry.

"I'll give you this, but you let us talk," Sirius began, gesturing between himself and Crookshanks, who had padded up the bed and perched himself like an ancient Egyptian cat-god at Harry's feet. "Agreed?"

Harry nodded, tilted his head back, then let Sirius tip the potion down his throat. It tasted like almonds, which wasn't bad.

"Better?" Sirius asked after a minute.

"Let's see," Harry tested, working his jaw to test its tautness. "Seems so. I want an explanation ... I know I said I'd let you talk, but not before you tell me how Hermione is. First, before you say anything else."

Sirius grinned at him. "You really like her, don't you?"

"Yes, I like her a lot," Harry replied unabashed. "Now tell me how she is."

"I see you wont be distracted," Sirius smirked. "Hermione is fine. A little shaken, very worried about you, even more cross at the Weasley boy for his stupidity, but she'll be right as rain. We finally got her to go to bed about an hour ago, but not before she made Crookshanks swear on his life to stay with you until she returned in the morning."

Harry turned to look at the fluffy cat. He had Hermione's firm, stubborn expression behind his whiskers. It cheered Harry and he gave him a look of thanks.

"You can talk," Harry blurted out, as much a statement as a question. "I didn't know that."

"There is much about me you do not know," came the solemn reply. "We, Hermione and I, have been holding a great secret from you. Neither of us have wanted to keep you in the dark for so long, but we have been afraid about how you will react. Hermione likes you very much too, in case she hasn't made that clear enough. She is petrified of doing anything that might alienate her from you."