Miriam was uncharacteristically lonely.

It was rare in her line of work to be alone for extended stretches of time. There was always someone to tend to, someone to guide. It was part of what she loved about healing, the social aspect that contributed to the comfort of the patient. And, she had begun to realize, her own sanity.

Harry and his friends had left for school weeks ago, leaving her alone in the house with Sirius, whom she had shared an icily polite and rare rapport with since that brutal conversation, and Kreacher, the crass and tactless house elf, who seemed to despise her even more than his reluctant master. The end result was that she had far too much time on her hands, which amounted to far too much time to think. Miriam knew things were getting out of hand when she couldn’t quite bring herself to feel bad for wishing for some sort of terrible injury to fall into her lap.

Every now and then her wish came true. Members of the order would routinely come in for minor scratches or burns, a few broken bones, the usual and unusual hex, or simply for the bi-monthly routine examination that Dumbledore insisted upon. This, Miriam alone knew, was of utmost importance. Very few people knew how to identify an imperious curse without the use of legilimency, which was far too simple to detect, particularly amongst the aurors in the Order, who were well-trained and skilled in occlumency; she knew this because Dumbledore, the only other person she knew of who could perform this magic, had taught her himself more than fifteen years ago, in another time of crisis such as this. It had been the first, and last time she had been required to do such intricate and complex magic, and was another palpable reminder of the reason she had been asked here in the first place.

Even with the comfortable pace of her work, Miriam’s supplies were low; particularly her chocolate supply, she noticed with a twinge of guilt. And it was time to start getting her ingredients in order for the coming full moon. Lupin was counting on her. Whatever the reason, she was glad for an excuse to get out. She jogged briskly up the stairs out of the basement and to the front door, nearly tripping over Kreacher in her enthusiasm.

“Oh, sorry Kreacher. I didn’t see you there.”

The elderly house elf with sagging skin and an ancient loincloth tied around his waist looked up at Miriam and then immediately back down to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing as if blinded by a brilliant light.

“The mudblood is talking to Kreacher. Oh, if Mistress only knew the one who tainted her own flesh and blood were back, oh what she would say to poor old Kreacher…”

Miriam knew the tirade almost by heart.

“Just ignore him,” said a voice from the doorway. Miriam turned and saw Sirius leaning casually against the doorjamb. Her heart gave one hard thud.

Traitor, she thought.

“I always have,” she replied, smiling sardonically.

“Back together again, oh if Mistress were only here to see, her blood-traitor excuse for a son and his whore mudblood �“”

“Shut up, Kreacher!” shouted Sirius, suddenly incensed, and he hoisted Kreacher up by the sagging skin at the back of his neck to eye level, baring his teeth.

“Sirius,” Miriam said, placing a soothing hand on his arm, “Don’t, it’s not worth it! Remember? Just ignore�””

“Don’t you ever call her that! Don’t you dare utter that filth in this house again, do you understand me?” he demanded, giving Kreacher one violent shake.

Kreacher, loathing etched in every wrinkle of his face, swallowed abruptly, his cheeks puffing out as though holding his breath. Miriam didn’t doubt he was struggling quite admirably to hold back the next onslaught of insults.

“Hey Kreacher,” said Miriam amicably, “if you’re really nice to me, I’ll let you keep me company down in the basement every once in a while. You can help me mix up things to save the lives of all the blood traitors that march in and out of here all the time. What do you think about that?”

Kreacher’s eyes rolled up to the back of his head, and he promptly passed out.

“Do you think that’s a ‘yes’?”

Laughing heartily, Sirius dropped Kreacher unceremoniously down to the floor and shook his head.

“I didn’t know you to be so merciless, Miriam.”

A smile tugged reluctantly at her lips.

“Well. He does make it rather painless though, doesn’t he?”

And standing there, grinning at each other over the foul-tempered house elf, Miriam felt much of the tension between them, the social awkwardness and discomfort that consistently embraced her in his presence slip from her shoulders, so easily she couldn’t even find reason to question it. The demons buried deeper inside that haunted her dreams would not vanish quite as easily, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to find a legitimate excuse to dig any of it up at the moment. For right now, at least, it was just the two of them, housemates, standing over a pathetically unconscious and regretfully amusing house elf.

But still, something poked at her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. Sirius blinked at her, confused. Miriam sighed, wringing her hands. So much for awkwardness, she thought, and trudged on.

“For the other night. I was cranky - not sleeping very well, you see - and there was no excuse for my behavior, and…well, come to think of it you started it, really. Well you did. But anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, I feel just terrible at some of the things that were said, and it’s been nagging at me and…well, actually, you said most of it, to be quite honest. But, anyway, I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. Considered. “I’m not sorry for hitting you though. That you deserved. Completely.”

Sirius, speechless, stared at her for a full minute. Then, throwing his head back, he roared with laughter. Miriam, feeling that persistent poke cease, found herself grinning.

“Darling Miriam,” murmured Sirius, when at last he had caught his breath. He caught one of the loose strands from her ruthless bun and twirled it casually around his finger. “Is it any wonder why I ever adored you?”

Miriam could feel herself blushing furiously, and jerkily tucked the loose hair behind her ear.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “I, ah…I should, uh…need to get, well. Hm,” seemed to be the best she could do, and gestured vaguely at the coat rack.

Amused that he could still fluster her, Sirius reached back and plucked up her worn, shapeless leather jacket.

“You know, one would think that the best healer in Europe could afford a decent leather jacket. But then again you never were all too concerned with the latest fashions, were you?”

Miriam eyed him narrowly as he walked around to help her into the coat.

“Pardon me if I don’t consider the need for warmth an excuse to make a fashion statement,” she said tartly, slipping her arms into the jacket. Sirius, raising a haughty eyebrow, replied simply by fingering an ever-expanding hole in the back shoulder area.

“Oh, bugger it, it keeps getting bigger!”

Miriam spun around like a puppy chasing its tail, trying to catch a glimpse at the enormous gap in the leather, muttering curses pertaining to cheap cows and leather-hungry closet mites.

Sirius, somehow managing to turn a laugh into a choking cough, knew when to leave a discussion at that, and asked as offhandedly as possible, “Where to?”

Miriam stopped twirling about immediately, and felt a fresh wave of guilt crash into her that had nothing to do with mysteriously disappearing chocolate. Could she really be so insensitive? Here she was, ready to rush out the door by her own free will, out of the confines of the gloomy, nearly derelict house with only a snarling and presently unconscious house elf, a hippogriff, and perhaps a few remaining doxies for company; and there was Sirius, trapped once again like a prisoner in a house he swore never to step foot in again. Miriam knew the fervor with which he had made himself that promise.

However, Miriam had done her best to ignore that piece of knowledge up until the last few minutes when, she realized not without a little self-disgust at her deliberate insensitivity, she had actually begun to consider Sirius a human being once more.

Sirius watched with interest the battle warring across her features. It seemed, for the moment at least, her defenses were lowered, and he was able to see the emotions swirling inside her as blatantly and obviously as a children’s picture book �“ and was touched by what he saw.

“Miriam,” he said gently, “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not,” she barely managed to sputter. “I’m just…thinking.”

“Obviously.”

“Hogsmeade!” she blurted. “That’s where I’m going. Hogsmeade. To get stuff. Restock, that is. Restock. Ah, full moon and all. Do you…would you…ah, hm.” He hands fluttered about indistinctly. “Need anything?” she managed with what she hoped was an easy smile and whatever trace of dignity she had left.

It was mortifying, it was, that she could stand and speak as fluently and eloquently as a royal in front of crowds consisting of hundreds of the worlds most prominent leaders, politicians, etc., but her tongue (and complexion) refused to cooperate with her in front of Sirius Black. Mortifying.

“Buckbeak could use some fresh meat,” he said, bringing Miriam out of her self-flagellating trance.

“Okay,” she said, digging a list out of her back trouser pocket. “Anything for you? You know, like a book or something? A film?”

She looked up from her list when he didn’t respond and felt the need to squirm under in the intensity of his gaze.

“What?”

“Concerned about me, Miriam?” he asked, a touch of amusement in his voice, and he reached out to toy once more with the disobedient hair that had slipped out from behind her ear again.

Miriam was somehow able to choke out a very unconvincing, “Ha!” She squirmed again when he only continued to stare. “No,” she said stubbornly, shaking her head as if amused by the very thought. Finally, she squirmed again, stared down at her feet, and mumbled a barely audible, but distinctly grouchy, “Yes.”

Sirius grinned victoriously and shifted his hand to the nape of her neck and began to massage gently. He remembered this was where she kept most of her tension stored up, and was satisfied to see her eyelids flutter dreamily and to feel her pulse scramble.

“Be careful out there,” he murmured, and tilted her chin up to face him.

All Miriam could handle was a jerky nod. Sirius was standing very close. Her tongue was suddenly very, very heavy, and she felt as though she had just swallowed a rather large spoonful of exceptionally sticky peanut butter. She could feel her heart hammering erratically against her ribcage, and was positive that if she looked down, she would actually be able to see a large bump pounding rhythmically against her chest.

A soft groan from the awakening Kreacher snapped Miriam’s wits almost painfully back into her muddy brain.

“Right then,” she said, her voice seeming to her an octave higher than normal. “I shouldn’t be gone too long.” She turned towards the door and with a wave of her wand, the locks snapped open and the door creaked slightly ajar.

“Right,” she said again, turning to face Sirius once more. They both looked at each other for a moment. Then Miriam said, “Bye!” and hastily trotted out the door.

Miriam heard the click of the door closing behind her, and buried her face in her hands for a moment, pressing her fingertips firmly against her eyes. Her blood was still pounding fast and hard, and there was a strangely familiar, not altogether unpleasant clutch in her stomach.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said forcefully to herself. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.” Then she sighed in defeat, rolled her shoulders bracingly, and turned back to tell Sirius…

But Number 12, Grimmauld Place had already vanished.

Miriam shifted the weight of the bags and packages she could just barely carry, and reached out to yank open the door to the Three Broomsticks, emitting a very unlady-like “Oof!” Somehow squeezing into the narrow entranceway, she was immediately engulfed in the welcoming warmth and friendly chatter that was customary for the popular pub.

Miriam walked over to the counter, plopped down the bags, and then herself, onto one of the empty stools and looked around. It was extremely crowded, but in a friendly sort of way, and Miriam was glad to be off her feet and able to partake in one of her favorite pastimes: Wizard-watching. Her foot tapped distractedly against one of the packages from Dervish and Banges, where she had been able to collect the majority of her supplies and ingredients to replenish her dwindling stock.

Before she could settle into her imagination as she stared at a very old, rather-eccentric looking witch with a large, stuffed vulture balancing miraculously onto a noticeably narrower perch of a hat, she was interrupted by the pretty and enviously curvy Madam Rosmerta.

“It can’t be!” she exclaimed, her large eyes twinkling in a pretty face. “For heaven’s sake, it can’t be Miriam Daniels, can it?”

Miriam refocused her attention to the barmaid and smiled wide.

“Hello, Madam Rosmerta. You look as lovely as ever.”

Madame Rosmerta simply reached across the bar, yanked Miriam forward by the back of her head, and planted a smacking and somehow motherly kiss against her check.

“Look at you,” she cooed, rubbing her thumb against the bright red smear of lipstick along Miriam’s check. “I haven’t seen you since you were nearly a baby, and now, here you are! I heard you were back in the area, I did, and I said to right to ‘ol Ponds here, ‘I know she wouldn’t dare come back to Hogsmeade without paying respects to Rosmerta,’ din’ I Ponds? And here you are! Oh, bless me, were all so proud of you here, dear girl. So proud.”

Miriam suddenly found herself feeling oddly sentimental, and had to blink a few times.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Madam Rosmerta.”

Rosmerta let out a “Phschaw” sound and said, “I won’t have any of this ‘Madam’ nonsense, you’re not a child anymore, are you? Of course not, you’re a grown woman if I ever saw one. Now, let me see if my memory serves me correctly. You’ll be having your usual, I presume?”

Miriam felt yet again another twinge of guilt.

“Oh, well, you see…I’m trying to watch my…bugger it. The usual would be splendid.”

She stared at Rosmerta’s retreating back, and tried to reason with herself that even grown women were entitled to a double hot fudge chocolate sundae with extra whipped cream and a cherry on top. She felt her mouth water, and thought that if only the extra whipped cream went to her curves as it obviously did for Rosmerta, she’d be a happy woman.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar, and sighed. Miriam was not a vain woman, as she always reminded herself, simply realistic. And the reality was that Miriam considered herself to be very plain. This image, she knew, came in handy for her career; it helped patients feel comfortable around her and not be intimidated by the standard white robe. But every now and then she wondered what it would be like to be able to transform her appearance, like Tonks, at the blink of an eye.

“Here you go, my dear. It’s on the house.”

Miriam greedily spooned up a mouthful of the gooey mixture of hot-and-cold chocolate goodness, and imagined what she would look like with shock-pink hair.

She smiled at a memory of Sirius once reassuringly and desperately explaining that her hair reminded him of the finest, richest, European dark chocolates. Miriam had appreciated the sentiment, but felt it was a very romantic way of confirming that her hair was the color of mud.

As Sirius popped into her mind, she remembered the bag of toffees she had picked up for him during the visit to Honeyduke’s Sweet Shop, knowing he had a soft spot for the chewy squares. Then she frowned, thoughtfully. It was beginning to occur to Miriam that despite her best efforts, Sirius was somehow managing to burrow a soft spot in her as well.

But before she could put any more thought into the matter, a plump, middle-aged woman with a furry maroon coat and flushed cherub-cheeks hurried excitedly through the door into the pub, and straight towards Miriam.

“Excuse me,” she panted, “but are you Miriam Daniels?”

Miriam couldn’t help but find the question amusing as the beaming woman was already shaking her hand rather enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Miriam said, always uncomfortable when being regarded as a celebrity. “Can I do something for �“”

“I knew it!” the woman exclaimed ecstatically. “I wasn’t sure at first, you see. I could have sworn I spotted you through the window, but you look so different in person than in the pictures.”

Miriam, unsure of how to take this comment, plastered what she hoped was a friendly smile on her face.

“It’s such an honor,” said the woman, trudging on, “I’m such a fan, you see. I have all of your books. Household Cures for the Common Hex, Befriend the Unfriendly Jinx, and of course, my personal favorite, How to Cure the Curious. I don’t know what I would have done without that one. I have three teenagers, you see, and all I ever get is, ‘I dunno.’ Never know what I’m dealing with.”

“Thank you very much,” said Miriam. She glanced longingly at her half-eaten sundae. Miriam hated to be rude, but the truth was, she was not a social person by any means. Patients, she had come to figure out, were entirely different. They counted on you for care and support, and genuinely appreciated conversation and company. People, if you asked her, just talked significantly too much.

But she focused her attention back at the woman who was still rambling on about the time her eldest son came home with purple appendages and, naturally, had no idea how it had happened. But then she said, “Oh, gracious me, I’ve been rattling along forever. Nearly forgot why I came in here in the first place. As I was saying, I wasn’t sure it was you in the window at first, but then I found this! Here,” she said, and clearly considering Miriam by this point a close and personal friend, she reached out, grabbed her by the wrist, and pressed what felt to Miriam like a thick, leather bracelet into her hand.

But before Miriam could even ask, the woman, beaming as brightly as ever, proudly announced, “I have found your dog!”

“My…what?” asked Miriam, profoundly flustered by the brazen statement.

“Enormous mongrel, if you don’t mind me saying,” chattered the woman. “Just huge. But there he was, bounding up to me as happy as could be, tongue hanging out, tail wagging, just delighted to be out and about, I tell you. Giant black, furry thing �“”

“I’m terribly sorry,” interrupted Miriam, frowning. “but I don’t have a…” Suddenly, her skin blanched to near transparency and her eyes widened in sheer and complete disbelief.

“Are you alright dear?” asked the woman, placing a hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “You look a little peaky. Maybe you should �“ ”

“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Miriam again, “But did you say, giant, black…”

“Oh yes, indeed,” said the woman, nodding cheerfully. “Rather ugly, if I might say, but black as midnight and…”

But Miriam was no longer listening. As if in a daze, she stared down at what was apparently a shiny, gold-painted leather dog collar in her hand. Turning the collar slowly to make out the inscription, she read, “Snuffles the Dog. Property of Miriam Daniels.”

And sure enough, when she reluctantly lifted her head to look outside the window, she saw a great, black dog, leash tied around a lamppost, tail thumping merrily back and forth in bliss as a pair of pre-pubescent boys scratched and petted him adoringly.

Miriam was certain that the fudge in her stomach had suddenly transformed into clay.

All of the blood that had rushed out of her head now surged back with such a force that it had her jumping from the barstool, scooping up her purchases, and marching in a blood-red haze straight through the bar and out the door, deafening her to the woman’s indignant, “Well, she could at least have had the manners to say ‘Thank you.’”

The crystal-clear murder in her eyes as she approached the dog had the two unwitting boys backing nervously away and then running as if for their lives. The thump-thump-thump of a tail came to an abrupt halt.

She simply stood there, staring down at the beast, fuming, no, seething with temper. Her breath hissed out menacingly through clenched teeth and was able to communicate admirably more efficiently than any words she could have produced.

And suddenly, as if inspired, she reached down into one of the bags and fiercely yanked out a clear plastic sack containing several fat, honey-colored squares. Then she dumped all the other bags and boxes unceremoniously to the ground and held out the toffee perilously close to the dog’s considerable snout.

“See this?” she asked, swinging the bag back and forth in front of the dog’s hungry eyes. “Huh? See this?”

Then the turned on her heel, strode over to the nearest rubbish bin, and dropped the toffees with a loud, satisfying clump.

“Those,” she said, dusting off her hands and smiling viciously, “were for you.” Then she crouched down to her haunches, brought her face very close to the animal’s, and half-whispered, half-screamed, “Have you completely lost your mind?”

The giant dog responded by wiping a wet, foul-smelling tongue along the length of her face.

“Ugh!” She wiped her dripping face with the hopeless leather jacket. But she held her ground. “Do you realize the danger you’re putting yourself in right now? Anyone could have seen you coming here, and figured out where you came from! Could you really be so reckless?!”

The dog, looking quite pleased with itself, let out a rather cheerful bark.

“That was a rhetorical question. Yeah, that’s right, look all righteous about it now, but don’t come whimpering to me when Dumbledore gets a load of this.”

She pushed herself back up to pace and mutter. When she turned back to look at Snuffles, she could feel her resolve crumbling. He sat there, panting rapidly, looking at her with, dare she think it, puppy dog eyes. She could sense his hopefulness, and, she thought with a sense of pity, desperation. The woman’s ramblings came back to her, “…just delighted to be out and about, I tell you…”

Finally, she crouched back down, and began to untie the leash from the lamppost.

“Alright,” she said, as sternly as she could manage. “ Since you’re out, you’re out, and there’s nothing I can do about that now. And damn it all, I still have some errands to run. But you have to behave yourself, understand me? Because I’m not coming to your defense if this whole thing turns out disastrous, which it undoubtedly will.”

Snuffles let out a happy bark and jumped on her, tongue licking ferociously, the strength of his forepaws pushing Miriam firmly back onto her butt with a nice, graceful thud.

"Did I mention you make a hideous dog?”

“Twice,” answered Sirius happily, swinging his human-legs from the desk in Miriam’s basement office. “Although I think the words ‘ugly’ and ‘obnoxious’ may have been substituted. Luckily, I make up for those reprehensible flaws by being a charming and delightful human being the majority of the time.” He flashed a dazzling smile at Miriam, who snorted loudly.

Miriam was presently bowed over a counter balancing a colorful array of beakers and vials, and one medium-sized, smoking cauldron. Lifting a small green bottle, she bent low and squinted, all of her concentration intensely focused on releasing just the exact amount into the cauldron.

“Can I help?”

“Shhh!” Miriam scolded, not taking her eyes off the bottle for a second, but swatting at Sirius like she would a fly with her free hand. He grinned.

“There,” she said, and corked the bottle. She stirred once, twice.

“Did Lupin mention it was Snape who made the potion for him during his teaching stint at Hogwarts?”

“No, he didn’t,” Miriam said, frowning. “Huh. Of all people. Interesting, isn’t it, how things change?”

Sirius watched her features closely.

“You could say that Lupin’s circumstances changed a lot for us, as well.”

Miriam made a low humming noise, and returned to staring fixedly into the now bubbling cauldron, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yes, you could. It certainly wasn’t what one would consider the customary approach to mending a relationship, but still…” she said quietly, and now looked up. “Whatever works, I suppose.” Then she flushed, cleared her throat, and looked so deeply into the cauldron it was as though she could fall in at any moment.

“Just one more thing…” Miriam picked up a tiny vial containing a dark, ominous liquid, and gave it a few shakes before uncorking it. She shot Sirius an apprehensive look and took a deep breath.

“Here goes,” she said, and dumped the entire contents into the cauldron. There was a minor explosion that had Miriam stumbling back into Sirius’s lap, and filled the entire basement with billowing, brown smoke.

Coughing fiercely, Miriam clapped her hands together and squealed, “It worked!”

“What the bloody hell was that?” Sirius demanded, trying desperately to wave away the cloudy fumes.

“The chocolate flavoring.” Miriam pushed herself awkwardly out of Sirius’ lap and walked over to peer cautiously into the cauldron. “Now all it has to do is sit for a while, and it’ll be all ready by the time Lupin arrives.” Then she stretched back, yawning hugely.

It was, Sirius thought, a pleasure to watch her. But he said, “You should take a nap before then. You’re exhausted.”

Miriam shrugged, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye-sockets.

“I suppose,” she said, and lowered her hands. She blinked once, twice. Swiveled around the room, frowning. Sirius had disappeared.

Miriam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. But the next yawn emptied her of doubt, and, thinking only of sleep, she headed for her second-story bedroom.

And there he was. Lying as innocently as a docile, household pet, he was sprawled out on top of her bed covers, an enormous, black and furry lump.

“Oh, no. No! Off, now.” She fisted her hands on her hips and strode purposely over to the lazy-looking beast occupying half her bed space. “Bad dog! Off. Oh, for Merlin’s sake. This is not going to work on me again, if nothing else but for the fact that you’re huge, and more importantly, you’re on my side!”

The dog obligingly rolled over, and flashed as much of a grin as she would think possible for a dog.

Miriam blew out a large breath.

“Fine,” she said, and tentatively sat on the edge of the bed. “But only because I’m too tired right now to shove you off.” Slowly, she lowered herself into a very stiff, very straight horizontal position on her back. She closed her eyes. A moment later, the wind was knocked out of her with an, “Oof!” and Snuffles plopped himself down, as content as could be, right over her stomach.

Miriam opened her eyes and lifted her head, speechless (and breathless). She stared, opened mouth, at the dog that was lying peacefully over her belly, pinning her to the mattress. Then, in a gesture of pure defeat, she threw her head back onto the pillows and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

“All I’m going to say is you had better still be a dog when I wake up.”

But she lay a hand on his shaggy head anyway, and fell asleep, absently scratching and petting. She dreamt of full moons and an incriminating secret.