So I have not exactly finished my other project just yet. But I wanted to get back to this series. I missed it :/ I don't know if that is sad or not. Whatever ... This series always puts me in a good mood, reminds me of a better time, rainbows, unicorns, cute little puppies with cute little puppy hats doing cute little puppy things, and other such nonsense.

But I digress ... Moving on ...

Actually there is nothing else. Enjoy the beginning of Sins of the Father ...

- Chapter One -

The House of Finn

"They're beautiful," Hermione said as she took in the fragrances of the foxglove flowers climbing one of the many trellises that laced the vast garden maze on the Finn family estate.

She could not help but notice that the foxgloves bore a striking resemblance to the paper flowers she had received the previous year. Nor did she fail to notice the hummingbirds that fluttered around, stealing the sweet nectar from other nearby flowers before zipping off to find a new target.

This, she found strange at first, as she had never known any species of hummingbird to exist in Europe. She had, in fact, never seen any class of hummingbird that matched their appearance. However, Killian had explained that his family had imported them decades prior and bred them on the grounds to frequent their gardens. A gift from his grandfather to his grandmother, and a luxury, such as it was, for the wealthy and influential.

"Blame my mother for this," Killian said as he glanced about. "She's strangely infatuated with all of these decorative bits of foliage."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she continued on through the maze. She had expected such a comment from him. It would be far too soft to admit any affection for flowers. It was, however, his idea to take a stroll through the gardens. As a matter of fact, the whole day had been his idea from the moment he unexpectedly showed up on Hermione's doorstep and Apparated them both to his family's estate. He claimed he simply had grown tired of conversing through letters. Hermione knew differently.

As soon as they arrived, it became apparent to Hermione that, aside from the servants and the family's odd looking house-elf, Killian was alone. He soon after admitted that his mother and father were attending an afternoon luncheon, giving them free reign to wander the grounds without his father's judging eyes monitoring them.

"How long has this land been in your family?" she asked as she walked along, periodically stopping to admire an odd flower.

"Too long," Killian answered. "Generations. Each one adding something new. My mother created this garden to connect the other smaller gardens dotting the area, my grandfather had the Solarium added, my great-grandmother had a library built and furnished, mostly to keep my great-grandfather out of her hair. Or at least that's what I've been told—"

"You mean the library?" Hermione cut with mocked surprise. "The one that you're always bragging about in your letters? The one with all of the first editions?"

"The same," Killian replied, teasing with a proper tone and elegant wave of his hand.

"Well, I should like to see it, then," Hermione said with similar tone and gesture. "If you will escort me, sir," she went on, holding out her arm.

"I should be delighted," Killian answered as he took Hermione by the hand. "But first, we must find our way out of this labyrinth."

Hermione laughed. "You don't know the way?"

"Are you joking?" Killian teased. "I never come in here. Wretched botanicals."

Hermione laughed again, shoving Killian with her shoulder as they walked along. After several minutes of twisting and turning their way through the garden maze, they eventually found themselves at the exit overlooking an enormous field that stretched several hundred yards toward the family castle. It was nothing near the size of Hogwarts, but the stone towers and ramparts alongside a lily-laden millpond that stretched across the backside of the castle had a certain air of Celtic influenced architecture and culture that was pleasing to the eyes.

"Kuulic!" Killian called out. Seconds later, a twitchy little house-elf Apparated beside him.

As when they arrived and Hermione first encountered the Finn family's loyal servant, she found his appearance interesting. Killian explained that he was born with a rare deformity that twisted his features and proportions. His beady black eyes, smaller head, and frail hands were quite the contrast to any house-elf Hermione had ever encountered. Even his hair, like fine fur covering his form, set him apart, giving him much more the appearance of an upright weasel in ragged clothing than any of the servants whom worked the kitchens and dormitories at Hogwarts. His idiosyncrasies, however, were entirely on point.

"Master calls for Kuulic?" the dutiful minion asked, wringing his bony fingers.

"Yes," Killian answered. "I want you to…" He cut himself off, observing Hermione's expression of disapproval. "What I mean is," he started again with a sigh. "Would you be so kind as to grant me a favor?"

"Favor, Master?" asked the confused house-elf, staring at Killian as if something were terribly wrong.

"Hermione and I are heading to the library," Killian explained, rolling his eyes as he tried to please Hermione with his presentation while not confusing Kuulic any further with his mannerisms. "I expect my parents will be arriving soon. Would you please watch for them and inform me of when they arrive?"

"Master askings Kuulic?" Kuulic questioned, dropping his shoulders and head. "Why askings? Master never askings?"

"Because it's polite?" Hermione explained.

"Polite?" Kuulic asked on. It was clear that the concept was lost on him.

"Yes," Hermione explained. "It's the way decent individuals behave amongst one another."

Kuulic appeared to ponder this radical idea, scratching his head and, for some reason, finding it necessary to count on his fingers. What he was counting, exactly, Hermione could not begin to guess. After a moment, he simply looked up at Killian and shrugged.

"It's all right," Killian assured, shaking his head. "You can go."

"Yes, Master," Kuulic said with a bow, a wave of relief rolling across his face. "Kuulic hopes he has been politings with you," he added to Hermione.

"That's not—" Hermione started, but Killian raised his hand to cut her off as Kuulic Disapparated with a pop.

"Please don't confuse him any further," Killian pleaded. "He's probably run off to beat himself with a rolling pin."

"You're not serious?" Hermione gasped, remembering how Dobby used to punish himself when he felt he had failed his master.

"Of course not," Killian replied with a grin. "He's not allowed to touch the rolling pins."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, unsure, as usual, whether Killian was being serious or clever. One way or the other, he was certainly amused with her reaction, his grin beaming as he headed down the long walk towards the castle.

What an idiot, Hermione thought as she eventually followed and caught up. Forgivable, but still an idiot.

. . .

As they entered the library, Hermione was immediately taken aback. Again, it was obviously no comparison to the library at Hogwarts, but was truly a thing to behold for a private collection, nonetheless.

There were two tiers in the room, overridden with several dozen rows of dusty tomes and other sorts of simpler literature. The walls on the lower tier were lined to the base of the second tier with first editions of every book that Hermione could imagine, and even more of which she had never even heard.

Killian made his way to one of two lacy Persian sofas that were set across from an enormous hearth lined on either side by granite ravens clutching a coat of arms bearing the Finn family crest. Hermione grabbed several books and made her way to the sofa opposite Killian, only then noticing the two overweight Mastiffs sleeping on the floor between the sofas.

"Don't mind them," Killian assured. "Glorified throw rugs. Black one's Seti, spotted one's Anubis. They won't bother you. It would require far too much effort on their part."

Anubis lifted his flabby head for a moment, almost as if to make a point, only to drop it again in lazy fashion. Hermione cautiously tiptoed through the beasts and made herself comfortable on the sofa, flipping through the ancient leather-bounds she had procured. Killian, on the other hand, seemed content to just sit, throwing his arms over the back of the sofa, dropping his head on the cushions, and resting his feet on the back of Anubis, who did not even flinch.

"I don't know how you can stand it," Hermione said, not looking up from her book. "I would never leave this room."

Killian sighed, giving a halfhearted glance about the library. "You'd be amazed at how easy it is for me to leave all of these rooms."

Hermione looked at him and shook her head dismissively. The ones who have it all appreciate it the least. As she was about to return to her pile of volumes, she suddenly noticed a particularly interesting book lying on the end table next to the sofa Killian was sitting on.

"What is that?" she asked quizzically.

Killian followed Hermione's eyes, saw the book, grabbed it, and gave it a quick once-over before tossing it to Hermione.

"It's a memoir," he said simply. "Baron Ludwig von Lichtenstein."

"Dear God!" Hermione gasped, amazed and horrified at the same time. "Why is it here?"

"Because this is the library," Killian answered as if the question might have been rhetorical. "Where would you have it be?"

"Killian, he was a Dark Wizard!" Hermione said, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. "You can't have this here! What if the Ministry did a sweep and—"

"It's just a piece of literature," Killian interrupted assuredly, "not some Dark talisman. I assure you, it's quite legal. We have a whole section filled on the subject."

"Where?" Hermione asked, closing the book and setting it aside.

"Upstairs," Killian answered, gesturing towards a spiraling set of gunmetal stairs that wound up to the second tier of the library.

Before he turned back, Hermione was off the sofa and heading up the stairs. Killian rolled his eyes, sighed, sat forward, and looked down at Anubis.

"Are you going to go after her, then?" he asked of the enormous beast.

Anubis rolled over onto his side, his layers of fat spilling over as if he were melting across the rug. Killian waved him off and headed after Hermione, who was already on the second tier, wandering through the aisles of books.

"If you're looking for direction," Killian teased as he caught up to Hermione, "all you have to do is ask."

Hermione ignored Killian's comment, her eyes dancing across the titles that lined the shelves. He had not lied. Every book on every Dark wizard and Dark art imaginable was neatly categorized before her. Memoirs, biographies, even books on incantations, which led Hermione to seriously doubt Killian's assuredness that the books were legal. It seemed against all logic that How-To books involving the practices of the Dark Arts would be something that remained unlisted in the Ministry's decrees of contraband.

Descending Magic by Alfonse Tanzar

Summoning by Asim aal Deus

Lords and Masters of Voldavia by Artimus Tempus

The last one caught Hermione's eye.

"You have fiction shelved with non-fiction?" she asked, reaching for the book by an author of whom she had never heard.

"Come again?" Killian asked.

"Lords and Masters of Voldavia," Hermione clarified, displaying the book for Killian to see.

Killian laughed to himself as he reached for the book, taking it and giving it a once over of his own.

"It appears, as at Hogwarts, things do not get replaced as they were taken," he said. "If only we had the services of Madam Pince."

"If only," Hermione agreed with sarcasm. "Do you know much of it?"

"Of?"

"Voldavia," Hermione clarified. "Any of the stories."

"No," Killian answered, "not much. Fiction is not exactly my genre."

Hermione knew this to be true even as she watched Killian flip through Lords and Masters of Voldavia before replacing it on the shelf in another area that was clearly not meant for fiction. So much for organization. Curious, particularly since Luna had once made mention of these stories, she went to reclaim the book before she was distracted by a series of literature. Particular literature. Dangerous literature. Literature that was far more interesting that anything of fiction.

Titles of which Hermione had never heard by authors she never knew existed, these books contained the darkest of magics, the most forbidden of incantations. As she churned through tome after tome, Hermione almost felt as though she should be hiding. It felt wrong to be reading such prose out in the open.

Killian, on the other hand, did not share in Hermione's inhibitions. Of course not, Hermione thought as she watched Killian casually walking up and down the aisle, pulling out a book here and there for a quick glance before replacing it on the shelf. Even if the books were illegal, which Hermione now very much believed them to be, it was highly unlikely that it would affect Killian's position on them. Rules were only technically broken when one is caught breaking them.

"Is this how you learned it all?" Hermione asked as she replaced one book for another.

"All of what?" Killian asked, simply to be difficult.

"Don't be a jerk," Hermione chastised, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Sort of," Killian conceded. "My sister actually introduced me to this wondrous world. She came upon this section in her second year; I was about seven. She was absolutely fascinated by it. As are you, apparently."

"Your sister taught you the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked quizzically. She had never actually met Killian's sister, but by the way he spoke of her, she did not seem the type to dabble in such things. Then again, Hermione never thought herself to be the type, either.

"Attempted," Killian corrected. "She was far better at it than I ever was. She has great control, greater than I could ever hope for. But it was stupid and dangerous," he added with a point.

A quick flash of the Room of Requirement passed through Hermione's head. She shuddered and shrugged it off. She never wanted to feel that way again. Clearing her mind of the subject, Hermione replaced all of the books and joined Killian, who was leaning up against the banister overlooking the hearth on the first floor.

"It's nice," she said as she leaned up on the banister.

"What's nice?" Killian asked.

"All of this," Hermione answered. "The garden, the library, your lazy dogs."

"I'm glad you approve," Killian said, tipping his head. "I wish you could have come sooner. This summer has been terribly mundane."

"Well, the new term will be starting shortly," Hermione offered.

"Wonderful," Killian teased. "Finally, we can carry on under the cover of darkness again."

Hermione smiled and nudged Killian with her shoulder. Before Killian could respond with a gesture of his own, Kuulic Apparated in a wisp.

"They're returned, Master," he said to Killian before offering Hermione an awkward bow. "Politeness to you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was not worth attempting to explain. At least he was trying. Killian left the banister and walked towards the door that led out to the second floor of the foyer. He carefully opened it a crack and peered through.

"I assume we can expect your full financial support?" came the voice of an older man.

"Of course," came another voice that Hermione recognized from the Howler Killian had received from his father the previous year. "No assumptions are necessary. I'll make the arrangements immediately."

"Excellent," the first voice sounded with approval. "We'll be meeting at Spinner's End in a few weeks. This news will be pleasing, I'm certain. Particularly now, situations being what they are. But back to my original query in regards to your…" the voice tapered off as Killian closed the door and made his way back to Hermione.

"Ambassador duties?" she asked.

"Ever the diplomat," Killian answered. "Time to go."

"So soon?" Hermione teased. "I think I might like to meet your father."

"I'd like to be king of the world," Killian pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "We all have our little disappointments."

With that, Killian took Hermione's hand. Feeling a tug in her belly followed by a quick secondary sensation like being pressed through a sheet of water, they were back at Hermione's house, a stone's throw from the doorstep. Hermione, seeing where they had Apparated, turned to Killian and cracked him across the chest.

"You're going to get us caught!" she chastised.

Killian laughed dismissively. "Caught by who?"

"The neighbors," Hermione said, exasperated. "Or my parents. Did you think about them?"

"Your parents wouldn't mind," Killian assured with a smile. "They believe me to be a perfect gentlemen."

"They don't know any better," Hermione retorted, crinkling her nose. Although she had to admit he did present an excellent first impression for them earlier that day.

Seeing no remorse in Killian's expression, Hermione finally gave up and dismissed his complete lack of responsible behavior.

Absolutely impossible, she thought.

It was amazing to her that she enjoyed Killian's company as much as she did, being that more often than not she felt like giving him a swift kick to the shin. Still, they connected in some odd way. How that was, Hermione would not even try to understand. They were opposites in nearly every facet, with the exception of their mutual desire for perfection. This common ground, incidentally, often pit them against each other in one form of intellectual competition or another.

"Guess this is the last time we'll get to be out in broad daylight for a while," Killian pointed out as Hermione turned and sat down on the stoop in front of the door.

"It's awful," Hermione lamented.

"I know," Killian agreed, sitting beside her.

"It's just," Hermione began, stopped, and then began again. "Last year was utterly ... It was horrid."

"Not all of it," Killian pointed out with a soft smile, sliding his hand over Hermione's and gently interlacing their fingers.

"I know," Hermione agreed, smiling in return. "But that night … And those weeks that followed … I don't ever want to feel like that again."

"Well, don't pick any more fights with Slytherins," Killian teased. "And don't ask me to teach you anything," he added with a nudge. "If we work within those guidelines, I think it should makes things significantly easier."

"You know what I mean …" Hermione sighed with disgust. "I hate denying you. I just wish we could be like everyone else. Who cares what they all think?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Killian said regretfully.

"I know," Hermione conceded.

It was far more complicated than that. Especially with what Draco had revealed to her last year. If it got out that she and Killian were … well, whatever they were, it would certainly complicate things. Becoming an outcast among her peers in Gryffindor, having to choose between Killian and her own House. It was not a decision she wanted to make.

On the other hand, even though they could not be out in the open, she also was not going to take any chances.

"Wait here," she said as she got up quickly and entered her house.

Moments later, she returned, holding a silver necklace with a small silver ring strung through it. She knelt down behind Killian and fastened it around his neck as he looked at her quizzically.

"What's this?" he asked as Hermione made her way back beside him and sat down.

"It's one of my rings," she answered with a smirk of her own. "I'm marking you."

Killian laughed. "Marking me?"

"That's right." Hermione said. "I have ears. I've heard what some of the girls have said about you, Slytherin or not. I'm not about to sit around while some gaggle of silly little school girls follow you around like lost puppies."

Killian laughed again. "Now you're just feeding my ego."

"Your ego doesn't need feeding," Hermione assured with a sigh. "It needs a leash."

"Aren't you worried someone might recognize your ring?" Killian asked as he examined the tiny silver circle hanging from his neck.

"No one at school would recognize it," Hermione explained. "I've never worn it there. But it's clearly a girl's ring, so anyone who sees it will know that you're not available," she added cleverly as she turned her nose in the air.

Killian raised an eyebrow, leaning into Hermione. "And how do I mark you, then?"

"You don't," Hermione gasped in jest, pushing Killian away. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Ah, trust," Killian conceded with a sigh as he stood up and stretched. "The mark of the fool."

"You're not leaving already, are you?" Hermione asked as she stood and dusted her pants.

"I should probably head back," Killian answered. "I'm sure my father's looking for me by now. Probably has some political drabble of which he feels I need to be informed."

"Well, I guess if you have to go …" Hermione sighed and put on the best faux forlorn expression she could muster.

Seemingly amused with the performance, Killian laughed to himself. "Then again, what do I care about political drabble?"

With that, he sat back down on the stoop, Hermione at his side. Together, they remained there for over an hour, watching the sun go down over the horizon, talking endlessly about the most important bits of absolute nothingness they could come up with. Summer would end soon, and with it, these simple moments as well. Hermione put her head on Killian's shoulder, pondering what the year would bring. It certainly could not be worse than last year. Absolutely impossible.