A/N: Inspiration comes and goes, and sometimes it gets hard to write for my other stories when I have no idea what's going to happen next. So, while I was beating my head against the desk, my beta and I were like "what about this idea" and BAM! This story! Hope you like it.

[Summary]: [Hermione/Loki] Loki has been kicked out of Ásgarðr for bad behaviour. Odin thinks his frost giant heritage is to blame. But is it really?[AU/NC/EWE] (Not even trying for canon, sorry)

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Loki (cough, I mean Rose), Dutchgirl01, and the Flyby Commander Shepard

Warnings: M for delicate sensibilities

Citrus Warning: Bring sugar for the end of this chapter

Disclaimer: I don't don't own the characters. I just play in the sandbox.


Mischief Managed

I guess I had what you could call an unconventional upbringing. - Joaquin Phoenix

Loki laid his head down on the library desk. He was bored. He was so sick and tired of it all, really. There was only so much a god could do after they'd been kicked out of Ásgarðr for what basically came down to "bad behaviour."

Thor and Frigga had tried repeatedly to get to the heart of the problem, but the truth was that even Loki himself didn't have a clue as to why everything seemed to piss him off so much these days. Conversation pissed him off. The weather brassed him off. Cheerful voices around him made him want to scream and smash random things into random people. Odin, after seeing the fifth statue of some legendary Asgardian hero bite the dust, had decided that Loki needed to take an extended break from Ásgarðr, so he was unceremoniously kicked out the Bifröst and exiled to poor, unfortunate Miðgarðr.

Glorious.

Only it wasn't glorious at all. It was bloody well BORING!

Loki stared around the room, desperately looking to find someone, something, anything of interest. Even the books weren't calling to him, and that was why he was here to begin with. Books usually did the trick.

Bloody hell.

Loki smashed his head against the desk repeatedly. Deciding that the library needed a little— something, he wiggled his fingers and changed all the posters so they were turned upside-down. Then he randomly moved the books from 475.3 to 657.2. Quickly getting bored with that mild amusement, he ensorcelled the chairs so they wouldn't give up the "victim" when they wanted to get out and buck them off when they tried to sit down. Of course, it only did that when no one was around to SEE it actually happening, so the people thought they were going absolutely barking mad.

Even that game eventually lost its appeal, and he really, really wanted to get under someone's skin. Playing with the fisherman got boring fast. The little towns here and there— all of them pretty much did the same thing. Scream at the same time. Run around like they were on fire when unduly stressed.

But then he'd found this place— and it seemed like some sort of a school. People ran around in boringly uniform robes with one four different types of school emblem, he presumed, stitched upon it. They carried their books. They had dorms, but there was something strangely… different about it.

No one saw him, unless he chose to allow them to, and when they did, they just saw some ordinary student who was easily missed and, oddly, a bit hard to describe when they tried to think about it. He liked it that way. He stole food off the tables, had an entire well-appointed bathroom to himself, thanks to encasing an annoying floating whiny ghost-girl (who had had the sheer audacity to peek in on him in the bath) in solid ice and throwing her into the lake and bonking a rather startled-looking massive squid squarely on the head. Or what passed for its' head, anyway.

"Sorry about that, mate," Loki said. "No hard feelings, yeah?"

The squid still seemed slightly perturbed. Then again, Loki found that being peeped on while performing one's morning ablutions was a little more than perturbing in itself, so—

The classes in this school were strange. Archaic in some ways and yet intriguingly advanced in certain others. They all carried around sticks and couldn't seem to do much without them, thought it seemed some people had a distinctly harder time than others even while using said sticks.

Once he had switched the sticks around, changing them so they looked like the old one. People were turning themselves into chickens, blinding themselves, and performing all manner of comedic acts in a futile attempt to do what they thought should be perfectly normal. It wasn't, and it had been utterly hysterical to witness. Of course, by the time the older man with a white beard down to his waist came to check everything out, Loki had put all the sticks back to normal. Ah, that had been absolutely glorious.

This magic these humans wielded fascinated him. It seemed to rely on those pesky twigs, or "wands" as they called them. He didn't like how they had to have a wand to perform magic. It seemed so backwards to him. If he had to whip out a wand and wave it around talking in an ancient Asgardian tongue every time he wanted to create a double of himself, he'd have told his mother she could just keep her feeble magic. Ugh.

They had some rather odd rules too. Can't create food. Why not? He could create food. He could create strange frost beasts too— but he had been very careful to keep that particular secret from both Frigga and Odin. It didn't seem quite as… Asgardian as it should have been.

Yet, they could turn stones into chickens. They could turn animals into goblets, desks into pachyderms— well, the more talented ones could. Some of them struggled with the easiest things. Well, if you made that chicken, why couldn't you just kill and eat the damn thing? I mean, if you were that hungry, why not? Loki really didn't get that at all. They made water come out of their wands easily enough. Just make yourself a kettle, fill it with water, and throw the damn chicken into it. Honestly was that truly so hard? Even Loki knew how to make chicken soup. All-Father's curling toenails, it wasn't that hard!

He spotted a curl-haired girl sitting alone in the back of the library, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He licked his lips in anticipation. Perfect!

A large stack of books sat beside her, and one was overly fat with pages and deckled edges. He concentrated on it, willing his magic where he wanted it and releasing with with a thought.

RrrrrRRRRrrrrrr, the book growled, sprouting fangs and a pair of menacing elliptical eyes. It focused on the girl and opened its mouth. Its binding wriggled as it prepared to leap.

SPRONG!

The book launched itself into the air at her.

The girl didn't even look up as her hand went to the book's spine, slowly caressed it, and the book gave a happy coo-growl, flopped over on its back, and let her read from it.

Loki's jaw dropped to the floor.

When she was done, she closed the book, setting it back on the pile, and the book whimpered softly at her, trying to jump off the desk like lonely puppy and follow her out of the library. It would have too, had the hook-nosed vulture of a woman who ran the library not snatched up the book and sent it careening back to the shelf it belonged to.

The book gave a sad little whimper as it was forced back into its place.

Loki just stared after the girl who had just left. Who was that?

As he walked by the whimpering book, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for it. It strained against the chains that held it shackled to the the shelf.

Did books here frequently attempt to run away from the library?

He touched the chain on the book and vanished it, curious to see what would happen. He had nothing but time, after all. The book licked his hand in gratitude, hopped off the shelf and wiggled itself into the rucksack of a boy who was just leaving the library— right under the nose of that odd vulture woman.

Well, that was pretty interesting.

Wait, did he just get licked by a book? Loki looked down at his hand where a little bit of book-paste drool covered his skin. Yes… yes, he certainly had.


Hermione woke up to the sound of soft snoring.

"Aw, Crooks, you're snoring again," Hermione muttered. Her hand reached out from under her duvet to pull her sleeping half-Kneazle in underneath the warm covers.

There was a soft, growling purr and a snuggle, and Hermione patted Crooks, slightly curious as to how Crooks ended up sleeping in such a strange position. He seemed to have a pretty strange feel to him this evening. Weird.

"Mmrowl," Crooks meowed, hugging her hand with his paws.

Wait. If Crooks had been out there, then who, or what, had been in the bed with her?

Hermione pulled back the covers and then covered herself again. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then lifted it again.

"Hi?" Hermione said a bit tentatively.

The tome that had attempt to follow her out of the library earlier, only to find itself swiftly retrieved by Madam Pince, had somehow found its way into her bed and was now cuddling up next to her like, well, her cat, Crookshanks. Professor Snape had given her permission to read the book to help her with the complex conditioning required for her to successfully connect with her Animagus form. She had been having strange meditations that didn't seem quite right. She had felt scales but also feathers, and Minerva had also agreed that maybe Salazar's old grimoires might contain some sort of clue as to what she might be dreaming about. So far, she had struck out completely, but—

The grimoire was purring against her, begging for pets, and she found herself stroking the book's spine and between its, well, eyes. It was, oddly, far more well-behaved than the book Hagrid had chosen for his class, the rather infamous 'Monstrous Book of Monsters'. Yet, this was, she thought, one of Salazar Slytherin's famed grimoires. She was going to be in so much trouble!

PurrRRrrrRRRRRRRRrrrrr.

"Aww," Hermione said softly, gently stroking the book as she would her cat.

Crookshanks crawled into the bed with her and lay on top of the purring book, radiating pure contentment as only a feline could.

Well, she supposed, today is a lie-in day.

She was out like a light to the sounds of twin purring.


"You said you woke up to the grimoire… cuddled up next to you in bed?" Snape asked, his eyebrow raising like a ramp into his hair.

"I swear I didn't steal it out of the library!" Hermione insisted, eyes wide.

"Don't be daft," Snape snapped. "Anyone who knows you at all would know that the last thing you'd ever do is steal out of the library. Out of my storage cabinet, however…"

Hermione flushed bright red. The grimoire purred and moved under her hand for more pets. She gave her professor a look of utter frustration.

Snape stirred his cauldron. "The asphodel, please."

Hermione walked over to the cabinet and extracted the required jar. She walked back over and studied the burbling cauldron's contents. As Snape watched, she carefully placed a pinch of asphodel into the burbling mixture in three specific areas and made a gesture with her fingers over it.

"Ah," Snape clucked approvingly.

Hermione smiled and put the jar away.

"I will tell the Headmaster about the book so that you will not, as you fear, get into trouble," Snape said with a bemused shake of his head. "One of your fellow seventh years probably decided to get into mischief and the book took a shine to you. Merlin only knows if Salazar Slytherin himself charmed it to follow you around once it realised you actually wanted to read it."

Hermione looked dubious. "I doubt Salazar Slytherin would want a Mu—"

Snape cut her off with a warning hiss, and Hermione immediately looked down.

Snape stirred the potion anti-clockwise and put down the spoon. "Hermione," he said lowly. "Do not ever use that foul word, especially when referring to yourself. It is not a casual word or even a word befitting any social situation."

"I'm sorry, Master," Hermione apologised sincerely.

Snape sighed. "Come here, foolish girl."

Hermione shuffled up next to him, and Snape's strong arms pulled her into a fond hug. She wilted against her master with a sigh.

"I've been training you since your second year, Hermione," Snape said with a sad expression. "I have never once believed you serving of such a foul example of vernacular. You should never even consider using it to describe yourself. No matter what certain members of my insufferable house seems inclined to believe after returning to school after a pureblood family reunion."

"At least it has gotten a little better since Harry stabbed that ruddy diary with a basilisk fang," Hermione sighed.

"Somehow I doubt if Dumbledore or the Dark Lord ever imagined that basilisk venom was capable of causing a chain reaction that could affect all of the Horcruxes and take every last one of them out in a single blow," Snape said, slowly shaking his head at the memory of the momentous event in question.

"I just wish—" Hermione sighed deeply, clinging to Snape's robes.

"Hermione Granger Snape," Snape said sternly. "Your parents would have most assuredly been proud of you." Snape's face twisted painfully. "I am proud of you."

Hermione looked up into her adopted father's face and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a child of eleven again.

Snape soothed her hair. "Stupid girl," he said warmly. "You could have had your pick of would-be adoptive parents when your own parents had their accident. Why, of all those who asked for such an honor, did you bloody well choose me?"

"Language, father," Hermione teased with a loving smile, even imitating his rather distinctive drawl.

Snape tutted. "Of all the things you could possibly pick up from me, you choose to pick up my personal mannerisms?"

"I can sweep from a room with a dramatic flair like the best of them now," Hermione informed him cheekily.

"Hn," Severus grunted. "Pick up your clingy book, which I have no doubt will not choose leave your side any more than that obnoxiously orange fuzz ball of yourse. Minerva wants you working on your meditations before breakfast, by the way."

Hermione mumbled something into his robes.

"Hrm, what's that?"

"Yes, father."

"Hnn," Snape grunted, placing his hand on her head.

"Come on then," Hermione said to the book, that was chasing one of Severus's quills around his desk.

The grimoire gave up the chase and bounced toward her, bumping into the book of Arithmancy Hermione had sitting on the edge. The grimoire growled at the other book and bit it solidly on the spine. The Arithmancy book shuddered, sprouted golden fur and sparkles, two gemstone eyes, and a pair of delicate crystalline fangs. It tussled with the grimoire and growled and hissed, and then they both hopped into Hermione's arms, purring madly.

Severus facepalmed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Off with you, silly girl. I'll go tell Dumbledore. Just… don't go into the library for a while. Otherwise the entire bloody library is going to want to follow you home."


"RrrrRRrrrRRRrrrr!"

"Oi, gerroff!" Ron complained loudly. "Get this bloody book off me!" He tried to kick the Grimoire, but the snarling Arithmancy tome promptly chomped on his ankle.

"If you wouldn't behave like such an obnoxious prat, Ronald, they wouldn't be trying to take bites out of you."

"Grim, Rith," Hermione called, and the books dropped off Ron's abused legs and came in for their share of the cuddles.

PUrrrrRrRRRrrrRRrrrr.

"Bloody unnatural is what that is," Ron muttered sulkily, sitting next to Harry. Harry shook his head silently, busily working on his homework. "Oi, Harry. How are you so calm?"

"I'm studying," Harry said, scratching away with his quill. "Those two never bother you when you're studying."

Ron crossed his arms, silent for the moment.

"Hey, Ron, our N.E.W.T.'s are coming up soon, yeah," Harry said, quilling something else down on the parchment.

"Surprised you didn't just take em early like 'Mione," Ron snarked, wrinkling his nose in clear disgust. "Just do a little bow and curtsy for greasy old Snape and he'd surely let you, right?"

Rrrrr!

The two tomes chomped down hard on Ron's elbows, causing him to scream shrilly like a little girl.

"Weasel, don't you ever learn not to be a sodding idiot?" Draco muttered, sitting down next to Hermione and breaking out a large tin of biscuits. "Mum says try the peppermint ones. They're the ones Dobby didn't sneeze on."

Hermione eyed Draco suspiciously.

"I'm kidding, but she did highly recommend the peppermint ones," Draco said with a wink.

Hermione tentatively picked a mint biscuit out of the tin. "Thanks. I think."

Draco elbowed Harry and thrust the tin towards him, and Harry plucked a random biscuit off the top and said his garbled thanks with his mouth full.

Draco just rolled his eyes. He opened up one of his books and began to read.

"You figure out that Arithmancy equation Professor Vector gave us yesterday?" Hermione asked.

"No, I'm convinced she gave the thing to us in some sort of obscure ancient form of cypher," Draco muttered.

Hermione nudged him.

"Whatttt?" Draco bemoaned.

Hermione gave him a look.

Theo wrapped his arms around Draco and worked his mouth for him. "Please help me with my Arithmancy homework, my divine goddess Hermione. Pleeeeeease?"

Draco turned red and promptly beat on Theo with his fists as the other wizard snatched a biscuit from the tin with a wiggled brow.

"I really wish you'd stop calling me that," Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh as she scribbled notes on Draco's parchment, circling one area and pointing to another.

Draco stared down at what she'd written, immediately facepalmed, and grudgingly corrected his work.

Theo shrugged and smiled disarmingly. "I'm telling you, Hermione, you're going to be a quetzalcoatl, and they are ancient gods."

Hermione slammed her head against the desk, and Grim and Rith bounced over to cushion her head. "Can't I just have messed up my Animagus meditations instead of assuming that feathers and scales equals some ancient Mesoamerican feathered serpent god?"

Theo snorted. "Why dream small? You're a Gryffindor, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Theo. "Simply a realist."

"Gryffindors are incapable of being realistic," Theo taunted.

Harry snickered into his sleeve.

Hermione glared at Harry, and Rith promptly bit his arm.

"Ow! I apologise! I swear, I apologise!" Harry yelped, trying to pry the ever-protective book off his arm.

Hermione burst into giggles and gently took Rith off of Harry, petting the golden book between the eyes until it purred and happily snuggled up against her. She frowned suddenly, waving her hand, "Protego."

Ron suddenly sprouted bunny ears and found himself sporting a stunning Princess Leia costume, complete with metallic bikini, chains and boots. Ron felt his ears, stared down at the remains of his 'clothes', and screamed, running out the Great Hall towards the school infirmary.

Hermione eyed the three wizards a bit suspiciously. "I know you lot slept over at Grimmauld and watched Muggle sci-fi movies all weekend with Sirius," she said. "So which one of you did that?"

Theo, Draco, and Harry held up their hands emphatically.

"Wasn't me!" they chimed together. "I swear!"

Hermione mumbled something disparaging in Latin.

Draco handed Hermione another biscuit. "I sneezed on this one just for you."

Hermione gave Draco a scathing sideways glance. He gave her a cheeky grin in return.

Hermione took the biscuit and held it out, and Grim and Rith squabbled over it, devouring it together.

Draco pouted. "You're no fun, Hermione Jean Snape."

"You know who my father is," Hermione said with an all-too-familiar derisive sniff.

"Uncle Professor Anti-Fun," Draco muttered. "OW!"

Rith bit his face as Grim kidney punched him.

Hermione went back to studying as Harry and Theo snickered and exchanged a galleon under the table.


Loki tapped his fingers on the table, annoyed that his spell had somehow entirely missed his intended victim and instead hit the annoying red-headed male. He wasn't too unhappy as the redhead most assuredly deserved it and his horrified reaction was quite satisfying, but his ultimate goal was finding a way to get under that bushy-haired girl's lovely skin. The magic he had used to animate the book had apparently spun the dial on the chaos wheel and and found a way to infect several other books— all of which seemed to dutifully attend the girl he kept trying to annoy. Well, not even really annoy, to be honest. He just wanted to see what happened when someone got a rise out of her. Unlike his brother, father, and even his mother— this little wisp of a girl was capable of letting just about everything roll right off of her and simply go on about her business.

Maybe it was being raised in this strange school that did it and considered that possibility.

No, he finally decided, his antics could and did still affect all of the others here.

There was something about her. Something… he just couldn't put his finger on exactly what that was, however.

Despite her apparent ease amongst the group she was currently sitting with, he couldn't help but notice that she hugged her dutiful tomes to her a little tighter as she wandered the school, often very much alone. In fact, it seemed to him that the tomes had come to realise the girl needed a good deal more companionship, as they kept sinking their teeth into other books and making more converts for her attention.

Whenever she fell asleep in the library, the books would huddle under her head and arms, giving off content and happy vibes that their mistress was resting among them. Whenever the hook-nosed vulture woman would come by, they would scatter, flopping open or stacking themselves like perfectly ordinary books, pretending so they would not be forced back onto a shelf and away from their chosen mistress. Then, just as soon as the vulture-woman gone and they were out the range of her beady-eyed scrutiny, the books would huddle around the girl again, purring and snuggling happily.

The only one that seemed to put the wayward books in their place was the orange un-feline that seemed far too intelligent to be a mere housecat. Sometimes the fluffy orange bugger would pad up to him, tail waving lazily as he stared up at him, even as no one else seemed to notice he was there. He'd then make himself at home in Loki's lap, making sure to knead so very, very close to his vulnerable male assets.

Loki found himself begrudgingly petting the orange menace even as he tried to find another way to pester the ginger feline's mistress. As he twiddled his thumbs, he made the writing on all the books appear to be backwards, causing many of the students to stare and boggle, vainly attempting to turn the page to see the writing from the other side.

Loki smirked in amusement, happy to have at least irritated someone to the point of utter frustration. Yet, when he looked over to where that infuriatingly unflappable girl was, he saw she was calmly reading her books by looking at the reflection in a hand mirror, absently stroking the book to get it to turn the page for her.

Damnation. Something, somehow had to get under her skin!

Loki scowled. The game was on.

"You, beast," Loki accused the feline in his lap. "You will reveal your human's secrets to me."

Crookshanks hissed and bit his finger.


Loki rubbed his temples. His attempts to humiliate the man who reminded him so very much of his father was failing utterly. He had turned all the objects on the man's desk into those foul-tasting lemon candies, and the man simply ate them like they were, well, candy.

He had tried to set his bird on fire (it was looking sick and almost dead anyway) but the bird turned to ash and rebirthed itself as a fluffy, adorable chick that joyfully chased Loki around, chirping madly at him. The man couldn't see him, but damn it, that ridiculous bird so obviously did.

He made all the portraits change positions, but the old man didn't even seem to notice. He made the man's beard invisible, but he continued to stroke the invisible beard like it was still there, not even missing a beat. He turned the man's robes into pink and purple fluffy bathrobe material, and everyone complimented him on the daring change in wardrobe.

Deciding to choose a few other victims, he took a page from his father's book and turned a random teacher into a wolf, hoping that he would at least eviscerate someone and cause a little movement, activity, or increased pulse rate. But no. No and no. The man just curled up in his chambers and ate chocolate before curling up to sleep in a ball formation in front of the crackling hearth.

Then he tried to get the viney plants in the greenhouse to cause trouble, and a pudgy woman came in and started waving her wand around. The plants all sat up straight and rubbed apologetically on her sleeves.

So, Loki decided to nick the strange mammals with bill-like faces and release them into the halls. The hulking man had them locked in a cage in his hut under about fifty assorted locks. That was practically crying out for an unfortunate prison break. Loki was always willing to lend a hand, so he broke all the locks and set them loose in the halls.


"They're so cuttttteeeeeeeeeeee!" Ginny squealed, picking up the little Niffler in her hands.

The Niffler squirmed and tried to get away, but Ginny cuddled it to herself as adeptly as any trap.

Luna held one upside down and massaged its abdomen, causing the wiggly creature to eject a large pile of shiny objects ranging from bottles of ink to marbles, assorted chess pieces, hair ornaments, knuts, galleons, and about fifteen butterbeer cap necklaces. "Hrm, I think I found out what happened to all of my charms." The Niffler cursed at her in Nifflerese, obviously not very happy with Luna's having robbed the robber, as it were.

Ginny tried to look into her Niffler's pouch, but the creature slapped her hands, glaring back at her. She tried to do what Luna had done, but the Niffler wriggled free and jumped away, hiding itself between the two drowsy books napping on Hermione's bed. Ginny tried to reach in and make a grab for it, but the books growled at her, snapping their tooth-lined paper maws. She took her wand and tried to stun them, but missed one. The one book lay flat open, twitching, as the other launched itself at Ginny's face.

"Eeeee!" Ginny squealed, beating the book back with a nearby pillow. "'Mione! 'MIONE! Help!"

"W-what?" Startled, Hermione looked up from the book she was reading. " What are you doing to my book?"

"Your book is attacking me!"

"Looks like you're beating the poor little guy with my pillow!" Hermione retorted. She snatched Grim out of the air and cuddled him, making soothing noises at the agitated tome.

The Grimoire purred and settled, and Hermione went back to reading her book, her hand gently stroking Grim between the eyes. Rith shook off the stunning spell, growled menacingly, and then launched himself at Ginny in a flurry of paper and snapping.

"Eeeeeeeee! Mione!"

Luna reached over and pet the book on the spine causing it to release Ginny's face. She pulled it into her lap and cuddled it as she held the Niffler under one arm and continued to study with Hermione.

"Hermione, what do you think the reason is that you don't add Agrimony in with Slowlug slime to made a base for the slowing potion?" Luna asked idly, tapping her quill against the parchment.

Hermione leaned over the bed to look, the niffler having hid itself in her hair. It looked around fearfully and dove back into Hermione's hair. "Which slowing potion?"

"There's more than one?" Luna asked.

"Well there is the one that is used to slow time, the one that is used to slow the body's metabolism, one that is—"

"This one, 'ermione!" Ginny said, pointing to the book as she wiped the blood from the vast array of paper cuts on her face.

Hermione squinted and leaned in. A stealthy paw reached out of Hermione's hair and nicked Ginny's necklace. "Oh, that one. That potion is terribly archaic. Are you sure that's the one Professor Snape wants you to write an essay about?"

"It's the only one I could find," Luna said with a sigh.

"Well, let me see if I can find—" Hermione sighed. "I can't remember which book it was in. Mine or the ones from the—"

A scruffy-looking, rainbow-furred book hopped off the shelf and into her outstretched hand. "Oh, this one!" She cooed at the book in question, planting a kiss on its edge. She tickled the spine and it eagerly opened for her.

"Here we go, a Slowing Potion for Corporeal Beings," Hermione said, tapping the page. "It uses Slowlug slime too, but it leaves out the Agrimony."

"Perfect!" Luna said. "Most excellent, in fact. Ginny, did you want to look too?"

Ginny just sighed. "Why does he always give us assignments for potions that aren't even in our textbooks?"

"I'm sure there is a copy or two in the library," Hermione assured her. "I just have one because—"

"Snape," Ginny grunted, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"I really wish you wouldn't make Professor Snape's name sound like a swear word or pond scum whenever you say it."

"He's a bloody git, Mione!"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "Luna, just put the book back when you're done, okay? I'm going for a walk."

Hermione swept from the room much like her father, with only the flutter of her robes trailing behind her before Ginny could even sputter a, "Hermione, wait! I didn't—"

RrrrRRrrRRRRRRR!

The entire bookshelf snarled and launched itself at Ginny.

Meanwhile, Luna hummed an odd tune as she industriously wrote out her essay, utterly oblivious to the shrieks and screams that were echoing off the walls.


Hermione stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, her eyes burning with the flames of her anger— a deep-rooted anger that simmered just below her pale skin. Inside, she was filled with fire like the churning, molten magma at the earth's core. Her outer face was usually calm. She learned much from her adopted father. She had learned to turn the other cheek when called a Mudblood. She learned to suppress, bury, and add her pain and indignation into that endless sea of seething, molten fire within. She buried her Gryffindor fire under a finely-crafted mask of Slytherin ice, and she covered that over with smiles or a simple lack of response.

But now— now she could feel scales moving just beneath her skin. Her skin was tight and stretching. Her body was fighting to make the fateful shift that would end all shifts.

Free.

Free us.

For over a year now, she had meticulously studied, meditated, and researched. The dreams had been vivid, confusing, and yet breathtakingly beautiful. But still she had been frightened. Afraid to allow herself the freedom to go through that final, alluring, whispering ecstasy.

Because she knew— if she let herself go to it she would be transformed down to her very soul into her true, authentic self. It called to her. It called like the song of a siren to let herself go— to become one with it and take her destined place on the cosmic wheel.

She could see it so clearly in her dreams.

Many have tried.

Tried and failed?

Tried and died.

Hermione had always found her refuge within books, but even the books told grim stories of those who struggled to obtain enlightenment to save their people, and a great many of those who died trying.

There were those who died trying to become an Animagus, caught forever in-between, trapped as an animal, overwhelmed by the alien, or locked within a human mind, believing all the while that they were something else. Professor McGonagall had learned her way into her own form as a matter of academics. She had said that many did it to reach the peak of their skill and demonstrate their mastery—

But Hermione had been dreaming of feathers and scales ever since she was a tiny child. As far back as she could remember, in fact. Long had she dreamed of the beautiful, scarlet-eyed serpent that had entwined itself around her own body and made her very soul sing of blissful completion. But then, she had come to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts hated snakes.

Snakes… hated her.

Mudblood.

Muggleborn witch.

Not even worthy of the magic that flowed through her very veins.

Her parents' death had cut her off from unconditional love. Then, Professor Snape had adopted the frantic, sobbing, heartbroken waif of a girl. He had taught her strength, will, and how to whisper potions into being that no book could, or would, ever record.

And now Ginny had just insulted the one living person who had found it within himself to love her, like there was nothing remotely redeemable about him whatsoever. Hermione's fists clenched tighter, her fingernails digging cruelly into her palms. Blood dripped onto the pristine marble below.

Free.

She climbed up onto the railing.

The wind itself beckoned to her. She could practically smell it— freedom.

Her arms crossed in front of herself, tightening, pulling in, stretching, shifting. Her fingers shortened, fused. Her humerus cracked, sliding itself backward. Her body thrummed with magic as her soul memorised every single change that was occurring. Inside of her, her very DNA was changing. Her mitochondria worked overtime. Her cells multiplied, mutated—

Free.

Her eyes began to glow. Twin suns filled her eye sockets, blazing brilliant light in the radiance.

Fragile, pathetic human skin. Begone.

Hermione flung herself into the air, seeming to just hang there , floating as if suspended by invisible strings.

"No!"

Hermione turned, her golden, burning eyes boring holes into a figure with long, glossy black hair, and pale eyes that sparkled like the ice floes in the sea. He was running towards her.

Hermione looked upon him almost sadly, but she found she could not wait any longer. The skies above beckoned to her. The stars themselves called out to her like a siren's song. And she— she herself would send out a beseeching call of her own to him, the one who had been haunting her dreams from the first time she could remember her dreams at all.

She fell back, gravity claiming her body at last, just as the whoosh of hands missed her but by a mere fraction of an inch.

Heat consumed her entire body. Molten, like her own, personal core of endless fire, molten metal and burning gas— whatever it was, it oozed out of every single pore. Scales erupted from her skin like molten leaves. Her arms pitched back, feathers bursting from her skin and then from their shafts, blooming like night flowers in the light of the moon. Her body elongated, her face extended into a massive, serpentine head with glossy scales covering every single centimeter of surface that was not covered in plumage. Emerald and blue feathers crowned her head as ruby feathers— the colour of fresh blood— erupted on her chest and flowed like water all the way down to her belly. Shimmering scales slid down her elongating tail as blue, scarlet, and green feathers erupted from the end of her tail. A mane of strikingly iridescent feathers spread across her back and head and shimmered and shone brightly. Each feather seemed to take on the radiance of the very sun itself.

"Hrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

She screamed as her body expanded and grew, expanding outward like that of the Occamy to fit any space. Her massive coils unraveled, stretching her body to its full length. Her enormous wings unfurled. She shone like the fiery sun in the very blackest depths of the Abyss.

Whump.

Whump.

Whump.

The powerful beats of her great wings thumped in the air.

"Hrrraaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

She opened her mouth wide, sending out the call that shook the nigh-endless walls and corridors of Hogwarts.

She stared down at the now very small man who gaped in frank astonishment at her from the top of the Astronomy Tower. Her golden eyes burned as she bored into him with her gaze. Her nostrils flared, long tongue extended to taste the air around him. He reached out for her—

"Hermione!"

The great feathered serpent turned to where the call had come, her massive body moving toward the main school where two figures stood on the ramparts, their wands held up to light the way. The serpent tested the air in front of them and slowly lay her head down on the castle's stone.

"Hermione, you're beautiful," Minerva praised in sheer awe, touching the golden scales on her nose with open wonder.

Snape placed his hand on her warm scales, silently communing without the use of all-too-clumsy words.

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," Hermione sang, the sound like the lows of a great sea whale. She nudged them both, lowering her head a little more in invitation.

"Are you sure, lass?"

"Hnnnnnnn," Hermione answered, nudging with her head.

Severus climbed up behind Hermione's head, nestled in her feathers, and held out his hand to pull Minerva up in front of him. They both settled in her feathers, hands wrapping around the huge shafts to remain steady.

Hermione launched into the air, casting her brilliance down upon Hogwarts as she carried two professors with her over Black Lake and to the clouds above.

She bellowed out a keening cry as her glorious radiance faded.

"I TOLD you she was a quetzalcoatl!" Theo's voice rang out down on the green.

"Mr Nott, Mr Malfoy, that is ten points each from Slytherin for being out after curfew!" Flitwick admonished. "Go back to your common room at once, please!"

"Oh, blessed serpent of the skies!" Theo yelled as they went back down the halls.

"From Above, House of Heaven

Where star people and Ancestors gather

May their blessings come to us Now

From Below, House of Earth

May the heartbeat of her crystal core

Bless us with harmonies to end all war!"

Theo and Draco disappeared down the stairs to the Slytherin dormitories, but up in the Ravenclaw girls' dorm, Luna stroked the multi-coloured book as she wrote on her parchment. She hummed, sing-song, her voice in a trance-like state.

"Oh Yum Hunah Ku Evam Maya E Ma Ho!

All Hail the Harmony of Mind and Nature!"

"Oi!" Ron said as he waited for Harry to move the chess piece. "What's so fascinating that has you staring out that window?"

Harry stuck his head out the window and then pulled it back in. "I don't know. For a minute I thought—"

"Thought what, Harry?"

"For a minute there, I thought it was dawn."

Ron just snorted and shook his head. "Just move your piece, mate. It's not the first time one of Hagrid's critters got loose and started bellowing the castle down."


"Name?" the bored-looking old wizard at the desk droned.

"Hermione Jean Granger Snape."

"Credentials?"

Hermione exchanged a glance with her professors and they waved her on with a tired gesture. She took off her masters signet and plunked it down on the desk.

The man picked it up and stared at it. "It's not complete."

"My masters have not yet pinned me."

"Your master."

"My masters, sir."

The man stared at her, narrowing his eyes. "A person only has but one master."

"Unless she has two," Hermione returned stonily.

"I cannot accept your application without full credentials," the man sneered, curling his lip and wrinkling his nose at her.

"Is it any wonder so many new Animagi consider not registering?" Hermione growled.

"If you do not have credentials, we will have to refer you to the Auror's office where you will be detained for being an unregistered Animagus." He smirked cruelly.

"That is what she is here to do, you blithering ignoramus!" Minerva hissed furiously. "When I registered, there were none of these so-called "credentials" needed! You just showed them your form and signed a paper, for Merlin's sake!"

"According to Section 2257 of the updated Animagus Registry By-Laws as written by Minister for Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge and witnessed by Madam Secretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, all wizards and witches not born of one of the listed pureblood magical families must prove their mastery of a school of magic by official documentation and a practical demonstration of silent, wandless magic to prove they are even capable of performing proper magic." The man looked utterly smug and secure in his self-righteousness.

"I'm betting that you can't cast a silent, wandless spell to wipe your undersized cock, you moronic piece of fossilised dragon dung," Severus hissed at the offending man in Latin.

Hermione and Minerva turned to stare at Severus. He merely arched a brow at them.

"Well, let's get this done then," Severus said, holding out his hand to Minerva. "Give us the signet."

Hermione placed the master's ring into their joined hands, and Severus and Minerva placed their hands on hers to keep her in the loop. Curling wisps of magical heat rose up from the power called by their combined palms.

"I, Master Severus Snape, Master to Hermione Jean Granger Snape, do proclaim her Mastery in the field of Potions, competent in all things pertaining to the cauldron, and fully qualified to take on an apprentice of her own whenever she so desires. So mote it be."

"I, Master Minerva McGonagall, Master to Hermione Jean Granger Snape, do proclaim her Mastery in the field of Transfiguration, competent in all things pertaining to transformation of what is living or otherwise, and fully qualified to take on an apprentice of her own whenever she so desires. So mote it be."

"This I swear," they said together. "Upon my magic. Upon my honour."

They lifted the signet together as it reformed into the Master's full signet mounted on a startlingly realistic representation of a magnificent feathered serpent. The ring curled around Hermione's ring figure and slithered around her finger, blazing with the sealed magic of her combined masters.

Hermione turned, silently, and placed her hand on the desk, her new mastery ring hugging her hand. "Your credentials. Sir."

The man scratched himself and sniffed in disdain. "You still have to satisfy the silent, wandless condition." He held out his hand for her wand.

"I will hold it," Severus said, taking the wand from her and tucking it away. Then he and Minerva stepped back— way back.

"Where the hell do you think you two are going?"

"To give her sufficient room."

"You swear to me that if I display for you an undeniable show of my silent and wandless magic that you will sign that contemptible registration form and this entire farce will be over?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing in clear suspicion.

"Go ahead and try, little Mudblood."

Severus stiffened visibly, his black eyes going even darker and flashing dangerously with suppressed anger, but Minerva shook her head slightly and held him back.

"You might wish to shield your eyes for a moment. Sir."

"So you can have one of them perform the magic for you? No, I think I'll just watch, thanks."

Hermione's eyes bled into twin suns. "As you wish. I did warn you."

Hermione's body seemed to blur, her arms stretching out in front of her as if to force her muscles into place, but then there was a hot wind of magic as light consumed her body— the blazing furnaces of the molten Earth flirted with the burning gases of the sun.

"HrrrrrrrrahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHRRRRRR!"

Her body expanded rapidly as her form overcame her without any of the awkwardness of her first time. Her cells remembered. Her very soul now knew the way. Her roar shook the very walls of the Ministry of Magic as her wings burst through the floor above and her massive tail slammed into the walls around around her.

SLAM!

SLAMMMM!

CRASHHHHH!

Plaster and marble went flying in all directions.

Hermione's tail whipped around Severus and Minerva, protecting them within her mighty coils as the ceiling fell down and the walls crashed around them. Great clouds of dust flew everywhere, as thick and impossible to see through as library paste.

Fhnnnn.

Fhnnnn.

Breaths of the great serpent puffed clouds in the clouds of debris. Radiant light blazed through it, blinding as it reflected off of every particle.

Whommm.

WHOOMMM.

WHOMMMMM!

Beats of great wings blasted the dust away and out in thunderous gusts of uncontrolled wind. The dust cleared to reveal the giant head of the quetzalcoatl looming over the registry wizard's desk. Her golden head shone in a blazing, sun-like radiance. Feathers in all the colours of the rainbow rustled in the settling wind.

Aurors stood, wands out and pointed to the side as their wielders carefully shielded their eyes. Only one, who shielded one eye with his hand, allowed the strange artificial eye to look around for him. He held out his hand. "Lass, be that you underneath all that plaster and scales?"

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," Hermione sang to him.

"Got your message, Minerva," Alastor said. "Good thing too," he said. "We still have a few remnants just like this pontificating arse left over from Fudge— and a few other assorted wankers who think they can get away with what they did back when those two witless knobs were still here."

"Isn't that right, Marley?" Alastor yelled, kicking the man's desk.

"So…. beautiful," the man said, eyes glazed over, a long, shiny line of drool hanging out the side of his mouth.

"Just sign the bloody papers, Marley, and give her the sodding pin, you bloody berk."

Marley signed the paper in front of him and held out the pin, his expression entirely somewhere else. "Anything. Anything for her."

"Oh boy," Alastor grunted. "Snape. Granger Snape. Can you tone down the mood lighting just a tad, please? Maybe give us a little room here?"

Hermione's form shimmered and shuddered, her body condensing and then reforming, shrinking rapidly. The radiance condensed into her eyes and then faded, changing into warm, golden-brown irises.

Moody grunted in satisfaction, slamming a stamp of his own down on the paperwork. "I hereby declare you properly registered and witnessed by myself, and that lot," he said, chucking his thumb at all the baffled-looking Aurors crowded around the remains of the registry's office door. He sniffed, pinning the registry mark to Hermione's collar. He then took the tool from the desk and dipped it into shimmering ink. "The neck is the usual place. Do you have a particular preference, lass?"

"Neck is fine," Hermione said, tilting her head.

Alastor tilted her head a little to the side and pressed the device to the skin behind her ear. "Pin is customary, but the mark is what tells anyone who really needs to know if you are registered or not."

Hermione nodded and smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"Alastor, Sn—"

"Hermione?"

"Hermione."

"Thank you, Alastor."

Moody grunted. "Do me a favour and, in the future, please try not to transform in enclosed spaces where you can't fix it easily with magic?"

Hermione smiled somewhat abashedly. "Sorry."

Moody just shook his head. "I have no doubt whatsoever that this twerp asked for it."

Moody didn't notice as a pair of stealthy paws relieved him of the marking device.

A stumbling, dust-covered beetle staggered across the room, and Severus leaned over and picked it up by the wings, pinning it carefully between his thumb and index finger. His lip curled back from his teeth in a slight grimace. "This isn't a native British species of beetle. I'd like to take it back with me and use it for potion ingredients, if you don't mind, Auror Moody?"

"Take whatever bugs you might happen to find, Professor Snape," Alastor said with a wave of his hand.

"Ah good, I'll just tear off the wings and antennae right here," Severus said. "The rest is useless for my purposes."

Suddenly, the large beetle buzzed frantically.

BzzzZzzZzzzZ… FOOP.

Alastor's face twisted into a broad, near-maniacal grin. "Ah, hello there, Ms Skeeter-Animagus. I've been waiting ever so patiently for you to fuck up for quite some time now."

The other Aurors immediately had their wands out, pointed directly at her head.

"My day just got so much better," Alastor said with a short laugh, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Lads, please escort our friend Ms Skeeter here to a nice, comfy holding cell and make sure she has an Animagus suppression collar on, would you?"

"Yes, sir!" the other Aurors chorused enthusiastically, prodding Rita out of the room— far too stunned to say so much as a single word in her own defence.

"I'll leave the cleanup of this room, er, floors, to the people who do it for a living," Alastor said. "If I do it, the desks will be all be upside down and likely fused to the floor that way. I'll take old Marley here to Mungo's and see if whatever scrambled his brain is a permanent thing."

"So pretty," Marley said rather dreamily. "Look at all the pretty colours."

"I much prefer him like this, to be honest," Alastor admitted.

Hermione grinned sheepishly as fiendish little paws rifled through Marley's pockets, snatched all of the pretty, shiny things and promptly disappeared.


Loki found himself in dire need of one of Thor's more potent alcoholic beverages, and all he could find was scads of woefully inadequate coffee and pumpkin juice. All of the tea tins seemed to be missing from the entire school along with the tea balls. He conjured up something to drink, but it wasn't anything that would've rendered Thor even slightly tipsy. Still, it was better than that dreadful pumpkin juice, so he drank it down and tried to ponder what was currently going on inside his head— or his body for that matter.

He could still feel the siren call of the great serpent stirring things within the unexplored depths of his body that he'd never felt before, ever. It had stirred something inside his heart and soul too. It was like tasting something utterly exquisite for the very first time and realising you'd been missing it since forever.

Quetzalcoatl. The great feathered serpent god of Miðgarðr. A goddess in this particular case.

Even the mighty Jötunn knew what they were. They were the deities of the winds and learning. They were the shepherds and guardians of the younger creatures. To some, they were the personification of the Creator. To others, they were the keepers of the boundary between the earth and sky. But the Jötunn saw them as something far more personal, and Ásgarðr tended to dismiss it entirely. Loki, of course, wanted to know, so he had all but buried himself in the scrolls and legends. Enemies they might be, but the Jötunn were undeniably powerful beings. They had the Casket of Ancient Winters that did freeze their enemies and could plunge entire realms into conditions not unlike that of the Ice Age. But the Jötunn were entirely immune to all things cold. Asgardians, however, were most assuredly not.

Yet he— while he felt the chill of winter somewhat, he had never found once himself in need of a coat. He wore them because Frigga always dressed him properly for the weather, but he had never actually felt that he needed it. Thor did. But why?

For years now, at least as the Asgardians viewed time, he had started to wonder why there were certain— things— that were very different for him, things that undeniably set him apart from his peers. He'd inexplicably started becoming more angry. More emotional. He'd begun lashing out while Thor had first started to focus on blazing his own trail and conquering it for glory and honour. Loki, however, felt strangely tight within his own skin, wanting to know more and yet he never seemed to find the answers he sought so very desperately. It made him even angrier, and he had started to take things out on— anyone and anything with the misfortune to get in his way: statues, tables, and the really gaudy tapestries that no one really wanted to look at, had they but been honest about it.

Still, all of that wanton destruction had, at long last, caused Odin to decide to cast him down to Earth to "learn some humility."

Meanwhile, Thor was up there drinking entire vats of ale and loving his women and probably dragging the Warriors Three and Sif off on many great adventures. Pity poor little Loki isn't around, right, Thor? He was always good for complaining about how you were forever breaking the rules.

Loki twitched. That call. Her call. He found he wanted to roll in it. Bask in it. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel it within his very soul. He wanted— wait, what did he want?

Human.

Short-lived, fleeting human life.

Quetzalcoatl.

Quetzalcoatl were definitely far more than merely human. They were gods. Just like him.

What had that old legend said? Something about— he couldn't quite remember. It was right there, somewhere swimming in the murky waters of his mind, but all he could seem to spot was the elusive tip of a fin, just before it submerged into the depths below once more.

Light footsteps shook him out of his thoughts, and he looked up.

It was her, carrying quite an assortment of bags. She was also pushing a large trunk along with her foot, having charmed it to be weightless. That big orange feline of hers was trotting after her, following her to wherever she was going. She was taking all of it somewhere, and she only had two arms, after all.

"Here, let me help you," he heard himself say, and he rushed to pick up her trunk. It was, as he expected, quite light.

"Thanks," she said. Her smile was small, but it was quite genuine.

A train of books were hopping along behind her, each carrying a random object of some sort: a hairbrush, a tube of something, a drinking cup.

They walked side by side, saying little. It seemed as though they were traveling from the high tower to the very bowels of the earth. Well, the bowels of the castle, at least. He watched her as he walked, trying to memorise the features of her face. "Why are you moving out of your tower?" he asked curiously.

Her brow crinkled slightly. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me since I have already sat my N.E.W.T.s and earned my mastery that I am no longer a student at Hogwarts. I can no longer live in the dormitories with the students anymore."

"Where are you moving to?" Loki asked.

"Headmaster Dumbledore gained permission to set up my new quarters next to my father's, as we are family with no home outside of the castle in which to live— none that is suitable, anyway."

"I'm sorry," Loki said.

Hermione shrugged. "Don't be, I—it was time for me to move out of there. I was no longer fitting in, not that that I ever truly did."

"These are my friends, well, the ones that don't have to hide their friendship with me from their parents," Hermione said, smiling down at the herd of helpful books and the half-Kneazle that was bringing up the rear by batting at the book spines to keep them moving.

"Why hide a friendship from one's parents?" Loki asked, utterly baffled. "You are obviously quite intelligent and talented. Your talent is why you are moving now, yes?"

"For a Slytherin, you are strangely oblivious to my Muggleborn status," Hermione said bitterly.

Loki looked terribly confused by this, and Hermione tugged on one of the sleeves of his green and black outfit. "The colours gave you away, I'm afraid," she said with smile. "I'm surprised Draco hasn't ever mentioned you. Unless you're one of those shadow-staff father has been telling me about. Helping keep the school running properly but rarely if ever seen?"

Loki just shrugged noncommittally.

"Fine, keep your secrets, mystery man," Hermione chuckled.

They reached what seemed to be a dead-end wall, and Hermione traced a complex pattern on the stone. The wall shuddered and moved aside, and they continued to walk down a hall. As she reached yet another hall, she smiled as the door was decorated with a very Mayan feel. The carved feathered serpents guarded her door, curling around it with an almost loving embrace. She placed her hand on the head, and the door opened.

The books bounced in first, followed by Crookshanks. Hermione laughed, and bowed her head. "Please come in. I think the door is temporary so I could get my things in the right wall. Father will have to adjust his wards to allow me in the regular way."

Loki said nothing for a while. "Where would you like me to put your trunk?"

"Oh, um, over here I guess," Hermione said. She looked around. "Wow, this place is dreary. He wasn't kidding when he said he only had time to carve out the room and throw in a decent bed."

Loki looked around. "At least he remembered the bathroom?"

Hermione laughed. "I suppose. I can only imagine the horror of my poor father sharing a bathroom with his grown daughter."

"Where I come from, family always lives together, even after marriage," Loki said somewhat wistfully. "Erm, but we do have separate bedchambers," he said as he saw the horror in her eyes at the implications of family being a little too close.

"You must live in a palace in order to make that work," Hermione said with a smile.

Loki gave her an uneasy, lopsided smile.

Hermione enlarged her book shelf and set it near the wall. "Okay, everyone, your shelves are back."

The books spit out their objects and bounced over to file themselves in order on their respective shelves. Grim and Rith growled and tussled with each other before settling down on "their" piece of shelf.

"I'm really going to have to make another bookshelf," Hermione said with a wry grin.

"They don't get along?"

"Oh, they get along quite well, usually," Hermione said with a laugh. "Grim and Rith just like to tussle over the best snoozing spots. It's just—"

Loki arched a brow at her.

"It sounds a little silly, but I think they bite normal books just to make more friends to come home with," Hermione speculated.

Loki stared at the sleeping books on the shelf. "Perhaps your escapee friends from the library have chosen to bite normal books so that you have more friends to come home with, my lady."

Hermione frowned and then shrugged. "You might be right. And—" Hermione flushed crimson. "It's Hermione, please. I am no one's lady."

"Would you like to be?" Loki asked smoothly, the look in his almost-crystalline eyes causing Hermione to flush a bright shade of Gryffindor. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, ever so gently pressing his lips to the ridge of her knuckles. "I am Loki. Devote yourself to me, and I swear that I will make you a goddess."

For a moment, Hermione seemed to consider that. Her hand brushed his, her fingers tenderly moving across his skin as her fingers moved against his as she looked into his face. But then her expression hardened. "Very funny, Mr Loki," she replied. "But if I am going to bank my dreams on the impossible, I would look for the one who calls out to me there. Where cobalt skin and crimson eyes seem only normal and whose song would but call me from the depths of Creation if only I could hear it."

Hermione let her hand drop and she busied herself straightening her room.

"You would reject a suitor for one that has not yet come?"

Hermione turned, her eyes flashing bright gold for but a moment. "What and who I want does not truly exist. He is but a beautiful dream that my heart makes, based on the innocent whimsy of a child. I will never get to see him because what he is does not truly exist."

"At least show me that which wins your heart so that no one has even a chance to try?"

Hermione waved her wand as she threw a handful of pristine, shimmering sand in the air, and the particles transfigured into a series of glistening mosaic tiles. They swirled around and positioned themselves around the walls, holding themselves there as cement conjured itself to set them in place. There was a surge of rushing warmth as the picture moved against the wall like the slithering of scales and feathers.

Two great feathered serpents rose up high on the mosaic skies. Heaven lay above, and Earth sat below. One was golden as the sun, her rainbow of feathers that matched every spectrum of the Bifröst. One was a shimmering deep cobalt with crimson ruby eyes— its wings the colour of the moon, glowing with a flawless, blue-white purity. Their necks entwined together, swirling, glowing markings pulsing together in a perfect, matching resonance.

Hermione touched the blue serpent tenderly with her fingers, closing her eyes in pain. "The one I want does not even exist, and I have nothing to blame but a child's dream that I have not the will to let go of. Save yourself, Mr Loki. The likes of me cannot possibly be anyone's true desire. Wait but a little time, and you will see the hatred begin to grow within this school again. Jealousy. Misunderstanding. Cruelty. You will not wish to be seen with one such as I, but I thank you for the gift of that small moment in which I considered the possibility."

"I may resemble some of the other witches here," Hermione said quietly. "I may possess perhaps more than my magic and skill, knowledge and drive, but I will never be one of them. I will never truly fit in here. I will never be someone my friends could be proud to bring home to their families. Draco's parents would die if he so much as touched me in public, and he is one of my oldest and dearest friends."

Hermione turned to move, but Crookshanks dodged between her legs chasing a book, and she tripped.

"Ah! Crooks!" she gasped, her arms flailing out to catch herself.

Loki was there in a flash, his arms reaching out to catch her before she could fall. His palm brushed lightly against her cheek, and her eyes fluttered slightly. She leaned into the coolness of his skin, her warmth spreading into his.

In that moment of skin against skin, they shared the vision of her dream. Scales moved against scales, snout against snout, wing against wing.

The female sang out a glorious, pure note, and the blue serpent harmonised with her, creating a chord that resonated both in the sky above and the earth below. Their bodies entwined tightly, wings wrapping around the other. Below them lay a nest crafted of the very jungle itself, guarded by the mighty jaguar, the great winged eagle, and the equally great bat. Two eggs hatched. One was a golden serpent with white, shining wings and crimson eyes. One was a bright blue serpent with golden eyes and wings the colours of the rainbow.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione said, flushing brightly and scrambling out of Loki's impromptu embrace. "Thank you for helping me with my things," she said, straightening her robes.

Loud knocking came from behind the door. "Oi, Mione! We have your stuff."

Hermione startled, looking around and found only a green-furred book of Norse mythology lying on the carpet. She picked up the wayward book, stroking it with her hand. "Where did you come from, my lovely one? Did Grim or Rith bite you too?"

The book purred and rubbed itself affectionately against her.

She opened the door. "Keep your trousers on, I'm up to my waist in moving here!"

Ron scoffed loudly, carrying a load of things. Harry trundled in behind him.

"Professor Dumbledore told us to come help you move your stuff," Harry said, attempting a smile.

Hermione sighed and gestured to the other crates, trunk, and pile of miscellaneous. "Thanks."

"Figures you'd unpack your books first," Ron muttered, earning a series of growls from the stuffed bookshelves.

Hermione's ever-protective books looked ready to spring at him at any moment, their fangs bared menacingly and their fur bristling.

RrrrrRRRrrrrrr.

As soon as Ron dropped the pile of things he was carrying with a careless thud, the books leapt up and pounced with a loud roar, piling on top of him, pages rustling as they snapped him in the face and every other bit of bare skin they could reach.

"Merlin! Bloody hell!" Ron screamed shrilly, frantically beating back the books with his arms only to have them slip under his guard to gnaw on his unprotected face.

Hermione and Harry winced together, averting their eyes and ears from the sights and sounds of Ron's obvious distress.

"Um, er…" Hermione tried to put the green-furred book down on the now-empty shelf, but the book adamantly refused to leave her arms. "Help me set up the desk, Harry?"

"Sure, Hermione," Harry said, scratching his head. "Er… do you think we should maybe tell someone about this?"

Hermione wore a somewhat conflicted expression. "I'll, um, send my Patronus to father." She waved her wand, summoning her Patronus, and gasped to see that her playful otter had transformed into a lovely winged serpent. It bounced and gambolled around her and then zoomed off down the hall.

As Harry and Hermione were arranging the velvet curtains around her bed, Severus swept into the room followed by Minerva.

"What in Merlin's armpits is going on in here?" Minerva gasped.

Severus stared down at the pile of obviously-disgruntled books currently burying Ronald Weasley alive and biting any bit of exposed flesh any time he moved. Ronald struggling, breathing in a pathetic, moaning sort of half-strangled wheeze. He tried in vain to get up, but the books mobbed him again, this time wriggling beneath his now-tattered and torn robes.

Ron's eyes bugged out and he let out a shockingly girly scream as the pink book of Witches' Secrets For A Glorious Love Life spat out a number of shredded pages as it attempted to shed the bits where it had bitten the wizard. It shook itself, making odd gagging sounds, opened its mouth and wiped the inside of its pages on the carpet, and then hopped back on the shelf with one last shudder and pitiful bleccching noise.

Harry tried desperately to hold it together, but he ended up roaring with laughter, flopping himself down in the one chair in the room and shaking with mirth like a jellyfish out of water. The books rushed over to cuddle with him, making purring and squeaking noises. Harry gasped as they hit all of his ticklish spots, and he writhed and cried out, giggling helplessly.

Severus promptly pegged the youngest Weasley male with a stunning and levitation spell. "Off to the infirmary with you, Mr Weasley," he drawled. "You'll pardon me for not wishing to touch your person at this point, hrm?"

Ron groaned piteously as his robes hung from his body in tatters, and every bit of his exposed skin was now covered in a great many nasty paper cuts as well as dripping with blood and random bits of book paste.

Severus waved his wand, adjusting his wards for Hermione as a new door appeared on her far wall. "Do try to keep your books away from my ancient Greek Potion Encyclopedias, my daughter?"

"Yes, father," Hermione said, stifling a giggle.

"PuahahahahhAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Harry laughed as the books hit him in all his ticklish spots once again for good measure.

Meanwhile the green-furred book began to take on a bluish tint as purred in Hermione's arms, its carnelian eyes half-closing in pleasure as she rubbed the semsitive area in between them.


"Finally," Hermione flopped on her back on the settee. "Thank Merlin."

Grim, Rith, Pitch (the pink Witches' book someone had bitten and converted to the cause), and her newly acquired and strangely attractive sometimes green, sometimes blue-furred Book of Norse Mythology (which Hermione had just started calling Handsome) all rushed over to cuddle with her. They burrowed under her arms and lay on her stomach, purring madly. Crooks padded over and lay down on top of Rith, who seemed to take it well enough.

Theo handed her a hot cup of tea, and she accepted it gratefully. "So, Dumbledore told the Weasel where to find you?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in clear annoyance. "Yeah."

Draco shook his head. "Pomfrey had him all bandaged up like a bleeding mummy," he said with a derisive snort. "She was like, 'Mister Weasley. How in the world did this happen to you? Why is it always you? And how in Merlin's name did you manage to get book paste all over yourself as well'?"

"Your father must have loved that," Theo cackled gleefully.

Draco reached over to take Hermione's empty cup, and Handsome growled lowly at him, turning a rather dark shade of blue.

Hermione reached over and soothed the area between his eyes, and the book purred, snuggled into her and ceased his verbal assault on Draco.

Draco filled her teacup and shook his head in amusement. "How did you manage to end up with an ever-growing entourage of body-guarding books?"

Hermione just shrugged. "They followed me home?"

"Only you, love," Theo said, grinning at her. "I always knew I was right about you being a goddess."

"Oh please, Theo," Hermione laughed. "I'm just a witch with very… large Animagus form."

"A mammoth would be a large Animagus form, Hermione," Theo chided her gently. "A roc would be a large Animagus form. You are are the great goddess Kukulkan, the Plumed Serpent, Quetzalcoatl, and the goddess of the winds and of learning."

"That's a bit long for my dance card, Theo," Hermione mused aloud.

"Do you know why people always tell you that an Animagus can only be some species of normal, non-magical animal?" Theo asked her.

"Why, Theo?"

"People let go of their dreams," Theo said. "It's like how kids— we do accidental magic that defies any spell we'll ever manage as adults. It's like we don't really have limits as children, but when we go to school we learn what is expected of us."

Hermione eyed Theo with a blatant "uh huh" expression."

Theo shook his head. "Think about it, Hermione. Think of what we dream of as kids and what we limit ourselves to now?"

"We are taught all these boundaries, practically from birth. We are taught how to live and what to hate, but you, Hermione. Somehow, you managed to defy it all. You made yourself. Freed yourself. You didn't let us tell you two that you couldn't do anything. You heard the rules, then proceeded to break them all the same. Who is to say that you are the enemy, the poorer, the weaker, the less intelligent or advantaged. My parents have no right to say so. I have no right of it, either. Draco would rather gnaw off his own arm than not call you friend, and the fact that he has to find a way to suck it up and pretend you mean nothing to him nearly kills him every time. Yet, out of here— out there, we have to put on a face because that is what is expected of us. You are truly free, Hermione. You are exactly what you tell people you are."

"Just forget all the stupidity and hatred," Draco said firmly, rubbing his head. "Continuing endless generations of hate isn't right just because no one can remember or cares what the real reason is. My parents would have me believe that you are somehow inferior because you were born to non-magical parents. Well, if what you are is inferior, I'd bloody well take it. When I leave this place, my parents seriously expect me to marry some nice Pureblood girl who curtseys whenever she needs to, speaks up only when there's no risk of it getting her assassinated, and has her own opinion only when mine doesn't supercede it. I'd rather be punched repeatedly in the face by you than spend the rest of my life with some spineless Pureblood girl who never dreamed."

"I don't know what the hell crawled up Ron's arse and died," Harry admitted with a deep sigh. "Ever since we managed to survive our second year, he's been a right sodding git. Thing is, Ginny, too, has become so incredibly clingy and opinionated. She keeps trying to tell me how and what to think. She drove away Cho. She made Marietta cry. I think Cho is a lot happier now that she's with Cedric. Cedric really treats her well."

Ting. Ringringringring. Thunk.

Harry looked down and picked up a shiny golden goblet. "Where do you want your goblet, Hermione?"

"That's not mine," Hermione said, frowning.

"It's gorgeous," Harry said with no little awe. "Must be worth… more than I have in my entire family vault." He tried to hand it to Hermione, but Rith snatched it up and moved it onto the nearby shelf, nosing it carefully into place before hopping back down and returning to his spot in Hermione's lap.

The wizards all stared at Hermione.

"What? I didn't do it!"

"Great Merlin's holey socks," Draco whistled in amazement.

They gathered around.

From top to bottom, a full section of floor-to-ceiling shelves were full of myriad shiny things. Goblets, jewels, platters, pearls, rings, galleons, pens, stamps, signet rings, shiny wax sticks, ornate ink wells, tea balls, silverware, crystalware, chandelier decorations, large and shiny tins of tea, assorted biscuits and candies, antique hair pins, shell buttons, hundreds of little crystal phials of random things, phoenix tail plumes, bracelets, Severus' missing set of charmed silver knives, Minerva's favourite teacup (unmistakably emblazoned with Scottish thistles), a shiny tin of lemon sherbets, a fine selection of bejeweled quills, a finely-carved highly-polished, organic-looking wand or three, a collection of small cat bells, a few hundred shiny keys, a crown, a Muggle disco ball, earrings of every shape and size imaginale, multi-coloured jars of unidentified somethings, shiny caps, candlesticks, gemstone throwing dice, a pair of Luna's gem-encrusted shoes, and so much more.

"Dadddddddddddddddddd!" Hermione cried out, twirling her hair around her finger rather nervously.

Severus came tearing through the door at top speed as though something was on fire. "Hermione?!"

Hermione pointed at her shelf with a trembling finger Shelves—wall.

Severus' eyes widened in astonishment. "Something you wish to tell me, daughter mine?"

Hermione sat down, accidentally plopping down on poor Rith, who complained loudly. She meeped in distress, hugging Rith to her. "I didn't do it, dad, I swear!"

"We were sitting right here the whole time," Draco agreed, scratching his head in puzzlement.

"That wall was empty just a few minutes ago!" Theo added, still staring.

"There was just that golden goblet and then, suddenly—" Harry said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And all that just showed up?" Severus questioned slowly.

The wizards and witch nodded to him.

Severus closed his eyes and w aved his wand. "I need Minerva here. And firewhisky. A lot of firewhisky" He pinched the bridge of his nose.


"Well, I did, um," Hagrid said, shuffling a bit uneasily, "I might've just misplaced a few Nifflers the other week. But they don't ever give up the treasures they collect—"

"You WHAT?" Minerva hissed, her eyes narrowing like an angry cat.

Hagrid tried to sit down, but three irritated books promptly bit him on the arse. He rubbed his offended bum and looked down at the seat. He moved the books over and cautiously sat down, scratching his head. "I had them all locked up in my hut, Perfesser," Hagrid sputtered. "Someone came and broke the locks clean off."

"And you neglected to tell anyone about that why, exactly?"

"I told Perfesser Dumbledore right away, ma'am!"

"And you neglected to tell someone competent, why?" Severus muttered half under his breath.

Hagrid squirmed nervously and placed his hands on his lap.

"Merlin's aftershave," Theo gasped, pointing at a particular shiny object amongst the rather extensive "hoard." "That's a Time-Turner, that is!"

Draco and Harry leaned in to peer curiously at it.

"Don't touch it!" Minerva admonished. "Gods only know what will happen if it takes you somewhere!"

Draco and Harry immediately put their hands behind their backs.

Draco gasped. "Bloody hell! That's my— father's cane!"

Theo stared. "Your father must be… eating his own hair trying to figure out where that is."

Plink.

Plink.

Pearls and galleons tumbled off the shelf, forming quite an impressive pile on the floor.

Hermione gave Handsome, Rith, and Grim a death grip. "What are we going to do?"

Severus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Wait for people to start offering rewards?"

Minerva eyed Severus.

Severus arched an eyebrow back at her. "You think we could actually trust anyone to take one look at some of this stuff and not claim it was theirs?"

Minerva rubbed her temples. "We really should inform Alastor," she said, waving her wand to send her cat Patronus off with the message. "He can… document this so Hermione does not get in trouble for it."

Draco pointed at his father's cane. "Can I just say that there should be a good story for my father so he doesn't completely freak out?"

"Well, if Nifflers are involved, it could certainly explain much," Minerva said. "No one is immune to thievery courtesy of a truly determined Niffler. Even your father."

Severus' floo came to life in the next room. "Severus?"

"Come in, Auror Moody."

Alastor stepped out of the floo, brushing himself off. "Alright, what's the crisis?"

"This room, Alastor," Minerva said.

Alastor walked into the room, and his jaw dropped to the floor. "Alright, so who am I arresting for this?'

Hermione tried to sink into the floor with a strangled whimper of dismay.

Small, ninja paws relieved Alastor of his silver flask and it promptly appeared upon the shelf.

Alastor peered closer upon spotting the flask on the shelf and quickly searched himself for his flask. "What the—"

Alastor, correctly reading the situation, swiftly turned to glare at Hagrid. "Did you have Nifflers?"

Hagrid averted his gaze. "I, uh, erm…"

"Sodding wonderful," Alastor hissed, rolling his good eye in open disgust.


Prophet Reporter Rita Skeeter Writes Her Last—

From a Ministry Holding Cell

Rita Skeeter was apprehended last week after being caught roaming the once-bustling and now empty halls of the Animagus Registry Office at the Ministry of Magic. The Animagus Registry has been unfortunately become a ghost-office thanks to the short-sighted policies of our former Minister for Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, and his chosen Secretary, Madam Dolores Jane Umbridge.

While Fudge and Umbridge ended up leaving their respective offices in shame, thanks to the discovery of the Dark Lord Voldemort (aka Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Jr) being, in fact, very much alive, they managed to put quite a few shadow policies in before they got the sack. One of these was the "must have valid credentials and demonstrate a powerful show of silent and wandless magic if not a member of a prominent pureblood family" requirement in order to register themselves as an Animagus, even before so much as getting to see the form in question. If said person failed in this, they were promptly reported to the Aurors as unregistered Animagi and thrown in Azkaban without a trial for being identified as "a danger to all members of good magical society".

Ever since first taking the oaths of office as our newly-elected Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour has been slowly reviewing and evicting these old shadow policies. However, some of them have not been discovered until, like last week, an innocent finds themselves, through no fault of their own, caught up in the resultant drama. Currently, Minister Scrimgeour is working aggressively with Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt to go over many such policies with a fine toothed comb so these policies do not continue to entrap even more innocent citizens of magical Britain.

In the case described above, Rita Skeeter was caught spying on Master Hermione Granger-Snape while she took and passed the registration test. During a rather strong showing of silent and wandless magic, parts of the Registry's office were damaged, and Ms Skeeter was injured, causing her to transform out of her unregistered Animagus form: a beetle.

She couldn't have picked a worse place in which to do so: smack in front of Master Auror Alastor Moody and large group of accompanying Aurors who had rushed down to investigate when the floors started to shake and crumble in the Animagus Registry Office.

The Wizengamot has slated Ms Skeeter to stand trial for multiple charges of illegal use of an unregistered Animagus form for personal gain, including further charges of spying, bribery, corruption, and various other nefarious and venal activities. Skeeter was unanimously voted to be put under Veritaserum, questioned extensively regarding her activities over the past several years. Skeeter is awaiting her trial in a Ministry holding cell and wearing an Animagus ability suppression collar until all evidence is collected, followed, proven, or disproven before her official Wizengamot showing.

Ms Skeeter is currently writing a book entitled, The Scandalous Life of Hermione Granger: Strumpet, Fraud and Muggleborn Hoax, which she hopes will pay for the her barrister representation before the Wizengamot.


Colossal Whatal? Quetzalcoatl?

By Xenophilius Lovegood

For those of you who haven't heard the news yet, the British Animagus Registry has celebrated the registration of the first-ever known quetzalcoatl Animagus. While somewhat more common in South America, Britain has yet to have one, and the frequently bandied about "fact" that all Animagi must be some species of non-magical animal has often been challenged by various other Wizarding cultures who have repeatedly tried to refute this all-too-common British misconception.

The Chinese, for example, have long claimed that the wise-men of the mountain were actually dragon and kirin Animagi, helping guide their people to the path of enlightenment. These wizened wizards and witches were said to be truly immortal, having partaken of cinnabar and immortality— so that they might live as long as their people walk the earth and thus continue guide them through the darkness.

The Native Americans or First Nations often speak of the great and wise Thunderbird, who, like the others, is often spoken both as the creature and the Animagus. The noble creatures protect and guide their chosen people. There are only two examples stemming from other cultures and other magical societies. Yet, somehow, we who have lived for a very long time in the same place, have managed to forget that magic, like so many things in life, changes and evolves with its people.

The proof is in meeting Master Hermione Granger-Snape, daughter of Master Severus Snape, the highly-regarded Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For any of you who have never seen a quetzalcoatl, and there is no shame in having not seen one face-to-face, they are massive feathered serpents that made their home in the jungles of South America. To some cultures, they were revered as nothing less than gods, to others they were guardians of the people. Sometimes they were both. Regardless, all agreed that the quetzalcoatl was a sacred beast.

[Photograph of quetzalcoatl with an ecstatic-looking Xenophilius Lovegood]

Even if you don't believe the quetzalcoatl to be immortal gods, you might find yourself deciding otherwise upon meeting her. The photograph does not do her justice. It is easy to see how they became revered as sacred creatures. Master Granger-Snape is, specifically, what is known as a solar quetzalcoatl. She radiates brilliant light much like the sun, bringing the most blissful of warmth into the very coldest of regions. The oldest legends say there is also a lunar quetzalcoatl, which embodies the pure, blue-white glow of the moon. Only a solar and lunar quetzalcoatl working together in harmony is thought to guarantee the great blessings of fertile growth and the nurturing effects of the winds and rain. While both are known to be unquestionably beneficial, having only one is a it like experiencing a constant bright day without the peaceful slumber of night.

When we asked Master Granger-Snape if she had any suitors who wished to seek her favour, she replied, "I'm the first one Britain has ever seen. It would be awful miraculous if another showed up so soon."

"Are you entertaining any non-Animagi suitors?"

"No," Granger-Snape replied firmly. "I have more than enough on my plate right now."

After hearing the news, there are some who are very eager to pay their respects to the first quetzalcoatl in Britain. The goblin nation has already pledged to send a delegation of representatives with "appropriate offerings of our respect." The centaurs from various herds have already sent diplomats of their own, and a number of foreign ministries have been negotiating to make an appointment for a chance to visit her as well.

As to certain rumours that the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has attempted to evict Master Granger-Snape from the grounds of Hogwarts due to her not being a member of staff at the school, the Board has adamantly denied any and all such allegations. As to whether this happened because of all the positive press and visitations brought on by the resident quetzalcoatl or if they truly made the decision regardless remains ambiguous.

The goblin nation has made it abundantly clear that if Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry finds itself unable to justify Master Granger-Snape's continued presence in their school, that they are more than willing to provide ample lodging as well as work with her to pursue any career she so chooses. As of this publishing, official word from Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore regarding Master Granger-Snape's status has not been received.


Hermione shook her head in weary resignation as the wizards and witches in the line all gave her dirty looks as she walked by them, seeming, to their minds, to be skipping the line. It was privately amusing to her that, despite her name being fairly well-known now, very few people actually knew her on sight. She found she much preferred it that way.

Handsome, Grim, and Rith growled menacingly at any people who foolishly came too close to "their" witch, and Hermione chuckled as she gently soothed them with her touch. They nibbled her hand and purred, always happy to receive rewards for defending her from imbeciles, ignoramuses, and miscellaneous unwelcome intruders.

Hermione bared her teeth at the goblin at the desk, making her very best grimace of proper respect. The elder goblin grimaced back— looking as if he was going to eat her alive, but he opened the inner gate for her so she could pass through. The people in the lines gaped— always dumbfounded that a human was permitted to "go back with the goblins." It had taken a few hundred practices of the proper grimace to not be insulting— just enough teeth, not enough gums, a bit of nose wrinkle. It was hard without the pointed ears to move and sharp fangs to bare— but she made do. They tolerated her fumbling because she was trying her best— and they knew exactly what she really was.

She'd made a few friends out of the goblin logbooks entirely by accident. A goblin had a startled Rith and Rith had promptly taken a bite out of the goblin's logbook that he had held protectively between himself and Rith's toothy wrath. So now, every single time she came in, the logbooks had to rush up and greet her, begging for pets and cuddles before she sent them back to their deeply amused goblin owners.

She walked the corridor to the ledge that took most of the goblins by rail to various parts of the bank. "Okay, guys, hop in," she said, opening up her beaded bag. Her books obediently hopped into the bag, and she tied it to her belt. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall off the edge into the howling winds.

Whooom…

WHOOOOM!

Her wings beat strongly to carry her deep into the goblin stronghold. Even with her size, her wings barely spanned the gaps. She soared deeper, shining her radiance through the dark of the caverns. Goblins waved as she passed, and she sang to them as she flew by. The sound of her clarion call vibrated across the caverns, echoing back to her. She circled the lush jungle habitat where a giant pyramid rose and the enchanted cavern ceiling showed the skies and weather from the outside world. She landed, lovingly entwining around the pyramid, rubbing her face against the sides in a few places before transforming back into her human form to enter what had become her home.

She loosed the books so they could mingle with their compatriots— thankfully most of them were perfectly okay with guarding the home instead of following her everywhere. Crookshanks meowed a greeting to her as she came in, and she picked him up and hugged him, lavishing him with pets and cuddles until he squirmed and wanted down.

Hogwarts had finally kicked her out the gates thanks to the Board of Governors holding some sort of vote. Without her having student status or holding a job there, she was not allowed to stay, or so they informed her anyway. So the goblins had then gleefully invited her to make her home with them, gladly taking on the organising of any visitors she might or might not find waiting for her. She had a feeling it was because the Board hadn't actually seen her transform until the very day she had left.

Her father and Minerva had told her to make her exit look "better than good," and so she had. She transformed directly in front of the scrambling Board, launched herself into the air, and rattled the very walls of the school with her triumphant roar. From what Severus had taken great pleasure in describing to her after she had moved into Gringott's, a few of them had actually piddled themselves, others had started singing devout praises, and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy himself had turned pale as milk. Well, paler.

The centaurs were threatening to break the peace treaty after finding out the Board had dared to kick her out— something the school could not afford at all. Funding was being pulled in all directions from benefactors who had supported the school with a resident quetzalcoatl. There was chaos brewing in the streets, and now a lot of that funding and backing was going to: the goblins instead.

The goblins, of course, were nigh ecstatic with that particular development.

Record numbers of people were coming in to open new accounts with Gringott's London specifically because no one in their right mind was going to rob a bank where a bloody quetzalcoatl lived. Not unless they had a death wish, at any rate. The goblins had made her a sort of mini-jungle in the furthest depths of their underground fortress, and the "temple" that was her home was accessible in only three ways: flight, goblin tram, and via floo, if only directly from Severus' personal floo at Hogwarts— the man who made the security wards on the bank look small, paltry, and haphazardly constructed by a band of drunken monkeys.

Severus had his own private home with her, and there was plenty of room to spare considering she had an entire temple to herself, and the two of them were slowly picking away at Minerva to have her retire from Hogwarts too after she became "fed up ta t'e neck" with what Hogwarts' Board of Governors had forced them to do. Even with Severus there in his own ample living and brewing space, and Minerva with her own space, there was still more than enough room open to whatever uses she so chose. Hermione had her suspicions her temple was a lot like Hogwarts itself. It made room as she needed it, and the inside was far, far bigger than it appeared on the outside. Whatever the reason, she had room literally for miles.

She picked up the scroll that had been set on the desk by the Gringott's owls. She sat down on the settee and put her feet up to read it, and the books immediately came rushing up to cuddle with her. She absently pet them, smiling as Handsome snuggled up to her face. She'd become quite attached to the sometimes green, sometimes blue-furred book. She'd listen to him softly breathe in her ear, and marvel that such a wondrous thing was even possible. As amazing as magic was, it still had the capacity to surprise her.


Dear Hermione,

Father is right ready to kick me out of the family for not telling him about you, but Mum keeps telling him I did try to tell him about you ages ago and reminded him that he repeatedly insisted to us both that quetzalcoatls most emphatically did not exist.

So, now that the school is currently under fire from multiple foreign nations as well as hundreds of angry parents who will not get the opportunity to chance upon you at the annual parent-teacher meet and greet night, well, let's just say I don't even have to do anything to watch my father eat his cravat.

He's still convinced that your father is the one that stole his walking cane and vials of Re'em blood. He doesn't even care that it was Moody himself who actually confiscated them.

Do you know what he wants me to do now?

Seduce you.

Seriously.

Stop laughing, Hermione.

You're still laughing, aren't you? Theo told me I need to inform my father (in the sweetest way possible) that I am not a male prostitute that he can pimp out as his whim suits him. I think about spit my tea all over him. Wait. I did spit my tea over him.

I did tell him that I am formally and magically engaged to Astoria Greengrass thanks to HIM, so unless he desires to nullify that contract, which is unbreakable, mind you, and then explain to her parents why the entire affair was a big old misunderstanding, I'm sure as hell not going to risk killing myself by cheating on her with someone he was so eager to call a foul Mudblood but a mere month ago.

I swear to you, Hermione, if Uncle Severus wasn't around to stop me, I would've surely ended up murdering my own father by now. Well, maybe not actually murdered him so much as I would've accidentally thrown him into the portrait of perpetual solitude that he used to throw me into whenever I dared mouth off at him.

Totally accidentally.

I might, you know, go on the town with Theo for my bachelor's night out and get totally knackered and get my brain Obliviated about that too. Oops. So sorry, father. Not.

No, sir, hic. I honestly have no idea whatsoever where my father might've stashed himself away.

Moody would certainly not believe me, but he wouldn't exactly tattle on me either.

Harry told me to tell you that he's not using any of his supposed clout as the 'Boy-Who-Lived' to help out Hogwarts after what they did, so you can rest assured that if someone pulls for Hogwarts after this, it is not because of any of us.

Oh, and to answer your question about your mysterious Slytherin guy. No idea. Theo and I haven't seen anyone of that description either before or after graduation.

By the way, don't listen to that stupid drivel those idiots write about you being some attention mongering whore. Just because Ronald Farking Weaselarse decides you're like the brainless twits he humps in random broom closets does not mean YOU are like those girls he grinds his pitiful inadequacy into. He may choose to rut with anything that has a pulse, but that is not your problem. His problem, his STDs. As for the Weaselette, well, after she utterly lost it with Luna in front of the entire school, no one is sure what to make of the little bint. She may call you a lot of horrible things out of pure jealousy, Hermione, but even the truly batshite crazy ones don't listen to her twaddle anymore. She actually caught one of the books that Pince chained down in the library so it couldn't follow you. You know, that cute little purple book with the white spots? She tore out all of it's pages, thoroughly kicked the shite out of it and then dumped it in Black Lake.

Poor thing gave up the ghost. We tried to sew it back together, put the pages back in, do all the repairing spells we knew. It was like it just didn't want to live anymore. It just… died. I don't know how else to explain it. I didn't actually see it happen, I only came to the aftermath, but Astoria told me everything she'd seen.

Astoria thinks that Ginevra has some sort of displaced rage, but we have no idea why. I mean, you used to help her with her homework all the time, right? Why would she ever be mad at you? Maybe she has something going on at home. I don't know what that thing would be, as the Weasels don't talk to Malfoys. Ever. All I can guess is that it involves the Weasel himself in some way. How? No idea. Even Harry is all scratching his head and shaking it at the same time.

Harry passed his Auror test and is training, but Ronald never managed to get past the initial test. He's working at his twin brothers' place, uh— Blizzarding Bleezes or something? Breezes? Sneezes? Hell, I don't know. It's not like I'd ever bother to go there.

Anyway, take care of yourself Hermione. Send us a Patronus if you have a free night and want to do something. Theo wants to go watch Muggle sci-fi and fantasy movies at Grimmauld again. Sirius is on a major Lord of the Rings kick right now. I can't believe he's actually nicking electric from his own neighbours. What an arse!

Look, don't freak out, okay? The parcel I sent with this is the remains of the purple book with the white spots. I— I figured you'd want to, you know… Aw fuck, I'm horrible at this. Just, don't murder the Weaselette, okay? She's so not worth it. Let Madam Pince figure out it was her that destroyed one of her books and she can murder her for you, okay? Probably more excitement than that weird woman has had in centuries.

Love (and NOT the kind my father wants),

Draco

Stop laughing, Hermione. I mean it. I'll— I'll think of something.


Hermione sniffed, sat up and summoned the carefully wrapped parcel that had been tucked underneath the scroll. She tugged on the twine and took a deep breath. The other books came shuffling up, nudging her hands, and she stroked them for comfort before she lifted off the lid.

There, wrapped in soft white tissue, lay the tattered remains of Grey Magick: Will Made Form. She lifted the book out of the box and set it down in her lap, tenderly stroking its torn cover. "You were such a good little book," Hermione whispered. She touched the soft purple fur and played with the tiny white spots with her fingers. "Madam Pince always hated how you wanted to follow me out every single time I visited the library."

Rith and Grim sadly nudged the little book with their covers. They looked to the book and then up at Hermione, confused and disheartened. Rith bit the book on the spine, but nothing happened. Handsome wriggled under her hand and she touched him as her shoulders slumped, her heart breaking. She lay her head down on the little book's remains, tears streaming down her face and into the poor book's purple and white fur. Hermione cried softly, pulling her cooing books to her as the painful sobs tore through her.

Handsome snuggled to her closely, and she smiled sadly at the quirky but loyal book. She pressed a tender kiss to his cover, wiped her face and picked up Grey Magick: Will Made Form. "I'm really going to miss you," she said softly, petting the book with her tear-soaked hand. She lifted it up and placed it back in the box.

She sat down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Vainly trying to collect her thoughts.

Rustle.

Rustle.

Nudge.

Hermione blinked. Handsome was tugging insistently at her sleeve. Rith and Grim were bouncing up and down on the settee excitedly.

She cuddled Handsome to her and moved to pick up Rith and Grim when, suddenly, she saw it.

Rustle.

Rustle.

Rustlerustle.

There was a soft purple glow coming from the box, and she bit her lip as she cautiously lifted the tissue up.

Suddenly, the purple book jumped up out of the tissue, her fanged maw open and eyes looking about brightly. It— she— purrpurrpurrrrred and hopped into a startled Hermione's arms.

Hermione promptly burst into tears, cuddling Handsome and the purple book tightly. "Oh," she whispered tearfully. "Hello."

PurrrrPUrrrpPURRRRRRR.

Rith and Grim pounced on the little purple book, and she squealed, nipping at them playfully. They leapt out of her arms and chased each other around the room before hopping onto the bookshelf and nestling up together. Only Handsome remained snuggled up in her arms, looking up at her with—

Hermione stroked Handsome on the head. She could have sworn she saw… but her emotions were surely getting the better of her.

Handsome was now a beautiful cobalt blue with startling carnelian eyes.

"Loki?" she whispered.

"Okay, now I'm definitely losing it. I need to shower and drink something really strong," Hermione said, putting Handsome down on the settee. Hermione rubbed her temples and sighed. "You know you're losing it when you start thinking that your strangely intelligent book is— fond of you. Stop it, Hermione." She stormed out of the room towards the shower.

Handsome bounced off the settee and headed toward the shower. As he bounced through the door, Hermione stared down at him. "Oh no, this is no place for a book, mister!" she used her toe to move him out of the room and close the door.

Whine.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Hermione opened the door, and Handsome tried to plow his way in.

She snatched him up, her towel falling down to the ground. She walked out, placed Handsome on the desk, thought about it, and shoved Handsome in a drawer and closed it, rushing off to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Bump.

Bump.

BUMP.

Thunk!

Handsome pushed out the drawer and hopped out of the desk. He glared at the drawer and began to hop back towards the bathroom. He stared up at the doorknob, looked one direction then the other. He stood up in his un-bookian form, his hand moving to open the offending door.

He stopped, closing his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he walked back to the other room and sat down on the couch, deciding that he needed to be honest with her. He could hear her calling him so clearly, deep within his soul. Her touch was electric. Her light begged him to come and warm himself by her inner fire. He—

Loki shuddered, putting his head in his hands.

She didn't want him. She wouldn't want him. He wasn't the beautiful blue serpent of her dreams. But he desperately wanted to be. He hadn't wanted anything more in his life because she—

She gave him… peace.

When she touched him, all the rage, the frustration, the anger— it all went away. For the first time since he had starting having the anger problems, he truly felt normal again.

He had to tell her. He had to make her understand how special she was. He wanted to touch her, hold her. He wanted to be tender with her, protect her, and he was almost mad with hunger for just that little brush of her hand against his skin.

He was no Thor in the relationship department. While his brother bedded ladies from one side of the keg to the next, he did not. He had relationships here and there, but all of them were empty and almost mechanical. He could go through the motions, even please the female, but it was all a big experiment more than a connection. That was what he wanted. He wanted a connection, and not just the lovey drivel that they whispered to you after he gave them pleasure.

Then, the anger issues had started, and all his prospective interests soon faded into the woodwork. None of them had ever stayed long enough to ask him how he felt. How was he doing? Asgardians, as advanced as they were, had so many social rules. What you did behind closed doors, that was pretty much off the record, but in front of his mother or the All-Father he was expected to always be very proper and reserved in his behaviour. In front of the people, he was expected to be controlled. Hell, even Thor had issues in that area, but not nearly as much as he had.

No, Loki had always had far more issues connecting to what made an Asgardian an Asgardian. Thor and the Warriors Three and Sif, they had all laughed and played together. They battled together. They even experimented with relationships together, but Loki was always the odd one out. And Loki never truly understood why.

No, he decided. He would sit here and wait for her to finish her shower and he would tell her the truth. Surely she would at least give him a chance to at least prove to himself it was hopeless before giving it up?

Loki sat on the couch and folded his hands in his lap. He would wait. Just as long as it took.


Hermione walked out of the shower wearing her duckling-covered nightshirt.. It had been a gag gift from Draco, but she liked it because it was warm and fluffy. She checked the door as she opened it, surprised that Handsome wasn't there, disgruntled and impatiently waiting for her, like the overprotective ninja book that he was.

She brushed out her long, curly hair and went to turn off the lights in the living room when—

Hermione's breath hitched and caught in her throat. There, lying asleep on her couch was an incredibly beautiful man. His skin was a very familiar shade of deep cobalt with raised, swirling marks spread almost decoratively across his flawless blue skin. He had long, curling hair the colour of midnight.

"Loki," she whispered.

And she knew. It was him all along.

Her dutiful, mood ring of a colour-changing book on Norse mythology.

Merlin, she had slept with him in her arms. Then Hermione flushed crimson from her head to her toes. She had held him to her naked body!

But that colour— were his eyes the colour of rubies? Could it even be possible? Was he—

She knelt by the couch, her hand covering his. Her thumb rubbed gently against his markings, both curious and tender.

Loki's eyes shot open, and she gasped aloud in pure wonder.

Deep ruby-red eyes stared into hers. She slowly, tenderly reached up to touch his face. Her palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it instinctively to make that all-important contact. A jolt of pure warmth and intense pleasure seemed to surge through every single nerve ending he possessed.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Hermione asked quietly.

He looked into her face, searching for any sign of anger, pain, or the sudden overwhelming desire to fling a table at him as Sif surely would have done, but there was nothing there other than warmth and simple curiosity.

"I did not not have words to describe what I feel for you." Loki winced in remembered pain. "You had already told me that you were not interested."

"I told you of my dream," Hermione said. "You saw it for yourself. How did you not make the connection then and tell me?"

"There was no connection I could see to make," Loki explained. "I have— wanted to tell you for weeks now. I hear your song in my heart. I cannot explain it. I so desperately want to be the blue serpent in your dream if you would but give me a chance to prove it."

Hermione's brow crinkled in confusion. "Loki, you could have just showed me this. I look into your marvelous ruby eyes and I see him— my serpent."

Loki frowned. "I do not understand."

"You even have the markings," Hermione said, placing his own hand to her cheek as she pressed herself into it. Her hand caressed his skin, and he almost fell over to feel the sweet, exquisite intensity of her touch. "They are just like mine."

Loki froze in shock as he saw his hand clasped in hers. Her lightly tanned skin against his… very blue skin. "No," he groaned in absolute misery. He pulled his hand away, clasping it in his other hand as if scalded.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, hurt in her voice.

Loki frantically clawed into his palms with his fingernails, soon drawing blood. "I'm— I'm a Jötunn. I'm a monster. I—"

Hermione's hands covered his and Loki's breath caught in his throat. "You're no more a monster than I am," she assured him, grasping his trembling hands in hers.

"They're the enemy! They're— I'm— I'll kill everything beautiful in the world!"

Hermione's face grew hard. "Now you listen to me, Loki. You are only what you make yourself to be. I was told from the very first day I came to school that I was less than the others, a foul creature unworthy of breathing the same air as they, much less have the right to wield magic. According to them, I should've been drowned at birth. I was just a Mudblood, no more worthy of merit than a glob of shite under your boot. I was told my magic wasn't real. I was told I wasn't as good as everyone else because my parents weren't magical like theirs. How could I ever be worth anything?"

Hermione's eyes flashed bright gold and her lips pursed into a thin line. "You've watched over me ever since we first met in the library, and while you pranked the entire school, you never once actually hurt anyone. You even made the Headmaster look better for a day, no small accomplishment in itself. That was you, Loki. I see it now, so very clearly. I don't know why I didn't before. Why I didn't remember you before. I do now. I remember you. You are not a monster."

Suddenly, Hermione grew cold, her nerveless hands falling away. "Do you think me a monster?"

"NO!" Loki yelled. "No," he repeated far more quietly. "You are not a monster, Hermione. You are a goddess."

"Do you think me a fool?"

"NO!"

"A horrible judge of character, perhaps?"

"No," Loki answered quietly, almost abashedly.

Hermione closed her eyes. "I need your permission, Loki."

Loki blinked in confusion. "For what?"

"To show you what it is that I see in you."

Loki fidgeted nervously, his eyes skittish and wild. "Okay."

Hermione took his hand, her palms brushed up his arms, gliding across his markings. She dragged her palms along his skin to to his neck, his ear, and his cheek. She tugged his head down and tenderly placed her mouth against his.

Heat rose up between them instantly, and Loki groaned as electricity seemed to arc into him from her very core into his. own His breath caught— his heart stopped. His mind screeched to a shuddering halt.

And suddenly he had her on her back, plastered against the cushions of the couch as his tongue eagerly explored her mouth, a low groan of sheer want rising up from deep within. He stared down at her, crimson eyes blazing, and Hermione's eyes bled to gold.

"Loki," she whispered.

Her hands slid against his arms. "I would really, really, like this armour off of you, and I don't think I have sufficient brain power to work complex locking mechanisms at the moment."

Loki shuddered from her touch, his breathing growing heavy. He looked up at her painfully, almost fearfully, but he ran his finger down his back in a strangely graceful movement and the metal, leather, and fabric fell away.

"I—" Hermione gasped as she took in the sight of his lean, yet muscular body. "Yes, please."

She swallowed hard, struggling to sit up enough to pull her nightgown off, and he held her back, his mouth seeking her neck as he peeled her gown from her body. He stopped only long enough to pull it off her arms and then he was affixed to her. His strong hands roamed her body, touching, exploring, needing to feel every bit of her even as his tongue slithered against hers to make up their own serpentine dance.

Her hands roamed his chest, sides, and back. She followed along his markings and he could see them perfectly as they came to glorious life in his head and over his sensitised skin. She panted against his skin, and the sensation and sound sent thrills of excitement through his body. His lower body jerked sharply, and he felt his readiness surge to life unlike anything he'd ever had before. He hesitated— suddenly unsure, doubting.

Hermione's hand curled around his shaft and Loki's eyes rolled back in his head at the sheer exquisite agony of it. She shifted her position slightly, moving him precisely where she wanted him, and she wiggled just enough to moisten his entry with a little help. Loki groaned, gasped, and thrust, unable to resist the instinctual need to move.

Hermione cried out, clawing at his back, but her legs wrapped around him locking him into the commitment. But Loki definitely wasn't trying to leave. He growled deep in the back of his throat, his thumbs playing with her nipples even as he lowered his mouth to hers and thrust strongly at the same time.

Hermione screamed, but it was not borne of pain, fear or rejection. "Loki!"

His name jolted through him, and his eyes glowed brightly, and he thrust again, the two of them quickly finding their rhythm together until they became as one, moving toward that beckoning, shining bliss that was waiting for them just a little further on the horizon.

She panted, crying, squirming restlessly against him, clutching his body to hers as she shuddered against his body.

"Hermione!" Loki cried out, feeling himself teetering right on the edge.

Her body slammed tightly around him, holding him like a velvet vise. Loki cried out at the very height of bliss. "My goddess," he gasped, thrusting one last time as he lost everything in a series of overwhelming convulsions as she kept him sheathed within her, drinking in everything that he had to give. He arched his neck, shuddering in the most sublime ecstasy, and clamped his teeth on the skin of her neck, and Hermione screamed out her ecstasy in response. Her body shuddered as Loki's markings glowed an intense, brilliant blue-white as the markings of her serpent form manifested on her body to become a twin of his own. They glowed together, sun and moon, filling the room with a powerful, unearthly radiance.

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," Hermione's song erupted from her human throat and her body thrashed, convulsing, shifting, changing. She wrapped her coils around him as she threw herself out of the way before her body became too big, dragging Loki along with her.

Feathers and scales erupted from her skin as her body elongated, thrashed, and changed in a fluid wave, wings spreading as her sunlike radiance blazed over the miniature jungle. Loki's body grew very warm— warmer than warm. His body arched and thrashed, and he convulsed as his arms twisted backwards into naked wings just before even more heat burst from his skin and rose up from the shafts, filling out into ethereal white feathers that glowed like the moon. Blue, shimmering scales sprouted down his back and his belly even as feathers sprouted around his head like a mane and out of his tail, that had just finally finished filling out.

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," Hermione sang again.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhh," Loki sang along with her, their voices ringing out together in perfect harmony and blissful completion.

VvvVVVVvvVOOOOOOOOOOM!

Power blasted outwards from their bodies as they sang, and they twisted around each other, scale against scale, marking against marking, feathers against feathers, entwining their bodies together as they curled around the temple in a loving, serpentine embrace.

Hermione rubbed her head against Loki's, her golden tongue flicking against his cobalt scales. Loki nuzzled her back as his coils tightened around hers. He let out a contented sigh.

Peace at last.