06. Wolves Backed into Corners

Hermione accepted the fresh tea with a smile, one she was sure looked quite haggard. 'Thanks, Narcissa.'

Narcissa, on the other hand, looked as perfect as always. 'Of course, darling.' She handed Draco a cup as well, and reseated herself on Hermione's other side. They sipped tea. Time continued apace. The view of the wall opposite the visitor's waiting area in the DMLE did not become more interesting with time. Hermione sighed and glanced again at the clock on the wall. Just past seven. They'd come down here as soon as they changed back this morning—only an hour ago, but it'd still been some time since Hermione slept. Somewhere further in the bowels of Level Two, Harry and Ron were trying to get Yewsap to assign Harry or one of the werewolves to the case.

What a great way to start the new year.

Finally, the doors leading into the Auror Department opened and Ron came out, looking about as beat up as Hermione felt. 'She booked him,' he said, sighing.

Hermione's head fell back against the wall behind her with an audible thump. 'Lovely.'

Ron grimaced. She took a closer look at him and saw how purple the circles under his eyes were. There was a tightness to his mouth that he only wore when one of his family was sick, hurt, or in danger. 'She won't let Harry, Lavender, or Tonks on the case. Hermione...George is going to trial.'

Narcissa stood straight up, teacup clattering in the saucer in her hand. 'Trial?'

'Yeah,' Ron said, exhaling heavily. 'My brother.' He laughed humuorlessly, and swallowed. 'Yeah, my brother's going to trial for attempted infection of a pure-blood witch. And what's more? They just sent out two Aurors to arrest Fred. Premeditated infection of a pure-blood wizard. They could get ten years each for it.'

'They won't,' Draco said, voice cold.

Hermione stared at him. She hadn't heard that tone of voice from him in ages. He wasn't looking at Ron. His gaze was fixed unblinkingly on the wall across from him, and Hermione could see his mind whirring in the harsh set of his mouth. She saw Ron nodding from the corner of her eye.

'Merlin, I hope not. Fuck. I've gotta go. Mum's waiting for news. Well, assuming they haven't picked up Fred yet. Shit.' He turned and went back into the Auror department, and Hermione and Draco stood as well.

'Hermione, will you please see to the papers? I must follow up with Lucius on what he's found on Madam Edgecombe. Which bedroom did you put that daughter of hers in, Draco?'

'Third buttercream room in the East Wing,' he said.

Narcissa nodded. 'I will see to it that she's fed and debriefed. This is going to be quite a lot of work.'

Draco sneered. 'Realized what a bad idea it was, have you, Mum?'

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. 'This was bound to come out sooner or later, Draco. Don't tell me you never realized George Weasley was a late addition to your pack? It was all there if you'd have only smelled for it, but of course your father raised you too well in his image. No man is worth anything unless he's a pure-blooded wizard, isn't that so? Somehow that doesn't even change when you are no longer one yourself.'

She strode to the lifts without a backwards glance. Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes. One look at Draco had her convinced not to say a word on the matter. 'I'm going to see Barnabas,' she said. 'I'll see you later. Dinner?'

'No,' Draco snarled.

Hermione blinked. 'No? Okay, well—'

'I'm coming with you,' Draco said. He prowled over to the stairs, and it took Hermione a moment to process what he'd said before she stalked after him.

'For a moment,' she said, when she caught up to him in the stairwell, 'I thought you said you were coming with. To the Daily Prophet. Regarding a werewolf crisis.' She raised her brows at him.

'I did say that, Granger.'

Hermione chewed on her lip with one canine tooth to keep her smirk from growing. 'Alright then,' she said. He just growled again and pushed his way through the Atrium to a free Floo. He held his arm out wordlessly and she took it, stepping over the hearth with him. 'Daily Prophet,' he said, and they were whooshed away.

-x-

The Prophet offices were in a rush. Hermione wasn't surprised that she was getting horrid looks from some of the staff, but it irritated her anyway. One young wizard checked her as he walked by, knocking her into Draco, who caught her before she could tumble to the floor. She growled low in her throat before she caught herself and stopped. Sometimes it was difficult to reign in impulses so close to the moon, especially when she hadn't slept in twenty-four hours.

She approached the front desk. The witch there was at least giving them the courtesy of a polite smile. 'Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy to see Mr Cuffe,' she said.

'Mr Cuffe's schedule is full today,' said the witch. 'If you'd like to—'

'Would you just let him know we're here, please?' said Hermione. It wasn't a question. 'I'm quite sure he'll want to fit us in.'

The witch pursed her lips, but seeing the glower on Malfoy's face, did tap her wand on a memo pad and send a message zooming off. 'Have a seat, and I'll let you know if he replies,' she said.

'Thank you,' said Hermione. They sat together on a bench beneath the window. Draco was utterly silent, which Hermione knew to be a bad sign for her chances of avoiding a migraine. She watched the junior reporters typing away in the crap cubicles closest to the door, where the cold draught was likeliest to blow over them whenever someone came in. Seeing the bratty wizard who'd knocked into her shivering was almost pleasing enough to soothe her anger. But not quite.

'Ms Granger?' called the witch. Hermione looked up. The witch was standing by the open door leading up to the executive offices. 'Mr Cuffe will see you now. Please follow me.'

Barnabas Cuffe's office was on the top floor of the Prophet building, with a panoramic view of upper Diagon Alley. He was behind his desk when the welcome witch escorted them in, and though he looked exhausted, he was clean, dressed, and making a valiant effort at normality.

'Thank you, Esmerelda,' said Cuffe. 'Please have an elf send up some tea.'

When she was gone, Barnabas allowed himself to slump down a little. He gestured stiffly towards the two chairs opposite his desk. Every line of his body shouted the aches Hermione knew he was feeling after his first change. She was well past her eightieth change and her body was accustomed to it, but she was a little sore, too.

'You're doing a remarkable job of hiding your condition,' Hermione observed.

Cuffe grunted. 'We'll see how long it takes people at the gala last night to realize I wasn't in attendance the whole night. Now, this mess your Weasleys have got us all in…how do you intend to fix it? Let's get it out of the way first and then I'll tell you how it will never go over with the public, and then we can move onto a solution which might save all our sorry arses from a Dementor's Kiss.'

An elf wearing robes fashioned from a printing press blanket popped in to deliver the tea. Barnabas didn't bother to ask how they took theirs, he just floated the sugar and milk over to them and let them have at it. Draco's mouth pressed in annoyance so tightly it almost disappeared, but he served himself and Hermione without a word of complaint.

'I want to do another of the articles we set up to precede the one where you and others were taken. If we can get everyone to think about something else, maybe they won't ask questions,' Hermione said.

'It's crap,' Cuffe said.

'Agreed,' Draco said, speaking for the first time. 'The twenty new wolves will come out now. You saw the little twats down there in the press room. They'll be looking for anything they can get on werewolves. Someone's going to talk to the right Auror and it's all over from there.'

'They will if they're any good at their jobs,' Cuffe agreed. He sipped his tea, coughed on it, and sipped again. 'We're going to come out,' he said.

'What?' Hermione said. 'Right now?'

'Right now,' Cuffe agreed.

'Everyone?' asked Hermione.

'It has to be everyone,' Draco said. 'A pre-emptive attack. It won't give the little shits time to turn it into a story of insidious subterfuge.'

Hermione did not like this idea one bit. 'You don't have their permission to release their names. That's violating their right to privacy.'

'Do I look like a man who gives a flobberworm's fuck?' said Cuffe. 'We're releasing the names, and we're going to do bios on the ones who might stand a cold fuck's chance in hell of withstanding the fallout. I'm giving it to Skeeter.'

'You can't be serious,' Hermione said. 'She lambasts us every chance she can get. Last month she said the Ministry should hang us.'

'I know,' said Cuffe. 'That's why she's getting the story. No chance of anyone spinning it as bias because I'm on the list. Of course, don't mean there won't be bias. She knows which side her bread's buttered on.'

'This is unethical,' Hermione hissed.

Draco scoffed. 'And writing articles that suggest lycanthropy was a desirable affliction wasn't?'

'It was desirable!' Hermione said. 'I have the bloody sources if you'd like to see them, Malfoy.'

Draco ignored her. 'Have you got the names of everyone who was turned alongside you?'

'I do,' said Cuffe. He flicked his eyes to Hermione, his expression smug as he added: 'Got the names of everyone bitten at Hogwarts seven years ago, too.'

Hermione sensed Draco tensing next to her. He still wanted to know who all was in their pack, but it really wasn't Hermione's problem that he was so avoidant that none of them had chosen to reveal themselves to their male alpha.

'I really think we should focus on finding the person who bit you and the others instead,' Hermione said. 'If we can shift the people's focus from Fred and George Weasley to the rogue, villain werewolf who destroyed twenty lives, then we can cultivate sympathy instead of hatred.'

'Don't need to find the wolf,' said Cuffe. 'I know exactly who it is.'

Hermione stopped. She shut her mouth with an audible click. It was Malfoy who asked the question, though: 'You know who bit you?'

'I was a reporter. Of course I know who bit me.'

'But you were Obliviated,' Draco said, leaning forward.

Barnabas smiled. 'I was a reporter,' he repeated, and said no more.

'Who?' asked Hermione.

Cuffe smirked. 'I think I'll keep that bit of information for when we do, in fact, need the sympathy. It's not right now, Ms Granger. Right now, we're going to have to ride this Thestral to the end and redirect as best we can.'

'Are you joking, Mr Cuffe?' Hermione said, outraged. 'He or she could be out there biting more people as we speak! The Aurors need to know who it is right away.'

'The werewolf is not biting more. This was a politically-charged move.'

'How do you know?' asked Draco.

Cuffe's narrow eyes slid to him. 'I just know.'

'I don't like this,' said Hermione. 'I really, really don't.'

Cuffe rolled his eyes. 'What's our first goal?'

'To keep werewolves from becoming villains and the Weasleys out of Azkaban,' Hermione said at once.

'Just so,' said Cuffe. 'We'll do that best by keeping the focus off those moronic boys and onto the fact that werewolves are not anonymous spectres but actual witches and wizards that people know and interact with on a daily basis. You've let yourselves stay in the shadows far too long, Ms Granger, and it hasn't helped your cause at all.'

Hermione frowned down at her lap. Not all of them had. There were a good number of wolves in her pack who'd chosen to reveal themselves after the Registry went down.

Her tea was cold and untouched. They'd stayed this path for seven years, and in that time she'd managed to overturn the Registry, something that hung over the heads of British werewolves for two hundred years. She'd thought they were making good progress at a good rate.

Had she really held them all back by letting the shy ones like Marietta—and the aloof ones like Draco—keep quiet?

No, she thought. She couldn't have. It wasn't right to force people into disclosing their personal health histories to a public who'd only revile them for it. She could see the point Cuffe was making, but she hated it.

'Legally, I have no recourse if you choose to do this,' said Hermione. 'I assume you didn't get the names legally, but when has that ever stopped the Daily Prophet?'

'That's correct,' said Cuffe, ignoring her jab. 'Rights of the press. Everything's true, after all.'

She exhaled heavily. 'People might lose their jobs, their friends. Maybe even their lives.'

'Revolutions aren't won with tea and cake, Ms Granger.'

'Don't pretend you aren't aware of all the kill folders my mother made when you were campaigning against the Registry,' said Draco. 'You sat back and let dozens of officials be blackmailed into voting for your bill.'

'Dozens of bigoted, corrupt officials,' Hermione said.

Draco's eyebrows went up. 'Absolved of all guilt, then, are you?'

No, she thought, but refused to say it. She felt guilty enough on her own. She wasn't about to admit it to Draco. In the end, she'd chosen between two evils, and the lesser evil had been the rights of her pack.

Hermione stood. 'I can't be a party to this.'

'Just as well,' said Cuffe. 'You deal with Ministry. I'll deal with the papers.'

Hermione looked at Draco, but he was still seated. She lifted an eyebrow. His mouth tensed. 'You go see if Weasley's torn down the Ministry yet. I've something I'd like to discuss with Mr Cuffe.'

Hermione could smell the slyness coming off him in waves; her eyes narrowed. She knew better than to bother when Draco was in one of his questionable morals modes, but it still infuriated her that he was going about it like this. Mr Cuffe might be one of them now, but he was still the Press, for Merlin's sake.

Fine then, she thought and stood to leave, her head held high. At the door, she stopped, turned, and levelled a glare at Malfoy. 'It won't work, anyway,' she said. 'It'll just turn all the new werewolves against us. Would you want to help us if one of your own revealed you to the public? Or would you come to hate yourself and everyone like you?'

The office was silent as she shut the door behind her.

-x-

Hermione didn't have any better luck with the Ministry, as it happened.

'The Wizengamot's talking about whether or not to hear a case on the reinstatement of the Werewolf Registry,' Ron said, as soon as Hermione arrived at the DMLE. He glanced up and down the corridor before ushering her into Conference Room Four. 'They've reconvened early for a special session just to talk about it. Fred and George's story is the biggest news since Harry never turned, and it hasn't even been a full news cycle yet. Happy fucking New Year, eh?'

Hermione erected a silencing charm over the room and screamed. When she ran out of breath, she paused, inhaled, and did it again. Then, she removed her cloak and tossed it over the back of the nearest chair before rummaging in her endless handbag for a hair tie.

'Feel better?' Ron asked.

'No,' she said, sighing. 'A bit, maybe.'

He laughed. It sounded tired. 'I knew this shit with Fred and George was going to come out eventually,' he said. 'I just never thought it would be such a shitstorm.'

'Where there's a Weasley, there's a way,' Hermione muttered as her fingers closed around something vaguely thin and stretchy. She pulled it out; it was indeed a hair tie, thank Loki. She looked up at Ron as she was pulling the unreasonable mess that was her hair into some semblance of order on top of her head. God, she would kill for a shower right now.

No, she would never kill; she shouldn't even joke about something like that in the current climate.

She would be polite to Lucius Malfoy for a shower right now, Hermione amended.

'Where's Harry?' she asked.

Ron scrunched his nose. 'He's down there with Yewsap, witnessing the interrogation. She agreed to that much at least. He's not on the case, but at least he's there for that.'

'Which?' Hermione asked. 'Fred and George have the right to an attorney present!'

'Fred's,' said Ron. 'And he's got one. You'll never guess who showed up with him when they dragged him in.'

'Who?'

'Acacia Parkinson,' Ron said as if this were a great revelation. It was. 'Pansy's mum.'

'Are you serious?' said Hermione. 'Parkinson, really? Oh Merlin. Thank you, Narcissa,' she said to the ceiling. If they had Parkinson, they might actually have a chance of coming out of this mess without chains on their ankles. Acacia Parkinson was a hurricane in the courtroom—a pragmatic, efficient, ruthless barrister with a very keen sense of her own self worth. She went into the courtroom like every case was a personal vendetta she was determined to settle.

Hermione just had not expected Parkinson to be willing to represent two werewolves when she'd never made any friendly gesture to their cause before. To Hermione's knowledge, Pansy and Draco were still friends and often took trips to Paris for shopping together, but he'd never brought her out to any of their get-togethers so she was still an unknown quantity to Hermione. A bitchy unknown quantity—but Hermione appreciated aggressive women these days. She often felt like she and Pansy could be friends if only there weren't the whole bigotry thing between them.

'Speaking of helpful Malfoys,' said Ron. 'Where's your helper?'

'By now I'm sure he's just managed to convince Barnabas Cuffe to give him the names of all the werewolves bit at Hogwarts. He asked me the other day, but I wouldn't tell him.'

Ron did not look as though this made very much sense to him. In fact, it didn't: 'He doesn't know who's in our pack?'

'Not all of us, no,' said Hermione.

Ron's forehead wrinkled dramatically. He still looked bloody attractive, the stupid wolf. How was it fair that Ron was so unreasonably handsome and yet they couldn't have sex without bursting into giggles? This had once been something that once kept Hermione awake all night thinking about but now, unfortunately, that honour went to Draco, who was generally a prat.

She and Ron really were better off as friends and Ron seemed to be happy on-again-off-againing with Lavender and Tonks. It was Tonks this week but no doubt he and Lavender would fall desperately into one another's arms again next week and for sure in time for Valentine's Day.

'But how does he not know?' Ron asked. It was not a point he was grasping and indeed, Hermione often wondered the same thing. Yet, Malfoy was Malfoy.

She shrugged, feeling bitter. 'He never paid attention. The only important thing to him has always been finding a cure for it. He never thought our community was worth anything.'

Ron's forehead remained furrowed but his expression turned thoughtful. 'I really don't mind being a werewolf, you know? It doesn't even hurt all that much to change anymore, and the enhanced senses have helped with investigations dozens of times.'

Hermione grinned at him with both her canines showing. 'Yeah, Ron. I know.'

'Well it's about time Malfoy decided to be an Alpha, if you ask me. Good for him getting those names. Even if he is being slimy about how.'

Hermione didn't really think there was much use in Draco getting the names from Cuffe today or the paper tomorrow, but she didn't want to put anymore stress on Ron's shoulders than was already there, so she said nothing. All things considered, lycanthropy had given Ron some perspective on when a good time to get one's knickers in a twist was, and Hermione was surprised that he hadn't deemed his brothers being arrested as one of those times.

'I need to get down to the lab,' she said. 'I can't do anything here, and I'm going to go mad if I sit around doing nothing. Send me a note when you hear anything, right?'

'Right,' Ron said, running a hand through his bright hair. He sighed heavily. 'I'm on desk duty still. Reckon I'll Floo Mum and let her know they haven't given the Kiss to the twins yet.'

Hermione gasped, suddenly feeling all the blood drain from her limbs and face. 'Don't joke about it, Ron,' she whispered.

He flushed and rubbed a hand over his face. 'Yeah, sorry. You're right. Go on, do your potions or whatever it is you're calling it these days. I'll send you a crane when I hear anything.'

-x-

The prospect of researching Avada Kedavra was enough to keep Hermione's mind spinning away from what was going on up on Level Two for a while, at least.

George's belated infection was an open secret in their pack—well, among those who paid attention anyway, so not Malfoy. But it wasn't an open secret in the wizarding world, as the reaction to its revelation proved. Thirty nine of them were bitten that night and one more six weeks later. There were forty wolves in Hermione's pack, and theoretically forty people who could've let slip to Madam Edgecombe that George and Fred Weasley had planned and carried out George's infection the second moon they ever had.

Hermione had been in the pen when it happened. It hadn't struck her as unusual that George and Harry came in with her, Ron, and Fred. After Harry's first night with them when they'd all thought he'd change too, the debilitating terror of the change had begun to ebb. It was nice to have company, nice to have someone stroke your coat when you were panting from the exhausting agony of shifting.

Hermione had sat in that pen the whole night and not had any idea of what the twins were planning until she smelt blood on the air. Not a lot—a half dozen drops really—but enough to send her salivating. She'd whipped her head up and stared in horror as George held his hand out for Fred to lick. There was a short slash on his palm, welling up with blood, and Fred was coating it in his infected saliva and letting it seep into George's bloodstream on purpose.

George didn't change that moon, but the next one he did, and the morning after, when Mr and Mrs Weasley came to fetch them, Hermione felt equal parts anger and shame at the heartbroken looks on their faces when they realized what had happened. Three of their sons were werewolves now. Forty-three per cent of their children. Back then, when werewolf hysteria was at its peak, Hermione had understood their pain.

Now she was just infuriated that after seven bloody years, the fucking Weasley twins were making her life hell again. Everything she'd worked for, all of it ash now—completely undone.

She flipped angrily through the Killing Curse assignment to keep her mind off of her current troubles, mentally noting the ancient magic books she'd request from the Oxford library and the Sorbonne. She had a few working theories on Avada Kedavra, or at least a few ideas of where to go from here. She wished she could get her heart into the research because it was a topic she found fascinating, but the truth was, she was worried about the twins. She was worried about all of them, really.

Hermione fell into a restless state of researching and making notes. She'd started with a history of the Unforgivables written in 1904, but other than telling her that none of them had been made unforgivable until 1717, it was generally worthless and uncited.

She had a few other lines of inquiry into the Killing Curse and was currently sorting through all the promising texts available to her as an Unspeakable, trying to find the earliest accounts of its usage. If she knew when or where it was first invented and cast, she would be well on her way to learning how to unravel its creation, and therefore the magic that made it work. At half one, Harry and Luna's old elf Kreacher popped in with a plate of cabbage, buttered bread, bacon, noodles, corned beef, an entire smoked cod, and pancakes—a strange collaboration of lucky New Year's Day food from an assortment of cultures.

'Mistress Luna sends a lucky lunch to Miss Hermione,' Kreacher growled. It was his affectionate growl at least. He'd almost come to like her over the years.

Hermione sighed, setting her quill aside. She hadn't even realized the time. It was a holiday for Merlin's sake and she was sitting here doing research because she couldn't stand to be alone in her flat or listening to her parents yammer on so cheerfully around her. They never quite grasped the gravity of her infection; Hermione suspected they didn't want to, because it would break their hearts if they did, so they just pretended it was some bohemian lifestyle she'd chosen on purpose.

'Thank you, Kreacher. Tell Luna thank you as well.'

Kreacher nodded. 'If that will be all?'

Hermione hated to ask, but the Ministry was closed today and therefore the cafeteria as well. She bit her lip. 'Would you mind bringing me a cup of coffee, too? Or tea? Or whatever Luna has made right now.'

Kreacher disappeared without a word and returned a second later with a carafe of steaming black coffee and a cup of cream.

Hermione beamed. 'Thank you, Kreacher.'

When she was alone again, she poured herself a cup of coffee and picked up a slice of bacon to munch on as she flipped through a delicate copy of L'Histoire de la Magie Verte from the fourth century. Avada Kedavra wasn't mentioned until the penultimate chapter (of course) and even then only in very little detail:

Avadakedavra—Proche-Orient; colour of spring grass; sound of winter wind.

'Proche-Orient, brilliant!' Hermione whispered, jumping up. She grabbed another piece of bacon to chew on as she rushed from the lab to the Unspeakable Library on the other side of the revolving foyer. The doors circled at her command, spinning and changing directions like chambers in a vault lock. She waited impatiently for the combination to finish, and finally the door that led to the gents, the Dangerous Experimental Explosions Lab, Senior Unspeakable Croaker's office, and the Library—all depending on the combination used—clicked open.

Hermione rushed through, navigating the rows of shelves with practised ease. She found the section on Near and Middle Eastern Theories of Magic and paused, scanning the titles. The Unspeakables didn't believe in a unified cataloguing system, believing it to stymie creative thought, and so Hermione really had no idea what all was available to her. This was not a section she'd frequented very much in the past. Many of the texts were written in Aramaic, Hebrew, Egyptian, Persian or Arabic—none of which she was fluent in. She knew a few words and phrases in Egyptian from a project she'd worked on during her second year as an Unspeakable, but it looked like this was going to require a Translation Charm.

She hated those.

Hermione glared at the books' spines, trying to understand the titles by sheer force of will, but no such luck. Sighing, she pulled out her wand and tapped her temple, incanting the Translation Charm and cringing at the resultant headache when her mind was forcibly rearranged to accommodate a new language. It was similar to a migraine and so frustrating to read through that it made her want to go to bed instead, which was why almost everyone found the spell to be entirely useless and chose instead to undertake the learning of whatever language they were hoping to read or speak.

The library's low lights felt like noon in the Mediterranean without sunglasses and she winced, waving her wand at the torches to lower them even further. She moved to the beginning of the section and once again began scanning the titles. Magical Persian Cats of the 4th Century...On the value of Turkish sand versus Egyptian sand in Time-Turners… Ankhs and Other Forces of Life… Kurdish Fertility Chants… Illness… Household Spells of the Ottoman Empire… Magic in Alexander the Muggle's Court… Aramaic to Arabic Dictionary… Middle Eastern Middle Ages Magic… Palestinian Poultices.

Well, bugger. She was surprised at how small the Unspeakables' collection on Near Eastern magical theory was, but the Ministry was notoriously xenophobic, so perhaps she shouldn't be. She swished her wand, collecting all of the books to take with her. Her wand buzzed ten times as she left the Library, recording that she'd checked out each of the books. She put in the combination for her office and waited, shifting the cumbersome load of books, as the doors revolved.

It clicked open, and Hermione took a step in before whispering, 'Damn!' and closing it again. She'd put in the wrong combination and the door had opened to the ladies room instead. A second door opened behind her, and she huffed.

'Reading in the loo?' Draco asked.

'Oh!' Hermione turned, giving him an embarrassed smile. He took five of her books with one hand and swished the combination for their lab with his wand. 'Put in the wrong flick,' she admitted. 'What are you doing here?'

The foyer began spinning all around them. He lifted one white-blond eyebrow at her and she felt a little dizzy, probably from the spinning. 'I could ask the same of you, but I think we both know.'

The doors stopped and he moved to open theirs for her. She stepped through, calling over her shoulder, 'Needed to be distracted.'

'Exactly,' he said. They were quiet as they returned to their office. Hermione set the books on their work table. Draco was hanging his cloak on the rack by the door; she eyed him out of the corner of her eye, biting her lip.

'Did you...learn anything?' she asked.

He turned, and she noticed the look on his face then. It was the one he wore when he was brewing a new attempt at a lycanthropy cure—the look that meant everything was serious and Malfoy's don't have time for fucking around. The same one he wore when he'd kissed her the first time.

'I have a list,' he said quietly. It echoed in the chamber of their lab, his voice reverberating over the stones like it was magic, too.

Hermione's lips pressed together. She nodded. He knew all of them now and there was nothing wrong with that, but she couldn't help being a little angry, deep down, that he'd never cared until now, and that when he did care, he went for the most efficient way of getting what he wanted instead of reaching out and trying to get their pack to come to him because they trusted him. Because whether he admitted it or not, the magic inherent in werewolves and packs had chosen him to be the male Alpha of their pack, and he'd never once acted to be Alpha. He'd never once stuck his neck out to protect the rest of them like he was supposed to.

'And?' Hermione asked.

Draco came to sit at the work table. He laid a folded piece of parchment between them, worrying the edges with his fingers. His fingers stopped; he unfolded the parchment and slid it across the table to her.

Graham Pritchard

Malcolm Baddock

Rose Zeller

Laura Madley

Emrys Cadwallader

Su Li

Morag McDougal

Stewart Ackerley

Demelza Robins

Kenneth Towler

Victoria Frobisher

Euan Abercrombie

Glenda Chittock

Barnabas Cuffe

Orsinio Thruston

Aladair Maddock

Meghan McCormack

Xenophilius Lovegood

Morgana Montgomery

Merlina Montgomery

Hermione gasped. 'This isn't the Hogwarts list.'

'No,' Draco agreed. 'I didn't ask him for it.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'You didn't?'

Malfoy looked away, mouth curling irritatedly. 'No. I only asked for this one. The Hogwarts names are...they're my pack. They deserve to tell me themselves. And—he won't be printing these names, not yet.'

Her heart stopped for the briefest of moments. 'He won't?'

'No, he's going to run an article on me instead…talk about my research, how I've been trying to cure lycanthropy. They'll only run articles on the werewolves who've already come out. And if anyone else wants to reveal themselves to be interviewed, he's putting an open call at the end of each article.'

Hermione's heart pounded. She grabbed his hand, crushing his fingers between her own. 'Thank you.'

He sneered, but didn't pull his hand away. 'Don't thank me, I still asked him for this list. And you,' he said, turning the sneer on her. 'Kirly Duke's sister and band mate are on this list! There's a fucking Chaser from the Magpies and presenter from the WWN on this list—these are big people, Granger. Important people. You knew and you didn't say anything. Damn it, Hermione, Potter's father-in-law is on this list and Lovegood was at my mother's fucking party last night like she hadn't a care in the world! '

Hermione glanced down at the list again, feeling that familiar ache of pity at all the names there. She didn't mind being a werewolf, but she'd been one for so long now that it made no difference to her—these people were different. They'd had lives and families, unlike Hermione and many of the others who'd been bitten at Hogwarts while they were still students. They'd started their lives and careers dealing with lycanthropy. But for all these new people, lycanthropy was a complete upheaval of their lives, and Hermione felt sorry for them.

'A quarter of our year from Hogwarts has been turned now,' she breathed, barely audible. The list made her so sad, so angry.

Draco heard her, his enhanced hearing making out words from across a table that humans wouldn't have heard from six inches. 'What?' he said.

'Shit,' Hermione said. They stared at one another. Draco's eyes narrowed.

'We weren't the only seventh years who were bitten that night?'

Mutely, Hermione shook her head. 'No.'

'There were thirty-three students in our year, Hermione. With me, you, Weasley, Brown, and now Li and McDougal, that's six. Eight or nine would make twenty-five per cent, depending on how you're rounding.'

'That's right,' Hermione whispered.

Draco stood, shoving his stool back and not caring when it clattered to the floor. He paced.

'At least two other people,' he said, seemingly to himself. 'People I went to school with for six, seven years. They never told me. I never knew.'

'You didn't want to,' Hermione said.

He whirled around. 'I do now.'

An interdepartmental crane flew in, landing on top of the cold pancakes left over from Hermione's lunch. Hermione glared at Draco, turning to unfold the note. 'Oh my god. No. No, no, no!'

'What?' he said, stalking over.

She passed him the note, still shaking her head. God, she could cry right now. This was entirely too much stress for a person to be expected to handle. How could they sack her, them, now? They were Unspeakables! They weren't even under the normal domain of the rest of the Ministry.

'Oh fuck,' he said. Ron's note fell to the work table. He grabbed her and pulled her to him.

Hermione turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. All she could think was that she had given her life to the Werewolf Rights movement, and she'd never complained once. Not once. But right now, the injustice of the Ministry and the Wizengamot's bigotry was just…it was just too much for her.

She squeezed Draco hard. A normal wizard would've bruised, but he just stood there and let her do it, absently raking his fingers through her hair as her hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically against him. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath and stepped back. She would not cry. She would not let this defeat her.

'We need to get all our research,' she said. 'We need to get the notes from old experiments, the ones we already filed in the administrative office. You start with your lab and I'll start with the books.' She glanced at the clock above their shared desk. 'We don't have a lot of time. Half an hour before someone realizes we're down here.'

Malfoy nodded. 'Shrink it all and we'll take it back to your flat.'

Hermione worried her lip. 'Could we maybe set up in the Manor? I've only got my kitchen to brew in.'

'Yeah, of course,' he said. 'Yeah—that's a better idea. Just get everything shrunk and I'll have a house-elf come get it.'

Hermione nodded. With a sigh, she turned and began, one by one, shrinking every book in their office as fast as she could. She would not cry. They could sack her, but they couldn't silence her. She was a fucking Alpha werewolf and she would not break.

-x-

They Apparated to Weasley's flat after their hasty flight from the office they'd shared together for five sodding years. Draco had hated a lot of people in his life to a great degree, but he'd never hated anyone as much as he did the Wizengamot in the moment he read Weasley's note to Hermione.

Weasley was there waiting for them, his two sometimes-girlfriends curled up together on one end of his couch, smudged mascara running down Lavender's face and an angry, bloodless look on Nymphadora's. Hermione went to them right away, and Draco watched as they turned to her, moving apart to let her sit between them and then curling back around her as if just being near her brought them comfort.

That's the purpose of an Alpha, Draco realized then. She's amazing at it.

'Beer?' Weasley asked him. Draco turned to him, nodding. Weasley's voice was emotionless and his face was, too.

'Where's Potter?' he asked.

Weasley shrugged, stepping around Draco to flop down in the tatty old armchair positioned in front of the Muggle telly. He Summoned a beer for Draco with unusual carelessness. 'He's not a werewolf,' Weasley said. 'He's still got a job.'

At this, Lavender Brown burst into a fresh set of tears.

'What are they thinking?' Hermione growled. 'You lot are three of their best Aurors.'

Weasley gave her a sardonic look. 'And you two aren't two of their best 'contracted potions consultants'?' he said.

'Everyone knows they're Unspeakables,' Draco's cousin Tonks said.

'Were Unspeakables,' said Draco. He took a seat on the unoccupied end of the couch, his thighs pressing up against Lavender's bare feet. 'Now we're—what was it you called it, Weasley?'

Weasley took a pull on his beer. ''Indefinitely suspended, pending the Wizengamot's decision on the legality of werewolves holding employment within the Ministry.''

'Fucking bullshit,' Tonks said. 'I've been an Auror for eleven years. Four of them before I was infected!'

Just be grateful they aren't convening to vote on legislation on the legality of werewolves having custody of children, Draco thought. He was wise enough not to say it and just sipped at his beer instead.

'Up for a few moves?' Weasley asked him, head lolling against the armchair in Draco's general direction.

'Yeah, guess so,' Draco said. Weasley summoned the chessboard, setting it floating between them. He tossed his long legs over one arm of the couch and leaned his elbows over the side closest to the chessboard.

'Was your move when we last played,' Weasley said, eyes on the board.

Draco nodded. He took a few minutes to re-familiarize himself with the board. They'd been playing this same game now for two years, chasing each other around the board with a few moves here and a few moves there; neither of them were able to corner the other and it annoyed Draco to no end. This was their two-out-of-three game to see who was really the master chess player, although Draco didn't think either of their hearts were in it today. Draco had won their first game, two years and six months after they started it, and Weasley had won the second, a year and five months after that.

Draco decided on a course of action and flicked his wand, directing his piece to move.

Sometime later, the Floo flashed to life, and Potter stepped out, looking shattered.

'Mate,' he whispered, seeing Weasley. Weasley stared blankly back at him. Potter's gaze travelled to Hermione, and Draco could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Draco followed his gaze and watched a dozen emotions flicker over Hermione's face.

'Just say it,' Weasley said.

Potter stared. 'They've been indicted.'

Weasley looked away. Draco didn't think he'd ever heard the sound Hermione made before. 'When's the trial?' asked Weasley.

'Monday.'

'That's hardly enough time for them to prepare a decent defence!' Hermione said.

Potter gave her a look. 'That's the point, Hermione. You know that.'

She choked, looking away. 'I know,' she said. 'It's horrid. Horrid. Are we allowed in the courtroom or are we banned from that, too?'

'No lycanthropes allowed in Ministry buildings until a decision is made on the legality of such,' Harry said, as if reciting something he'd been told a dozen times that day.

'Fuck my mother,' Draco growled. 'She insisted Yewsap come to that fucking gala.'

'Why?' Tonks asked.

Draco shrugged. He could only guess what went on in Narcissa's head. No one told him anything. 'She thought it would work to our advantage having the Head Auror there. She knew something would happen, but she thought it would be an attack against a werewolf, not an attack against a human.'

'That was shit planning on her part,' Potter said. He sighed, slumping down on the floor before the fire. 'Although I did agree to give Yewsap the invitation.'

'What are we going to do?' Lavender asked. She was still wearing her scarlet Auror robes and the scars on her cheek from her infection stood out starkly against her face, blotchy from crying. Draco had no fucking idea about that, either. He turned back to the chessboard, surveying the game.

'We need Marietta,' Hermione said suddenly.

Draco gave her a look. 'I think I've had enough of Edgecombe.'

Hermione scowled at him. 'You're confusing her with her mother, Draco.'

'What's Marietta got to do with anything?' Weasley asked.

'She's pack,' said Hermione. 'We need our pack.'

'And her mother's a bitch,' Weasley added.

Hermione gave him a hard stare. He ducked his head. 'Her mother's the Floo Network Regulator,' Hermione said. 'And because of her mother, Marietta's out of a job.'

'She worked in Transportation,' Tonks added. 'Apparation licenser. She was nice. Quiet, though.'

'And now she's going to be torn on her loyalties,' Draco said, seeing Hermione's point. Hermione scowled at him. She hated when he said aloud the ethically questionable things she thought.

'She's our pack,' Hermione insisted.

'Yeah,' Draco said. 'And who else?'

No one answered him. Even Potter looked away. So, even the non-werewolf knew who was in it. Draco smiled slowly. Well, they'd just see about that. They hadn't seen anything like him when he was bored, and now that he was 'indefinitely suspended' and just waiting for the Wizengamot to declare it illegal for him to even exist, he had nothing but time.