Uaaaa it's been too long! I'm so sorry. I'd like to blame my meds, they make me cloudy headed and drowsy, also I got Elder Scrolls Online and it's my new obsession. So if anyone else is playing and wants to hang with my cute lil Khajit hit me up and we'll arrange something^^

Remember how I said I was cutting my hair? Well, I've done it. Shaved sides and three inches of androgynous fluff on top. I even kept my past-the-middle-of-my-back ponytail to donate to a cancer wig making charity. Aaaaand I dyed what was left pastel pink! Because there is just a very small chance that when I go to surgery I might die, family history of heart stopping under anaesthetics and all. So I have to make sure I have awesome hair for the funeral, right? Don't worry, if I kick it my lovely fiancee Fox knows how all the stories end, they'll write you up a quick explanation. I'm not going to die in surgery anyway, nothing that exciting every happens to me. Anyway I'll be in the hospital for a few days from the 19th of this month so feel free to send me random messages or whatever, keep me entertained.

Content warning: Lupins! Lupins everywhere! Revelations, accusations, implied old-man fornications. Head wolves are dumb, fate is either kind or cruel depending on your point of view.

"Remus? There's a girl here to see you. A very pretty girl, ginger hair, young?"

For one sleep-muddled second his first thought was that Lily must have dropped by unexpectedly before bleak reality crashed back into place and he remembered that there was a different brilliant, red haired muggleborn girl he knew these days. One who was still alive, one he hadn't managed to let down yet. They didn't even look particularly alike, he was grateful for it because otherwise he'd have ended up projecting his dead friend onto her and that wasn't fair on either of them. Remus sighed and opened his eyes blearily before rolling from the bed and grabbing a shirt. His father, Lyall Lupin, hovered in the doorway looking equal parts amused and confused.

"At this time of the morning?" Remus grumbled to cover his disorientation.

"She seems very upset. Is she... Do you want to tell me something?" Lyall prodded with a knowing smile.

"Dad, no. She's just a friend." he replied uncomfortably. "And something must be up for her to come track me down like this. I better see what's going on."

He followed his father down the narrow staircase into the cottage's kitchen and his heart fell when he saw the girl sitting at the kitchen table. She looked exhausted and very upset, he could smell traces of panic and deep magic on her from across the room. The moment he slid down into the chair next to her she rested her head on his arm and visibly relaxed.

"Bonnibel? What's wrong?" Remus asked her gently when she failed to explain or even move from where she was slumped against him. Lyall shot his son another look then busied himself making a huge pot of tea and setting some crumpets to toast on the old fashioned coal range that took up almost the whole end of the small room.

"I did something stupid and I feel weird and... I didn't know you still lived with your father, I'm sorry."

"I'm only staying here until I find a place, this isn't permanent. What's wrong, what happened?"

"I should have sent an owl but I didn't want to go home, she'll look there first. And she knows where my mother lives and I haven't seen my father since I was six, I can't just turn up on his doorstep without an explanation. I hate that I have to just barge in here like this but I didn't know where else to go." she stammered, not quite crying but with a definite wobble in her voice.

"Who's looking for you?" Remus asked softly. Bonnie sucked in a shaky breath before she answered but he'd already figured it out.

"Marceline. We had a fight. I mean, we... it wasn't so much a fight as... I asked her not to do something, not to cross a boundary, and she did it anyway. You were right, old purebloods aren't like the rest of us."

"Wait, it was the equinox last night, wasn't it? Does this have something to do with the Witches' Thanksgiving?"

Lyall turned to stare at them both, wand raised and the three tea cups he'd been levitating out of the cupboard floating forgotten behind him.

"You mean the feast of Meán Fómhair? That's just a myth." he told his son, frowning. "Nobody still does that anymore, not even the oldest purebloods. Do they?"

"I was at the feast at Moor House last night, I saw them myself." Bonnie admitted quietly. "It wasn't like anything I've ever experienced before. And then at the end of the night..."

She trailed off, shaking her head and looking more distressed than ever. Lyall Lupin hadn't ever been good at dealing with women's emotions and it looked like his son had everything under control anyway. So he took his own stack of toasted crumpets and cup of tea off to the lounge instead and left them to it, although he had every intention of asking Remus the details of the conversation afterwards. They had no secrets and it sounded like his son's pretty young friend was in over her head. Meán Fómhair, well he'd heard of it plenty of times but nobody he'd known had ever actually been to one of the feasts. Lyall finished his breakfast thoughtfully before standing and crossing the room to his over-burdened bookcase, looking for the oldest and most tattered volume he owned.

Over the tea and breakfast Bonnie haltingly recounted as much of the night as she could remember. But when she got to the part about Marshall at the sacred grove a stabbing pain through her head stopped her with a cry.

"I guess it's still a secret. But I'm not passing out when I talk about it so I suppose he's more unbound than before. There was an older child that her father disowned because he did something illegal, we still don't know what. And that was why I was there, I was supposed to be listening and writing it down in case Marcy forgot after the ritual. I can't say more than that, I can't even tell you his name without it feeling like I'm being stabbed." she added in frustration. "And then he attacked me just as Marcy was coming back out of the grove. He was going to kill me, he tried to cast the killing curse. I ran, she chased me, we ended up sprawled in the undergrowth together and- I don't know what came over me. Adrenaline, maybe? The wolf? I don't know. I couldn't keep my hands off her. But we were still in the blood binding, it wasn't right. Technically we were still twinned. I can't face her after that."

Remus nodded, staring into the middle distance and thinking hard.

"You said the Witches' Thanksgiving was pretty much exactly how the stories about it are?" he asked after a heavy pause.

"Yeah, I guess. Enchanted animal masks, crazy dancing, nobody was allowed to reveal who they were, different coloured robes to work out how closely related each person was." Bonnie nodded glumly.

"And you'd never heard of the equinox ball before? I wonder why it was so important to know how closely related an anonymous stranger was?"

"I... don't know. I guess so that people know who their spouse is? But they'd arrive together so they should know anyway. Unless- Remus, is part of the ritual of the night, uh, carnal in nature?"

"Huh. So I've heard. I used to know a few old purebloods although they never went to the Witches' Thanksgiving balls when we were at school. Too young, or too disowned when they were old enough. Or their family was too light and abandoned the Old Way in favour of more standard magic. Or, they ended up too dead by the end of the war. But my one friend... he always wondered if he wasn't really his father's son, if he was conceived at the ball. He talked about it sometimes, said his mother might have used a stasis charm to delay his growth in the womb so that he was born months later and nobody would suspect he was a magical bastard."

"Wait, Marcy said that they had a whole ancient blood ritual for the permanent adoption of bastards. It must be more common than we realised if it's not just something her family do."

"Yeah, I guess so. They don't talk about it but everyone knows sex is a required part of the night. At least, everyone from those kinds of families. And I suppose children are created as part of the ritual every now and again. There must be some kind of magical compulsion to performing the act with the closest available partner, that does sound like something the wild magic would do. It would explain why the colours of the robes tell you who's too closely related. I'll need to research to confirm it of course but I suspect you can forgive yourself, Bonnibel. If the wild magic knew you weren't really blood relatives then I guess you don't need to worry about accidental incest. It's not like you could have impregnated her anyway."

Bonnie flushed a deep red and looked down into her empty teacup instead. It was hard enough to even think about what she'd done, much less to admit to Remus that she was upset because some ancient druid ritual had made them fuck like wild animals on the moorside. Worst of all, it had been the best lay of her life so far and that just made her feel all the more conflicted about it. Logically what Remus was saying made sense; if the Old Way required sex as part of the ritual then the ancient pureblood families would comply. They might pretend to be too refined, too moral for that sort of nonsense the rest of the year but she'd seen them dancing with her own eyes. It was the wild, irreverent dance of the intoxicated revelling in the magic all around them, there was nothing proper or noble about it. They might dress like Victorians and pretend to be above such foolishness but Bonnie knew better, she knew she'd seen their dirty secret the night before. Old purebloods were just blood sacrificing, wife-swapping, nature worshipping druids pretending to pass for normal witches and wizards. A culture within a culture within a culture. It must be exhausting, she thought.

The sun was well risen and she hadn't slept all night, Bonnie found herself yawning into her hand despite her lingering distress. She thanked Remus for the food and tea then excused herself, heading towards the front door of the cottage as he waved her goodbye and trudged back up the stairs for a couple more hours of sleep. Bonnie was exhausted and her head was still spinning with hundreds of thoughts and questions. It took her a moment to register that Lyall Lupin was waiting for her at the door with a book in his hands.

"Here, Miss. This belonged to my great grandfather, Owain Prewitt. His family weren't the type to have their own manor house and sacred grove but he knew plenty who did, and I suppose you might be able to make more sense of this than I can. Keep it, it sounds like you'll need all the help you can get if you're tangled up with an old pureblood. If my memory serves, the Abadeers had a daughter about your age named Marceline, yes? If you've gotten yourself involved with all their ancient druidic nonsense then you'll need this book more than I ever will." Lyall told her with a kind smile.

"Thank you, Mr Lupin." Bonnie replied softly. She was a little shy at her friend's father knowing the gory details of what had happened that morning but it seemed Lyall was where Remus had inherited his patience and compassion from, she didn't sense even the smallest amount of judgement or disapproval in his gaze.

"Listen, Miss Sugar. I'm just glad my Remus has a friend again, he's been so solitary after everything that happened in the war. I've spent the best part of his life observing how the curse of the werewolf slowly tries to destroy its victims. You need to support each other as much as possible, I'm glad you feel able to come to him for help whenever you need it. But my son isn't perfect, he has his own prejudices about old purebloods and after everything that happened I can't really blame him. Just remember that you are not him, the girl you're stepping out with isn't that Black boy all over again. History doesn't need to repeat itself, things are different now. Don't let him talk you into ending something that makes you happy just because he got hurt."

"I won't, thank you." Bonnie reassured him, nodding but confused and with very little space left in her thoughts to add the mystery of why Remus would have a prejudice against that particular type of old pureblood. By the time she'd gathered her strength to apparate back to the cabin and collapsed exhausted into her bed Bonnie had forgotten about it.

...

She woke a few hours later to insistent hooting in her ear and for half a second she was certain Marceline had written her-

No, it was just her monthly potions supply delivery from DB's associate. She knuckled her eyes tiredly, still exhausted from being up all night, and took the box from the indignant bird before a tap of her wand expanded it back to its full size. That's when she saw the note pinned to the top and forgot to worry about being tired.

There will be a shipment of powdered moon gentian for auction in four nights time at the northern underground black market. Your paramour will know the way. If you intend to use the dosage of dried runespoor scales indicated in your most recent research notes for more than a single moon cycle the damage to your digestive system will be irreversible. The addition of powdered moon gentian in a 3:1 ratio at the same stage of brewing as the runespoor scales should prevent these more problematic side effects. I am unable to attend the auction due to prior commitments and I do not make a habit of cleaning up after clumsy schoolgirl errors in experimental potioneering so do not expect that this will be a regular communication. You will need a disguise, do not allow your incompetence to force me to use the last of my shredded boomslang skin again.

Yours,
HBP

Bonnie stared down at the curt note and swallowed against the cold feeling creeping up from her stomach. She'd received her regular delivery of potions ingredients from Damocles' mysterious associate every month and it had never been anything more than an expertly shrunk package tied to the leg of a magnificent screech owl. Never once had a note been attached. And he'd made no attempt to hide his sharp, distinctive handwriting; he must have known she'd immediately recognise it, surely? Damocles' supplier of hard to get ingredients was none other than Severus Snape, she was certain of it. And he'd referred to her 'schoolgirl error', clearly he knew who she was too. Bonnie took a moment to curse her stupidity, of course the potioneering circles in Britain were small and everyone knew everyone. She couldn't work out why the taciturn Potions Master was helping Damocles at all but she supposed he must have his reasons. And then another part of the note made its way to the forefront of her mind and Bonnie paled in fresh horror. Snape had said her paramour would know the way to the underground black market of potions ingredients. That meant he knew about her and Marceline's relationship. And what did he mean about using the last of his shredded boomslang skin?

Bonnie opened the box containing the usual monthly ingredients and noticed that along with the vials and powders that she'd expected there were two slim stoppered bottles carefully wrapped in cotton and cushioning charms to protect them. They contained a thick, mud-like substance and when she opened one and took a careful sniff the telltale musty damp-earth smell of fluxweed was all the confirmation she needed. Snape had sent them two doses of Polyjuice potion to act as disguises during the auction. Bonnie took a moment to wonder why he was so invested in her research but filed it away for further examination later, there was a much more pressing concern taking up most of her mental space. She needed to swallow her pride and contact Marceline.

Master! the wolf whimpered longingly in her thoughts.

The master fucked up, that's why we've been avoiding her, Bonnie replied wearily. Was it just her bad luck or were all mental wolves dumbasses? Not only was she stuck being a horrifying nightmare beast with a debilitating condition and no prospects for the rest of her life but worse, she was forced to explain everything to the furry moron living in her head now because the wolf was too stupid to understand a lot of human nuance. Maybe Remus could help, Bonnie thought. Maybe he'd help her contact some of the other werewolves in the study, they could form a support group.

Pack? the wolf asked with a hopeful prick of mental ears.

Support group, Bonnie replied firmly. For other werewolves who're sick of having to explain everything to their dumb head wolves.

You're dumb, the wolf sulked. You want the master, won't go to her. Not fair. Howl for the master!

Human's don't howl to get each other's attention, idiot. I'll have to write her a letter.

The head wolf didn't bother to reply, too hurt at being repeatedly called stupid. It crawled further away into her thoughts and turned its back to her; Bonnie felt an unexpected twist of guilt in her guts. If it hadn't been for the full moon and the agonising transformations, the thirst for human flesh and irresistible bloodlust, she might even have been fond of the wolf in her head. It was funny and at least when Marceline was around quite sweet and affectionate. She supposed it suffered from its host's humanity for the rest of the month the way she became filled with the lupine rage every full moon. Being filtered through a human mind tamed the wolf some, especially during the dark of the moon. When it wasn't whispering about cracking bones between its jaws and sucking down the marrow of screaming prey it was almost like having a weird mental pet.

Bonnie sighed and swung herself out of bed. The full moon was still two weeks away, she had no excuse for being so lazy except that she'd been up until dawn that morning. Even still, sleeping for the whole afternoon felt wrong to her and she itched to do some real work, salvage at least a little productivity from the day before it was completely wasted. So with one last world weary sigh she crossed to her writing desk, scribbled a quick note and gave it to the barn owl she'd treated herself to as a seventeenth birthday present.

"Take it to Marceline, please. Don't approach until she's alone though, don't give it to her elves or anyone else in the family, ok? Moor House, North Yorkshire. I know it's a long way away but you're crazy fast. You up to it?"

The Morrow hooted and bumped his feathery head against her hand affectionately before gathering himself up from his perch and swooping off through the open window, leaving his mistress with nothing to occupy her thoughts except for brooding on the events of the night before.

...

"You didn't come home until the sun rose."

It wasn't an accusation Marceline had wanted to face, not when she was tired and hurt, certainly not from her father. But Hunson was up and about despite the energy he'd poured into the ritual, she had no excuse to be so exhausted over a little lost sleep. Deep down she knew it was more than that, it was the distance in Bonnie's eyes when she'd left and the chill in her voice when she'd said goodbye. Marceline knew she'd fallen for the redhead and she'd thought she'd understood what being in love was. But she'd only seen one side of it, the dizzying way she felt when they kissed, the way staring into Bonnie's eyes felt like every fairy tale she'd ever heard coming true. Now she'd seen the other side of love, the pain of separation and the mental agony of not knowing if they'd make it through tough times together. It felt a lot like the time she'd fallen from her broom during a fifth year quidditch match and slammed into the ground at speed, only this time the pain was coming from her heart instead of her shattered ribs. And now her father was asking about where she'd been in the small hours and she really really didn't want to relive it.

"I chased the intruder but they got away. I decided to take some time in the woods and clear my head after what I saw in the sacred grove." she lied, looking anywhere but her father's face.

"Marceline. Look at me." Hunson commanded. She reluctantly pulled her gaze to meet his fathomless eyes. "You are lying to me. The ritual of Meán Fómhair does not allow for one to take a leisurely stroll through the woods so late in the night. I know what you did. Tell me, did you couple with the intruder?"

"Daddy, I don't know what you're-"

"You lay with them in the woods, chased them and presumably caught them when the wild magic overcame you both. I'm no fool, I've attended Meán Fómhair since long before you were alive, girl. Was it a man or a woman?"

She swallowed nervously and looked away, unable to meet that accusing gaze head-on anymore. What use in lying about it? He knew, Merlin alone knew how but he knew.

"Woman." she confirmed quietly.

"Good. Then at least we don't need to worry about you carrying a bastard in consequence." Hunson sighed. "Daughter, I'm asking because I care about you. If I'd realised how late it was I never would have sent you after the intruder. I myself was pulled back to the ball by the same urging of the wild magic, I had no choice. None ever do, and to refuse our obligation is unthinkable. So long as you are safe and the intruder is gone we'll speak no more of it. No lover that you take to your bed on Meán Fómhair can be held against you. Here comes your uncle, we'll talk more later. Simon, old boy! Didn't sleep so well?" Hunson asked in a tone of false camaraderie as the older man took a seat at the dining table.

"I woke up with a terrible pain in the back of my neck, perhaps I pulled a muscle doing something strenuous. Or perhaps it was just how I was laid in the night." Simon replied with a smirk.

Marceline lost her appetite completely and pushed her plate away from herself. It seemed like her father was saying that the wild magic made people get horny at the end of the night, that part of the ball involved jumping into bed with the nearest available partner. Bonnie was right, purebloods were really damn weird. Why hadn't anyone warned her? After all the lectures she'd received about protecting her purity, waiting for her father to arrange a suitable marriage, how she was above such base things as hormone induced urges... And the whole time he'd been shagging anything that moved at some ancient pureblood orgy every autumn? Another horrible thought struck as Simon and Hunson laughed uproariously at some suggestive comment one of them made; had her mother been at those balls? Her grandparents? All those years ago while she'd been innocently enjoying hot cocoa and telling her Hambo bear about all the beautiful gowns at the ball before her bedtime had come and Peppermint took her off to her rooms, had her parents been downstairs doing it? With each other? Or other people? How many gross old people had been fucking in her house?

"I, uh, just remembered. I have band practice tonight, I might be home late. Or if we overrun I might just stay out, crash at Keila's place or get a room in town. Y'know, if we go for a drink after. So don't wait up. I should go. I... really want to shower before I leave." Marcy muttered, avoiding both sets of knowing eyes on her burning face. She stood and all but fled from the dining room, not quite quickly enough to avoid hearing the comment Simon made to her father though.

"Ah, she's embarrassed! Poor thing. Young people these days, they think they invented fucking."

Their raucous laughter followed her all the way back to her bedroom. Luckily there was Bonnie's owl waiting for her and in her relief at hearing from her girlfriend Marceline almost managed to forget the horrified disgust of discovering that the old men in her family were openly sexually active and joked with each other about it. The letter contained no apologies or accusations, no mention at all of the night before. In fact it barely contained anything at all.

Come see me when you can. I need your help with the experiments.

Bonnie hadn't even signed it, and that was a bad omen if ever she'd seen one. But at least they were talking again. Marceline didn't want to waste any time showering the muggle way, she simply braced herself and muttered a cleaning charm, shivering violently as the icy blast of magic scoured her body. She rummaged in her closet and pulled out some muggle-looking clothes just in case they went someplace, changed as quickly as she could and sprinted from her room all the way down to the front door and out into the grounds. If she'd been just a minute or two later she'd have been grievously delayed in trying to find out what the actual bloody fuck Lydia of all people was doing creeping out of her house in the middle of the afternoon still wearing her purple robes from the party but Marceline was in too much of a rush and she was already crossing the ward boundary as her best friend demurely accepted a kiss on the hand before she departed. Perhaps fate was cruel, or maybe whatever higher power wove her future had decided that Marceline had already suffered enough that day and didn't need the added stress. It might even have made a difference in the long run but that was something to meditate on at length years later, that afternoon as the shadows grew long all Marceline could think about was seeing Bonnie again and begging for her forgiveness.