Here you go! Sorry for it being so long, but life is far too chaotic. Chapter Fifteen is currently being molded.

Blackbird Fly

Fourteen

They should have realized that life would be different in the weeks after the Ball.

Hermione and Severus were nearly inseparable, spending days and nights together; it wasn't about sex or shagging not that they hadn't gotten close more than a few times, though Severus always stopped it, unwilling to push her too far) or randy teenage hormones really, just about the time they spent together. Yes, Hermione went off to do stupid, crazy things with Isolde, but Severus was always on her mind. And Severus still had his secret dilemma, but he always wondered what 'Lene would say. He would never tell her, of course—the memory of Lily's defection fresh in his mind—but he could always wonder.

Bellatrix approached him again, three and a half weeks after the Ball, flanked by Rabastan, Narcissa and Regulus, a simpering smile on her face. Severus was on his guard when he saw it; everyone knew that Bellatrix Black never smiled when she could avoid it.

"Severus, I still can't believe the nerve of those Gryffindors at the Ball. Join us—"

He cut her off firmly, a sneer on his face and his hand pushing her away. "Save it for someone who will fall for it, Bella. Don't waste my time with sentimental nonsense like that."

She sneered; and resembled for a moment the Bellatrix she would become after years of Azkaban would destroy her from the outside in. "Fine, Snivellus. Our Lord is anxious; he wishes to meet with you over the holiday. Be there. Three days after Boxing Day. He will send someone to Hogsmeade for a meeting."

Severus nodded curtly, his eyes never leaving hers. He just didn't trust her, watching her every move as she sauntered away, leaving Regulus and Rabastan behind as Narcissa shadowed her steps. Regulus stepped forward first.

"You're still hanging around with those Mudbloods, Snape. Fermier, now that's understandable; she has power and intelligence, though her bloodline is, lamentably, untraceable. Our Lord is considering approaching her."

"Chase, however," Rabastan began, stepping in, "is volatile. Her loyalty is wavering between us and them. Her little stunt at the Ball will cost her, Severus, believe me and though there is incredible power and darkness in her, we question if it is enough. While the Dark Lord has shown an interest in the ring she has, especially after the episode in the Great Hall, he is uncertain of her potential in our . . . organization and wonders of her use to us."

"You know what happens to those who do not follow," Regulus reminded, unconsciously flexing his muscles beneath his robes and brandishing his wand.

Severus was divided now. What should he say?

What could he say?

"There is great potential in Isolde Chase. She is manipulative and a skilled actress. You could use her for that alone, aside from her spell-work. Although, I can see your point: she is betraying her House by being with Black. In her defense, she has never been given a reason to show any sort of House loyalty." He felt sick as he said it, watching their faces for any trace of suspicion, knowing that sincerity, or the appearance of it, was key.

"No excuse," Rabastan said firmly, his brow set. "Chase is walking a knife's edge."

"'Sides," Regulus chimed in, "She's hanging around with a blood-traitor."

"A blood-traitor who just happens to be your brother," Severus reminded him coolly.

"No blood of mine." He spat out the words, as if afraid his tongue had been tainted by the mention of the blood traitor in his family.

"Would you two actually say what you wish to say so that life can continue?" Severus drawled, crossing his arms and looming over the boys. His height, it seemed, was finally an advantage for him.

"Watch your back," Regulus warned.

"Know where your loyalties lie and choose your company accordingly," Rabastan added.

Severus raised an eyebrow to challenge them before waving them off and turning his back, a clear dismissal.

What would this behavior cost him?

Hermione sidled up to her boyfriend (the word simply didn't suit him; she would have to find another), taking his hand and walking beside him. Severus gave her an absent-minded kiss as he continued down the hallway, barely aware she was there.

"Severus," she tried, hoping to snap him out of it. When it didn't work, she tried it again louder. The portraits around them, however, had noticed her situation, choosing to assist her by calling his name in deafening unison.

He didn't jump or flinch (not that she had expected him to), though she noted with amusement that the grip on her hand grew tighter for a moment after the portraits called him. Hermione mouthed her gratitude to Sir Cadogan, the portraits' ring leader on this floor before pulling Severus into the nearest alcove when no one was looking. Thankfully (and they had had this problem more than once in the preceding weeks), it was blissfully empty; she had been nervous, as Sirius and Isolde had Transfiguration at the same time, and alcoves on this floor were in high demand.

"Severus Snape, you tell me what's going on," Hermione demanded, cradling his face between warm hands.

He sighed, shaking and hanging his head, strands of inky hair falling out of place as he did so. His shoulders shook, almost as though he was holding back tears, but none fell. One hand rose to cover his face before he rested it on her cheek, nuzzling into her shoulder. "I just don't know what to do. You haven't been a Slytherin long enough to really understand; Merlin, it's all so political. I've got to take care of you and Zelda, but I don't know if I can."

"Hush," she soothed, running her hands through his hair and down his back. "I'll take care of you and me. Zelda has Sirius to take care of her now; you don't need to burden yourself with all that. I don't blame you for anything. None of this is something you asked for."

Hermione felt terrible; she had nearly asked him to abandon one of her best friends to a near-stranger, but it was what needed to be said. "Severus, you take the world on your shoulders so willingly. Let it down. Put something down or you'll be crushed."

"I can't." He whispered it so quietly, so brokenly that it tore her heart in two, and she plunged into his arms, sobbing. Severus kissed the top of her head, distressed and hurting for both of them. He brought his arms around her, patting her back and murmuring into her hair. He leaned against the wall as she clutched his robes, and he rocked her gently, just letting her vent and cope.

Severus could be there for her, yes, but he could never know why she was crying—what she missed.

Hermione missed Mrs. Weasley and her busy-body, motherly ways. The Weasleys were her second family; she was as much their daughter as Ginny was.

Hermione missed her parents; they were still in school now.

Hermione missed her true House and her true self—the one that didn't have to lie at every turn.

Hermione missed her Harry and her Ron. If platonic soul-mates existed, they were hers and it terrified her to think that she could only be an adult to them now; should she never be able to return to her present, she wouldn't see them for years and years, and even then she'd be another adult who wouldn't care about them. It only got her to wondering what would happen to her, as she hadn't run into herself in the future, and she was almost certain that she was never meant to be in the past.

Her sobs stopped for a moment, giving her enough time to take a breath. Hermione looked up at Severus, searching for something in the inscrutable eyes she hadn't noticed before she had come to the past. He met her gaze before slowly leaning down to her, kissing the join between her neck and shoulder; his eyelashes fluttered against her clammy skin as he snuggled into her soft body.

They both missed Transfiguration that day, drawing warmth and heart from one another in the cold world which Severus had become accustomed to and to which Hermione didn't belong.

Isolde and Sirius grew closer too, though their relationship was marred by the time they had to divide between their classes, their respective friends, one another's friends (as they both wished for the other to be a friend to their friends) and the time they wished to devote to one another as a couple. It was as though they, as a pair, were a child split between parents in joint custody when it would just be easier for everyone to be able to be together.

It wasn't a matter of the Marauders disliking Isolde (the boys had come around after her humiliation of the Slytherins at the Ball, though Lily was still a bit cold) or Hermione and Severus being unwilling to tolerate Sirius's presence (once Sirius had come clean, Severus watched the rat more carefully, nearly ignoring Sirius). They were happy together, and their friends could see that much—once the initial surprise had worn off, anyway.

True to his word, Sirius had begun to teach Isolde the ways and philosophy of an Animagus, taking her out to the grounds near the Forbidden Forest each evening with few exceptions for the full moon. He hadn't told her not to meet him after dinner that first night, leaving her to wander the grounds in solitude and near-desolation, sure that the whole thing had been a trick; and that she was about to learn the punch-line.

The autumn wind blew the hood off her face, her coppery hair flying behind her as she searched the grounds from her perch in the tree, looking for her Puppy. They ate dinner at their respective House tables, and he'd had a detention to serve before then with Madame Pince for daring to bring food near one of her precious library books.

The full moon hit her face, transfiguring it with a pearlescent sheen and making her eyes twinkle a dusky rose in the night. Isolde was perched at the tip-top of the tree, standing on the highest branch that could bear her weight. Her cloak blew and twisted in the wind like the moonlit hair streaking and tangling behind her. From the distance Sirius was watching, she was nothing more than a familiar silhouette casting black shadows on the silvery moon, her identity unknown to him.

To Moony, the poor, uncontrollable wolf, she looked like a meal. He set off toward her tree at a run, malice in his mind, head-butting it with all his might. In her surprise—for she had been moon and star-gazing— Isolde fell from the top of the tree, limp as a rag doll, landing with a soft crack on the mossy rock below. Small scratches from gnarled branches marked her face and body, the largest slashing her cheek and pooling blood on her supine body.

Moony licked his chops, poised to spring for the tasty meal that was to come; and he tempted himself by sniffing a little at her wounds until Sirius leapt to her body, hunching over it and growling until a stag came to pull the werewolf back into the forest where he belonged for now.

Sirius nudged at her broken face, licking the bleeding cheek and butting his head into her hand in vain. He wished he could change back, but Moony's barking and growling stopped him from doing anything so foolhardy. He had to be content to wait until it was safe to do, sitting by her body, head hung, howling mournfully to the moon. Nearly certain she was dead, he cried and whined by Isolde until a golden glow embraced her, making her breath come in short gasps and her eyes flutter. He nudged her cheek as she shimmered, color returning to her lips and cheeks.

She wouldn't wake until the next morning in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had pushed the hospital beds she and Sirius occupied together in a near-futile attempt to force him into sleep. He had held her hand across the gap in the beds before they had been pushed together, and he held her again, stroking her hair and running his fingers down the bandaged gash on her cheek. Sirius had been assured that it wouldn't scar, but he didn't care. He didn't care as long as warm breath kept falling against his chest and as long as she held onto to him in her sleep.

She woke once classes had ended, having missed earlier visits from Severus, Hermione and an inconsolable Remus. Her face was buried in a cotton t-shirt and she looked up at him, a relieved smile working its way onto his face. Isolde loved that grin, and she surged up and kissed him, delighted to feel him grip her so tightly against him. Once she had pulled back and nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder, Sirius pulling the blankets around her and tucking them in, he kissed the top of her head, sighing as he did so.

Just as his heartbeat was lulling her into sleep, she heard him say, as if to himself, "Darling, is this love?"

Oh, yes. He loved her.

She loved him.

There was just no way in hell they would say anything to each other until they were sure.

Either way, Remus's secret was revealed to Isolde, who had sworn an Oath to, if she was able, take to her animal form and protect Remus and those he could harm from Moony, and—if it came to it— protect him from himself. Now, all the Marauders, with the exception of Lily, took active roles in her tutoring, whether it was as an active teacher as Sirius and James did, scouting and standing look-out as Peter did, or by providing supervision and relief for the oft-exhausted pupil, as did Lily and Remus.

The first step in her training with the Marauders was the making of the potion, which was handled by herself, Sirius and Lily; they were the best brewers in the bunch, though Sirius had little inclination towards essay writing and drudgery work. It was a difficult potion to create and Severus would have taken great glee in pointing out that it was, in fact, a potion which bordered on the edge of the Dark Arts.

The potion was created in the month they had between full moons, and once the final ingredient—a drop of Isolde's blood from a cut made with an obsidian dagger—had been added, the Marauders and Lily had gathered around her and the cauldron in the circle.

"You may not have a form," James warned.

Peter chimed in next, saying, "Yeah, you could just not be—" he screwed up his face, thinking of the words—"'attuned to your animal instincts,' according to the book we read."

"It could change," Lily said gently, laying a hand on Peter's shoulder, "and it may not. You could be an Animagus later, if not now. It isn't a gift given to everybody." She looked a bit down when she told Isolde this, as though that had been the case with her.

"You might not like your form either. I didn't—I'm a rat, see—but it turned out to be a handy thing." Peter shifted a bit awkwardly when he said this, and Isolde wondered what he was hiding.

Sirius grasped her shoulders, turning her to him and kissing her once, softly, on the lips. "It'll tell you who you really are inside, Philomel. Whatever it is, it's perfect for you. It's you, and you'll be beautiful. I know it." He kissed her again before Remus laid a cool hand on her shoulder.

She turned to him, wondering if he would say something to her; he hadn't spoken to her since the last moon. "Remus," she said quietly, hoping he would respond.

"Thank you," he whispered, his eyes glassy and welling up. His shoulders hitched a little, but he calmed himself, blinking back whatever tears and emotions had been threatening.

Isolde hugged him tight before reassuring him that he was worth it, that she was willing. Truth be told, he was her favorite. James was growing on her a little at a time, though Lily was still cold around her. She hadn't really gotten to know Peter well at all, though she wondered if that was such a bad thing. Remus was just—Remus. He was so endearing, reminding her of a stray dog or cat who had found a home, but still couldn't trust its security. Remus was like a baby brother to her, really.

Isolde turned back to the still-steaming cauldron before sticking the tip of her wand in the solution, focusing on the Animagus Charm in her mind; the spell was non-verbal. She waited until the potion changed color to a black-flecked gold before scooping the potion into her cupped hands and drinking it quickly, the taste of arid heat and dried roots burning the back of her throat.

Her body grew attuned to the world around her; her senses sharpened, gasps echoing in her sensitive ears. The earth shifted beneath her feet, her hands and feet flexing, claws protruding from each appendage. A tail—she had a tail! It was long; she flicked it as far as she could, and it reached the periphery of her vision. It was fuzzy and long and Isolde wished she could see more of it, finally understanding why dogs chase their tails. Wait—was that it? Her form was a dog?

Before she realized it, Peter, James and Sirius shifted into their own forms, Sirius bounding over to her and nuzzling her with his furry black head. Isolde twitched her ears before smiling and laughing as best she could, reveling in the sound of her bark. Sirius barked out his own laugh before the two of them collapsed into a canine pile as the rest of the Marauders smiled or celebrated in their own animal way. (Peter was squeaking excitedly and chasing his rat tail while James stamped his hooves and licked Lily's cheek.)

Isolde trotted to the mirror nearby, closing her eyes until she was sure she was in front of it before sitting and opening her eyes. Her form was that of a black-backed jackal; her body, long and lithe, was a sandy gold, her back crested with silver-speckled black. Her tail was like that of a fox's, bushy and soft, but a jet black. Her ears were long and pointed, twitching as they felt necessary. Isolde opened her mouth to discover her teeth, pleased to find them a sparkling, pointed white.

Now all she had to do was change back. She remembered everything about her human body and her human mind and her human feelings, anchoring herself to the memories she pulled up from the wild mind she currently occupied. While it was true that Isolde was in control of the jackal, it was difficult to make the switch effortlessly in the beginning, as the animal instincts would have to be ignored to become human in both body and mind. St. Mungo's was filled with unlucky souls who had their human mind in the animal's body or vice versa; some never managed the transformation back at all, their human intelligence atrophying into pure instinct.

Once Isolde was back to herself, Sirius changed back to himself as well, pulling her to him and lifting her into his arms, knowing how exhausted she would be after her first transformation, especially when she had maintained the change for as long as she had. This was the other part of Animagus training: learning to do the transformation in a way that would be magically efficient.

Isolde closed her eyes once she was in Sirius's arms, smiling and humming contentedly when he lowered his forehead to hers for a moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck, yawning as she did so. He carried her to the Slytherin dormitory under James' invisibility cloak, waiting for a hapless second-year to walk into the common room before following the hallway where the girls' dormitories were, sneaking along the tunnel until he had reached her room.

Sirius kicked the door open softly, walking into the room quickly and closing the door non-verbally, as though a phantom draft had blown impossibly into the Slytherin dungeons. He shrugged off the hood of the cloak, seemingly bodiless now, before climbing the ladder to place her in the loft bed she had. Yawning and aware that it was a later Friday night than normal, he tossed the cloak over the edge, covering the two of them with blankets from her bed. Sirius spooned Isolde into him, his hands resting over her belly before murmuring the charm to turn out the lights. He was asleep before he knew it.

The next morning, after a few slow kisses, Isolde and Sirius left the dormitory, Sirius under James's cloak. They left early enough so that they hoped the common room would be empty (or nearly), leaving them time to make an easy escape.

They did not, however, count on one of the major changes in their lives since the Masquerade.

After her performances, Isolde had fans.

A whole lot of fans.

A whole lot of obsessive fans.

Once the Ball had ended, classes resumed to hallways crowded with mediocre guitar-playing songwriters clogging the school. They dressed the same way, their nails blacked the way Isolde liked them and their posture defiant. The fan girls were moody too, many of them becoming known for cutting classes when they had never missed one before.

Her mail was a veritable avalanche of amateur songs and cheap lyrics about clichéd topics; if Isolde saw one more song about how a girl fell out of love with fairy tales once her heart was broken, she would scream. Sirius even partook in the fun, sending her a Howler one day to tell her how amazing she was, much to the amusement of the professors. Isolde, however, sank lower in her seat as the Howler read itself. Even Severus blushed when Sirius's Howler sang one of the love songs he had bellowed out at Halloween.

The fan girls (and younger-year boys) had even created paparazzi, ready and waiting to catch her at her worst; it was even better to snap a picture while she was with Sirius, especially if they were snogging. She simply couldn't go anywhere alone, developing a habit of wearing aviator sunglasses and tucking her hair into a cap while she was outside. Sirius was also well-known for using Remus and James' power as prefect and Head Boy, respectively, to confiscate pin-up-esque pictures of Isolde wherever they were found, not that he ever told her that he kept them.

Maybe Isolde was a little reckless in taking Sirius out of the dorm room so early.

Maybe Sirius should have held the hem of the Invisibility Cloak higher, just in case.

Maybe Isolde's crazy, young fans should have gotten lives.

No, actually. They definitely should have gotten lives.

You see, as Sirius and Isolde were making their escape, stealthy fourth years were sneaking along the dungeon corridor behind them, and one got too close. He stepped on the invisible hem of the cloak and off it came, revealing a bedraggled Sirius Black. He and Isolde scooped up the cloak, holding it between them before bolting up the hallway, the paparazzi scrambling behind them to catch up.

The door to the upstairs had never seemed so far away, but they made it, laughing as they held the cloak between them. Sirius quickly hustled Isolde out the door, slamming it behind him and waving his wand to lock it. Isolde chortled as she heard the fans behind them scrabbling at the doorknob. Sirius squeezed her tightly as she laughed, smiling as he kissed her cheek and took her hand to lead her up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

Isolde wasn't completely comfortable there, but they could have a longer lie-in and the Gryffindors knew better than to cross a Marauder: anything could happen if you did it, as many cheeky first-years learned early on the year, having been hoist by their own petard by being unable to say anything other than hero-worship for the four. The flattery lasted a week, but the after-effects lasted forever.