A/N: Hello! Welcome to chapter forty-one! First, some house-keeping:

I'm so indescribably proud to say that Ghost's lovely Regulus Black was nominated for a Marauders' Medal this year, and he won second place in the category of Best Non-Marauder! I'd like to thank everyone who nominated him and all of you who voted, too! I'm so, honestly, truly pleased you enjoy him and the story to boot! I will try to do him justice! Hugs and love for you all!

Thank you for hanging in there with this story, for we have a (hopefully) long and interesting road to tread, and these guys have stories to tell and mysteries to solve. Hermione, Regulus and Severus, first and foremost, but all of our secondaries, too! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, crafted with difficulty, but it's here!

(Too... many... exclamation... points... So... excited... but... tired... now...)

Love Always,

Eliza x

Disclaimer: I do not own the works herein, all characters from the Harry Potter Universe belong to JK Rowling, and all characters, storylines, situations, plots and the like do not belong to me. I make no money from this work.

Warnings: Rated M for situations, swearing, violence, sexual scenes... The whole lot, basically. Dumbledore Bashing, too. Severus doesn't have the best time, bless him.


The Ghost of Grimmauld Place

Chapter Forty-One


Wednesday 10th December 1975

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Forbidden Forest

Hermione had always loved the Forbidden Forest, for all that its name intimidated her. There was something darkly inviting about its sun dappled trees, the shifting shadows, the thick magical aura that encompassed it. It felt alive, not in the same day as the castle, which was all the comforts of home with a mischievous streak, but instead with the presence of many others, unseen but there nonetheless. It was as though the very trees watched her, weighed and measured her, sending her where she needed to be when she needed to be there.

She was there to see Severus blunder on into the meeting in the name of protecting Lily, for example. Hidden behind a tree, she'd been observing the group, her original mission forgotten as curiosity and suspicion overwhelmed. Lily's approach had not been subtle, or perhaps that was simply to her; as she got closer to fully mastering her animagus form, her hearing had become increasingly more acute, her eyesight sharper. To her, the other girls footsteps had been trampling, every twig available snapped, every tree shuddered away from her and every dried Autumn leaf disintegrated in a chorus of sighs.

How the students within the circle didn't notice was beyond her.

That Severus saved her was no surprise, for he was always the one standing in the way of Lily and any threat to her. She and Regulus liked to joke about it, liked to rag the living daylights out of their friend, but it was a sad fact of their life that Lily was, and would likely always be, the most important person in Severus' life, and he'd do anything for her without her ever needing to ask. The saddest part, Hermione thought, was that Lily was not on the same page at all; yes, she would stand up for her friend, but the days had long passed since she would do it without doubt, with trust and the whole of her soul.

Now, Hermione had no choice but to stand and watch as Severus put himself in harm's way once more, with a bitter Lily waiting to chew him out from the sidelines. At least the girl had the sense to stay put, for now.

The warning Severus delivered in true Slytherin fashion was responded to with alacrity, the group packing up so quickly that all Hermione caught was spare flashes of eyes and hands as they bundled things into bags and hid them about their persons. She kept an eye on the short one, for no discernable reason other than a bone-deep mistrust, but aside from those few words he'd spoken in Severus' presence he remained silent. That was not to say that he was ignored: the group milled about him, patting him on the back and muttering condolences she couldn't quite hear. In response, the short one simply smiled and nodded, then tugged his robe tighter around him and melted into the trees.

Hermione slipped around the clearing to follow him, but she could find no signs of passage, the foliage undisturbed by human hands. She frowned and circled back on herself, but the only place footsteps were seen was the gap through which the rest of the students were escaping. Perhaps it was simply her lack of tracking experience, or maybe her new senses were failing her, but she could swear that the figure had simply… vanished. And now the rest of the group had left, leaving her unsure as to their next destination, and unable to follow her instincts to investigate.

Alone once more, she remembered her original purpose and swore. She'd been led astray by her self-set task, far off-track from where she'd arranged to meet Clarence. Searching for a starting point, she set off west in the hope that at one point their paths might cross.

It was dim, but not dark, and the untroubled scuttling of creatures in the undergrowth was comforting, helping her focus outside of her own head so that she wouldn't get caught up in the wondering - who was the mysterious cloaked figure, why did they appear so very familiar, and why, when she'd looked at him, did her skin feel as if it might crawl from her, leaving her red raw and exposed to a horrible truth? No, she pushed those thoughts away for consideration later, ensconced in the safety of her four poster. Now, she entertained herself by separating and identifying the sounds she heard, of the birds cooing to one another in the trees, of late-season squirrels attempting to be subtle as they hoarded the last of Autumn's nuts, and a pair of rats fighting over territory in the depths of a nearby bush.

Clarence, she missed until he was directly behind her, though she didn't jump. That preserved her at least some dignity. Not, of course, that she planned on telling him that she had been too amused by the goings-on of rodents to practice vigilance, but the look on his face said he wasn't buying her nonchalance.

"I didn't think you were coming," Clarence said as a greeting, squeezing her hand. "I've been here for ages."

Hermione pulled it back with an apologetic shrug, though she kept her eyes on those tricksy fingers of his. Bloody pickpocketing 'puffs couldn't be trusted. "Didn't you notice the troop of kids trampling through the Forest? I got stuck hiding from them." She glanced back into the trees, frowning. "Speaking of which, you didn't happen to see a short bloke in a cloak come wandering this way, did you?"

His face hardened immediately, though it took her a moment to notice for she was scouring a particularly dark section with her eyes, only for it to turn out to be a thick bough. For some reason, despite their privacy, she felt as if she was being watched. "Why? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"So you did see someone?" She tugged at a strand of her hair in frustration when she could find nothing - there was something out there, she knew it. She was on the verge of marching in there to search when the sight of her bare wrist distracted her, and she scowled at Clarence. "Oi! Give it back, thief!"

"No, I haven't. But if I had, would he have attacked you?" Clarence huffed at her outstretched hand, and she flexed the fingers demandingly. "Woman, I don't have whatever you're looking for."

"Sure you don't, and I'm Guinevere of Camelot. What happened to not using those pickpocketing skills of yours on friends?"

"Oh, are we friends, now?" he shot her a charming grin. "Does this mean I get to be involved in all those super secret 'meetings' you and Reg hold?" She scoffed at his wink.

"You wish, creep. Hand it over, and we'll forget this ever happened." When he still looked mutinous, she lowered her voice to a growl. "Unless you'd rather I take it from you…"

Clarence gave an exaggerated shudder, leering at her. "Promises, promises." Seeing her hand rise with the threat of violence, however, he rolled his eyes. "You're no fun, 'Mione."

"So I've been told," she murmured in response, smiling victoriously as he dumped the pretty, silver chain her father had given her for her thirteenth birthday in her hand. "Now back to business."


Clarence was, perhaps, the best of their group to meditate with. For all of his mischievousness, he was the patient one between him and Xavier; the planner, the stabilising force. He settled on the ground opposite Hermione, leading her in her breathing, his low, melodic voice pulling her under. His descriptions of the Forest around them kept her connected to both the environment and his presence, preventing her consciousness from slipping away, but the sound of him was not intrusive.

Professor McGonagall had said that they suffered the same problem, but Hermione found that difficult to believe with how confident he was in the process, how easily it seemed to come to him. Her eyes flipped open the moment his voice cut off in a strangled gurgle, and it was happening to him, as if without effort.

His magic was a shimmering, opalescent haze about him, manifesting in a protective cloud, so dense that all Hermione could catch of his transformation were the preliminaries: a thick, short coat of hair sprouting on his skin, grey and white; eyes rounding, shrinking; his arms reversing track, being sucked back into his torso. It was grotesque, it was mesmerising, it was beautiful.

And after a few minutes, the barrier melted away to reveal a small, long rodent, snuffling in the grass.

"You're actually pretty cute," Hermione said, shell-shocked. She'd seen others transform, of course, but never for the first time. They'd perfected it, it was smooth and effortless, without expending so much energy. The energy, however, was what had made it so awe-inspiring.

Also, exhausting, if the way Clarence flopped into his back and panted heavily was any indication. Hermione had a strong urge to tickle his fluffy, white underbelly, but strangled it down. She didn't want him to get any ideas, animal or no.

She sighed, knowing what was coming next. Already, her competitive streak was railing at her, demanding she show him what she could do. If it was what easy for him, it reasoned, surely it would be even easier for her?

Ignoring his squeaks and sneezes as he explored the area, she closed her eyes, trying to pick up where she'd left off. He'd talked about being in tune with the forest, being at one with nature, part of the cycle. Peace between the birds, the mammals, the insects. Ignorance of human interlopers.

Drawing on her meditative revelations, she tried to mesh the two together, pulling herself into the mind of her animagus form with all its teeth and claws and languid temperament. She listened for the scrabble of paws in the undergrowth, to the chittering of the birds in the trees, and with every sound became more of the beast, less of the human.

Keeping her limbs loose, she released her magic; searching tendrils at first, and when she felt the hook, yet more. This had always been the sticking point previously, at which she would stall, the transformation would fail, and she would be stuck with a tail for the next three hours. Just the thought gave her anxiety, and she had to even out her breaths, pausing the outflow to relax herself.

Panic. Irrational, all encompassing panic as her ears sprouted from her head. The prickling of fur only made it worse, sprouting from her skin, sickeningly familiar. She was hyperventilating; something in her head was telling her that this was wrong, wrong, wrong - she had an image of her, stuck - half-changed - the forefront of her mind dominated by feline eyes and face on a human body, a grotesque melding of the two - it was her - that was what would happen! No, no, no, no-

Around her ankles, Clarence flitted, making a questioning noise. She flapped, trying to regain control of herself, but adrenalin was pounding through her veins now. Each breath brought the thick, enchanting air of the forest into her lungs, and she felt herself being pushed closer to the brink, and she didn't want this, didn't want that vision, yet also, she did, she needed this, and she didn't understand either side or what was going on at all-

Clarence dug his tiny teeth into her foot and she screeched, but it turned into a hiss halfway through as she lost the final grip on her magic, mind and body swirling away in a chaotic, mangled mess. She felt as if she were being disintegrated and reformed, only slightly different in every way. She was still Hermione; only, she was also a predator, and prey, and a cat but also a huntress. She had power in her body, but no access to magic; she had conscious thought, but her analytical brain was becoming more dulled by the second. She tried to soak in as much as she could while she could, with her hindbrain launching an attack for control from the back.

Tiny stoat-Clarence didn't help, either, squeaking and squirming at her from the floor. Hermione ignored him to the best of her ability, but he smelled, even in his animal form, of a curious mix of his human aftershave (applied liberally, and despite the fact that he was as yet free of facial hair) and the woodsy, warm scent of rodent. It was terribly distracting, her attention flying to him no matter how hard she tried, which was what made the switch from human-thought to animal possible.

The first thing she noticed, was the hunger, mangled up with something horrible. Distasteful. Fake. Something behind her brushed her feet, but that felt natural, easily discarded. All of her attention remained on that irritating smell, for it burned her nostrils, and she bared her teeth.

It was trying to hide. Expecting her not to notice it. Expecting that, were its scent smothered, she would not be able to tell what it was. But it was wrong, she could still hear its heart, solid and quick in its chest, pumping thick, delicious blood through its veins. It was small, but she liked small; she was only small herself, if five times its size, and besides, the chase was always better when they were able to fit places she couldn't. The hunt more exciting when they thought they'd escaped. The kill far more satisfying.

Her belly twinged at the thought, and she knew it was time to eat. A low rumbling left her throat, anticipatory, warning. The small thing gave a squeak, confused, frightened. She liked that. Perhaps it would run, now.

No. It dawdled. She wondered if she was hungry enough to take it without a fight, but that hardly seemed sporting. A little push..?

Her paw shot out, claws swiping in its direction, and it skittered backwards, but circled her warily, still. She growled. That was a good noise, new. Pleasing.

Lazily, she lapped at her chops, showing fangs. She was hungry.

Her eyes flashed open when the snuffling grew nearer, and she snarled, her forelegs bending, hindlegs stretching. Tiny creature, not much flesh to it, stared boldly back at her. Silly thing. Didn't it know it was close to death?

It would.

She pounced.


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hospital Wing

"I'm so sorry," Hermione cried again, covering her eyes with her hands. "I don't know what came over me!"

Clarence, comfortably swaddled in three blankets, several layers of bandages on his shoulder, and pleasantly high on pain potion, gave a lopsided smile Hermione was unable to see. "Ah, I'm fine," he told her, the last word elongated until it had several more syllables than the original. Amused by the sound, he tried it again, this time adjusting his pitch as he went. "Fii-II-iineeeeee," he slurred, giggling. "Just a scratch!"

Hermione heaved a breath that came out as a sob. "Oh, Gods. What have I done?" Scrubbing at her face, she continued, "they're going to expel me, I just know they are. I'll be put in Azkaban. They'll tie my magic!"

"You'll be fiiiineeee." Clarence reached out, patting her arm fondly. "Like they'd expel the great Hermione Potter. 'twas their own fault. Who sends a cat out into the woods with a stoat?" He grinned lazily, his eyes cloudy. "Almos' like they wanted me killed, innit?"

Hermione went to slap him, then at the last minute remembered that he was injured. "Don't talk like that!" She hiccuped, tearstained face frowning hard. "Nobody wants you dead!"

"I dunno, love. Reckon ol' Sluggie might have given it a go, given the chance." He looked down at his bandage, where discharge draining from the wound stained it yellow-brown. "Still time, like. You've got some teeth on you, haven't you? Bet Reggie loves that." His wink was slow and somewhat blurry, but somehow still obscene.

"Stop flirting with me," she commanded with a scowl, smoothing the bedcovers closest to her. She needed something to do with her hands, else she might have another panic attack. Three was enough, thank you. "I've got a boyfriend, and you're in no state to take further beating."

"Is'all good fun. He knows I'm not interested - no offense, but you're far too high-maintenance for me. I prefer the sweet girls, like your friend Dorcas." He flashed her a leer, gesturing at his prone form and failing to adequately hide his wince of pain. "Speaking of, is she single? If she is, I'd be happy to let her play Nurse."

"Touch Dorcas and Marlene will break every single one of your fingers," Hermione warned him. "Twice."

"Ah, but so pleasurable it would be…" he drifted off into a daydream, and Hermione scoffed. He was ridiculous, really. Bearable when Xavier was nowhere to be found, however.

"Miss Potter?" Hermione froze, her earlier fear rushing back at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice. She turned to see her favourite professor stood in the gap between curtains, eyes on her. All of a sudden, she was ten years old, with none of the emotional control she'd spent the last few years protecting, and all she wanted to do was cry.

"Professor McGonagall, I'm so sorry," she nearly whispered, cowed by her calculating gaze. "I wasn't ready - I shouldn't have forced it. I was wrong, and I am -so- sorry."

Professor McGonagall's gaze lingered for a second more, before she broke the connection with a sigh, crossing to Clarence's bedside. "It was not your fault," she said softly. "The blame lies with me. Sometimes you all act so competent, so adult, that I forget you are only fifteen. You needed supervision, but I did not provide that."

"Oh - no, Professor - it wasn't your fault!"

The older woman looked at her sadly. "Oh, but it was. Yes, you lost control of your form, but had I been there the consequences would not have been so harsh." She reached across to brush a stand of pure-white hair from Clarence's chubby face. He'd fallen asleep at some point, and he must have needed it, for he didn't so much as twitch at the touch. "I shall answer the consequences, my dear. In the meantime, you'll need more training."

"Oh - but-"

"What's done is done," Hermione was told, briskly. "You have your form now, but you'll report to my office on Mondays for lessons in control. The Headmaster has kindly decided not to report this mishap to the Ministry, so there will be no legal repercussions, but should you miss a single lesson you can be assured, Miss Potter, that I shall hand you over to Mr. Filch for detention, every day until the end of the school year. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Professor." It was easier to defer the decision to the teachers, she realised once she'd let go of her arguments. She would have to find a way to thank Professor McGonagall. There had been no need for her to fall on her sword for Hermione, but she had, and now…

Relief. Sweet, all-encompassing relief. She'd gotten off easily, this time, she knew; mauling a fellow student was not acceptable under any circumstances. Juggling her extracurricular activities were difficult enough as it was, but she wasn't going to complain. Not if she got to keep her form. Until everything had gotten terrifying, her change had been exhilarating, wonderful. She'd felt new, and powerful, and as if she'd connected with a part of herself she'd never even known was there. Hermione wasn't certain whether she'd be able to transform so easily the next time, but once was enough. She knew she could do it. And, after all, only practise makes perfect.