Summary: SSHG, AU. Harry and Ron make a really stupid wish just as someone chucks a wishing stone into his cauldron hoping he will wish for something super embarrassing. They never expected it to work.

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose is probably going to find me, even though I'm publishing unsupervised.

Guess again, crazy birdie! - Dragon

Warnings: Violence and bloodshed, teenage idiocy, the monsters win, and there will be spiders (if you are allergic to either, why the heck are you even reading my stuff?!)

The Other Option

A Short Story by Corvus Draconis

(and her keeper, Dragon and the Rose)

(I totally intended this to be a short diversion from Heart of Stone)

If a man could have half of his wishes, he would double his troubles.

Benjamin Franklin

The almost indiscernible plink of something falling into Harry and Ron's cauldron went unheard as they both turned on Hermione and started to yell at her in harsh whispers— both trying to both raise their voices and yet not inflame Snape's ire at the same time.

Alas, as both male faces were turning bright red, it was obvious that their cauldron was about to blow, and soon after, Harry and Ron's combined voices yelled at the same time.

"I wish my mum were here because she'd make a hundred times better lab partner than YOU!"

"I wish we'd never made friends with you!"

Just then, their cauldron exploded beside them, filling the room with a dense haze of blue and yellow smoke that oddly refused to mix and make green.

As the haze slowly dissipated, the students choked, coughed and glared daggers at a shell-shocked and soot-stained Harry and Ron. The door opened in the back as students fled in order to breathe even as a female voice rang out with almost palpable irritation . Magic surged as the smoke was sucked into the end of a wand, and the wrathful face of a flamingly red-haired witch with blazing green eyes snarled across the classroom, "Messrs Potter and Weasley. You will report this instant to the Headmaster and explain to him exactly why you two toerags went and blew up my classroom. After he is done with you, you will serve an entire week of detention with Mr Filch scrubbing anything and everything he wants to be scrubbed down without magic!"

Harry's eyes practically bugged out of their sockets. "MUM?!"

The scowl on the witch's face managed to deepen even more than it was previously. "Professor or Ma'am to you, Mr Potter. Now, get out of my sight and my classroom before you break something else! I will be writing a long and detailed letter to your father about this."

"Come on, Harry!" Ron hissed, dragging Harry by the arm.

"But—"

Ron dragged Harry out as the students in the hall sneered and glared at them. "Way to fuck up, Potter," Dean Thomas snarled, scowling.

"Yeah, now your mum will be all over us about everything!" added Lavender Brown disgustedly.

"Gods, she's the worst teacher in the history of Hogwarts," Neville Longbottom muttered dispiritedly as he gathered up his books. The bell began to ring, so all the students moved on to their next class rather than go back into what had become the magical equivalent of Dante's Inferno.

"Absolute worst!" Parvati Patil agreed.

"Really makes you wish that the Snapes were still teaching, yeah? I heard they were strict, but at least they weren't bloody mental!"Seamus Finnegan added.

"Why did they leave?"

"I'm sure you heard all the stories—" another whispered. "The headmaster offered the Potters both jobs after war's end, and the Snapes just left."

"But, they already had the job—" a younger boy whispered, looking confused.

"Yeah, but, the portraits whisper about it all the time when she's not around— 'If you think we'll share the same roof as the ones who almost single-handedly botched the war effort and attempted to kill me and my wife, you have another thing coming, Headmaster'."

"I thought that was only a rumour," Parvati confessed, looking sheepish.

"Naw, mate," Neville said knowledgeably. "My parents said the Snapes saved their lives. They were heroes. Are heroes. My mum and dad see them at the Ministry on occasion. In the Department of Mysteries. They work with the Aurors now and then."

"You're so lucky, Neville," one of the firsties said, having been listening avidly to the entire conversation. "Your parents are heroes. They know heroes."

"Naw, Da says they were all just lucky," Neville explained. "Lucky to have the right people at their back, yeah? Lucky that Mouldyfork didn't trust anyone to have his, either. Real friends, yeah? People you can count on not to blow shite up in the middle of class and bring the wrath of their psychotic mum down on all the rest of us—"

Harry stared morosely at the floor as he and Ron rushed by the milling crowd on their way to the Headmaster's Office.

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore said. "Mr Weasley. I fear there is a bit more here to deal with than a simple inquiry as to why the pair of you carelessly blew up our potions classroom." He gestured to the two figures standing next to a stern-looking woman dressed in deep crimson.

The figures were dressed from head to toe in a relentless swath of black. The only splash of colour was an ornate silver mask that covered the entire face— the mask of a snarling beast echoed in both faces.

"Death Eaters!" Harry cried out in alarm, pulling his wand immediately.

"Expelliarmus!" Dumbledore cried, catching Harry's wand in his hand. "Mr Potter, what has gotten into you today? You are never to draw a wand at another person in this school save while on the duelling platform, and only under the direct supervision of a teacher. I would have thought with both of your parents here as teachers that your behaviour would be less of a problem, not more."

"This isn't— something weird happened! There was an explosion and everything went pear-shaped!" Harry protested. "When the cloud went away, Snape was gone! And my mum— Mum was in his place! Tell him, Ron!"

Ron's eyes grew wide. He swallowed hard. "I—"

Harry elbowed him, and Ron yelped.

"We were just angry at 'Mione, yeah? She was being so bloody bossy, yeah? Trying to tell us what to do. We yelled at her and then— boom! That's all that happened. We didn't do anything but yell at her!"

The silence of the grave descended upon the Headmaster's office even as Fawkes let out a ripe fruity fart from his perch as if answering the age-old speculation if birds could pass gas. This one, apparently, could. The phoenix then preened himself nonchalantly as if nothing of any merit had occurred.

"That is all fine and well, gentlemen, but—" Albus stroked his beard. "Who exactly is this 'Mione' you speak of?"

"Well, you know. 'Ermione!" Ron blurted.

"Who?" The headmaster repeated, frowning.

"Hermione Granger!" Harry replied, exasperated.

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken, gentleman," Dumbledore said. "Miss Granger graduated in nineteen seventy-eight, and she has not been at this school since your parents were hired. Have you possibly fallen victim to a memory charm or a potion mixture? I will have Madam Pomfrey check to be—"

"I'm not suffering from a memory charm!" Harry yelled. "She was there. With us! Just ask her! She'll tell you! We fought!"

"I believe that I can clear up some of this right now, Headmaster," Amelia Bones said, having listened quietly up until that point. "However, it will require an Unbreakable Vow that nothing revealed here will leave this room save for authorisation by the Wizengamot on penalty of death."

"That's hardly—" Albus began.

"This is an Unspeakable matter, Headmaster. No one is immune," Amelia said darkly. "We can either clear this up right now, or we will leave, and you may admit Mr Potter and Mr Weasley to St Mungo's where they will await treatment and then be tried before the Wizengamot for a list of reasons I cannot expose without the Vow."

"They are minors, Amelia—"

"No exceptions to this matter, Headmaster," Amelia said, her lips pressed together in a fine line. "Since they are minors, the parents will, of course, have to be notified and given permission. If they insist on staying, they, too, would be obligated to take the Vow."

"However, regardless—" she eyed Albus with a stern glance. "If you choose to go into this blind due to perceived infringement on a minor's status, I will still be putting both Mssrs Potter and Weasley under arrest under DoM Article 2, Section 5, Paragraph 15, which you may consult a barrister as to the specifics on the legalities of any reveals."

Dumbledore's famous twinkle seemed to disappear altogether. "Very well, I will contact the parents so we may proceed."

Amelia's tight smile did not quite reach her eyes.

"And while I do believe the ladies and gentle-wizards of the Wizengamot may be correct that some sort of punishment may be warranted, since they were not the ones to knowingly use the wishing stone artefact that the original Miss Parkinson slipped into the cauldron. That they happened to use accidental and wandless magic in the heat of an emotional conflict to trigger the stone is, while long-reaching, not the same as if they intentionally planned for such a result," Dumbledore stated to the gathered.

The sound of muttering spread through the Wizengamot.

"The Pansy Parkinson of this altered reality has no such knowledge of her actions in another time continuum," the opposing barrister said. "In fact, it seems that one of the side-effects of the wishing stone is that whoever uses it are the only ones who have this knowledge of a previous reality. And despite the fact that the action of surreptitiously slipping an artefact of such rarity as well as obtaining it is a feat in itself, the truth is that it was not she who used it. That alone sits with Mssrs Potter and Weasley."

"Whose usage was not knowingly invoked," Dumbledore argued.

"A witch or wizard who throws a slicing hex thinking no one is there and hits someone is still considered guilty under the law," the other barrister argued. "Regardless of intent."

"But, they are minors," Dumbledore objected. "They should not be held to the same standards as an adult under the law."

"And you would have them merely serve detention for altering an entire timeline? Reality? Changing the very course of an era?"

"I would have the Wizengamot take into account the age of these young 'offenders' as it were as well as to bestow punishment appropriate to their age and weight of responsibility."

"Enough," the acting Chief Warlock said, waving his hand. "I have heard enough bickering to last me until the next century. We will recess for our members to consider their votes as well as for those of you who were not able to view the memories to do so. We will reconvene on the morrow at ten a.m. sharp. The accused will be remanded to house arrest under the watch of their parents. Should they not return for the session tomorrow, said parents will serve time until hit wizards can be dispatched and successfully return with Potter and Weasley. There will be no exceptions. No excuses. And should any of what happened here today reach the ears of the media, I will personally see to it that all those involved find themselves enjoying Her Majesty's pleasure in Azkaban in the company of a personal Dementor— provided that they manage to somehow survive the breaking of their Vow. We are now adjourned."

Molly and Arthur Weasley traded frightened looks with Lily and James Potter as both families escorted their respective sons home.

1968

"It's not polite to stare," the bushy-haired little witch said as she looked up from her project.

Severus, caught in the act, could only swallow hard and smile sheepishly. "I'm Severus."

"Hermione," she said, lifting her chin to stare him in the face. She seemed to either find something acceptable or at least not threatening, and she went back to her project.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a house for my spider friend" she replied.

"Isn't that a little big for a spider?"

"Well, I made it a little big so he could comfortably turn around," she said, weaving the willow branches into a flexible dome.

"Erm, I don't think there is a spider on Earth that will fit in that space," Severus said, eyeing it critically.

Hermione frowned, pulling out a measuring tape. "I measured three times. It should be perfect.

Severus eyed the willow frame as Hermione layered canvas on one side and soft fuzzy material on the inside. He watched silently as she worked, fascinated by how meticulous she was in her method.

"It's based on a wigwam frame," Hermione said. "I found a picture of it in an encyclopaedia."

"Hah! Done!" she cried. "What do you think, Kali?"

Severus suddenly saw a shimmering spot on Hermione's shoulder— like the waviness of a mirage in the heat. Then a large, black spider approximately the size of a rugby ball pounced from her shoulder onto the girl's project.

"Eee!" the spider cried, legs moving about to measure and touch.

Shhh POP!

The spider squeezed through the opening and disappeared inside. Shortly after, the spider emerged with a soft pop. "Could you make the opening a bit rounder? It tickles my abdomen when I go in and out."

The spider bounced on all of her legs, a shimmering sheen of magic moving over the fine hairs on her body. A vague pattern of eyes speckled her abdomen, making it look like her body was staring at him from all sides with eyes in all places, whether they were real or imagined.

"Okay," Hermione said, setting to work and moving the branches a bit.

"May I?" Severus said, watching the spider warily.

"Sure," Hermione replied, promptly snagging the spider in a hug and laying her head down on top of her.

"Eee!" the spider said, apparently happy with the outcome.

Severus fiddled with the entrance hole, expanding and smoothing the arch just a little and enough that his hand didn't feel where she had used the cord to lash the branches together. "How about this?"

Kali pounced the structure again, using her legs to measure and inspect. Then, with a fffooop! disappeared into the dome. She emerged a few minutes later. "Perfect! It will keep the sun off me when we travel!"

Hermione grinned. "Oh, I'm sorry. Kali, this is Severus. Severus, Kali. It's Sanskrit for 'black'."

"Oh hai!" the spider said, waving her two most forward legs. "I'm a watch spider. Not the timepiece though, the eyes thing, mostly."

The spider scurried up onto Hermione's shoulder and then—

Vanished.

Severus really tried not to stare, but it just kept happening.

Spider. Larger than a rugby ball. Spoke English. Turned invisible—

"You're the first person who's actually seen her. Mum and dad think I have an imaginary friend," Hermione explained with a shrug.

"You're a witch."

"That's rude."

"No— I mean— a real witch. Magical."

Hermione's face puckered.

"People who can talk to spiders. It's pretty special. Boys are wizards. Girls, witches. You go away to a special school when you turn eleven. A letter comes for you by owl."

"An owl brings you the post?"

Severus nodded.

"Wicked!" Hermione grinned at him. "Tell me more."

And so he did.

1969

"I think this tree is magical," Severus said, staring up at the willow's leaves and branches swaying above them. "The air seems a lot cleaner here. More than the park downtown."

"It's not a Whomping Willow, though," Hermione said. "Like the one you told me about?"

Severus shook his head. "No, those are pretty rare, I think. This one— I dunno. It feels better here."

Hermione tilted her head. "I think so too." She turned to him as they lay on the ground together. "I heard your father yelling yesterday."

"He always does," Severus said with a shrug. "Mum just sends me outside and lets him yell at her."

Hermione frowned. "I'd rather he not yell at all."

Severus sighed. "He's been yelling as far back as I can remember."

Hermione shook her head. "You should come over to my house. Mum and Dad think you're another of my imaginary friends."

"Maybe I am," he replied, a wry look spreading across his face.

Hermione nudged him with her elbow. "Ha, ha. You're so funny."

Severus made a dramatic sigh. "Fine, when?"

Hermione's smile lit up like a sunrise. "How about tonight?"

He made a show of rolling his eyes, waving her off like it was so much of a bother, but when Hermione gave him that look—

He realised he'd have done far more just to see it again.

1970

"Go away!"

"Why?"

"I don't want you to see me like this!"

Sniffling came from within the dark crevice.

"I'm so sorry he beat you! He should never have done that! No matter what you did!"

"Go away!"

"Severus! Please! I'm your friend!"

"You won't be if you see me like this!"

"Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?"

"What? No!"

"Let me in!"

"No!" The voice was softer this time.

"Severus, please?" She leaned against the crevice and met a soothing warmth like the heat from one of her parents' electric blankets. She placed her hands on it.

The warmth seemed to lean against her and then pull away and she fell into the dark of the willow's hidden hollow. Hands pulled her up.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just don't push me away like that, okay?" Hermione sniffled once, having been more upset than she had shown with her stubborn insistence only a few moments earlier.

He helped her up, and she didn't even hesitate to hug him. He stiffened, looking absolutely stunned, but then he enfolded her— the blackest of wings wrapping around her like a blanket. Her small hands curled upon his furry back, her face pressed into his dark, glossy coat.

"I'm a monster," he protested.

"Don't be an idiot, Severus, you're my friend."

"You should be running away."

"Why would I when you're in here?"

"Most people would run away as soon as they saw me like this! Why aren't you?"

"It would be awful of me to abandon you just because you sprouted fur and a pair of wings. You're always talking about how being magical makes us special. Well, you're special with a little something extra."

His wings wrapped around her, his muzzle pressed against her bushy curls. "You're really something, you know that?"

She snuggled into his warmth, and he relaxed at last, his wings pulling her tightly against him. His eyes closed as his breathing calmed, and a fierce protectiveness came over him to protect this one being in all the world that could accept a giant talking spider and a monstrous boy without hesitation.

They were both asleep within minutes as the hidden shelter within the willow silently closed around them.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!" Severus cried, his black eyes impossibly wide in horror.

Hermione awoke groggily, smacking her lips. "Whuaa?"

"I— I, oh god!"

Hermione's eyes opened with a little protest, and she itched her nose, only when she did so, her hand was actually elongated into a leathery wing that literally smacked her upside the face. She squeaked in protest, and rubbed her face again. "Ow."

"Ow? All you can say is OW?!"

"Severus, what in the world has gotten into you?" she protested sleepily. "I was having a glorious dream about feasting on mangoes in a glorious tropical paradise."

"Well, look at yourself!"

Hermione disentangled herself from Severus' winged entanglement and did a little self inspection. Her wing-hands felt up her muzzle and teeth. She stuck out her tongue and patted it curiously. Her shirt was, unfortunately, toast thanks to her rather dramatic change in physical form, but she had a thick warm coat of deep amber fur.

Kali skittered over her body, measuring and feeling with her legs. She bounced up and down on her shoulder with excitement.

"I think you look much better now," Kali said approvingly. "Not enough eyes though. You could really do with a few more pairs like me."

"Not everyone can be blessed with that many eyes, Kali," Hermione said. She itched one of her large funnel ears. "Mum and Dad said to come to them right away if I ever experienced any changes I needed to talk about. Maybe they meant this."

"This is hardly normal! I— I must have infected you with something!"

"Well, it's hardly a bad thing. Wings are really cool!" Hermione said, her wing hands crossing in front of her body. She glared at him pointedly. She stuck her head out of the willow's crevice. "Oh good, it's dark out. Fewer people out who could see us."

She squeaked as she squeezed out the impossibly small slit in the bark's protective embrace and appeared on the other side. "Come on," she said, her wing hand grabbing one of his wings and pulling him out.

"I-gah— hold on, I'm bigger than you and this hole is—"

Shhlllurip!

He slid out of the crevice with surprising ease, baffling even himself.

"That was hardly impossible," Hermione said, eyeing him.

"This is a terrible idea!" he protested as she dragged him home with her. "Your parents are Muggle dentists! They aren't going to take this very well!"

"Parents love you no matter what!" Hermione said adamantly. "Don't be silly!"

"This is hardly normal for parents to see!" He tried to dig his feet-paws into the ground, but she was decidedly stronger than him with her stubborn determination, ploughing ahead like a steamroller on a mission— a petite, and deceptively powerful steamroller at that.

Before he could even voice a convincing protest, Hermione had dragged him into the garden and to the door, and her mother was waiting there the moment they heard the gate creak open.

"Hermione, it's late, we were— OH! Elliot, come quick!"

"Julia, whatever are you on— OH!"

Both parents scooped up Hermione in a giant hug. "Oh, my sweet little love! We were so worried about you!"

Two sets of curious eyes then raked over a very nervous-looking Severus.

"Oh! I would never have guessed that your friend was one of us! How delightful!"

"We were so hoping this would happen before you went back to school! It was about time for it and all— oh my dears, let's get out of the garden and into the house before that nosy Beatrice Elderberry takes it in her head to peer out through her curtains."

Severus found himself sitting at the dinner table with the Grangers, yet again, only no one seemed to even think his changed appearance (or Hermione's for that matter) was even the slightest bit strange. Mrs Granger closed the front curtains but otherwise didn't seem to fuss at all.

"Mum, I was having this great dream about mangos!"

"Good thing we have some for you, sweetling," Julia said, pulling some fresh fruit out of the refrigerator.

"Yay!" Hermione said, grabbing the biggest and best one right off the top.

Suddenly, Severus had a giant mango in front of him even as she grabbed another one for herself.

It smelled— absolutely glorious with a side of thank you very much.

He tore into it ravenously, getting bits of fruit all about his muzzle, but he couldn't be bothered to notice because his stomach was utterly convinced that if he didn't fill it at once with that sweet tasty fruit, he'd die.

Hermione seemed more fastidious, peeling the mango with her teeth before plundering the golden inside.

"Well, I suppose it's time to have that special talk we've kept putting off," Elliot said with a wry expression.

"Daddy, why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Well, it doesn't always happen. Your great-uncle Chester, well, he never made the change. His entire family had to live in the closet as it were— We never wanted you to feel like you'd failed us, love."

Hermione gave her parents one of those expressions Severus knew all too well: polite but practically radiating frank disapproval.

Mr Granger waved her off. "Be reasonable, love. You're not like other children. You always want to be approved of, and if you feel you've failed at anything, you'd cry about it for months."

Hermione pouted, but she seemed to realise her parents were, as usual, right about most things.

"But we'd never imagined there to be another family of bats here in Cokeworth, my, that just boggles the mind," Julia chuckled. "Here we were worried about how our Hermione would have to keep herself secret from you—" She smiled then, genuinely. "Well, that's all water under the bridge now, isn't it?"

"This is normal?" Severus whispered, a bit of mango stuck to the side of his muzzle.

"Quite normal for those like us," Elliot agreed. "We've been living with humans since humans first discovered fire, but— secretly, mind you. Most of them tend to fear what they don't understand, you see."

Severus began to realise that his first evaluation on how Muggles could never understand magic may not have been as accurate as he initially believed, and the irony was thick, indeed.

"So, this is— okay with you?"

Severus had no idea what to think. Here he was, thinking himself a freak (hell, his father beaten that into him when he found out) and he had been utterly convinced Hermione would have run screaming from him—

"Eat, eat," Julia Granger said, placing another mango in front of him. "The food calms the stomach and calms the mind for us. It will allow you to shift back naturally."

"Shift— back?" Severus frowned. "So I'm not stuck this way?"

"Oh my dear boy, no," Elliot said, laughing. "Hiding is hard enough without looking the part, yes?"

Severus nodded dumbly. Obviously, what on earth was he thinking? What was he thinking anyway? Was he even thinking at all? Bother.

But, as he sat there watching Hermione enthusiastically digging into mango number three, he felt such an overwhelming rush of protectiveness that he had to bury himself into his fruit in an attempt to hide it.

Suddenly, Hermione seemed to shrink in on herself and Fffffwwwip! She was fully human again.

Hermione squeaked in absolute mortification and promptly dashed from the room. "I need clothes!"

Severus tried really, really hard to think of mangoes.

But all the mangoes had Hermione's face and dysfunctional sentient curls.

God—

Hermione came back with her pastel green pyjamas on. She sat down and smiled at him sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"Mum says it's rude to sit at the dinner table without clothes on."

"What? OH! Uh— It's fine," Severus said, trying really hard to find his composure again.

"Your family is aware of your change, Severus?" Elliot asked.

Severus stared down at his half-devoured fruit. "My father beat me for it. Called me a freak."

"WHAT?" Both the Granger elders gasped at once in horror.

"He said a lot of things before mum drove me out of the house— like she always does. That way he focuses on her instead of me. He calms down eventually. Usually. I haven't been back, yet."

Both Granger parents had a sombre look to their faces. "So, both your parents aren't bats?"

"Mum is a witch. Erm. Magical, that is. She never talked about bats. Dad— he hates fruit."

"He could be like my Uncle Chester—"

Mr Granger shook his head. "Possible. But, so very strange. I think I'll go pay your parents a visit, lad. If that's alright with you. Just to check and see if everything is okay."

Severus nodded, visibly relieved. "Wait, you didn't even bat an eye when I said my mum was a witch?"

Mr Granger chuckled. "We were afraid that Hermione would just be magical. Old Dagworth-Granger was said to be a bit of a loon. He could move objects with his mind along with other things. When Hermione's toys started moving about on their own, we wondered if those stories were true. Part of us wondered if we'd end up with some telekinetic child with no inner bat to speak of. How would we ever explain that to the rest of the family?"

"So your family are all— bats?"

"Quite batty, I fear," he replied with a toothy grin. "The family reunions will be much more fun now that Hermione knows. We used to have to keep it all hidden at Christmas parties. Plenty of Julia's homemade fruit punch to go around. We were worried Hermione wouldn't turn— normally batlings are born, well, batty, so we know they will eventually make the change later when they're older."

Severus took everything in with surprising relief. It was so good to know he wasn't a freak, despite what his father thought. But if what the Grangers said was true, then maybe that was why his father was convinced he was a freak from the very start— maybe blaming his mum for it when it was actually him that had latent bat genes. Then again, maybe he really didn't know— Tobias wasn't exactly loved by his family. Well, any family, really. Maybe they didn't tell him because he was such a, a— jerk.

"This explains a lot," Kali said, springing off Hermione's shoulder and climbing out the kitchen window. "Excuse me, I'm going to go and find myself some nice crickets for dinner."

"Seeing as you are in no condition to return home as it is, Severus," Mr Granger said. "You can stay here tonight and well, until you can shift back. Probably a good night's sleep will do you good. And a full belly."

Severus' tummy growled, and he nodded gratefully. He really couldn't remember ever having a full stomach until he met the Grangers. Was that why he couldn't change back? Malnutrition?

He decided eating more fruit wasn't going to hurt him, and maybe stuffing his complaining stomach would keep it from protesting as much. Mango after banana after— he wasn't sure what it was but it smelled awful but tasted glorious.

"Come, brush your teeth and get ready for bed. We have some pyjamas from a nephew we can lend you, Severus— well, for when you change back. I doubt they'd fit as you are."

Severus found himself with sparkling teeth and fresh minty breath before being tucked into the guest room with warm blankets and a comfortably full stomach.

He wasn't sure what living in luxury was in comparison to the next person, but he was pretty sure this was all he needed in life.

But when he stared into the darkness, unable to sleep, the door creaked open and closed, and a familiar head of curls snuggled in next to him, pressing into his fur like he was her most favourite teddy in the world. He tucked his wings around her and was asleep almost instantly.

Meanwhile, Elliot Granger slipped into the back garden, shrugged off his pyjama top, and took to the air.

Drunken Cokeworth Man Beats Wife to Death

Convicted of Murder

Tobias Zachary Snape, a lifelong resident of Cokeworth, was found guilty of the murder of his wife during a drunken fight last night when an anonymous caller reported hearing what he described as a "horrendous screaming row" coming from one of the nearby homes.

Neighbours reported hearing the man yelling things along the lines of "you lying witch!" and "this is all your fault" as well as a number of other rather baffling accusations that their neighbours said they had surely not heard correctly.

"I think he was going to take a bat to the child," one neighbour whispered in horror. "Called 'im a bloody freak and a lot of other horrible things."

The child has been taken in by popular local dentists Drs Elliot and Julia Granger. Child Protective Services has verified that the child has suffered significant abuse in the past, but is now happily living in a safe, stable, and a caring family household.

As for Mr Tobias Snape, he will be serving Her Majesty's pleasure for life.

1971

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Hermione asked, nervously fiddling with the latch on her bag.

"Slytherin, I hope," Severus said. "That's what my mum was."

Hermione tilted her head. "I don't think that they'd like me there," she said sombrely. "I'm not a pureblood or a half-blood."

Severus frowned. "I'd be with you."

Hermione smiled a little.

"You should be in Gryffindor, kitten," a boy with wavy black hair dressed in a rumpled school uniform said. He had his shirt half unbuttoned as if to spite the dress code.

He gave Severus an appraising stare. "And I wouldn't be trusting anyone who wants to be in Slytherin. I have family in Slytherin, and I should know they aren't to be trusted."

"You think you're something, but you're not," Hermione said sternly. "Severus is my friend, and I will not have you talk ill of him for some preconceived notion of superiority."

"Oooo, the little witch has claws and a vocabulary, Sirius," a mop-haired boy said, looking all smug and full of himself. "She'd give you scars, I think."

A dirty-blond chubby boy with hair like a rat's nest and cheese powder on his uniform sneered. "She just needs to see the errors of her ways."

Hermione stood, chin up. "My ways are just fine, thank you very much, and you— maybe if you actually combed your hair and didn't use your uniform as a napkin, I could take you more seriously. If the looks of you three are any indicator, then I would rather be in Slytherin. Away from the likes of you."

"They'll kill you in there, girl."

"They'll try. And fail."

"Is there a problem here?" an older boy with hair so blond it could have been white. He had an aura about him that indicated he was used to being obeyed.

"No one asked you here, Malfoy," the mop-haired boy said.

"You invited me here with your loud bickering," the older boy said. "Your insult to Slytherin did not go unnoticed either."

"Don't pretend you'd actually care for a Muggleborn, Malfoy," the wavy-haired boy heckled.

"Slytherin is known to favour the pure and the half-bloods, yes," Malfoy said, eyes scanning over the furious witch who was still standing between the three boys (four if you included the meeker sandy-haired one in the back who said nothing) and Severus. "But Slytherin also values power and the will to use it, and to some— an exceptional few— exceptions can be made."

He extended his hand to take Hermione's, lifting her hand to his mouth where his lips kissed the air above her knuckles. "Lucius Malfoy, Slytherin prefect at your service, Miss—"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," Hermione said, her eyes both flicking from him to the boys she did not let out of her sight. It was obvious the boys found the other boy's actions to be absolutely offensive, yet it was they who had been rude—not this unknown Lucius Malfoy. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Malfoy," she said, remembering her manners from some of her parent's social parties.

"Lucius, my dear," the blond said swiftly. "I look forward to your Sorting, Miss Granger," he said, bowing his head as he ducked out of the train car.

The three mates seemed to gather their strength again when Lucius left.

"Letting a girl defend you, Snivellus?" one said, leering. The others chuckled and nodded at the turn of a name.

"If you think my defending him is because he cannot defend himself, then you are wrong," Hermione hissed. "If you think that I will allow you to bully him three or four to one with unfair odds, you are also wrong. Care to underestimate me and be wrong a third time?"

Her hair had begun to rise up as if possessed, writhing like serpents against her head. Unknowingly, all three boys took steps backwards.

Snape's hand pressed against her shoulder, and her hair tamed. She looked at him with surprise and a genuine smile.

"Don't bother with them," he said. "Let's find another car. It's obviously way too crowded in here."

With that, the pair grabbed their bags and left the car without another word.

"Don't be surprised if you're life-debted now," the quiet sandy-haired boy said. "He just saved your lives."

"Don't be silly, Remus. Life-debts are for real."

Remus shook his head. "Oh, that was real," he said with a curt nod. "Don't think I didn't see your wands almost out ready to threaten him 'for real'. And her magic? It was real. She didn't even need a wand. If you don't realise that, then you're aren't nearly as observant as you think."

"Slytherin!" the hat proclaimed after a good fifteen-minute hat-stall.

Everyone seemed very much relieved, and Minerva gave the headmaster an odd look when he muttered, "Strange, I would have pegged her for Gryffindor after I heard she stood up for her friend on the train."

"It looked like she could have gone any number of ways, Albus," Minerva said, tilting her head as she called up the next child and placed the hat on their head.

This time, the hat didn't waste any time in placing the child in Hufflepuff or the next into Ravenclaw. Meanwhile, Minerva watched as the curly-haired witch nervously sat down with the cheering Slytherin.

How odd they would accept a Muggleborn— it's practically unheard of.

Minerva didn't miss the tell-tale looks of some looking to Lucius Malfoy for direction on what the proper response was, and to her surprise and perhaps even shame, Malfoy welcomed the witch to the table with an approving nod. The others saw this and quickly followed suit.

How very unexpected, she mused.

She did not miss the tell-tale glint of a familiar registration tag that seemed to bounce from the girl's shoulder—a Deathwatch spider if the papers that were sent to the school were to be believed. They were every bit as rare to choose humans as partners as they were to find, and she had yet to see one in all the years she'd been at Hogwarts.

Albus had signed the acknowledgement with barely a batted eye, but Minerva hadn't missed the species line. They were known to be one of the most venomous species on Earth, hence the adage that the only thing that killed you faster was the Killing Curse.

Still, if Albus hadn't signed the paper, it would have fallen to the Ministry to apprentice her or put her into some program, and Albus hated the idea that the Ministry could "steal away" his students.

When the hat called out "Slytherin!" for the lanky young lad with the long black hair, he quickly walked over to the table, and the children there clapped and cheered, patting him on the back. She didn't miss the beaming smile shared between the two obvious friends, and she wondered if the hat had purposely put the girl there to break the stall and prevent any further embarrassment.

Yet, as she saw the pseudo-death-glares of a few newer members of Gryffindor aimed at the Slytherin table, she knew the bitter old rivalries were still going strong, and she would have to watch them very carefully to keep something truly regretful from happening.

When Minerva heard giggling coming from the Whomping Willow, she could hardly believe it. No one giggled around the Whomping Willow, and willow was putting out its rare fruits— something that made it extremely cranky. Only Pomona was willing to try and harvest the fruits, and only with a large stunning spell in tow. Even then, after a few fruits were taken, the willow would remain immune to the spell for days, and by then, the fruits had lost the potency she desired.

It was nighttime, and most of the children were already in bed due to being exhausted from the Sorting and other craziness. It wasn't to say that any child would be in trouble out on the green at the hour but to attempt to befriend the willow was not advisable at all.

Minerva set across the green to where the Whomping Willow was, eager to keep the students from crossing the cranky tree unawares, lest Poppy get another patient or two on the very first night.

"Whee!" came an excited voice as one of the willow's great branches swung overhead.

More giggling and laughing.

What the—?

There was a soft thump as two shadows hit the ground.

"You sure this is where you want them planted?"

The tree rustled, thumping the ground.

"Okay, just making sure. I mean, they're awfully close and all."

Minerva squinted in the darkness. Were her eyes deceiving her? Surely, she wasn't seeing what she thought she was seeing?

The children moved the earth with their hands and tore open one of the great fruits. They chewed on the pulpy fruit until they cleaned off a seed, and they spit three into the hole before carefully patting the earth back down on it. Then, they climbed onto the willow's branch and it whooshed over to another area, depositing them again.

The children giggled again, laughing as the tree spun them around, seemingly playfully before setting them down again.

Again, they dug a hole under the watchful protection of the Whomping Willow, and again, they freed the fruity pulp-covered seeds, ate the sweet flesh around the seeds, and then spit the seeds into the hole— one, two, three.

This continued for quite some time until there were twelve mounds of earth around the willow.

The children giggled as the tree seemed to poke and tease them, and they jumped onto the branch and clung for dear life as it moved around like a carousel. It then deposited them on the ground closer to the path back to the school.

The tree rustled and then shook violently.

Plunk. Plunk,plunk. PLUNK!.

Fruits landed all over.

The children gleefully picked them up.

"Thank you!" the pair called up to the tree.

"How are we going to get all these back to our rooms?" the one asked.

"I memorised a shrinking spell from our charms book—"

"Oh, Reducio?"

"Yes, that one!"

"Let's try it!"

"Reducio!" they cried, pointing their wands at the pile of fruit in a V formation and a purple beam of magic poured from their wands.

The huge pile of fruit became a small, much more manageable size.

The children beamed at each other. "We did it!"

They piled the fruit into their satchel.

"Thank you, willow-friend!" they called up to the tree.

The Whomping Willow seemed to wave its approval with its branches.

They scampered off, and Minerva could only stare blankly in stunned amazement just before she had to dodge the angry branches of the willow that noticed she was an interloper, and being a cat did not gain her any extra privileges.

"If this has to do with with the fracas out on the green this morning, Minerva, I assure you—"

"No, Horace, this has nothing to do with that business with Miss Evans on the green earlier," Minerva said, placating. "But this is a matter of great importance."

Severus and Hermione looked decidedly nervous, and they looked like they would rather be anywhere but where they were as quickly as possible.

"Are you familiar with the tincture used to draw Dark magic out from wounds? The residue that often makes it difficult to heal?"

"Of course, Minerva, it is a very well-known tincture, but its rarity is in that it requires the rare willow-fruit from a willing Whomping Willow— which as you know is virtually impossible. We have managed with stunned willow and otherwise disabled willows, but nothing can match the potency of a Whomping Willow in its prime— and well, none of them are exactly cooperating. There is only that willow that one wizard raised as a child and it actually liked him, but even he could only take one or two fruits before the willow ceased to be, well, willing." Slughorn looked rather baffled by the conversation. "Why?"

"I don't think I need to impress upon you how important being able to get some of these fruits would be to the healing community?"

"Of course not, Minerva," Horace said. "It would be beyond priceless, I'm sure, to many circles and a king's ransom everywhere else."

Minerva looked at Horace pointedly.

"Well, I'm hardly able to convince a willow, Minerva!" Horace protested.

Minerva looked at Severus and Hermione. "I think, if you two could perhaps assist us, it would be a great help to a great number of suffering people. It would bring greatness to both you and your house as well as virtually guarantee your pick of masteries should you wish it upon graduation."

"Minerva, they're children! They have only just arrived here, let alone had time to dodge the branches of our resident cranky tree!"

"I think, Horace," Minerva said, "that their talents are already being honed." She looked at them, her face sombre. "Will you help us save many lives, Mr Snape, Miss Granger?"

Hermione and Severus exchanged glances.

"We ate some of them," they confessed, looking abashed.

Minerva let out a dry laugh. "My dears, any you have left will help."

The two children dug into their rucksacks and pulled out two small bundles. They unwrapped them to expose two miniature piles of willow-fruit.

"Good merciful Merlin!" Horace exclaimed. "Wherever did you get those?"

Severus scowled. "From the willow. Obviously."

Hermione crossed her arms, frowning. "We didn't steal them."

"I never implied—I mean—" Horace stammered.

Minerva interrupted. "I know you didn't. I saw you that night. You have a very special talent with that willow. Would you be willing to share your bounty with us?"

Hermione and Severus looked at each other and then nodded.

"Yes."

"But, we really want to send mum and dad two of them. We promised."

"But, Minerva—" Horace protested. "Every fruit—"

"We would have none without them, Horace, and a wizard or a witch should always keep their heart-felt promises, yes?"

Slughorn was silent.

"Tell you what, Mr Snape, Miss Granger," Minerva said. "I will teach you how to do the stasis and cooling charm and help you send two to your parents. In exchange for the fruit, I will give you permission to visit your friend whenever you wish as I believe there are at least twelve good reasons the willow will need your help this year, hrm?"

The duo's eyes widened, and they nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

"Whatever finder's fee you gain for the fruit, and I'm sure there will be a bit of it, I will have it forwarded to your accounts in Gringotts. Does this sound fair to you?"

The pair nodded together.

"And— as an apology for taking something so obviously delicious from you—" Minerva pulled out a large basket from under the table and lifted the cloth cover. The wicker basket was practically overflowing with a bounty of everything pickable from the Scottish land.

Both Hermione and Severus perked visibly, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

"Does this meet with your approval?" Minerva asked, looking quite smug.

They nodded excitedly. "Yes, ma'am!"

Minerva looked like the cat who'd gotten the cream straight from the cow. "Excellent, I and your Head of House will discuss the contract together and allow you both to divvy up the fruit of your rewards. You may go and enjoy the rest of your day, and I will see you both for Transfiguration class on Monday. Bright and early."

"Yes, professor!" they said, grabbing the basket between them and scurrying off together.

"Minerva!" Slughorn protested. "These are easily worth a hundred galleons apiece!"

"Auch, laddie. They've more than invested in their own futures in this one haul alone, but— do not despair. I have a feeling that with friendship and loving tending, our willow will be far more eager to help them, and that brings them no small amount of respect in some very high places."

Slughorn was practically seeing stars.

Hermione and Severus discovered that the best place to study was right there with their new willow-friend, so after they weeded the seedlings' mounds, watered them, and then played catch the branch with the willow, they flopped in the crook of its trunk and sprawled to read their books.

No one even tried to bother them.

Well— mostly no one.

A few remarkably stupid attempts early on had caused some notable and hard-headed exceptions to limp off severely bruised from head-to-toe, sporting a number of broken bones and bleeding from random orifices.

So sorry.

Not.

The willow had a few deep, dark crevices that, much like their other willow-friend, were just the right size for two young batlings to squeeze into and share some wing-cuddles out of sight and out of the minds of their peers. The inside of the willow was, much to their delight, significantly larger on the inside than it appeared to be on the outside, and once they found this out, they practiced mage-light spells until they had the place lit up just right so they could read in peace. They studied cushioning charms and encouraged the dense mossy areas to grow into soft places to rest, and started storing a large cache of fruits to snack on in the willow's hidden places.

The willow, thanks to their affectionate tending, broke out in a second coming of pussy willows, and after the catkins, well, then came the next round of fruit, much to the willow's happiness and the children's delight.

Dutifully, they planted more seeds, this time in a rapidly expanding circle outward from the first. The willow was, oddly enough, very geometrically talented, and all the seedlings were planted in specific locations to the mother tree. The leftover fruits, the willow allowed them to harvest, and they hid away a few guiltily like one would hide the last chocolate biscuit before taking the rest back to Minerva, as promised.

It wasn't that they didn't want to help people, but the willow had meant the fruit for them, and it tasted so good! Besides, Minerva had said that without them they would have had nothing, so what was a few missing out of hundreds of the willow's treasured fruits?

Seeds dutifully planted, the pair hid in their comfy willow hideaway, wrapped in a cocoon of warm wings and exhaustion until it was time to make their appearance back in the castle.

"Ironbark tree fertiliser," Hermione said, pointing to the recipe. "This sounds like it could help our friend out."

Severus read over the recipe. "Seems straightforward enough. We'd need a few pieces of the willow's bark though."

The willow reached a twig out to them and poked them both.

They giggled and laughed, tickled to gasping. "Okay, okay, if it's alright with you, we'll do it!" Severus snorted, feeling over the trunk for some loose pieces. He peeled a few pieces off. "This should be enough. We'll need some iron filings, agave nectar, powdered Horntail dragon dung, and oh— we need to leave out some distilled water under the full moon for at least one night."

Hermione hrmed and pulled out a small cauldron. "I can fill this up with the water and we can leave it out here in the crook of the willow for the full moon."

"That'll work!" Severus went through the list of ingredients. "Everything else is easy enough. Hrm, spider silk."

"Duh!" Kali said, startling them both as she crawled up from the ground with a cricket-ball wrapped in silk.

Hermione grabbed Kali and cuddled her. "Hunt successful, love?"

"I got takeaway," Kali said proudly. "There are some other spiders in the woods, though. Mean ones. Much bigger than I am."

Hermione frowned. "Bigger?"

"Must be the Acromantulas. I read about them in Hogwarts: A History," Severus said.

"Oh, I forgot about them," Hermione said. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Nope!" Kali said. "I'm too quick, also— I'm invisible when I really want to be."

"Not to mention highly venomous even to other spiders," Severus pointed out.

"Yup!" Kali said. "Bonus points for being me! Eee! Cuddles! Ahhh! That's the best!"

Hermione released her cuddle on Kali and let the happy spider finish her supper cricket-ball.

"It's a project to work on. Let's stash everything in the tree until we're ready to work on it."

"Okay," Hermione agreed.

They both clung to a nearby branch and let the willow guide them down to the ground once more.

"See you tomorrow!" they said together, and the willow waved its branches at them as they beat a path back up to Hogwarts.

Kali eyed the interloper with suspicion, her body preparing to pounce and attack.

The newcomer spider reared back, extending legs to protect itself. "Whoa hey! I'm not going to attack!"

"If you're here to hurt my people, I will devour you!"

"Eee! No! I'm here because I heard there is someone here that treats spiders well!"

Kali lowered her front legs, all of her eyes focusing on the newcomer. "You better not be lying! I'll tear you to pieces!"

"I'm not! I promise!" the smaller spider placated.

"Hrm, okay, but if you try anything funny—"

"I won't!" the other spider promised.

"How did you find out about my people?" Kali asked, suspicious.

"I heard the big spiders in the forest talking to a giant man," he replied. "He warned them not to sneak onto the grounds or you'd bite them and they'd die. Said he couldn't do anything about it."

Kali rubbed her abdomen with her back legs. "That one is Hagrid, I think. I don't like him. He tries to talk to my people when they are trying to study."

"Seems a little odd in the head, if you ask me," the smaller spider said. "I'm Nomad, by the way."

"Kali."

"Pleased to meet you."

The spiders skittered under the door, flattening themselves almost comically in order to do so, at least for poor Kali, who was decidedly bigger.

They dodged legs and came to a study desk where two students were up to their shoulders in book piles.

Kali's abdomen wiggled just before she pounced Hermione. "Oh hai!" she announced, landing on Hermione's chest. Hermione said nothing, but she immediately snuggled the spider close, putting her head over the plump arachnid as she continued to read. Kali let out a happy spider purr, enjoying her cuddle.

Nomad looked about nervously, feeling exposed.

"Who's your friend?" Severus asked, startling the new spider.

Nomad jumped into the air, hairs standing on end.

"That's Nomad," Kali said, still far more interested in the cuddle. "He's heard of you two from the outside and wanted to meet you."

Nomad looked ready to bolt. Bravery was for bigger spiders with faster legs.

"Well, let's have a look at you, then."

Nomad gulped as he watched the boy put his hand down, palm up. Tentatively, he crawled onto it, waiting for some danger to come smashing down and bringing his career in arachnid superiority to a brief, dramatic end.

Suddenly, the boy's hand gently caressed his abdomen, and the most perfect bliss in his entire life filled him from leg to leg.

"Oh, wow," Nomad said.

"Right?" Kali agreed. "Best thing ever."

"I'm keeping you," Nomad announced, exposing his belly for rubs.

Kali snorted. "Males."

Hermione chuckled as she and Severus went back to studying.

The saplings were growing very well in a very short time, and Professor Sprout had even provided some fertiliser and other nutrients she had been trying to get the willow to tolerate. The tree had been less than appreciative of her meddling, but seemed to tolerate it as long as Hermione and Severus applied it. The packages of fertiliser had laid, neglected, on the edge of the willow's fury— and where they had been punted— until the batlings hoisted and heaved them under the cover of the long grass to distribute the way fertiliser was meant to be used.

The saplings stood about waist high, both thin and almost wispy, but they were still just as cranky about unwelcome guests as their mum. A few random birds and rodents had been punted off to places unknown by the irritated saplings. They loved to be touched by the duo, though, and they would shiver and lean into them as they weeded the ground around them and gave them water.

Both Kali and Nomad helped stabilise the saplings by silking their trunks to coloured stakes to help them survive the abuse of the often harsh Scottish weather. The mother tree would tend her saplings when the children were finished, caressing each one and making sure they were all accounted for.

Pomona was more than ecstatic about the new additions, having never been able to propagate the willow before.

When the Headmaster came strolling by, Hermione and Severus decided to give him a wide berth and avoid the tree on that particular afternoon. They could always come back after the elder wizard wasn't around to rake those ever-watchful eyes over them.

It was on one of these days of judicious Headmaster avoidance that the two batlings could no longer resist the siren call of the heavily-laden fruit trees along the far edge of the forest. The scent was too tempting, and the honeyed sweetness all too real. The trees lay just before the ominous signs painted "Do Not Enter!" "Forbidden Forest" and that made them fair game for two hungry young batlings.

They hung from the topmost branches, plucking the ripest, most succulent fruits from the sun-dappled tops and made happy squeaks as they shared the abundant harvest. After gorging on the sweet treasure, stomachs full and minds drowsy, they groomed each other clean and snuggled together contentedly as they dangled upside down.

"Pardon, young ones," a deep voice called from below. "But would you be so kind as to shake down some of the spoils from above? While we would not object to the fruit, the nuts in the trees near me have all seem to have grown safely out of our reach— or the squirrels have become ever lazier and decided to feast upon the ones closest to the ground."

Hermione poked her head out from the warmth of Severus' wings and squeaked. She looked below them and turned her head to peer at the ground from the right side up.

The two batlings exchanged looks and vigorously shook the branch they were on with their weight and sent a virtual rain of fruit down below. The branches of the apple tree they were perched upon met those of a few neighboring hazelnut trees, and the jostling caused clusters of ripened drupes to cover the ground below— along with one very vocally displeased and displaced red squirrel.

Happy whickering came from below as small children— no, their bodies were that of a horse from the waist down— centaur foals madly dashed about to gather the spoils of conquest.

The older centaur chuckled deeply, his tail flicking in amusement.

More centaur slowly joined him, all of them looking up at the trees with such hopeful expressions that the two batlings couldn't not help them out. It was impossible for Hermione to ever turn down someone in need, and it was equally impossible for Severus to deny her joy in helping— even if he did heckle her over it.

They moved swiftly from branch to branch, shaking down clusters of drupes and then fruit and back again, leaving the unripe and still-maturing fruit and nuts to cling and await the time when they, too, were ready to fall.

The two batlings watched the goings on with curious eyes, fascinated by the speed with which the centaur all worked together in clearing the forest floor of every last morsel of food.

THHHHWAANNGG!

A feathered arrow suddenly slammed into the branch they were perched on.

"You aren't welcome in our forest, interlopers!" a black-maned and coated stallion said. "Leave at once!."

"Bane!" the other yelled.

But when the elder centaur looked upward, the two batlings were already gone.

"May the stars rain mange down upon your miserable hide, Bane," the elder snapped. "You shame us with your hot-headed impulsive actions. Could you not see they were but foals? And helpful ones at that."

"I refuse to give up even more of our land to yet another of that stupid half-giant's pet monsters. Foals or not."

"When your stomach growls painfully with hunger and the rest of the herd enjoys the gifts those two gave us, you had best remember what you heedlessly destroyed for the herd in favour of one moment of self-satisfaction."

Bane found the staring, accusing eyes of many a foal, mare, and fellow stallion focused upon him. He reddened and stamped his hooves. "I will forage for my own food. I need no outsiders to provide for my herd." He half-reared in defiance and then stormed off into the forest.

"Shall I go after him, Magorian?"

"No, Firenze, we should focus on getting these gifts safely home, roasted, dried, and cached away. It would insult the foals' great generosity to do otherwise."

Firenze nodded, moving to assist the mares with loading up the baskets.

Magorian sniffed, stomping his hoof in the dirt as he contemplated if Bane had managed to trample the buds of a beautiful friendship.

The early freeze came with very little warning that season, and the batlings found themselves profoundly grateful for a little instinctive food hoarding in the trunk of their favourite willow. While food was hardly in low supply at Hogwarts, their personal fruit stocks offered a bit of personal comfort that no amount of tasty chicken wings and pasties could replicate.

Even better, the hollows of their beloved willow stayed wondrously warm and cozy even as the outside world was covered in ice and snow. Even so, Hermione took up knitting little scarves for the saplings, so each of them sported golden (the only colour of yarn she could find) scarves that blew merrily in the wind.

Professor Sprout was delighted.

The rest of the school thought the head of Hufflepuff had lost her everloving mind dodging the momma-willow to put scarves on saplings— or even putting scarves on saplings at all.

Sprout simply let them think what they would. If she speculated on whether one of her badgers had somehow befriended the willow, no one knew.

The saplings let any and everyone know that if any of them dared try to steal their new scarves, they were just fine with beating their kneecaps, kidneys, or whatever else they could reach into submission. Students were starting to give the Whomping Willow an even greater berth because of it, and Severus and Hermione weren't complaining.

Neither was the willow family.

Both Severus and Hermione noticed a trail of footprints that came from the school to the willow beaten into the snow and then frozen in place by the formation of ice. There were always two sets, one an adult and one not. They had always seen the large footfalls of a certain half-giant— those were hard to miss even without the snow, but it seemed as though they only came during the night when they were safely tucked away back in the Slytherin dorms and then only sporadically.

The willow seemed annoyed on the days the tracks appeared, and it took the pairs' attentive attention to placate the great tree and keep it from punting poor owls out of the air as they attempted to deliver the mail or fly errands for their people.

"Who do you think comes only at night?" Hermione asked idly as Severus stirred the cauldron.

Severus added a few leaves and bark to the brew and then covered the cauldron. "I don't know. Seems odd that only happens the nights they are always so extra careful to make sure we're all in for curfew.

While they had always been careful not to draw suspicion from their peers when they visited the willow, there was a certain time that the prefects and Head Boy and Girl were seemingly ruthless about checking headcounts to ensure there were no missing students.

"This should be ready after it sets. Maybe a day or two. The recipe said to check daily, but not to open the lid too often or it will go unstable and won't form crystals."

Hermione nodded. "You have a real knack for potions," she praised.

Severus blushed and shrugged. "I like it."

Hermione seemed thoughtful. "I want to feel like I'm really good at something, but I have no idea what that should be."

Severus frowned at her. "You're kidding, right?"

Hermione shook her head, adamant.

"You're good at everything you choose to put your mind to," he said, nudging her.

Hermione beamed up at him. "You really mean that?"

"Course I do," he replied. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Severus."

She poked a hand out of the tree crevice and shivered. "Brrrr, it's really cold out."

Severus nodded. He tilted his head. "The cold came so early this year. I wonder if the centaur were able to gather enough food in time."

Hermione hugged herself tightly at the thought that the centaur could be suffering. "I wanted to help them so much."

Severus wrapped her in the warmth of his wings. "I know. We both did. How could we have known that one of them would lose his gourd on us?"

"The others seemed pretty nice," Hermione squeaked sadly.

Severus nodded. "Well, it doesn't matter how nice they are if that one truly hates us. Like— arrows shot at us hates us."

He nuzzled her. "We should get back to the Great Hall. They'll be expecting us for dinner."

Hermione disregarded that and snuggled closer. "You're warmer."

He shook his head at her as he pried her off his fur. "You're such a heat magnet."

She smiled at him, pristine white teeth shining.

"Come on." He said, shifting back into the human form that seemed so much more prone to freezing in the bitter Scottish winter wind. He pulled his cloak around him with a shiver.

Hermione joined him as they squeezed out the opening and onto the willow's outer branches. The willow shook itself, dumping an impressive pile of snow onto them.

"Eeeee!" Hermione cried, giggling madly as the willow transferred them down onto the ground.

"Have a good night, friends," they called out and then hustled back toward the castle.

The willows waved their branches in farewell as the children disappeared back into Hogwarts even as one of the saplings punted a screeching squirrel all the way into Black Lake with a sploosh.

Albus nursed his growing migraine with a sigh.

It was getting increasingly hard to stun the willow in order to smuggle Remus Lupin to his monthly appointment with the shack, and now there were about thirty-six willow saplings surrounding the main tree like a growing Stonehenge. He'd enchanted a special nodule on the willow to paralyse it so Poppy could get Remus to the shack unharassed, but now there were a number of irritable saplings that did not take very kindly to being invaded any more than their cranky mum did.

How was he supposed to know the willow was a female and could produce offspring?!

It wasn't like there was another willow around to pollinate—

How the hell was it even—

Hell, he was a wizard who favoured transfiguration, not sodding herbology.

And Pomona was so damned happy about it—

Even Minerva seemed to be utterly feline-in-a-sunbeam happy about the tree's newfound zest for life, not to mention Slughorn's little snakes had somehow managed to send so much willow-fruit to the healer's guild that the guild had sent a huge pile of official accolades and lavish tokens of their great appreciation that Slytherin was enjoying an unheard-of amount of positive PR.

The question was— how?

How were they getting their hands on the most coveted healing fruit that Pomona had insisted had to be willingly given when the plant had given him a black eye and an arthritic knee just for trying to protect Remus' path to safety?

Hell, he had planted the damn tree! Surely that should have meant something?

A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him the entire reason he'd planted the tree was exactly for its zealous cranky defence, but he decided to ignore it.

Worse, at least from his perspective, Minerva was showing a great deal of initiative in encouraging the students' caretaking of the trees, and there was really no logical reason to forbid it or tell the Board about it because as far as the Board was concerned young caretakers bringing fame and prestige to Hogwarts was a perfectly great thing to encourage.

And—

It wasn't like he could tell them he was using the tree to guard the transformation of a student who was a werewolf.

And every time Poppy used the knob to paralyse the tree, it seemed to get crankier! The poor owls were having to give the tree wider berth, and he swore he saw a group of squirrels fly by his window on the way to the lake—

And a badger.

And some gnomes.

He'd tried to send Fawkes to get a closer look as to the goings-on over by the tree, but Fawkes had come back with fewer feathers than he had when he went there.

The phoenix, perhaps quite understandably, refused to go again.

Pomona said there was nothing going on there that she wouldn't have done herself had the tree only let her—

What was so bloody special about those two Slytherin kids?

"You should be happy about such prestige being brought to Hogwarts," Phineas' portrait said coolly as he spotted Albus brooding. "Or is it just chafing you terribly that it is not one of your prized Gryffindors who is responsible?"

"Do be quiet, Phineas," Albus snapped.

The portrait, compelled to do as ordered by the current headmaster, merely sneered and stalked off the canvas to places unknown.

1993

Harry stared at the two black-clad figures standing next to Madam Bones, feeling very much like his suspicious gaze was being returned a hundred-fold.

Amelia chatted with them quietly and then nodded.

The two figures reached for their masks together and pulled them off— the grotesque snarling beast faces falling away to expose—

"Snape!" Harry cried, jumping up.

"Sit down, Mr Potter," Amelia barked.

He did, physically if not in spirit.

Harry's expression twisted. "Why are you here?"

A beat.

Harry's eyes saw the bushy curls framing the other witch's face. Familiar, and yet different. His eyes widened. "Hermione?!"

He jumped up again.

This time, Alastor Moody shoved Harry back down into his seat with a glare. "Sit down, boy."

"I do not know you, Mr Potter," the older witch said. "Why would you presume to know me?"

"What do you mean? Hermione! You know me! Why are you with Snape? Why are you so old?!"

"As our researchers have so kindly reported to us," Amelia said. "There was some unusual temporal and rather complicated wish magic at work as well as a bit of accidental magic all mixed together."

She sighed as she rubbed the side of her head behind her ear. "That means, Mr Potter, while we can prove you did something— you and Mr Weasley— we can only tell from the memories you have what has changed. As I said before, we knew there had been a disturbance. I knew when you started talking about Hermione Granger that there was only one we knew of. This one, Mr Potter, is the only Hermione Granger there was, but she is no longer Hermione Granger."

"What do you mean she's not Hermione Granger?"

"Because Mr Potter. I am Hermione Jean Snape. This is my husband of nearly fourteen years. Happily married by magic in the year nineteen hundred and seventy-nine."

"What?! That's impossible!"

"I assure you that my parents were quite capable of producing me," Hermione answered. "They are also quite proud of me, in fact." She looked at "Snape" and smiled warmly. It was a very familiar smile— Harry recognised it even as he realised how genuine and warm it was. And he and Ron had lost that, unintentionally and carelessly in an impulsive, heat of the moment, charged-up wish.

But you have your parents, now, a gloating voice sounded off in his mind.

But, they are supposed to be loving! Supportive! he protested.

Perfect? that voice taunted him.

"It wasn't supposed to actually happen!" he blurted out loud.

Harry stared at his hands. "People wish for things all the time," he said more quietly. "We don't expect it to actually happen."

Amelia tilted her head and sighed. "No, but most families warn their children to be careful what they wish for— people have simply forgotten the reason why the saying was made. Magic is always listening to us, but sometimes— magic is waiting for a reason. You were the reason, Mr Potter. You and your mate— the catalyst. While we cannot say that you intended the extent of magic's response, nor can we say the result of it wasn't an improvement to many, but the fact remains that tampering did happen. You will have to live with that and the consequences it wrought."

"But— this is part of the terms of our agreement. You wanted to see Hermione, and now you have. The Wizengamot has decided that you will be permitted to return to school and allowed to complete your education, but when you are not under direct supervision at school, you will wear a magic suppression bracelet until you are no longer a minor. At that time, your sentence will be revisited. Depending on the results of a review of your behaviour to that point, you may be freed to go about your life as a responsible adult. What you have seen here today cannot ever be spoken of lest the knowledge of what you did could reach the ears of those who would rip you to pieces to find the secrets of what you have done. Regardless of your intent, Mr Potter, there are many who would do more than just kill to learn such secrets, and your being oblivious to the method will not matter to them in the slightest."

Harry stared at the table, his knuckles whitening as he wrestled with the unfairness of it all.

1972

It was in January in the midst of a blizzard that Severus and Hermione heard a faint yelling and what could have been a row just under the cover of the howling wind. They had just finished tending the willow and her saplings, and the bitterness of the cold wind was enough to chill them to the bone.

Scotland was nothing but harsh and unforgiving in the January winter, and the pair missed their thick coats of warm, insulating fur as the wind seemed to cut through their robes and cloaks as if they were nothing but thin cheesecloth.

As they trekked down the path to Black Lake, they saw so many things that did not belong—

The half-giant was trying to walk towards a black centaur who had fallen partially into the cracking ice, the weight of so many fish having overwhelmed the ice that had once held him.

Life-bringing fish meant for his herd—

But as the centaur struggled to free himself, the half-giant tried to walk out and help. The ice was deceptive, appearing far more solid than it sounded.

But they heard it—

The tell-tale crackling that warned of disaster.

Cracka-cracka-SPLOOSH!

For one panicked moment, they locked gazes, debating on running for a teacher or doing something about it, but as the ice continued to crack, it completely gave way. The centaur fell up to his human chest, and the half-giant was stuck like a cork in a floating chunk of ice that drifted out to the deeper water. Both of them were now at the mercy of the freezing water.

"Kali, can you help?" Hermione said.

"I can!" Kali announced, springing off her shoulder to use a silk line to glide in the wind to smack the centaur in the face. She crawled over and around, stringing lines and then back to shore.

"Fasten the silk to the dock poles!" Severus yelled as Nomad sailed in to provide assistance as well. Both spiders worked fast, weaving silk together to make an exceptionally strong line.

"Adcelero!" Hermione cried, and the spell hit both spiders. The arachnids zoomed even faster, spinning silk lines into a thick cord with incredible speed.

"We have to tell a teacher!" Hermione cried out in distress.

"Saving their lives is more important right now!" Severus hissed, pulling on the cord of silken rope to help hoist the centaur closer. Hermione put her weight into it with him, but they were still tiny in comparison to the full-grown centaur stallion.

Both children were starting to feel the effects of the bitter cold, and they were shivering as humans, hardly able to keep their hands wrapped around the thick silken rope.

"Kali, Nomad, hold still a moment!" Severus cried. He extended his hand to Hermione. "Help me! Take my hand!"

Hermione placed her hand in his, and the surge of their magic swirled together.

"Engorgio!" Severus yelled, their combined magic channelling through his wand and hitting both spiders.

The spiders promptly grew gargantuan, and they grabbed the silken cords with their legs and pulled with the front legs as their bag legs dug into the dock.

Shhhh…

Shhhhhhhkkk..

ShhhhHHHHK!

The cord strained and started to fray with the stress. Both spiders quickly shot out more silk to reinforce it.

Even with the spiders' help, the severe cold was affecting them all, their movements becoming sluggish and less precise.

Bane used the last dregs of his energy to rear up and break free of the ice with the incoming pull, and his body slammed onto its side as they pulled him closer.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione yelled, finally able to use the spell now that the centaur was no longer caught in the ice. Their combined magic fused again, hitting Bane squarely, and the visibly exhausted centaur floated over to the lakeshore, along with about a ton of frozen fish inside innumerable woven baskets.

The two children collapsed against each other, panting, their chilled bodies huddled close in the intense cold.

Shapes moved in the hazy fall of snow all around them, thick as the thickest fog.

"Bane! There you—"

"The foals, they saved me—"

"Firenze, run to the school and inform one of the teachers—"

"On my way, Magorian!"

Hoofbeats pounded off into the blinding snow.

The herd moved around them, putting fur all around Bane as the younger centaur gathered the fish. The other stallions put furs around the children, each lined with thick wool.

The centaur moved around Bane and the children, using their combined warmth to stave off the bitter cold. Some of them escorted the younger centaur back toward the forest, knowing that they balanced both the fierceness of the cold with hunger back at the camp.

When the hurried footfalls of teachers found the centaur warming the two students and Bane, Dumbledore set a warming charm as Pomona cast a growth spell, causing thick vines to grow into a protective dome around the area as a natural shelter from the wind and snow.

"Your foals saved Bane's life, Dumbledore," Magorian said as he shook the snow off his coat. "We owe a great debt to them."

Albus frowned. "Why was he out here? So far from the forest?"

"Our supplies were failing. The early winter—" Bane coughed, sighing wearily. "In my arrogance, I attacked a source of food we could have had all winter, and in penance, I attempted to bring fish back to the herd. The weight of them, I did not account for on the ice. I heard nothing, but the ice—"

"Then, the half-giant tried to 'help' me, and his great weight did all the rest, casting me into the freezing water. The foals, they anchored me to the dock until I could free myself from the ice. They helped me get to shore."

"Hagrid? But I don't see Hagrid," Minerva said, her eyes darting across the haze of the blinding snow.

"He's still out there— floating like a fishing bobber," Bane said. "Dead if his head is underwater. Alive if he is right-side up."

Minerva's expression went from concern to almost panic. "We should look for him!"

The wind and snow seemed utterly disagreeable to the idea.

Dumbledore sent out a whistle, and a glow like the light of a fire flashed as it flew by them—

Fawkes.

Fawkes went sailing off into the dark, his calls warbling in the grey and white of Oblivion.

"I think it would be much safer to shelter here for now," Albus said. "Magorian, if you are in need of supplies—"

"You know that it must be wild-harvested for us to accept such things," Magorian pointed out. "It is not just a matter of pride but tradition. We cannot accept anything else."

"But if it would save—"

"The fish Bane has harvested will last us awhile," Magorian said. "Hopefully long enough to reach the spring. Though, the local squirrel and hare population may suffer setbacks for some time."

Severus and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances and squared their shoulders with a deep sigh. Hermione gently tugged at the mane of a nearby centaur and whispered into the stallion's ear.

The pinto stallion's eyes widened as he stood and walked over to Magorian, leaning to whisper into the elder centaur's ear.

Magorian's eyes flicked to the children and then back to his herd-mate.

He walked over, kneeling down on his forelegs before his back legs followed. "You do us such kindness in sharing your spoils with us, young ones. If you truly mean to do this, we would name you as two of our number that all may know you are no mere foals amongst us. We would teach you our ways as one of us, and perhaps, you could, in turn, teach us some of the ways we have shunned in our isolation. Would this be acceptable to you?"

"Magorian—" Albus began to protest, but Pomona put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head sharply.

The two children nodded. "Yes."

Magorian and the other elders pulled pouches from their waist, tugging them open. He placed powder from his pouch onto the flat stone near him, taking snow to mix it into a paste. He dipped his palm down into it, allowing the mixture to drip and then he placed it against Severus' face then did the same to Hermione's, leaving the print of his large hand in red pigment. "We name thee herd, foals of Hogwarts, to walk amongst us as equals."

The next elder mixed his pigment and drew a red stripe down from the forehead down the nose. "In times of plenty."

The next placed four fingertips to their scalp, making a line of dots on each side temple in white. "In times of scarcity."

The eldest— a mare so old that her coat looked more grey than black— dipped her fingers into what seemed like gold dust. It sparkled even in the grey of the storm. She drew a line from the bottom of the nose to the line of their chin across the mouth. "May you grow in wisdom."

The mare's mate drew black lines down from the eyes like three lines of tears. "May your hunts always be as successful as they are merciful."

"May the stars and planets mark your path and guide you."

"May the herd be ever beside you, that you may never know loneliness on the coldest of days."

"We name you Treeshadow," Magorian said to Severus as he drew a red line down the middle of his throat in pigment. "For the shadow brings succour to those within its comforting shade."

Magorian drew a red line on Hermione's throat. "We name you Rainbright for the peace after a rain when the sun emerges and makes all seem radiantly alive again."

"May the Great Sire, Centarius, bless your entrance to the herd," Magorian said. "May Chiron judge you worthy of our language, that you may never cease to learn his teachings."

There was a surge in warmth as Earthen, Ancient magick surge forth from the very ground and swallowed the shelter. There was the sound of squealing, neighing horses, and the galloping of countless hooves. A deep voice seemed to speak everywhere and yet nowhere at once.

"Arise new son and daughter of my herd, for now and forever you shall wear my Mark amongst my people— a Mark no human dare take for hundreds of years for fear of losing that which made them foolishly believe themselves superior to our kind. May you grow into your hooves as you find your own wings, my foals. Learn and grow with my blessing. Teach the world that the centaur are not simply beasts and uncouth barbarians. We are both equally capable of the great and munificent or the cowardly and treacherous."

As the great-reaching hand of Centarius retreated, two foals, a raven black colt and a bright bay coloured filly remained in their places, blackest of black stripes training from the mane and down their backs with the softest hint of stripes on their legs. They slept soundly within the circle of their elders' warm bodies, completely oblivious to the dramatic changes that had been wrought upon them, the precious gift they had been given, and how a single act of compassion and generosity may have preserved their fates.

"Whatever am I going to tell their parents?" Albus muttered under his breath.

Minerva looked quite excited. "Well, I know I'm going to have to teach them how to become reverse Animagi!"

"Don't sound so pleased with it all, Minerva," Albus bit out. "This is a terrible travesty—"

"Nonsense, Albus," Pomona huffed. "This brings us closer to the centaur than ever before. We haven't truly embraced the truce between our people in all the years we have lived beside them. That these children can embrace such a thing— and be blessed by Centarius Himself— is a sign of the Oldest Magick made form."

"The dorms and classrooms are hardly set up for centaur!" Albus protested.

"Perhaps they should be," Minerva said grimly. "Until I can teach them how to take on their human forms, they can learn what it is to be a part of the herd, and I will teach them the rest."

"I can teach them herbology after hours in the greenhouse," Pomona said agreeably.

Albus stroked his beard grimly.

Fawkes arrived in a flurry of wingbeats, depositing the ice cube that was Rubeus Hagrid in the snow next to Dumbledore.

"Uh, well, hello there, sir," the half-giant said, the rest of his body trapped in ice. "Thanks for that, er, rescue, Mr Dumbledore, sir."

The man's eyes darted from the staff to the small gathering of centaur. "Was there a meeting?"

Albus closed his eyes. "Let's get Hagrid to the infirmary."

As the humans trudged back through the storm to Hogwarts, Magorian smiled as the new foals snuggled up to their herds' warmth and allowed their dreams to carry them into the Domain of Oneiros and the arms of the often forgotten gods.

"Hello, young foals," a warm voice greeted.

Severus and Hermione woke to find themselves in a green and golden grassy field where ancient wheat waved in the wind and shimmered in the sun, droplets of dew still clinging to the stems.

A centaur lay in front of them, his legs folded beside and under him. His coat was a blood bay with a rich, black mane that hung in tight, shiny curls and braids that travelled down to where his legs met his body. "I am so very grateful to have found youth with faith—in a world so far from it. In my youth, the world was full of frightened and gods-fearing people. It was easier to believe in the fantastic and unseen."

"Chiron," they whispered together, eyes widening.

"As you say," the centaur said, smiling. "Our Lord, Centarius, bade me begin your lessons— here in the land between sleeping and waking. Here where the fantastic and godly exist openly. It is the Land of Ὄνειροι—Oneiros, where time is but an illusion. For only when you have learned to walk upon the world on four legs can you truly remember flight."

Severus and Hermione exchanged looks, swallowing hard.

"Sir, can we be both bats and centaur?"

Chiron laughed, a rich sound that carried. "Of course you can, young one. "One can be born to a form and gifted another, and even remember what one left behind, but magic is a thing that settles in your heart-space. If you trust in it, it can transform more than just things but yourself. The modern world would call this— flexibility. But back when I was but a young colt, we called this a gift of the gods. Faith. A blessing. A trust. For the gods are usually the only ones capable of shifting quickly between so many forms as one would an outfit, hrm?"

The elder Centaur stood, beckoning them with a small movement of his hand. They followed obediently into the fields, taking in the sights and smells. They heard laughter, and they saw many centaur walking about in the open fields rather than hiding away from where humans might see them. On the far hill, a series of great temples rose in tribute of their dedicated gods and goddesses, their bright colours and shining pillars seeming magical in their own right.

"You will have quite a unique place in the world, my young ones," Chiron said kindly. "You will stand with a hoof in many places and among three species— all will be yours and yet none will stand alone just as the stars are not alone with each other."

"But you have demonstrated compassion for each other, for your families, and for those that you owed nothing. You put your faith in the magic and perhaps even the gods themselves, and you allowed them to reshape you and alter your destinies. That is something those much older than you often fail to do— struggling for control over what cannot be controlled or foolishly demanding instead of asking of the very gods."

"And here you stand, walking with me in this vast land, so full of questions yet waiting patiently for my rambling to be done." He looked at them kindly, chuckling.

"How long will we be here?" Severus asked.

Chiron smiled. "As long as need be. Time is nothing here. A hundred, thousand years but a second or a minute in what you might consider the real world. This is the Realm of Oneiros and that means you have all the time that you might need or wish."

"And what would the gods wish of us?" Hermione asked quietly, her gaze turned to the great temples.

"To learn what it is they want of you, little one," Chiron said. "We all must travel the path to learn the answer only we can hear from the gods. Your path may be different from his, but it may lead to the same end. And sometimes a little push from another's selfishness is what allows us to rise above it. You will meet many people throughout your life. Some great in inspiring ways. Some gear in how terrible they are as examples. Hopefully, you will know the difference."

"Now, for our first lesson—" Chiron said with a smile. "Let's teach you how to really run!"

The children grinned and chased after him, their hoofbeats growing strong as they chased after Chiron with a joyous whoop!

Minerva noticed more than a mere physical change when it came to the two newest centaurs of the Forbidden Forest. Not only did Miss Granger and Mr Snape show an uncanny aptitude for learning, but they had an almost eerie focus and attentiveness that would be something she expected from someone much older.

Yet, sometimes, they seemed like any other child, playing and frolicking with the other foals, practising archery, fishing, and gathering with the same dedication she'd seen in every centaur youth.

They said their prayers to the gods as all the centaur did. They paid attention to the elders as they told the stories of the ancient centaur and their original beastly drunkenness before the Time of Civilisation— when Chiron taught his people the wisdom of the gods. They recited the stars and planet names until even Minerva had begun to remember them like she remembered the alphabet. They learned every plant by name, every forest animal, and every prayer that was said over each hunt.

Then, after all that, they came to learn Wizarding magic.

How was there enough room in their brains to handle so much— everything?

That kind of dedication was something that fully human children could learn from, she privately admitted—

The typical five-year-old child was hardly reliable for performing assigned chores or even neatly making their own beds, but a five-year-old centaur foal was already dutifully filling baskets and imitating their dams in everything they did.

And what was really discombobulating—

Minerva wasn't sure who was learning more: Miss Granger and Mr Snape or herself.

Albus kept himself sequestered up in his ivory tower on high like the reigning Zeus on Olympus, but the extent of what he had his fingers dipped into he kept entirely to himself. At least he wasn't running about chasing nubile young maidens while hiding from Hera—

And while the pair— aptly named Treeshadow and Rainbright—seemed to take to the putting of the mandrake leaf in their mouths with mild amusement, Minerva wasn't quite sure what was so funny to them. They whickered and tail tossed amongst themselves like it was some great joke, but what that joke was she had no idea. Worse, she felt like the joke just might be on her—

They never laughed at her, nor did they give her any indication of ridicule. If anything, they always demonstrated deep respect for her.

But—

She felt like she was trying to teach Albus how to transfigure a matchstick into a needle— a lesson he most definitely did not need.

Still, they never gave any indication of boredom. They did their lessons, finished their homework, and always had it ready for her when she visited them next. Hell, if all of her students were like that, she realised teaching would be far less stressful.

Pomona, too, had no complaints.

If anything, Pomona was extremely happy with them and how they incorporated centaur tending to the greenhouse plants. The plants seemed much happier for it, she'd said.

Hell, even Pomona seemed happier.

So what was off?

Was it possible to be uneasy because things were almost too ideal?

According to Albus, the Granger parents had been strangely calm about learning their child and foster child had been indoctrinated-adopted into a centaur clan.

Who was that calm about their kids accepting a dramatic magical transformation by a visiting demi-god?!

No, Minerva was waiting for the other foot to drop.

She kept waiting for the catastrophe to come calling after the calm.

Perhaps, it was just a feeling.

Perhaps.

Yet, inside the school, there were children in Slytherin enjoying a sort of prosperity that had them in high spirits, and many of them had sent well-wishes to Hermione and Severus for a quick recovery—sending out a kind of solidarity most people in the school did not believe the house capable of.

Horace was rather tickled that there had been so many blessings upon his snakes, despite the fact that being transformed by magic was a dubious "blessing" to house known for shunning things that weren't pureblood or half-blood— not that he knew the specifics, yet.

Still, despite Miss Granger's pedigree, she and Mr Snape had brought honour and prestige to Slytherin by proxy, and the house wasn't suffering the same stigma as it had only a year previously. What might have started with the iron fist of the "Prince of Slytherin" keeping Slytherin in check wasn't having to be policed anymore. The children were regulating themselves, showing more tolerance because it had been tolerance that had brought prosperity to their house, not prejudice.

Could it have been so easy all this time?

Perhaps, easy wasn't the right word, she thought. Albus had always favoured his Gryffindors. Most of the school knew it and complained about it bitterly— if they weren't Gryffindor, at least. Minerva had always tried to be fair. If her cubs messed up, she treated them appropriately, and from what she heard in the whispers around the school, she was one of the few teachers to whom Slytherin did not have a grudge.

But had Slytherin's foul reputation been a self-fulfilling prophecy where people expected them to be bad seeds therefore they had to care to prove otherwise? If they were going to be treated unfairly for being decent and upstanding, what reason or inspiration did they have for being exactly what people expected?

Even now, the simple change in the winds had made Slytherin stand up to be noticed as something beneficial to society— with valuable minds and compassionate inspiration. So, since the public believed this was true, Slytherin was acting the part— free to show that side of themselves once covered in the restricting "category" of being Slytherin.

It was, she had to admit, no better for any of the houses. Each house was known for things, and those traits were pounded into every firstie who was Sorted into Hogwarts.

Hufflepuffs were not expected to be brave.

Gryffindors were not expected to be patient.

Ravenclaws were not supposed to be ambitious.

Slytherins were not supposed to be brave.

How much damage did the Sorting do to a young child by giving them expectations and limits while trying to encourage magic— something that by definition both required control and imagination, will and power, wisdom and curiosity—

And yet, before here lay the proof that some people defied their label—

As Severus and Hermione lay their hands on the normally cranky Venomous Tentacula— the very same sort of plant that had taken her dear Elphinstone Urquart away from her three years into their marriage—they whispered a prayer to Demeter, as they stroked the tentacles and fertilised the earth. The Tentacula, much like the willows, responded well to the treatment, growing stronger but also curling affectionately around the pair whenever they visited, even allowing them to lay beside when studying.

Were the plants, too, acting out because it was the way they were expected to act?

Did the children treat them as they wished to be treated?

Pomona seemed to think so—

"There is too much history between me and the plants here, Minerva," Pomona said. "I've tended them for as long as they've been alive, but I always treated them as I was taught to— expected to. These children, my friend, treat everything as they wish to be treated in return, and the plants have no reason to act otherwise. They've transplanted Mandrakes without screaming. They've befriended the Venomous Tentaculas. They've propagated the willow, for Merlin's sake. Minerva, listen. It's so obvious that it's been right under our noses the entire time. They act their worst because we expect them to— and if it can happen to plants, then it can happen with people."

Minerva watched the Rainbright and Treeshadow stick their tongues out at each other, each showing off the mandrake leaf on them.

Perhaps centaur foals did more because their sires and dams believed they could, and if that was the case—

Maybe they were doing the children a disservice in putting boundaries in places where they should still be dreaming and learning their own limits rather than being told where those limits were.

Minerva couldn't really say anything for certain other than that Miss Granger and Mr Snape were clearly thriving despite everything that had been thrown in their way— despite what should have started off horribly and what everyone believed would be the possible literal death of a Muggleborn in Slytherin.

No Muggleborn ever survived in Slytherin.

That was what everyone expected.

It was what everyone had "known" as the truth.

Could Slytherin accept centaur in their midst?

Could Hogwarts?

If Minerva had learned anything in the past few decades of teaching, it had been that children were more cruel to themselves when it came to "anything different" than anything the "outside world" could do to them, but if the school climate was being influenced by how the outside world was brewing then creating a happier place to be a student would at least stave off the sense of desperation that inspired people to make bad life choices.

"Professor, we're done with the assignments," Hermione said, trotting up to bring her their scrolls. "We didn't have a writing desk, but we made do with two logs."

There, standing in the same place as what had been two logs, were two baffled looking pigs.

Minerva clapped her hands together. "Very good, my dears. Very good, indeed."

Lucius would never admit it to his fellow Slytherin, but he was afraid.

His father had demanded that he meet him— in the Forbidden Forest of all places— over a matter of great importance. Abraxas was, if anything, a man who was used to always getting his own way, so much so that he could get away with demanding his son meet him in a forbidden forest without escort by a teacher.

The forbidden forest was hardly a place any student wanted to go once they realised why it was forbidden— huge spiders were a confirmed reality but rumours of dangerous hybrids also filled night time stories of just about every child at Hogwarts.

Unlike meetings with Professor Slughorn, meetings with his father were never for good reasons. Abraxas was up to something, and it required his most "dutiful" son's attention— a duty beaten into him over the last decade since Lucius had proven he could hold a wand.

Act this way.

Befriend the right people.

Bend them to your will.

You do not have friends. You have people who do what they are told.

You will obey.

You will keep to the tenets of our family.

Our family comes above all.

There are only stepping stones on your way to the top.

Lucius knew his father was unhappy with the goings on at Hogwarts. He constantly wrote asking how the "unrest" was with his classmates, and his replies when Lucius had replied that Slytherin was doing quite well… that had not had the positive effect one would have thought it would have—

No, his father seemed angry that his classmates weren't more malcontented.

It made no sense.

Slytherin had become a house that people could be proud of being a part of— already he had gotten a number of highly lucrative job offers for when he did graduate, all of them detailing the scores he would need upon taking his N.E. in order to take them up on the offers. The healing guilds had started to turn their heads towards Slytherin. Doors were opening instead of having to be beaten down with countless credentials and heavily greased wheels. Professor Slughorn had never been so swamped with organisations that wanted to interview his students before they even left school.

Was that not the very definition of prosperity?

The cold of the forest seemed almost oppressive, made ever worse by the stygian darkness that seemed so thick that his eyes screamed for mercy. Yet, to light his wand was to court even more danger— a beacon that demanded that the forest come to investigate. His feet struggled to find purchase on the unknown— his senses betraying him. Up became down. Down became diagonal.

Every brush of a twig or leaf was like a burn across his skin, making him super aware of how alien the world was both in its "lack of civilisation" and untrodden wilds.

The Forbidden Forest is… forbidden.

This was most unwise.

Unnatural, in fact.

His eyes were not made for such things.

His feet— definitely not used to ground being both yielding and hard at the same time. The well manicured gardens at the manor were hardly tangled.

When his eyes picked up the light of wands, the moment he had been dreaded had arrived. He set his jaw and stepped forward, his mind wanting him to hightail it out of there for self preservation, but the other part of him knew that fleeing would give his father more reason to beat him.

Or so very, very worse.

"At last, Abraxas," a disturbingly high-pitched male voice said. "I was beginning to think your son was but a story."

"No, my Lord," his father's voice said. "He is ready to take his place at your side."

"We shall see," the man standing with his father said. There were others there—

Nott's father, Crabbe's, Goyles— was that Bellatrix?

His stomach turned as Bellatrix looked upon this man he had never seen with the sickening adoration of a true zealot. Worse, Bellatrix had her sister, Narcissa, there with her hands bound while forcibly held on her knees in front of this new alleged "lord."

"You see, we offered this little whore a place of true power by our Dark Lord's most wise side," Abraxas said to Lucius, his pale grey eyes flashing in the wandlights. "She unwisely said that she wished to 'consider' it, so I ask you, my son, will you take your place beside the one who will bring power back to where it rightfully belongs?"

"Then I am to assume that this is the wizard who brought such prosperity to Slytherin this past year, opened so many doors to the sort of opportunities we had not seen in years, and gave us the equality we had so much desired here at Hogwarts?" Lucius said, keeping his voice and his expression carefully neutral.

"But of course," Abraxas answered smoothly, but Lucius did not miss the brows furrowing in the others that flanked this new lord.

"And sending a Muggleborn in our midst to bring such fortune and turn of fate," Lucius said. "Was indeed a turn of events no one of us could expect."

More brows furrowed.

Whispers.

Unsurety.

"Surely, we would never have thought of such genius," Lucius said, tilting his head. "Such cooperation and demonstrable acceptance to bring Slytherin a wealth of ultimate prosperity. To think that I once so foolishly believed that Muggleborns were only fit to be stepped upon, used, drained of every last opportunity. I would never have believed otherwise but not for your ultimate genius, my Lord. I am truly humbled."

He could see the unrest brewing in the stomachs of each of the gathered, even as this new lord's expression did not move a muscle.

"CRUCIO!" came an enraged Bellatrix's cry as she struck Lucius with the torturous spell full on. Her wild black hair was writhing like a nest of angry serpents on her head, and her devoted fanaticism was stoked to a feverish pitch. "QUANTO ESTUARET! LANGLOCK!"

She hit him with spell after spell, and she ripped the agonised screams from his throat even as he dimly heard Narcissa crying, sobbing, begging her to stop even as one of the others brutally kicked her in the jaw to shut her up. Lucius felt his bowels turning loose even as he pissed himself, the absolute agony of Bellatrix's unreasoning hatred had told him enough—

There would never be any sort of working relationship with her, ever.

There would never be forgiveness.

There would never be— survival.

He saw the evil twist of the dark lord's mouth at his screaming agony. He was obviously enjoying it.

His father— he just stood there, red-faced and shamed, bitterly angry for his own reasons.

And that was before he saw the glint of wandlight on the back of a distinctive-looking spider familiar. He could have sworn her heard a voice, but maybe that was the agony speaking as an audio hallucination.

Then—

Everything went straight to Hades forthwith as a seething wave of brassed off Acromantulas descended upon the clearing and pounced, bit, webbed, and otherwise dragged away kicking and screaming (and then not so kicking or screaming) victims into the deep, fathomless dark of the Abyss.

He was falling, and he landed square on his face in the bark-chipped dirt. He felt something pressing into his battered abdomen and ribs, and it wasn't any better than the Cruciatus. He was probably bleeding internally. Hell, he was probably bleeding all over the ground.

Fuck.

He was useless to Narcissa like this—

Where was she?

Did the spiders have her too?

His father?

His father could rot.

But Narcissa?

He struggled to stand, but it was agony with a side of misery.

He rolled onto his back, moaning—

To see a huge spider coming down towards him, legs spread, and mandibles extended and dripping with venom!

KerrSHHHHHP!

KERSHIP!

KrrrrrrrTHIP!

Arrows thunked into the spider so hard, the spider went tumbling out of the air and to the ground in another direction, its squealing death throes ending as its body spasmed and came to a halt.

Then he heard equine screams.

Repeated thunks.

Thundering hoofbeats.

He saw the flash of legs, hooves.

He heard the twang of bowstrings, the stretch of sinew across wood.

"Skewer them with fire!" a voice barked.

"Protect the foals!"

"Make sure the filly is out of danger!"

"Drive the spiders back!"

"What of the humans?"

"They invade our home and endanger our mares and foals! Let them rot in the spiders' bellies— the one good thing they have been good for!"

"Elder, please—"

"You should not be here, child. Return to the camp where it is safe."

"If you save them, they will be bound by debt. By blood and magic they will be obligated to protect that bond or die trying."

"I will consider it. Go back to the camp, child. Quickly now."

"Yes, Magorian."

Lucius saw the face of a stern-looking centaur, his face was seemingly ageless, but he had the feeling that the centaur was far older than he appeared.

"Take this one back by travois to the camp. After his wounds are bound and cared for, take him back to the school," the centaur said, "and the filly as well."

"Yes, Magorian," another centaur replied.

"Aesop, Vale, Cyrus, Theron, Kyros, with me," Magorian said grimly. "We have a few invaders to deal with."

It was the last thing Lucius heard before the pain sent him tumbling into blissful oblivion.

"Do not move," Lucius heard a voice say softly as he came to. "The poultices are stopping your bleeding and helping your pain."

Lucius groaned as he touched his chest through his ripped robes. Something soft and mossy met his fingers along with an earthy-smelling herbal paste.

The Granger girl was looking at him, her halo of honeyed curls unmistakeable. "Kali bound up your wounds with silk, but if you move too soon, you'll start bleeding again— inside and out."

Lucius grunted. "Hermione? I thought you and Severus were at St Mungos."

"Here, drink this," Hermione said gently, passing him a wooden cup. The wood was smooth as a polished stone, obviously well-loved and well-used.

Lucius drank the offered liquid, surprised to find it mildly sweet and not like the bitter, often foul-tasting potions from the school. The pain eased almost immediately, and his eyes widened.

"It's not that piss they make you drink at the school," Severus said with a sniff.

Lucius jerked his head to see Severus— well, maybe Severus from the waist up— looking at him with that familiar firm line that was his mouth and the knifelike eyebrow that shot into his hairline. And, oh Merlin, what a hairline it was.

Snape's black hair was long and glossy, flowing down his back to where his waist connected to a bit of powerfully muscled horseflesh that his father would have bet on in a race in a heartbeat. Part of his hair was woven into war braids that were adorned with beads and leather wraps next to his ears. His robes hung from his shoulders, part of them sweeping across his back, but they looked like more of a formality than something perfectly natural— a remnant of a time that hadn't included an equine body.

"Severus, how is Narcissa?" Hermione asked.

"She is sleeping," Severus said softly.

Hermione stood up on all fours— Merlin, she was a centaur too?!

She walked over to Severus and leaned into him. Severus nickered softly, pressing his face against her curls in reassurance.

It was then that he noticed the unmistakable magical markings in Greek that shimmered across their skin down the back where a black dorsal stripe travelled from head to tail. Ancient Greek. It faded in and out like the winking of a firefly's light in the darkness.

He had to admit that he was not adequately schooled in Ancient Greek as his father had believed Latin was the only language other than English that any Malfoy needed to know. He could recognise the glyphs, but that was as far as he was able to go.

Severus, too, had the exact same magical runes running down his black stripe as Hermione did. He must have been staring a little too hard, because the black centaur colt stomped an impatient hoof. "It says we travel in the hoofprints of Chiron whose great wisdom brings honour to the children of Centaurus."

"And the names of the gods and goddesses we honour with our prayers," Hermione added. "It's a rather long list."

Lucius blinked. They had been gifted by the Olde Gods?

The real gods?

The actual gods?!

"Most centaur choose one god or goddess to revere above all others, but Chiron said that we had to know them all to properly honour the gift we had been given."

Severus and Hermione respectfully bowed their heads immediately.

"Great Zeus, King of the gods, god of the sky and lightning but also the bringer of law and justice."

"Hera, Queen and goddess of women, family, marriage, and childbirth."

"Hades, God of the Dead, rules over the Underworld and teaches us that in being finite, our lives are given meaning."

"Poseidon, God of the seas and water, storms and horses, hurricanes and quakes of the earth."

"Demeter, Goddess of fertility, the harvest, all growing things and the passing seasons."

"Athena, Goddess of war but also of wisdom and crafts of the hands."

"Apollo, God of light, who guides us to the truth, prophecy and philosophy, inspires us in poetry, music, and art but also teaches us the art of medicine."

"Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt who teaches us to respect the wilds, the moon, and the game which we require to live."

"Ares, God of War and the male spirit, whose footsteps are often marked in violence and bloodshed, but without we could not know the value of peace."

"Aphrodite, Goddess of love and passion, fertility and desire. With her touch, may we understand life's beauty in all things."

"Hephaestus, the God of the Forge, through him may we create inventions, tame the fire, and hone our crafts in his great shadow."

"Hermes, god of travel, who teaches us both the value of diplomacy and borders, the art of the spoken word."

"Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth and fire who teaches us the importance of family."

"Dionysus, God of Wine, whose footsteps dance in both festivity and ecstasy toward madness and resurrection."

They looked up at Lucius, and Lucius could only stare at them in frank astonishment. Oh, but his father had been a fool. A complete utter fool.

The old ways were not about blood status at all. They were about respecting where the gift of magic came from and understanding that to wield its power one had to give oneself fully over to it and trust in what it wanted you to do and be— and perhaps that the hand that guided magic was of the unseen will of the gods.

And here was the undeniable proof, right there in front of him—

The will of the gods, made into physical form.

Oh, but it had been a test all along: his childhood, meeting Hermione on the train, choosing to support a Muggleborn in Slytherin, realising that prosperity had come from the most unexpected place, and now— now it was realising that the gods were and had been very real all along.

Had he himself not been saved— not by his father or some alleged rising lord— by the very "filthy mindless beasts" his father had cursed?

A spider had bound his wounds.

The centaur had saved him, dressed his wounds, given him medicine.

The one who tended him after his injury had once been a young human witch— a supposed Muggleborn, worthless Mudblood.

He would not be his father.

Never.

If blood purity had brought him to the sacrificial table to be tortured by his own cousin in front of a rising dark lord, then he knew exactly where he would have been had he foolishly thrown his lot in with the likes of them. He would be hollow and hated, adored by the fawning sycophants but never truly loved.

He would far rather be respected for his own merit.

He never wanted Narcissa to look at him with fear and loathing. Not now, not ever.

"Hermione, Severus—" he said quietly.

The pair looked at him, heads tilted in curiosity. "Yes, Lucius?"

"I will keep your secrets. I swear it on my magic, but—" Lucius swallowed hard. "Could you perhaps teach me how to give a proper offering and prayer to Athena for the gift of wisdom she has pummelled me about the head with tonight?"

The pair nickered agreeably, smiles shared between them both.

"Of course, Lucius. You had but only to ask."

Lucius looked skyward and smiled, feeling a warmth spread throughout his body as the stress seemed to fade away. "Thank you."

High above them, a pristine-feathered little owl hooted and took to the air, her wingbeats leaving iridescent trails of magic behind as she flew back to her beloved Goddess on Mount Olympus.

Far away, on his great and mighty throne, Zeus cradled the fired clay figurines of two young centaurs in his hand with a smile. He moved his hand over them and the figures seemed to grow and age as time in the world of men passed in but a mere blink of a god's eternal eye.

He gently placed the two centaur down in their protective alcove.

Together, right where they belonged.

He turned to smile at his wife, and Hera looked at him with a slightly mischievous eye as she placed the figurines of what had been human but a blink earlier.

She gave him a tender kiss as she placed the horrified-looking clay figurines of fatted wild cattle in the formerly empty alcoves of Tom Marvolo Riddle, Bellatrix Lestrange, Abraxas Malfoy, and numerous other richly-deserving mortals.

They locked arms together and walked out of the room of figurines, the smiles of supreme satisfaction on their faces were something only the gods who had seen and done so much could pull with aplomb.

A/N: Okay so, when I said short-story… well, I obviously don't know the meaning of the word 'short'. Please forgive the detour from the gargoyle pups as this story was rather insistent about being written. Also, inspiration is a fickle, utterly cruel mistress. Aunt Flo is a sodding jerkface, and sleep is like the greener grass on the other side of the garden wall. I get to go back to work tomorrow, so no more story-crafting until next week.

I hope you enjoyed this little unscheduled detour.

Please thank Dragon and the Rose for staying up past her Pumpkin Hour to beta this rampaging bunny.

I hope all of you are staying safe out there in this dangerous, virus-ridden world. Be well, be safe and be careful.

See you next time!