HAPPY MAY my lovelies!
I had so many things to say, but I can't remember any of it right now. Ah well. Did you guys miss me? I missed you lovely people x
Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)
My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.
As always, for Sable and Lais xxx
Saturday, June 30th, 1979
Potter Manor
"Harry! Breakfast is ready!" Hermione exclaims, pushing open the door to the raven haired boy's room. The witch comes to a sharp halt when her gaze falls upon the boy with the lightning scar, that is, at the sight of Harry James Potter rubbing his head along the length of his headboard. "What in Circe's name are you doing?"
Harry freezes, "nothing."
Not even a moment passes before Harry continues to fervently rub his head against the headboard, but rather than maintaining a stance of adamant denial—because Hermione fixes him with a look of exasperation as she gestures pointedly at his head—he says, "I don't know. My head itches."
Harry is wearing maroon pyjama bottoms, but his chest is bare as he'd woken up in the middle of the night to peel his sticky shirt off of his body. The summer is truly sweltering and unforgiving this year.
"Please stop that."
Harry sheepishly complies, ceasing and desisting straightaway. His hand reaches over to his bedside table, and grabs hold of his glasses. As Harry neatly fits his glasses into place, he says, "morning, Hermione. Sleep well?"
"Like a baby," Hermione responds, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes as her best friend begins to unconsciously scratch at his head; vigorously.
"Stop that," Hermione frowns, repeating her earlier command—with the exception that this time it is a tad callous.
"I can't help it," Harry groans, falling backwards onto his bed, and subsequently thrusting his arms haphazardly above his head.
Hermione sighs, slowly approaching his bed. When she reaches his side, she unfolds her arms, and gently sits on the plush mattress beside him—instantly sinking into its warm embrace. "It's probably a side effect of our animagus training…from what Lily tells me, it only gets worse the closer and closer we get to actually shifting." Hermione purses her lips, "James said we should shift on our own soon…otherwise any sudden movements might cause us to shift unintentionally, and we may get stuck for a while unable to change back."
Harry squints at her, one of his hands had travelled back down when she wasn't paying attention, and has resumed his enthused scratching. The only saving grace is that thankfully, it is nowhere near as intense as it had been. "That makes a lot of sense actually…yea, we should shift soon," Harry drawls, and then he asks, "do you think we're going to get any other symptoms?"
Hermione scrunches her nose up at the thought, "I hope not." She could handle liking her meat more on the raw side in recent times, but if she starts scampering after small woodland creatures, she may very well lose it.
Yesterday, the Marauders had been playing a harmless game of catch—with Sirius being far too into it—when Ron had walked outside and caught side of the ball. The ginger immediately broke out into a brisk run and nimbly intercepted Remus's toss to James. Ron caught the ball in his mouth, and it wasn't until after he dropped it into his hand that he realised what had happened.
Sirius was thrilled, and joyously his arms shot into the air and he exuberantly yelled, "It's not just me anymore!"
Regulus had been watching the events unfold from his bedroom window, a gentle smile on his face. The boy had closed the book he'd been leafing through, and found himself intently following Ron's every move.
Ron felt a hot gaze on the back of his head, and curiously glanced over his shoulder, only to find Regulus Black staring at him. Ron raised a hand in greeting, but Regulus's warm expression dropped, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from sight. Ron quirked a brow at the peculiar behaviour, but quickly shrugged it off.
Back in the present, Hermione tenderly places her hand over Harry's—the one that is still scratching at the crown of his head, thus stopping the incessant action. "Does this mean you're going to start grazing out in the front yard?"
Harry gives her a pensive look, as if he is truly considering her playful question. "No. At least I don't think so...hey, do you think we could go in search of some fresh fruit in the Orchard later?"
Hermione gasps lightly, delight blooming on her face, "I would love to."
Harry smiles, his eyes fluttering shut and a serene calm washes over him, "I can't wait."
Hermione pokes his ribs, and says, "for now, we have to get up and go downstairs for Breakfast. Who knows how much is left with that lot and how they scarf down food."
Harry pries open an eye, and he groans loudly, "that is a good point."
"Grand, now let's get a move on," Hermione says, standing up and brushing her wild curls over her shoulder.
Hermione's nose itches. The air tastes salty, and Hermione can feel a burst of magic building, building and building up inside of her. Something molten is coursing through her veins, her toes tingle, and Merlin's beard, her nose itches. She reaches up to scratch it, when she sneezes involuntarily.
Flames of magic lick and curl around her, and Hermione's body begins to reform: ghostly fingers are caressing her skin as her limbs change. Her vision sharpens, and she can hear Lily talking to Ron outside the room—probably coming to check on them. Fur sprouts from her pores, and she can feel something grow from her spine—a tail.
Hermione shakes her head violently, the itch is still on her nose, and she tries to speak but all that comes out is a sharp bark. The sound starkly startles Harry, and before she knows it, there is a young Stag sprawled across the ground beside her.
The wolf cautiously lowers her rear to the floor, her head turning to watch her tail swish across the hardwood. Another bark, this time it's an excited one. They shifted!
Ron and Lily enter the room a few moments later, and stumble across the two newly shifted animagi—both stuck in their other forms, and unsure how to shift back.
"Well, this is unexpected," Lily gapes, and Ron leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.
"Does it look like Hermione is glaring to you? It looks like she's glaring," Ron says gleefully.
"Who's glaring?" A voice behind Ron asks (it came from a drowsy Regulus, who is currently rubbing the sleep out of his eye). The ginger practically jumps out of his skin, and an explosion of magic erupts from him. The tall youth disappeared, and in his place is a Pointer Dog: the white dog has massive patches of reddish, almost coppery patches of fur—the colour is also splattered and speckled across most of the white.
If wolves could grin, Hermione would have a shit-eating one on her face right now, instead, her muzzle opens widely as she yawns.
Lily bends down beside Ron, and he begins to avidly lick her face. The witch giggles as she rubs behind his ears before she straightens up. The dog looks at her for a brief moment, but then cocks his head to the side. He barks onces, and then trots past Lily and heads directly for Regulus.
"What?" Regulus inquires, hand in his hair, gazing down into the dog's earnest, electric blue eyes.
The dog lets out a soft bark, and steps into Regulus, rubbing his head against the boy's leg.
"Aw, look, he likes you," Lily hums knowingly, winking suggestively at Regulus. The witch whistles softly as she turns away from Regulus and his furry companion and properly steps into Harry's room. "Now, what are we going to do about you two?" Lily asks kindly, placing her hands on her hips.
Lily squats down in front of the two animagi, her hair falls forward over one shoulder and exposes the right side of her creamy neck—her doe tattoo is currently peering at the two of them curiously, shifting from foot to foot, its tail twitching as it did so.
Lily's black leather pants make that creaking, scrunching noise that is unique to the material as she settles into place, and she twists one of the rings on her right hand as she stares at Hermione and Harry. "I think we should call Harry, Buck from now on," Lily muses, and the young Stag blows out a loud exhale of air whilst viciously shaking his head—only for one of his antlers to get caught up in the sheets that had been hanging off the side of his bed.
A light peal of laughter escapes Lily's lips, and she leans forward to untangle the fabric from Harry's antlers, "we are definitely calling you, Buck."
Lily turns to Hermione, whose tongue is hanging out of her mouth as she pants lightly, "now, what are we going to call you?"
Lily scoots forward, her fingers immediately diving into Hermione luscious coat and she eagerly rubs the wolf. A blinding grin is on her face as Hermione begins to lick under Lily's chin in response.
"I have to tell you, Mione, you sure are a pretty thing—witch and wolf alike."
Hermione's coat is the same honey brown colour as her curls, her eyes are a warm hazelnut colour that swirls with copper. There are darker patches around her eyes, and there is a stripe that is almost black in nature along the length of her left front leg.
Lily's fingers still, and pensively she says, "either way, you both need to calm down. We don't want you getting stuck for days. Peter—"
Lily voice withers instantly, her lips clamp shut, and her eyes quiver with unspoken emotions.
A few moments later, Hermione has shifted back into a witch, and her arms find themselves engulfing Lily in a comforting embrace.
Shortly, Ron and Harry have also calmed down enough to shift out of their other forms. Whilst Harry hovers, unsure as to whether he should join, Ron pats Regulus on the shoulder before crossing over to Lily and Hermione, tugging them both into him, enveloping them.
Hermione cannot find a single word of comfort in her vast vocabulary, and it grinds at something in her. It's like she's being ground into fine powder by a mortar and pestle.
There is nothing to say after all. Peter's betrayal is still somewhat fresh, it still stings, and Hermione doubts that shall change any time in the near future.
So instead of saying anything, Hermione merely holds Lily. Harry eventually joins them, and without a sound to betray him, Regulus creeps away; feeling well out of place.
Tuesday, July 3rd, 1979
Potter Manor
Hermione's fingers play with the hem of her short, black nightgown—it's lacy, when she moves it swishes about, and it makes her feel incredibly pretty. She wriggles her bare feet against the hardwood, and her eyebrow twitches upwards.
Hermione doesn't know why she hasn't opened the door yet. With a soft exhale, the witch rests her forehead against the smooth wooden surface, and her free hand trails up the door only to come to a halt beside her head. Ever so gently, she taps the door with the tip of her index finger.
She doesn't know how he always smells like a roaring fire, peaches and honey. She doesn't know why he's waiting outside her door—quietly, not intentionally making his presence known.
(Why Remus hasn't asked what in Godric's name is she doing is nothing short of a surprise, but she doesn't allow her thoughts to linger on that. Though if she spends any more time with her head against the door he may ask if she needs her head examining.)
With a deep exhale, Hermione releases the hem of her nightgown, instead moving her hand to the brass doorknob. She twists the knob, steps back, and pulls open the door.
He's to the left of Remus's door: languidly stretched out on the floor, one knee bent with his arm limply resting on it, his back up against the wall, his head is tipped to the ceiling, and his eyes are closed.
"Nightmare?" Hermione asks gently, slipping out of the room, and tiptoes over to him. She brushes her fingers across his head before she kneels down in front of him. Cautiously, she places her hand on the calf of his outstretched leg. Ron's eyes fly open, electric blue irises flashing. Air puffs robustly in and out of his nostrils for a moment as he gathers his wits about him. He knows it's her, but terror and adrenaline is still pumping through his system.
Ron's jaw clenches, and he nods an imperceptible amount, his other hand shakily reaching out to cover hers, and his fingers partially lace through hers.
A potent shot of guilt strikes the witch and she suddenly feels like an awful friend; she's left Harry and Ron on their own for weeks. Ron and Harry assured her that it was fine if she slept in Remus's room from now on, they could manage on their own. We'll be fine, Hermione. I can promise you that. That being said, she shouldn't have abandoned them all at once.
"Where is Harry?"
Ron smiles faintly, and she can see the fright begin to trickle out of him, "I was playing Wizard's Chess with Charlus until about an hour ago, and when I got upstairs, Harry's room had locking and silencing charms thrown up—he and Emmeline slipped upstairs a while ago...and well, I guess you can figure out the rest."
Ron shifts slightly, rolling his shoulder forward and Hermione's gaze dips to their entwined fingers, and her vision blurs until their fingers become a shapeless blob, surrounded by sea of navy blue—Ron's shirtless, but he is wearing navy blue pyjama bottoms. "So I went to sleep in my own room...and well, I fell asleep for all of five minutes before I was up again. Your room was closer—I just wanted to be...I don't know."
Ron abruptly cuts himself off, averting his gaze to stare past her off into the distance. Hermione's eyes flick back up to his face, and in an instant she can decipher how he's feeling. It is strange, yet oddly comforting that she can read the subtle changes in Ron's expressions and know exactly what they mean.
Hermione's other hand grips onto Ron's forearm—of the arm propped up on his knee—and softly she asks, "do you want to sleep here, tonight?"
That draws Ron's full attention back to her, and the only indication that he'd truly heard her was his brow stitching together in pensive ponderation.
Warily, the words hesitantly sliding off of his tongue, Ron asks, "what about Remus? Won't he mind?"
Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip as she considers his question. He shouldn't. He wouldn't. Would he? Surely, he would understand.
"If he has a problem with it, then we can go and sleep in my room, tonight."
Ron's expression instantaneously droops, and she can just see the protests forming on the tip of his tongue, "you don't have to—"
Hermione hastily interjects before he can say another word, "yes, I do, Ron," Hermione says, an insurmountable mountain of obstinacy surging inside her, her facial expression daring her to challenge her, whilst her fingers tighten their grip on his.
"Remus won't mind if I'm gone for one night, besides, you are my best friend, Ronald."
She can see that she is swaying the ginger, persuading him to see past his inherent self-perception that in some way he is being a burden. She detests the thought that in his nightmares, Ron is never good enough; Ron's night terrors are always him failing to save the ones he loves due to his inadequacy—it had taken Hermione and Harry months after the war to draw that out of him.
"It was so much worse tonight, Hermione," Ron admits, his voice trembling, and his lip wobbles before his head falls forward.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione murmurs, stroking her thumb back and forth on his forearm.
Ron shakes his head. That means it must have been ghastly, and it breaks her heart to see her brave, strong friend look so feeble and broken.
"Come on, let's get to bed," Hermione urges kindly, pushing up onto her knees, and in a fluid motion she stands up, but she's half-bent at the middle as she maintains her hold on him.
Ron shifts his head just enough to peer up at her, reminiscent of a scared child in that moment, "are you sure?"
"Positive," Hermione swears, ducking her head just enough to press a chaste kiss to his temple. "Now get up off your arse, I'm sleepy."
Until she says the words, she doesn't realise how true it is. A yawn unwittingly escapes her lips, and both of her eyes briefly close from the force of it.
Hermione makes a show of tugging on him, and with a flimsy attempt of a smile, Ron repositions himself, and leverages himself into a standing position. Hermione steps into him, her arms sliding around his abdomen. Ron hesitantly reciprocates the notion, his chin resting on her head.
"It's okay now…you're safe, Ron. I'm here," Hermione says into Ron's chest, and she can feel her words reverberate through him, and Ron non-verbally responds by gripping her just that much tighter.
After a few minutes, they part, and Hermione to quietly guides Ron into Remus's room.
Hermione is surprised to find Remus still awake, the candle on his bedside table alight. Remus has one hand behind his head, and in the other is a small novel that seems to have captivated him entirely. Remus is wearing black boxers, but he looks to be nude as his body is partially obscured by his Prussian blue sheets.
Remus sticks his thumb in his book to mark his page before he lowers the book into his lap, and he quirks a brow, "what's going on? Is something wrong?"
Hermione climbs into the bed, and crawls towards her boyfriend until she is right beside him. When she reaches him, she sits back on her haunches and opens her mouth as if to speak, but falters. What if he really did mind?
"I can go back to my room, Mione," Ron says reticently from the foot of the bed, and her head whirls around with furious rapidity.
"Ronald."
"I'm clearly missing something," Remus frowns, flipping his book open for as long as it takes to make a mental note of what page he is on before he places it beside his candle on his bedside table. The werewolf sits up, folds his hands in his lap and glances in between two thirds of the golden trio.
"I had a nightmare," Ron mutters sheepishly, roughly rubbing his hand across the back of his head.
Remus's eyes widen in understanding, and as if there is some unspoken time limit, Hermione blurts, "and he wants to sleep in here tonight."
"Oh," the syllable falls from Remus's lips with no outward indication of what could possibly be running through his mind.
"Seriously, Mione. I don't want to impose," Ron sighs, wincing. "Sorry, Remus—I'll get out of your hair." Ron turns to leave, but Remus's loud proclamation stops him dead in his tracks.
"You can sleep here."
You can visibly see the tension exit Ron's body as relief swallows him whole. Ron unhurriedly faces them once more, and there is a calmness that has taken a hold of him now.
It takes the three wix longer to adjust themselves into a comfortable arrangement than it should, but eventually they figure it out. Hermione is sandwiched in between the two wizards—who had exchanged hushed apologies as their limbs bumped and tangled with each other in their efforts to settle down.
However, it takes no time at all for them to all drift off, and this time, none of them are plagued with gruesome images of loved ones dying in the worst ways imaginable. This time, Ron dreams of the same grey eyes and dark hair that had previously featured in his night terror, but this time, instead of listlessly staring dead ahead, they are alight with amusement, and a wry smile dances across their owner's face.
It's the best Ron has slept in weeks.
Monday, July 9th, 1979
Potter Manor
Full Moon
The air glistens with magical residue, the Moon is a radiant sphere in the inky sky, and the stars softly twinkle. There are spurts of breeze here and there, but for the most part the night is still.
A flurry of movement, the sharp sound of twigs snapping under hooves and paws, and an avid howl. The group of animals comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of a clearing, all looking to their Alpha, their unsealed pack bond pulsing all around them. The deer are off to one side, the two stags shifting from hoof to hoof in front of the smaller doe. The Grim and the Pointer dog are playfully rolling around in the grass, occasionally letting out excited barks.
Moony nuzzles his snout into the neck of the honey brown wolf beside him. The wolf and the man are happily in equilibrium with each other; the wolf's usual unrest that prods at the back of the man's brain has quieted—he can only imagine it is due to him finding his mate. The transformation was also far less painful tonight, and the man thinks that came as a result of having more pack members surrounding; they are stronger together even in spite of their unsealed bond.
The female wolf turns a hazelnut and copper eye on him, and faintly the man thinks that the pack is vulnerable as long as their bond remains unsealed.
A sharp bark from the Grim draws the Alpha's attention, and thoughts of unsealed bonds get lost in a sea of primal instinct. It takes up far too much energy to try and keep a cognisant line of thought.
The Grim and the smaller dog excitedly bound away, and the wolf's limbs move of their own accord, paws flying across the ground as he elatedly pursues them. The werewolf and animagi sprint through the Orchard for the entire night, the moonlight peeking through the trees and gleaming across their coats. They chase each other around and around, leaping here and there, until, they eventually tire. Fatigued, the pack drops onto the grass on the outskirts of the Orchard, huddled together—some of their limbs overlapping—and slips into the welcome land of dreams.
