A/N: Sirius is not a nice person in this story/chapter. Be warned.

A/N2: I have a lot of homework this week, so the next chapter may be delayed.

Trigger warning: violence, torture, and the mindset of a very twisted and Dark individual

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01


Nine Tails of Retribution

Chapter 2

Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie

I always divide people into two groups. Those who live by what they know to be a lie, and those who live by what they believe, falsely, to be the truth. -Christopher Hampton


-Severus Snape-

For the first time in the history of my life, I woke in my bed at Spinner's End feeling fully rested and energised. The second thing I noticed was that the air coming in from the open window was unexpectedly fresh and clean. The third thing that became disturbingly obvious was that I had been drooling all over a small ball of fluffy copper-coloured fur.

I had left Grimmauld Place in quite a hurry, preferring not to be caught there and have various people accusing me of doing unspeakable things to Hermione. I also didn't want her to be accused of doing unspeakable things to me. My reputation amongst most of the Order was and had always been rubbish, but I didn't want Minerva's daughter getting caught up in it too.

I was in considerable pain at the time, but I was certain that I hadn't brought a small furry mammal along with me to Spinner's End.

Fairly certain.

Admittedly, I had Disapparated while somewhat delirious. I had once woken up with one of Lucius' peacocks, but that had involved Firewhisky and commiserating together.

Children were laughing and playing outside; I could hear them.

Now, I knew I was experiencing post-potion hangover reaction. Children did not laugh and play outside around Spinner's End. They could fall and get a flesh-eating infection.

I stirred, and my furry pillow-friend did too. A muzzle full of sharp little teeth greeted me. A cold, wet nose touched mine as I found myself face to muzzle with a fox.

"Hello?" I felt like a bloody moron, but what else do you say to a fox that shows up in your bed like you'd spent the last night drinking together and you never bothered to ask for her name?

The fox stared back at me intently with startling grey eyes.

"Have we met?"

The fox yipped.

"Did it involve alcohol?"

The fox wore a disdainful look that reminded me of— well, me.

I pulled back the duvet and searched for my slippers, swinging my feet down so I could feel around for them. I scratched myself idly, unsure of what to think.

The fox grew rather wide-eyed and fell off the bed with a sharp yip.

I stared, awkwardly, as it dragged over a pile of familiar black cloth: my robes.

I looked down, finding myself clad in nothing but a pair of dark emerald green acromantula silk boxers emblazoned with the Slytherin crest. Lucius had given them to me as a gag gift for Christmas. I wore them anyway. They were comfy. It wasn't like anyone was ever going to see them— except for a rather startled fox.

Well, then.

As my feet touched my slippers, I put them on and froze as soft, plush lambswool greeted my feet. It felt wonderfully comfortable and cool to the touch, but I didn't have lambswool slippers.

I stared, astonished, at my bedroom floor, and then I stared some more.

My beaten, creaky, flaking painted floor had been replaced by beautiful, shiny, polished hardwood. Walnut, no less, by the looks of it. As my eyes looked up and around, I felt like I had been out drinking all night with Lucius again. This room might as well have been one of Lucius' many guest rooms at Malfoy Manor. Matching dark walnut wardrobes and dressers lined the room instead of the shabby, charity shop furniture that had been there before. The ugly moth-eaten drapes had been replaced with a dark emerald velvet floor-length curtains with an ornate pleated swag draping across the top. The inside of the curtains had a second line of pale, wispy sheer that rustled gently in the soft summer breeze.

I looked down at my new black lambswool slippers. Feeling like the stereotypical idiot in a Muggle horror movie who never noticed the murderer hiding behind the scanty curtains, I turned around and looked at my bed.

Well, that certainly explained why I had slept so well.

A king-sized four poster bed with a dark emerald duvet and bed curtains greeted my startled eyes. Below that peeked out dove grey silk sheets that perfectly matched the grey, emerald and ivory wallpaper. The bed draperies were thick and luxurious, and I felt as though I could sleep in the Arctic with the curtains closed and be perfectly comfortable. Silken silver cords held the drapes neatly in place.

I blinked.

Wait, I had wallpaper?

Forgetting about the fox for the moment, I burst out of the room, fully expecting to find myself in one of Lucius' guest houses— only to find myself still in my own house. Well, it sort of looked like my house might look, if I had somehow drunkenly hired a house-renovation crew with all the money I didn't even have.

I ran frantically from room to room, finding each room had been tastefully furnished precisely to my liking. All of the eyesore reminders of my father's drunken lack of taste had been replaced. My books were now in a library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases with solid wood and glass doors to protect all of my valuable books. I had an actual LIBRARY, complete with rolling ladder. I had a state-of-the-art modern kitchen and I could see my own reflection in the marble tiled kitchen floor. I now had a dining room with an actual table, chairs and a hatch with… was that real Wedgwood china inside?. I even found a crystal chandelier, and it actually worked. There was a ceiling fan on just about every ceiling. I had plants— real, living plants— scattered throughout the house. My fireplace was now made of flawless dark brick that was absolutely clean— spotless. I had a wood rack— a real wood rack, for split logs and a matching box in which to store kindling. I had a handsome clock on the mantle that actually worked. And the thing that had me sitting down, frantically trying to fan myself, was the perfect hidden potions laboratory that could only be accessed via a secret passage behind a moveable bookcase. And it was stocked with every piece of equipment and every single potion ingredient, rare and otherwise, that I could possibly wish for.

I went outside my front door to check the number on the house. Three times in a row. After inspecting my new potions and vegetable gardens, and sampling various ripe fruits from the plentiful berry bushes growing along my back fence.

I flopped down on the couch, wincing in pain as my wounds reminded me that I had recently experienced the beating of my life, and if I could please stop forgetting about that minor fact, my body would truly appreciate it.

It was then, and only then, that my eyes drifted over to see the fox sitting in the nearby armchair, four distinctive tails swishing back and forth behind it.

A Kitsune.

And Hermione's beaded bag was dangling from around the fox's neck.

"Hermione?" I whispered, hearing my voice crack like I was a boy of twelve again.

"Yip!" The Kitsune leapt over and landed on the sofa before climbing into my lap and proceeding to lick my face enthusiastically.

Argh. Kitsune slobber.

Wait, KITSUNE SLOBBER!

I frantically sat up, sending the startled four-tailed fox flying off the sofa, and summoned a vial to my hand with a wordless Accio. I pointed my wand at myself, lifting the precious fluid off my face and guiding it into the vial. I stoppered it, sealing it, and charming the vial to be shatterproof. I fell back on the sofa with a heavy sigh of relief.

Luminous grey eyes were staring reproachfully at me, and I realised I had just flung her clear across the room in my haste to collect the precious potions ingredient.

Gods, what do you say after thoughtlessly tossing your transfigured apprentice across a room like a bloody Quaffle?

"I think I owe you a proper breakfast," I said, foregoing the apology in words for an apology in food. Hopefully, I could still find the eggs and the flour.

Hermione, or at least the Kitsune I thought was Hermione, took a tentative step closer.

"First food and tea," I told her, "then we can discuss why you were in my bed this morning and why my house looks like a luxurious guest cottage of Lucius Malfoy's."

"Yip!"

I frowned. "After I figure out how to reverse your transformation."

First things first. I summoned my Patronus and sent it off after Minerva with a straightforward "Come meet your daughter, the Kitsune. The least you could have done was teach the girl how to change back. Floo directly to Spinner's End, I'm opening the wards just for you."

"Blueberry or strawberry waffles?" I asked the fox.

"Yip!"

"Blueberry it is, then."


Minerva was staring at the little Kitsune gnawing hungrily at the pile of blueberry waffles in front of her.

"Hermione?"

The little fox froze, mid-chew. Her tails waved back and forth slowly.

I could see the gears in Minerva's head turning as she counted tails and assessed the health of her vulpine daughter. Minerva picked the little fox up, but Hermione didn't want to let go of her prized waffle, so Minerva ended up carrying both fox and waffle with her to the living room. The waffle was easily larger than her head, but the kitsune had her mouth tightly clamped onto it, giving me the impression of a dog that had just returned home from a city park after fetching a UFO instead of a frisbee.

Minerva fussed over the waffle hoarding Kitsune, tutting as Hermione did her best to make it disappear so it wouldn't get taken away from her. Either she was really hungry, or she really did adore my waffles. She told me she did, but it was Hermione. She also said she liked my nose, and that was usually what people like to say was sharp enough to cut glass.

After making sure all of Hermione was intact and uninjured, that she had two eyes and not three and a half, and extra set of legs, horns, or strange manifestations, Minerva seemed to think that she hadn't shifted wrong. She was a Kitsune for real.

"Have you tried shifting back, child?" Minerva asked, eyebrow raising as Hermione swallowed the last of her waffle, licking her chops as she did so.

"Yip!" Hermione replied.

"Bugger me if that means 'yes' or 'no'," Minerva sighed.

"She was thanking me for the waffle," I said dryly, slightly amused.

Minerva slumped. "Well, let's get you out of this mess, and then we can work on getting you to make the shift and back on your own."

Hermione licked Minerva's nose, causing the Animagus to sputter. Minerva put her down on the couch and drew out her wand. "Hold still, dear."

Hermione was scratching her ear with her hind foot, apparently far more interested in itching herself than in leaving.

"Vera Forma," Minerva said, and a flash of blue-white light zapped Hermione from the end of Minerva's wand.

As our eyes adjusted after the flash, we found ourselves staring at a bushy-haired girl with midnight blue-black tresses. Wide, piercing grey eyes looked from Minerva to me. Her cheekbones were a bit higher and more defined against her face. Her lips were thinner and her eyebrows a bit finer. The bag was still around her neck, and she looked down and let out a cry of embarrassment as she realised she had no trousers on. She grabbed for the nearby couch pillow and covered herself, flushing a deep rose colour.

"Hermione? Minerva asked tentatively.

"Mam?" Hermione squeaked, eyes darting about, obviously looking for something to cover herself with.

I grabbed a cashmere throw, which had apparently appeared with all of the other new house items, off the nearby chair and tossed it to her. She gratefully covered herself and stared wide-eyed back at us.

Minerva, however, was staring at the wide bruises on the girl's wrists, her torn blouse, and her rather impressive black eye.

If I wasn't sure it was Hermione— and I could feel it in my gut that she was— I would thought she had been replaced by some shamefully abused waif from the streets of London. Yet, as those grey eyes stared into mine, I knew— I knew it was her, and I knew something terrible had happened to her.

Minerva enfolded the girl gently in her arms, seemingly coming to the same conclusion, and Hermione promptly burst into tears, sobbing into the elder witch's arms. Minerva held her tightly, her eyes focused on the crest of Clan McGonagall on the girl's back, right between her shoulder blades.

It was Hermione. There was no doubt now.

"Child, what happened to ye?" Minerva asked, her Scottish brogue thickening in her worry.

Hermione just clung to Minerva tighter, saying nothing. Her eyes bored into me, and I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to read what she couldn't bring herself to say out loud right out of her head.

I knelt beside Minerva and held out my hand.

Hermione timidly placed her hand in mine, knowing that the physical contact would assist me in reading her clearer without the need of a wand. She met my gaze, giving me the window into her mind.

Hermione's mind was normally quite structured, partially due to my drilling her in Occlumency as well as Legilimency. One was quite logical— to keep her status with Minerva hidden from the manipulative old goat. The other was because she was capable and I wanted to see how long it would take her to break through my own shields. There was also a simmering part of myself that wanted to be able to know what people were thinking about her— what they were really thinking. Legilimency was a rather odd balance of luck, skill, and the structure of the mind you were trying to skim through. You could, if properly skilled, eventually find whatever you wished to, or, in the case of one Dark Lord, find the best path to completely unhinge it. Even if she didn't have the grand skill of one meddling old wizard, she would still be able to pick up surface projections that were considered fair game without having to ask permission or have physical contact for.

When I slipped into her mind, all was in chaos. It was if a bomb had gone off inside her mind. Random memories were scattered everywhere and very few of them connected. It was no surprise that she couldn't form the words to tell us what happened. Her mind was having difficulty figuring out where to put it all. Something extremely traumatising had clearly happened— something that had shaken the normally warm and enthusiastic little bookworm into making an instinctive Animagus shift, caused her to seek me out, and caused a rather disturbing shift in appearance. The question, however, was what.

I saw her parents huddling around as they placed a pink birthday cake before her with two candles on it. I heard someone whisper "I have to keep you safe." I saw myself glowering over her like a territorial dragon, snarling as I verbally eviscerated her in front of her peers. I saw the tabloids— her parents listed among the dead in a freak train derailment. I saw Minerva as she offered to adopt Hermione— Moody, Amelia Bones, and myself all standing as witnesses to her adoption. I saw her terrified and crying in a girl's lavatory when the troll came in. I saw her setting my robes on fire. I saw her staring at her very feline face in the mirror after the polyjuice incident in her second year.

Image after image raced through my brain, and I set them aside, one by one, in order to seek what I really needed. I saw her huddled in the dark, listening as Sirius casually joked with Nymphadora Tonks, their distinctive voices heightened and loud. I saw Kreacher holding the door open to the outside, tying the beaded back around her neck, and telling her how to escape. I heard all the nasty little things Ronald Weasley laughed about with Harry, sending Hermione fleeing from them in tears. Fear. Dog. Gnashing of teeth. Tea and biscuits sitting on the table as she woke up, riding the bicycle for the first time, surrounded in little purple lintball chicks, being nearly hugged to death by a little girl—

Sirius Black forcing her down on the couch, his hands crushing her wrists, his knees forcing her legs apart— her screaming, writhing, fighting hard to free herself—

Crookshanks leaping at his face, the yowling, hissing, clawing.

There was a desperate run, and then he was on her again. Her trousers were torn away, he backhanded her, cracking her head hard against the floor— then a loud knocking on the door.

Then she was free, and running, diving in the blessed dark on all fours: as a young Kitsune.

I pulled away, my nails digging into my palms to snap me out of the almost blind rage that was clouding my vision with a haze of red. Then I saw her staring at me— in deep shame.

I swiftly opened my arms to her, and she clung to me in relief, sobbing again, this time as though it would never stop.

Minerva looked at me in horror, curiosity and a burning need to know what had so traumatised her daughter, and yet not wanting to know at the same time.

"Get Moody here right now," I hissed, clutching Hermione to my chest, "and tell him to bring a Pensieve."

Fwoop.

Suddenly, I had an arm full of Kitsune again. The little fox was trying to bury herself in my robes. I soothed her fur very gently with my hands.

She trembled against me, but settled, her tails wrapped around my wrists like a monkey's prehensile tail. I whispered her name into her soft fur and felt her cold nose press against the flesh of my neck.

Hermione— I held her close to me, promising myself that I would keep her safe and praying it wouldn't turn out to be a lie.


-Alastor Moody-

With Hermione being fox-sat by a team of seasoned Aurors in the main office of the Aurory, I glared at Nymphadora Tonks with what could only be described as draconic ire. Hermione was safe, being watched over by Savage and his team, none of whom had any trainees with them. Kingsley had all of the trainees dismissed for the day after he got wind of the situation.

Good old Kingsley. I could always trust him to handle things wisely.

At the moment, Amelia was arranging for Hermione to be registered as a new active Animagus, Minerva was with Severus filing away their memories in evidence vials and delivering the vials of Hermione's to Kingsley. Kingsley was writing a mound of paperwork, including all of which would bury Sirius Black when it was done, and I—

I was trying not to murder Nymphadora Tonks in cold blood in my interrogation room.

"Nymphadora," I said.

"Tonks, sir," she responded automatically— ever hateful of the first name she had been given.

"Nymph-a-dora," I replied. "Around here, we earn the names we are called. We earn the right to be called Aurors. We earn the right to be called by our names of choice, or we earn the name we gain from doing something significant. Perhaps, you would prefer the name 'Snitch'?"

"Wha?" she stared at me, clearly not comprehending.

I slammed both of my hands down hard on the table in front of her, causing her hair to turn pure white before shifting back to the mousy brown of her natural colour— distinctly absent of her usual happy-go-lucky shade of pink.

"Do you think the Auror's oath does not apply to you because you are just a trainee here, Nymphadora?"

"No, sir!" she replied, aghast.

I narrowed my eye, feeling my magical one rapidly zinging from one side to the other. "Do you think you can handle cases as an Auror when you can't even keep your bloody trap shut around people who have no business knowing about anything you see going here?"

"S-sir, I would never endanger my work here!"

She looked completely mortified— oblivious to any wrongdoing.

"Tell me, trainee," I hissed, using her status as a lance. "Tell me what you thought was so insignificant that you would spill your guts about the wee lass out there, whose presence here has remained a secret to everyone outside the Auror's office. Tell me, Nymphadora, why you think it is okay to impose your judgement regarding her relationship with her master to Sirius Black, eh?"

"Do you know what the word confidential even means? Did you snore through the signing of your oaths? Do we have to bind you through an unbreakable vow to get you to keep your bloody mouth SHUT? What if we just happened to tell Bellatrix Lestrange where your own mother could be found? We know it. She's your closest blood relative. Wouldn't harm anything at all, WOULD IT?!"

Nymphadora's face went as pale as a the victim of a banshee. Her mouth worked silently. "I—I didn't—"

"You. Didn't. What?"

"Dumbledore told us we could trust him. I didn't think—"

"You. Didn't. Think. I have sum bridge land to sell ya, lassie," I snarled. "If yer buyin'."

Hindsight, they say in the Muggle world, is 20/20. I saw the revelation creep into her eyes.

"Something happened to her?" she croaked, her eyes begging me that tell me that I was just being overly paranoid. She desperately wanted me to be as overzealous as I usually was.

She was fumbling with her robes, and she emptied her pockets on the desk. A locket on a broken chain and a dark, obsidian button sat on the top of the table. "I found these this morning. I figured— I'm not sure what I figured, but I kept them. Sirius said she hadn't been there yet. He said he was entertaining a bird the evening before. Typical playboy stuff. He was so arrogant and at ease— oh, Merlin— he was burning something in the fireplace while I was there. Right there in front of me. Said he'd buy the poor girl some new knickers—

Nymphadora was muttering a chain of things now, unable to stop the flow of thoughts. Her eyes were full of tears and panic. "Is she okay? Please, is Hermione okay?"

I wanted to tell her that no, she wasn't okay. I wanted to break her just a little bit more. I wanted her to writhe knowing that what she had done— breaking the confidence of the Auror's Office was no small thing. The truth was, Hermione was coping surprisingly well thanks to someone I'd never thought I'd ever respect: Severus Snape. I recognised something in him that I could identify with: sheer protective fury. I realised in that moment, as I had seen him holding the little fox with the multiple tails against him that Severus Snape was her safety zone just as much as Minerva, Amelia, or myself. Perhaps, he was even more, being her master.

I stared down at the locket on the desk, carefully opening it. A moving picture of Hermione, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter were making faces at a magical camera. I fingered the button, and the surface shone with a brilliant emerald serpent surrounding the personal sigil of one Severus Snape: and her apprenticeship mark.

And then I was seeing red all over again. I glowered at her. "I want every single memory you have of every event where Sirius Black was there and you were talking to him. I want all of it in sealed vials by the end of today. You are not to leave here until they are all submitted to Kingsley. As. He. Supervises."

Nymphadora paled even more.

"Get out of my sight," I growled. "And after all this is over, pray you have a good excuse for why you shouldn't be blackballed from any employment for the rest of your miserable life. NOW GET OUT!"

She scrambled out of the room to escape my fury, tripping over the door frame as she went.

I stared at the broken locket and the apprenticeship button on the desk. Tonight was the Order meeting.

What was the saying?

Give a man enough rope, and he will hang himself with it.

I took the locket and button with me, storming out to the main office, hoping I didn't have to murder anyone on the way.


-Hermione-

I was getting the most outstanding bellyrub known to mortal man by none other than the infamously cranky Alastor Moody. That was all I really needed to know.

I was sprawled out on the top of his desk, looking like a dissection subject, my tails waving in all directions as the most primordial bliss overcame me. Every time he stopped rubbing, I would squirm a little closer, wedging myself back under his hand, and he would grunt, resuming the blessedly ecstatic rubbing I so desired.

So far, I had nicked Auror Savage's Italian beef sandwich, nipped a slice of Auror Proudfoot's cheese, and gotten Alastor to share half of his ginger beer with me. Kingsley had shared with me some special shortbread biscuits from an old family recipe, and I had sneakily hidden a few away in a few hidden caches I had spread all around the Auror office. You never know. I could be starving in a few hours. STARVING!

I'd spent quite a bit of time, unofficially, studying stealth and tracking techniques with the Aurors. They had always done their best to entertain me when I was visiting, and that had been teaching Hermione how to be a good Auror. They didn't really say that as much as I had figured out what they were up to, but I enjoyed it. I was a excited to learn anything and everything.

Typical Auror training lasted at least three years, more if you were a slow learner or failed some essential lesson. Trainee Tonks was right on the cusp of her formal graduation, having reached her third year, but according to the chatter in the office, she was outstanding at concealment and disguise but hippogriff piss at stealth and tracking. She was apt enough to be partnered with Aurors Dawlish, Savage and Proudfoot from time to time, but when it came to being judged fit enough to be granted her independence, that only came from Moody and Kingsley. She might be an Auror as far as people on the outside were concerned, but she wouldn't become one for real until Moody and Kingsley agreed on it— and then they had to take it to Scrimgeour.

Her failure to keep her mouth shut about me, however, had a lot of the senior Aurors now refusing to work with her. It was common knowledge that what happened in the Auror's office stayed there, and even I didn't talk about what I may have inadvertently heard while hanging out there. Then again, maybe I wasn't typical. Merlin knows that I had never had any interest in socialising with Hogwarts gossip queens Lavender and Pavarti and their equally gossipy circle friends.

It felt like I was losing IQ points whenever I tried, and Merlin knew I tried. I just never fit in. Maybe it was because I was Muggleborn, or maybe it was just something about me. Later, it was probably because I was spending too much time immersed in my adoptive family: Minerva, Alastor, Kingsley, Amelia, and Severus. That didn't even include the rest of my professors once all the students went home.

Harry and Ron figured I was now a ward of Hogwarts. They and the rest of the students did too. It happened, apparently, all too often in the first war, even though very few people ever talked about it. Unlike Harry, who had been orphaned as a baby, any children of Hogwarts age were considered old enough to make themselves useful around the school. Babies were often adopted out, but older kids were a toss up. Some were taken in by good friends or relatives, and a few ended up being fostered, since most of their time would be spent at Hogwarts anyway. There were others, which most people believed me to be, who had no home to go back to, so I was theoretically being fostered by Hogwarts. Hogwarts was, at least to the common consensus, the safest place in magical Britain to be.

A soft rustling distracted me from my belly rub, and I saw the plumpest, tastiest-looking bug that was just begging me to snap it up. I hopped to my feet, immediately tearing off after it. I launched myself of Savage's lap, sliding across his desk, knocking over his desk lamp, leaping into the air—

SNAP!

My teeth clacked on empty air, and the bug buzzed loudly, brushing against my whiskers as it desperately attempted to keep dodging me. I was not going to to let my snack go! I quickly spun around and leaped again, using the nearby desk to propel me up high.

SNAP!

Damn. This bug was determined not to line my belly, and I was getting really hungry. I was burning off all the calories from that tasty sandwich I had snitched earlier, and that slice of cheese I had nicked was already done and gone. I was not going to let that little package of calories escape me now!

My surroundings faded around me, and all I could see and smell was lunch— moving lunch, lunch that would be mine!

SNAP!

I snagged a leg, and I crushed it between my teeth, moving to—

GAH! It wrenched itself free and tumbled in the air towards Moody's desk. I tore after it, again. It was wobbling crazily as it flew, and I was even more determined. I gave a loud bark as I launched off another chair, my mouth open to catch that bug that would be my lunch!

SNAP!

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Get this rabid beast off me!" a woman shrieked.

Somehow, and I'm not sure how, I had ended up wrapping my mouth around someone's leg, my teeth sunk deep in the calf of—

"Well, well, well, who do you have here?" Savage asked, wrapping his arms around me and prying me off the unfortunate victim of my sharp fox teeth.

"Rita Skeeter," Proudfoot glowered from his nearby desk. "In the private sector of the Auror's office, no less."

"That little beast was trying to kill me!" Rita screeched hysterically. "I want it dealt with immediately!"

Savage had somehow found himself a smoked turkey leg, and he held it out for me. Oh yes, please!

I wrapped my mouth around the savoury prize. Mmm, bliss. If this was being dealt with, I was all in!

Moody, who staring down at Rita as she clung like a burr to his leather coat, curled his lip in clear distaste. "I'm having a really bad day and am in no mood for your antics, Skeeter. You are now under arrest for breaking into a restricted area of the Auror's office."

"What? No! I was— invited!"

"By whom?" Moody wasn't buying it, and neither were the others. Aurors from all the surrounding desks were surrounding them. "Anyone here invite this shameless scandalmonger to our office?"

Many, many heads shook in vehement negative.

"Tonks! Auror Tonks invited me!" Skeeter blurted out nervously.

Angry faces spread across the entire office, but I was having the time of my life chewing on this delectable smoked turkey leg. Why didn't someone warn me how wonderful these things were? My tails were vibrating again, and my body was filled with feelings of warmth and pleasure from my tasty reward.

Kerzap!

Oops? Did I zap something? I didn't even notice. Mmm, turkey.

"That's your story?" Moody grunted disbelievingly. "A trainee who barely has her training wheels off invited you into a restricted area?"

"Yes!" Rita blurted, her face turning suddenly blue. "I like to sleep naked under the full moon and bathe in elf-made gooseberry wine to keep my complexion flawless."

I paused in my mauling of the turkey leg. Okay, now things were getting pretty interesting.

Moody, who was hardly the person to miss anything, seemed to get a glint in his eye. "Are you an unregistered Animagus?"

"No!" Rita said. "I wrote nasty things about Hermione Granger because I was jealous of her being with Viktor Krum. He refused my advances and called me a grozna kurva!"

Savage, who hadn't stopped petting me the entire time (not that I was complaining), asked, "What is your real name?"

"Rita Skeeter!" she said. "I changed my name from Gertrude Bumworthy after I broke up with Cornelius Fudge. That was after I caught him having sex with Dolores Umbridge on his desk."

Multiple groans and sounds of gagging rippled through the office. I think I even heard a few people hurling into the rubbish bins.

Rita— Gertrude— whoever she was— was looking around with a rather panicked expression.

"What happened to the real Rita Skeeter?" Proudfoot asked.

"I am Rita!" she blurted, but as sure as the sun kept rising, she just had to say something else. "The little tramp was trying to spy on us, so the Dark Lord had me deal with her and take over her identity. I keep her locked in a cellar in Ottery St Catchpole. I harvest her hair for polyjuice, and I drained all of her memories, taking them for my own. There's literally nothing left upstairs." She started laughing hysterically.

"Someone slip her a dose of Veritaserum?" one of the Aurors asked curiously.

"Something better," Moody replied with a rather predatory grin on his face. "Truth compulsion geas, thanks to some rather chaotic Kitsune magic."

"I need to take her home with me, Alastor," another Auror said. "I have children that need a dose of that."

Moody snorted. "Sanchez, Stonehew, get out there to Ottery St Catchpole and find the real Rita Skeeter. Muddlefort, Cambridge, you tear apart Rita's... hell, Gertrude's residence and see what else she might be hiding. Keep in contact with each other in case you find anything." Moody already had magical bindings on Rita-Gertrude, and as people kept asking her questions, she kept spewing random truths that no one really wanted to hear. The more she tried to lie, the more she told the truth, and it was starting to look like the truth was all she could say as time went on.

"Umbridge is planning to send her pet Dementors after Harry Potter!" Rita crowed in a childish sing-song voice creepily reminiscent of the mad Bellatrix Lestrange, causing not a few Aurors to suppress a shudder of total revulsion.

Were all witches that associated with Voldemort that creepy?

"There's going to be a breakout of Azkaban! All the Dark Lord's chosen shall be freed!" she cackled, the signs of her mind being completely unencumbered by any kind of filter becoming all too obvious.

"Get yer hands off me, half-blood scum," a male voice bellowed loudly as an Auror walked in a prisoner to be booked and put in holding. They forced the wizard into one of the chairs.

"Sit down and shut up, Berkley," Auror Stevens said with clear disgust. I and my stomach wondered if had any of those little jerky snacks he liked to carry around in his pocket. Oh, I still had more turkey to eat. Mmm, turkey.

I laid down on Savage's desk and nommed away on the turkey leg, quietly watching the drama unfold. Who says Kitsune can't multi-task? Psh.

Berkley scowled, his eyes flicking over to Rita-Gertrude. He turned his head away almost too quickly.

"Name?" Stevens asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Steven Shove-it-up-your-arse," Berkley muttered.

"That how it's going to be then?" Stevens sighed, quilling away.

"I murdered two Muggle kids in front of their mothers down in Westminster," Berkley grunted. "I framed some homeless wretch by forcing him to turn himself in and confess all the gory details. The Dark Lord let me have my pick of the whores that night."

Stevens and the other Aurors immediately snapped their heads up to stare at him.

"What were you doing down there in Islington tonight?" Stevens asked.

"Go blow yerself," Berkley replied.

Stevens narrowed his eyes in annoyance and went back to filling out the paperwork.

"We're all meeting after hours at the Witch's Tit in Knockturn Alley before going out to Muggle London for a nice spot of Muggle-hunting," Berkley commented, scratching himself idly. He didn't seem to even realise what he had blurted in front of an entire roomful of Aurors.

Berkley snorted. "You think Tarrington over there is one of yours? Hah. I'll be out of here the moment you think I'm safely locked up in that bloody cell. He's Marked just like the rest of us. Marked like me. Marked like HER," he said, jutting his chin at Rita-Gertrude.

Stevens looked up and stared at Moody, mouthing, What the hell is going on here?

Moody stood up from his desk. "How many prisoners do we have in holding right now?"

"Fifteen not counting those two," Savage replied, rubbing my ears gently. Oh, thank you, right there… ahhh. I love you.

Moody's craggy face broke into a rather sly smile. "Let's put these two in holding and see what happens. Maybe ask all those questions we couldn't get answered before, ay?"

Before I knew it, I was being carried under one arm, my coveted turkey leg clenched tightly between my teeth, as Auror Savage had his notebook in the other hand. My tails were dangling back and forth as he walked me to his destination.

"Oi, Savage," one of the other Aurors called out. "When do I get to spoil 'er?"

"When I'm done," Savage yelled back with a grin.

"Not fair, mate, not fair," came the reply.

I wasn't complaining at all. This was the most excitement I'd had in weeks, and all my worries seemed to fade away in favour of watching this new drama unfold.

Don't mind me. I'll just dangle here, eat my turkey leg, and watch all of these prisoners unknowingly burying themselves in the truth.

Mmm, turkey.


Record Number of Arrests and Convictions Flood Azkaban

A record number of new arrests and convictions have Ministry officials considering expanding Azkaban. Over fifty recent arrests went in front of the Wizengamot earlier today, and none of them were contested.

Why?

Every single arrestee confessed to a multitude of crimes, seemingly unable to tell a lie.

"Never seen something like this without Veritaserum," Wizengamot member, Gladys Rothschild, stated after the chain of convictions. "Every single crime was confirmed. They told us exactly what they did. It's like a dream come true for law enforcement."

One case, which has the Wizengamot abuzz with shock, was the arrest of Gertrude Bumworthy, who confessed to holding Rita Skeeter in a cellar in Ottery St Catchpole for the last 27 years. Bumworthy, who confessed to being both a Death Eater and unregistered beetle Animagus, detailed how she had captured the real Rita Skeeter some years ago, kept her alive for Polyjuice purposes, and then proceeded to use her identity to spy on everyone from Ministry officials, local heroes, and even minor students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The real Rita Skeeter, who was found by Aurors in a catatonic state, was quickly whisked away to St Mungo's for treatment. Healers assigned to the case, while unable to comment, wore pale and sombre expressions when asked about Ms Skeeter's prognosis.

While the DMLE is not making an official statement at this time, Head Auror Gawain Robards, was seen by his fellows, "cracking his first smile in months."


-Crookshanks-

Crookshanks stretched out, sprawling in a sunbeam, happily absorbing the sun's rays as if he was a solar-powered feline. He licked the remnants of fresh tuna off his muzzle and yawned. The balcony he was laying on was just right for him to overlook the garden, and while the garden was terribly neglected, tjat really didn't bother him at all.

Crooks flicked his tail a few times and batted at a leaf that fluttered down from a tall oak tree, feeling a little more playful now that his bruises were fading. His attack on the "master" of the house had worked as he intended: to give his mistress an opening to escape. It hadn't gone perfectly, but it had bought her a few extra, essential seconds. It wasn't that he hadn't been willing to throw himself at the rabid man-dog, but Crooks had long known that their partnership towards the goal of getting rid of Wormtail had come to an end.

Before, the mutt had been weakened and desperate, underfed, and definitely not drinking alcohol. Now, however, the man, if one could even call him a man, now had certain things that brought the traits that had made him so much more dangerous: boredom, alcohol, and an inflated sense of self-worth.

The house was doing its level best to deny the man-dog access to everything that it could, making his life miserable and screaming at him via the portraits, but for Crookshanks, he might as well have been the king feline. Fresh tuna, access to plenty of plump mice, warm sunbeams, and fresh air? He was a very happy half-Kneazle. Now, the house was providing everything he needed in order to stay twenty steps ahead of the dog: secret passages, hidden footpaths, and winding trails leading to nowhere. Oh, the dog had tried hard indeed to find him. He'd even gone on all fours while trying to tear the house apart for his mistress, but the house had foiled him, filling the house with the powerful scent of pine cleanser, and alternatively filling his nose with allergy-inducing dust and mouldy reek from the innermost recesses of the house. It had even filled a cupboard full of whoopie cushions that farted directly in his face when he opened the door.

The Noble and most Ancient House of Black was not so unlike Hogwarts, and it was even more so now that his mistress had come into her power— awakening into a heritage that had been lurking under the surface since the day she was born. Crooks had known all along, since the day he'd first set eyes on her. He hadn't been waiting so long at that store for nothing. He'd been waiting for someone just like her.

Crooks eyed the plump sparrow sitting on the balcony ledge, bossing the other sparrows around because of his size and black bib. He wasn't hungry as much as interested, but that was enough for him. He hunkered down, tip of his tail twitching as prepared to spring.

"FUCK!" a voice rang out from a floor below.

A crashing noise scared the fat sparrow away, causing Crooks to sit up and groom himself. What was that canine moron getting into now?

He jumped up onto the long-forgotten bed, stretched, and hopped up onto the headboard. Wedging his head under the portrait above, he slipped into the hidden passage. Crooks loved old houses such as this. There were always secret places to roam in, usually used by house-elves to get around when they didn't want to pop in and out and thus alert their families of their comings and goings. As it turned out, they were a great boon for cats, too.

Crooks poked his head out from behind one of the portraits, slipping out onto the carpet. The man-dog was throwing stuff around downstairs, cursing up a storm.

"Kreacher!" he screamed. "Clean up this mess!"

"Yes, master," came the sullen reply, dripping with malice. "Kreacher always honoured to serve the noble house of Black."

Kreacher swept up the mess as the black-haired menace proceeded to trash another room.

"Where the FUCK is she?" he bellowed.

Crooks wiggled his whiskers. He was a noisy one. He had a name; Crookshanks knew many names, but this one had been reduced to being dubbed the man-dog. That was what he was. He didn't rate a name any more than the red-headed menace. There was Harry, and he was tolerable enough. Neville was timid, but he wasn't rude. Then there was Hagrid, who always had plenty of plump mice to hunt in his domicile. There was Kreacher, the bringer of fabulous tuna, and there was Walburga— who always seemed to keep an eye out for him and his mistress via the extensive Black portrait system. Back at Hogwarts, there was always Poppy, who always liked to have him around as the local therapy Kneazle, Pomona, who said felines made the plants happy, Filius, who seemed to understand that closed doors attracted cats more than open ones, Septima, who always had a stash of tasty cat treats for him hidden in the drawer of her desk, and Argus, who seemed to get along far better with cats than he did with people.

Minerva, as far as Crooks was concerned, was the ultimate momma cat. He could no more disrespect her than he could his own mother, and she had no problem swatting him across the nose if he got into her business without her express permission. It was okay. He preferred it. She was the only one that could speak fluent feline on his own terms. There was also Severus, who couldn't really speak cat in the slightest, but he kept to himself usually, took excellent care of his mistress and made her feel safe, and ultimately made a great place to find an empty lap that wasn't going to complain about a liberal coating of ginger fur. It was so very frustrating when you found a nice comfy lap to sprawl on only get to shoved off. The nerve. Psh.

Mrs Norris, on the other hand, whose real name was Daisy Belle, had anyone bothered to ask her, was a cat that seemed to be stuck between being terminally annoyed and strangely tolerant. Maybe, Crooks thought, she was dropped on her head as a kitten. Crooks wasn't sure. Sometimes kittens came out... wrong. She would sidle up to him, purring and practically shoving her rump into his face one day, and then try to tear his face off the next. Crooks called that personality Mrs Norris. He referred to the happy cat side as Daisy Belle. He far preferred Daisy Belle.

Daisy Belle had been taken as a kitten from a little girl somewhere in Devon and cast into the river with the rest of her littermates. Somehow, Argus had found her— the sole kitten that survived. She obviously loved Argus for that, but Crooks couldn't help but think that she had bonded to that little girl, and being without her had made her into a bit of a neurotic older cat— torn between the love lost and the love found. Crooks had been pretty lucky. He had spent his entire life in the pet store, waiting for just the right person to fall into his range.

Most people didn't think animals had their own minds and own thoughts, but the smart ones did. Children seemed to know it instinctively, but they grew out of it, usually. His mistress had always treated him right, and he had accepted the name 'Crookshanks' as one name of many names. It was far better than 'Fluffy'. He absolutely loathed that name. He even felt sorry for the three-headed mutt who was unfortunate enough to bear that name. Poor guy. How was a guard dog supposed to be respectable with a name like— Fluffy? No wonder the dog had such a complex. Crooks would need lullabies and music to sleep too with a dreadful name like that.

Man-dog was getting steadily more frustrated, if such a thing were even possible. He'd broken a nice vase, impaled a portrait of his great uncle, and almost set himself on fire kicking the logs in the fireplace. It was so like a dog. Dogs ended up following their noses straight into the porcupine's butt only to then wonder why his face was full of painful quills. Idiots.

To be fair, not all canines were such imbeciles, and not all felines were worth their whiskers, but man-dog had lost any sense of canine respectability when he'd fallen back into the ways that landed him in Azkaban in the first place.

Even felines knew about Azkaban. There was a family of cats living large on the rodents and birds there. Mrs Peach and Mr Socks raised a new litter of kittens there every year— reputedly the best mousers in all of Britain. All of their kittens found respectable homes due to their exemplar skill in the fine art of rodent control. Crooks had met a few of them while patrolling Hogwarts. Some had become familiars for the children and did their sworn duty to devour all things rodent. Crooks could only heartily approve.

Man-dog obviously needed a little help getting his mind off of things. If he didn't, the house would bury him long before the next meeting. That would be such an anti-climatic end. That just wouldn't do. So Crooks reached out a paw and batted the heavy urn off the fireplace.

CONK.

Thud.

Oops, well, at least he wouldn't be yelling anymore.

Just to make sure man-dog didn't feel completely unloved, Crooks filled his gaping mouth with catnip mice. Then he coughed up a nice, large furball onto his forehead and trotted up the stairs, slipping back under the portrait and into the safety beyond.


"No, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said with a lopsided grin, "this is definitely Hermione's real appearance. I'm thinking whatever triggered her stress transformation into her Animagus form somehow did something to dispel a very elaborate glamour."

"A glamour?" my mam gasped, "but she's a Muggleborn. For what purpose would someone glamour her?"

I knew my mam didn't give a flying fig about my being Muggleborn, but she did have a rather good point. Why glamour a Muggleborn baby?

I had finally figured out how to ease myself into the more expected human-form, and realised the reason I hadn't been able to easily fall back into my human form before was because I was trying to will myself back into someone who wasn't really me.

My hair was still very curly, perhaps even a little bit bushy, but not nearly as much as it once was. It was silken and shiny and a black of the midnight sky tinged with the darkest of blues. My eyebrows had become thinner; my lips had formed into a finer line, and my skin— merciful Merlin, I looked like a porcelain doll. My eyes were the deep blue-grey of steel.

I'd often wondered what it would be like having different looks— not looking so buck-toothed, bushy-haired, and utterly plain. I had not, however, ever imagined what I had somehow become, or, if what Poppy was saying was true, really was all along.

Fwoop.

And I was a Kitsune again. This seemed to be my default form thanks to a certain detestable member of the Black family. Strong emotions tended to bring it on, and only serious concentration could shift me back into a more human one. Minerva seemed to be perfectly happy as long as I was uninjured, and after Poppy had treated my bruises and recorded the details of every single one for the DMLE, I was content to follow Minerva around like her familiar, trading off for Severus or Alastor or Amelia depending on the situation.

Today, however, was my day with Minerva, and Minerva was everything you'd expect a right mam to be: protective, encouraging ready to go slice up a dog and send him to a certain foreign country whose people still eat dogs… I had to feel very proud to be her daughter. She was not, nor did I ever think she would be, a 'sit-on-your-laurels' kind of witch.

The really nice thing about Minerva being an Animagus, well one of many, was that tabby cats and Kitsune seemed to be truly made for each other. We were both much smaller than a large dog, liked the nighttime, and adored chasing after random bugs and rodents. My bug-catching activities had won me not only turkey legs, but I managed to get my own honorary Kitsune bed right on top of Savage's desk. This also meant access to all-you-can-eat turkey legs. I wasn't complaining, and my stomach was definitely not complaining.

Auror Proudfoot wondered where I packed all of that food away, but Moody seemed to think I converted that food into magical mayhem— or the potential for magical mayhem. After a really good belly rub, my magic would gather in my body, my tails would vibrate, and ZAP! Something would always happen. Belly rubs seemed to cause beneficial magic, or at least, beneficial for whoever gave me the rub. It didn't work out quite so well for the Death Eaters. The Aurors took turns moving my bed around at the office, hoping that they would get a ringside seat to whatever misfortune I might inflict upon the next round of prisoners.

So far, at least, nothing happened. Okay, I lied. I did accidentally cause a neverending box of donuts to show up in the middle of the conference room and a fountain of perfectly-brewed tea and coffee to appear in the break room. Auror Desmond wanted to have a go at rubbing my belly to see if he could get a toasted sandwich, but Savage snatched me and my bed up, carrying me back to the main office. A full hog roast showed up a few minutes later, smack in the middle of Head Auror Gawain Robards' office. He had more people show up to visit him that night than he had all year, not that he was complaining. He was on cloud nine after the Death Eaters just up and confessed to their crimes in front of the Wizengamot without batting an eyelash.

Auror Scrimgeour wasn't quite sure what to make of me, though. He sort of looked like a lion, and I think he was evaluating me like a lion. He had been told who I was, so it wasn't like I had been picked up out of a crate of random contraband, but I rather think I boggled him. Most of the Aurors would pick me up and carry me around just because they knew I liked it so much. It was fun, and I got to see all kinds of new places. Who wouldn't want to see the inside of the Ministry? Bonus was I got to travel with my own personal Auror wherever I went, and no one was ever going to mess with me. I liked that.

Scrimgeour was a puzzlement. He never fed me, never asked anything of me, and never once pet me. My tails usually got even the most hardened person in the Ministry to pet me— even Mrs Stern-face (no, that wasn't her real name) up in Accounting. She made the most fantastic lemon cake, I'll have you know. It was glorious. I had no idea what her real name was, but she had great cake and kind hands.

He didn't have an evil vibe, or even a roll of the kind of magical power that intimidated me. I just didn't know what to make of him. Maybe he thought having a Hogwarts-aged witch roaming around the Aurors Office was a bad idea? Most people though I had earned my stripes by exposing Rita-Gertrude. Yup, that was what I was calling her forever. I had known her as Rita Skeeter for the majority of my life, and I just couldn't think of her as— Gertrude. I definitely didn't want to call anyone Bumworthy. I had to draw the line somewhere. Merlin only knew how many Fartworthy jokes I had heard just being around the boys in the Gryffindor common room.

Woop! I was being picked up again. I went limp in Poppy's arms, allowing her to look me over and make sure there was nothing broken. I had to lick her nose because, well, it was right there just begging me to. I squirmed a little when she felt me over, and she smiled at me as she opened my muzzle and checked my teeth. I did enjoy the attention, I will admit. Poppy was so kind, and her hands were always so warm and compassionate.

Zing!

Uh oh. What did my tails do now?

I looked around, hoping I hadn't just buried everything in sopping piles of seaweed or filled the rafters with incontinent pigeons. No, no pigeons. Phew. Everything seemed to be in order.

Then, Poppy opened the privacy screen and promptly passed out into my mam's arms.

Fanning the poor mediwitch frantically, my poor mam wasn't quite sure what to do, so she settled on dragging her over to a chair, summoning a pitcher of cool water and a glass, and opening the nearby window to bring in a breeze. Me? I was busy exploring. Suddenly, the hospital wing had gotten a thousand times more interesting!

The infirmary had expanded dramatically, and there were expansive sections set aside for various purposes. There were beds, but instead of privacy curtains, there were actual rooms to give patients a true sense of privacy. New windows opened outwards to let in fresh air, beds were on wheels in case people had to be moved quickly, and each room had a cabinet for clothes and personal items, a small shelf stocked with books for all ages and a few games, as well as a rolling desk that could be pulled over the bed to do various activities if you happened to be stuck in there for a while. There was a trauma area set up for emergencies apart from the private rooms, a central area like a Muggle nurse's station where Poppy and her fellows could look out and see all the rooms and beds, a climate-controlled room for all the potions and medications, and another area that looked like it was designed for quarantine and intensive care. Every bed had a magical board that detailed patient data at the head. I wasn't a mediwitch, but I was pretty sure by the excited chatter from the other medi-witches that something truly wonderful had just happened.

By the time I made my way back to my mam and Madam Pomfrey, the elder mediwitch was talking to Minerva with a huge smile on her face, her arms flailing around excitedly.

"Hogwarts must have wanted it," Minerva was assuring her. "The school allowed it to happen."

There was an actual honest-to-goodness reception desk and waiting area for people to lounge while waiting to visit people, and Poppy was going around patting everything as if to confirm she wasn't caught up in a vivid hallucination.

"Minerva!" she cried. "Do you realise how long we've tried to get all of this approved by Dumbledore?"

My mam snorted. "If it was anything like trying to get approval for the Potions classrooms to be expanded out of the dungeons in order to have proper ventilation windows, I can imagine a very long time."

Hrm, now there was something Severus had complained about pretty frequently. He always kept very meticulous spells in the classrooms to ventilate them properly and keep the potions ingredients from spoiling due to the typically high level humidity. It was the dungeons, for Merlin's sake. Dungeons were just not designed for that sort of thing. Dumbledore, and however many Hogwarts headmasters had come before him, apparently didn't agree, or perhaps they figured since it hadn't blown up yet, everything was okay and nothing bad would ever happen. Right.

I plunked myself down in front of a mirror. Hrm, I seemed to be bleaching out. My once reddish-brown and coppery radiance had started to shift into a silvery white. The tips of my tails were as bright as the full moon, crackling with this a good thing or a bad thing? I wasn't quite sure.

I felt good, really good, so I don't think it was a bad thing.

Yoink!

I was being cuddled.

"You blessed, blessed little creature," Poppy mumbled tearfully into my fur. "What a wonder you are."

A jubilant warmth filled my body.

Yip!

Ploof!

Oh, well hello there, tail number five.


The original Order Meeting had been postponed by none other than Dumbledore, but the next one was unfortunately here, or would be, tonight. That meant going back to Grimmauld Place, and I wasn't overly keen on that for some reason. I can't even imagine why.

Alastor and Kingsley had decided to keep the entire situation with Sirius Black under wraps until they could see how he reacted at the meeting. There were many people who believed that Sirius Black was innocent of the crimes he had been imprisoned for, and that very well could have been true, but the crime they were most concerned about was the most recent one. Both of them reasoned, and Severus and Minerva agreed, that there would be a lot of disbelief and outright refusal to believe, no matter what. One of those people could very well be Harry Potter: the boy who had the most to lose. I didn't even need to be said that Dumbledore believed in Sirius, so that tended to garner quite a bit of faith.

Even I had to admit that had it not happened to me, I would have trusted Dumbledore's judgement. He was the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. How could you not? Even knowing that people are flawed creatures, there were people, and there was Dumbledore.

Part of me knew that Severus hadn't been training me in Occlumency for fun. It was fun for me, but you didn't train someone to shield their mind just for fun. Later, I had begun to realise that he had done it to keep the private details of my adoption safe, but now— now I was beginning to think that Severus had been protecting me all along by protecting my mind from everyone. If I chose to tell someone my affairs, it would be my choice, but someone couldn't just find out my business because I had my mind open, inviting random passersby to browse it like a bestseller at the bookstore.

Dumbledore had a reputation of knowing what you were thinking, and most people just believed he was very good at reading people. I was starting to believe that the type of reading he was doing was actually Legilimency. It made sense for people to trust Dumbledore, because Dumbledore had this eerie way of knowing people's thoughts. If that was Legilimency, then what if be was being misdirected? What if I did to Sirius Black what Severus had taught me to do: shield my mind and give him juicy, highly plausible substitutions?

Alastor and Kingsley decided that the best place for me to be was right where everyone knew I was safe: in Severus' pocket. Literally.

After a few interesting charms, the inside of Severus' robe became my den away from home, and it smelled just like Severus, which was doubly safe in my book. After a few adjustments so my multiple tails weren't sticking out of said pocket, I made myself right at home, settling in so I wasn't a squirmy tenant. Every so often I'd stick my nose out and sniff, unable to resist my natural curiosity, and Severus' hand would gently press me back into said pocket. Moody dropped in a few lemon shortbread biscuits, and then I was all set. I curled up into a ball inside, hoarding my biscuits like a dragon on a pile of treasure, and realised I didn't feel bad at all. Considering where I would be going, that was a pretty impressive thing.

Hearing things from the outside while curled up in a pocket might seem a little strange to most, but it was a lot like going to sleep in the room next to your parents. Unless they were whispering, you could hear everything just fine. Insert super-sensitive Kitsune ears, and, well, I could hear everything. At least I didn't have to worry about someone running up to Severus and giving him a big hug and squishing me. Now that would have been an interesting sight to see.

Moody had decided to give Nymphadora one last chance at saving both her reputation and her arse from the chopping block, and to her credit, she seemed to be well and truly determined to make up for her mistakes. Again, a lot of it was due to Dumbledore's reputation of omniscience and allegedly infallible judgement, and even Moody realised that trying to fight that was like standing upright in a typhoon and trying not to fall over.

Understandably, most of the meeting was very boring. Business, business, and more business. I could hear Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Ginny arguing in whispers on the other side of the wall. They were fighting over something and telling Crookshanks to leave them alone. At least Crooks was okay. That gave me no small amount of comfort.

Hagrid was being sent off to parlay with the giants, and he didn't seem all that enthused with his new assignment.

"They're a right horrible lot," Hagrid's voice muttered darkly. "I should know. Me own mother was not a great mum."

Someone named Dolores Umbridge was coming to Hogwarts for the next term, and the scent of serious displeasure literally wafted into my pocket domain. Whoever she was, I didn't like her already. There was an avid argument over how she was able to remain in position when the Death Eater Rita-Gertrude had pointed her finger of accusation at her and the her using Dementors to go after Harry. I'll confess to falling asleep during that.

Remus Lupin was being pressured by Dumbledore to parlay with the werewolves as Hagrid was to the giants— the idea being that if fewer werewolves were supporting Fenrir, the fewer weres the Order would have to fight.

"Very few werewolves support Fenrir, Albus," Remus said. "They simply have no choice in the matter."

"They will have a choice," Dumbledore insisted.

"No," Remus sighed heavily. "They really don't. He's the only alpha they know. Bad or good, they must obey him."

"How is it that you aren't doing his bidding, Remus?" one of the other voices asked curiously.

Remus was very quiet for a time. "I had my wolf beaten out of me by my own father. It's so screwed up that it doesn't know friend from foe."

The room was quiet.

"I'm... sorry, Remus," the voice came again apologetically.

"It's okay— what's done is done and no one can change what happened."

Further discussion went back and forth saying that if Remus' wolf was that screwed up, how the hell was he going to muster the help of any werewolf. Sadly, no matter what anyone else said, Dumbledore was absolutely insistent, and like most things regarding his will, there was no contesting it.

Pop.

"Very sorry, Master, but you said if Kreacher find anything for— your kitten, that I brings it to you immediately," Kreacher's voice droned loudly. "I did clean off the blood, just as master asked."

"Give me that, you foul creature," he snapped. There was a sound of something sharply hitting something else, but I had no idea what. "Go make yourself useful somewhere else in the house."

"Yes, master, of course," Kreacher replied. "Should I be moving dirty Mudblood's things to attic or burn them like you burned Mudblood's other things?"

"Shut your drunken mouth, Kreacher," Sirius hissed. "These people may not know your twisted little games, but I do. Get out of here. Now!"

"Yessss, Master. Kreacher honoured to serve the noble and most ancient House of Black."

Pop.

"Mudbloods! FILTH! Stains of shame and dishonour in the house of my Lord father's father! Despoilment and purity tainted with Mudblood filth and gore! Filthy blood spilled on the floors and walls! Grotesque acts of vileness and depravity in my father's house!"

I could hear heads turning. I could feel their gazes like searchlights moving in the dark, seeking, seeking, seeking for Sirius. I could feel the growing tension in the room like the bone-chilling cold of a Dementor's freezing aura. All eyes settled on Sirius. I didn't even have to poke my head out of Severus' pocket to know that was exactly what I would see.

I heard Molly's voice, a shocked whisper in the deathly quiet. "Sirius Black, what have you done?"

A loud crash, the sound of a door being busted in—

"Where's Hermione?" Harry's voice hissed across the room. "Where the bloody hell is Hermione!"


-Harry-

"Hey, you see Hermione?" I asked, flopping down next to Fred and George.

"Not yet," Fred said offering me a licorice whip.

I eyed it suspiciously.

"I swear it's normal, and I don't mean normal for us," Fred said.

I took the whip and grunted my thanks. "It's not like her not to be here. She sent me an owl saying she'd be here early and to be careful breaking out of my uncle's place."

"She didn't join us at the Burrow, probably because of the family reunion thing," George said. "Merlin knows, no one wants to be around our mum when there is a reunion going on."

"I heard that, Fred!"

"What?!" Fred exclaimed. "Me own mum! Still can't tell us apart."

George snorted laughter, shaking his head with amusement.

"Hey, where's Hermione?" Ginny said, sitting down with us. "I saw her books in the room, but I haven't seen her anywhere."

"Hermione leaving her books behind? Not bloody likely," Fred said with a smile.

Ginny snatched up a chocolate frog and started munching. "What are the adults prattling on over?"

Fred smiled wickedly. "Let's find out, eh?"

The Extendable Ears came out, and we all dangled them down over the stairs, listening. Alas, the ears were not perfect. Sometimes we could hear rustling of clothing so clearly, but the voices were be muffled. Also, dangling Extendable Ears attracted—

"Crooks! Bad cat! Get away!" Ron hissed.

"Crookshanks is here," Ginny said. "Now we know Hermione's here somewhere."

"Well she can't very well be in there with the adults. It's not like she wouldn't stand out!" Ron blurted.

I felt a bit of relief that Hermione was here, but hurt that she hadn't come to greet me. It was normal for her to come squeeze the stuffing out of me after our long summers away. It was very strange that no one had seen her.

The adults were yammering on about someone named Umbridge, something about giants, Remus having to go do— what? Dumbledore knew best, but I couldn't imagine Remus toddling off to parlay with werewolves. What I really wanted was for him to come back and teach DADA.

Most of it made little or no sense.

Snape was making some snarky comment about how foolhardy it would be for people to try and confront someone like Umbridge without significant proof. Others were snapping at him that there already was proof.

Ugh, Snape. There was nothing positive about him at all. A tingling in the back of my head reminded me that Snape had tried to counter-curse my broom in my first year, threw himself in front of a werewolf to save me and my best friends, and whenever I doubted him, I was proven wrong in the end. I tried to push that thought away, but it stayed here, taunting me. Hermione would always tell me that he was our professor. It was his job to teach and keep us safe. I might not like him, and Merlin knew he didn't like me, but it hadn't kept him from doing exactly that— repeatedly saving us from our own stupidity.

Hermione had tried, many, many times to keep us out of trouble, far more often than she encourage us to do shady things. There was that incident in the library's restricted section, but considering books were her only true passion and weakness, it almost made sense that it would be her "shady weakness" too. "Let's go look something up in the restricted section" was not the equivalent of "Let's go break into a hidden place guarded by a giant three-headed dog."

Hermione had been cleaning up our messes ever since the day she'd saved our skins by taking the blame for the girl's bathroom invading troll.

So, where was she?

Sirius had sworn that he hadn't seen her.

Ginny said her books were here.

Crookshanks was here too.

Half-Kneazles were pretty damn smart, but I was pretty sure they couldn't floo themselves to places all on their own. Pretty sure. Almost positive. This was the infamous Crookshanks, after all.

Did Sirius lie to me? Why lie about Hermione being here? Was Hermione trying to set up another surprise party? She really sucked at surprise parties. No, if she had been doing that, Ginny would be looking all nervous, and she wouldn't have been asking about Hermione. She'd actually be going out of her way not to mention Hermione, which always ended up tipping me off.

What was I missing?

"Yes, master, of course," Kreacher's voice muttered clearly over the Extendable Ears. "Should I be moving dirty Mudblood's things to attic or burn them like you burned Mudblood's other things?"

What?!

As distasteful as that slur was, there was only one person here who could be called a Mudblood: Hermione. I was the dirty Half-blood. The Weasleys were the blood traitors. Tonks was the Half-blood freak thanks to her Metamorphmagus abilities. Kingsley usually managed to remain unscreamed at. Remus was a filthy half-breed. Hagrid was a half-breed freak. Dumbledore pretty much managed to go unscathed in favour of more "shameful" targets. Really, unless Sirius had been bringing in Muggleborn company of late, Kreacher could only be referring to Hermione.

"Mudbloods! FILTH! Stains of shame and dishonour in the house of my Lord father's father! Despoilment and purity tainted with Mudblood filth and gore! Filthy blood spilled on the floors and walls! Grotesque acts of vileness and depravity in my father's house!"

All of us dropped our Extendable Ears to cover our real ears. Mrs Black's high-pitched screaming echoed between our heads and the walls like nothing less than the ungodly howl of a raging hurricane.

But, even as it did so, my mind immediately latched on to the words. What would a Pureblood supremacist consider a "grotesque act of vileness and depravity" when even murder was perfectly acceptable to them?

No, it couldn't be. There was no way.

Kreacher's words— "Very sorry, Master, but you said if Kreacher find anything for— your kitten, that I brings it to you immediately. I did clean off the blood, just as master asked."

Kreacher and Sirius hated each other. Hate was actually too mild a word. There was nothing that Kreacher did that he didn't do knowing full well that it would piss Sirius off, yet still following his orders to the letter.

"Hey, kitten," Sirius had said often. I had always assumed he just liked to tease Hermione and make her blush.

Kitten.

Mudblood.

Grotesque acts of vileness and depravity.

No. It couldn't be.

HE WOULDN'T DO THAT!

I was moving without thinking. I slammed into the door, forcing my way in. "Where's Hermione?" I hissed, desperate to know, but dreading what I would hear. "Where the bloody hell is Hermione!"

Every pair of eyes that had been focused on my godfather now turned to face me.

"Harry," Sirius placated. "We'll be all done very soon."

"Sirius has some things to discuss with us, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We can help you look for your friend after we are done."

No, something wasn't right. We shouldn't be looking for Hermione at all. She should have been right here all along!

"You said she hasn't been here!"

"Harry—"

"Her books are upstairs!"

"Harry—"

"Crookshanks is here!"

All the blood seemed to instantly drain out of my godfather's face, leaving him as white as Sir Nick.

Suddenly, Tonks carefully placed something on the table: some sort of black button and— the locket Hermione had gotten from her parents for her birthday last year. She had placed a picture of us inside of it. I recognised it because the outside had a tiny dent on it where Ron had completely lost his temper and accidentally-on-purpose flung it at Malfoy's pointy head for calling him a weasel. Hermione had royally told him off for it, saying if he was going to fling random things at Malfoy, he should at least fling HIS stuff at him and not hers. The dent, ironically hadn't been from hitting Draco, but from when he had stabbed at it with his fork. From that point on, Hermione never, ever took that locket off. She had even put a waterproof charm on it so she could wear it in the shower.

I was seeing red now. "That's Hermione's locket! She. Never. Takes. It. Off."

Dumbledore looked as though he was about to say something but Sirius interrupted him. "She was called away, Harry. She didn't want anyone to worry."

"Called away? By who?" I demanded. Getting right up in someone's face with righteous fury was one of my special talents. I wasn't altogether proud of that but, at the moment, I really didn't care all that much.

Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were all standing in the doorway now, staring from me to Sirius, to all the others.

"Her parents, I suppose," Sirius stated glibly, waving his hand about like he didn't understand what all the fuss was for. "She didn't say, and I didn't ask."

Remus was suddenly in front of me, his arm pressing against my body just enough to offer support and guide me into place. "You're lying," he growled lowly. "Why are you lying, Padfoot? I can smell her in the house."

"Now you're smelling things," Sirius answered with a roll of his eyes. "I don't smell a damned thing in this house other than that vile pine cleaner of Kreacher's."

I tried to move forward to see, and Remus turned to stare back at me. His eyes slowly bled into a disturbing shade of amber-gold. I stayed put. I didn't need to be a wolf to know when I was being ordered to remain where I was. I'd never seen his wolf so close to the surface without it being the full moon.

"I can smell her, Padfoot," Remus said lowly, "and I can smell your lie too."

"I'm not lying to you, Moony," Sirius replied evenly.

"I know you're lying," Remus repeated, "but I know not why."

"Let's try a nice, basic question for a baseline, hrm?" Moody suggested, his magical eye whirling madly.

Remus' eyes darted over to him, but he nodded in agreement.

"Black, are you a bloody Death Eater?"

"No!" Sirius spat.

Remus' nostrils flared ominously.

"Did you do something to Hermione?"

"No!"

Remus stared fixedly at Sirius. "How is it that I never really smelled your scent before?

"Maybe I changed my brand of bath soap, come on now, Moony," Sirius grunted. He thrust his hands into the air, stretched, and shook his head in seeming disgust. "I'm going to go get a snack. You can call me when you want to start talking sense, ay?"

Moody reached out and caught Sirius by the arm, and there was a muffled zap, rather like the sound of static electricity that moved directly from Moody to Sirius. "Come on, Black, just tell us where the girl is and we can clear all of this up as one big misunderstanding."

"I don't know where she is!" Sirius yelled, angry and frustrated. He seemed to suck in a deep breath, trying to center himself.

Remus flinched, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now that was the truth."

Suddenly, Remus was pushing me backwards, and he had me cornered by Auror Shacklebolt. Something was about to change, and I wasn't sure what. Something weird was in the air, but it was nothing I could see or smell— whatever sense applied to it, I couldn't make out what it was.

"What happened this morning with Hermione, cousin?" Tonks asked. "Did she come here hurt? Was she upset at all?"

"She left before you showed," Sirius responded. "Ran off in a hell of a hurry."

"And what happened before she left?" Auror Shacklebolt asked, pinning me to my little space on the floor with a look that would have done Medusa proud. All of my pent-up rage in wanting to know exactly what was going on with Hermione suddenly seemed like something small and trivial in comparison to the sheer weight of tension that was hanging in the air. Fred and George were whispering uneasily to each other, and Ginny was trying to peek out between them to no avail. Ron kept shoving her back so he could squeeze into the doorway and listen too, thanks to my outburst.

"She got upset and left," Sirius said. "That was the last I saw of her."

"And you didn't think to tell anyone?" Molly demanded, outraged.

"People come and go freely from this place all of the time," Sirius snorted. "I'm the only one trapped here like some bloody prisoner! Why the hell should I question her for leaving as unexpectedly as she came?"

Something strange was going on. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it felt the same as when Uncle Vernon gave me some lame excuse for why giving me only one meal a day was proper. My daily meal which consisted of about a small chicken leg and some leftover peas that Dudley didn't want. It had that same feel to it— squiggly and greasy. The thing was, I'd never felt that way about Sirius. In fact, Sirius was, in my opinion, the only one that could really understand me. After Cedric had died, my nightmares had been worse than ever, and Sirius, even just writing him, had been such a great relief. Hearing about my dad and my mum— Sirius always had loads of funny stories to tell about them. Remus, on the other hand, was always sombre. While I knew he'd lost his best mates, part of me was angry that he'd think himself more affected. I was the one who had lost his parents, after all.

It was childish. And I knew it. He had lost friends he'd grown up with. I had lost people I hadn't even really known. Yet, that revelation somehow made me angry all over again. It's all I was anymore. Angry. Always so angry. Angry at Hermione for disappearing without saying anything, angry at Remus for getting more time with my parents than me. Angry at Ron for being a part of this big, wonderful family— I was just… angry.

Yet, even as angry as I was, something was niggling at me from the back of my head, telling me that Hermione's disappearance wasn't really about her being inconsiderate.

Since when was Hermione inconsiderate— ever? She wrote me all the time. This summer was the first time she hadn't written me every single week, and part of me was really worried about that. It just wasn't— Hermione.

It wasn't like with Ron, who I'd get things from randomly, here and there— usually smuggled food by Errol that didn't always make it to me in one piece. Errol usually ended up in the neighbour's place, in the tree, in the bushes, or smack into the front picture window. If I was lucky, maybe he'd come by when Vernon and Petunia were off taking Dudley to his favourite restaurant. Not that I didn't appreciate the gesture, because I really did. It was just the gesture was kinda lost when it only resulted in me being yelled at while all of my food was given to Dudley to "ease his trauma."

At least when Hermione sent her letters, she sent them by ninja owl. I'm not exactly sure how she did it, but the letter would somehow be slipped between the buttons of my night shirt with no sign of how it got there. I kept meaning to ask her, but I somewhat dreaded that all-too-familiar look she would give me and the sigh.

"Harry, are you a wizard or are you not?"

Once, she had even smuggled me a large tin of Scottish shortbread biscuits that had been stuffed under my pillow for me to find when I woke up. I hid them under a loose floorboard in my room, and by my room I really mean Dudley's second room. He had apparently trashed it so bad it was only worthy of the likes of me.

The very idea of Hermione not being around terrified me. Standing here, staring at my godfather gesturing angrily and swearing up and down that he had no idea where she was, when she had been right here, in his house, made that anger inside me burn even hotter.

It was very simple, really. Hermione would have said where she was going. She always told us where she was going: the library, to study, out on the green, to detention, Hagrid's place, McGonagall's office, wherever. Even if she had left in a hurry for whatever reason, she would have at least said where she going. If anyone knew just how much not saying anything caused me to worry, it was Hermione.

Oh, letters! Hermione could never resist replying to a letter from me. I was so bad about writing back to her. She thought it was practically Christmas morning when I wrote back. If Hermione was busy with something at Hogwarts, which I doubted considering that Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were here and not saying anything. Surely Hermione would pause in whatever she was doing to write me a quick reply!

I used all of my pent up anger to storm back out the door, and everyone gave me a wide berth, as usual. I'd been quite the out-of-control teenage roller-coaster lately, and no one wanted to be anywhere near where I was going. I plopped down at the old writer's desk in the study, snatched up a piece of parchment, and hurriedly began to write.

Dear Hermione,

I know you must be really busy wherever you are, and Uncle Sirius told us you had a sudden emergency or something come up. Could you please respond and send me back a quick reply with Hedwig? We're all really worried about you. Ginny is asking about you all the time. Fred and George have that worried crease between their eyebrows whenever your name comes up. Ron, well, forget I even mentioned Ron, ya? The rest of us are worried about you. Even if it's only a hey I'm okay. Please write me back, Hermione.

Harry

I rolled up the parchment, tied it to Hedwig's leg, and gave her a preserved frog leg. Hedwig hooted softly, nipped my fingers gently, and fluttered her wings. I carried her to the window and let her out, watching her fly off into the night.

"Send a letter off to Hermione, eh?" Fred said, nodding at me with a knowing look.

"Yeah," I replied. "She can't help but answer one from me. I usually— I'm kind of a bad friend," I admitted. "I don't write her half as much as I should."

George shook his head. "She'll understand. She forgives our little git brother for sucking air, doesn't she?"

I snorted. They weren't exactly lying.

George and Fred had always had a remarkably good relationship with Hermione. They seemed to realise that the kind of humour she required was not the kind that involved pranks and candy that made you throw up. In fact, they seemed to up their pranking whenever Ron insulted her, intentionally or otherwise, just to get her to smile. Maybe it was because of her parents having passed, but whatever it was, they protected her in a way that even Ginny wasn't. They pranked her mercilessly, but nowhere near as mercilessly as they did Ron or Percy.

"It's not just me, right?" I asked them. "Something doesn't seem right with Hermione not being here?"

Fred shook his head, and George curled his lip. "He's your godfather, Harry, but— Azkaban does things to you. I know people like to tip toe around that for you, but—"

I closed my eyes. "No, you're right. I get touchy when it comes to Sirius."

"Mmm. Touchy. You could say that," George grunted.

I slouched. "I've been a right git lately. Sorry about that."

The twins smiled at me, shrugging off my apology. "She'll write back, ya? Then we'll all feel a lot better."

I nodded. "Hermione won't keep Hedwig waiting," I said. "I told Hedwig to nip her until she writes back."

They eyed me. "Mmmmhmm. And you don't write her right back, do you?" Fred and George crossed their arms and scowled at me. "We're going to have to get her an owl of her own. We'll be sure to teach it to harass you when it delivers the mail."

I flushed. Yeah, I really had been a proper git lately. As soon as Hermione came back from wherever she was, I'd have to give her a really big hug and apologise for being such a bloody hypocrite.

That did leave the mystery of why she hadn't written me much this summer. She had mentioned being busier than usual, and I did get the occasional letter from her, but none of them ever addressed any of the questions I had asked her in my letters. Something— wasn't right.

I walked back to the open door, that apparently the adults hadn't bothered to close it after my outburst earlier, and I found that Sirius was still gesturing and spouting off that he hadn't seen Hermione in days. Mrs Weasley was starting to become unglued, little by little, thinking Hermione was out there somewhere and no one knew where she was. She was gesturing at Dumbledore, asking him where Hermione was. Dumbledore was staring at Mrs. Weasley like she was a talking fanged geranium, and Remus was looking positively feral.

Tonks smiled at me as I came in. "Feeling better, Harry?"

"Yeah, I wrote Hermione a quick letter and sent it off with Hedwig," I replied. "Hopefully she'll— wait, why is Hedwig coming back already?"

"Huh?" A confused Tonks quickly opened up the window to look out.

Sure enough, Hedwig came zooming back in through the open window, flew right over my head with a screech, and made straight for— Sirius?

"Potter— why the hell is your owl attacking Black's face?" Auror Moody snapped.

"Sh— she's not, sir," I explained. "I had her deliver a letter to Hermione so we can find out where she is."

"Then why is she trying to land on Black?" Moody barked the question. "Harry, get over here and remove your owl from Black's face. If that is her reply, I want to see it."

I rushed up to grab Hedwig, and she screeched and clawed at me, trying to get to Sirius. "Hedwig—what the— Sir, there has to be something wrong with her!"

"If I may?" Snape's voice rumbled. His posture hadn't changed at all until that moment, and I jumped when I heard him speak.

"Yes, Severus, just don't hurt the poor thing," Mr Weasley answered as he was getting his hands torn up trying to help remove Hedwig from Sirius' arm.

Professor Snape's stony expression barely changed as he pointed his wand at Hedwig. I stifled my instinctive urge to fling myself in front of her, or point my wand at him for threatening my owl.

"Quietus," Professor Snape intoned, and Hedwig instantly went limp in my arms, panting heavily from her frantic exertions. She was— completely unharmed. Why that surprised me was a matter of shame. Even now, I still didn't trust him. He was such a nasty git of a teacher, especially with me. Unlike everyone else, he had never once spoke well of my father, and that really angered me. He obviously had quite a grudge against my father.

"If she was bringing me the letter, Moody, shouldn't I read it first?" Sirius asked, pushing his way though.

"I sent the letter to Hermione!" I said, hugging my owl to me. "Why would she send the reply to you?"

"Well, she must have done if Hedwig was coming to me!" Sirius insisted.

"You said that you didn't even know where she was!" I blurted. Something was telling me to hold onto Hedwig and hold her against me like a Quaffle. Sirius was coming closer really quickly.

Tonks stood in front of me. "Well, why don't ya let Harry clear this right up for us?" she said, clicking her tongue impatiently.

"The owl was coming to me, Tonks," Sirius stated stubbornly. "That letter is mine!"

"We're all friends 'ere, cousin," Tonks said with a smile. She turned to me. "Come on, Harry. Open it up."

I unrolled the parchment from Hedwig's leg and frowned. "It's my letter. It's the one I sent to Hermione a few minutes ago. Why did she try to deliver my letter to you, Sirius?"

"Harry—"

"WHY THE HELL IS HEDWIG DELIVERING MY MAIL TO YOU, SIRIUS?"

"Mr Potter," Professor Snape said, looming over me with all of the intimidation factor even Hagrid never had. "Follow me, please. I'm sure you lot have… many questions that need answering."

I wanted to deny him. He wasn't my professor— not here, anyway. There were no points to be taken.

Snape had already swept from the room, leaving an angry-looking Sirius, and a rather angry-looking everyone else to the room. He didn't even look back to see if I was following.

I followed. Merlin knew if I stayed there a minute longer, my mouth was sure to go off again. Snape walked through the kitchen and out into the back garden. The dark night sky and evening breezes offered a little solace to my turbulent emotions. I wondered if Snape was going to yell at me for being a total imbecile in front of everyone. Hell, I wondered if all of the adults were going to give me what for. I was genuinely worried about Hermione, but—

"Sit down, Mr Potter," Professor Snape said, his voice as stern as ever. Yet, even as it was, he wasn't insulting me at this given moment.

Deciding that being an arse was probably not going to win me any social points this time, I sat down right in the grass.

Professor Snape, much to my confusion, sat down too.

What was going on?

"Miss Granger has been unable to contact you due to some very pressing personal issues she found herself unexpectedly facing," Snape said, his face utterly deadpan. "She is currently unable to write to you, and right about now, your godfather is finding himself under questioning regarding something she would rather you not hear about from anyone but her."

"Professor, why are you telling me this?" Oddly, this was turning out to be the most civil conversation that he and I had ever had.

"I am telling you this, Mr Potter, because she has a secret to tell you, and I, for one, wish for you to listen to her very carefully. It will not be an easy thing— for her and for you. Bear in mind, if you give free rein to your wonderful temper and run off telling her that she's wrong, I will have an even lower opinion of you, Mr Potter."

I swallowed hard and nodded. I was confused as hell, but something told me that whatever secret Hermione had, it was a doozy.

Something wriggled inside of Snape's robe, and he opened it a little to expose an inner pocket. A little nose popped out, then a head, then the rest of a lithe and furry body followed. Two steel-grey eyes stared up at me from a fox's face. Five— I blinked— tails swished lazily back and forth. It was hard to tell the creature's colour at night, but I could make out a slight coppery hue trimmed in a silver white. Pale green fire rippled across the tails and around its feet. The creature, no bigger than a medium-sized dog, seemed to flow into Snape's lap. It affectionately rubbed up against the rather stoic Potions professor, eliciting a pet across its slender body and scritches on its rump, causing its tails to twitch and a back leg to move much like dog's when you hit just the right spot.

It stared at me, flopped over Snape's lap like a favoured pet. There was curiosity there, trapped its eyes. Its nose was working, trying to figure me out. I was a little baffled too. Snape had said Hermione had a secret to tell me. All I was seeing was a— oh.

"Hermione?" I whispered.

The little fox perked its ears, tails wagging slowly back and forth.

I held out my hand, and it headbonked into my hand like a cat.

Suddenly, the fox dove into the nearby shrubbery and disappeared.

"Ah?" I managed to say.

Hermione stepped out of the darkened foliage, her hair so dark that I wondered if I was seeing things. Her eyes— they were that same steel-grey. Her skin was pale as alabaster, and her cheekbones were higher, but I knew it was Hermione. The expression she wore, the way she stood— it was pure Hermione. It could be no one else.

"Hello, Harry," she said in her oh so familiar voice. "I'm really sorry I didn't write. I've been going through a few rather significant changes recently."

"Hermione!"

I tackled her with a sense of such profound relief that all my previous anger just trickled away. "Where have you been?" I asked. "You said you were going to be at Grimmauld!"

"I was, Harry," Hermione answered me, her startling grey eyes staring into me. "I was here a day before the original Order meeting."

"Sirius said you left— that something came up," I said. "What happened, Hermione? Why, what—" Hooray for lack of communication skills while under stress.

"Mr Potter, your command of the English language is stunning, as usual, but perhaps it would be wise for you to close your mouth and let Miss— Granger tell her story," Snape said, his dark eyes sliding to regard me with a completely stoic expression. There was no malice there or the twist of his mouth that usually came with anything that started with Potter and ended with whatever random thing I had done wrong.

He was being surprisingly— civil.

Despite my discomfort of his being there, perhaps I at least owed it to Hermione to shut my mouth and give her time to say something edgewise.

"I woke up one morning, and Sirius was there. He reeked of alcohol. He— started a conversation. Compliments, telling me what other people thought of me. He—"

Hermione stopped, sitting down next to Professor Snape and putting her back against his side. A jolt of shock ran through me as I realised she was sharing space with our dreaded Potions professor, and he was permitting it. What could have happened that would have caused her to seek comfort from him, of all people? And why was he suddenly willing to give that comfort?

Hermione had always told me that Professor Snape had a sworn duty to protect the students of Hogwarts. She had corrected me quite often, forcing me to call him Professor Snape instead of just Snape, giving me a hundred different reasons why I shouldn't be angry with Snape for giving her detentions. Maybe, she had been trying to tell me something all along, and I, as usual, formed my own opinions and came up with the wrong answers every time. Hermione had never shunned me for my opinions, but I hadn't missed seeing her disappointment each time it happened. I had just figured she was after some oddball idea like freeing the house-elves. Treating Professor Snape with respect? How was that going change him being a bloody wanker?

Hermione was staring down at the ground, he hands fidgeting with Snape's rather long robes in a comforting motion. "He accused me of fancying the wrong person and offered to…" She trailed off, closing her eyes. "Reeducate me."

"Person? What person?" I asked.

Hermione set her jaw and stared at me. "Does it really matter whom he accused me offering to spread my legs to?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. "What?"

"When I didn't let it happen, he continued without my permission," Hermione said, letting a sigh escape her lips. "Crookshanks leapt on his face, clawing at him. I escaped, but Crooks had to flee. He caught me again. He almost— then Tonks came to the door, and I fled. The stress caused me to make my first Animagus shift."

"It took me a while to get to safety," Hermione continued, "and once the Aurors knew, I was told to lay low in case anyone was looking for me— anything that could get back to Sirius. Which means I couldn't write you, Harry. I'm really sorry about that."

What was she telling me? I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it. I was watching her, wringing Professor Snape's robes between her hands like a washerwoman— something I knew Molly did whenever she was fretting over her children.

Sirius had tried to—

Tried to—

"No! Why would he do that?" I blurted. "He was my dad's best mate. He's a good man. He saved us from Remus when— You— you have to remembering it all wrong!"

My mind was screaming at me to remember that Hermione had never been the type to make things up. She didn't even tell tall tales with the rest of us during meals. She simply didn't lie.

Even with the nagging feeling in my gut. Even with my mind screaming at me that I had suspected Sirius of doing something bad all along, I couldn't, didn't want to believe it. He was one of my last connections to the father I had never gotten the chance to know.

I realised exactly what I had done the moment Hermione's face twisted into a sort of painful grimace.

Fwoop.

A small fox was there in her place, all five tails drooping sadly. She snuffled under Professor Snape's outer robe, clambered back into his pocket, and quickly disappeared from sight.

Snape stood, but this time his face was not stoic at all. His lip was curled in the all-too-familiar sneer of disdain that he was known for. At his full height, he seemed to tower over me, and I could feel the prickle of his magic raising every hair on my body. I had driven Hermione into seeking safety— with Snape, and Snape was no longer in the mood to make the effort of being civil with me.

"By all means, Mr Potter," he said venomously. "Return to your godfather and believe the lies of a disgusting swine over your best friend. Prove to everyone precisely why she should never have trusted you at all."

Snape exited the garden, going back into the the meeting. He left me there, angry and frustrated, but mostly at myself for having the most hot and cold emotional swings and defending Sirius even when my gut was telling me that he had been lying to me.

Sirius was my godfather. He was my family. I had to stick up for him. I just had to.

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were my family too, and they were such excellent examples of family too. They were blood family. They were far more related to me than Sirius. So why, idiot, can't you just keep your big mouth shut anymore? You used to think really hard before saying anything, and now look at you! You can't even let Hermione tell you her story and give her the benefit of the doubt, no, you just go and immediately accuse her of lying, even though you know she doesn't lie. Way to go, Potter. Some friend you are.

Snape— Professor Snape— had left me wallowing in the state of my own impatience and determined disbelief. As I walked back into Grimmauld Place, Fred and George were waiting for me with their arms crossed. They didn't even try to make it look friendly.

"So," they said together. "Spill. Snape had his I-hate-all-living-things face on, and he didn't leave with it, so what gives?"

"I," I tried to say. "I—" Damn all language for failing me right when I needed it the most. "Hermionewasokaybutshe'snotreallyokayandIthinkIjustmadeitworse," I said all together in a garbled mess of words.

Twin sets of ginger eyebrows were raised.

Smooth, Potter. You can't even blame it on awkward teenage hormones and being dumbstruck trying to talk to Cho Chang.

"No! There is no way I'm going down to the DMLE so you can railroad me back into Azkaban!" Sirius' voice was loud and clear through multiple walls. "Albus, you tell them!"

All of us started making our way back into the other room again.

"Now, now," Dumbledore's voice replied calmly. "I'm sure that this is all a big misunderstanding. Sirius, why don't you pull out the relevant memories for our good Auror friends, and then we can put this all behind us, hrm?"

"Excellent idea, Albus," Arthur said with a sigh, patting a visibly anxious Molly on the back.

Snape was standing at the far wall, his arms crossed across his chest in a very familiar intimidating stance. Professor McGonagall was standing there next to him, her mouth flattened into a line so thin that her mouth looked looked like it was about to disappear altogether.

"I shouldn't have to throw my personal memories into a Pensieve just to prove a point," Sirius hissed furiously. "You all saw what undue process did to me the first time around!"

Arthur spoke up, "This time you have the opportunity to show everyone that we're barking up the wrong tree, Sirius. All you have to do is give Kingsley and Moody the memories, they can take a look at them, and then we can all go home and get a good night's sleep."

"I will not be railroaded again!"

Remus, who was standing eerily still, his amber-gold eyes fixed directly on Sirius, pulled his lips back in a snarl and flashed his teeth ever so slightly. "Mate, we go way back, and because of that, I'm going to give you a heads up. Give them the memories before my wolf decides the best way to get them is by the swift removal of your head."

Molly was quickly shoving her children out of the door. Arthur wasn't all that far behind. Moody was jutting his chin at Shacklebolt, and Auror Shacklebolt took Tonks by the collar, yanked her to his side, and escorted her out the door. There was this strange musk in the air— an overpowering odour of animal and earth. The sense of rising magical energy in the room was thick enough to slice. It swirled and stuck to your skin like eerie fingers of fog.

Arthur was trying to pull me away too, but my legs seemed to be rooted to the spot. Remus was— Merlin, was he growling?

The full moon was days away, but only just, and from what I was seeing, Remus was using every bit of strength he had in an attempt to keep the wolf at bay, but he was slowly losing the battle. Something he had sensed was clearly stoking the fire of an imminent shift between man and wolf.

"Easy, Moony," Sirius said lowly, his eyes widening as he saw something truly frightening start to overcome the normally easygoing werewolf. His eyes darted as his arm twitched, perhaps to go for his wand.

I anxiously looked back and forth between Remus and Sirius. Dumbledore was tentatively easing out of his chair, backing up slowly to place himself between me and Remus. His deep purple robes brushed against me, moving me back, but I didn't want to move.

"This is all just a little misunderstanding, Moony," Sirius smoothed. "Nobody got hurt, everyone's okay here, right?"

Remus slammed his arms around Sirius' body, caging him, his hands twisting into something in-between hands and paws, with a set of wickedly sharp claws to match. A dense coat of fur seemed to swiftly roll down his face and arms. Remus' head jerked, bones snapped. A muzzle formed out of his face like molten wax forming into the shape of the beast. An impressive set of fangs flecked with foam twisted up from his gums.

"Remus," Sirius whispered, his eyes wide with rising terror. "It's me, your old mate, Padfoot. I know you're in there, Remus."

Remus, however, wasn't there at the moment. His eyes were baleful, and his powerful body had ripped its way out of his robes, looking surprisingly like the movie werewolf— a wolf that stood on two legs. The wolf's snarling muzzle froze but inches from Sirius' face. "Llllllllliiiiiiaaarrrrrrrr," he growled, his voice distorted by vocal cords that were never intended for human speech. He slammed one fist into the wall next to Sirius' head, his clawed half-paws busting right through like it was made of tissue paper.

Rage and hate burned in the half-beast's eyes— pure, unfiltered malice.

Suddenly, something pulled me into the other room as Dumbledore cast a stunning spell into the room. Whether it was meant for Remus or Sirius, I wasn't sure, but it slammed into Sirius. He went as limp as a ragdoll, falling to the floor. Then Dumbledore cast two more spells in quick succession, the first to petrify him and the second to wrap him securely in unbreakable cords, then he magically yanked Sirius out of the room.

"Potter," Snape's voice hissed as he jerked me out of the room completely. "Fly circles around your death wish at another time!"

Remus turned, a bestial snarl on his muzzle. He tensed, starting forward, and let out a terrifying howl.

Snape jerked the rest of me out through the doorway, practically throwing me bodily into the other room. I sprawled into Molly and Arthur, but I turned around, afraid that Remus would burst through the door any second.

Snape stumbled backward as Dumbledore fell back into him, toppling them both over onto the hardwood floor. Dumbledore waved his wand as the doors started to close. The doors slammed shut with a resounding bang.

"No!" I yelled, running forward.

Now everyone was convinced I had a death wish, and they tackled me to the ground. I was still reaching for the door. "

Remus threw himself against the doors.

Wham!

WHAM!

WHAMMMMM!

Wood was starting to crack around the doorframe. Dumbledore and Professors Snape and McGonagall, Aurors Moody and Shacklebolt were all channeling intense magic into the walls and doors of that room.

Layer upon layer of wards hung in the air and then disappeared into the walls.

Molly and Arthur were frantically adding their magic to the wards. Tonks was adding in additional magic of her own.

WHAM!

CRACKcrackCRACK!

WHAMwhamWHAM!

"How the hell is he transforming?!" someone yelled.

"How the fuck do I know? Keep that wall from breaking, dammit!"

Anger, no, absolute fury radiated from the other room.

CRACK.

WHAM!

A paw-like hand smashed through the magically-enhanced wall, just barely missing Dumbledore's head.

Everyone staggered back against the wall. Snape was dragging a badly-startled Dumbledore by the collar like a misbehaving student.

A bestial roar seemed to echo throughout the house.

The door split and Remus smashed through it, landing on his shoulder with a loud growling yelp as he skidded across the floor. He pulled himself up.

Molly was trying to get us all to Floo out, starting with Ginny, but when Ginny threw the Floo powder down, nothing happened. Molly was screeching in terror, grabbing her children and attempting to Disapparate, but that, too, was locked down. All of us had come through the front door for politeness sake. None of us had even thought that the Floo or Apparitions wouldn't work inside.

Remus turned at Molly's screeching with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a menacing snarl.

Arthur pulled Molly to him, slamming his hand over her mouth tightly, jerking her up to stop her struggling.

Remus paused staring at them all. Multiple spells slammed into him, but they seemed to bounce right off him. Whatever had pushed through his transformation into the beast, it had also strengthened his already powerful body. Incarcerus spells burst and dissipated like they were a child's toy. Magical bindings shattered into particles. No, Remus definitely wasn't there anymore. All that remained was hatred and rage.

Remus sniffed the air, and his eerie amber-gold eyes stared intently at Professor Snape. His lips pulled back as his teeth dripped foamy slobber. Remus lowered himself to spring, and he launched at the Potions master. All of their stunning spells just bounced harmlessly off him. He hung in the air, suspended in that heated, adrenaline-infused moment as his arms reached out for Snape.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Remus' wolf had every intention of murdering him.

Just then, a blur of copper and silver fur leapt out of Snape's charmed pocket, all of her tails zinging with magic and power. Her little muzzle was twisted in a snarl as her much smaller body sailed towards the rampaging werewolf. Green-tinted lightning arced from tail-to-tail until all five tails were humming with power.

Zap.

ZapZAPzapZAPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

A flash of bright white radiance filled the room, temporarily blinding everyone. There was a loud hum of energy in the air. It was like standing directly below the high tension wires in the Muggle world, only much, much louder. There was a screaming roar of power, that flooded the room, shaking the walls and floors.

And then there was silence— silence and a great white nothingness.

The white slowly began to fade bit by bit. I dropped my arm away from my eyes. I hadn't even realised I'd flung it up there to begin with. I realised with even more confusion that I was lying flat on my back staring up at the white plaster ceiling high above me. As I sat up, everything seemed oddly shiny and surreal, every detail heightened.

That was when I saw her.

A beautiful woman, tall enough to shelter Remus's now-human body against herself, Her raven-black hair trailed down her back in long spiraling tresses. Pale alabaster skin shone like the fullness of the moon as startling steel-grey eyes looked out over Remus' shoulder. A pair of pristine white fox ears poked out from on top of her head, flicking one direction and then another. Matching tails curled around her legs and swished back and forth lazily. I counted them; six white tails moved against her seemingly ordinary robes.

"Please— where is Hermione?" I whispered. Surely Hermione hadn't died. Not after all of this!

Luminous grey eyes stared into me as she gently guided Remus— a perfectly human-looking Remus— to the nearby couch and allowed him to slump heavily onto it.

"There is always a price to be paid," the woman said, and I realised I knew it. "Ten years of my life to grant one singular wish— a wish soulfelt but not paid for in deed or a selfless desire to help others." She turned, the movement seeming so graceful that I stared in awe. "To save lives, I did willingly pay the price for his whole-hearted wish, and this is the price I do live with."

She closed her eyes, moving her neck, and then staring at me with an eerie lack of movement. "I am," she said after a time, "Hermione."

"There is no way you're 'Mione," Ron blurted out from somewhere behind me. "She has bushy brown hair that looks like a rat's nest. She's got muddy brown eyes and plain looks. I don't know who the hell you are, but you ain't 'Mione!"

I think Ron actually looked angry. I just stared at him.

Fred and George, who had finally pried themselves away from their hovering mum, both smacked their little brother upside the head and scowled at him. "She's wearing the silver ferret ring we gave her for punching Malfoy in her third year."

Ron stared at the distinctive ferret ring adorning the older woman's finger. The twins had always been very proud of that ring. They had wanted to charm it into forming into something that would hurt Malfoy a little more, but Hermione had informed them she wasn't planning to make a habit of punching Draco unless he did something to deserve it.

"Our little sis has become our older sis," Fred said with a wink.

"Wicked," George replied, grinning.

"Easy way to sort this out," Ginny said, bouncing up to Hermione. She whispered something to Hermione, and the older witch leaned down and whispered back to Ginny. Ginny blushed scarlet. "Yup! It's Hermione!" she exclaimed and proceeded to hug her tightly.

It was strange— didn't they see the ears? The tails? How could you possibly miss the tails?

Hermione was speaking with Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore, and none of them seemed to bat an eyelash, save for Hermione's spontaneous change in age. I tried to make out Dumbledore, but all I caught was "sit her N.E.W.T.s," "apprenticeships," "Dolores," and "new quarters."

"Nymphadora," Auror Moody snapped. "Help me get this miserable cur up."

The three Aurors were physically heaving Sirius up onto the couch rather than using magic.

"I'm afraid that I won't be any use to you, Headmaster," Remus was saying.

"Nonsense, my boy," Dumbledore answered. "You seem more than fit to defend yourself amongst the werewolves."

"No, sir, you don't understand," Remus explained. "I'm not a werewolf anymore."

"I realise you aren't one right now," Dumbledore chuckled.

Remus sighed. "No, I'm not a werewolf— at all. The full moon is in two days and I don't feel agitated at all. I don't feel the wolf's presence anymore. I can't smell everyone anymore. Albus, if you send me to the werewolves now, they will kill me."

The conversation between Professor Dumbledore and Remus was interrupted by a loud cry from the further corner of the couch.

"Get off me, you filthy blood-traitors!" Sirius bellowed loudly.

The three Aurors were staring at Sirius in complete shock.

"You think you're all so smart, cornering me in my own bloody house, but you're nothing! Nothing! I'm tired of the lot of you," Sirius raged. "I didn't frame my baby brother up to get him murdered, poison my father, and put my mother under multiple Dark compulsion spells just to have you go and ruin everything for me!"

"You're such a gullible lot!" Sirius sneered. "There I was, right under your noses, corrupting my fellow students and recruiting the next generation of Death Eaters, and you didn't even suspect a thing. You just chalked it up to a teenager rebelling against his Slytherin family. And Peter? That snivelling little failure of a wizard couldn't even get us the location for the Potter house. If I hadn't driven Remus away and made him doubt how safe he'd be around a child, James and Lily might still be alive today! If I hadn't been there, Wormtail wouldn't have been made their Secret Keeper, and we couldn't have waltzed right in and paved the way for our Lord to come and lay the Potters low."

"I made sure that Lily never forgot how horrible you were, Snivellus," Sirius spewed hatefully. "I made sure you were late for the meeting. I cut you up, using a very interesting little ritual to scrape the Dark Mark off of you. The Dark Lord would call, but little Snivellus wouldn't come, and he would die at the Dark Lord's hands for being a traitorous half-blood."

"But no, you had to bring your filthy, slimy, greasy haired self back to MY house and heal yourself," he continued. "I could smell you on her as she lay on my couch, and I knew exactly what I had to do to turn her to our cause. I'd show her what a real man is. She'd be begging me to take her, and I would. But that damnable half-Kneazle finally realised I wasn't pretending anymore, and the little bastard tore up my face! And right when I was all set to take her right here on my mother's father's father's floor, that blood-traitor Nymphadora just had to come knocking."

"I think I'll just insure that none of you can leave here," Sirius hissed. Dark blood was dripping from his newly-cut hand. "No magic will help you now, in the sacred walls of the noble and most ancient House of Black."

Everyone had their wands out, attempting to cast something— anything, and the magic simply fizzled and died. I stood there, unmoving, frozen in total shock.

Then Sirius waved a hand causing the magic of the house to become incredibly heavy and oppressive— threatening to crush us with the sheer weight of its power. Even if I had been able to before, I wouldn't now.

I was lost in it— partly because I was too stunned to fathom the change that had come over my godfather. He was the best mate of my dad, and now Sirius was saying it had never been friendship. Surely there was something wrong with him. He'd been influenced, hexed, cursed even—

It couldn't possibly be true.

"Sirius!" Remus hissed, struggling against the power of the house crushing down upon him.

"Ah, the half-breed," Sirius taunted with a sneer. "Moooony, Moony, Moony," he chanted. "You had such potential, Moony. I dressed up Snivellus like a pig for slaughter, and you couldn't even murder him as a bloody werewolf."

"Then, when I made up all those reasons why you were such a danger to the Potter's little baby darling, you just picked up your things and left like a dog with its tail between its legs," he said, twisting his face into a horrible mockery of compassion. "You know, Lily was so easy to fool. She liked the bad boys already, she just didn't want to admit it. I whispered sweet things in her ear, turned her against people by crying my woes out to her— oh, my horrible, Dark, Pureblood, family. Suddenly, she couldn't help but believe me. Slytherins were all evil. Mulciber was some raving Dark alchemist set out to poison everyone. Avery was a puppy-kicking bastard. Mind you, I did turn them into that, just for fun. I addicted Peter to power, twisting his pranks into torture. I made him LIKE it, then when he realised his error, I reminded him of all the things he'd done to everyone. No one would ever believe him the likes of him over me."

"When I found out he was still alive, I knew— I KNEW he was trying to make good and protect those pathetic Blood-traitors. He crawled to the Weasleys, trying to keep those sickening Muggle-lovers from being targeted by our Lord. The little rat. I wonder— how often he had to torture himself so as not to relapse into his Dark ways? I wonder how much candy he had to eat to keep his mind off torturing those little children instead of helping them. Hrm?"

Sirius' face was dark— so very dark. His grey eyes were filled with implacable malice. "You know what, Moony? My dear, dear mate— if it weren't for you, Dumbles over here would never have thought me such a clean and . Convincing our lot to become Animagi just to keep you company every month? So very noble. Such a supportive friend. Of course my "pranks" were just misguided boyhood foolishness. I would never deliberately murder a schoolmate. I would never mean to cause true harm by stoking the fires under Potter and stroking his ego, making him do exactly what I wanted him to do: drive Snivellus ever deeper into my Lord's waiting clutches. Halfblood— worthy only for his skill in potions. Potions we could use. Without him— Potter ran off with his little Muggle whore and popped out a little Potter-spawn."

Sirius turned to stare at me coldly, his tongue sliding under his upper teeth. "Children are nothing but a weakness. My parents believed that blood was stronger than hate, but they were wrong. I hated them more than anything. They favoured Regulus— the ideal son: so very proper, suave, and socially acceptable. For equality, they said whoever provided the first heir would be the next head of the Black family— to which all of this would fall in their lap. At first, I bedded every girl that I could, figuring that one of them would surely fuck up their little contraceptive charms and, lo and behold, I would have an heir. But they didn't."

"The next I hear is that Regulus was engaged to Lucius Malfoy's little sister, who had been carefully hidden away in Beauxbatons— safe from my Lord's scrutiny. Dear mother couldn't stop herself from blurting out the secret. She was so very proud. The Blood-traitor twins, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, they kept the witch safe from me for a few years, but then she had to have her little whelp. I killed the wench after having dealt with my baby brother, but Gideon and Fabian were one step ahead. I finally caught them ogling some Muggle filth, a baby in their arms, and I murdered them all— an end to the line of my perfect baby brother and my peace-loving parents."

"I am the sole heir of this house," Sirius announced with a sneer. "And I will bury the lot of you under the floorboards after you die."

"Sirius," I groaned aloud. "Don't do this! Please, let us help you! Let Professor Dumbledore help you!"

Cold, grey eyes stared back at me as his lip curled back from his teeth in an animal-like snarl. "You just don't get it, do you, boy? You poor, gullible, stupid, mongrel of a Gryffindor. Just like ya' father. Just like yer Mudblood mum. You want to know why the Dark Lord will win? Because people like you think that people like me are on your side. And you think people like him—" he said with a truly disturbing smirk, jutting his chin at Professor Snape as he tried to pull himself back up off the ground. "You think he's the bad guy. The sheer irony of it all is simply delightful, don't you agree?

I stared at the head of Slytherin house, the Potions professor I had hated for my entire school career. His face was suffused with rage like Remus' had been, just a few minutes before he had shifted without being compelled by the full moon. In the back of my mind, I idly wondered what Professor Snape might shift into. If he did, it was sure to be something enormous and terrifying, judging by the way my day had been going so far.

Hermione had aged ten years after revealing she was a multi-tailed magical fox who could grant wishes.

Remus had turned into a werewolf without the full moon, and then became fully human.

And my godfather… my godfather had turned into a raging pureblood supremacist.

It wasn't that much of a stretch to think that Professor Snape would probably transform into something even worse, and then I suddenly realised that I was doing exactly what Sirius knew I would.

I was turning Snape into my mortal enemy. Again.

Sirius was laughing uproariously. "Oh, I see it, and it is absolutely glorious. You sorry little half-blood whelp, turning Snivellus into a monster, even as I stand here forcing your pitiful bodies to the floor." He flicked his hand and the pressure increased sharply, slamming my face hard into the floor. He stomped over to where Hermione had been forced to the floor as well. I turned my eyes to Dumbledore, and saw that he was struggling to breathe. His eyes were wide, and his hands were clenched as he struggled to drag himself across the floor.

His wand.

He was trying to get to his wand that had fallen to the floor during the house's attack on us all.

Crackle.

My eyes widened as Sirius stepped down on Dumbledore's hand. "Going somewhere, Albus? Feeling a little naked without your precious wand?" He picked up Dumbledore's wand and pointed it squarely between the headmaster's eyes.

"Crucio!"

He turned it to Snape, McGonagall, Moody— everyone he could see as he screamed the Unforgivable at each and every one of us he could see. I knew I was coming up next, but he turned to Hermione. Raven black fur was quickly replacing the once pristine white of her ears and tail.

"You little Mudblood bitch," Sirius hissed. "I will take my time with you— CRUCIO!"

Hermione's screams of agony were high and haunting, seeming to reverberate off the walls.

"No! Hermione!" Professor McGonagall was crawling across the floor to her.

Auror Moody was clawing futilely at the floor, getting tangled up in the Black family tapestry. Remus was convulsing on the floor, no longer empowered by his werewolf alter-ego. Auror Kingsley was tangled up in the curtains, looking like they were trying to devour him whole. Arthur and Molly seemed to be glued to the furniture. Ginny was being mauled by the bear rug. Fred and George were being ferociously attacked by the fireplace tools. Ron was being beaten bloody by an entire shelf of heavy books. Auror Tonks was being slowly strangled by a braided cord of some sort that had sinuously flowed across the floor to her like a snake. Professor Snape, who had apparently been forgotten by the attacking furniture, flicked his eyes to me. His black irises had seemingly swallowed up the whites of his eyes, his hatred burning white hot from behind, spilling out from within.

I had thought I had seen hatred before— his towards me— so many times before.

I had never been more wrong.

What I saw in his eyes now was pure, unadulterated hate.

Sirius repeatedly hit Hermione with Crucios, one after another, and as she screamed, I saw the blackness spreading across her fur. The blackest of black seemed to be spreading, dyeing her multiple tails even further. "Beg for me, Mudblood," Sirius cooed. "Scream for me. Sectumsempra!"

Crimson blood oozed out from the wide slashes in Hermione's clothes, dripping heavily on the old, hardwood floor. Hermione's steel-grey eyes darkened into a scarlet red, with markings of the same bright shade spreading across her face in a series of strange runic symbols. Her hands curved slowly, changing into half-paws not so different from Remus' shift into the bipedal werewolf. Glistening, obsidian claws formed out of her fingernails, and then I knew. I knew that this Dark kitsune was all about the energy put into her. The vibrant, pristine creature Hermione had become was due to the selfless, unselfish acts of those around her. Now, the room was full of raw hatred— hate for being made fools, hate for the horrible, twisted man who had played us all for fools, hate for so much more than that.

Did the others see? Was I really the only one? Did Sirius honestly not see what his brutal torture was doing to her?

Hermione's newly-manifested claws scratched deep gouges in the floor, smearing her blood against the boards, seeping into the slashes. She snarled at him, her lips pulling back from sharp white vulpine fangs.

A blast of hot, electric energy blew through the room as the sound of roaring wind and a chorus of piercing screams from the portraits rang throughout the house. Wood creaked ominously, fabric tore, and a bitter, bitter cold chased out the heat, freezing ice spreading over where the heat had burned. Hermione's hand shot up and clamped tightly around Sirius' neck as he gloated over her pain-wracked body. I heard the tearing as her claws dug deeply into the flesh of his neck and squeezed.

She was up, standing taller than I'd ever seen her. Her eyes blazed with a wrathful red light.

Hate!

HATE!

HATE!

"You," Hermione's voice was hoarse and gravelly after all the screaming. "You murdered my mother. You poisoned my grandfather. You Imperiused my grandmother and killed her with grief. You dare to torture me— here. HERE, in the house of My. Lord. Father. You imprison my mam. You attempt to murder my master. You bind my uncles. You betrayed my best friend— and his parents. The memories are here! HERE!"

She thrust her taloned hand in front of him where a shining platinum signet ring shone with old magic. "All of those memories— are mine. The ancestral memories are mine, released by my lifeblood upon the family ring. You. Are. A. DOG!"

She backhanded Sirius across the face, the sheer force of it sending him crashing across the room into a mahogany bookshelf. Her black tails were lashing wildly and green fire was blazing all around her. The vision of a bipedal vixen was superimposed over my vision of her, a ferocious snarl upon her muzzle.

"You shame the most noble House of Black with your detestable Pureblood supremacy," she growled lowly. "You corrupt the true heart of our ancient House. You— and Bellatrix, harkening to the days when blood was power, and our ancestors fell upon each other like starving DOGS. Fitting," she said, her claws slashing across Sirius' face, "that you truly are one."

The oppressive weight was slowly lessening. I could finally move my arm and push myself up. Fred and George were panting and gasping for air, freed but unable to do much more than catch their breath. Ginny was groaning. Molly and Arthur was struggling to get to their children, and Ron was moaning under a pile of books.

"How—" Sirius choked. "This is MY house!"

"No," Hermione replied, her voice cold. "It was never yours."

I saw her there— the vixen that was Hermione— glaring down at Sirius with such disgust and hatred that is seemed to scald the very air we breathed. The air was choking again, but this time, it wasn't focused on us. Miasma seemed to seep up from the floors of the house. Dark tendrils of foul Dark vapour— so very unlike Hermione.

Sirius snarled, a inhuman look upon his face, lunging at Hermione. He looked desperate, just has he had in the Shrieking Shack. A glint of silver struck the air, and he slashed across her chest.

Bright crimson blood welled up from the cut, spilling forth and through her already tattered, bloody clothing.

"I am the true master of this house, and I will paint the walls with your blood!" he screamed, his arm slashing.

Hermione's talonlike hand caught his descending stroke, and I could hear the bones breaking under her crushing grip. Her eyes were flaming red. Her other hand slammed into his neck and began to squeeze.

I saw her lips pull back from her teeth.

Rage.

Hate.

HATE!

HATE!

KILL!

"No," Professor Snape was standing now, struggling against the oppressive Darkness. "Hermione."

She turned to him, snarling, her face contorted in hate. "He killed my parents. He attempted to kill everyone here. He brought death to countless people! He deserves to die!"

"Yes," Snape said, his eyes pained. "But not by your hand. Not by you, Hermione."

She snarled, squeezing Sirius' neck even more tightly.

"Don't let him turn you into what he is," Professor Snape said, his eyes flickering with emotion. "You are far stronger than the likes of him. You are stronger than this. Think of all the good you have done. Do not lose it for him. Do not let him steal one more thing from the world— from your mother— from Alastor, from Savage, Amelia—" Snape took a step forward, opening his arms. "From me."

Hermione's eyes began to lose some of their fire. Red began to shift back into a luminous grey. The bright red markings on her body faded as the black of her fur shifted into a lighter grey. White spread up her pointed ears and down to the tips of her tails. Her angry tails began to slow their writhing, lashing dance.

"Severus?" she whispered.

"Let him go," he said calmly— Professor Snape was so terribly, terribly calm. His black irises had completely swallowed the whites of his eyes.

She looked at Sirius and then back at Professor Snape. She stared at her curving, murderous hands, and released Sirius as though he was covered in noxious toxic waste. She sobbed, staggering back, hyperventilating. She walked into those outstretched arms— arms of solid, unwavering black— and he swallowed her up, crushing her to his body as she sobbed, whimpered, and clung to him like a buoy after being tossed on the stormy sea.

"Severus," she whimpered.

"I'm here," he soothed, pressing his hands to her midnight black hair. "Be still. Be calm."

McGonagall was rushing forward. "Hermione."

"Mam?" Hermione was sniffling.

McGonagall and Auror Moody joined the embrace, and Hermione sank into their arms with sobs of relief. Professor Snape was chanting something, almost like a song, over Hermione's bleeding slashes.

Sirius was rising up off the ground, clutching at his neck where Hermione had nearly crushed it. He snarled, a knife suddenly in his hand, and leapt towards Hermione.

"Hermione!" I cried, willing my legs to not fail me.

But fail they did.

Suddenly, Auror Tonks was there, her hair taking on a vivid shade of cherry red. Her face had transformed into the a cross between that of a stampeding water buffalo and a brassed-off crocodile. She grasped the knife arm with her wrists, yanked him off balance, and brought her knee between his legs once, twice, and again.

"You," she hissed, "are under arrest." She twisted him back around, summoning magical bindings and slamming them around his wrists. She forced his arms behind his back, jerking his arm just right to make Sirius yelp. She slammed his head into the bookshelf, running his face across the remaining books that hadn't attacked Ron before. "You do not have to say anything, but if you do, be warned it may be used against you when you are brought before the Wizengamot."

She whipped her leg around, sweeping his legs out from under him, grabbed his feet, and dragged him across the floor. "Anything you do say," she continued, "may be given in evidence." She picked him up by the collar shoving him against the wall. "Do you understand these rights as they have been given to you?"

"You little half-blood freak!" Sirius spat, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth.

Conk.

An urn dropped down from the hearth, hitting Sirius squarely on the head.

The newly-exposed Dark Wizard fell to the floor, instantly knocked unconscious.

"Mrowl," Crookshanks said, licking his paw as he drew it across his ears and back.

"Auror Tonks," Auror Moody growled.

The formerly-wrathful Auror stared back at her mentor with a level of fright that one angry Dark wizard couldn't inspire in her.

"Congratulations, you're ready for the field," he snapped. "Take that sodding piece of shite back to the holding cell and let Savage loose on him."

Tonks' eyes widened as her hair turned a bright bubblegum pink. "Yessir!"


Fugitive Sirius Black Apprehended

Dark wizard and fugitive Sirius Black was apprehended by Senior Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody as well the new Auror Nymphadora Tonks. The battle, which happened at an undisclosed residence, was described as "unlike anything ever seen before."

Black, who had escaped Azkaban back in 1993, had apparently been hidden away somewhere in London. His capture has led to the arrests of over a hundred Dark wizards and witches, some of whom have long been rumoured to be Death Eaters of You-Know-Who.

The rather odd string of confessions from Dark wizards and witches, namely Death Eaters, has many at the Ministry wondering if this is some sort of insidious plot on the part of YKW, but why he would expose his own agents remains to be seen. Some seem to believe he did not plan all of this, while others seem to think this is all a twisted game of misdirection.

The question remains: What is YKW planning?


You Know Who Is Dead!

Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge had a press conference earlier today to reassure citizens that the resurrection of You-Know-Who is just a paranoid rumour started by his former followers to terrorize our good wizarding public.

"These Dark Wizards are simply turning on each other because their supposed Lord is dead," he stated. "The truth is there is no Dark Lord. There is no threat. While Dark wizards and witches do exist, this ridiculous rumourmongering will not take the Ministry off-guard."

Minister Fudge has dispatched his trusted Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in order confirm that educational standards are being met at Hogwarts.

"Education will save us from this irrational fear!" Minister Fudge proclaimed. "That must be the main focus of my administration!"

Fudge has been struggling to maintain a positive public opinion after his Undersecretary attempted to ban Apprenticeships, one of our oldest and most treasured wizarding institutions. That fiasco, along with her vigorous campaign to see Remus Lupin arrested and banned from teaching due to Mr Lupin allegedly being a werewolf, has drawn skepticism of Umbridge's fitness to hold public office. Umbridge's allegations were, in fact, recently disproven when an entire contingent of Aurors watched over Mr Lupin during the last full-moon. Mr Lupin, however, did not transform.

This latest crusade against Mr Lupin and others like him has people questioning Fudge's choice in Undersecretaries as well as his cabinet. Even so, Fudge has insisted that Undersecretary Umbridge take up a position at Hogwarts to assure the proper things are being taught.

Piles of angry owl-delivered missives and Howlers have virtually buried the Minister's office, so much so that it has been reported that the avalanche of mail has been bursting out the windows with some of it being found by Muggles.

Confirmation of this unfortunate breach of the Statute of Secrecy was not obtained by press time.


Dementors Joined By Human Staff to Guard Azkaban

The tradition of having only Dementors guarding Azkaban prison has been changed due to a large number of arrests of the former followers of You-Know-Who: his notorious Death Eaters. The Dementors have been joined in their guard duties by a specialized elite unit of human workers trained to guard and provide additional security in hopes of preventing any further escapes, such as the Dark wizard Sirius Black, who has been the only prisoner to successfully escape from Azkaban.

Due to the large influx of highly-dangerous Dark wizards and witches, the DMLE wants to take no chances. While Dementors still wander the grounds, they are now vastly outnumbered by human guards.

"We can't risk allowing any of these prisoners to escape and are prepared to do whatever it takes to prevent them from doing so," Head Auror Gawain Robards stated.

"Robards is protecting the citizens by being proactive," Auror Rufus Scrimgeour said. "There is nothing wrong with being extra-cautious when it comes to containing Dark wizards and witches.

Wards have been adjusted, strengthened, and re-attuned, and shifts at Azkaban are limited to six hours at a time to ensure optimum alertness. This has led to an unprecedented number of employment opportunities for those looking for a steady job with excellent pay. A new barracks has been built as well as an on-site medical facility, an employee canteen, a recreation hall, and a commissary, adding both an added level of security for both the prisoners and the human additions to the Azkaban prison staff.

Those interested in job postings for the new Azkaban community may send owls to Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, who is heading the administration of the new and improved Azkaban.


A/N: I do not hate dogs. I have no malice towards dogs. Sirius just happens to be a very horrible example of a dog… and I want to neuter him in this story. Preferably without anesthesia… using a pair of hedge clippers.