DISCLAIMER:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,

Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Four years later….

Transformations were rare in the wizardry world but not unheard of. In the distant past a few princes had been turned into frogs, popular myth returning them to their previous form and lives, more human and less distant, but the truth was far more brutal. They remained frogs and were replaced as easily as Mafia dons, because (let's face it) who in their right mind would bow to an amphibian? Let alone kiss one?

The more modern transformations formed the basis of magical research and experimentation. How long before it was a permanent condition? How long before the humanity within them reached extinction point? How long before the tranformee forgot who they were and wanted to remain what they had transformed into? Were the kind of questions commonplace amongst the higher echelons of St Mungos and the Ministry of Magic's Research Groups.

Over the four years since her transformation Hermione had often wondered about her experience, her musings coinciding with the arrival of a journal article on the subject or a request for research. As a rule she read the articles and declined the research. She had a life to live and four growing children to feed, but yet while she was washing the dishes, wiping grubby faces, trying to tame hair that would not lay flat on a head or some other mundane everyday task, the questions returned to nag her: They were born as snakes, would they remain human? Would they transform back when their magic manifested? Would their humanity be leeched out of them too? She knew her maternal instinct was fuelling her worry. Her children were conceived as snakes and transformed into three baby boys and one baby girl shortly after birth without any intervention. At four years of age they had reached their milestones and surpassed many of them. Thin, pale with the black baby curls their magic was not visible yet, but if lineage and genes were anything to go by they would be magical and intelligent as their parents-

Parent, forcible Hermione corrected herself. She was the sole parent of this rambunctious brood.

Perhaps she told herself, she should not worry about any latent effects of the transformation on her children? Perhaps she should worry more about them becoming like the man who happened to be their father: Severus Snape - that despicable, horrid man. He had never seen the children, let alone signed their birth certificates. He had escaped Hogwarts on the eve of their birth. Dumbledore's mumbled apology about Snape being called way to the Amazon was slightly incongruous. Yes, rapid extinction of rare flora and fauna was important, but to so blatantly miss your offsprings' birth? Hermione hoped Snape had apparated into a rabid troupe of Howler monkeys and suffered the consequences.

Why had he not stayed an adder? Hermione thought. There was so little human in him in the first place.

Other than the journal articles and the research requests Hermione had only one other contact with the world of transformations. She became acquainted with the only other living being who knew exactly what she had gone through.

"Hermione?" Her mother's voice called from the hallway of the Granger family home. "Mr Filch is here to see you!"

Argus Filch, the Squib caretaker at Hogwarts was surprisingly knowledgeable on the topic of transformation. His cat, Mrs Norris had once been very human and very much the love of his life - before her jealous husband cursed her into a four-legged pussy.

Over the last four year, the unlikely pair read articles and discussed the subject. With the encouragement of Dumbledore and other Hogwarts staff they had formed a strange, yet powerful friendship. Their talks provided a way to Hermione's mind busy, away from the mundane everyday tasks of childcare and in truth it provided comfort as well.

Filch was also surprisingly good at burping colicky infants and changing nappies.

"I'm in the kitchen Mum!" Hermione called back, wiping the flour from her nose with an elbow. "Hello Argus." She said as the elderly caretaker entered the room, she pointed at the flour covered table and kitchen bench. "I'm baking."

Filch eyed the mess and creased his nose in distaste. Wasn't this what House Elves were for?  "Dumbledore asked me to see you were doing." He explained in his slow voice while giving her a sidelong look. "I bought some chocolate frogs for the ankle biters by ways of a birthday present."

"They're out in the garden." She told him, kneading a large ball of dough her shoulders working. "Playing football with my Dad."

Lifting his head Filch could hear the squeals and laughter through the steamed up windows. Nervously looking at Hermione he ran a hand over his balding pate and smoothed down his hair. "Little mites." He said gruffly. "Run the old bugger into the ground."

"They don't do too badly with you Argus." Hermione said with a chuckle, cutting the dough ball in half with a sharp knife and tossing one half into a buttered baking tin.

He smiled crookedly. "In my day children were seen and not heard."

"In your day children were dropped down chimneys by storks." Hermione admonished him as she molded the dough into the tin.

"Bloody birds." He complained. "It was all their missing the mark that messed up the youth of today, too many landing on their heads."

"You were saying that about me not five years ago."

Filch squirmed and grimaced uneasily. "Oh never you Miss Hermione."

"Go out and see them." Hermione suggested. "They'll be happy to see a familiar face."

"In a tic." He replied, wiping his newly shaven face. It was tender and pink from soap and razor. He assessed the lines of his chin with a critical finger hoping that his attempts at personal hygiene would not go unnoticed. "I was hoping to have a word with you first."

"Mr Filch is that a new suit?" Hermione's mother swept into the room and with her the smell of furniture polish and lavender.

"Arh it is." He replied.

Hermione slammed the oven door shut and turned to look at the man. "Argus, that is a new suit. Has someone died?"

"No one's died." He felt himself blushing under the scrutiny, so cleared his throat. "Yes it's a new suit, what of it?"

Hermione and her mother exchanged suspicious glances. "No reason…"

Filch looked as uneasy as he felt, finally he got enough courage to say. "I was hoping to have a word Miss Hermione?"

Again Mrs Granger exchanged a puzzled look with her daughter.

"Sure." Hermione shrugged.

"I'll just go and see that the children haven't tied up Jerry to the washing line," Mrs Granger said going to the back door. "Or put Mrs Roberts' cat inside Mr Tonkins rabbit hutches - again."

"Poor Mr Moggie, "Hermione commented blithely. "Who knew bunnies could whip themselves into a bloodlust fenzy?"

"Once they taste the blood of the innocents they are nasty bastards." Filch replied.

Hermione smiled at him and he gave her a wink back. He cleared his throat under her scrutiny, straightened his tie and wrung his hands together. "Hermione?" He hunkered over and gave a sniff. "I have something to ask you."

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Meanwhile, in Dumbledore's office,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

"Oh dear, oh dear," Dumbledore stroked his beard and looked worried.

"What is it Albus? Minerva McGonagall asked looking over the rim of her glasses and putting her embroidery aside.

"This isn't going the way I planned it. No, not at all I as hoped."

"What is it dear?" The witch asked going over the Head Master as he looked into a penseive.

Albus did not look as he asked, "Could you get my orb sweetness?"

Minerva felt the tension slice through the air. "Your orb Albus? Which one?"

"The important one." He replied, flapping a liver spotted hand at her.

"The one you use on Tuesdays?"

"No, the one I keep on the back shelf covered by the Spice Girls handkerchief."

Oh no, not that one! Minerva now felt the tension move into panic. Albus hadn't used that orb since – well, she could not remember when. The Spice Girl handkerchief was more of a deterrent than any ward to keep any unwelcome interest away. She went to the shelf and was not surprised to find her hands shaking as she lifted the opalescent orb from its hiding place and bought it to the Head Master's desk "What is it, Albus?" She asked, her voice trembling. "What is going on?"

"Argus Filch is about to make the mistake of his life and Merlin help us, Hermione Granger may help him do it!"

"Hermione!" Minerva felt her throat constrict. "What is Filch up to? What is he doing to her babies?"

Dumbledore did not answer, he was waving his wand over the special orb and peering into it intently. Finally after much huffing and sighing he relaxed, "Argus only has Hermione's best interest at heart Minerva, he is a misunderstood man… but proposing to the woman is not going to help our cause."

"Our cause?" Minerva looked into the orb and saw nothing but her upside down reflection. "What is it you see Albus?"

"We will need Miss Granger and her skills Minerva. Perhaps you read that article in the Daily Prophet about the spate of deaths from owl scratchings in Bulgaria?"

Minerva shook her head. "No, it must have escaped my notice."

"It was only four lines but something about it sparked my interest. I foresee a terrible plague befalling our kind." Albus told her. "In fact I hear a voice in the back of my head telling me so. We must not let Hermione and Argus marry. I must take drastic measures."

Minerva had a sudden vision of Filch hanging from thumbscrews in the dungeons and Hermione Granger living in a cage.

Albus waved his hand over the pearly ball again and began to incant some arcane spell she could not grasp. The orb seemed to expand for a moment then to glow and hum… By the time McGonagall looked away the orb was magnesium white and whistling. "There!" Dumbledore's voiced boomed over the room. "Got you!"

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Argus Filch had managed to maneuver Hermione into a corner, having her wedged between the cooker and broom cupboard. He had asked her to marry him, showed her his mother's ring and given an eloquent speech about moving on and letting go.

Hermione did not know what to say. The most terrifying thing was that he was convincing. He truly admired Hermione and he liked her children. She knew this it was irrefutable. He made no grand promises. He laid it on the line. He knew he was not a catch, that he was far from anyone's fantasy man, but he would never hurt her, he would take care of her and look after her children.

Hermione looked at the ring and saw her life play out before her. If she rejected Filch she would be alone. Harry and Ron had moved on with their lives, they were doing what any young wizards should be doing – sowing their wild oats, being irresponsible with alcohol and brooms and when they felt serious, working on their careers. She had not seen them in months. Babies and motherhood scared them, they did not who or what Hermione had become. To them she would always be: Hermione 'the girl who could have been'.

Her world had become microscopic since the quads birth. She ate, slept, read when she could and in between cared for the children. Snape provided no money he had cleverly avoided that. Hogwarts (via the Malfoys it was rumoured) gave her enough to survive… but survive was all she did. She had no life. Her world was an endless round of children. Argus was the only one from the magical realm she spoke to at any length. He was the only one she had to share her children's little moments with. If she rejected him, she would be alone in the world of Muggles, her children would be alone too and that scared her.

She had not answered Filch. She looked up at him. His breathing was fast and his tongue snaked out to lick his cracked lips. She was transfixed by a large bubble of spit at the corner of his mouth trapped between a collection of unshaved whiskers and capillary cracked skin.

"Argus?" She asked, feeling her heart treble its beat. "Yes." She said, her stomach feeling as if it had filled with lead. "I will marry you."

The caretaker sucked in a deep breath and exhaled through sneering yellowed teeth. "Ah my sweet." He said, his mouth falling open to reveal a writhing tongue. "Let me kiss you."

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Severus Snape was halfway up a tree in the depths of the Amazon.

Swatting away mites and flies, he fixed his gaze on a stunning example of lepidoptera. Firming his sweaty grip on the branch, he carefully aimed his wand at the jewel-winged butterfly and muttered. "Stupify."

The insect froze in mid-flutter and started to spiral down through the thick humid air.

Pocketing his wand into his beige walk shorts and sweeping his butterfly net through the air Snape found two things. First, that he was, in the possession of an unknown species of butterfly and second, he was being tugged by a giant invisible hand out of the canopy of the South American jungle to be plunked down rather unceremoniously onto someone's Axminster carpet in the middle of suburban Britain.

"What the hell!" He roared staggering to his feet and disentangling himself from the butterfly net, flicking his sticky sweat laden hair from his face as he took in his surroundings.

"No! Don't!" A woman's cry from a nearby room spun him about.

He stormed in the direction of the sound with every intention of ripping a shred of flesh off whoever had the audacity to interrupt his work. Not even thinking that his beige 'great white hunter' outfit looked completely ridiculous in the quiet setting of middle class English living room. As he reached the door, he came to an abrupt halt, his face paling and eyes widening in amazement.

"Filch?" His gaze flicked between the squib and the woman the caretaker had cornered. The woman was still struggling in Filch's grip her breathing laboured and panicked.

"Professor Snape!" Filch hurriedly stepped back. Releasing the woman as he wheezed. "What are you doing here?"

"You!?" The woman shouted and Snape caught a glimpse of a seething red face before the backdoor swung open and an older man stepped inside.

"Hermione," The older man said, "Sam has grazed his knee, could you get me a sticky plaster?" The man looked up and caught sight of Snape the pleasant expression on his face instantly becoming one of open antagonism.  "You! How dare you come here?"

Snape felt the hairs on his exposed spindly legs come to attention.  Dear Merlin, the Grangers! "Dumbledore." He growled, his shoulders tensing, realizing he had been ambushed. "You will pay for this."

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tbc