A/N: I apologize for Trevor's death. It had to happen. I have composed a suitable eulogy, which appears in the following chapter. Here you go.

Chapter Eight: Whap

Hermione looked at her older friend, who had just shrugged off her robes and was pulling off her snowboots. Cass was wearing a simple Muggle T-shirt with writing on the front. As she stood up, Hermione realized what it said:

'Please an Englishman. Shoot Yoko.'

"Why in Merlin's name are you wearing that?" Snape asked. "It's nearly twenty below out there. And who is Yoko?"

"Yoko Ono..." Hermione's father seethed. "Yoko Ono is the spawn of the unholy."

"A Dark Muggle?" Snape inquired in confusion. Hermione had to stifle a grin as her father began the tirade she'd been hearing since babyhood.

"She is personally the justification for Hiroshima. Those damn Yanks missed."

"Yoko Ono was a Japanese-American singer who married John Lennon," Mrs. Granger explained mildly. "Many fans believe she was the reason the Beatles broke up and take it far too seriously."

"Yoko is evil," Cass observed. "She practically disinherited Julian."

"You like the Beatles?" Mr. Granger asked hopefully.

"They're the best! I learned to read by listening to 'Sgt. Pepper' with the liner notes."

"I like to play their songs sometimes. Used to be the only way to get Hermione to sleep when she was little."

"I noticed the pile of sheet music by her bed."

"It was remarkably brave of you to bring these things from our house," Mrs. Granger said, holding the photo album close protectively.

"Naw. Seemed like the 'propriate thing to do."

"Cass, you could have been really hurt." Hermione was still cuddling Algernon the teddy bear.

"It was rather impressive," Snape remarked dryly. "I especially admired catching your hair on fire twice."

"That's right!" Cass playfully batted at Snape's lank, greasy hair. "If I'd've let you in, you'd have gone up like a Roman candle." Snape gave her one of his best glares, but it seemed the overly-chipper American was immune to them.

"Is there a hotel of some sort in Hogsmeade?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"None safe enough," Snape replied. "You will be welcome at Hogwarts until a safe residence can be secured. The Ministry has a program similar to what Muggles call witness protection which can shelter you."

"The Ministry?" Hermione inquired. "Wouldn't Luc –the Death Eaters, I mean- be able to find them then?"

"'Mione's right. We have to go to the mattresses!" Cass announced, clearly having been waiting since her childhood to say that line.

"The what?" Snape asked. Cass sighed as if dealing with idiots.

"We have to go outside of legal channels. In 'The Godfather,' whenever there was a war between the Families, men would stay in apartment buildings with mattresses on the floor. To go to war is to 'go to the mattresses.'"

"So you're saying," Mr. Granger asked, "that we're going to stay in an apartment building?"

"Well, no, I just meant that we can't use the Ministry. I would suggest a more Mafiosish way of hiding you."

"We're hiding?" Mrs. Granger went suddenly white.

"From the Death Eaters. You aren't the only ones," Snape explained.

"Will Hermione be safe here?"

"There's noplace safer than Hogwarts in this country," Cass smiled. "I know one place that'll be just as safe for you."

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"This is Gryffindor Tower," Hermione explained. "To get in, we have to give the password."

"What is it?" her dad whispered.

"Turtle tails."

Peter Granger gave the password to the Fat Lady and was most amused when the portrait hole swung open. Janet Granger followed her husband and daughter and immediately squeaked in surprise, seeing what looked like an improptu ritual sacrifice in the Common Room. Students in school uniforms, complete with red-and-gold ties, were surrounding a table on which a dead toad reposed atop a festive lace doily.

"Hermione," she hissed. "What is going on?"

"Ah, guests," Ron greeted solemnly, "come for the funeral?" He shook hands with Mr. Granger and smiled politely. "It's good to see you both again," he whispered.

"How charming, Ronald!" Mrs. Granger observed, more relieved that the funeral wasn't a sacrifice than really all that pleased. "Do all pets have funerals here?"

"Well…yes, ma'am, all of the dead ones do."

"Trevor belonged to my friend Neville," Hermione clarified, gesturing toward her friend.

"Oh, yes!" Mr. Granger offered his hand to the clearly grieving but calm boy. "In the first letter Hermione sent home, she told us about how you asked her to help you find your toad and how it made her feel like she would make friends here. I'm very sorry to hear he passed away."

"Trevor was murdered," a cold voice suddenly remarked from behind them. The Grangers and Neville spun around to see Cass and John, the werewolf couple seeming almost to snarl. "I transfigured an orange box for him, Neville," John announced, handing the boy a toad-sized coffin with what looked for all the world like satin Gryffindor-print lining.

"Thank you. Trevor liked the smell of those."

Gently, Ginny lifted the maltreated toad and placed him into the small coffin. The lace doily was, if you looked closely, a bit lopsided, and it seemed to be crocheted from the same sort of yarn that went into Weasley sweaters. Ginny placed it on top of Trevor and tucked him in.

"As the Quidditch Captain of Gryffindor," Katie Bell announced solemnly, "I ask that everyone wear a black armband to next Thursday's match, where we will dedicate the game to Trevor's memory, and Lord willing, beat the shit out of Slytherin."

Nobody laughed, but there were many solemn nods.

"I remember how Trevor ate anything we offered him," Ron eulogized sadly. "He turned into so many different things, and not once did he complain."

"Trevor was a great toad," remarked Harry. "I remember how much fun we all had looking when he got lost."

Several people related their Trevor memories, some of them wistful, and a good many rather funny ones, like when Alicia Spinnet told about finding him in her lingerie drawer. Sometimes Neville grinned, once or twice he laughed, but generally he had a calm, carefully composed look.

"I remember he used to catch flies when we were studying for exams and it got hot," Dean Thomas recalled. "One time he ate a mosquito right off my arm."

"He slept on my pillow," Neville said calmly. The round-faced boy seemed determined not to cry and was succeeding. "I know not everybody liked him, because he was just a toad, and I know that a lot of you would probably rather not be here. But it's- -it's really good of you to do this. Trevor would have liked hearing the good things you've all said, and he'd probably be most happy because it's a nice thing to do when somebody's lost their pet. He wasn't anything but a little toad, but he was a good toad, and I know he's gone where all good pets go."

Ginny and Harry carried the little coffin down hrough the halls, followed by a solemn procession of Gryffindors. The funeral procession headed out to the snow-surrounded lake, where Trevor's grave had been prepared by kind Hagrid. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were clearly a bit confused by this, but they followed politely and Hermione heard her mother whisper an old St. Francis prayer.

"It's good of your friends to do this," her dad whispered.

Hermione thought the funeral proceedings considerate as well. Everything said about Trevor or to Neville was carefully worded so as to show respect and not imply scorn, and nobody acted like they found the burial of a toad amusing. It wasn't, she realized, that anyone but Neville had especially liked Trevor, but because the manner of his death outraged the righteous nature of Gryffindors. It was a double injustice that it had been Neville's pet killed, when he had already had such terrible losses in his life. Also, Draco Malfoy was not only fully deserving of, but an exquisite target for righteous hatred.

A soft sound made Hermione look behind her. Cass was crying bitterly into John's shoulder.

"I should have broken both his legs," she whispered. "I could have hurt him worse for doing this."

"You did good, Cass," John comforted his wife, who seemed increasingly younger than Hermione had first thought. "We'll take out the Death Eaters for programming that boy evil."

"They already hit Hermione Granger's house," Cass confessed. "Fire. Could've killed them all."

"Bastards."

"It was my fault for hurting him. I shot from the hip again."

"Maybe it's a good thing," John observed. "They'll assume they're dead and they'll leave Hermione alone for a bit at least."

"I was thinking maybe I could make up for it. I'll ask Dad if they can stay with him."

"I think that's a great idea. Do they look like you or him –passable as visiting relatives?"

"Not a bit. I was thinking Dad could pass them off as dentistry professors."

"How clever!" John appeared to like the idea, a slow smile spreading across his face. "And they're Muggles, right, so your dad's a perfect place. They won't have to deal with odd wizard things."

"I just hope Dad doesn't frighten them."

"Well, yes, he can be sort of odd."

Hermione couldn't help smiling. Lucius Malfoy would never think to look for her parents somewhere in America.

"Hermione?" John asked suddenly, surprising her out of her reverie. "Do either of your parents mind classical music?"

"My mother likes it."

"Oh, excellent!" Cass grinned and opened a bag of Every Flavor Beans. "Daddy's a professor of language at Carnegie Mellon University and he- -well, sometimes Dad is a little strange." Cass abruptly crossed her eyes and gagged suddenly. "Ecch. Want some of these? I think that was a carrot one."

Hermione accepted a few beans, the first one of which seemed to be cheddar flavored.

"My parents are sort of literary. Where in America does your father live?"

"Pittsburgh, naturally. The weather should be nice and horrible."

"I'm sure they won't mind. We are English, after all."

"Speaking of," Cass appeared to be suddenly remembering something. "Is there a theatrical district in London?"

"The West End, why?"

"I was thinking that sometime John and I might go and see something…maybe haul your Professor Sevvy along as well." John had walked a few yards away to speak to someone, and Cass lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I'll need you to go, otherwise John and Sev'll just talk potions things all night afterward."

"Wouldn't they anyway?"

"Yes, but that way we can talk about charms and arithmancy and things. I'm lousy at potions, by the way. However do you stand doing a thesis project on 'em?"

"Well, it is kind of an acquired academic taste, I guess." Hermione was a little uneasy that Cass seemed so colloquial. "I also felt it would be a challenge."

"So you're the glutton-for-punishment sort, I guess?"

"Yep. I also knew it would give me at least one hour a night free from Quidditch discussion."

"Do you play?"

"Nope."

"I play Chaser or Keeper sometimes. Not too much height involved there." Cass scratched her ear rakishly. "So…you like Potions a lot?"

"Well, yes." Hermione thought she had made that point.

"Okay…the thing's this. I need some help cooking somethin' up."

"I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't mind me doing something extra –it's not illegal, right?"

"No, just –I'd rather you not tell Sevvy." Cass shoved her hands in her pockets. "It's the sort of thing somebody might take the wrong way, if he's a guy and all, and I don't want him ragging on John later."

"Oh…a girl thing."

"Per'cisely."

"Oh. I can help."

Cass suddenly seemed to deflate with the volume of her relieved sigh.

"Thank you, Hermione…that's really nice."

"Aren't you cold?" Ginny appeared, having clearly noticed that Cass was wearing only a t-shirt in the Scottish winter twilight.

"Nope. Say, how soon can you get the cauldron and stuff into that bathroom you told me about?"

"Ginny!" Hermione was surprised. "You told her about that?"

Ginny shrugged.

"She asked."

"Oh, yes! I'm sure Cass just came walking up and asked if there was a place where we could brew potions illegally!"

"Yep." Cass grinned.

"Oh, gods! It'd better not be Polyjuice again. That stuff reeked."

"Naw. Just an…er, a-"

"Fertility potion," Ginny supplied.

"Gins!" Cass protested. "Announce it at the Quidditch game, why don't you?"

"Speaking of," Ginny whispered. "Stow it, the boys are coming."

Harry, Ron and Neville walked solemnly up to Ginny, Cass and Hermione.

"Mrs. Tyler," Ron began. "You have performed a great deed in avenging the innocent."

"Further," Harry added. "We have been informed that you displayed considerable valor in the bold rescue of Hermione's teddy bear amid a great conflagration caused by Death Eaters. We have also been informed by Ginny that the reason why your fringe is short on the left is because it looks burned off."

"For all of these," Neville said solemnly, "we hereby name you to the Order of Prongs, and hold you as an honorary Gryffindor for life." With great ceremony, Neville pinned a small badge depicting a stag onto Cass's t-shirt. Harry produced a crisp new piece of parchment and unrolled it.

"Here is a newly updated edition of the Marauders' Map, in recognition of your bravery and to keep you from getting lost. To make it appear, speak the phrase 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.' When finished, remember to say 'Mischief managed' and wipe it clean, lest some vile Slytherin discover it."

A second later, Cass found herself holding the map, being kissed on both cheeks by a lot of rather handsome Gryffie boys. Ginny and Hermione could not withstand this final solemnity, and cracked up.

"Er- uh, thanks awfully." Cass stammered.

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"Narcissa!" a strident female voice called, echoing luridly from the vaulted ceilings of Malfoy Manor.

"I'm right here," the lady of the house replied from the graceful divan where she seemed to be sewing. "Really, Severus, that potion looks sick on you."

The form of Melindra Parkinson blurred into Severus Snape.

"I did think it was a little much, but it's really the only way to get past those damn Goyle brothers. Can't you make them wash every third Sunday?"

"Half of their stupidity might come off." Narcissa put aside the Slytherin quilt, revealing what looked shockingly like a Muggle supermarket bodice-ripper. "Did it work as planned?"

"Beautifully." Snape was staring at the paperback in disgust. Narcissa held it up for him proudly.

"Do you like it? I did think the models were a little overdone, but it's nice to be in print again."

"If Lucius knew you wrote those for fun," Severus warned. Narcissa let out a throaty laugh.

"Is it any worse than Millie Parkinson's addiction to Dreamless Sleep or Jenny Catesby's weakness for fanfiction?" The blond woman twirled her wand absently. "I still have yet to understand that one."

"Speaking of, I suspect her daughter is being hit."

"Bloody hell! If it's that filthy little Blodgett boy-"

"It is."

"Fuck it all!" Narcissa threw the bodice-ripper into a huge mirror, which shattered. "I swear, if it weren't for you and the Candyman, I'd haul off and ship Draco to Salazar's."

"Why don't you do that anyway this summer?" Severus idly picked up the novel and scanned the cover deprecatingly. "He killed Neville Longbottom's toad yesterday."

"Is that why he got his leg snapped?" Narcissa asked almost absently. "Maybe I shouldn't have had it fixed. Little shit…"

"By the way, it was not Miss Granger who broke his leg."

"Oh, I knew that. She's far too nice according to my sources."

"Your sources?" A rare smile glimmered at the sides of Severus' mouth.

"Darling, what do you think the maltreated Slytherin girls are for?" Narcissa smiled regally and picked up a disgustingly gooey object. "I've got more on you than you'd care to know about."

"What in Merlin's name are you eating?" Snape eyed the delicacy in disgust.

"Krispy Kreme donut. It's a muggle thing." Narcissa offered him the flat box, but he declined as if they had contained crunchy frogs. "I've got a box for you to take to Candyman."

"Could you have thought up a more obvious pseudonym?"

"Lucius still thinks it has to do with some Muggle film instead of being literal. Does he still like lemon drops?"

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