A/N: Sorry for the wait! I was studying for/taking the bar exam this summer, but I haven't abandoned you all. I promise! Thanks for sticking with me! Let me know what you think.

Chapter 78: Bellum Se Ipsum Alet*

5 October 1979

The Shelter

"Fidelitas supra omnia, brother."

Remus nodded into James' shoulder as he was pulled into a hug.

"Sorry I missed last month, Moony," James continued as he moved around the room, greeting Hermione and Sirius and Peter.

"No, of course." Remus couldn't help the smile of relief. "It was for the Order. I—" He gestured to Hermione. "We understand."

Hermione's smile mirrored that of her Alpha. Pack. Pack. Pack. Pup chanted in her head, giddy to have everyone together again. It wasn't the same when they were fractured. They would always be better together.

"But you're here now," she breathed, reaching out to squeeze James' shoulder as her eyes slid over to Sirius. "We've got our pack."

Peter nodded from the shadowed corner he leaned into.

The others didn't feel the full value of pack, not like Hermione and Remus did, but James and Sirius could feel something, something special. They knew that their bonds went beyond friendship, that these lycanthropes brought their own magic to the ties that held them. It was why they'd spent the last moon thinking of their friends rather than the task at hand, why they'd spent the last few days nervous they'd be called up for another mission. Pack was special. It was sacred.

But this was war, and war made no allowances.

Yet, the shadow of war seemed unable to penetrate the kitchen air. Hermione and Remus paced around like eager puppies, scenting and touching and tracking their friends as they waited for their evening walk in the moonlight. And when it was time and the change came for them both, they panted as they reshouldered their pelts, ready to play.

Moony and Pup howled and played and herded and nuzzled and cuddled and napped and nipped and chased. It was one of the nights the others would talk about far from the ears of the wolves. A night they'd remember as playful and fun, what they lived for as animagi. A night that broke their hearts, too. If only people could see—if only they could see how werewolves, given the proper space and precautions and support, weren't as dangerous as they believed.

10 October 1979

Tomes & Scrolls

"Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe!" Ben threw open the doors to Tomes & Scrolls, pulling Hermione inside and into his arms. "Hello there, Birthday Girl."

"Ben Goldstein," Hermione laughed. "It's not my birthday anymore."

"Well, I didn't get to celebrate, so we're doing it again." He led her back through the stacks to the little office where a plate of little cakes alit with candles waited for her. Hermione grinned at him. Life was lighter around Ben.

She blew out the candles and sat across the desk from him, taking a confection before pushing the plate to share with Ben. "You didn't miss much, I promise. It was casual. Sweet. Entirely uneventful."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were prying into my mysterious emergency." Ben smirked, taking a cake for himself. He flicked his wand in the air to levitate two mugs of tea their way.

"But surely you know better, right?"

"You're lucky I like you." The smile remained, but Ben set down the cake and the cup, brushing away crumbs before folding his arms on the desk.

"Oh dear," Hermione sat back, barely holding back a laugh. "I feel like I'm in detention all of a sudden. Is this quite serious?"

"Quite," Ben nodded. "But you've got to promise not to be angry with me."

"Ben…"

"It all happened so fast, and I couldn't wait and—Well, better just to get it out, right?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide as Ben held up his left hand, his left hand which now sported a shiny new golden band.

"Ben Goldstein." Her jaw dropped. "Tell me you did not get married."

Ben smiled like a niffler with a dragon's hoard. "Okay, I won't tell you."

"I—When—What—" Hermione laughed in delight. "At least tell me it was Marina—"

"She's pregnant."

"Ben!"

"I know, I know, but—" His eyes started to mist over. "I was going to propose. I was already thinking about how to do it, the ring and everything, and then she came over and… Merlin, Hermione, I thought she was leaving me. I was terrified. Ready to get on my knees and beg the woman to have mercy. And then she tells me she's pregnant, that she's—that we'rehaving a baby?"

"So you married her." Hermione reached forward to take Ben's hand, brushing a finger over his ring, feeling the faint roughness of an inscription.

"So I married her." He blinked away the mist. "Trapped her is more like it. She'll never be rid of me now." He shook his head. "She came in with this whole speech prepared about responsibility and independence and how she didn't expect anything, how she just wanted to let me know."

"Which you were having none of."

"Which I was having none of, of course. And I told her that." He waved a hand through the air. "The next bit's a bit of a blur, but it was essentially me dropping to a knee and proposing. Which led to us fighting."

"Fighting?"

"Oh yes." Ben's smile slid to a wicked smirk. "I thought it was romantic, right? Proposing right then and there? But my mind had kind of gotten stuck at the I'm pregnant part, and Marina had been focused on the I don't need your help part."

"Ah, I see." Hermione sat back, taking a sip of tea. "A classic miscommunication moment."

Ben chuckled. "You read too much."

"Pot, kettle."

"Yeah, yeah."

"So then?"

"Then?"

"The suspense, Merlin's beard. How did you go from fighting to married?"

"Well, when a man loves a woman—"

"Oh my god. Tell me the story, you idiot."

"Well after Marina said her piece about how me proposing was exactly what she didn't want—me feeling beholden to her, like I had to propose—I had to sit her down and clear up the miscommunication. I mean, she wasn't wrong, right? I did have to propose, but not because of guilt or anything. No, I told her if I didn't marry her today, it would be a month from now, or a year, but it was going to happen. And it wasn't because of guilt or responsibility or-or anything like that.

"It's like when I used to go out in the field, right? You'd want all the protections you could manage. Runic stones, charmed clothing? They'll go a long way in keeping you safe. But the best way to arm yourself is binding enchantments, actually binding the magic to your blood and bones and skin. And that's Marina. She's just—She's just pure magic. She's what I want to arm myself with in this life, and I could settle for nothing less than having her bound to my soul."

Hermione whistled. "You've been lingering in the romance section again. I hope that's exactly what you told her."

"Oh, verbatim."

"And then you got married?"

Ben laughed. "No, no, no, no. Then we fought some more. Marina took offense to being compared to an enchantment, which I pointed out was ridiculous because she's so enchanting—"

"Cheeky."

"Right? She thought so, too. But no, she came around, of course. I just needed to run the course for her. I get it, timing and all, and I've had one foot in my mouth since we've met. But I managed to whisk her off her feet and off to the Ministry, and now I'm a happily married man with a kid on the way."

"And this all happened on my birthday?"

"Well, no, she told me the day before your birthday, but we did get married on the 18th. There was a bit of an interlude between proposal and wedding." He winked.

"Ben," Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Had to make sure it stuck, didn't I?"

"Ben!"

A baby.

It had struck Hermione when she returned to the Shelter after visiting Ben.

Ben Goldstein is having a baby. He's going to be a father.

Of course, she'd known this would happen longer than she'd known him, but to be faced with the reality, now that he was her friend, was different. And not just any father, right? Anthony's father. As in Ravenclaw-Prefect-Member-of-Dumbledore's-Army-I-Know-Him Anthony.

Merlin's beard, it made her thoughts circle.

Hermione Granger, the one not caught out of time, was barely a month old. Anthony Goldstein was on his way. Surely, Ronald was too at this point? Neville even. And Harry?

And Harry?

Godric, was Lily pregnant? Did she know? They'd all been joking about a Potter baby since before the two had married, but it would soon not be a joke anymore. Had they talked about it? Were they ready? Was Hermione?

31 October 1979

A baby.

The thought was still ringing in her head as she sat in the kitchen across from Remus. They were waiting for Sirius to get home from Headquarters so they could convince him to go out for dinner. Remus had his nose stuck in a book, and Hermione was lost in her thoughts, her fingers absentmindedly spinning her charmed galleon on the table.

A baby. Harry is going to be a baby. A delicate, defenseless, vulnerable baby.

She would help protect him, obviously. It's what she'd done for practically half her life. But that was her Harry, that was a Harry that knew just as much magic as her. Okay, maybe not as much, but enough that he was able to defend himself, enough that she could trust him to take care of himself. That Harry hadn't always had all the information, but he'd always known when he was in danger. But this Harry, this baby—Merlin, the thought alone made Hermione want to vomit—he had no idea what was coming for him. And neither did his parents.

"What are you thinking about?"

Hermione looked up from where she was spinning the coin. Remus' eyes were still on his book, but his eyebrow was raised. Hermione sighed, the words spilling out with her breath. "Having a baby."

"What?" Remus looked up from his book to meet Hermione's eyes. They were wide as she stared back at him. She seemed to think for a moment on if she wanted to respond.

"I mean, do you ever think about it?"

"Do I ever think about kids?" Remus fully set aside his book.

"It's a simple question." Hermione averted her gaze. She should have known better than to bring this up with Remus.

"I don't know what you're asking." His voice had turned, in that way it did when he was shutting down an argument before it even started.

"Not—Not like that. I mean, Lily and James?" Hermione looked back at him. "With a kid? A child? A baby?"

Remus' eyes grew wide, realizing her question wasn't really directed at him. He cocked his head to side and thought for a moment. "Have they said anything?"

"I mean, no. No, no, not to me at least. I just—Ben's having a son, and I just thought—Well, I dunno. Do you ever think about them having a kid?"

"I mean, not really, but I dunno, I guess I just figured that was an obvious thing. That they'd have a whole team of kids, or just a few, or maybe just one, but yeah, yeah I guess I just assumed they'd have kids."

"Right, yeah." Hermione chewed on her lip. She pocketed her coin and looked toward the floo. Sirius should be home soon.

"Do—er, do you think about kids a lot, Pup?"

"I mean, no, but it's been on my mind a bit recently." She didn't look away from the fireplace.

Remus followed her gaze. A mottled blush stained his cheeks and he cleared his throat. "Have you talked to Sirius about it?"

"Wha—"

An arcane burst erupted from the fireplace.

"Moony! Pup! Are you there?"

The two werewolves shot to their feet and ran, skidding on the floor, to fall before the floo. James' face appeared in the flames.

"Prongs, what? What's happening? What's going on?"

Hermione's heart stumbled. "Where's Sirius? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Peter and Lily are accounted for, too, but you need to come through. Something's happened."

The world blurred around Hermione and a familiar jolt of adrenaline struck her body. James' words fell on distracted ears even as she and Remus grabbed for their wands. She reached for Remus' hand, clutching it tight before reaching for a handful of floo powder. In the moment the green flames erupted across her face, Hermione kept her eyes open against the heatless wave. It was time to go to war.

Muggle London

War wasn't what he expected. He could see that now. The bravery and strength he had felt when he'd landed on the scene beside his brother had long since abandoned him. His body ached for relief. He couldn't catch his breath or a though long enough to hold on. His throat felt raw from smoke and shouts. His face was splashed with someone else's blood.

James Potter thought he'd known what war was like. He'd dueled in school. He'd studied Grindlewald's rise. He'd trained as an auror. He thought—He thought he would be prepared. He thought he would be calm, be level-headed. He thought he would be able to make a difference. But as the sounds of battle raged on around him, as he lost sight of Sirius, as his mind raced through all it had ever known to find any spell that could help him, James Potter realized he knew nothing of the realities of war.

#0107 Bellume St.

"Make way! We've got two more coming through."

Lily shoved a potion in the hands of a witch she'd only met once before and turned on her heel, moving to one of the few remaining empty beds to prepare for the next to come through the doors of the Order's makeshift hospital wing. She wiped her hands on her pants before hitting her palms with a scourgify, wincing slightly as the spell roughly sanitized her skin. The spell echoed beside her as Hermione came to stand by her side.

"Okay?"

They hadn't spoken much at all since Hermione and Remus tumbled through the floo, getting thrown into roles just moments before hell descended on the Bellume house. Remus was in the study, trying to coordinate counter-attacks from the Order as Death Eaters wrecked havoc on muggle London. The offices of the Daily Prophet had been attacked first, and the Order had sent most of their best to help, leaving stragglers and those not trained to fight to respond when the muggle attacks started to crop up. It had been chaos. Dumbledore had gone with the first wave to the Daily Prophet and no one seemed capable of stepping up to lead in his absence. Moody directed as best he could before disappearing himself, off to aid in the fight. James had kissed Lily, promised he'd be back soon, and disapparated with Sirius. Peter had taken one look at the disheveled healer team, another at the war room, and with an expression frozen between determination and fear, he'd followed Sirius and James into the fray. Lily couldn't tell how much time had passed.

"Lily? You okay?"

She blinked back at Hermione, time rushing forward once again. She tried to breathe evenly, tried to banish the stinging of tears in her nose. She shook her head slightly. Hermione nodded back.

"Me too. But it will be okay, okay? I promise." Hermione's voice held such conviction even though it wavered slightly with the winds of panic. It held a strength that anchored Lily, that held her and settled a weight in her chest that dulled the anxiety.

"Okay."

Flames erupted from the fireplace, a sickly green lighting up the side of Lily's face.

"Help! Help! He's been hit!"

The fireplace burst open. More bodies coming through. Hermione couldn't let herself get distracted as she finished stitching up the side of an injured Order member. She tuned out the shouts, the cries, the noise of it all. Stay focused. Stay focused. One thing at a time. She felt the magic finish and finally tore herself away, off to the next injured soul.

"Peter." His name left her lips like a dying breath. Hermione reached the cot, eyes wide as she took in the broken, bleeding form of Peter Pettigrew.

"Hermione, hold his leg." Lily was already at his side, her wand waving furiously over Peter's form. "I need to save the muscle, but you need to hold him still so I don't hit his bone."

Hermione's hands fell to grip Peter's legs, her eyes never moving from his face contorted in pain. Grunt of anguish pushed out through clenched teeth as unconscious tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

"Talk to him."

Hermione blinked.

"Hermione, talk to him, please."

"I—" Hermione looked at Lily, but her gaze was focused on the shreds of ligament beneath her hands. "I—" She looked back at Peter's face, half a lifetime of memories battling in her mind. "Wormtail—" She choked. "Peter, you-you're going to be okay, okay? We're here. It's Hermione and Lily. We've got you. We're here. You've got the best healer at your side, and she's going to make sure you're okay."

Somewhere in time, a man held out his forearm for a Mark.

Somewhere in time, a man severed his right hand for his master, a jagged slice along his first tattoo.

Somewhere in time, a man cut off a finger.

Somewhere in time, a man held a shining silver dagger to the flesh of the son.

Somewhere in time, a man, wrenched from his Animagus form, begged at the feet of a frightened fourteen year old girl.

"Keep talking to him, Hermione, this bit is going to hurt."

Tears streaming down her own face, Hermione kept talking. Her heart torn in two as she looked into the face of Peter Pettigrew, a man she cared for and hated with all she had. Pup howled in her depths, pained at the vision of a pack member hurt. Hermione cringed at a whisper of sour vindication.

Peter's eyes slammed opened. His hands started to claw at the cot around him, trying to reach down to his leg. Hermione leaned as much weight as she could to hold him still. Peter's eyes found her and Lily at the foot of the bed.

"Sweet Lily… Cl-clever Hermione… you-you won't let me… help me…" His eyes rolled back in his head.

The house on Bellume Street smelled like smoke and blood. The war room was filled with people shouting, but a strong silencing charm kept the noise from reaching the little makeshift hospital. Lily Potter paced in front of the fireplace, glancing from the hearth to the clock on the wall to the door before starting again. Peter sat up in his cot, his leg bandaged and his clothes repaired. His eyes moved from Lily to Hermione, desperate to catch their eyes for just a moment of relief. Hermione stood to the side, unwilling to look at Peter even though she knew he was aching for a friend. Her feet rooted themselves to the floor as guilt pooled under a flood of worry.

A distant woosh from the other room. Hermione's eyes found Lily's and they ran out the door.

Peter Pettigrew sat in a cot in a quiet room, the air sodden with the stench of blood, potions, and flayed flesh. The other bodies in the room were silent in what he hoped was sleep. As the door slammed behind Hermione and Lily, Peter's fingers twitched at his side. Since coming to consciousness once more, he'd felt invisible. Lily had patted his cheek for but a moment before moving on to others in the room. Hermione hadn't looked at him once.

He jumped as a series of shouts and cheers drifted under the door. Sounds of victory and homecoming filtered in. Peter could pick out the familiar cadence of James and Sirius, and he closed his eyes to picture the scene.

James and Sirius would have walked in, battered and bruised but no worse for wear. Hermione and Lily would welcome them with open arms, hugging and kissing and mending their bodies and souls. Remus would peek out from the doorway to the war room, content with watching the scene play out before him until he was pulled into the fold. They would congratulate James and Sirius for a battle well-fought, clinging to their sides in an effort to prove they'd come home unscathed. Because of course they would have. Unscathed, unhurt, untouchable. Safe, strong. Loved.

Peter's skin itched. His eyes stung. He ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced at the aftertaste of solitude that lingered behind. The room around him taunted him in its silence, an endless drone of quiet. It forced him to address all the noise in his head. The fear. The doubt. The insecurities he thought he would've outgrown.

A shudder passed over his body, and something blackened in the corner of his heart.

Chapter Title Translation: *War Feeds Itself