Shadow Play

by corvusdraconis

[HG/SS] AU/AO: In this alternate timeline, Albus Dumbledore uses old research that he and Grindelwald came up with to craft the ultimate weapon to collect power and rid himself of enemies. His first two experiments failed him. His third did not—but what happens when it comes time to pay the piper? Who will rise, and who will fall? Not canon. NOPE! M to be safe. COMPLETE

2. Chapter 2: Coming Home

A/N: I had meant for Shadow Play to be a one-shot, but that didn't quite work out. It never does. Onward to chapter 2!

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

Warning: Citrus fruit

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Shadow Play

Chapter 2: Home

There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. - Charles Dickens

-Hermione-

Nothing is more nerve wrecking than standing in your Muggle parent's garden with a team of agents who didn't exactly have a great grasp of current Muggle fashion. The hat Agent Jenkins was wearing looked like he'd borrowed it from the sixties, and his vest was tweed and utterly atrocious. Severus and I were wearing our standard high-collared black on black due to cranky tentacles that didn't always want to lay and and stay down. Thankfully, both of us had the glamour potion on, so we didn't scare some poor random Muggle to death. Our shadows were behaving, as much as they were able, doing their best to imitate that of an ordinary human as possible. Nothing quite defeated the point of a good glamour when your shadow looked like something Cthulhu dreamed up.

Peterson was being a total grump. Someone had woken him up before he was ready, and the others were pestering him because they believed he was never ready no matter what time it was. He was suspiciously poking my mum's favourite rosebush with his finger as if he expected it to come alive and try to eat someone. I think most magical people think that way. You get used to everything having some sort of life if its own so when you come into the Muggle side of things, it's hard to accept that the holes in the garden came from ordinary animals and not gnomes. There wasn't a thestral eating the garden flowers, it was aphids, and the rose bush was just a rose bush, not a man-eating hyperactive fanged rose mutant that got away from a Wizarding greenhouse.

Alastor smacked Peterson's hand. "Stop it," he groused.

Ah, Moody could out-grump Peterson with one eye and his hands tied behind his back. He'd become especially more grumpy after some raging Death Eater shoved him into a box and harvested his hair for Polyjuice. I can't imagine why that would have bothered him. Not at all.

My whiskers tweaked my ears, reminding me that sarcasm did me no service they couldn't do better. Severus' whiskers also tweaked my ears, reminding me that he could do sarcasm better than anyone. They were probably right. His whiskers may even have one up on him in the sarcasm department, but I wasn't going to say anything.

It had taken almost an hour to convince the gargoyle pups that staying home or (gods forbid) going back home to Paris was safer and better for them. Instead, they compromised by staying home with Crookshanks. Crooks took everything in stride, and he even managed to bag himself a salmon from somewhere. Bastion popped in to check on us all, and he joked that they were going to have to move some other gargoyles over to make it a proper clan affair. I wasn't really sure if he was joking or not. I suppose I'll know when I go back home and find it has been expanded.

Knowing Amelia in the little time I had to get to know her, she'd have gleefully expanded our quarters if it meant the possibility of permanent gargoyles on the grounds. Knowing Bastion, he was always looking for new places to expand his people's territories. I might as well resign myself to the fact I would always be coming home to gargoyles being around. I didn't mind, though. They really had grown on me. They'd grown on Severus too.

The one he called Bamf loved to hitch rides on his back and play with his tentacles, and his tentacles would play right back. Whatever name the pup had before being nicknamed, he wasn't telling. Bamf loved his nickname and wouldn't respond to anything else—well, except for a growl from bio-mum, who would come to visit on occasion. We've all been in that situation where we prefer to be called something and yet our parents still insist on calling us whatever they've been calling you the last few decades.

As the door to my parent's house opened, my mum's eyes went wide as she saw me and she flung her arms around me and squeezed the stuffing out of me. She didn't even seem to care that we had an audience, and all of them were people she didn't know.

"Hermione!" she gushed. "They said you were dead!"

My father's frantic footsteps thudded down the stairs as he practically flung himself into me in a lung-crushing, oxygen depriving hug, and I knew that rumours of my death had reached my poor parents faster than I'd anticipated. Though, why they thought I was dead and not just missing caused my whiskers to itch.

"How did you find out?" I wheezed. My father released me from his attempt to imitate the Venomous Tentacula so I could breathe. Thanks, dad.

"Your headmaster delivered the message with his condolences," my father said, and I could the strain in both my parent's faces. They had been grieving my death. "Please, come in. Come in. I suppose you have a story to tell, and your friends look all business."

Introductions took a while. I let Alastor do most of it as I concentrated on memorising the feel of my parent's arms around me. Sure, they didn't know what I really looked like, but they didn't care. I was still their strangely gifted, magical daughter that had just come back to life. The fact that Dumbledore had come personally to deliver the message of my death told me two things: one, he was an insidious bastard, and two, he had fully sent me out to meet my death with Severus. There was a third thing in there: my parents had to be moved as quickly as possible. He'd already visited them to deliver that news and perhaps confirm that I hadn't somehow survived and stopped in. I was, despite worrying my parents, glad that I had taken a few extra days to settle everything with Alastor and Amelia as well as the gargoyle pups. It had kept the old man from realising that I had survived my intended murder.

My father was not an idiot, and he realised that there was something wrong the moment he finished processing the fact that I was very much alive. He knew before Alastor even said they were in danger. Despite his gruff exterior, Alastor did well with explanations involving convincing someone of imminent danger. He knew what real danger was, and he had no issue describing it in horrible, intimate detail.

Thankfully, however, he wasn't doing that. He was actually being quite understanding. Maybe it was because he'd just lost and regained a daughter of sorts in me—as well as realised that the man everyone thought was a swell, upstanding guy was not such a wonderful a person, after all. He'd deliberately mutated a twelve-year-old girl, and a guy who was on the cusp of becoming a young Death Eater. I could be wrong, but I was pretty sure that those things didn't equal "swell, upstanding guy." I was probably biased though. I had to count the votes for all of my tentacles and my shadow, possibly all of my whiskers too. That's a lot of votes.

Good thing I'm in a good relationship with all of my body parts. Having an argument would keep me occupied for several days. I'm sure my parents would have serious questions for me if having a discussion with any of my own body parts on a literal level were ever to happen in front of them. I found it quite comforting, strangely, never being alone. Merlin knew that I had been really lacking in the friends department during my "schooling years."

Thinking of school made me wonder what the Troublesome Trio was up to. They, too, were victims of a sort in the mess that was Dumbledore's plans. I tried to form an unbiased opinion about Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Ginevra Weasley and my brain sort of stalled, clutched its grey matter, and went into arrest. My father would say that brains don't go into arrest, Hermione, that is for hearts, but I'm telling you my brain went into arrest just thinking about them. What were they up to? Did they survive their first night? Did they have enough supplies? Food? Did they know the shielding and area wards?

Hell, did they get along enough not to kill each other while… doing whatever they were doing? Damned if I knew. None of us knew anything. I'd been sent to my death at Severus' hands. He'd been sent to his death by Fenrir and my hands. None of us knew anything.

"Let me get this right," my father said slowly. "There is a war going on, and somehow my daughter is a key target. And we—need to move into some sort of witness protection programme?"

"And if we don't," my mother whispered, "they will use us to get to her?"

"You've already seen what these people are willing to do," Alastor said, sipping the tea my mum compulsively made and distributed to every single person in the room. "They were willing to kill her. The fact is you're still alive because they think she's dead."

Hearing Alastor saying it out loud caused my tentacles to shift uneasily and wriggle on my back. I was coming to terms with the fact that my parents would have to be moved somewhere far away, and for their protection I wouldn't be able to visit them until everything was finally done. How long that would take, I had no idea. It's not like you planned out wars to the minute. "Okay, folks. We have a war to win. It has to all be over by midnight on July 23. I have to be at my mother's birthday party in the morning. So let's get to it!"

Yeah, I didn't see that happening.

"How long?" My mother said, asking what any logical person would ask, the prospect of war aside.

Alastor hesitated, perhaps wondering which truth was most appropriate at the moment.

I broke my self-imposed silence. "I don't know, mum," I said truthfully. "All I know is that I want you to be safe. I need you to be safe. I know what is lurking out there, and I know they'll do anything to get any edge they can. They don't care what you know or don't know. They care that you're my parents, and that you are the most effective way to get to me."

"Why are you so important, Hermione?" mum asked, wringing her hands. "Why is our baby in a war?"

"It's not just me, mum," I said truthfully. "There are some families that are fighting a good fight, but they can fight." My parents weren't magical. That fact hung in the air between us. They could never know what danger they were in because to them, magic was something intangible. Their daughter could do amazing things, but for all they knew I was just good at slight of hand and special effects.

My parents couldn't just pick up a firearm and make Voldemort go away, not that I wanted them too. My parents were pacifists. They were more likely to protest like Ghandi than even consider violence. The worse violence they were capable of was attacking someone's mouth with a root canal—or that time my father smacked my rear end for walking out in the street without looking both ways. He'd been really upset, to be fair, and he'd held me tight afterwards as I cried all over him.

"Where will you being moving us? How will you finish school?" my father asked. "Will we have to register you to a different school?"

That's my dad, always thinking of my education. "I'm already an adult in the Wizarding world, dad. I sat my final exams too." Years ago, but he didn't need to know that. "I have a job at the Ministry and everything."

"You—" mum's voice trembled and then she smiled. "That's our girl. Always so responsible."

"Do you have anyone outside of England that you can contact and stay with for an extended period of time?" Alastor asked. "Someone who does not share the Granger name in any way? It is essential that you do not use or mention the name Granger after this. Names… can still be traced. Say them, and it will alert someone."

Mum's eyes widened fearfully. She had always been one of those people who didn't like the Crown getting into her business. I'd always envisioned my parents are the laid back hippie couple—hippies with dental tools. "There is my cousin, Gemma. She married into the Douglas family. She's in Australia, and she's been wanting us to move there for years."

"They really do need more dentists," my father said thoughtfully. "They always had such silly nicknames for us. They never called us by our last name anyway."

"Angel," mum said, shaking her head.

"Davy," father muttered.

Wow, and I thought Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe had names that boggled my mind. I never thought of my mum and dad as anything but, well, mum and dad. Hell, I didn't even know my parents had first names for the first decade of my life. Correction, I thought my parents had the same first name. "Doctor."

I figured it out eventually. I was bright like that.

"Will you be able to see us?" My mum was looking at me a little desperately.

The truth was, thanks to the glamour and a rather extensive skill set, I could probably visit them without any incident, but whether that was wise or even allowable was not my call to make. I looked to Alastor for some sort of lifeline.

"Occasionally, when it's safe," Moody said, saving me. "But it will not be very often, I'm afraid. I'm sure you can understand why. We will, our office that is, check on you regularly. Give you updates so you won't be left in the dark. Will that be acceptable?"

Father squeezed mum's hand tightly. "I don't like it," he said after a while. "I don't like war. I don't like like my child being in danger when I can't do anything about it, but I know I can't shield you from the world forever as much as I wanted to." He stared at me, brows furrowing. "But at least it's not like your dream, love. Our baby wasn't turned into a monstrous beast meant to hang out on the top of cathedrals."

I choked on my tea. Severus patted me gently on the back, trying to both be comforting and not show that he was as discomfited as I was that my mother had had a dream about me becoming a monstrous beast.

"It was just a silly little dream," mum said, embarrassed. "I dreamed you fell into a room of eggs and befriended a bunch of gargoyles that talked."

Was my eye twitching? It felt like it was. I tried in vain to squeeze myself into my teacup and disappear. I loathed Divination class. I loathed anything to do with it, yet here was my loving mum having dreams that her baby turned into a monster and crash landed in a room full of newly hatched gargoyles.

"It was so real, though," mum said with a sigh. "You met this tall, taciturn man who really needed a dentist, but he cared for you very much, and you had such beautiful babies."

"MOTHER!" I hissed.

My mum, unabashed, grinned at me. "A mother can dream right? I do eventually want to see you have my grandbabies."

"Can I just," I protested, "try to survive the war first?"

She held my hand tightly. "Don't wait for love, darling. When you find it, hold on tight. Love does not always come when it is convenient. Take your father and I. We met during a war protest at a Beatles concert."

I knew it! My parents were pacifist hippies!

"Actually, the man in my dream quite looked a lot like your dark-haired friend here. Tall, dark-haired, and rather silent. Perhaps there is something between you two?"

"MUM!"

My mother was not exactly the most tactful person in the world when it came to affairs of the heart. She'd tried to convince me that Guy Brodies had a crush on me in fifth grade. I'd told her she was nutters.

"Leave the poor girl alone, love," my father tutted. "She'll find someone eventually."

"I'm not getting any younger!" my mum protested as if she was the one who would have to carry the child and not me. What the hell was I thinking? Turn that train around right now, missy. No babies for you unless you can hatch them from an egg outside of your body.

Oh, Merlin. Please do not take that literally. I slammed by fist into the wood table, muttering, "it shall not be set in stone" three times in succession.

You've touched a gargoyle. Who knows what gifts that gave your monstrous biology? the voice in my head whispered.

Shut it! I do not need to deal with this right now!

Admit it, you'd rather be cuddling under his impressive wings!

Well, yes, but—DAMNIT!

I needed a hug, preferably from someone with the same Lovecraftian social graces. Hrm, wherever would I find that?

It was funny, all this time I had thought that the magic in my Muggle family was traced back to an Erasmus Granger in my father's line, but maybe my mum's family had something too. Sure, her premonitions were usually about me, but they were real more often than a certain Sybill Trelawney's was. I was still the dreaded Muggle-born witch, but at least it proved that magic wasn't born entirely in a vacuum of randomness. Unless some barmy old coot tampers with your DNA and turns you into a magic-sucking battery, but I digress.

"We'd love you anyway, you know," mum said suddenly, grasping my hands and squeezing them tight. "Even if you looked like a monster. I saw it in my dream, but—you were still my Hermione."

I let her hug me tight because she needed it. Dad needed it. Hell, I needed it. Amelia and Alastor would take care of the details, and they would be okay. That was what mattered, but I couldn't help but feel glad that they were understanding that it had to be done, and despite their want to cradle me to their bosom forever and protect me from the world, they realised that their baby had grown up and made her own life choices.

I hoped they knew I wanted to do them proud, even if they didn't know the magical world.

"We're so proud of you," my father said, hugging me tight.

I let out a soft sob and clung to him, treasuring them both for what they were and what they had always been. They may not have understood, and they didn't claim to, but they loved me anyway. Many didn't have that luxury.

"Hrm, so who are you, young man?" my mum asked, staring up at Severus with no fear at all. "Do you fancy my daughter? Do you work together? What do you do for a living?"

Severus paled a little. "Severus. Who wouldn't? Yes. I—" He swallowed hard and tugged on his collar. "I work at the Ministry. My job is… similar to that of the Secret Intelligence Service, or M16."

"Damage Control," Moody offered.

My father nudged his wife in the ribs. "Stop it, interrogating would-be suitors is my job, woman."

To his credit, Severus didn't Disapparate immediately on the spot. That earned him serious brownie points with me.

Mum beamed. "So, he's a suitor?" she asked with pure mischief in her eyes. "Mmmm, government job. That's high paying too."

Dear Merlin, please save me from my own mother. My tentacles were hiding fearfully under my collar, and rightfully so. My mother was a scary creature that conquered the baddies that hid in the dark for her child times uncountable. I wondered what would happen if she ever met the gargoyle pups. Would they fear her? Or love on her mercilessly? Hell, what would SHE do?

Alastor was looking mighty smug over there as he was sipping his tea. Maybe it was because Alastor didn't need to ask any questions anymore. He'd been through all the memories. I was thankful for that, because I really didn't need any grief from both dads. One dad interrogating people I knew was enough. One mum doing the same was more than enough. Argh!

"Partners, hrm?" Dad said, getting into the act. "I feel as though I should question your intentions, threaten to pull out all your teeth without the luxury of anesthesia should you ever hurt her, and bury you in sand, slather your head with honey, and leave you to the fire ants should you even consider doing so."

So much for my father being a confirmed pacifist. I guess when his daughter's happiness is on the line, all bets are off.

Severus looked really uncomfortable, but he straightened his shoulders as all eyes turned to him. "Mr Granger, I respect your daughter, which isn't to say I would never hurt her. But I would never, ever intentionally hurt her. Far be it from me to state the obvious—she would end me before I could. She is an exceptionally capable, strong individual, and she sees things in people that even we cannot see in ourselves. She sees the good and the bad, and she somehow does not judge save for action and deed over hearsay and rumour. It is because of that I am alive today, and I would never, ever wish to dishonour her by making light of it. There are many who claim they would die for a person, but I will not. I will say that I would live for her, and that is something I have felt for no one else."

My father stared into Severus, and I found myself sweating on his behalf. I'd never "brought home a boy" before, and now I seemed to be making up for lost time by bringing home a wizard instead—a wizard who was definitely not a boy. He held out his hand. "Well then. I trust you will take excellent care of her while we are in Australia, hrm?"

Severus slowly clasped my father's outstretched hand. "As best as I am able," he replied firmly to my father.

My father smiled. "Maybe there is something to your dreams after all, love," he said to my mother.

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-Severus-

"Did you mean that back there?" Hermione asked as she leaned into my shoulder. Her tail had slipped under my robes and corkscrewed around mine. I knew she was asking because she her track record in normal relationships had been seriously skewed. No matter what others told her or even what her heart was telling her, she wanted to hear it from me. I could relate.

"Every word," I replied, listening to the garden sounds. "Does this frighten you?" We hadn't exactly had a normal relationship, even by Wizarding standards—hell even by Muggle standards. It was one thing to be told by group of ancient, soul-reading gargoyles that you were compatible, but belief could only come with hundreds of small things like the soft press of her against my shoulder and the velvet soft entrapment of her tail with mine. Normal people would have probably held hands, but then we'd have to put down our tea glasses.

"I find it comforting, scary, but," Hermione said, sipping her tea, "I'm grateful. I wonder, though, had we met like normal people do—if I had been the same age, the same time—would we have had that connection. The pull."

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "All I know is the here and now. I will be honest that you probably wouldn't have found me very redeemable in my teen years."

"Such anger and hate was not born in a vacuum," she said after a while. "I would like to think if you'd had something less traumatic things could have been different."

I pressed my nose into her curls, drawing her close to me as I savoured the very touch of every strand of her hair against my skin. "And if that meant having never met you in a way that lead to this, I am not sure I would make that choice."

"Even if it meant having a happier life?"

"My mistakes make me appreciate what I have, even though it is painfully hard to believe it is real—that I could even have such a thing," I confessed.

I felt her tail reflexively tighten around mine, almost as if she was afraid I would slip away and vanish. We were both such a pair, such insecure monsters. We were what people feared in the dark, but we were afraid. We were afraid that finding happiness was something fleeting and illusory. Being a monster seemed so simple. Being human was torture.

We had fast-tracked a relationship due to our unorthodox shadow-induced trip through memory lane, and I realised that it could have gone either way. Either we became closer because of it, or we would run screaming from each other. Fortunately, for both of us, we ran towards each other instead of away.

"Daddy said he's going to let Alastor handle the house," she said thoughtfully. "They are going to put it under some charms to make it a lot like Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It will just disappear from everyone's memory until it's safe for them to move back."

"Sans the Dark magic traps and screaming portraits of your relatives?" I asked.

Hermione snorted, beating her head against my shoulder. She sighed wistfully. "I was so worried we'd have to, have to—"

"Obliviate them?"

Hermione turned to me, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Yes."

I brushed my thumb against her skin and pressed my lips to her forehead. "They are wonderful people with kind hearts and scary threats to potential suitors."

Hermione choked on a laugh, her arms snaking around my neck and pulling me over her. It felt strange not having wings to wrap around her, tentacles to get entangled with hers—even though our tails had figured out how to manifest without the rest. It was so new, missing my more monstrous self just so I could enfold her as completely as I wished. Nervously, I wrapped her in my arms, unsure of my own body like a nubile teenager with absolutely no experience at all. Instinct warred with the human mind as I pressed my teeth to her neck, my nostrils flaring as I imprinted her scent deep into my psyche—the scent of Amortentia. I wanted to breathe her in forever, run my hands over every curve of her skin, and feel her heartbeat against me.

Nothing in my sordid past could have prepared me for how tender I wanted to be—how protective I was. Lucius had taken me to various places to "get over Lily" but that had been purely physical. There had never been an emotional connection. My feelings for Lily hadn't been anything like this.

"Severus," she whispered, her voice trembling.

The very sound of my name on her lips brought me almost to tears. I'd never wanted to hear my name so badly from anyone. Every syllable was like a siren's song, calling me to her. Her fingers were exploring my face and my hair, her warm breath tickling my skin. I knew I would cross land and sea and the very fires of damnation to answer her call.

"Please," she breathed against my ear. "Touch me."

"In your parent's garden?" I managed to say, struggling to remain coherent.

"They're not here to notice," she said, her voice desperate and sad. I knew that in that moment all of her memories of this place had been of them, and they were gone, whisked away to a safe-house so they could get the paperwork to make a new life in Australia, leaving her with memories of the old and none of the new. She wanted new memories. She wanted them here—with me.

With me.

"Sev, do you ever think I'll find someone?" Lily had asked.

I remember wrinkling my nose at the thought. "You can find someone any old time of the day, Lily. Whether you will find someone that is truly meant for you is anyone's guest."

"Sev, can't you be positive for once? Give me something happy to think on?" She had pouted at me. "I want to live the dream. Is that so bad?"

"Depends on the dream," I had replied.

"Ughhh! Sev!" She had swatted me.

Lily had been one positive bright spot in my life until the day she had enough of me. Even saints had their breaking point, I'd imagine, though I never considered her a saint. She'd been right about some things; that was the thing about half-truths. Half-truths hurt more because the part of your brain that latches onto the truth takes the rest of it like extra baggage—down, down into the depths of your tortured soul.

She had taught me one important lesson… well, a few actually. One, there is always the one thing that breaks the Thestral's back. Two, forgiveness is great on paper, but sometimes that paper burns leaving your with nothing but cold ashes. Three, sometimes memories of someone are the only positive things you have left. Sometimes, people die before you can make up or grow up. Our friendship, despite its flaws, had served to to bring a little peace to my life for a time, and I had paid for it with a lack of peace to my life ever since the day Lily had died. Until now.

I pressed my forehead against hers and forced myself to be sure. I didn't want there to be any misunderstanding on my or her part. "Are you sure this is what you want? Once I cross this line, I do not think I will be able to return to what I once thought to be… normal." There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and if I took that final step, I would find out if it was freedom or a mere illusion like water shimmering on a desert horizon. I knew myself well enough that there were only two outcomes.I would hold onto her tightly and never let go or I would close the door and walk away, turning my cheek and willing my heart to stone. I couldn't do casual—not with her.

It was already too late. I had already had powerful feelings for her. I wasn't even sure if I could be just friends with her after everything we had shared. If she turned me down—if she only wanted a little physical comfort—it would break something in me. It wouldn't even be her fault. I just knew I was wired for one, and I desperately wanted it to be her.

Hermione's eyes met mine, and I saw her naked vulnerability as she stood on the edge of the abyss. "What I want is selfish," she said quietly. She pulled away from me, averting her eyes as she pulled her robe around to her chest in a maneuver I knew well as I did it almost every day. Her tail unraveled from mine so slowly and painfully that I wanted to take back my question, grovel, anything to make that chasm that was forming between us stop.

She looked up to the clouds passing over the moon. "I want the dream. I want someone whose gaze never lingers on another any longer than it takes him to dismiss them. I want to feel safe. I want someone that knows I'm not perfect but desires me anyway. Someone who doesn't mind sitting in a library reading for hours and saying absolutely nothing and it being a great day. I want scintillating conversation that makes my hair stand on end as I argue my point and he his, but in the end we can still agree to disagree. I want them to be okay with the fact I come with a half-Kneazle and about two dozen gargoyle pups that call me mum."

Hermione closed her eyes. "I want warm wings to cuddle under, the scent of dragon's blood mixed with earth and blackberries on his skin. I want to shiver as he growls at some young upstart who is trying to make a move on what is his. I want to be someone's everything and have them know they are mine. I know it won't ever be completely perfect, but I want go to sleep and wake up knowing it's pretty damn close." She huffed. "I want him to be able to reach the top shelf and be okay with picking the jar of agrimony off it for me because I'm short and all of my tentacles are sleeping."

I let out my breath slowly. "I should have known you wouldn't be the kind of witch who has a short, fluffy list of impossible goals."

"It's a long, fluffy list of nigh-impossible goals," Hermione whispered. "Purposely sabotaged so it could never be obtained, so I could never be in a position to be hurt."

"Hrm, well," I said, unfolding one wing and curving it around her gently. "Look, warm wings."

I pressed my face into her curls. "I happen to like reading, and I seem to be tall enough to reach the agrimony off the top shelf for you."

I curled my tail around hers, pulling it closer to us both. "I happen to have experience with obnoxiously cute gargoyle pups and a bright orange beast that may or not be a real half-Kneazle or a feline god."

I brushed my hand against her cheek, pulling her face to to look at me. "I am a possessive man, Hermione. I do not share. I will never be the kind of man who takes kindly to another man flirting with another man's mate. I would probably do horrible things to them. I would also enjoy it."

Hermione stared up at me. "Severus—"

"My question to you, Hermione," I said, watching her eyes fluttered as I said her name. Oh, how I loved the way it affected her. "What do I smell like to you?"

Hermione flinched, turning her head.

"Hermione," I rumbled.

"Warm earth," she replied.

I tugged her chin over and pulled it up until she was shyly looking at me. "And?"

"Dragon's blood and blackberries."

"Hrm, imagine that." I lowered my head, the tip of my nose brushing lightly against hers. "And do you know what my Amortentia smelled like back when I was sixteen and convinced it was nothing but a load of rubbish?"

Hermione flushed. "Spring flowers and candy rainbows?"

I snorted. "Something vaguely spicy, like warm fur, fresh earth, and tea with a hint of peach. And do you know who happens to smell just like that?"

"Minerva?" Hermione squeaked.

I growled, pinning her wrists against the loamy earth of the garden. "You," I purred into her mouth, my lips brushing against hers with agonising slowness. "Say you want me, Hermione, and I will live for you and only you until the moment I take my last breath."

"Hmmmmmmmmmm!" The sound of humming came from the nearby bushes.

"Come on!"

"Answer him!"

Multiple sets of shining, glowing gargoyle eyes peeked out from the rose bushes.

Pop.

The elder gargoyle appeared and glowered at the pups. "Back to bed!"

"Awwww, they're so close!"

"Can't we watch?"

"Please?"

I was never going to get Hermione's confession of affection of any kind because she was going to die of mortification right there in front of me. Only about a decade plus of practicing Occlumency as a means of protecting my life kept me from showing what my mind wanted to do, which was grab Hermione and Disapparate some place so obscure that it would take the pups considerable time to triangulate our new location.

Hermione took in a deep breath, squared her shoulders firmly, snaked her arms around my neck, and pulled me down to her level, making me lurch somewhat as my sense of balance went flying away. "I want you, Severus. So much that it's painful. So much that it scares me. With you I want to believe anything is possible."

"Mmm, that's a good start," Bastion said, nipping his pups on the rump. "Back to the rookery with the lot of you!"

Pop. Poppop. Pop!

"Have a glorious evening," the elder said, glowing eyes seeming to flicker like distant stars.

Pop!

He disappeared as well.

Hermione let out her breath slowly. "I told you I come with baggage."

I smiled slightly, running my fingers through her curls. "I want the entire package," I said. "Kneazle beast, gargoyle pups, and one she-beast whose eyes look only to me."

"Severus," she whispered.

I saw in her face such warmth and fear all rolled in one. I pressed my mouth to hers, capturing her lips as my tongue attempted to open parlay by running across her bottom lip. Our kiss deepened with a mutual groan caught us both up. I managed to maintain just enough control to grasp my wand and cast a Disillusion charm, Muffliato, and the one charm I never thought I'd ever need to use: the mass-debuttoner charm. Correction—I never thought I'd be using it in THIS situation.

My hands drifted down the curves of her body as I helped relieve her of her concealing robes, and she was doing much the same for me thanks to my well-placed charm. Had I not taken care of that issue, she'd probably be cursing my robes for being as restrictive as the Muggle Alcatraz, and maybe she wouldn't have been so wrong.

I saw the look of wonder in her eyes as she looked at me. There was no trace whatsoever of horror or disgust. There was heat and desire, need, and a hunger, and I wanted to be the one to sate every one.. I latched onto her neck, my teeth pressing into her skin as I sucked just enough to cause her to buck against me, her hands clawing my back as she made a soft mewling sound that unraveled me completely.

Hermione.

I felt our bodies slide together in an attempt to merge completely. Closer. Closer. Closer!

I felt the sting of sharper teeth in my mouth as my tongue ran across my elongated canines and grasped her neck with my teeth with my need and rising possessiveness. She didn't struggle, no. She yielded to the mark of my teeth against her skin, breathing my name like a mantra that called me Home.

Home was her.

It would always be her. Now and forevermore.

I fell into her arms as our passions met and burst into flame, the all-consuming blackness of our mutual need carrying us into each other's minds, bodies, and souls.

At last.

I was Home.

---

-Hermione-

My eyes opened with protest, complaining that they weren't ready for any additional abuse. I was surrounded in the secure embrace of tangled arms and drowsy tentacles, all of which were not inclined to give me up for anyone or anything. Warmth of wings cradled me close, and it was enough to elicit a purr from me without even trying. The scent of warm earth, dragon's blood incense, and blackberries was intoxicating.

His scent.

A mate. My mate—at last.

I hadn't lied the night before. I had very carefully constructed my dream partner to be far too perfect to be true, or so I had thought. I had truly believed that if such things existed, they were only to be found in a fantasy world. How could I have believed there would be another like me? How could I have known such a thing was even possible?

When I had made my first monstrous transformation, I had come to accept that I would be the crazy Kneazle lady living alone on a mountain top somewhere with fifty Kneazles, an enormous library, and a rocking chair—provided I survived the war. Kneazles didn't care what I looked like, only what was on the inside. They, much like gargoyles, had different ways of weighing a person's worth. Yet, from the moment my shadow had brushed against his, something had irrevocably changed. Possibility had somehow become tangible. Suddenly, the dream had become obtainable. My enemy became my ally. He had wings. He enjoyed the library. He could accept what I was and all my flaws because he had been through the gauntlet as assuredly as I had.

We both had our long list of flaws to go with our strengths, but it was okay. We understood. Perfection wasn't required. Insecurity was expected. It was as close to normal as two wizard-made monsters could be, and perhaps, if one believed in such things some other hand had guided another into a perfection mortals could not fathom.

How else could something so random and chimaeric have struck twice, a seeming impossibility that would bring us together so perfectly? Surely not by Dumbledore's design. If anything, he may have realised that us coming together was a potentially messy mistake in his plan, hence his decision to send us after each other like two warheads from opposing teams. Had he known? Or was it just a convenient way to dispose of us?

My ears flicked as I homed in on the various Muggle sounds around us from the passing of distant cars to the giggling of small children somewhere down the road. The privacy fences between gardens had always been annoying to me as a child. It was hard to be social through a solid fence. Yet, I was never more glad of it at this moment, Disillusionment spells aside. Having made love over every solid place in my parent's garden, I should be blushing and mortified. But, I couldn't help but feel a certain relief that I had something positive in the here and now anchored to my memory of this place. I just hope mum didn't have some sort of prophetic dream about us consummating our bond as mates near her favourite flowerbed. I wasn't telling, that was for sure.

I did wonder if my mother was truly a seer or if she had some especially tenacious connection to her child that gave her a rather intimate window into my life. If that was true, I wasn't even sure how to apologise for what that would seem like to an outsider.

Severus' breath tickled my neck, and I groaned as his teeth followed after, nibbling my skin with soft suction that sent jolts of electric bliss through every nerve. Was this normal? Is this why Harry and Ginny were always off hiding in random broom closets and coming back smelling of sex and sweat? To be fair it wasn't just them. Many, many couples had occupied many, many closets, and I think that is why Argus Filch was so grumpy all of the time. Hell, I think that was why all the professors that were on patrol were grumpy whenever they found people in closets, empty classrooms, Quidditch changing rooms and the infamous Astronomy Tower. Can I admit to feeling a little smug satisfaction whenever Professor Snape caught some poor shmucks shagging each other in a place they thought so private and new?

Sorry, kids. One, your professors aren't idiots. Two, you suck at silencing charms. It was actually a miracle more witches weren't pregnant, considering most of them were entirely too self-conscious to ask Poppy for a vial of contraceptive potion. It was free, for Merlin's sake, but people always seem to make excuses. Knowing the Weasleys' propensity to pop out children just by looking at someone sexually… I wondered if Ginny was already pregnant and that was why she "had" to go with Harry on his journey into the bowels of a secret mission.

Ron had already gotten Lavender Brown pregnant, but she'd miscarried due to a broom accident. He had dodged a big bullet there, as no one had known she was pregnant until Poppy had examined her after her accident to reveal the bad news.

Was that why so few pregnancies actually went to term? High risk Wizarding adolescence? Potions fumes? Broom accidents? Kicked by a hippogriff? Being transfigured into something by accident?

I'd studied Potions long enough to know that the ingredients in the contraceptive potion was specifically balanced to make sure it was not only safe to take long term but it wouldn't affect a pregnancy already conceived. It would prevent one from being so, but it wasn't abortive. But, you only had to take it once a month, right after you bled, and you were golden. I'd never taken it because—monster. No one was going to want to shag me in a broom closet, and I wasn't offering either.

But Severus—holy moley. He made my toes curl with the rumble of his voice and the mere touch of his breath on my skin. He was molten sex wrapped in a blanket of gimmie, and I could barely keep my hands off him after last night. The only reason I wasn't at this moment was that my arms were securely pinned to his back by his blissed out tentacles.

They had their fun too, after all, and I think our shadows were passed out under the peach trees. What can I say, the mating bond was a team sport. Most of the damage we had done to mum's poor garden would grow back, and the rest would be solved with a little TLC, sandpaper, and wood putty. Alastor had said something about putting a house-elf on the place to take care of maintenance while my parents were gone, and I privately thanked him for the foresight.

My body was twitching with pure pleasure as Severus demonstrated just how much he had learned over the night about what made me absolutely mad for him. I'd learned a few things too, but most of them required hands, and he wasn't letting me move at the moment. He was enjoying the tremble of my body against his, judging by the deep, rumbling purr my cries were invoking in him.

"Severus," I moaned.

"Hrrrrrrmione," he rumbled into my ear, making my eyes roll back in my head with overwhelming desire. Merlin, was this normal? Was it his superpower? Why did he not have women banging down his door and throwing themselves at his feet just so he could say their name like that? What if they found out? Would I have to fight back rampaging hordes of witches who wanted to throw themselves down on him and beg to have his babies?

"I love the look on your face," he said, rubbing his cheek against mine. His breath tickled my temples.

"The I'm going to kill you if you stop expression?" I muttered, breathless.

A smile, genuine and pure, replaced the normal frown his lips so commonly found themselves in. He looked decades younger with just that one change. Unlike me, he'd seen his human face long enough and grown into it that he had a very distinct, stable human self-image. I, on the other paw, saw myself as a monster first and a human lost in translation. But to see his face light up with such unspoken emotion—it was like whole new world.

His mental image of me was wonderfully alien—both a shining witch with riotous curls with sun blazing behind her and the Lovecraftian she-beast, with the moon rising behind her as she dominated the skies with a train of gargoyle pups chasing her like a line of monstrous goslings. Whatever I truly was didn't seem to matter in the slightest. To him—I was perfect.

And when I saw that tender, needful smile on his face, he was perfect. His high, shallow cheekbones, dark eyes, aquiline nose, and even how his hair fell about his face like curtains was him, and therefore it was all I wanted. Even the stain of his teeth that I had joked he had sucked on tea bags directly in order to get such a colour—even that didn't matter.

"She was such a fool," I breathed, my hands having freed themselves to explore every contour of his face, desperate to memorise every line, curve, and texture. I watched as his brows furrowed as he tried to understand what I was saying. "More for me," I said, pressing my lips to his, drinking him in.

It was his turn to groan, and his mouth opened to mine, giving me permission to do whatever I desired and more. Don't mind if I do, thank you! I slid my tongue in, seeking his and finding it eagerly awaiting me. Perhaps it was sentient like our tentacle friends; I don't know, but the sensation as his tongue met mine drove away any and all doubts that he might have second thoughts about his attraction to me.

Suddenly, I was on my back, my wrists held above my head, and his mouth moved lower towards my breast. The moment his heat enveloped my waiting nipple, I bucked wildly, growling, twisting, and writhing under his touch. His thumb ran across my other breast, and I cried out, whimpering, pleading, wanting him everywhere but especially lower. Oh, so much lower.

"Please," I gasped.

Something flickered across his dark eyes, some emotion I couldn't quite read, and then I realised what it was. Disbelief, no awe.

"Please, Severus," I breathed. "I want you." I saw Lily in his eyes—the memory of her. I saw what was his only memory of kindness slip away to be replaced with something primal.

His teeth were on my neck as he buried himself within me. We moved together frantically, my hands clawing and moving across his back, as my whimpering changed into a gasping, howling cry. My vision was blanking into white—shining so bright that closing my eyes did nothing. My hips moved with his in synchronisation, pushing ourselves to the edge of what seemed all the world to be purity. There was a howling in my ears, and I felt a scream building in my throat.

Suddenly, the floodgates broke, and I was screaming. His mouth covered mine even as his own cry of completion filled my mouth just as mine did his. We were falling upwards as much as down. The ground gave way as much as it flung us into the clouds. Severus pulled away from my mouth as a triumphant roar echoed through the garden.

My voice joined with his like the sounding off of lions proclaiming their territory across the Serengeti. Magic—the endless pool that gathered in my body—washed over Severus with a blast of warmth, wrapping around us like a cocoon.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Like the powerful beat of a giant heart, the magic tightened around us, combining like the meeting of two seas, joined forever, irrevocably. Fibres of the magical tapestry wove between us, thread after thread after thread until I couldn't sense the end of my own magic or the beginning of his. I could feel the hum of countless gargoyles as their voices joined the strange and beautiful song of magic, their contribution adding yet another thread to the magic between us. I could sense the pups gathered together, staring out over Paris, their wings beating wildly, almost like applause as they pointed their noses skyward and keened happily in joyous rapport.

And even in that moment of everything being so very right, I saw the face of Albus Dumbledore like an overlay of that perfect moment, hanging over us like a mad puppeteer as his fingers tried to tamper with our threads. I felt the gargoyles growl menacingly, their threads vibrating with radiant white light as the warmth of the entire clan resonated through our joined magic. The image and feel of Albus' lingering magic stretched impossibly thin and then snapped, speeding away as though a rip current had caught his body in its grip and dragged him helplessly out to sea.

Lifemates.

Lifemates!

The pups sang through the magic.

Finally!

At last!

Horrah!

For the first time in years, I didn't feel the unseen grip of Albus' influence. Like the pain you don't realise you're feeling until you see the cut—I hadn't realised how his presence in my life had dominated, influenced, and manipulated me into doing his bidding.

"He's gone," Severus whispered, a look of shared wonder crossing his face as well.

"We're truly free," I said, staring up into his face with a dawning sense of disbelief and relief.

I had a feeling he was out there somewhere, still alive, but I didn't care. He was no longer hitchhiking and feeding on our magic like a tick burrowed deep into our magical skin.

Severus' mouth covered mine as a rush of our magic flared and resonated with each other. "I know the perfect way to celebrate," he whispered into my mouth.

Oh, sweet Merlin!

The blackness of oblivion dragged me under, and I enjoyed every, single minute of the journey.

Lily, I thought as the thrill of ecstasy shook me from head-to-toe, I hope you're seeing this from your little cloud as you polish that tarnished halo. And he's all mine. Thanks for that.

"I think I may love you," I speculated dreamily.

"You think you do?"

"More testing of this hypothesis is required for such a theory to be confirmed. Much more."

Severus' wickedly smug smile was the last thing I saw before I had cause to be extremely glad that my mate's Muffliato spell was still going strong.

Might have to renew it. Just to be on the safe side.

If I could only remember where my wand was.

Bliss.

Later. We'd renew it—ah! Later. When I could remember my name again.

---

My whiskers poked me awake, tugging on my face to get my attention. My nose relayed me a message that sausage and eggs were nearby. Was that beans? Tomatoes? Good gracious Merlin! I smelled black pudding and potatoes. The gods were shining down on me, if only I could move my legs.

It wasn't the fruity glory of blueberry pancakes, Madam Moody style, but it smelled like breakfast, by Merlin. Glorious eggs and sausage, come to Hermione. If you would be so kind, since I seem to be a little wrapped up at the moment.

My nose worked as it attempted to decipher the code of breakfast. What was cooking? Who was cooking it? Why it it smell like victory? Why did victory smell like eggs, sausage, tomatoes, fried bread, and potatoes? All these questions and more ran through my head until a wing curled around my body and pulled me close.

Gah! My mate!

But, the breakfast, my stomach protested.

Warm, snuggly mate.

Sausage and eggs! My stomach growled.

My stomach had a point. Neither of us had eaten in— fuck, how long had it been?

Language, Hermione.

I sighed. Some things never changed.

I still cursed more than my mother would have approved of, and my brain never ceased to remind me of my descent into swearing was unseemly.

Whose side are you on, brain?

No answer. Figures.

Maybe if I touched a unicorn, I would regain some purity. Then again, knowing my luck, I'd touch the one swearing unicorn on earth, get adopted, and have a small herd of swearing baby unicorn foals following me around calling me mummy. I'd probably sprout a horn in the center of my forehead too. Just what I needed.

I really should move, but my body was happily in that place that usually comes when your alarm goes off and you need to be up and moving around. I was fairly sure there was some universal law that said beds become fifty times more comfortable if you have to sacrifice sleep to crawl out of them. It doubles that when said sleeping place has your sleepy mate in it. Now, I wasn't exactly experienced in this area of mate-induced bed appeal outside of the here and now, but if my current experience was any gauge, we'd starve before we managed to crawl inside and eat.

I was so grateful that my parents were not around to witness the aftermath of our multiple couplings across mum's garden. A part of my brain was pondering just how worried I needed to be about being pregnant, and if I was if it meant I'd be laying an egg in the rookery like a proper gargoyle mutant. What would the product of our conception be, anyway? Human? Monster? Ho boy.

My stomach growled loudly, and I heard Severus' do the same.

Food. We should definitely do something about that before hunger drove us to eat my neighbour's annoyingly yappy poodle. My other neighbours would probably give us a medal if they weren't busy screaming their heads off and running from us like we were the spawn of Satan. Truly, they should be more worried that we were the spawn of Albus Dumbledore. He was by far more of an immediate threat

"We should probably find the source of that glorious breakfast smell," Severus rumbled into my ear, pressing all of my buttons from head to toe as thoroughly as if he'd run his finger along my spine. The feel of his paws against my fur did such wonderful things to me. I could feel each of my tentacles shudder in pleasure and approval.

"Do we have to?" I muttered. His wings were so warm and comfortable. Damn it all.

"Unless you want me to predate on your neighbour's little, yappy anklebiter for a snack, I would recommend we do," Severus chuckled.

"Fine," I acquiesced, "but I'm filing an official protest."

He pressed his palm to my cheek as a warmth spread across his face, making him appear years younger. "You are truly one of a kind," he told me, so much awe gathered in his eyes. I was hit with sympathy for the man who had never truly felt wanted until me. True, I hadn't either, but at least my parents had loved me enough that I had wanted to make them proud rather than punish them for being failures for most of my life. "Food would assist us in regaining energy for future endeavours requiring physical prowess," he said slyly.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Mmmhmm."

He ran his muzzle against mine, our forms having completely defaulted to the more monstrous, yet the comforting warmth of his embrace cancelled out any thoughts of how strange it might be. I had long since become comfortable in my monstrous appearance. Accepting that there was someone like me that could share in it was new. Strange, wondrous, and blissfully new.

"Come," he said, taking the initiative and standing up, pulling me up. He summoned our robes with an open-handed gesture and silent, wandless magic. We were very much in our starkers, save for the fine collar of goblin silver that protected us regardless of form. Thankfully, our beast forms had fur and scales, so we weren't entirely unprotected from the environment.

We swirled our robes around our bodies, tugging them in place with practiced movements that even having talons didn't seem to affect the efficiency. I concentrated on changing into a human form, partially to match Severus but mainly so I could fit through the sliding door to my parent's garden. Nothing says love like a hole in the wall of your parent's house.

I felt exposed and naked without my fur, even with my robes on. My face felt funny without the whiskers there to give me sensory input, and my tentacles always grumbled at having to hide and flatten themselves against my back to prevent the obvious humped back granny-has-kyphosis look. My curly mane of almost-sentient hair puffed out in a manner that screamed for Sleekeazy's hair care products. Ironically, beast-mane was easier to tame. Who knew?

A helpful pair of tentacles straightened my collar and pulled my hair back around my ears before disappearing down my back. "I'm not sure I could handle a cure," I said after a moment. "If there was one, that is." It was the random epiphany. "I would miss them, always being there, fussing with my collar and my hair."

"I have come to enjoy their company since having enjoyed your company," Severus admitted with a tug of a smile on the corners of his mouth.

Our tentacles hissed and growled nervously, having apparently detected a sinister plot to get rid of them, and I soothed mine with caresses. "Don't worry, loves. I wouldn't be me without you." They rubbed against my fingers for reassurance. Despite their being attached to me, it was almost endearing that they were insecure. Touching them made them real, and the more I did it, there was a kind of serene pleasure in it— a comfort. It was odd to admit, as I'm sure most minds would find being suddenly equipped with tentacles as being a scary situation, but I'd practically grown up with them. They were there for me when no one else was.

My whiskers and shadow poked me, reminding me that my tentacles weren't the only ones there for me. Just for future reference, guys, when I say I can't do without you, I mean all of you, you crazily insecure lot. Gosh.

Severus busied himself putting the garden to rights after our night doing our best to smash it up. Sorry about that, mum. He gave me this look that said everything and nothing at all— serene and tender, and so wholly alien to the image I had of him back when I was once his student or even when I was only pretending to be his student. The scowl of perpetual scorn was replaced with an almost shy reverence. His touch, which I had always speculated as being rough and oafish and unaccustomed to gentleness, was light and respectful, needful, and tender.

It was childish, really. Anyone who know how delicate potion making was in the advanced levels would know his hands had to be the most intricate akin to that of a neurosurgeon in the Muggle world. I wondered if he could brew healing ointment in a soup can while diving under a falling door grate like I had to to pass my mastery.

"No," he said, answering my unspoken ponderings, a tug of a smile on his lips. "I do my brewing stationary."

Legilimens now are you? I thought back to him.

I can hear you, he whispered into my mind. I can hear them too, he added. He jutted his chin towards the inside of the house where gargoyle pups were rampaging in my mum's kitchen.

I blinked. I heard him clear as day, his voice in my head rumbling with that same knee wobbling purr of molten lust I had never known until him. Good grief.

His smile was very Slytherin, eyes flashing with his cherished secrets— that he knew how to bring me pleasure and that he alone had done it. It was a very male look, possessive and protective wrapped together in a burrito of Severus-ness. His very name reminded me of dark, passionate things, and I was suddenly very glad that this epiphany had not come back when I was trying to be an underaged student in his class. My cover would have failed six times over with a side of chips.

Stop thinking about him having his way with you on top of his desk, Hermione!

I blushed, mortified, as Severus' lips curved up in an evil grin.

Oh, Merlin, he knew. He saw that.

He—

I used that as an excuse to flee, hurriedly running back into the house and leaving him by himself, the sound of his laughter in my mind too much to bear.

I found my parents' kitchen full of gargoyle pups— all of them set about tasks under the watchful eye of Bastion, Amelia, and Alastor. Bastion had this look of smug I-know-what-you-did written about every curve of his body. Amelia had a twinkle in her eyes, and Alastor— well imagine what YOUR father would do if he imagined you having sex with anyone. Multiply that by fifty-six and three quarters.

Merlin, just shoot me now. Right in the heart and let me bleed out. Anything was better than facing my elders after having destroyed my parent's garden with our maddened passionate lovemaking. Better, just Avada Kedavra me straight to the face.

Wait, no, that would give me another tentacle. With my luck it would the sassy, horny tentacle too. Fuck.

Language, Hermione. Sheesh.

"Hermione, Her-mio-neeee, Her-MIO-neeee!" Sabine called, flapping her wings together in a clapping noise to get my attention. "We made you breakfast!"

"I see that," I said, scooping her up and cuddling her mercilessly. "I could smell it from outside. Thank you all so much."

The pups all clapped their wings happily, proud of themselves.

"Are you done trashing the garden?" Bamf asked, earning a swat from Bastion.

I shook my head. "Yes, quite finished," I said with a sigh.

"Ooo, we can go play in the garden now?"

"Play?"

"Play!" the other pups cheered. They all looked at me expectantly.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, trying to be somewhat responsible.

They all nodded at me.

"Go play then," I said.

"Yay!"

The pups stacked on each other to open the sliding door and then pulled it open, dashing out in the garden and practically bowling Severus over in their enthusiasm. Gargoyle pups had no fear, and it was never so apparent that seeing what they got away with. No human child would have dared accost Severus' person unless they were completely mental.

Then again, the pups had a bond with us both, now. They knew his heart— hell, they had known our hearts before we did—so being afraid of Severus would have been terribly illogical. If human children could be so insightful all of the time, there would be far fewer stupid accidents in the world.

I shook off my embarrassment long enough to focus on Amelia and Bastion. "You're looking quite smugly satisfied, Bastion. Has Amelia convinced you to move some of the family to the Department of Mysteries?"

Amelia grinned widely. It was a very satisfied grin. There went all of our silly illusions of privacy, not that I had many. I knew perfectly well what gargoyles were like. Much like lions on the grasslands, they didn't really care who was watching. They enjoyed my awkwardness, too, finding it rather quaint.

"I think we have come to a most satisfactory agreement," Amelia said with a wink. Inwardly, I was happy. The gargoyles were my family in many ways, and having them close would make me feel better. It would also expose the pups to more people in a way that promoted mutual teamwork and learning. Who knows what kind of wonderful things could come from such a partnership?

"The pups left you breakfast," Bastion said with a chuckle. "They even left you sausage."

"Amazing," I replied with a grin. "They love their sausages."

"Only because the priests shamelessly spoil them with it," Bastion said. "Since time immemorial."

I beamed. The old priests understood and accepted gargoyles. They were one of the few "Muggle" people who had a long history with the magical creatures. While the stories about them changed to fit the religion of the cathedral, the symbiotic relationship between gargoyles and the places they protected remained strong— even if only in secret. Clandestine relationships were a part of history, both magical and Muggle. Powerful ones such as with the gargoyles remained so regardless of place. They were powerful allies to be protected as fiercely as they protected their home.

Amelia was no idiot, and she knew what a gift the gargoyles would be to the DoM. She earned my respect, not just for showing wise decisions, but also respect for Bastion and the pups. Unlike so many other people, who liked to judge gargoyles on their animalistic features over their minds and hearts, Amelia judged others on the evidence before her. It was no wonder she and Alastor got along so well. I knew he respected her too, and even without the other things she had done to prove to me she was a worthy boss, his respect alone would have done it for me too.

"Your mam and da are safe away, lass," Alastor said with a tender expression. "They said to tell you they love you and that you better have plenty of pictures of their grandchildren, war or no war."

I could feel my ears reddening.

Good grief. My parents could make me feel like I needed to hide under the sofa, even from Australia.

One of my tentacles busied itself by stuffing a sausage in my mouth, having decided I wasn't tending to my needs fast enough. I chewed gratefully.

As Severus came in, I handed him a heaping plate of food that had been so lovingly prepared by the pups. His eyebrows raised, but he took it gratefully and sat on the kitchen stool to devour it.

Amelia sipped her tea, watching us both eat. "I figured we could go over what we've been planning for you two, as we don't want to tip our hands to anyone yet. The last thing anyone wants is for Dumbledore to find out either of you are still alive— and we are hoping those runes on your bodies don't give your being alive away."

Alastor shook his head. "We have agents out and about, and they came back with stories. One rumour has Remus Lupin out trying to butter up the werewolves to join some sort of cause, but ever since Fenrir Greyback showed up trussed up like a holiday ham on my office desk, no one has seen him. Lupin that is. I feel as though Lupin may know where Potter is, and I feel that Nymphadora Tonks may know where Lupin is."

Nymphadora. Nymphadora. Where had I—

"She was a member— is a member— of the Order of the Phoenix," Severus said, pausing in his devouring of his eggs. "Pink hair. Shifty features."

"Metamorphmagus," I said thoughtfully. "I can't remember her very well. That isn't like me."

"No, it's not," Alastor said. His wand went to my forehead, and I didn't flinch. I trusted him.

I felt the tingle of his magic tickle my grey matter, and I watched his expression go from curious to suspicious. "You have very few memories of her," he said. "Odd, because I have many. Many that include you as well."

I looked at him strangely.

"If I said Tonks got married, what would you say?" Alastor said.

"Good for her?" I answered.

"Well that explains why Tonks was so angry," he said with a sigh. "She got married to Remus Lupin but a year ago. She told me you were supposed to be there, but you never showed. At the time, I didn't even remember who you were, so I thought she was completely mental for wanting to invite some random student to her wedding. I didn't remember. I didn't even consider that Tonks had known you because of me."

Amelia frowned. "We know that Albus Obliviated you, Alastor. It doesn't stretch us too far thinking he probably tampered with her memory as well."

"Why?" Alastor yelled, slamming his fist down. "What purpose would that serve?"

Severus curled his tail around mine and shared his warmth. "Because he wanted her to be alone. When you are alone, you have nothing to lose."

"You do what you are told," I said coldly, a flicker of my old mask crossing my face. "No one cared like he did. No one understood like he did. I followed every order without question. Without fail."

"I remember that night— the night of their wedding," Alastor said. "I had to leave the reception early because I got a Patronus saying we had five magicless Death Eaters wandering around Waltham Forest, London. Later that morning, we had two dead in Lambeth— sliced to hell by their own people. Had we not found the ones in Waltham, they'd have all been dead."

Severus washed off his plate and put it on the drying rack before sitting down again. He wrapped his tail back around mine, perhaps sensing my detachment. "The Dark Lord loathes only one thing more than Muggles and Muggle-borns," he said. "And that is worthless underlings. Nothing is more worthless to him than a magical person who is no longer magical."

"How did he react to his people being drained of their magic?" Amelia asked.

"He was livid," Severus replied. "He was also extremely paranoid and as fearful as any wizard who realises that the very thing that makes you special can be taken away. All of his genius would mean nothing if he couldn't defend his throne."

"He sent many of the unmarked out to find out who or what was taking out his people," he continued, "but you can imagine how that panned out."

Amelia and Alastor looked at me. "I found them raping a woman in Knockturn Alley. They had kidnapped a young Muggle woman and dragged her off to a dirt infested grime-hole where the bastards took turns seeing how many times they could pound into her before she lost her mind." I could feel the ice gathering behind my eyes as I lingered in the place that felt nothing. "I left them bereft of their magic, gibbering nonsense, and having soiled themselves. I trapped them inside her memory of them defiling her. I let them relive all of her terror and humiliation, but I left them alive."

Anger and pity vied for dominance across Alastor's face. Horror and disgust twisted Amelia's happy face into one of loathing.

"I wouldn't have," Amelia admitted, "and I wasn't even trained to be an assassin."

"I'd have— you just don't—" Alastor was speechless. Most Wizarding society was rooted in what Muggles believed were olden-day traditional values. You don't hit women, but the male is expected to provide well for his wife. You get a witch pregnant, you get married. Sometimes that was very literal, thanks to magic. Take Severus and myself, for example. Our magic had mated along with us. We were now one entity with two parts. If that wasn't married, well, it was close enough. Mind you, most teenage closet-gropers weren't exactly thinking with the head on top of their neck, either, but if you think about it, magic had its own way of insuring the lines continued. Magic found a way.

Somewhere along the line, Merlin-knows-who came up with the contraceptive potion because some brilliant person understood that it wasn't the Dark Ages anymore and getting married and magically bonded the moment you were gifted your menses was probably-not-a-good-idea. Human libido, like most sexual drives across the planet, didn't always go hand-in-hand with mental maturity. The difference was, most immature animals either got the shite beaten out of them by their betters, thus cutting them off from breeding, or they died a horrible death of starvation because they couldn't hunt well enough to stay alive. Humans, well— there were cases of them getting the shite beaten out of them by their betters, but it wasn't always about breeding rights. Humans could just pick a reason from a bowl and run with it. Take this Wizarding War for example—

The truth was, Death Eaters, Dark wizards and witches, Snatchers, Voldemort groupies, and whoever else jumped on the bandwagon of excuse for moral depravity were all rebels trying to push the boundaries of a social norm and change it to their desires. Normally, rebels get pounded into paste and life goes on, but these rebels had a powerful spokesman and figurehead turned homicidal psychopath that had no problems killing normal folk to get what he wanted.

Normal people, wands or not, don't want to be in a crusade. They want to live their life, go to work, have their 2.5 kids, a dog or a Kneazle, and bring home enough galleons, dollars, pounds, or yen not to starve. Some are more successful than others. Some even enjoy their jobs, but not everyone wants to be inspirational. Not every person can move people to do something. Gifted people are motivators. They have a dream, and they get people to share that dream. Better yet, those people do things in the name of their dream.

Once upon a time, Hogwarts was founded on a dream of a safe place for students to come and learn magic, protected from those that didn't understand. That dream became reality, but few today truly knew what a gift such a place was. Today, Hogwarts was accepted as the place to go to school, at least if you were in Britain. Now, Voldemort was a different sort. He saw the world in a twisted reality where he was on top and Muggles were on the bottom. He grabbed the people who had the most to lose— people of high society who liked their parties, estates, and status— and twisted their fears into fanaticism. However, once the most influential people were swayed, others just joined the me-too wagon: people who wanted to hurt other people, people who just wanted to be on the winning side.

But something had changed when Voldemort had died to his own spell back in 1980. Voldemort lost the highly charismatic presence that charmed and moved people with his wit and comeliness. He changed his tactic to intimidation and fear, using those that had sworn him allegiance to spread the fear to others. It was a vicious tangle.

Severus had been placed as a spy in Voldemort's inner circle when it became obvious his magical skills did not include what Dumbledore had wanted. Then, Albus had molded me into what he did want. But something had changed. Either I had eliminated everything he had needed, he had truly expected me to deal with both Fenrir and Severus in one night, or he had believed I had outlived my usefulness and sent me to be murdered by a desperate Snape: an agent he had molded to protect his cover at all costs.

Why hadn't we killed each other?

My shadow was leaning on Severus'. I felt a shiver of pure pleasure jolt down my spine and curl my toes.

Oh. Well, that's a good reason.

Severus' nostrils flared, and his eyes were blacker than black. He stared at me with interest on top of interest, and I had to dig my claws into my palms to keep from shifting right there and pouncing my mate on top of the kitchen counter in front of witnesses.

Good grief.

Why couldn't I stop thinking about his long, delectable tongue.

Stop it!

Oh. My. God.

I dug my talons into my palms and tried to imagine Moody-dad naked.

One. Two. Three.

Calm. Serene. Ocean tranquility.

"Stop thinking about Severus naked and focus, Hermione," Moody snapped in that voice that usually said "Arrest that wizard and make it hurt."

I stared at Alastor, swallowing hard. Damn, this was hard. Send me out to magically assassinate someone. Please. That required less mental yoga.

At least Alastor wasn't thinking violent thoughts against the kind of scum-suckers that would rape a woman in a dark alley.

Amelia jerked her head up. "Forgive me," she said. "For a moment, I considered— I actually wanted— to send you after every one of those bastards that are still alive and make them bleed."

Business talk was the equivalent of ice over a raging erection or that time that the Weasley brothers busted open a box of enlarged baby wolf spiders and their brassed-off spider-mum over their baby brother's coital tryst in the broom closet. My emotions shifted and dissipated behind the alien mind of the beast. Dispassion and apathy were my mask and Occlumency my tool. "I would not fault you for it," I said, and it was true. Business was business. I had dealt with marks far too long not to compartmentalise.

"Having the two of you is like being handed the keys to a Muggle nuclear warhead," Amelia said. "I can never forget how dangerous and effective you are at what you do. I can never allow my emotion to cloud my judgement to send you into war for my causes, no matter how just I may see it at the time. Emotion is no way to make a decision."

I ran my tongue across the front of my teeth. She was emotional, but she was able to harness it and rein it in. She wasn't an Occlumens, but she knew how to shield her thoughts. The difference was subtle. While Severus and I obfuscated, she built strong walls guarded by mental dragons. She wanted to know when someone was picking through her mind, not distract them into thinking they got what they needed and let them walk away.

It wouldn't save her from someone who was willing to break her to get to the information, but no casual sweep would just pick information out of her head.

Unless it was one of us. Severus looked at me, his dark eyes fathomless.

Yes, but we were created to pick every lock, weren't we? I thought at him.

I frowned. Yet, I had somehow missed Albus' true intentions over and over again. I had failed to see what was right in front of me. How?

You trusted him, Severus said, his tail wrapping around mine. There is no shame in that. He molded you since you were eleven.

Why do I feel like such an idiot? I said, staring at him.

His tail tips caressed my skin with tender rubs. Blame the right reason, my she-beast. Blame the one who really deserves your rage.

The last time I blamed the right person, you wouldn't let me go after him, I accused, tail tip twitching.

Severus rubbed the underside of my tail. There is a right time for everything.

And when is that? I asked.

Not now, he said cryptically.

I mumbled, but my tail was tightly corkscrewed around his.

How had I become so dependent on the feel of his skin against mine?

Mrrr, Severus said.

Probably the same way he had become so attracted to mine.

"The second bit on intel tells us that V-man has put Ollivander on his hit list," Amelia said.

I had to scoff a little at the 'V-man' name, but apparently Voldemort had some sort of magical taboo on his name that alerted him as soon as it was spoken. Say his name aloud, and he had a tendency to show up and murder you. Society didn't much care for that, so Voldemort became He Who Shall Not Be Named, or V-man for short. Why couldn't they just call him Vafrous, Vagous, Valienton, Vasy, or Mr Vauntiness. Oh, Vauntage! That would work. He seemed like the braggart, boasting sort. I see you have come to the meeting, Mr Vauntage. Glad you could make it. No? How about Mr Vasectomy? Venefic? Virose? He was quite poisonous and foul. It was fitting.

"We have no idea if the hit list is for killing or for kidnapping, but it promises to be bad. While determining Harry Potter's location is important, if we are having issues finding him, so is V-man, and that works in our favour. I don't think I need to stress to you just how important Ollivander is regardless."

Maker of the best wands in the world? No, whatever do you mean?

"Alastor and I decided it would be best to ask you which mission you believe you could handle best," Amelia said. "The other, we will task to the double-o teams.

I felt Severus' answer as I came to the same conclusion. If V-man wanted to take out Ollivander, he would sent multiple people at once and probably take out half of Diagon Alley to do it. Innocents would be harmed, possibly killed. While finding Harry Potter was important in the long run, no one actually knew why. What was he doing out there? Where was he? Why couldn't anyone find him?

Something suddenly occurred to me. "Has anyone traced Ginny Weasley's location?"

"She's at one of our safe-houses along with Ronald," Alastor said. "She's pregnant, and her brother Ronald and she got in a big row. He side-alonged with her to take her home, and then he couldn't find his way back to Potter. Apparently he has some sort of anti-tracking charm on him."

"So Harry's out there… alone," I said after a while. "So chances are if Ronald and Ginny don't know where he is, Remus won't either, and us looking for him could easily get him killed."

"Albus still has invested considerable interest in Lupin," Severus said with narrowed eyes. "He will unlikely allow one of his favoured Gryffindors to die."

I'm not sure what that made me. I was a Gryffindor too. Was I favoured or simply a tool?

"All favour turns to ash with Albus," Severus said grimly. "Eventually, it ends. He deliberately allowed Black to rot in Azkaban for over a decade. He forced him to stay cooped up in Grimmauld Place with a hippogriff as his only regular companion. He also restricted all direct communication, so when Mr Potter believed his godfather had been kidnapped and tortured, he walked right into a trap without a moment's hesitation."

Amelia drummed her fingers on the counter. "Communication would have saved the Potter's lives back in the day."

Severus closed his eyes, and then I remembered that he'd put himself into Mungo's trying to defy a life-debt demand that he never again contact Lily or James Potter again. Had Dumbledore known? Had he purposely set them up to die?

Alastor slammed his hands down on the counter. "He'll been leading us around by the nose for bloody years," he hissed. "Giving us just a little information to rile us up. Then, he'd send us off in the 'right' direction… at least, the direction he wanted us to go in."

Amelia straightened her shoulders and closed her eyes, making a decision. "I need you both to get to Ollivander before the Death Eaters do. You have my authorisation to use deadly force should you encounter any trouble. Do not permit anyone to escape back to the Dark Lord. Do not be seen by anyone but Ollivander."

Severus and I stood together. We both used the same tilt of our heads as we cracked our necks and let the shift consume us completely. Fur and scales replaced tender skin. Wings unfolded with a stretching sound as our robes faded away. Our tentacles hissed and unfurled, no longer bound by the robes. The familiar stretch of skin over bone sounded like tearing as my muzzle elongated, exposing dagger-like teeth, and my teeth clicked with a snap as oddly iridescent drool dripped from each of the pointed tips of my fangs.

It felt like waking up. The change was like reverting to what I truly was, stretching out my body as one would when yawning in the morning. I was unfolding my true self as my tentacles unfurled themselves from my back.

Severus rumbled, a low growl and clicking noise joining together in a language that was meaningless to all but those like us, no, specifically us. He and I were one and the same. Our mixtures of genetic exposure were now fully balanced because we had, ahem, been intimate.

What's mine was his and all that.

I replied, click-growling at him in return as he rubbed his muzzle against mine. Perhaps, it simply a way to soothe and reassure ourselves of each other's solidarity. It wasn't like we needed to speak aloud anymore. A part of me thought we'd both give the alien hunters from the Muggle movie Predator a run for their money. The thought amused me.

Once our bodies finished rubbing against each other, we turned to Amelia and bowed slightly. "It shall be done," I said, the words coming to me as automatically as if I was will Albus again. Despite it all, the familiarness in which one received and acknowledged orders was a comfort in itself. My wing spur curled around Severus', and I met his gaze.

Crack.

The Disapparate yanked us away.

---

The moment we arrived, we were both hit with two Unforgivables direct to the chest. Considering we had just Apparated to the front of the building like normal people, this made me a tad cranky.

Seeing as we were in battle conditions, Severus and I shed all pretense of humanity, and we immediately slammed our paws against our collars, dropping the aura glamour that worked in tandem with our dna-coded glamour potion. Two new tentacles rose from our backs, wobbling dizzily as whatever process that created them imbued them with sentience and magic.

Pulling Disillusionment around us, we stormed through the giant hole in the front store facade. The store was still alive with curses being thrown, and I could see Ollivander defending himself with fervor. He was doing admirably, but he was only one man, and Death Eaters do not play fair.

"Hem, hem!" I heard a sickly-sweet female voice say mockingly. "I told you that if you cooperated things would go better. Why must you insist of being difficult?"

"You'll have to excuse me, Madam Undersecretary," Ollivander said in polite gasps of strained courtesy. "I fear I find it hard to believe you with you come into my store with a bunch of spell-flinging Death Eaters!"

"Now, now," Umbridge hissed. "None of these fine people are Death Eaters."

"I remember every wand I've ever made, Madam Undersecretary," Ollivander said. "I also remember who they went to."

Get their attention, love? I asked Severus.

I felt his smile in my mind. I would love to, he replied.

Our shadows surged forth and instantly drove all the other shadows away.

"I'll have you know," Umbridge announced, "that raising a wand at my person carries a very stiff penalty!"

"Not as many penalties as I would suffer if I didn't!" Ollivander retorted defiantly.

"Take him!" Dolores cried furiously. "Just take him! Take him! Take him!"

Her time with the centaurs clearly hadn't improved her disposition in the slightest. Pity. Why Albus had insisted on parlaying with the centaurs and wading in to save her sorry arse was beyond me. If anyone deserved to be drop-kicked by centaurs it was Umbridge. Albus had said something about not being able to guarantee that the centaurs wouldn't do something unseemly to Umbridge, and my opinion had been strangely mercenary and even borderline sociopathic. I lacked any sort of emotional concern for the toad of a woman. I'd watched her use blood quills on my "peers" and use Veritaserum on students. She, unlike me, took great pleasure in torturing young people who had literally done nothing but act like normal human beings. She made the most bloodthirsty of beasts look like saints. I was a beast, through and through. What was her excuse?

"HrrrrrrrRRrrrRrrrRrrrrrrrrr," came Severus' rumbling pre-roar. Like the pulling back of the tides before the rush of the tsunami, the floor quaked, the shelves rattled, and scores of wand boxes went tumbling to the floor. "RRRRAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he roared, shaking the walls so hard that the pictures fell off the walls and the wand cabinets teetered and crashed to the floor as if felled by an earthquake.

Terrified Death Eaters went flying in all directions. Spells went zinging through the air. Spells hit the walls, themselves, and wands on the shelves. The wands exploded with magic, randomly rising out of their boxes and casting random spells in equally random directions. Our shadows picked two of the people closest to Ollivander and replaced their shadows, paralysing them in place as Severus and I let the cloaking spell drop.

No longer playing with our food, Severus and I linked wings and a blast of magic locked down the entire store. Now no one could get in, and no one could get out. Our powerful tails lashed out together, and the shelves collapsed like they were made of nothing more than dominos.

"Rrhhrr KEH KEH KEH!" I coughed a barking snarl. My teeth bared as a lurid green spell struck me in the face, and one more agitated tentacle rose up from my back. At this rate, sleeping on my back was not going to happen ever again.

Severus replied with a rolling, "Rrrrr KEK RrrRRRrr HEK!"

We smiled together, our lips pulling back from our venom coated teeth. "You are under arrest," I purred, my voice sounding oddly twisted through my fangs.

"You do not have to say anything," Severus continued, "but it may harm your defence should you mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Wizengamot."

"Anything you do say may be given in evidence," I said, my tongue sliding against the outside of my teeth.

"KILL THEM!" Umbridge screamed shrilly.

A blood-red beam slammed into my muzzle. Really? Didn't you just see what the first five hits did to me, you incompetent slag?

Language, Hermione. Gosh.

My tentacles plus one hissed together in agreement. They all wanted to give her an especially tight "hug."

Severus growled lowly as a few more hit him, and since he was standing slightly ahead of me, he was gaining even more tentacles than me. He was catching up quickly. Privately, I was quite happy with this, as I found them quite sexy and alluring. Healthy tentacles meant a healthy mate. It was all perfectly logical.

*cough*It-had-nothing-to-do-with-how-pleasurable-they-were*cough*

Nothing to see here. Just keep moving along.

My tail whipped out, wrapping around one of the attackers and crushing them until their ribs cracked with a very satisfying crunch, and I flung them into one of their friends with a snarl. I could smell the stench of urine and feces, and I knew my demonstration had the appropriate effect. Some of them were only now realising just what they were casting at, and their fear was starting to season the air with a distinctive tang.

Severus had one Dark Wizard by the neck, and his body was frozen over him for a feed, only his was not like mine. Bitter cold radiated off of him, turning the warm breath in the air to steam, and had I been a human the effect alone would have chilled me to the bone. The wizard was paralysed in fear, and my mate fed, draining the wizards any and all positive thoughts, happy memories, and will pretty much as a Dementor would. I should have been appalled, but it made me happy that my mate was coming into his full powers, now that they were no longer suppressed by the Dark Mark.

Dumbledore had considered him a failure, and he hadn't even realised what he had really made. The monster inside me approved. What didn't kill us literally made us stronger— and my mate was making up for lost time after every spell he had been hit with at V-man's sick little "parties." The thrum of sheer power from him made me purr, venom dripping from my teeth in the pleasure of it's magical siren song, only I didn't want to devour the magic. I wanted to roll in it and make babies in it.

Oh, Merlin. Brain, you just stop right there. Right there, buddy. Go rediscover your bookworm self, the one who didn't understand the concept of sexual appeal.

Severus jerked his head up, nostrils flaring as drool dripped from his fangs. He gave me a look, such a very male look that it made my knees weak.

Snap out of it, Granger! Copulating on top of a bunch of terrified Death Eaters is not how you want to meet Garrick Ollivander! Damn, you find a mate default, but I told it to shut the front door. Gosh, a girl needs to have some bit and you become a lustful, rampaging she-beast.

Part of me registered the argument that I was a rampaging she-beast but for some random bit of humanity to cling to. Somewhere. Maybe. Buried deep underneath my fur and tentacles.

Severus purred at me, making growling and clicking noises. He handed over the limp body of the Death Eater, one claw digging into the Marked arm as if to punctuate his idea. My lips pulled back from my teeth as my tentacles swarmed around the wizard, and my paws clutched his head like a vice.

"Naughty boy," I growled, seeing nothing but terror in his eyes. He was screaming silently, but inside his mind it was not quite so silent.

I called to his magic, and it surged up to join with me. It couldn't escape him fast enough, surging up my tentacles and into my body and joining with the endless lake that gathered magic as one would collect some other sort of mundane thing. His magic, vile going down, but the moment it joined with me, it was assimilated. My magic converted it into something universal— something alive. My tentacles thrummed with pleasure as they pulled away from the virtual husk of a man, and I let his body thump to the floor. His eyes were glassy, and his skin pale. His mind was locked in all we had left him with: a world sans pleasure of any kind, a world without magic. Severus purred and rubbed against my neck, and I returned the affection. Such a good mate. Strong. A proper provider.

I purred. One feed was enough to make my inner magic lake very happy, but there were others here. And I wanted it.

"Hrrrrraaaaak!" I growled, calling the magic, a thrum and pulse of my magic blew outwards and then pulled back in— luring their magic to answer the call.

I moved forward, purr-clicking. Come. Come to me.

Severus snatched two that were walking, zombie-like to obey, even though their fear was dripping off them. Treat your magic well, kiddies, because one day the piper comes to take what is abused away.

My mate drained them faster this time, leaving them stunned and alone in their heads with only the memories that pained them to keep them company. It was enough to incapacitate them. I did the same, draining each one of the magic and flinging them to the ground, and then we swapped piles. We paused every so often to groom each other, a little here, a little there, bonding over our spoils and prey. The thrill of excitement was all too clear. Suddenly, we weren't alone, and the great bounty lay before us.

A desperate wizard came at Severus, the glint of a blade being the only warning. Severus didn't bother to dodge, and only realised the error when the blade cut through the membrane of his wing. Severus roared in pain, and his wing buffeted outward as his tails wrapped around the wizard and squeezed violently. The knife went clattering to the ground as bones crunched.

I picked up the blade with my talons and growled, stomping forward like an erumpent on a mission. My talons wrapped around the wizard's neck as I brought the blade to his neck. My tentacles hissed at him, manifesting mouths to take bites out of him, latching on like angry geese to twist his skin as painfully as possible.

The blade was cursed, and it was no ordinary curse. Complex magic had gone into its making, and blood had been shed on it to make it crave violence and blood. It was magic harnessed and forced into a housing— the dagger— and it was the concentrated layers of magic that made its blade sharp. Sharp enough to wound my mate.

My teeth bared, centimeters from the wizard's face, my jaws poised to take off his head. Severus had let go of the wizard to nurse his wing, a soft whine of pain as he moved made me see red with rage. I pressed the blade to his skin, a fine, razor-thin line of blood moved across his neck where the blade eagerly tried to plunge itself into the man's flesh.

That's the thing about cursed blades. They don't care who they hurt— even the wielder can become a victim. The blade, however, was magical, and I knew what to do with magic.

As I pressed the blade to his neck, I breathed on it, calling the magic to me, and it came, surging out the pommel and up my arm, eager to join the rest. As the tainted magic came through, my magic surged over it, un-making it and tearing it apart before assimilating it completely. The blade turned to dust in my hands, the magic no longer there to hold it together.

My tentacles wrapped around the man and squeezed, and I drained him dry in a matter of seconds, paying no attention to subtlety. I didn't care if it hurt him. I didn't care if it damaged his kidneys. I didn't even care if he knew his own name afterwards. I took every last bit of magic from his life and flung him into the shelf across the room. The shelf collapsed and buried him alive in wand boxes and random marble sculptures that tumbled off the top of the shelf and landed directly on his crotch.

I turned to Severus, my snarl still on my muzzle. I reached out my tentacles and hands to touch his ripped wing membrane, sensing the disrupted weave of magic on his wing. The cursed blade itself had disrupted the flow of magic, making it difficult for Severus' changed body to heal itself. He was still learning what his body was capable of, but not for long.

I breathed on his wing to coax the magic back into order, then the fibres slowly seemed to realise they were not in the right places. They shifted, reweaving themselves into a strong, cohesive unit again, and the moment they came together, his flesh healed. He purred at me, and I nuzzled his chin with my head. All was well. Once exposed to a kind of magic, what didn't kill us made us stronger. That kind of blade wasn't going to give Severus any grief again, and I was glad of it. He, too, seemed relieved to know that he hadn't survived so long just to get taken out by a knife in the dark.

Another idiot decided to try their luck by throwing a dagger at Severus, and this time when he put up his wing to block it, the dagger pinged off it like it had hit solid marble. Severus glowered at the Death Eater with the same expression that sent students hiding under their desks rather than look him in the eyes. He growled, and I sensed he knew this one. The others— perhaps they were newly Marked— had not elicited the sort of pure hatred that I felt from his mind.

The Death Eater had a mask on, and to me they all looked like prey— all alike in that they were all food. As horrible as that sounds, it was the part of me that compartmentalised those worthy of parlay, that those that were only worth smearing into the ground. There was probably something telltale that Severus homed in on, something that gave him a clue of the man or woman's identity. I wasn't sure exactly what that was, but I trusted his senses implicitly.

Severus' tail whipped out, curling around the Death Eater and crushing him like an anaconda with prey. His talons stretched across his face, squashing the mask like a piece of thin foil. Wide, terrified eyes stared out at the beast, the scent of urine and alcohol assaulted my nose with its stench.

Only when the mask was removed did I realise who it was.

Rodolphus Lestrange.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He looked more haggard than his wanted poster. He smelled even worse. I picked up bits and pieces of old memories from Severus' mind. This was the one the Dark Lord "gifted" with the honour of punishing Severus when either Rodolphus did well or Severus did not so well. Either way, many a Cruciatus was used on Severus from the wand of Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Half-blood scum," the memory hissed into his face, spitting at him. "Did you think the Dark Lord actually cares about you? He gave you to me for the night. EXPELLIARMUS!" Rodolphus stood aside with an evil grin as his brother and Bellatrix came in after. "And I always share with my brother."

"Ickle widdle Snapey," Bellatrix cooed mockingly as she dragged a jeweled silver nail claw across his arm. "You don't deserve this Mark," she hissed, digging her nail into his skin and making him bleed profusely. "Maybe I can make it bleed out of you."

It seemed that even amongst those who were Marked with the Dark Lord's favour, there those who were far more equal than certain others. It was quite possible that the Dark Lord allowed these childish mind-games to keep his most loyal financial backers happy, for no war in the history of war was won without plentiful monetary resources. One must have an army and the foods with which to feed it. Some foods were morale.

I wondered who provided the big V-man his extra-long reach. I doubted that anyone coining himself the "Dark Lord Voldemort" would ever be content to live in squalor while trying to take over the world. Megalomaniacs always tend to believe that they are worth far more than that.

And while Albus Dumbledore sat on his golden throne at Hogwarts, playing his people like pawns in a game of Wizarding chess, where was V-man? Was he sitting in the chair opposing Dumbledore? Or were they playing entirely different games with shared pieces? Hell, were they stealing each other's pieces? Was it like the chefs on Iron Chef that steal each other's white asparagus because all they got was green asparagus?

Hell if I knew.

Severus' talons draped over Rodolphus' face and he leaned in, draining away the man's will with any emotion that might have given him the least bit of pleasure or happiness. Freezing, bitter cold came off of him in waves, making our breath make clouds and icicles form on the shelves.

"You work for the Ministry!" someone yelled. "Pull that Dementor off my brother!"

Dementor?

Hah.

No one really knew what was under the black robes of a Dementor. It was only fitting they would think that Severus was a Dementor too. But, while my mate seemed to have acquired the Dementor's more terrifying gifts, he smelled much nicer, gave warm hugs, and was definitely number one on my cuddle list. Dementors not so much.

Well, maybe Umbridge might want to cuddle with one. She was definitely evil and twisted enough. I wondered if she even had a soul.

Before Umbridge could say anything, however, Severus had finished his feed, and he passed Rodolphus to me as one would a dinner napkin or the platter of oysters. My lips pulled back from my teeth in what I hoped was a gloriously menacing smile of dagger-like teeth.

Come, I beckoned. Join with me.

The Death Eater screamed silently as my tentacles wrapped around him and his magic flowed up through them and into me. I left him alone with his despair with not even magic to keep him company. With a disgusted snort, I flung him to the floor where he lay limp, still screaming soundlessly. He crawled to the feet of one of the other masked figures.

"Rabastan, brother," he wheezed. "Help me!"

Before I could even register what was going to happen, the Death Eater pointed his wand at the pitiful, crawling man. "Avada Kedavra!" he snarled viciously.

Wow. So much for brotherly love, eh?

If that is what purebloods had for familial love, I'd take my dirty Mudblood Muggle love any day of the week. I wasn't a fool. Not all Muggles had love figured out either, but at least my version of it didn't have me preprogrammed to murder my sibling the moment their magic was gone.

Severus and I realised with some clarity that thinking time was officially over. Now, we had to sweep up the mess, and while we had taken care of most of the problem, there was still an Umbridge rampaging around somewhere, Ollivander to find, and however many other Death Eater were hiding towards the rear of the establishment.

Our wing spurs touched briefly just before both of us flashed our teeth and surged forth in a blur of speed and our wing buffets extinguished every candle in the place.

"Lumos!" a voice cried in the dark.

Flick. Flick. Flicker. A wand sputtered to provide light in our magic-laden darkness. Dimness became true light as I smiled toothily. The light slowly crept over my face.

"Hullo," I purred as my tentacles wrapped around the witch's wrists like handcuffs, and I fed. Her wand went flying off into some dark corner of the shop.

Severus was feeding off the one I was pretty sure was Rabastan while his tails were keeping another playmate occupied. I didn't see any others, and I didn't see where Umbridge had gone, so I sent my shadow out to go fetch me some new toys to play with.

My shadow disappeared in a whoosh, and I waited to hear back, ears swivelling to listen for any other movement that wasn't already on the ground moaning. Just as I thought I would have to go find my own entertainment, my shadow returned and hacked up a Death Eater like a cat with a hairball.

I blinked. They could do that?

I decided not to wait around and oogle, wrapping my talons around my latest guest as my eyes flicked to their arm. The Mark twisted and writhed on their skin, perhaps sensing that its bearer was in serious trouble. Did the Dark Lord know? Did he sense his people going down, one-by-one? What was the precise nature of the Mark?

It was magic. That was all I really needed to know. Magic was energy harnessed through will, will channelled into order, and order into purpose. All order could be dismantled. All magic was energy, and all energy could be returned to its natural state.

Ah, but what was magic's natural state?

I didn't know. That was the truth. There was no study, no book, and no scholar I could go to that would answer that question with a hundred percent certainty. I could say that there was something in me that allowed it to find "home" in me. There was a great peace inside me, and the magic liked to be there. It was even protective and territorial about it.

How did I know?

Oh, about a few dozen over-protective, needy, insecure tentacles that did their best every day to be there for me in a way no human friend ever could was a good start. And, now that I was bound to Severus, the magic was shared between us. It felt good, this newfound balance.

So, when I called to this Death Eater's most unnaturally bound magic, the magic surged to answer my call. I might as well have been the shiniest galleon in a room full of tarnished pennies with a wide-eyed, treasure-seeking Niffler ready to pounce. It surged into me like a wave over the shore, sending tingles of its power down every inch of my skin.

"RRRrrrRrrrrrrHHHHHHHHHKKK!" I roared in declaration, my hot breath blowing back the Death Eater's hair, my venomous spittle spattering across the poor sod's face. Electric sparks zapped between my whiskers and tentacles as I drew in so close to his face, as if I were coming in for a kiss. "Was it good for you, lover?" I rumbled as his skin lost all colour, and he went completely limp.

I pulled a handful of "marbles" out of my beaded back and flung them in the air— only they weren't marbles at all. Each unfolded itself in a burst of bright blue and green, iridescent wings, a beast's elongated snout utterly ruining the illusion of some leathery butterfly creature.

Each latched onto a Death Eater's face with a squelching sound, wrapping their wings around their heads.

Swooping Evil. Such a fun name— made even more fun by the fact if you didn't feed them well enough, they liked to suck out people's brains. Mine were well fed, thank you very much. Well, thank Amelia very much. They also had the wonderful feature of being living Portkeys.

"Skreeeeee-KEH!" I shrieked, and every single Death Eater with a Swooping Evil Headdress immediately disappeared with a pop. The others returned to my hand, folding in on themselves to appear like marbles again, and I tucked them away in my beaded bag for later, should it come to that.

Severus was staring at me with a pouting expression.

"Next time, you get to dispatch them," I promised.

He seemed to cheer up at that. Boys. Boys and their toys.

His tail curled around mine, and I smiled.

A crash alerted us to there being at least one person left on our dance card.

"You're just delaying the inevitable!" Umbridge's voice screeched.

Severus and I exchanged glances. We extended our talons and pumped them up and down for Cloak, Stone, and Wand. Severus won.

I bowed at him in defeat, and he gave me a flash of shining ivory teeth before leading the way towards the crashing noises.

Umbridge awaited us.

It would have been terribly rude not to show up when she asked so very nicely.

---

Dolores Umbridge was a horrible excuse for life on earth, and I knew why the moment I saw what she was up to in the back room. Not only had she destroyed about everything in the place that was breakable, but she was pocketing trinkets that she liked, the same as a common thief. Then there was the—

"Mew!" a terrified cry came from the tiny kitten in her hand. She held it tightly around the neck, having obviously missed the class on how to handle felines in a safe, respectful manner.

"Mew! Mew!" the kitten cried frantically, writhing, squirming, and taking its teeth to the fleshy junction of her thumb and index finger.

Umbridge grew enraged, shaking the kitten harshly. "Stop that!" she yelled, crushing the poor kitten until it couldn't move.

"Mew!" a multitude of multi-coloured kittens squirmed in a woven hamper in front of her, and Dolores kicked it out of the way with her foot, and then she seemed to get an idea. She fetched the overturned hamper of punted kittens and picked it back up.

"Tell you what, Mr Ollivander," she said. "Since you won't listen to reason, I'm going to let them do the talking. Oh, did I say talking? I meant suffocating."

Smirking evilly, she placed a spell upon the basket— some sort of orb. It was some sort of artefact that created it, and the kittens inside the hamper began to writhe and gasp for air inside it.

I felt Severus' rage inside my head like a roar of fury, and he sent his shadow out to do its work. Umbridge froze in place like some kind of horrible statue. He crushed her wrist with his talons as he pulled her into a dark embrace— the very opposite of a lover's touch.

The crushed kitten fell to the ground, and I lunged for it, catching it in my talons as I slid across the debris-strewn floor. It was unmoving, but my mind was also focused on the basket of suffocating kittens. My tail wrapped around the basket and yanked it to me, my vision trying to focus on the artefact she had put on the hamper's handle.

Tendrils of magic surrounded the artefact, and I could see its true purpose: to preserve objects in an air-free environment. Great for museums and document preservation, not so good when used against sodding kittens!

While my mate dealt with Dolores Umbridge, and I trusted him to make her fate as horrible as she herself was, I breathed on the artefact and called its magic to me. I didn't bother being subtle, not when there were tiny lives in the balance. My tentacles manifested tiny, fanged mouths, and they snapped at it, sinking their fangs into the thing and shaking it like a dog with a bone. And the magic came rushing into me, draining from the object and causing it collapse into dust—a vague part of my mind deducing the dagger that had taken a piece of my mate and this object had come from the very same cursed cloth.

The sphere of anti-air collapsed, and the kittens mewled and cried inside the hamper. But they were mewling and crying— that was a good sign. I cradled the unfortunate victim of Umbridge's wrath, her tiny little body broken and battered, her breaths ominously shallow and weak.

A yowling came from under some debris, and I saw dark grey paws squirming and struggling to free themselves from beneath the fallen shelf. Desperate, heart-breaking yowls broke my heart in every direction. My tail reached over to lift the shelf, and a fluffy, grey Kneazle limp-bounded over to the hamper and quieted the mewling cries. His fur was puffed up with his distress, and he snuffled each one, licking them over until they quieted. But when he came over to inspect the injured kitten in my hands, his body drooped completely, defeat and despair radiating off him.

Severus dropped Umbridge's soiled body next to me, her face frozen in an utterly terrified expression. His shadow had released her when he had, but she remained too frightened to move.

Venom dripped from my teeth as my muzzle opened close to her face. "Do you get off on harming innocents wherever you may find them, Madam Umbridge?" Steam rose from my teeth as the acidic nature of my mouth seemed to lose pH value by the second. "I wonder. How much worth would you have to yourself when all your magic is gone?"

I stared into her wide, terrified eyes and very slowly licked my teeth. "Child abusers are the worse kind of scum," I said, the tips of my talons tapping on her skin. "People who harm those who cannot fight back— did it give you pleasure? Did it… turn you on?" I grimaced, my teeth coming ever closer to her face.

"I'll tell you what turns me on. Watching people like you get exactly. What. They. Deserve."

My free hand went over her face as my tentacles wrapped around her. Come, I called, breathing directly into her face.

Her magic couldn't leave her fast enough. It burbled forth from her in a stampede of energy, leaking out every orifice she had to be free of her and come to me.

Yet, as I stared at the broken, battered body of the Kneazle kitten, watching the voids where its inherent beautiful magic was ripped away— I remembered what Masters Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe had told me.

"Magic is energy, Hermione," Master Dewey said.

"Energy is energy," Master Cheatum had said.

"Energy that can be disrupted and removed can be replaced," Master Howe had said.

"Energy is not created or destroyed," Master Dewey had reminded me.

"And all around you is energy, everywhere."

I stared at the magically drained kitten— having exhausted its entire being in a futile attempt to escape Umbridge's pitiless grasp.

Energy can be replaced.

Severus, I called.

Yes?

Will you help me?

Of course.

Help me channel the magic back into this kitten.

He wrapped his wing around me, keeping contact, and I let Umbridge's magic-less body fall to the wayside. I closed my eyes and envisioned the lake of magic inside myself— the seemingly endless pool of energy.

I need your help.

Help? I heard it as voices, many voices.

A kitten is dying, I explained. It's a magical beast. Without magic, it will die.

An innocent? The voices whispered.

Yes, I agreed.

Whispers went back and forth in the lake. Countless voices like the buzzing of bees in a hive.

We will help, I heard them say together.

I opened my eyes, and Severus gasped. I saw in his mind's eye that my eyes had gone completely black with only sparkles of magic running across them. They were like a starfield, swirling like a galaxy. I leaned over the broken kitten, and I breathed out.

But instead of taking away, I was giving back what should have been there all along. The magic slithered from between my teeth and surrounded the kitten, cradling it in misty energy. It went in its mouth and ears, threading through its soft fur and into the pores of its skin. It mended what was left in disarray, knitting back the fabric of magic that kept a Kneazle a Kneazle. My knowledge of healing magic guided the magic along, healing the bones, reordering the veins and arteries, mending the capillary beds, and aligning the muscle fibres. But it wasn't just healing magic— some of the magic lingered, seeping back into the kitten's flesh and becoming one with a new host body, leaving the collective of magic that was in me for the body that so desperately needed it.

The tendrils of remaining magic pulled away, carressing the kitten as if to say farewell, and it rushed back inside of me, rejoining the lake of magic within. I took a deep breath, and blinked.

"Mew!" the small kitten in my hands glomped my fingers and mock-mauled them, trying to wrap her tiny mouth around my talon tip. She was whole again.

The grey Kneazle hopped into my lap, unable to wait, and dragged the kitten out of my hands by the scruff of the neck and plunked her back into the hamper with her littermates. He groomed over every inch of her mewling, wriggling body until she let out a large yawn and fell asleep on top of her furry comrades.

I leaned against Severus, enjoying the warmth of his wings as my tail sought his and corkscrewed around it with automatic need.

"I didn't know we could do that," Severus said, purring against my ear.

"I… didn't either." My confession sounded so lame outloud, but it was true. I had no idea what magic would allow when left to its own choice.

"I can enjoy some irony in that the magic you put back into the kitten was the purified magic of that heinous woman over there," Severus said, jutting his chin in the direction of the sprawled witch.

I smiled. "Magic's choice, not mine."

Suddenly, the grey Kneazle let out a series of coughs, and each one made him grow bigger, taller, and more— wait, what?

Garrick Ollivander stood before us, his wizened eyes looked at us with nothing short of profound admiration. "Ms Granger," he said warmly. "Mr Snape. I seem to owe you a great depth of gratitude for the saving of my kittens. Especially Saskia. No kitten on this Earth had her big heart, and she walked right up to Madam Umbridge and tried to rub on her ankle."

I frowned in understanding.

"She takes after her mother," Garrick said almost sadly. "She married me, after all."

"I… you—"

"For once, she doesn't know what to say," Severus said with a wry eyebrow lift. I glared at him, but my tail remained locked around his. It's not every day that someone recognises you when you look like a beast, but we also learned that Ollivander was— a Kneazle.

I looked into the hamper of sleeping Kneazle kittens and melted a little. "May I?" I asked.

"Ms Granger, you may handle my kittens anytime you wish. Both of you are welcome," Ollivander said. "Please, do call me Garrick."

"Hermione," I said in return.

"Severus," Severus said with a nod.

I scooped up the little kitten I had just saved, and she mewled sleepily, cuddling on the pads of my talons with drowsy contentment. "Hello, little Saskia."

"Mew!" she said. She had light brown fur that looked like sunshine was dappling her fur with tiny golden spots. No longer in danger of death, she looked adorable and healthy, and I was glad of it.

A purple kitten suddenly realised that her pillow was gone, and mewled unhappily. She crawled out of the hamper and pounced into Severus' lap with a sharp mew, digging her claws into his knee as she pulled herself up. She had a bright white face and mittens on her paws as well as a bright white tail tip, but the rest of her was a dark royal purple. She stared up at Severus adoringly, and set out to climb the tower that was Snape, using her claws to help give her purchase on him.

"That one is Evelien," Ollivander said with a smile. "No mountain is too high for her to climb."

"I noticed," Severus said with a quirk of his lips.

"The tawny little queen on the top of the pile is Stephanie," Garrick said with a little pride. Her mother spoils her silly, so she thinks she's the queen, but if you catch her when no one is looking, she's as sweet as pie. The peach one with the curly fur is Bianca, and the cinnamon-coloured one is Thea."

A brown and black-furred spikey tortoiseshell kitten with patches of orange, tabby, and stripes mixed in with his blond fur pounced out of the hamper and attempted to climb Severus' wing to get to the top before his sister. His littermate popped his head out from the hamper and mewled plaintively and tore a path up Severus' abused wing to get to the top before the other.

"The brown and black tortoiseshell miscreant is Tom," Ollivander said with a chuckle. "His brother, the blue and white tuxedo with the brown mop of fur on top of his head, is Martijn."

Ollivander tipped the hamper over and peered into it. He plucked out a sleepy dusky pink kitten with brown spots and a peach face. "This is Edwin. He runs around like his tail is on fire and then sleeps for hours to recoup."

My tail wrapped around the little bugger and cradled him. "Awww." I felt tears in my eyes. All of them were fluffy furballs of cuteness in overload, and I was a helpless victim.

My tentacles were inspecting each kitten with great curiosity, and the kittens were inspecting them right back, well, except for Edwin, who was passed out in a narcoleptic fit sleeping between Severus' ears. The room was full of warm mewling and the curious batting of tiny paws. After both of us had been scent-marked all over, and every kitten had been properly sniffed and recorded in our memories, they all fell asleep on cue in whatever random place they were at the time.

"Awww," I said, unable to help myself.

"Young full-Kneazles take years to grow up, unlike normal cats," Ollivander said with a smile. "They spend their first 'life' living as typical cats, getting into everyone's business, believing everything is theirs, and the rest of typical feline behaviour. They really don't graduate and become full Kneazles until they run out of standard feline lives."

"But how do—" I blushed. Way to go, Hermione. Let your mind just blurt out questions like you're thirteen again.

"Half-Kneazles, hrm?" Ollivander chuckled as he smiled at me. "Half-Kneazles never grow up, or at least, they never make that final transformation after all their lives run out. They stay kittens forever, or, at least, what adult full-Kneazles consider kittens. It's not to say they are childish. You can learn a lot in nine lives. They never learn to shift, either." He winked at us.

"Probably a good thing," Severus said. "Can you imagine the drama caused if the Ministry realised that the little old lady breeding half-Kneazles was actually forcibly introducing another sentient species into the world?"

My tentacles popped up and wavered, and I could practically see the little exclamation marks hovering over their tips. I soothed them with my hands. It must be strange living half of your life like a normal yet strangely long-lived cat and then, one day, waking up after your ninth death and realise you've become something more. Then again, literally having nine lives was something people joked about, but I don't think very many people actually believed it was possible.

Apparently, it was quite possible. Kneazles were more talented than most.

The kittens, now all snoring softly, transferred back into their hamper to sleep off the excitement, and I couldn't help but smile even wider at the pile of furry adorableness.

"So, my well-timed rescuers," Garrick said with a smile as he closed the hamper lid so his kittens could get a good nap. "I thank you for saving my life and that of my kittens. I am glad my wife is visiting the Netherlands at the moment to see family and check the shelters for unknown Kneazle kittens that slipped through the cracks. She travels the world looking for them. I feel I must ask. Do you know why I was targetted today?"

The calmness in which Ollivander took our beastly shapes truly surprised me. Even knowing he was a Kneazle didn't take that disbelief away. It was then I noticed that our Shadows, beastly as they were, were cradling Ollivander's Kneazle-shaped shadow. How had I never noticed that?

Garrick smiled. "Ever wonder why it was always so dim in this shoppe?" he said with a smile. "It's hard to keep a shadow without light."

Clever Kneazle.

Ollivander shrugged. "Glamours do the rest, if I am to appear in public under scrutiny. I'm sure the Wizarding world would be beside itself knowing that a Kneazle made their wands, hrm?"

"I think it's brilliant!" I blurted, tentacles wriggling.

Severus sighed, shaking his head at my enthusiasm.

Party pooper. Gosh.

"Garrick," Severus said in all seriousness. "We are not sure why the Dark Lord wishes to have you, but the very fact that he does means you will not be safe after this. Not here, assuredly, and given your reputation as a gifted wand-maker, probably not anywhere as soon as they got wind of you."

"Well, unless you have an underground bunker somewhere, I'm not sure how I will be able to hide," Ollivander said with concerned frown.

I leaned in, my whiskers wriggling. "Maybe we do," I said with a bestial grin. "Care to take a tour?"

---

It took the double-o teams about five hours to move all of Ollivander's stuff into his new and improved, highly secure home down in the DoM. The reason was that everything had to be scanned for tracers or anything that could potentially be harmful. No one knew what things the Death Eaters had brought into the store along with them, and with the lives of his kittens in the balance, Ollivander understood the reasons well enough.

Amelia arranged for the very first ever Ollivander's Wand Shop to open inside the Ministry, conveniently located— oops, right next to the Aurors' Office. Darn.

The kittens charmed every Auror in the place, swaying them into their service as a true feline does to any human. Of course, only the Unspeakables knew the truth, the rest simply thinking that Ollivander's cats had been charmed with random fur by accidental magic thanks to all the children that came in every year to his shop. Some suspected they were half-Kneazles, which made me wonder… how many half-Kneazles were there, really? How many were actually full-Kneazles in whatever life they were on before the big number ten?

As it was, while Ollivander tended his new Shop deep within the protection of the Ministry, his kittens tended morale in the Auror's Office, refusing to let a warm lap or a mug full of writing quills go without their attentive paws batting at them. To add to the amusement, Crookshanks had taken to babysitting both gargoyle pups and kittens, and he did them simultaneously by besetting the pups on the Auror office too. Of course, they were all perfectly well behaved with Crooks when he was looking, but he was only one feline. Mischief inevitably happened, with kittens and pups tangled up in yarn, quills, and Spell-o-tape. The pups caught fish from the Atrium fountain with kittens mewling in excitement, and Crooks, poor Crooks, would snatch the fish and put it back in the fountain, swatting the pup on the nose and driving them all back towards the Auror Office.

Alastor said the office hadn't had so much fun in years. Apparently, it was a great time to be an Auror again, something he hadn't seen in quite some time.

Each kitten had adopted a gargoyle pup as their main pal, and the pups that didn't have a kitten seemed content to share in the side-glory, though jealously kitten-napping a friend for the afternoon wasn't all that uncommon an occurrence.

The Aurors were quite amused by the pup's protective instincts, and they would set a pup in charge of guarding the coffee in the break room just to frustrate the interlopers from other offices who tried to come in and steal "the good coffee" from the Auror's break room. What they made for coffee that made it so special was an Auror trade secret— well, a secret to anyone who didn't have a nose for spice. Aurors loved Turkish coffee, and anyone who was anyone in the Auror Office drank it like it was life itself. Maybe it was the cardamon and cinnamon that made it so special. Maybe it was the organic honey from the very happy bees in the magical greenhouses or the fact that they brewed it over Occamy eggshells, I didn't know. I did know that it was all mixed together by an Auror they called Master Caffeine (which sounded better than Auror Dickinson), it was glorious. It was glorious enough that putting a gargoyle pup in front of the carafe was not entirely unjustified. There was also a certain amount of comedic value in watching someone attempt to get around the gargoyle pup that happened to be guarding it.

That, and Aurors really, really liked their coffee. I was a tea person, myself, but every so often you really needed coffee. If you defined need by contemplating doing venipuncture on yourself to infuse the coffee into your bloodstream directly by way of gravity drip. While some things worked a little differently on magical folk than on Muggles, caffeine did indeed do wonderful things for both parties, maybe because coffee and tea were basically baby potions that anyone could make.

Severus and I were now the proud neighbours of the Ollivander Kneazle family, and I really couldn't be happier with that. The Kneazle kittens always found a way to sneak in past the wards and make pests of themselves, one time leaving trails of tiny kitten prints through our flour infested kitchen. Crookshanks plunked two flour-dipped kittens (Tom and Martijn) right in front of us one morning, causing me to sneeze them off the duvet. Despite this mischief, having Garrick and his wife, Lara, so close was nothing but a good influence.

Amelia enjoyed listening to his stories, and I don't think she was the only one that liked absorbing his knowledge and stories. It became rather clear that Garrick's experience through multiple lives helped him read wands and people very well indeed. All the kittens and the gargoyle pups would gather around to listen to Garrick talk about ancient Rome and Greece, and I found myself listening too.

Business, however, came back en force, as we tried to figure out what to do about the notorious trouble-magnet Harry James Potter and the Obscure-Quest-That-Led-To-His-Idiot-Friends-Abandoning-Him. I doubted that Harry had intended to fail as epically as he had, but I still wondered what the hell he was doing out there. Was he making any difference? Without Ron and Ginny at help him, how was he faring at all? What was his goal?

Had Dumbledore trained Harry as had he had Severus and myself? Had we been so blind?

"Doubtful," Severus said, answering my mental musings outloud. "While you covered up your intelligence with being an in-your-face know-it-all hand-waver, there was never any doubt you were intelligent. While he is definitely agile on a broom, that is hardly the end all test for being able to survive out there alone."

"He wasn't exactly a genius, Severus," I admitted, "but he wasn't a total moron."

Snape curled his lip with a familiar look of disdain. "If he applied himself, he would have been passable. Instead, he ran to you and simply asked all the right questions."

I flushed. I had helped him far more than I should have. Dumbledore told me to.

"It is essential that Harry passes all of his courses, Hermione," the headmaster had insisted.

Of course, you couldn't help Harry without helping Ron, and you couldn't help Ron without also helping Ginevra. It made we want to scream that Ginny was more into making oogly eyes at Harry than in paying attention to her work, yet she managed to pay perfectly rapt attention to all of the jinxes, curses and hexes she could use to torture her brother. Pity one of those lessons she paid attention to wasn't "Take your contraceptive potion every single month and on time."

"ID?" The bored-looking wizard at the table asked.

Severus glowered at the man, and I didn't really blame him We were going into a highly-secure medical facility, not a history lesson with Professor Binns.

The wizard stared at the space in front of him as if to wait for us to put our identification on the desk, but our "ID" was around our necks. If we took it off, we might put the man in the hospital if he got a hint of our true selves before the secondary glamour snapped into place. Garrick may be able to take monsters strolling into his shop and saving his life in stride, but I highly doubted if this man could or would.

Severus and I sighed together, slamming our hands against our necks to engage the uniform that struck fear into all those who saw it: the uniform of the Unspeakables. An ornate metal and crystal headdress crowned our heads as a our robes went pure white. A thick, white cowl covered our heads, exposing what remained of our faces, but even that was limited. A "cloth" covered our eyes, glowing orbs of light flicking behind them like flames. Our mouths were covered with an intricate "gag" that was actually a filter that made everything we said come out in a low hiss that made Parseltongue sound like baby-talk. We could understand each other perfectly, but anyone who wasn't was going to be in a world of hurt trying to decipher our speech.

There was a reason Unspeakables were called Unspeakables, and the badge of the office, so to speak, played on that. The idea was, you didn't want anything or anyone interrupting you when you were on the job other than another Unspeakable. You didn't want to be identified, and unlike Death Eaters, who all wore a different design on their silver masks, all Unspeakables looked pretty much the same, save for the little bit of skin showing through the headdress. Of course, I'd know Severus if he was covered in fifteen layers of rainbow and a welding helmet, but he could do the same.

Unspeakables dealt with dangerous things— artefacts and more— that were dangerous simply when someone knew about them. People who worked at the Ministry knew to give them a wide berth, yet there was an advantage to the uniform that had nothing to do with the job. You could remove the glamour and go out to tea with a friend, and your uniform wasn't on. You never revealed what you were outside of the job, and you were never screaming "Hi, I'm an Unspeakable! Target me!"

To be normal, Severus said in my head. What a luxury.

I smiled.

We placed our "hands" down on the desk together— each one covered in specially enchanted, highly intricate Goblin silver. Through it, we could "feel" but it protected us from spells, toxins, curses, and all manner of bad things that if you are rummaging around in a store room full of artefacts you don't want it latching onto your skin and cursing you.

The goblins had their Curse Breakers, but unlike us, Curse Breakers relied on disarming traps before going into tombs and the like. Unspeakables dealt with the things Curse Breakers brought back and said "It's killed five people, and we don't even know how to classify it let alone uncurse it." Goblins loathed anything that could get in the way of their money. Nothing makes a goblin nervous like an expensive cursed artefact that refuses to be uncursed.

I had asked Amelia why the goblins didn't just have Cursebreaker uniforms like the Unspeakables did, but she said you could retire from curse-breaking. The amount of magic invested in a Unspeakable who actually wore the uniform guaranteed a job for life, or as Alastor said, a job until death.

The man stared at our hands and slowly looked up, eyes side. "Beggin' your pardons," he stammered. "Please, go right in."

We removed our hands from the desk and "floated" by him, leaving him to adjust his collar and be far more alert than he had been previously. Severus and I walked down the corridor silently, tapping our collars to change the uniform to the glamour that was least likely to cause Ginevra Weasley to have a panic attack and miscarry.

The room we wanted was a small, homey sort of room, with decor made to bring a touch of "home" to the patient. Since Ginevra was there for the long haul, the room had been filled with rustic furniture in warm, inviting colours and decorated charmingly so that the place wasn't screaming "hospital" anymore. The room exited out into a small courtyard with a beautiful garden with a gazebo and a pond filled with myriad colourful fish. The trees were in a glorious state of perpetual autumn, but it wasn't cold and wet. There was a robin sweetly singing his little heart away on a branch somewhere, and I smiled. Mum had always loved seeing the English robin on the window ledge in the kitchen. She'd slip him mealy worms and various other goodies to bribe him to stick around and sing, and it had apparently worked.

These "living quarters" suites were good for when people had to stay in the hospital for extended periods of time, and I was really happy to see it. Amelia's tour of the place had made Severus and I feel better about our decision, not that we were on the fence, but little things— small compassions and caring for their people— made all the difference. Even Severus could respect that. If anything, he could more than appreciate such kindnesses.

I knocked on the door even though it was partially open, and Healer Conroy looked up and smiled at us. "Ah, these would be the ones here to interview you about what went on out there, Miss Weasley. Take a sip of this here. It will help keep you calm and relaxed during the questioning, not that I think you won't be, but we wouldn't want any undo stress on the mother or the baby, yes?"

Ginevra nodded, looking puffy and far more sullen than I remembered her. She was always so spunky and in-your-face about everything, dishing out as much as she got from all of her brothers. Perhaps, it was the pregnancy. There was probably some shock going on, as I doubt she had been planning to get pregnant while galavanting through the moors with Harry Potter. How she got pregnant was probably a mystery I'd never know, but my mind couldn't imagine how that happened while on the run and her big brother with them.

Maybe I was just too old-fashioned.

Severus purred into my mind. He liked me just like I was. That was all that mattered, really.

"I am Chestnut," I said, using my rather bland cover name.

"Glacius," Severus said, in a deadpan drone. I tried not to cough. His name may have changed but his voice, Merlin, his voice. You couldn't conceal that sort of disdain for idiocy easily.

Ginny startled, perhaps thinking her Potions professor had stalked her to the hospital and then thinking herself quite the loon.

"I'll leave you to it," Healer Conroy said, putting a hand on my shoulder and nodding. He left swiftly with a swirl of his lime green healer's robes that reminded me of someone. It would surely come to me later.

"Miss Weasley," I greeted politely. "Please pardon us if we interrupted your treatment."

"No, no, it's fine," Ginny said. "Healer Conroy was just giving me some prenatal potions and supplements. He said it was important that I start them now as I wasn't really eating well the past couple of months."

I couldn't help but notice the roundness of her abdomen, and I realised she was much further along than I'd thought. Maybe they hadn't been getting it on while on the run. Maybe they had while still at Hogwarts. Blimey.

"Healer Conroy says she's about sixteen to eighteen weeks, perhaps more if the malnutrition affected her," Ginny said, rubbing her abdomen. "Mum always wanted a girl. She ended up with six sons before me."

"Quite a large family," I said.

"Runs in the family, to be honest," Ginny said. "Healer Conroy said that I didn't have to answer the questions, but if I didn't, I would probably be fined for— I can't remember what he said, to be honest. I'll answer whatever you ask, though," she said.

"What was your mission while you were out there, Miss Weasley?" Severus asked. To his credit he asked it without dripping disdain with every world.

Ginny frowned. "Harry had a mission he was given by Professor Dumbledore," she answered. "He said he had to find the real Sword of Gryffindor. It was crucial for the light side to vanquish the dark."

I felt my eyebrow rising into my hair as Severus coughed a barely audible "bullshite" into his hand.

"Did you find it?" I asked. It was worth a shot. Maybe, just maybe, they got lucky.

"We think it is in the Lestrange vault in Gringott's," Ginny said. "But we never got the chance to try to retrieve it. Breaking into Gringott's— that would be total madness. Even if we somehow managed to get in unseen, there would be doors and pass-phrases. It would take a miracle to get in, and it would take an even bigger one to get out."

"How did you manage to remain undetected for so long?" I asked.

"Harry has this amulet he wears that puts out some sort of ward," Ginny replied. "Dumbledore gave it to him. You activate it when want to set up a camp, and it keeps people from seeing you or even wanting to go where you are, but if you step out of it, you can't get back in because you can't find it again. Ron forgot about that when he got so mad and wanted to drag me right back home to mum and tell on me. Then, he turned around and blamed me for his not being able to go back to Harry."

"Why did you choose to go with Mr Potter?" I asked.

"I wanted to help him," Ginny said.

"Are you seventeen yet?"

Ginny shook her head.

"So you still have the trace on you," I said.

Ginny shook her head again. "Headmaster Dumbledore removed it for me."

Severus waved a wand over her and looked back at me, shaking his head in disgust.

I wondered how that was even possible. I took my wand and pointed it at myself, casting the true age charm. Ah, so there was the proof of my time travelling adventures. Twenty-eight. Ginny was looking at me like I was an old fogey. Really? Twenty-eight is not a hundred and fifty, little whippersnapper. Oh, good grief. Did I actually think that?

Severus was giving me that definitive smirk.

I rolled my eyes at him.

I pointed my wand at Ginevra and cast the charm again. Seventeen.

"When were you born, Miss Weasley?"

"August eleven, nineteen eighty-one," Ginny replied.

Now, I'm no slouch at maths, but I was pretty sure she didn't add up to seventeen, seeing as we were in nineteen ninety-eight.

"Did you ever use a time-turner, Miss Weasley?" I asked.

"Time what?"

Scratch that, then. "What did he do to take off the trace?"

"I drank a potion," Ginny said. "It tasted like feet."

And how do you know it tastes like feet? Go around gnawing on random feet? Why would you do such a thing? Ew!

One of the side-effects of the aging potion is a dramatically increased libido, Severus said in my head. An entire year's worth of hormones all at once.

My jaw dropped. Are you serious?

Masters never taught you the aging potion? Severus asked.

Apparently not that one, I answered. The one I learned used Niffler's fancy, bicorn horn, and bouncing spider juice. One drop for each month you wish to age. We used it to help mature mandrakes. No side-effects save a sedation effect over five drops, and a sedated mandrake was hardly a concern.

Severus looked thoughtful. We should compare notes later.

Indeed, I replied. I look forward to it.

"Miss Weasley," I said aloud. "Do you know where Mr Potter might be?"

Ginny shook her head no.

"Did you make any sort of plan about what to do if you should become separated?"

No again. Fuck, did you plan anything?!

Language, Hermione.

I sighed. I was getting impatient. My language always went straight to Hades when I got impatient.

"How is Mr Potter getting supplies, food, shelter?"

"Dobby comes every few days with food and other supplies," Ginny replied.

So, Albus was sending supplies by house-elf, which, like gargoyles, defied all so-called magical rules.

A bunch of curious pups entered my mind the moment I thought of gargoyles, insatiably curious. No such thing as privacy, even at work.

Who's that? Bamf asked.

Mop head! Another said.

Play?

We can play with him?

Chew on him?

Play with him and chew on him?

Mummy wants him?

Wants him to chew on him?

I want to chew on him!

Me too!

Help mum!

Yes!

We help!

Sabine drove them all out of my head. She was such a good pup. I really loved her.

"Thank you for your time and agreeing to answer our questions, Miss Weasley," I said after a heavy sigh. "I will inform your healer about the aging potion—now, before your protest," I cut her off with a stern look. "That potion could have some rather unexpected side-effects and your healer needs to know both for your safety and your baby's."

"Please don't tell my mum!" Ginny pleaded.

"I will not be the one telling your family anything, Miss Weasley," I said truthfully. "That's between you and your healer at this point, and it's up to you what you choose to share or not share with your family."

Ginny bit her lip and nodded with clear relief.

"Get some rest, Miss Weasley," I said as Severus and I moved to exit the room. "Thank you again for your time."

As we exited the room, I began to realise that Albus' web was far larger than I'd originally thought. While he had his big projects, such as myself and Severus, he also had various people working on other tasks that were hard to decipher, rhyme or reason. It was hard to tell who was a piece in the game and who was collateral damage. One thing was for sure, I was going to need multiple cups of industrial-strength Auror coffee before going in to interrogate Ronald Weasley. Tea was simply not going to cut it for that job.

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A/N: No one can prepare themselves enough for Ronald Weasley. In fact, I may require brain bleach to write the next chapter. *whimper*

On the bright side, Kneazle kittens! OMG! *hugs them*. Kneazle kittens with gargoyle pups. AHHHHH! *dies happy*