A/N: Drama unfolds. Also, mind of Ronald Weasley. Wear PPE.

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

Shadow Play

Chapter 3: Unexpected Outcomes As Evidenced By Teleportation

-Ronald Weasley-

I wasn't sure what was worse: being under protective custody in the bowels of the Ministry where even my family couldn't see me, or out with Harry trying to save the world by trying to get a sword. At least it was warm here, and they gave me my own room where I didn't have to listen to Harry, Neville, or Seamus snore all night.

They also provided food which was better than the rations we'd made do with, and it was better than even Mum's cooking. I'd never tell her that to her face, though. I valued my life.

It'd all started well enough. The Headmaster asks you to go on a special mission, gives you supplies, and lets you go off with your best mate and your clingy little sister—though I was beginning to see, in hindsight, that maybe my sister had fancied Harry long before this. I'd thought it was just hero worship, truly, but now she was pregnant, and I was more than a little gobsmacked. When I realised that Ginny wasn't just eating all of our rations and making herself fat, I'd just grabbed her and Apparated home, thinking Mum would take care of it and put things to rights. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I wouldn't have been able to find my way back.

Though, we hadn't really been poised to actually move at the time I had left. The sword was in Gringott's, and that was a place I wasn't even sure how we'd manage it even with Harry's invisibility cloak. I wondered what Harry was doing now. Was he okay?

Truthfully, I was glad to be free of the quest. My family was already in the shitter for being blood traitors thanks to my dad's love of Muggles. We really didn't need more reasons to paint a target on our backs. I was tired of being the poor pureblood who had shared everything and hand-me-down everything else. Ginny had at least gotten new clothes because she was the only girl. Not me, though, I was the one with the hand-me-downs that were already handed down. I was tired of it.

At least here I had my own place and no one bothered me. The food was good, and they didn't pester me to do something else when I really just wanted to have a good lie in.

The bad thing was, I wasn't allowed to leave or have visitors, save Ginny. She was already here, so that wasn't really an issue. I would have liked to see Lavender again, though. She always knew how to make a bloke feel wanted. I would really like to feel wanted right now.

A knock on the door gave me all of five seconds warning before the door opened and a gruff-looking bloke in a leather jacket walked in. He had a bulging glass eye where his left eye should have been, and its blue colour was almost more startling than the eye itself. I felt the colour drain from my face as I realised who it was. There could be only one person with a magical eye over his eye socket, and I had seen his doppleganger at Hogwarts for year: Alastor Moody.

"Weasley," the wizard said gruffly, eye spinning to stare at me. "I trust that tedious introductions will not be necessary?"

I gulped. "No, sir."

"Good, I'd hate to think you weren't paying attention at the Order meetings," Moody growled. "We have some questions for you about your adventures with Potter."

"We, sir?"

That was when I saw them—Two figures cloaked from head-to-toe in pristine white robes with silver and gold embroidery. The hood sheltered their faces, but the headdress—Oh, Merlin, the mask over their glowing eyes and the ornate, almost delicate mesh over their mouths—Unspeakables. One was decidedly taller than the other, but that was hardly any better. They were both as intimidating as fuck, and all the stories I'd carelessly dismissed as my father's embellishments all came back to haunt me.

Crystals clinked together like wind chimes as they entered the room, and I realised that Death Eaters had nothing on Unspeakables. We'd been running from them for the past two months, and I'd never felt the terror I felt as I looked at these people. Their goblin-silver gauntlets and flame-like eyes combined with the sort of strange "gag" on their mouths made me suspect that far more sinister things lay beneath.

Dad had told us many stories on how he'd wanted to be an Unspeakable once, but when Mum got pregnant, he'd realised he couldn't take on the commitment. He said it was a career you couldn't simply retire from or leave, and he wanted to be able to have stable hours and enough time for the family. He'd wanted to able to come home and not keep anything from his wife, and knowing how our mother was, well… Mum didn't like secrets unless they were hers.

I wondered what twisted mutations Unspeakables went through that they had to cover themselves up with such ornate uniforms. Were they actually Dementors under those hoods? Worse than Dementors? Were they leashed by magic for the DoM? Merlin, what kind of magic did that entail?

An unearthly hissing came from one and then the other, and Moody just nodded his head like he was listening to normal conversation.

"Alright, Weasley," Moody grunted. "There was some question as to whether you've been manipulated by magic, so these two are here to ascertain if you are."

"Wh-whut?" I babbled, almost hysterical. I couldn't think. They were staring at me.

Moody scowled. Why was he staring at me like I was the bad guy? I wasn't a ruddy Dark wizard. He was supposed to be all gruff and in your face to bad people or Slytherins. Not me.

"Why am I even here? It's not like I or my sister are in any danger. We're purebloods. Now that we're away from Harry, they have no reason to come after us!"

"That what you think, Weasley?" Moody asked. "You think the target comes off because you're no longer in the same vicinity of Potter?"

Well, yeah. Everyone knew that Death Eaters were all about blood purity, and our family was just as inbred as the rest of the purebloods. There had to be some benefit for that, right?

More hissing. It actually sounded worse than Parseltongue, and I wasn't sure how. I'd heard Harry hissing like a snake before, but this was different.

"Before you Apparated home with your sister, where were you, Weasley," Moody asked.

"We had a camp set up inside Wye Valley near where a lot of Muggles tend to go for their hols. Dumbledore gave us a few key places that we would alternate from, but it was a pretty big list and we moved every few days."

I stopped. "Why am I telling you all of this?"

Moody tilted his head. "Because if you don't, I'm going to keep staring at you until you do, and that means I will follow you and watch your every move of every minute and every day until you can't use the loo without me watching."

"I'm not a Dark wizard!" I yelled.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"You!"

Moody raised an eyebrow, snorting. "Look, Weasley. Your parents are looking at a lot of fines for allowing your underage baby sister to skip school in favor of going gallivanting the across countryside with you and her boyfriend. Do you really want to make it worse for them?

"I'm seventeen. My decisions don't affect them."

"Where do you live, Weasley?"

"What?"

"Where do you live? A flat in London? Have your own place? Job? Maybe if you didn't live in that stackable house in Ottery St Catchpole, I'd take your supposed independence a bit more seriously, hrm?"

That wasn't fair. I was out trying to save the world, and he was talking to me like having a job somehow made me responsible.

Moody stared at me as the Unspeakables hissed at him and then towards me.

"Hrm, you're right," Moody said. He turned to me. "Look, Weasley, just give us your memories of the list of places he could be, and you can go back to enjoying the Ministry's hospitality."

"I can't," I blurted.

"Can't or won't?" Moody glowered.

I tried my best to glare back at him, but failed. Moody had far more practice, and he was as intimidating as all fuck. "I can't!"

"Are you under a Vow?"

"No!"

"Why then?"

"I," I started to say, flushing with anger and embarrassment. "I don't know how."

Contrary to popular belief, being able to extract memories was complicated and damn hard. Dad said he had to have special training to do it for work so he could do it consistently and correctly. Charlie learned to do it so he could prove his dragons could be worked with without fatalities if treated properly. Bill had learned it because Curse Breakers have to submit their memories after every mission to prove they didn't defile a sacred tomb or protected site. I hadn't had any reason to learn it, and they didn't test on it at Hogwarts, so why bother? It's not like they took my memories to prove we were better at Quidditch than those vile Slytherins. At least then, I'd have had a reason.

Moody narrowed his good eye at me while his artefact stared right through me.

The Unspeakables hissed to themselves and to Moody. How did he understand them? Was he just pretending?

"Glacius will extract them," Moody said grimly. "I will remain here to ensure there was nothing else taken or done to you."

Should I thank him? What the hell would an Unspeakable do to me? Glacius? What the hell kind of name was that?

"Do I even have a choice?"

The shorter of the Unspeakables hissed.

"You always have a choice, Weasley," Moody bit out, "but every choice comes with consequences." He looked to the two white cloaked figures and then back at me. "If I come back, it will be to bring you in front of the Wizengamot where I will testify that the information in your head is vital to our investigation, and I will have a permit to tear your mind apart piece by piece, memory by memory, until we find the information we need."

"That's not LEGAL!" I blurted.

"This is a time of war, Mr Weasley," Moody said grimly. "Are you so very eager to let your supposed friend suffer it out alone out there for a quest that will surely kill him?"

"Dumbledore trusted us with the task!"

"And you are being so very helpful to him here, aren't you, boy?"

I felt my face getting red.

"Do you think you are going to just walk into Gringott's and ask them to let you into the Lestrange vault because Albus Dumbledore asked you to?"

We hadn't figured that out yet, but it's not like it wouldn't come to us eventually.

Moody scowled. "Fine, you win," he said, shrugging and turning to the Unspeakables. "I'm going to fill out the paperwork to get him released and make sure everyone knows exactly how helpful he's been. I'm getting a cuppa before I have to fill out the paperwork. Seeing as you dropped out of school, I have to add your name to the list to be banned from taking your N.E.W.T.s, add you to the official Hogwarts dropout list, and put you on the tuition payback list since you never finished school. Since you are an adult, I'm sure you know that falls on you to pay it back."

"But—Hogwarts doesn't have tuition!" I protested.

"Normally, no," Moody said, "but thanks to Educational Degree 2536 passed by Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, all those who drop out of school must pay back what the Ministry usually pays for each student for every year they are in school without completing N.E.W.T.s. You didn't think that they pay teachers and staff with nothing, did you?"

Moody left the room, shaking his head in disgust and muttering under his breath. The Unspeakables then turned their heads to me, their glowing, flame-like eyes staring holes into me. They spoke in low, whispering hisses, their crystal headdresses making light tinkling sounds as their goblin-silver claws clicked together.

I stared at those intricate claws and saw a lifetime of galleons in a single claw alone. One crystal from that headdress would buy me some land and a crew to build me the house that would put my parent's place to shame. Dad had showed me a bag of confiscated foci crystals once. They were cut from perfect crystals to channel magic and amplify the effects. Once, the most powerful wizards used to put them on their wands to amplify the power—long ago, before Ollivander had learned how to make wands that matched the wizard from "standard" cores. Foci fell out of favour because of how expensive they were. Only the oldest and wealthiest families could afford them, and many of them passed them down because of it.

Not that the Weasley family ever had them.

I had been tempted to pocket one then and there—but Dad was always so good about cataloging everything. He'd have gotten in trouble. What I wouldn't give for one. One little crystal from that headdress. They wouldn't even miss one. The headdress looked so intricate and fragile. Maybe I could—

The taller one turned its head to me, and its flame-like eyes narrowed into slits.

Merlin, could he read my mind?

Think of something mundane and normal. Think of food. Think of Quidditch.

My thoughts descended into imagining making out with Lavender under the pitch seating after a game filled my head. Her body. Her smell. Her lovey dovey way of saying my name, calling me her Won-Won. Oh gods. I was getting hard just—

One of the Unspeakables let out a sort of coughing growl, and the other's eyes managed to stare even more creepily at me. Those wicked talons flexed open and clenched tightly

Did they know? Oh fuck.

My libido escaped with the coldness of my sudden realisation that I was in a room with two mind-readers. Were they, what was the term? Awklewmans? No that was the wrong.. Legalamans. Were they Legolasmans?

Hell, what was it that Bill had said?

Wait… if they were bloody mind-readers and they just took what they wanted right out of my head, that would leave me with no secrets left that could get out of here without having to pay all those galleons. Surely if I helped them, they would make an exception for my cooperation?

Besides, if I got out with good standing, Lavender would think I was a hero and give me her special hero's reward like the last time I won the Quidditch game against Slytherin.

"Fine! Bloody fine! I'll help. Just get Moody back in here! Tell him I decided I want to help! You'll help me, yeah? You'll make sure I can get back in school?" Back to Lavender. I could be her hero.

The sound of hissing and windchimes was my only answer.

"Come on!" I insisted.

Moody came back in, grunting as he thrust coffee mugs into the Unspeakables' hands. Merlin only knew how they were actually going to DRINK it.

"I changed my mind!" I blurted. "I'll let you take the memories, just get me back into school, yeah?

Moody narrowed his eyes at me, slapping the large folder of paperwork against his arm as he evaluated something only he knew.

"Fine," he said, pulling out a sheet from under a sheet somewhere in that folder. "Sign here, and we'll get this over and done with right now." Then he thrust a quill into my hand.

I signed my name on the paperwork after mutely staring at the swimming words on the parchment. I thrust the parchment and quill back at him.

Moody stared at it, muttering. He shook his head and nodded to the two Unspeakables.

The tall one approached, silver talons extended to spider across my face, and I stifled a scream of fear as the coldness of the metal clamped across my skin. The tip of a wand moved between the silver, and a stream of shimmering memories trailed out from my head into a vial the other was holding.

The "fingers" left my face and the Unspeakable stepped back, its hissing speech directed at Moody.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it, boy?" Moody growled.

The smaller Unspeakable clicked a silver lid on the crystal phial it was holding, handing it to Moody.

"I'll process your paperwork," Moody said, tilting his chin. "We'll have Aurors escort you back to Hogwarts when it is done if the Headmaster approves."

"If?" I blurted.

"Headmaster Dumbledore personally approves all readmissions to the school," Moody said. He looked hard at me. "If what you told the Aurors when you came in is the truth, the Headmaster is fully aware of your quest, hrm? Surely, he wouldn't hesitate to approve of you returning?"

I swallowed hard. "I guess," I replied. He'd sent us out to help Harry. I wondered if he would accept us back having failed to stick with him.

The two Unspeakables left the room, their white robes swishing as they swept the room, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that I was left with only Auror Moody to glare at me like I hadn't a lick of sense. I wondered if he liked anyone? Surely he was the most lonely man on earth.

-Severus-

"I fear you have just insulted my mother and said I dress with mustard," Brandywine said calmly as Hermione attempted our latest phrases in Gobbledegook. As much as it amused me, I knew I wasn't doing much better.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione exclaimed, flushing red from her head to her tentacle tips.

"Fear not, it is a very complex language," the goblin replied. "How about you try, Severus?"

I attempted my phrase, hoping it said "I need your help."

Brandywine looked at me strangely. "You like mushrooms?"

I slumped, and even my tentacles were shaking their tips at me in their equivalent of facepalms. Hell, Hermione's tentacles were shaking their tips at me too. Thanks for making me feel like an inept moron, traitors.

Nothing makes a person feel as stupid as trying to learn a language you really should have tried learning when you were younger and apt to more quickly picking such things, but Gobbledegook was hardly a normal curriculum item at Hogwarts—or anywhere for that matter. Brandywine, who was a goblin silversmith of the highest order was also our teacher for learning the customs and language of the goblins. It was something all Unspeakables were required to learn, both so we could talk to our goblin allies in their own language but also so we didn't have social gaffes that caused the next wizard-goblin war. From what we'd been told, the relationship between the DoM and the goblin nation was unique in that it was about mutual cooperation and respect. The goblins working with the DoM had the same rights of any wizard or witch, unlike anywhere else in Britain, and the partnership was something both sides guarded fiercely as well as promoting mutual respect.

I had had no idea it was even possible, to be perfectly honest. Goblins were the people you dealt with at the bank, and beyond that I hadn't paid much attention. That was much like it was everywhere else and also why what the DoM had was such a jealously guarded secret.

Goblin silversmiths, human foci-crafters, and now a certain Kneazle wandcrafter was amongst the trade-crafters in the DoM, all of them heartily provided for and protected for their crafts. There were also other trades such as healing, alchemy, potions, and the standard masteries, but there was also dragonets that tended the fires, house-elves that dutifully tended all the quarters and family housing, mounted and non-mounted combat trainers, martial spellcasting masters, and more. It was really a culture inside a culture and a society hiding within an established society, none of it leaving the confines of the DoM lest the secret that had created such a mutually beneficial relationship be exposed to outsiders.

It became clear to me, and perhaps Hermione too, that this was the reason Unspeakables had lifetime careers and never left. We weren't prisoners; we were protecting the ones we cared about. Everyone was invested in it. These were our allies, our friends, and our loved ones all together. Sure there would be drama, as all families had, but the one thing we all kept in our minds was what we had to lose if we didn't suck it up and make things work: everything. That was something to Topsiders (as most of the folk in the DoM called them) had lost sight of.

All of this we were learning as we waiting for the professionals to finish picking through the memories I had extracted from one Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Instead of wasting time filtering through Ronald Weasley's brain, I had pretty much taken all the memories he'd had for the last two months he'd been gallivanting across the country with Potter and stuffed it into a vial. Specialists would go through them, minute by minute, recording everything in case anything was important. From what I heard from Master Memchase, the mind of Ronald Weasley was a scary place indeed. For every morsel of usefulness, there were about twenty heaping servings of adolescent, hormone-driven, sexually-saturated thoughts and scenes, leaving all of us to believe that being on the run on a mission hadn't really put anything in perspective.

There were hypotheses from some of the masters that purebloods matured slower than those of mixed bloodlines. It was common knowledge that magicals aged slower than Muggles, but it was suggested that purebloods aged slower both in mind and body, so even while your body may be seventeen and of age, your mind was still lurking around thirteen or fourteen. It could explain why it had taken Draco so long to realise being branded by the Dark Lord was not an honour in any way—hell, even Lucius, despite having had a child of his own, hadn't really seemed to realise what was at stake until he "failed" to rein in Bellatrix (not that anyone but the Dark Lord could) during the night Sirius Black had kicked the bucket in a duel with his cousin. It had ultimately cost the Dark Lord Harry Potter, and thanks to the prophecy, Harry Potter was wanted very badly.

Then again, there were notable mature wizards and witches from Pureblood families who had made a name for themselves before they were past their thirties and forties. But were they exceptions or the rule? Apparently there were too many vectors complicating things to be sure. Personally, I was on board to the hypothesis, as my personal experience with purebloods in my schooling years seemed hellbent on proving it at every turn.

The back of my mind argued that adolescence, by definition, made people stupid, and there was really no difference in magical or non or even human and nonhuman. Brandywine's stories of his children were horrific tales of how-the-hell-did-anyone-survive-puberty. His children had apparently tried to shortcut a method of metallurgy and had started a fire that had consumed half of a borough before had been stopped. Considering typical goblin society would often condone beating the shite out of stupid until the stupid stopped (or in some cases throwing the offender to the dragon and forgiving them only if they survived the experience), I had to wonder how any of us survived in either society. Brandywine confessed that he had wanted to to be a healer when he was a young goblin, which was utterly scandalous in goblin society. Male goblin healers? Preposterous! Or at least, so he said.

"Times have changed," the old goblin had said. "Or, at least, they have here. Here, my grandchildren can become a healer or a silversmith, and no one will throw them to the dragon to punish their insolence."

Despite our horrid SNAFUs in the land of goblin language, Hermione was laughing and smiling with the small gathering of goblins who were showing her some of the craftwork they specialised in. Curious tentacles were inspecting all the little rings, lanterns, lock mechanisms, vault keys, and even silverware. The goblins seemed amused by this, and even gave the tentacles some adornments.

"They have bling!" Hermione laughed, and I felt a smile tugging at my lips. It was hard to be grumpy around her. Between her warm heart and her curious tentacles, there was a lot to love. Sure enough, each tentacle had some "bling" from rings to finely cut gems.

My tentacles hissed, pouting. I could feel they were feeling put out and ostracized. They wanted bling too, and I was being McGrumpy-Pants and standing out of the way in an unforgivably antisocial manner. I think one just bit my ear. Hey!

Hissss.

Pouting tentacles, really?

Hermione's tail wrapped around my waist and yanked me forward and closer to her, and my tentacles wriggled happily as they cheerfully inspected all the goblin-made shiny things.

I crossed my arms in front of me, scowling at Hermione. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" she replied with a snort. "However do you mean?"

All of her blinged out, gemmed over, crystal adorned tentacles stared at me in tandem with her.

One of my tentacles, which had been recently blessed with a shiny jingle bell, rang festively, and the other tentacles seemed to approve.

"Humbug," I grumped.

My insufferably festive tentacle jingled happily, defying me at every turn.

Hermione gave me a warm look and a glint of her fangs, and I couldn't look her in the face without flushing. I pulled my robe around my shoulders and inward across my chest. I mumbled the ingredients to gingerbread facial tonic and depilatory potion in my head.

"Severus," Hermione said, practically bouncing on her toes.

"Hn," I managed to say.

She reached up and kissed the tip of my nose, tentacles jingling with jolly approval.

"This is August," I murmured. "I feel like you're gearing up for Christmas."

She smiled at me serenely. "Why not? I already have the best present of all."

"Enough Kneazles to fit in every stocking?"

"Nope."

"Family safely evacuated?"

"Guess again," she said with a smile.

"A good job and co-workers who appreciate you?"

Hermione put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "No biscuits for you if you can't figure it out," she said, putting out her lip in a pout.

Her tentacles, much like felines, tilted their points up and snubbed me.

They snubbed me!

Mine were poking me, the jingly one being extremely insistent. I tried to bat it away, but it bit me on the finger.

"This is a conspiracy," I muttered.

She turned slowly away, the pads of her paw-hands brushed against my face. She was caught somewhere between woman and she-beast, a fluid blend of fur and skin seamlessly welded together. She wore it so naturally, no sign of the awkwardness she had pretended as a "teenager." She walked away from me in a glide, her wings folded around her shoulders like a cape.

"You are my present," I blurted. "My future. My here and my now."

She turned to me, her eyes shimmering with moisture. "You're such a romantic," she said with a kind expression.

One of my tentacles bit me, and I rubbed my hand and stared at it. It held a shining ring of goblin silver surrounding a reddish-orange gem of fire and light. Two sparkling emeralds, like the eyes of a beast, complimented the main stone with a shimmer of magic. My bitey tentacle did its best tentacle glare at me.

I fell on one knee before her, my breath caught in my throat. "I—" What the hell was I trying to say? What could I say? "Magic may have decided for us. Fate may have thrown us together, but will you—" Merlin's beard this was hard. "Will you choose of your own free will to wear my ring? Will you be mine?" Mine sounded like such a selfish possessive thing, but I did not want to share her with others. While I knew she would meet other wizards and work with them. There would always be others in her life. I wanted to be hers as much as I wanted her to be mine.

"Hrm," Hermione said, staring at the ring with evaluation. "That depends."

"On?" What sort of task would I have to do to prove my devotion? Slay a dragon without a wand? Keep the gargoyle pups out of the bedroom by some miracle of Merlin? Brew her a luck potion blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back as I dive underneath a closing gate? Wrestle a rabid manticore with a werewolf complex? Imperio the Dark Lord, make him wear a pink tutu, and have him dance in Swan Lake with the giant squid? Transform Umbridge into a decent, kind, generous human being? Turn tears into diamonds? Convince Lucius to shave his head and become a monk? Persuade Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to give up his magic in favour of sacking groceries for Muggles at Tesco?

Hermione's tail tip waved like a flag in front of me, a shimmering emerald ring set in goblin silver—the stones were set like floating islands surrounded by the band, shimmering magic ensuring that if I was brewing something it would never catch on anything or pick up debris. It was practical, beautiful, and thoughtful. "Will you wear mine?"

My hands cupped around hers. "I believe that will be… acceptable."

Hermione's eyes grew as brilliant as the sun as a warm smile stretched across her face.

My insufferably festive tentacle jingled in approval and celebration, voicing its opinion on the matter. I couldn't be annoyed because she leaned over and kissed it on the tip causing it to blush and rub against her cheek.

-Rubeus Hagrid-

"Aw, come in, Perfesser Headmaster, sir," I said, using my foot to push Fang away from the door.

Fang gave a series of furious barks and then took off, diving under my bed. Then the bed began to shake as my dog trembled violently beneath it, whining pitifully. What was wrong with that dozy dog? He knew the Headmaster. I tried to lure out Fang from under the bed with a steak, but the old dog just whimpered like a puppy.

"How're ya doing, Headmaster?" I asked, passing him his accustomed cuppa.

Albus sat down at the table, and the old chair creaked as he settled. The sun streamed in from the doorway, casting the room in harsh relief. The shadows were long and sharp, but—

The shadows in the room were all leaning away, almost as if they were trying to escape the room.

"Yer feelin' okay, perfesser?" I asked with a frown.

"I'm perfectly fine, Hagrid," he replied, stretching. "More than fine, in fact."

"Ya look a little pale, sir," I said. "Getting enough sleep, yeah?"

"Yes, yes," he said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Just came out to get some fresh air and see how you were doing, Hagrid." He stretched, his oddly long fingernails scratching at the back of his neck. They almost looked like—Fang's claws after he'd finished digging up gnomes from the garden.

"Erm, Headmaster, sir?" I asked, squinting at those oddly gnarled fingernails.

I looked up to a rustling noise and saw that the gnomes in the garden were fleeing in droves. They couldn't pull themselves out of the ground and run fast enough, their oddly potato-shaped heads made it look like produce was rolling out of the garden by itself.

"Get yourself blasted by a potion or sumthin'?" I asked. "Ya said Perfesser Slughorn was in the infirmary with grout?"

"Gout," Dumbledore muttered. "Potion exploded and gave him Muggle diseases. Poppy has it under control. I just had to take over his classes for a few days."

Maybe a potion exploded on him and he didn't realise it had some pretty strange… side effects?

Dumbledore was itching himself again, taking off his hat in order to scratch his head. Were those… horns?

"Um, Perfesser, sir," I said uneasily. "Maybe you should see Poppy if you're feeling a bit… itchy, sir. Maybe a potion went a little pear-shaped—?"

Dumbledore just waved me off unconcernedly. "Honestly, I'm fine, Hagrid," he replied.

"Errhhh," I replied. Wizards were an odd lot, really. Odd things happened and most just took it as par for the course, but I was pretty sure horns and claws weren't standard for Albus Dumbledore. Well, almost sure. Possibly.

"Don't be such a hen, Hagrid," Albus muttered. "Minerva is enough of that, and she's a tabby."

Images of winged, egg-laying tabbies filled my head, and I wondered if you could cross Kneazles with magical poultry and make catbirds. That would certainly help with the rodent problem. Then again, I watched a trail of rodents leaving my hut in a tearing hurry, all of them giving the middle table a very wide berth as they made their frantic exodus. What the hell was going on? Something was pretty dodgy, and I wanted to press Dumbledore more, but on the other hand I really didn't want a proper ear-bashing for sticking my nose into his business. I really wanted to know why he was sporting horns and claws, thought. That couldn't be remotely natural.

"Ah, Hagrid, thank you for sharing your fresh air with me," Dumbledore said with a pleased sigh. "I think I'm going to go for a walk around the lake and make sure no one is attempting to drown themselves while playing with the giant squid."

The Headmaster stood and itched himself again around the ears, his hair moving away from pointed, goblin-like ears. His hair covered the tips again, and he adjusted his hat. "Good day, Hagrid."

As the wizard walked out, I noticed an odd-looking bulge right where his tailbone would be. Was that… fur?

Maybe I should go tell Madam Pomfrey. Something was ruddy well off, and if it was a potion doing it, it should be taken care of sooner rather than later. The Headmaster might not realise it, but someone had to tell him that he was looking rather… feral today. Probably best for all of us if Poppy or Deputy Headmistress McGonagall took care of that. I don't know about them, but if the Headmaster was turning into a satyr, maybe someone should have a good sit down with him and discuss options.

Fang finally popped his head out from under the bed with a mournful whine.

"What's your problem, Fang?" I asked.

I looked around to toss Fang the steak that had been sitting on the table and blinked. Where the hell was that steak?

"Did you steal that steak, ya dozy dog?" I accused Fang.

Fang looked at me like I was a ruddy blockhead.

Well, if he didn't eat it, where had it gone?

-Poppy Pomfrey-

Minerva hadn't been kidding. Something was decidedly wrong with the Headmaster, and it was only to assure us that everything really was fine that finally got him into the infirmary for a checkup. Things, however, were nowhere near fine.

Albus had the start of very goat-like horns on his head, which made me think that Hagrid's earlier whisper that the old Headmaster was turning into a satyr was perhaps not so far-fetched, after all. His hands had strange, dog-like claws, almost as if his nails had thickened and he hadn't bothered to trim them in quite a few months. I had seen him just before school had started up again, and he had been in the peak of health for his age. Things simply weren't adding up here.

Albus' skin had developed some sort of dry flakiness that belied the actual problem. It seemed as though his skin was changing, and the old skin was thinning and cracking to expose something very… alien underneath. Yet, there was no detectable potion residue as often was seen with so many potion accidents. There was no trace of a curse or hex, mischievous magic, or even the rare incidence of divine magic that cropped up occasionally.

What was going on here?

When I moved my wand over his body, strange tendrils of magic seemed half-formed, almost as if they had been cut off from something or someone. Then there were the—oh dear Merlin, what the hell were those?

Clusters of fat, leathery-skinned worms were sprouting off his back. That was not natural at all! One was trying to pick Albus' nose as another was idly scratching his bum, then they exchanged jobs. Nasty.

Before I said anything, I carefully copied my memories into a vial and hid it in one of the medicine pouches she carried healing powders in. I quickly wrote on the parchment, wrapped it around the pouch, and summoned the dozing infirmary owl. I sent it off to her contact in the DoM. He would know what I was looking at and how to deal with it—if anyone did.

I frowned. It wasn't like me to break the confidentiality of my patients, but my gut was telling me that something insidious was happening to the Headmaster. I wanted to know what it was before attempting to treat it. I especially wanted to know before I attempted to break the news to Albus before he was ready to hear it. Even now, he was in denial that he needed anything more than an anti-itch cream for his skin.

I handed Albus a tin of itch cream with a disapproving tut. "This should help soothe the itch, Headmaster. You will come to me if you experience anything out of the ordinary. There could be delayed effects to the magic you were exposed to."

Albus shook his head. "I'm fine, Poppy. You needn't worry," he said so smoothly that I couldn't help but suspect that he had no idea whatsoever about what was going on. Was he blind to the tentacles on his back that were—

Well, one had gotten itself tangled up in the bandages, another was picking Albus' nose, the other scratching his rear end again, and another pair appeared to be conducting an invisible orchestra.

"Here, let me help you with that robe, Albus," I said, quickly yanking the robes over his back and smooshing the tentacles under the fabric. Like the cat that couldn't find its way out of a box or a paper bag, the tentacles seemed stymied as to what to do about their situation—thankfully. I used my wand to "groom" his misshapen nails into something more human, and I used a gentle sanding charm to make his horns disappear, being very careful not to use any spell directly on anything that might react badly to magic. Who knew what it might do? I certainly didn't. I didn't even care to guess. Mere guesses couldn't heal people. Not with the sort of proven results I preferred, anyway.

Something tickled insistently at the back of my mind. Where had I seen this before? I had seen it before, but where?

"Albus! He's going into convulsions!"

"You can stabilise him just like before!"

"This isn't fixable, Albus! Something is tearing this boy apart! Even if I can physically fix him—his mind, what about his mind!"

Black hair. Dark eyes that shone with an eerie red glow. Pale, pale skin.

Suddenly, the boy… changed. The hair became blacker. The eyes stared back at me as he screamed silently. His body was convulsing. Slytherin colours. Sweat poured down the boy's pale face. His stained, yellow teeth were curved into pointed fangs. Fur was sprouting over his body.

Werewolf! My mind screamed, but no. No it wasn't a full moon.

A snarling muzzle pushed out of his face as his agonised screams continued. He leapt from the bed, snarling, his teeth bared and talons outstretched to attack!

"Stop." Albus said, looking sombre. The creature snarled but stopped.

"Obliviate."

The scene changed to a young girl who was more feline than human—her body twisted and changed by an accident involving Polyjuice. My hands were passing her a potion that shimmered with flecks of red and gold, and something told me that this was not for the first time. The girl mutely took the potion and drank it. Strange, intricate runes covered her skin, spanning across her young body like a cartographer's map.

The scene changed. The same girl stood framed by the moonlight as it streamed through the infirmary window. She was growing, changing. She was taller now—a long, bushy mane of curls tumbled around her head. She turned from the window and stared at me with black, black eyes. Her muzzle curled into a snarl as she stared balefully at me. Her body changed fluidly. She grew in height and her body shifted into that of a fearsome beast—a chimaera of monstrous traits. Dark wings unfolded from her back as tentacles waved behind her.

Her muzzle wrinkled in a threatening growl, but her tentacles poked her, rubbing against her cheek as her whiskers pulled on her face. Her ears went flat as a flicker of recognition registered on her face. The curl of her snarl softened. Her long talons slowly relaxed. Her tentacles hummed and purred, stroking her ears gently as sanity seemed to return to her. I could feel a stir of magic—powerful, powerful magic—like a siren's song.

"I thank you for healing me, Poppy," the beast said in a woman's voice. "My control is usually much better than that. I fear I must apologise for my abysmal behaviour." She sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. "I have not yet eaten, and this endangers you."

Her talons brushed my cheek very carefully. "I am truly sorry." The pads of her talons touched my skin so very gently, almost like a fond lover's caress. "Obliviate tempus defluo."

Then I heard a faint whisper. "You've always been a good friend, Poppy."

Abruptly, I was jolted awake from the memory, feeling the caress of that beast's paws on my face. I felt the tenderness—remembered the sincere regret in her eyes. Compassion on the face of a monstrous beast.

"Are you okay?" the beast snarled, blood dripping from its claws as the masked Dark wizard fell to the floor. The Dark Mark was on his wrist.

I had been in Hogsmeade getting supplies. He had come out of nowhere.

I felt myself nodding.

Again, the soft caress of paws on my face, velvet against my skin that belied the wickedly curved talons. "Obliviate tempus defluo," she whispered. "Go back to Hogwarts, Poppy," her voice said in a whisper against my ear. "Do not stray."

I blinked away the memory, my eyes tearing up from the strength of the regret I was remembering.

"I feel like I've known you forever, Hermione," I heard myself saying as I passed her a vial of tincture for her to take to the Deputy Headmistress. "I don't know why. It seems like I can always talk to you."

Hermione smiled at me. Warmth and compassion filled her eyes that felt like the brush of fur against my skin. "I am very good at keeping secrets," she said softly. The air smelled of the night, chocolate, peppermint, and—pancakes fresh from the griddle.

Her hand brushed against mine and squeezed it tenderly. "I will always remember you," she said, seemingly randomly. Her smile was ineffably sad as she turned and left the room, making me feel a tug of loss at her absence.

"Hermione," I said out loud, instantly regretting it.

Strangely, Albus wasn't paying attention, his focus clearly elsewhere, deep within his own mind.

"Good afternoon, Poppy," he said, standing up. "I thank you for the cream, my dear."

As he walked away, the rather awkward and obvious bulge of a tail that he appeared to have hidden inside his robes, I wondered if Albus had dipped into the same magic that had twisted three innocent children into monsters: one but in the mind, and the other two physically.

Before I forgot, I placed the newfound memories into a vial as well and corked it, sealing it with my wand. I put it in another bag and summoned another owl. "Take these to Amelia Bones," I heard myself say. I watched the owl take off out the window and disappear.

This was no longer a simple matter of healer-to-healer cooperation. This was proof that something decidedly sinister had been going on in the very halls of Hogwarts, events that stretched all the way back to the time of Tom Riddle himself.

Sweet, merciful Merlin, what in the world had happened inside these hallowed halls?

As I gazed thoughtfully at the open door the Headmaster had just walked out of, a sinking feeling began to gather in my stomach.

Was Albus Dumbledore a victim? Or the one behind it all?

It couldn't be—

What kind of monster would experiment on innocent children and for what purpose?

My memory surfaced of the beast clutching the body of the fallen Death Eater, only to fling it to the ground after she had rescued me. The beast had known no fear. The beast had be absolutely merciless.

Yet—that sorrow and the soft brush of velvet paws against my face.

That beast had been Hermione.

The beast was Hermione.

"I regret to inform everyone that unfortunately your fellow classmate, Hermione Granger, was slain in a Death Eater attack during the summer holidays," Headmaster Dumbledore had said during the opening feast. "Also, our own Professor Snape has sadly gone missing. Professor Slughorn has agreed to teach and serve as the head of Slytherin house in his stead. Professor Mettle has agreed to accept the position of Professor in Defence Against Dark Arts this year as well."

"Stop," Dumbledore's voice had commanded the beast that had once been but a boy.

The beast had instantly obeyed.

Oh no.

Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't trying to cure the children. He was the one transforming them!

I rushed out of the Hospital Wing to find Minerva, praying I could get to her before I ran into the Headmaster again, because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep the horror off of my face if I were to see him now. He would then know that I knew, and a man who could find it within himself to create such monsters out of his own students would have little care for the likes of me.

"Severus, you're alive!" Minerva glomped onto the stiff Potions Master with abandon, completely ignoring his protests and typically dour expression.

All of our things had been smuggled away to this rather charming shared flat deep within the bowels of the Ministry, or rather, the DoM. It was a place I had no idea even existed, and after having passed by the rather intimidating gryphon guarding the entryway and being sniff-tested by about a score of adult gargoyles not including their pups, one dragon, and a charming hippogriff named Nancy, I was feeling much better about the relocation. Seeing Severus there, though—I hadn't even realised I had been holding my breath.

"Mère! Mère!" an excited group of gargoyle pups were jumping up and down, wings flapping together in a clap. "Quiest cette personne la?"

"My lovelies," a bushy-haired woman said with a warm smile. "This is Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey. Say hello!"

The mass of gargoyle pups turned to regard us, all of them intently staring at us both. "Bonjour, madames!" They looked at us intently, unearthly still.

Minerva and I exchanged glances. "Hello, pleased to meet you," I said.

"Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance!"

"Je suis très heureuse de faire votre connaissance!"

The pups all stared, but their wings clapped together as their noses worked to sniff us over. The woman with the warm smile, said something in what sounded like French, growling, and purring at the same time, and the pups crooned happily, rubbing up against her. One clung to her shoulder, whispering something into her ear, and she smiled and ruffled the creature's scruffy mane and the space between its wings.

The pups spread around the flat, sniffing everything and even looking over some things to investigate the possibility of other things that might be behind them. One pup seemed a little more shy than the others and clung to the woman's back and snuggled her neck, yet the woman didn't seem to mind. She touched noses with the pup and rubbed cheeks.

Minerva was losing her heart and half of her sandwich to a dark blue pup with webbed ears and spaded tail. She looked years younger just when she smiled, and the pup curled up on her lap, exposing its belly for her to rub.

"That's Bamf," the curly-haired woman said as she glided over with an eerie sort of grace. "The rose-gray lady over there is Sabine, and most of the rest haven't named themselves yet." The pup on her shoulder tugged on her ear, which I noticed was distinctively tufted with fur and pointed. "This guy is Klinger. Severus said it was fitting because he clings to you like a cockleburr."

The brown gargoyle pup beamed happily, showing his pristine ivory teeth.

I felt my heart melting as I gazed at the pup, and he wiggled his little rear before hopping over to greet me face-to-muzzle. He pressed his cool nose to mine and whuffled, his breath tickling my nose.

"Hrrr!" A pointy-eared pup said, his paws on my knee. He looked up at me with soft brown eyes and a peach-coloured face.

"That one is Radar," the woman said with a chuckle. "He's the first to sense trouble and tell everyone about it."

A bird-headed gargoyle pup pounced on Radar and they tussled around, growling and batting at each other in play.

"And this miscreant," the woman said, plucking the pup up and cuddling him, "is Hawkeye."

The dark-green and black-maned pup made a hawk-like scream and cuddled back mercilessly.

"Go on, love," the woman said. "Go see where they put everything so you're not trying to play catch-up with your brothers and sisters." She kissed them both on the head, and they croon-purred at her before merrily chasing each other into the next room.

"They'll take inventory of everything and where you put it," the woman said with a laugh. "Chances are if you forget where you put something, they'll know exactly where you left it."

"I've never seen so many gargoyles in once place," I said with no small amount of wonder.

"Well, if you are here, you'll see a lot of them. They'll pop in and out at will to check on your things and then pop out, kind of like cats that decide to tear around the flat at odd hours of the night."

"Do I know you?" The words came out, unbidden, and I realised I was staring at her.

She had such a sombre sadness about her even though she was smiling.

"Perhaps," she said softly.

"Please, tell me how do I know you?"

"They do not recognise your true face," Severus said, coming up behind the woman. He pressed her close to him in a sort of intimacy I had never seen or expected to see from Severus in all the years I'd known him—boy, teen, or adult.

She placed her hands on her face and sighed. "Perhaps, this is not the face you would recall as much as—" she passed her hand over her face as a blur of change rippled across her features and a more youthful face peered out at me through a bushy mane of curls.

"Hermione," I whispered.

"Hullo," Hermione replied.

"You're alive!" I said, crushing her to me. "Merlin, you're alive." I was weeping, wailing, and clutching her to me.

I stared at her—the memories of her compassion and sorrow surging up from the prison of my mind. I remember the light brush of her paws against my face.

"You're the beast," I blurted.

The sorrow in her tugged at my heartstrings. "I am."

"You saved my life," I whispered, cupping her face in my hands. "Thank you."

"Pas de quoi," she said with a tug of a smile on her lips. Her face then reverted back to the older woman's more world-weary appearance. A slight movement caught my eye, and a black tentacle gently curled the hair around her ears and groomed it into proper order before disappearing back under her collar.

"You don't have to hide them," I said. "May I… see them?"

Hermione smiled. "Once you meet them, they will never want to hide around you again."

"I don't mind."

Inky blank tentacles emerged from her collar and peered almost shyly at me. I reached out my hand, and they slid against my fingers. It was like velvet and the finest silk mated together. One of them had a poppy flower clutched in its tiny, fanged mouth and placed it in my hand. Another jingled at me, sporting a flashy, miniature ring of jingles around its "neck."

As I tentatively pet the nearest tentacle, the others hissed and jabbed at it jealously, fighting for pets as well.

"How many—?" I asked in wonder.

"Oh, over two dozen," Hermione said with an amused smile. "I gain one every time someone hits me with an offensive spell."

"Offensive—to your taste?" I mused.

"Hah, no—offensive as in meant to kill me," Hermione said. "I can't imagine why."

Severus snorted, pressing his nose into her hair. She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes. He stared down at her with a softness— genuine emotion that was blindingly affectionate. He leaned in with a low, purring growl, and Hermione rubbed her cheek against him. A warm brush of energy like warm fur brushing against my skin tickled my arms and left gooseflesh in its wake.

I realised in that moment that they were bonded in the ancient magic that no magical worth their, well, magic could deny. I didn't need to see the rings on their fingers to know they were bound together tighter than any brand or token of possession. They were each others' beacon throughout life.

"Congratulations," I said, having nothing more profound to say but to acknowledge their bond.

"Hermione?" Minerva's voice was so quiet.

Hermione turned to look at her once professor and former Head of House. "Hello, Professor," she said politely.

"Oh, lass," the Scottish witch pulled her into a tight embrace. "You're alive— you're all grown up."

As Minerva squeezed the smaller witch in her arms and held her tight, the gargoyle pups hummed as their wings flapped in a clapping noise. Minerva grabbed Severus into the hug and hugged them both as she let out a sob of relief. "Ah, my lad and lassie. Nothing could possibly make this day any better."

Fwoooop!

A pile of gargoyle pups teleported in with a passenger, which proceeded to fall flat on his face on the floor. He groaned, rubbing his head as he rolled over to expose his startling green eyes, a face covered in scratches and scrapes, and an unruly mop of black hair that had been so caked with dust and dirt that it had obliterated the colour of his normal hair.

"Mr Potter?" Minerva and I said together.

"Mister. Potter," Severus said, punctuating the space between the two words as clearly as a speed bump.

"Oh, Merlin, it's you," Potter blurted, staring at Severus like he was the demon Mephistopheles made flesh and bone. "Please, if you're going to kill me, just do it quickly."

Severus arched one brow as Hermione shook her head.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Potter," Severus said, "but it appears your days as a wanted fugitive gallivanting about Britain in a tent has reached its end at last."

Harry Potter wasn't listening. His head rolled as his eyes went back into his head and he collapsed in pure exhaustion.

"We found him!" one of the pups exclaimed.

"Found him!"

"Covered in mud!"

"Up to his waist!"

"Mud everywhere."

"Mud ate his stick."

"I fetched his stick!" One pup spat out a muddy wand and it splorched on the floor with a splat.

"Is it him?"

"Do we have to take him back?"

"Is it the wrong muddy wizard?"

"All muddy wizards smell the same."

"I found a sword!" one pup said, spitting out a shining goblin-forged sword. "It being carried by that one!" The gargoyle pointed a paw.

The larger gargoyle pup spat out a pillowcase-wearing house-elf covered in mud. Dobby fell fast first into the floor in fright, unconscious.

"Did we do good?"

"Do good?"

"Did we?"

Hermione hugged the pups to her, cleaning them off with her wand. "Je t'aime tellement," she cooed her praise. They all clapped their wings happily, rushing over to share in the praise and the hugs.

Severus hit the house-elf with a stunning spell. "Very good, indeed," he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr.

"I stand corrected," Minerva said, shaking her head. "This day just got even better."

"Mew!" a blue kitten mewled from atop Potter's head, batting at the mud.

"And even more amusing as time goes on," I agreed.

Severus' lips curved up in a smug smile.

A/N: Gargoyle pups, unlike some human children, earn their keep from an early age. Heh. Heh. Heh. As for the Kneazle kitten, well, someone had to be king of the Potter mountain.