So, it happened. As predicted, despite most readers being awesome about the forewarned change in the story's ship dynamic, someone got salty over it—in not just one, but two anonymous reviews (back-to-back very obviously from the same person [I have my guest reviews on moderation, so they are not in public view until I allow it, I hadn't, yet the second comment tacked exactly onto the first, in a way that would not be possible unless the person leaving the second one knew what the first one said, which they couldn't have, because that's just how FFN review moderation works]). I deleted them, because they didn't have anything to do with the actual content of the story, but . . . this person got to the last chapter, then noticed the change in pairing and told me that I'd 'pulled a dirty trick' by listing it as Jamione and then changing it to James/Hermione/Remus. Let that sink in, kids. I was open with everyone from the moment it occurred to me that there might be a change, I spoke about it more than once, and only changed the ship pairing when I was certain.

It's completely okay to not like a change to a story you're reading. You're not obligated to continue if you find that it no longer appeals to you, but trying to guilt the writer for letting their story evolve is not all right. Chances are they feel bad enough already, because they're aware some readers may feel deceived. It's okay to be unhappy with a story change and stop reading, it's even okay to tell us the story is no longer your cup of tea because of it. It is not okay to act personally affronted because a writer changed something in their story. We share our stories with you lot for the sake of those in the fandom who might enjoy reading our works as much as we enjoy writing them, but at the end of the day, it's not about you, it's not even about them. It's always only about the story.

As for all of the rest of you who've been supportive encouraging even if you don't always agree with story-decisions . . . you all rock and I absolutely adore you. ;)


Chapter Ten

Misadventures in Knockturn Alley

The moment James opened his eyes, the harsh light of the afternoon sun streamed through the window to hit him square in the face. Merciless. He immediately regretted that they had not, in fact, prepared any ice packs for their pending hangovers the night before. Holding up an arm to block the searing glare, he spotted a very sleep-rumbled Remus through the kitchen entryway. The werewolf sat hunched at the table, nursing a mug—probably black coffee, James assumed—and making do with pressing a visibly damp rag to his forehead.

Peeling himself off the sofa, the bleary-eyed wizard crossed the living room on slow, trudging footfalls. "Tell me what's in the mug is hot, the cloth ice cold, and that you've got another of each waiting for me."

Remus waved dismissively over his shoulder. "On the counter, next to the pain-relieving potion. Add a few drops to your coffee, the caffeine helps it kick in faster." He gestured to indicate the damp washrag he held. "This is just until it does."

James' brows shot up at this bit of welcome advice, only to exhale a hissing breath at how the change of expression actually hurt his forehead. "Thank you."

Remus was quiet, contentedly sipping his home-concocted pain remedy as James prepared his own cup one-handed while he pressed the other rag—still damp and chilled with a mild freezing charm—to his forehead. He thought he might well collapse against the counter in relief for the immediate effect it had at dulling the fierce ache in his skull.

"We are definitely no longer young enough to crawl into the bottom of whiskey bottles anymore," he surmised with a short, airy laugh. Turning after a few steadying breaths, he leaned his hips back against the counter's ledge. "What time is it, anyway?" he asked, lifting the mug to his mouth for a long, draining swig.

"Just after twelve," Remus answered, shaking his head. The stuff was beginning to do its job and he blinked hard, trying to will it to work just a bit faster. "Look, about the things we said . . . and what happened last night—"

"You urged me to tell Harry how I feel about what the Dursleys did to him, then there was a deeply revealing chat about our teen years, followed by a rather pleasant incident which shan't be repeated for at least the next few months for both of our own good, and there might've been a scrap of denial from you about a certain young witch I'm not supposed to mention. Have I left anything out or misunderstood the situation in any way?"

His gaze roving the ceiling in thought, Remus gave another shake of his head. "Um, no, actually, that sounds like everything and, well, no to that second part, too. Anyway, you know what this means we should do?"

Uttering a miserable sound, James' frame sagged where he stood. "You're not going to make me think some more before this kicks in, are you?"

"Well, I was willing to provide the answer if you couldn't come up with it."

James sighed wistfully and took a long swig of pain-reliever coffee. "You've always been such a good friend."

Snickering, Remus responded, "And I suspect you still might be a tad drunk. But what we should do is go to Grimmauld Place. You should have a sit down with Harry and do what I said—be open with him about how you feel. It might help get rid of some of the anger you're holding."

Dragging himself to the table, James pulled out the chair opposite his friend and sat down heavily. "I don't know. I mean . . . ." He set down his mug, tracing the porcelain rim with a fingertip as he frowned. "I's just that anger, well, there's a lot of it. I'm not sure he's ready to see that side of me. Not sure he can handle it after everything he's been through."

"Like it or not," Remus said, shrugging, "he's no longer a child. I think he can handle it. More importantly, I think it should be up to him if he can or not, not either of us."

James curled one hand into a fist and dropped his forehead down atop it. "I don't even know how to start. What if I freeze up in the middle of the wrong part and he thinks that's the entire thing? What if I get out two words and he refuses to listen to the rest?"

Remus reached across the table, patting his friend's forearm encouragingly. "That's why I'll be there. To help."

"I suppose that's what friends are for," James whispered in a grateful tone.

Unable to help himself, Remus spoke as he lifted his mug to his lips for the last sip. "That and the occasional drunken snog, sure."

"Oh!" James laughed, groaning. "Rather sure we said we weren't going to talk about that."

"Moment needed a little levity." The werewolf nodded, standing from his seat. He knew James' anger wasn't solely about the Dursleys—it was about everything dark that had occurred since the night he'd been taken by Yaxley. All that he'd missed, all that would never have befallen Harry, or Sirius, or any of them, really, if he'd only had the chance to be there with them still weighed on him. The Dursleys were no saints and more than deserving of a decent helping of that negativity, but Remus realized that this one facet was quickly becoming a channel for all of the wrath inside James that the man was pretending wasn't there.

It made sense then that James thought he might scare Harry. The rage he was feeling seemed to be about this one thing—seemed disproportionate, even for how awful his in-laws had been—and he might make some mistake in how he presented his emotions to his son.

"Look, I get it," Remus went on. "I can understand why you're concerned, but I'm afraid you're underestimating him. You're also discounting that he might sympathize more strongly than you think. Harry's had the occasion to let himself drown in anger that outweighs what he's angry about, too."

"Like father like son I suppose then, yeah?" James asked, lifting his head to arch a brow at his friend. He heard the echo of Hermione's voice in his head. She'd said that very same thing—like father, like son—during that bungled conversation in the kitchen of the Tonks house that had started all this emotional bloodshed.

God. She must still feel awful about her slip up. His own inability to even talk to her to tell her it was all right for fear he might end up snapping at her probably didn't help matters.

"In that you're both pretty shit at managing your emotions? I'd say."

His shoulders shaking in a silent laugh, James nodded. "So, a werewolf is telling me anger management issues run in my family?"

Remus snorted a chuckle at that as he moved to fix himself another cup—sans pain relieving potion now that the pounding in his head had stopped and he could move without his entire body screaming at him. "If anyone would know, right?" It was also why he was so familiar with quick pain fixes, but he knew neither of them would mention that. "Finish your cup, have a second, then we'll be on our way to talk to Harry."


Despite that Severus had followed after Hermione, trailing no more than a few feet behind her, she could not shake the deep, unnerving feeling that she was alone. As she stared up at the gnarled and twisted edifices with their dark, lifeless windows—here and there broken, cobwebbed, as though the place had been abandoned for years rather than a few months—there was an icy tendril of foreboding winding through her stomach.

Yet, as unsettling as the sensation was, combined with the dull echo of her own footfalls against the road in her ears, and Professor Snape's voice calling her even though it felt like she couldn't actually hear him just now—as if the empty silence of the alley somehow muffled him—she was also strangely thrilled by it.

"I must again protest to this . . . adventure, Miss Granger." Severus had his hand in his cloak, his fingers resting over his wand in a cautionary measure. Waking up each day with the relief that he was no longer beneath the thumb of the Dark or the Light—which he understood was perhaps regrettably blunting the sharp and prickly attitude everyone expected from him—did nothing to dampen the fear that somewhere, lurking, hiding in the shadows, there might be those waiting to strike at him for betraying their odious Dark Lord.

She waved dismissively over her shoulder at him, oblivious to his wary movement as her gaze dropped from the warped spire outlines of the crowded rooftops to peer further down the road ahead of them. "Well, if I happen to get myself into too much trouble, just Apparate to Grimmauld Place to fetch Harry and pop right back."

"Come now, Miss Granger," Severus said, tsking, his voice absolutely dripping condescension. "You expect me to believe that if you do get yourself into 'too much trouble'—though with your history I dread to imagine what level of trouble would constitute 'too much'—that Mr. Potter would be the one able to undo whatever catastrophe you'd have brought upon yourself?"

"Because chances are that if I put myself in danger, it will be because I overestimated my ability to handle something, and while Harry might not be able to 'undo' anything—nor am I suggesting that his skills in magic are in any way beyond yours—he knows me better than anyone else, and therefore is the best option to make me listen to reason and talk me down off any proverbial ledges I'll have placed myself on."

Severus' dark eyes rolled and he shook his head. "That hardly seems like reason enough."

Halting mid-stride, she pivoted on her heel to face him. Hermione offered him a thoughtful, tight-lipped grin. He had considered her a nightmare inside the classroom? Oh, he had no idea what he was in for in tagging along with her in a place where he had no authority over her. "Isn't dragging Harry back here to assist you better than having to report some incident to the Ministry because you let your former student—under your supervision—get herself into a dangerous situation?" Professor Snape might not have any authority over her, but she knew he'd still feel responsible if something tragic were to befall her in his presence.

He opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "I daresay the only thing that ever kept you from being recruited to the Dark was your blood-status, Miss Granger."

The witch folded her lips, keeping in a laugh. Oh, she'd always known that aside from her considerable intellect, she had a bit of darkness and . . . perhaps unjustified anger in her, which rose to the surface whenever something which made her feel uncertain of herself cropped up—that, were she a pure, or even half-blood, she surely would've been pressured to pledge herself to Voldemort's service. She strangely considered it a compliment that Professor Snape was clearly aware of the very same fact, despite how cognizant she was that he'd meant it as a dig about her malicious streak.

For a fleeting second, she wondered what his reaction would be were he to learn she was the reason his robes had burst into flames during that quidditch match when she was a First Year. Well, probably best he not find out whilst they were completely alone and skulking about an abandoned area no one ever ventured into anymore.

"My point remains valid," she said with a shrug, turning back only to stop in her tracks after a few steps. "Hullo, what might you be?"

To Severus' dismay, no sooner had the question fallen from her lips than had she started off again. Her stride determined, she made a beeline for the half-open door of The Coffin House. He thought he shouldn't be surprised that only ten minutes into following along after her to ensure she did not, in fact, get into 'too much trouble,' the young woman had happened upon the Necromancy shop.

At least she had the good sense to draw her wand—though her attitude made it clear she did not share his suspicions of possible lurking threats—as a cautionary measure when she reached that darkened doorway and peered inside. "I thought Necromancy was debunked as the dark whimsy of Muggles trying to vilify magical folk?"

"That would've been what you'd read about the subject in Hogwarts, yes," he said with a nod, watching her as she carefully stepped across the threshold. "Largely it isn't what Muggles make it out to be. It is the art of using death in your magic, not the art of controlling the dead. Very wide margin there."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, snorting a giggle. "I'd say!"

He slipped in behind her, having a tad more issue navigating the half-open doorway than she, given his height. Oh, he could've simply opened the door wider, certainly, but he was reluctant to touch even a single thing in this entire damned alley. If that meant he looked a mite ridiculous as he ducked, side-stepped and . . . possibly even shimmied a very tiny bit to get through the doorway, then so be it.

His only possible witness' back had been to him at the time, anyway, so no one would know the embarrassing movement had happened at all.

Hermione felt that thrill of foreboding once more as she gaped about at the establishment's interior. Long-dead creatures hung from the walls, like sausage in a Muggle delicatessen. There were bits in jars that distinctly did not look like they'd come from some wild thing caught in a forest . . . unless that wild thing was only wild on the full moon, perhaps. There were 'fresher' samples of spell components and potions ingredients under glass by the register, she could tell from the magic ebbing off them that the stasis charm cast on the case was still in effect. Well, from the magic and from the distinct lack of a rotting flesh smell in the air.

Her brows pinched together as she approached the counter, feeling a just a little as though one of the . . . specimens she was eyeing might blink at any moment. "Professor?"

Severus barely held in a sigh, already having known the question was coming. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"When you said it's the art of using death in your magic, you literally meant bits of the dead?"

"What was it you thought I meant?"

"I dunno, I guess it's not the using dead things in magic that surprises me. I think maybe I believed there wouldn't be a shop full of dead things; like the art involved grave robbing, or possibly murder for a fresh kill?"

Again he sighed, this time the exasperated breath escaping through his nostrils. Forgetting himself, he leaned an elbow back against the counter space. "And then how is this different from your average butcher shop?"

She shot him a withering look. "Now you know perfectly well how that's different."

"Do I?" he asked, his brows inching upward in question. "Think on the issue pragmatically. Funny, you're probably the only person aside from myself whom I thought would never be in need of a reminder to do so. In a butcher shop the items displayed are intended as food to fuel the body. In here, well, the fuel is intended for magic. Same concept, only slightly different goods."

"Only 'slightly' different goods?" she echoed, appearing like she might turn green.

Severus offered a languid shrug. "The pig in the butcher shop or the vampire eyes in the jar—they're both dead things, Miss Granger. The only difference really is how their remains will be used by the living."

Her cheeks puffed outward as she glanced about again. "I think I may be a vegetarian after this."

"Really?" He shrugged, frowning thoughtfully. "Because I believe I just made myself want bacon."

She gasped, the bridge of her nose crinkling. But then she noticed the way one corner of his mouth plucked upward ever so slightly. "Oh my G—that was a joke? You just cracked a joke?"

Confusion lit his gaze as he held up his hands in what almost appeared a gesture of surrender. "I also need oxygen to breathe, get surly if I do not sleep at least six hours a night, and have a terrible dependence on a properly brewed cup of tea. I am human Miss Granger, and as such am occasionally prone to a need for amusement."

"Yes, well, I'm certain a great many of your students would be shocked to hear that. Did you know there's a rumor around Hogwarts that you're a vampire?"

Severus tipped his head to one side, incredulous at the very idea. "Now that's just nonsense."

"I know!"

"If I had eternity, I'd like to think I'd be doing something far more interesting with my time than teaching."

Hermione frowned, putting away her wand. "Actually I meant because we've seen you in broad daylight and you've had obvious wounds that took time to heal."

"Oh, well, yes. I suppose that's true, as well."

The witch shook her head. "Now who's the one not being pragmatic?"

He held up his hands. "Once again, only human. Now, have you sated your curiosity about this place, little cat?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me that."

Scowling, he nodded. "I'm inclined to agree. For some reason that sounded considerably less disturbing in my head. Regardless, are you ready to leave this wretched hovel of death?"

Darting her gaze about the shop and its gruesome merchandise one more time, she nodded. "This particular wretched hovel of death? Sure. On to the next! Shall we?"

Severus held in a growl as she traipsed directly past him—on flitting steps, no less—and out the door.

And so he followed along after her, threading their way through Knockturn Alley, winding into and then back out of this shop and that. Eventually, they ended up in Borgen and Burkes, and there came an incident wherein Miss Granger had accidentally opened a minuscule portal into a realm that just might've been the Underworld. Between the two of them, they managed to get the gateway closed quickly enough, but now there was a tiny somewhat bat-like creature hovering around her.

Though sending the little beast back would only require reopening said portal, they weren't entirely certain how she'd done it in the first place, so the attempt might only bring further chaos . . . or at the very least summon up a larger bat-like thing.

"What do we do with it?" she asked, swatting gently at the thing as it tried, once more, to settle on her shoulder only to end up getting its paws tangled in her wild hair.

"It's fairly harmless and seems to have taken a shine to you. I suppose you'll just have to keep it until we figure out how to send it back without creating some sort of catastrophe."

"Keep it?" Her brows pinched together. The thing was like . . . like someone had tried to crossbreed a cat and a bat, only it had a dragon's tail, and she knew no dragon was so small, so either this thing was a baby and was bound to grow much larger given time, or it truly was an amalgam creature some warped soul had metaphorically stitched into being, and she wasn't even certain that second option was possible. "Oh, thank God I sent Crooks off with my parents."

"I would take the little fellow myself, but it does seem rather attached to you."

Hermione dreaded to ask, as he'd already scanned the creature twice with his wand looking for Dark or malicious energy and she didn't want to seem like she was doubting his abilities or knowledge, but she couldn't quite help herself, "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Miss Granger, a patchwork creature such as that is in far more danger existing in our world than you are—or anyone else is, for that matter—from it being here."

She blinked rapidly a few times, thinking that through. "Patchwork? So you think someone did, in fact, make this creature? Like some sort of Frankenstein's Monster, only . . . cuter?"

His brief personal history with the Muggle world had permitted him some experience with literary horror classics. "There was rumor that Mary Shelley might've been a Muggle-born witch, so pulled by the lure of the Dark that she thought to master it by doing something never accomplished before. Bring life out of death without sacrifice. They say her novel was based upon actual experiments she either conducted, or financed, in some dusty Italian catacombs somewhere."

"Really?" Hermione could not help that she was a bit breathless at this revelation. "I shall have to read that book again, sometime."

He snickered.

"But you're saying it's in danger here?"

"I believe it might be, if left on its own. The war's end did not eliminate all Dark factions from Wizarding Britain, Miss Granger. Indeed, I'm not even certain it would be safe from the Light. Creating such a . . . being, and having it survive would be a grand achievement, and something of utmost curiosity in the right circles."

She understood immediately. It was only her apprehension of the bizarre little beast that kept her from trying to grab hold of it and hug it to her in a gesture of comfort and security as she said, "You mean they'd want to pick it apart to figure out how whomever it was got it to work?"

Severus nodded. "Literally. The most probable explanation for where we found it is that its creator put it there to keep it safe from their enemies and allies, alike."

"Well, in that case . . . ." The witch shifted her weight from one leg to the other and back as she considered it. Not really a choice, was there? "I suppose I could keep it with me until we figure out how to send it back."

"I will study up on this matter and keep you apprised of my findings." With a flick of his wand he cast a charm on the creature, altering its appearance enough that it resembled the average black cat. The disguise was good enough to keep any curious parties from looking too closely. "Now, shall we?"

"Sure." Hermione sighed, letting the 'bat' perch on her shoulder. Yet, as they stepped out onto the cobblestone walk, she spied one final doorway she'd not crossed. "In a minute!"

"Oh, no, not this again. Miss Granger, please!"

Her shoulders slumping—causing Bat, which was what she was now calling it, apparently, to let out a little unhappy mew-screech to find itself unceremoniously jostled—she said, "It's just one more stop. And it's the only place we haven't seen."

Holding in a groan, he once more trailed after her as she headed for Potage's Cauldron Shop. He told himself, trying to breathe a bit easier now that this misguided undertaking was nearly at its end, that there was no trouble to be found in a bloody cauldron shop.


"He left a note in his room for you. Went to the Burrow." Remus said with a shrug as he came down the stairs. James lingered in the first floor corridor. "We can go there? Or we can wait here. What do you want to—?"

The werewolf's question was cut off by the sudden pop of someone Apparating into the house. The pair whirled instantly, prepared to defend themselves.

"Oh, God, it's you?" Remus said, wincing and putting his wand away with a visible measure of reluctance.

Severus didn't seem to even notice that irritation in Remus' voice—or to care. He turned his attention on James. "Where's the other Potter?"

Hazel eyes narrowing in suspicion, James offered in a cautious tone, "We were just looking for him, ourselves. What d' you want with my son, Severus?"

God, where was that wretched young man when Severus actually needed him? His features pinched in a thoroughly unpleasant look. "It's not what I want with him. I'm . . . I'm here at Miss Granger's request."

The pair exchanged a look. "Hermione's gotten herself in trouble, hasn't she?" Remus asked.

"It's Hermione Granger," Severus answered through clenched teeth. "What do you think?"

"And just why the hell were you in her company when she got in trouble?"

The dark-eyed wizard bristled at James' question. "Our paths crossed in Diagon Alley, she decided Knockturn Alley piqued her interest. She was going to venture in there alone whether I followed along or not. Everything was mostly incident free until the cauldron shop."

"How the hell did she get herself into trouble in the cauldron shop?"

A scowl fixed itself on Severus' face. "Amusingly, I'd thought nearly those very same words. I don't know how she managed, but there was one that was, apparently, spelled as some sort of trap and now she's, um, stuck inside."

"She's what?" they demanded in unison.

"Oh, well, it would seem whoever spelled it cast an extension charm on it, making it a veritable pit."

"So you just left her there?"

Severus rolled his eyes. There was no time for this. "She insisted I go for help—non-Ministry-related help. If I'd gone in after her and neither of us could find a way back out, then we'd both be trapped and possibly never heard from again. I thought listening to her was the more ideal option!"

"Why didn't you stop her?"

Remus' eyes closed as he shook his head. James had the least experience of anyone in the room with Hermione Granger, it was no wonder he thought the witch would listen to reason when her curiosity was ignited. "No, no. When she gets . . . enamored of an idea, there's no stopping her."

"Exactly," Severus said with a nod, feeling strangely grateful to the werewolf for vocalizing his agreement. "What did you expect me to do? Cast a sticking charm on the woman to glue her feet to the ground?"

"Is that what it would've taken?" His brow arching, James couldn't help that he spoke in a tone of disbelief, a disbelief which only grew when each of the other wizards answered with a nod. Certainly Hermione had already come across as strong-willed, even stubborn, but to have two men who had both been her teachers in the past agree that even they could not talk her out of anything when she had made her respect for the institution of learning so very clear surprised him.

"All right." James would ignore the way his heart clenched at the thought of Hermione in danger. "Our chat can wait. We should get Harry, though."

Remus nodded, his eyes seeming a bit sightless and his voice tumbling out low. "I'll go to the Burrow to fetch him and meet you at that cauldron shop."

Finally turning his full attention on Severus, James flexed the fingers of his right hand, magic crackling from his fingertips. "Well, then, let's go rescue ourselves a witch."