Chapter 76: Boni Pastoris Est Tondere Pecus Non Deglubere*

July 1979

The Shelter

They were both grieving in ways that they tried not to show, both feeling unworthy of the weakness that gripped their hearts. Hermione, knowing that Regulus was safe, knowing that she was keeping this secret from those who loved him, knowing that she would still miss him every second he was gone. Sirius, knowing he'd shunned away his brother these last few years, knowing he could have tried harder to keep him, knowing there was nothing he could have done to save him. But they both knew he wasn't theirs to grieve. The note that Hermione couldn't bring herself to throw away stood testament to that as it haunted the underside of her bed.

So they continued to grieve in silence, in their own ways. Alone. They didn't reach out for help or for comfort, growing comfortable in the uncomfort, and just waiting for the day to come when it didn't hurt so much.

They didn't talk about the night they'd spent together. Hermione, out of shame and confusion. Sirius, out of fear. He was so fucking tired of losing people. It seemed like he was constantly making payments with pieces of his soul. Dorea. Charlus. Regulus. Fuck, even Orion's death had stirred the forgotten feelings he'd kept in his chest. He just kept losing. And Hermione, his Hermione, she had somehow become the most precious thing in his life, someone he needed to keep in his life for his own good. It was selfish, he knew, to keep doing this back and forth with her, this dance of emotions that strung them both along, but it was safe. It would've been more selfish to throw caution to the wind and light the match, knowing what all the flame would consume. Fuck, a part of him wanted her so badly. He wanted her completely, wanted to give all of himself to her. But he was so fucking tired of losing people. So he held back, and he continued to grieve.

23 July 1979

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

The summer was coming to an end much more quickly that expected, but that was how the years passed now, quicker and quicker. Perhaps one day they'd all pass in the blink of eye, all the rest of them, until there was nothing left. But for now, there was too much to do.

Albus Dumbledore pulled out a quill and set to writing. The threats were growing. Tom was becoming comfortable in his role, and his Death Eaters were more than comfortable in their violence and depravity. He'd let this go on for long enough. It was time to bolster the Order, time to fill it with bodies and space. The younger generation needed to do their part to ensure victory for the light. They needed to set the stage for what would surely be an interesting, if not derivative, final confrontation.

There was no doubt in the Headmaster's mind as his quill scratched against parchment that this struggle between light and dark would find a similar ending as the one that came before. He would stand in as champion of light and face off against this new darkness, keeping the wizarding world safe from another egomaniac. But it wasn't yet time for such a performance. The machine needed to keep churning, and the cogs needed to take their places in moving everything along.

From: Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

To: -

Your presence is requested at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

1 August 1979 at precisely 5 o'clock in the evening.

1 August 1979

0107 Bellume St.

It was different this time around because of course it was. War was still new here. They'd already seen danger and loss, but it was few and far between. They could still pretend like they were playing at it, touching it from a distance. Walking into the Order Headquarters put it all in perspective for Hermione. She watched the boys with eager eyes search out the few familiar faces in the room. She watched Lily smile and shake hands with just about everyone there. She'd been helping them for months now, just another triage healer, but this was her first official meeting.

Here in this house, Hermione faded back into her ghostly form, skirting the edges of conversations and watching and waiting. She saw Remus and Peter furrow their brows in deference as Dumbledore spoke. She saw Sirius and James trying to reign in the adrenaline spiking in their veins. She saw Marlene McKinnon stand resolute, her shoulders posed to take up as much space as she could. She saw Dorcas and Lily reach for each other's hands. She saw the rest of the Order, too, watched them speak up, watched them nod and accept orders. And at the head of it all, the ringleader to this circus, Hermione watched Albus Dumbledore.

She watched the meeting progress like a true time traveler witnessing the horrors of innovation and change, knowing what consequences would come. Her Order had been different. They'd been discouraged and hardened before they'd even formed. They'd been suspicious and careful but reckless enough to challenge the old man. They'd fought together, both for each other and against. They'd known it would take all of them to win. But this Order? This Order wasn't a team. It wasn't a group of people fighting for a cause. This was a machine with parts falling into place to be driven forward by one man.

It was the way they danced around him, like the planets around the sun. Dumbledore commanded the room in a way that was easy to miss, like he was fooling them all. But Hermione was living through her second war, just like he was, and she could see it for truth. This wasn't a man building a team or even building an army. This was a man setting up bodies to serve as a wall to buy time. There was no Chosen One. There was no prophesy. There was only a man who had defeated evil once before, who thought he was the only one who could do it again.

Hermione stayed silent during the meeting. She kept to the back and the corner, avoiding all conversation. As much as she wanted to keep her people safe, this wasn't her time. And as much as she didn't want to be another cog in the machine for Dumbledore, this wasn't her time. So she stayed silent, stayed ready, and waited for orders.

James and Sirius—and to Hermione's surprise, Marlene—immediately volunteered for active missions. Infiltration, reconnaissance, counter-attacks, they wanted to do it all. Frank Longbottom smiled at them from across the room. Lily moved to stand beside her husband. Dumbledore's eyes passed over her, throwing back some half-hearted thanks for her help in healing before moving on. Remus cleared his throat, and Hermione shut her eyes. He wanted to help. He wanted to fight alongside his brothers. Remus Lupin wanted to do good like the rest of them, be like the rest of them. But again, Hermione knew what was coming.

To his credit, Dumbledore was kind in his words, gently letting Remus know that there were other spaces in which he could help. But the insinuation wasn't lost on him. He'd picked up these notions from the time he could recognize them, the insinuation that he was dangerous, that he couldn't be trusted, that other people wouldn't want him around. Remus merely nodded, his head bowed in deference that didn't come so easy now, and stepped back. Only then did Hermione move from her haunting place to take up beside him, hand slipping into his, willing Remus to focus on the feel of his skin against hers.

Peter kept quiet beside them all. An earlier version of Hermione might have been suspicious, but she knew him well enough now to know what he was merely offering the moment the respect he thought it deserved. As if he could feel the weight of her gaze, Peter turned to look at her, sending a half-smile her way.

"Peter."

Dumbledore broke the moment. A hasty blush rose up Peter's face as he turned back to their leader. Hermione kept her eyes on him as Dumbledore suggested he and Hermione, as well as Remus, could aid in research, in planning and investigation. She was more than fine to stay away from any action, but she saw a look of defeat pass over Peter's face as Dumbledore carried on, moving the conversation past them. There would be no recognition for them, no praise and support coming from higher up. The help they would provide would save lives, there was no doubt about it, but they would stay in their spots for as long as it would take. The others? The ones risking life and limb, fighting a fight they thought only one man could win? They would need all the support, all the thanks, all the praise. Because without them, the wall would fall.

8 August 1979

0107 Bellume St.

She wasn't supposed to be working today. It was a precious off-day from the hospital, and there was nothing Lily wanted more than to be at home with her husband. Instead, she was once again at Order Headquarters, her long red hair curling at the ends as she leaned over a cauldron of an advanced healing potion. The Order was in the process of planning to counter a Death Eater attack, and their nerves had been electrified ever since the meeting at the start of the month.

Another stir of the potion and Lily carefully extricated herself from the cauldron, her back and shoulder twinging as she stretched them for the first time in hours. She was almost done. She could go home soon, and then she could spend time with—

"Lily?"

She turned to the door to see James and Sirius shouldering through.

"James." She said his name like it was breathing life into her body. The smile that curved around the sound lit up her face as he moved to hold her.

He and Sirius been called in by Dumbledore himself, and they walked through the halls of the Bellume house like they had something to prove. Where Lily now felt a reluctant sort of comfortable, James and Sirius were new to the space. They needed to discover how they fit for themselves.

But they were still so new. And when Lily looked at them, she didn't just see James and Sirius. Now, she saw the faces of the Order members she'd treated, the ones she'd seen fresh from the fight. And she hated it. Hated that her husband was going to risk his life. Hated that she respected him for it. Hated that the days of her knowing he was safe and sound were long over. She watched their relationship age as he looked down into her eyes, as he kissed her cheek and told her he'd see her soon. In an instant, the last vestiges of their childhood fell away.

Knockturn Alley

Reconnaissance. That's what they were told, but honestly, it was a test to see how they would act out in the field. Frank had taken James and Sirius to an alley just a few streets away from the entrance to Knockturn Alley. They were supposed to be spying on targets. Supposed to be, but instead, James and Sirius were lost in their own worlds, thinking of the two lycanthropes back at the Shelter.

Their minds drifted as night passed over the alley, something stirring in the depths of their chests. A calling. They shared a glance and a silent conversation.

This was war. Everyone was going to have to make sacrifices. They wouldn't be able to make every moon. Not anymore. But in the end, it would be okay. They were doing this for the greater good.

The Shelter

"Sirius?"

Hermione looked up from the note in her hand to see Remus looking at her, a faint bit of hope hiding in his face. She held the note out for him to read as she shook her head. They would be down two pack members tonight.

Watching Remus' face fall, Hermione cursed Dumbledore in her mind. It was obvious this was his doing, obvious he had pulled James and Sirius because of the moon. But whether he was punishing her or making some other move, Hermione didn't know. The man was a master manipulator and she would bet anything that this was no coincidence. Whatever Dumbledore was planning, it was certainly affecting her. And Remus, as well.

Merlin, it probably shouldn't affect them this much, not having the whole pack together, but it did. And it made Hermione worry. This time could have been avoided, but what about the next time? What about when the war starts to close in around them? What about—What about when Remus is alone?

Hermione cursed Dumbledore again. Surviving moons alone was something they needed to prepare for, but he didn't need to force it. They could handle this. They would handle this. And they didn't need Dumbledore inserting himself where he didn't belong.

The two werewolves stood unnatural in their stances in the middle of the kitchen. The energy of the moon roiling beneath their skin like vengeful waves. And like a sailor lost at sea, Peter stood to the side, watching the shipwreck before him.

He closed his eyes and let the countertop dig into his hip. What was he offering here? What was a rat against two werewolves? Words unspoken, unbidden and unwelcome, rose up in his head.

Useless.

Unwanted.

Unneeded.

He opened his eyes, trying to shake the thoughts crawling up his spine. This was stupid, wasn't it? They were happy he was here. They needed him here. They wanted him here.

And yet.

And yet, Peter couldn't help but feel he was taking up space, couldn't help but feel this impending darkness looming overhead, couldn't help but feel it couldn't be stopped—He couldn't stop it. A whisper of something sinister licked at the corner of his mind.

Why not give in?

He shuddered and turned away from his friends.

Hermione and Remus were starting to move, their limbs begging to be used. Jaws clenched, shoulders tight, a golden light flickering like lightning in the depths of their eyes.

"Remus," Peter called from the window, pointing to the sky. It was time.

9 August 1979

The Shelter

Something felt broken when Hermione awoke after the moon, shifted somehow. She had bruises and small cuts and scratches, but the pain she felt was coming from an aching in her chest. The moon had passed uneventful. They'd made it through without their Padfoot and Prongs, but somehow that made it worse.

Hermione had for so long been focused on saving Regulus that she hadn't noticed how the rest of the world was changing around her. Now it seemed obvious, and once again time made itself known as the burden she carried. All the time she'd spent with Regulus, how much of it should have been spent with her boys? With Lily? What precious moments had she lost? What had she missed?

She trudged back up to the house with Remus, the pair silent in their waking, as they watched the door to the Shelter open to reveal Peter and Lily.

She hadn't slept yet, couldn't have slept, but Lily with her tired eyes and weary bones wouldn't have missed this morning. She'd brought fresh potions, a restock on bandages, and had busied herself with brewing tea and making a light breakfast as she waiting for the day to begin. When Peter made it back to the house, she'd pushed him to the table, watching with a smile in her eyes as he scarfed down food. When Remus and Hermione returned, she slipped back into her role as healer, checking over their bodies before shedding the mantle to once more be their friend.

It was enough that she was there. The supplies and food and care she provided went above and beyond, but it was enough that she was there. Through her exhaustion she could see the unspoken thanks in their eyes, the collective weariness that plagued her friends. She knew it well because it sat so heavily in her own. She stayed longer than she'd planned because they needed it, and she needed it. The time they spent together outside of the Order was restoring. Lily watched as the shadows faded from Peter and Remus and waited for them to leave Hermione alone. They'd retreated, letting her smile reach her eyes, letting her laugh and joke, but they clung to her shoulders like they had claws.

Lily watched as Hermione once more fell into a bout of silence and held out her hand. She muttered some excuse of having something at the house she wanted Hermione to see. It was flimsy at best, but it was enough. Hermione took her hand and let her lead her back through the floo to Potter Manor.

When they landed, Hermione took a moment to catch her breath. The air seemed to expand around her as Lily took a step back. She waited patiently as Hermione settled into the space, blinking at the ground.

"Hermione." Lily opened her arms. There wasn't anything else to say as Hermione fell into them, tears streaming down her face. They clutched on to each other in filtered sunlight, eyes shut and hearts breaking. As Lily stroked Hermione's hair, she wished for a world in which her friend no longer had to fight.

Chapter Title Translation: *It is a Good Shepherd's Job to Shear His Flock, Not Flay Them