Summary: AU, SSHG, Severus has made many choices in life. Some good, some terrible. But when he tears down Hermione for calling Lily selfish, that warm spot he thought was all Lily Evans suddenly disappears. Now, Sirius says he wants to reward his defence of Lily by showing him where he and his mates go some nights. What will he choose?

Beta Love: Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01

A/N: My body is awake, but my brain is still in bed. All day. (sigh)


Not the Best Choice

"You can't wait until life isn't hard anymore until you decide to be happy."

Nightbirde


I wondered if I was doomed to make the absolute worst choices over and over again. You would think after making as many as I had, I'd have run out of things to bugger up, but apparently life just wanted me to experience the sensation of having a boot up my arse the rest of my life.

I'd risen up in righteous fury to defend Lily when Hermione had accused her of being a selfish trilobite—even when a part of me suspected that she was probably right.

Even when part of me knew she was right.

I had said things.

Terrible things.

Things that hadn't even been true, but that I knew would hurt her.

Lily had looked so very smug afterwards, and then she'd blended right back in with her Gryffindor friends as I was left alone.

Again.

That place that had always been filled was suddenly painfully empty once more.

My staunch defender.

My advocate.

My—friend.

Hermione had always put me first, even when I didn't, and I had paid her loyalty back with pain.

Now, Black was supposed to show me exactly why they'd been so secretive since I had defended Lily so well, and I had to ask myself why the hell it even mattered. Lily wasn't going to stop hanging out with them. She'd never stop defending them. If I caught them doing something, she'd just give me some cockamamie story to explain it away.

The willow had been strangely quiet, not so much as a branch moving. The corridor beneath it hidden by its woven bark and tangled roots—had I not been led through it, I would never have known it was there.

"Just head on back there," Black said. His expression was as sombre as I'd ever seen it.

"You think this will explain to me why you've been skulking around after hours?" I asked.

"If it doesn't, nothing will," Black vowed.

It was odd seeing such absolute seriousness on Black's face. It didn't quite fit there.

I walked forward and found myself standing under a trapdoor. Black stood against the corridor wall, his arms crossed. He jutted his chin silently as if to say "go on then."

I sighed, climbing up and past the trap door.

The first thing I noticed as my eyes tried to get used to the gloom was the sound—

I knew immediately I was at the Shrieking Shack because—it was hard to miss the terrible shrieking. It sounded like someone was being ripped apart. I could hear the sickening sounds of flesh tearing, bones popping—

It sounded like absolute torture.

I realised then that I had no idea what I had expected to see, but this definitely hadn't been it. Who was being tortured on the other side of the wall? There was a thin sliver of light coming through a crack in the nearby door, and I squinted to see through it, both dreading and eager to see what lay on the other side.

Thump.

Tearing noises.

An agonised male scream.

Another thump.

I saw only shadows on the other side at first, and then as the screams seemed to fade away into harsh heavy breathing, the darkness moved aside and a baleful yellow eye met mine as a low, threatening growl sounded from the other side.

THUD!

Something threw itself hard against the door, and I could hear the door starting to crack.

It was then that my brain saw fit to put the facts together.

Tonight was a full moon.

And I—was a bloody idiot.

And I was going to be a dead idiot if I didn't get my arse out of there immediately!

I scrambled down the trapdoor stairs and fled, not even pausing to close the door. I just ran down that darkened corridor, scrambling and tripping blindly as if every root desperately wished to ensure my gruesome demise.

As I dove out into the moonlight, I narrowly missed being bashed in the skull by the Whomping Willow, and then I heard the distinctive ululating howl—

The utterly unnatural, lonely, desperate sound.

Werewolf!

Like a gormless fool, I had walked right into the path of a bloody werewolf.

I ran, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me and the slavering beast—

Only my foot got caught in a sodding gnome hole, and I went down flat on my face. I could taste my own blood in my mouth, and I knew my nose was broken. I had also clamped my teeth down and bitten my tongue.

I struggled to get up, to move, and get the hell out of the path of the werewolf coming after me, but the shooting pain in my leg told me I'd done a bit more than simply slamming my face into the ground. I'd gone and broken something.

I rolled onto my belly and attempted to crawl back to Hogwarts, but my ears told me that the werewolf was closing in fast. The low growls were like grinding gears and the sound of thudding paws was like thunder on the ground.

I was going to die.

If it bit me—I was going to be better off dead.

I turned to see the werewolf leaping toward me, slaver dripping from its wickedly sharp fangs.

Please let it kill me.

Better dead than a werewolf.

Suddenly, a sienna blur slammed into the werewolf with a loud vicious snarl.

The werewolf let out a pained yelp before it tried to fight back, but this blur of fur and fang and claw was much bigger.

Bigger—angrier—and clearly much more sure of itself.

Fur went flying, teeth clacking, bodies heaving as they sucked in breath and went at each other.

I'd heard dogs fight in the streets before, but this was somehow a hundred times worse. It sounded like they were tearing at each other's flesh and then breaking bones.

I tried to crawl away while the creatures were occupied with their fight, but the moment I moved, the werewolf seemed to home in on me, and I became target priority one.

The sienna beast slammed into the werewolf again, and all I could see was the blur with hints of pristine white, gleaming teeth, and I knew this was not some small tussle.

Pain shot through my leg, and my annoying brain decided at that moment to remind me that if I had suspected Lupin of being a werewolf, why the hell did I let myself go out hunting for the gang on a full moon night?

Idiot!

So caught up in my need to prove to Lily that her "friends" were horrible that I somehow forgot when to not go out.

I was more than an idiot. I was some vengeful blathering imbecile that let my driving need for revenge cloud what little bit of sense was still struggling to hold on by a thread.

And this?

This was just some greater proof that I couldn't be trusted to take the high road and let things slide.

Lupin, and I can only consider myself even more of an idiot for not seeing the name for what it was, was not exactly small in werewolf form, but the beast he was now being mauled by was a hundred times bigger.

Bigger.

Angrier.

More practised.

Just from watching the fight, I realised how little control Lupin had. He would attempt to lunge at me, and that sienna beast would seize him by the throat and slam him down, putting all of its considerable weight into the savage takedown. It would not let up until Lupin finally tucked tail and piddled—and a werewolf was apparently a very slow learner. He pushed more, instead.

And the huge beast would slam him down once again.

Violently—apparently the only language werewolves seemed to understand.

It was only as I scooted backwards using my elbows that I discovered exactly how big the other beast really was.

I'd seen smaller horses, and I don't mean those cutesy miniature ones from the circus.

Lupin had a shortened muzzle and a tufted tail that made him look like one of those purebred dogs that were neither fully wild nor domestic standard.

The beast, on the other hand, was straight out of Norse mythology—looking like it could and would be fully capable of chasing the sun or moon, pulling a chariot, or taking out a Norse god amid Ragnarök.

Lupin lunged for me once again, having apparently missed multiple mental memos, and once again the beast seized him by the neck until he yelped in pain and slammed him down once again.

Perhaps, the fight could have saved me and allowed me sufficient time to escape, but my body was broken in all the places I required in order to run.

Rivulets of blood dripped from the sienna wolf's teeth, all fangs exposed in obvious threat.

It was then that a black shape suddenly threw itself at the sienna wolf, and the larger beast whipped around like a viper, clamped its jaws around the black shape's head and shook the dark body like a rag doll before flinging it violently toward the Whomping Willow.

The Willow, in true whomping fashion, proceeded to beat the ever-loving daylights out of the unlucky canine. Lupin attempted to rush in at that point, and the larger wolf snarled and slammed him down again, but this time it snapped its jaws around his neck like a vice and squeezed.

Hard.

This time, Lupin seemed to finally get the message, and he promptly tucked tail and whined in submission.

Perhaps, it was the pain and blood loss that had dulled my self awareness, but somehow I missed the large shape of a bloody buck deer charging towards the scene, snorting loudly with its impressive rack of antlers lowered in unmistakable threat.

Now, I'm not a ruddy biologist in any way, but I am pretty sure that when a normal deer sees a known predator, it flees for its life—unless they happen to be a thousand kilo water buffalo known to gore full-grown lions that are unwise enough to approach the sharp and pointy ends.

Perhaps the deer was ill?

Rabid?

Okay, well, the deer probably wasn't rabid— but sick, most assuredly. The mind-boggling size of the sienna beast was not exactly hard to miss, and while Lupin was obviously unbalanced as a werewolf, what was the ruddy deer's excuse?

The deer charged at the great wolf, and I could have sworn I saw the beast give the deer the side-eye. It neatly stepped aside, let it miss, and then seized it by the throat and sank teeth down until I heard bones crunch. The deer let out a startled bleat as he, too, found the hard ground to be a most unwelcoming and unyielding pillow.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" a voice suddenly rang out as a sickly green beam shot out through the darkness toward the great wolf.

I saw the flash of pristine white teeth and the gloating face of Peter Pettigrew limned by the vivid green light.

"PROTEGO!"

"INCARCEROUS!"

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

"STUPEFY!"

The wolf's face lit up with green as the beam hit its face, and for a single moment, all the flesh seemed to dissolve to expose bare, bleached bone and baleful faerie fire in the eye sockets. Jaws parted as saliva dripped and hit the ground, sizzling and popping like acid. But then flesh swiftly crawled back over the skull, slithering across the surface like sentient oil, building up as fur spread to cover the bare skin stretched over muscle and tendon.

It looked like it was going to attack, but then Peter Pettigrew fell flat on his face into the mud as a group of figures dressed in robes in the purest white of the full moon stepped out of the darkness. Their faces were covered in goblin silver masks designed to resemble the faces of snarling demons like the Japanese oni mask. Their eyes glowed like a bright green electric fire, and their hands were twisted into wicked-looking claws formed of the same goblin silver.

Another figure stepped out from their white-garbed fellows wearing robes of crimson red, and they quickly pulled the mask off their face to expose a stern yet strangely youthful-looking countenance.

"Department of Mysteries Unspeakables Protocol Foxtrot Tango Zulu Victor 01 42 77 Lima. Necessary use of extreme force to apprehend a subject using Unforgivable Killing Curse. Verified use of Agent Fenrisúlfr. Authorisation given via Bones, Amelia. Classification: Head Boss of You."

She jerked her head sharply, and the gathered Unspeakables immediately swept out over the field, stunning the wounded werewolf, maniac deer, a severely Willow-whomped dog, and one Peter Pettigrew.

I watched as Madam Bones placed her hand on the great wolf's head right between the ears, rubbing gently. "Report to debriefing, Agent."

The great wolf took a moment to snuffle the stern woman's robes enthusiastically.

Bones huffed, pulling out a large piece of smoked jerky from her pocket.

The wolf inhaled it gently, tail wagging in appreciation.

"Go on now."

The great wolf turned, its dark amber eyes trimmed in gold fire staring right into me. Its eyes blinked slowly as it turned and made a great bounding leap into the air, then disappeared with a loud CRACK of Disapparation.

As the now-subdued werewolf and his unlikely group of mates were all bagged, tagged, and ported out, the rather intimidating woman I had come to know only as Amelia Bones knelt down beside me and pulled a small bottle from her pocket, yanking the cork out with her unnervingly sharp teeth. She made a complex gesture over the bottle, and it instantly activated, glowing a bright blue.

"This may sting a bit," she warned.

She poured it over my leg and after a few seconds, it snapped back in place and mended, skin, bone, and all.

I grimaced in sudden pain, but it felt much better than the savage throbbing it had been doing earlier, the pain disappearing to nothing at all in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you," I said, my voice cracking suddenly as it betrayed my shock over the very long list of improbable things I'd just experienced.

"I need you to make a statement of exactly what happened here tonight, lad," she said. I could tell it wasn't something I could pass on, not that I wanted to. Well, a small part of me did. Telling the story would be basically admitting that I was a prize idiot to go out on a full moon when I'd already suspected Lupin was a werewolf—

Not my best moment, to be sure.

My brain decided to feed me a barrage of strange factoids and pose even more questions at the worst of times. If Lupin was a werewolf, then what the hell was that bigger wolf, the beast of bloody Baskerville?

It took a Killing Curse square to the face, and he'd seen the flesh crawl back over the bones!

I jerked a nod, not yet trusting my voice.

"You're lucky this happened outside of the Hogwarts grounds," Amelia said grimly.

She let out a few hissing words that barely sounded like a human language, and the Unspeakables quickly surrounded me.

A hand alighted gently on my shoulder.

CRACK!


The interrogation was, quite surprisingly, swift and painless.

The scribe who took notes was accompanied by a kindly old female Ministry official who seemed to be there as my advocate, and she carefully explained all the forms, what my rights were, and the request for information. I didn't see any reason not to tell the complete truth considering they'd saved my life, but they didn't even bat an eyelash at my description of a monstrous wolf the size of a Shire horse.

They seemed far more concerned by my description of being attacked by a dog, a stag, and Pettigrew, in addition to Lupin the werewolf.

It was more than a little strange.

The scribe paused when I described how Black had led me down the tunnel in the first place. There was a moment of confusion when I had to explain that Black was actually Sirius Black because Regulus had earned being addressed by his first name.

I watched the scribe making notes in the margins—perhaps a name key—so there wasn't any confusion as to who I meant when I used family names instead of familiar first names.

They weren't familiar to me in any way but torment.

Once the paperwork was done, I was led to a waiting bench in what seemed like a public park. There was a soft breeze and filtered light that seemed more like bright moonlight than sunlight. Trees rustled slightly from the wind, and the air smelled pleasingly fresh.

"Please wait here, Mr Snape," the official requested. "The Headmaster has been informed as to your evacuation, so you will not be in any trouble."

I certainly wasn't going to argue. I needed some time alone to process the bloody trainwreck that had become of my evening.

While I wasn't exactly innocent of any wrongdoing, I think being set up to be murdered via werewolf was hardly an equal exchange. It slowly began to sink in that Black had, deliberately and with malice aforethought, set me up to meet Lupin in the midst of his change.

As I sat meditation on my state of aliveness, I heard a velvety male voice speaking nearby.

"Done with your debriefing, child?"

"Yes, Master," a familiar voice answered.

"Weapons of war or fangs and claws?"

"Can we do a melee tonight, Master? I think I've had enough fangs and claws tonight."

The male voice chuckled. "I suppose you have at that. Your Lethifold friend missed you."

"Poor Walter," the familiar voice said with a chuckle. "He hates when I have to go to school."

"May not be an issue much longer, if Dumbledore hears you've taken out some of his students."

"If he turns his back on one person trying to murder another person, I don't care how young they are, they shouldn't get away with it. It's not like they're hunting for food! And the werewolf didn't know its own arse from a hole in the ground."

"You are preaching to the choir, as they say," the deeper voice answered. "Sword?"

"Okay."

"Sabre, bastard, short, or long?"

"Long."

In a moment I heard the clanging of martial weapons, and I followed it until I saw two people going at each other with swords—only it was not the typically rigid, structured fights of sabres. They were using swords, only it was like a combination of street fighting with a sword thrown in for style. At times one threw dirt at the other, they used a bench and knocked it over, grabbed a branch and blocked a blow, or whatever else was available.

Hermione was there—panting, sweating, but focused—and her teacher was tall, pale, and had dark black hair with barely a single strand out of place. His movements were quick, agile, and practised, but they were seemingly purposely random.

They clashed together swords sliding against each other before parting by force.

"Use whatever you can," the pale man instructed as they clashed. "Put aside any ethical quandary. You're in a battle for your life. Hundreds of people may be clashing beside you. One of them may finish before you and join the battle."

Hermione seemed to focus even more, and the clashes seemed even more forceful than before. Her strikes were now swifter and more surgical.

I realised who that man was as the light fell more clearly on his pale face. It was Sanguini—the man from Slughorn's 'Slug Club' dinners. Hermione had stood by him, talking politely as she always did to her teachers. He'd had no reason to suspect they knew each other beyond those parties.

And Sanguini—he was decidedly one of those people who was both confident and attractive. He drew the attention of both wizards and witches. But watching them, I was suddenly kicking myself for not noticing a hundred or so conversations where she'd calmly discussed her lessons with her other teachers and he would make some seemingly neutral comment on how to improve.

I'd never thought anything of it because Hermione always talked to her teachers and elders with that same respect. She might call another student a bloody wanker with enthusiasm, but she was always respectful to her elders. I realised, however, that there was a bond between this man and Hermione that went far deeper than most.

"Block me out," Sanguini said calmly, pointing to his head.

They clashed as before, but I could see the beads of sweat appear on Hermione's forehead, and she was blinking back perspiration from her eyes as she concentrated on executing a wide combination of skills at once. She was beginning to tire, but she kept going until Sanguini's sword touched her side just under her ribcage.

Hermione was panting and perspiring heavily while Sanguini had a single lock of hair out of place.

"Good," he said, "but you tend to leave your left side open when you concentrate on using spells. You must compensate for this by guarding your vulnerable areas even while maintaining your mental shields. This can only be done with much practice, but that is enough for now. You've had more than enough battle in both forms tonight. You did very well. My only regret is that you had to be tested in combat so soon. I can only be thankful that as my familiar, you were far better prepared for it than a typical student of Hogwarts. While the offenders may disagree as to the degree of your violent response to their vicious attacks, the fact that one of them used an Unforgivable casts more than reasonable doubt on their protests."

Sanguini inspected Hermione carefully, his nostrils flaring slightly as random beads of blood revealed where the sword had met skin and she had just kept on going.

"Here," he said, biting his wrist. "Heal. Far better than taking those foul potions they try to save for their agents with less fortitude."

To my absolute horror, Hermione simply bowed her head, took Sanguini's wrist to her mouth, and accepted his blood offering. Within seconds the wounds healed without even a single scar, and she was no longer straining with the effort of their combat.

"Blood to blood, child," Sanguini said kindly. "Our bond, eternal, but our lessons for today are done. Perhaps go and tend to your friend Severus before his eyes roll across the ground and pick up random detritus. Seeing as he has just observed our little sparring session."

Hermione's nostrils flared, and I could swear I saw her ears flatten against her head. For once, her hair was neatly tied back in what could only be war braids—perhaps the only time I'd seen it anything less than bushy and wild. Her eyes locked on me, and I felt a strange sense of being weighed for the Afterlife before her eyes left me so she could properly bow to her Master.

"Thank you, Master."

A blur of black promptly shot out of the gloom and settled across her shoulders, wrapping about her like a bat's wings before settling into a more neutral drape. She smiled, stroking her cloak clear with fondness.

"It's okay, Walter. I missed you too."

"We can only be thankful you did not have Walter with you tonight, he would've surely eaten your deplorable classmates," Sanguini said with an arched brow. "Just think of all the paperwork."

Hermione smiled. "Rue the day we do not have paperwork, my master."

"Tch," Sanguini said, placing his hand over his heart. "The amount of paperwork due to targets being eaten alive by an angry Lethifold is extraordinarily horrible."

The cloak around Hermione's shoulder seemed to slump a bit under scrutiny.

Two things struck me in that exceedingly surreal moment.

One, I would have probably found great satisfaction in my childhood bullies being devoured with relish by a hungry Lethifold.

This was, unfortunately, followed by the sheer sinking horror of realising that my friend was the familiar to a vampire (secondary to the knowledge I'd just found out, namely that Sangini was a vampire, thank you, brain) and—

Hermione had a Lethifold as a familiar.

Weren't they tropical?

Weren't they—known man-eaters?

There were other thoughts zinging through my grey matter with random pathways leading off various cliffs. Things like, "How can a person be a familiar for someone else?" "How do you befriend a Lethifold?" "Wait, Sanguini said she'd already been fighting tonight—"

If a brain could make grinding gear sounds, mine was doing its avid best to try.

"Agent Fenrisúlfr," a panting page came running up from the back. "I forgot to have you sign the debriefing. I'm so sorry!"

Sanguini arched a brow, crossing his arms lighting in front of his chest.

Hermione sighed and quickly quilled her signature on the parchment, pulling a signature sigil block from her pocket as she used a wand to form a pool of wax. She pressed her sigil to the parchment and then blew on it, wisps of her magic lighting the surface.

The page shifted with discomfort.

Hermione gave him the look I remembered was her default expression for dunderheaded morons while trying not to actually say straight out that someone was a dunderheaded moron.

"We need, erm—" the page babbled inanely.

Sanguini levelled his gaze at the twittering page. His nose wrinkled in distaste as if smelling something absolutely foul.

"He requires it to be done in your true form."

Hermione rolled her eyes and then glowered at the page.

The page waited nervously, biting his lip.

Hermione levelled her gaze. "You may wish to step back."

When the page didn't, she looked skyward as if in a plea for divine patience. "Your choice."

Her lips parted in a feral pull of skin across her teeth. It was a distinctly inhuman look.

And in a blink of an eye—

My heart dropped into my shoes as my guts twisted into a knot.

The huge sienna wolf stood towering over the page's pale and trembling body, her teeth bared in an undisguised snarl.

She very deliberately shoved her snarling muzzle into the page's white as milk face and slowly pressed one paw onto the parchment as it sealed the mark with magic.

"T-t-thank you, Agent Fenrisúlfr," the page squeaked and promptly passed out in a dead faint.

Sanguini placed a pale hand on the wolf's massive head. "Good wolf."

He waved his hand, and in a surge of wandless, wordless magic, the page and his parchment went flying off into the dark. "We're surrounded by idiots."

Hermione panted, tail erect and wagging like mad. She placed her head over Sanguini's head like the top of a bizarre Native American totem pole.

"Yes, yes, I love you too. Go tend to your young friend before he passes out, hrm?"

The giant wolf's jaws opened, tongue lolling as she exposed a fine set of giant, sparkling, very sharp teeth. She leapt over Sanguini in a fluid moment, her bushy tail like a flag in the wind.

I saw Death in those pristine white fangs.

A flash of that naked skull exposed in light of the Killing Curse—

As the last of my blood escaped my brain, fled to my feet, and everything suddenly went black.


"What are you?" I rasped as I stared blankly into my lap.

Hermione, thankfully in a rather more digestible human form (lacking those sword-like teeth, thank you very much,) sat beside me.

"I am a descendant from the Get of Fenrisúlfr," Hermione answered calmly. "Dating back from a time when the gods still walked the Earth and, erm, had a few pups."

Her expression seemed torn between a smile and a shrug.

"So you're like a werewolf but with control?" I asked.

Hermione's lips twitched at that. "Werewolves are cursed creatures. Crude. They are not a wolf, but neither are they fully human ever again."

The corner of her lips curled exposing a sharp canine I had never noticed before. She had always seemed—so terribly banal for a magical witch. Insufferably bookish, someone who rarely showed a tendency to think out of the box.

I thought back to visiting her family home in Cokeworth. Her parents were dentists, and they must have been real dentists since they were renowned there for the best quality dentistry in the community, but their home had been wholly Muggle in appearance. How could anyone have ever suspected their friendly neighbourhood dentists were—well, wolves?

Giant wolves descended from, supposedly, the great world wolf Fenrisúlfr Himself.

It had been a clever ruse, and I had fallen for the bait, hook line and sinker.

"Rain is coming," Hermione said suddenly as she stared up into the perfect blue sky.

"Don't be absurd," I scoffed as I pointed to the cloudless sky as if to prove my point.

"I'm just saying, don't forget your umbrella."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

I'd ended up catching a horrible cold that night after being out in the frigid autumn rain that I hadn't been prepared for while waiting to take the bus home from the grocery—

You'd have thought at some point I would have realised that Hermione had strangely heightened senses, but instead I'd simply assumed she was just quirky like that.

I finally realised, now that I was at the DoM, that she didn't ever discourage my assumptions. It helped her to seem bookish and oblivious—something that I'd finally realised amidst my night's violent conclusions—was not even close to the truth.

"Did you know that Lupin was a werewolf?" I asked.

"I suspected, but—" Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Something was covering up his distinctive scent—chocolate—almost as if he'd been doused in hot fudge."

I thought of something at that moment. "That's why you don't eat chocolate."

Hermione's lips twitched. "It doesn't agree with me. We are not normal wolves or canines. I won't die if I eat a few bites of onion in my steak and kidney pie. But it tastes awful. Animagi smell perfectly human. They do pick up the scent of whatever they touch, however. I had my suspicions, but no actual proof until last night."

"Would Lupin have known?"

"He's nose blind to the wild, oblivious to the natural signals of a wolf," Hermione said. "Things I learned as a pup long before my Master bonded to me and taught me how to be less wolf—at least in appearance."

"How—did that happen?"

"I presume it's because he didn't have good role models."

"No, I mean," I said, struggling with putting it into words. "How did you end up in an apprenticeship with a vampire?"

Hermione chuckled. "I am his familiar. When I was a pup I was drawn to him. I snuck out of my parents' den one day and found him in the middle of an ambassadorial meeting in London. He plucked me up, settled me in his lap, and went right on with negotiations like I was just late to dinner. No one suspected a thing." She laughed. "He met my parents soon after. They were so mortified and yet so proud of me."

"How are you— a familiar?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Ancient vampires have an affinity to a particular type, usually. Bats and rats are the most common, hence the entire mythology—but my kind are treasured because we were more than just animals. We are true partners. We share a bond of both blood and mind. He teaches me both to protect myself and eventually him because if he or I perish, so does the other. Neither of us finds that appealing."

I was a little unnerved that she was bound at so early an age. Was a pup even capable of making a sound decision? Humans couldn't even rely on their kids not to run out between parked cars or make bad decisions all the way up to—well, sometimes they never stopped making bad decisions. I made enough of my own to think that was a real problem.

"It's instinctual," Hermione said, answering me as if I'd spoken aloud. "A vibration in compatible magic. An elder that was my master's senior would not be able to force me to bond to him. Those who have their affinity to smaller animals have different bonds. With a bat's natural lifespan, it would be unwise to initiate such a bond with a short-lived creature."

"That sounds complicated," I said.

Hermione shrugged. "When you deal with vampires who live as long as their skill set allows them to, then you begin to see those who respect life and their role in it, and those who beat their way through assuming it will never be any other way. My master is not unique in his care for me. The oldest ones who survive tend to have gotten there by not being oblivious to the bonds they have. There are certain exceptions, though. Master Perdana believes everything is beneath him, especially his familiar. All are merely slaves to do his bidding. His familiar is an ancient tiger—who I have no doubt he raised from a cub but treated with both patience—and cruelty. They are not a true partnership."

"That sounds—pretty horrible," I admitted.

Hermione grimaced. "I am only glad the tiger is not as sentient as I am. I cannot imagine a complex reasoning mind forced into a lifetime of slavery with no way out. I don't like it, either way, but I am blessed that my pup choices were sound."

"Seems rather risky to me," I said, dubious.

"More risky than trusting someone you've never trusted before to lead you safely through a hidden tunnel to meet a werewolf?" Hermione quipped.

I groaned, pinching my nose. "Admittedly, I've made some pretty bad choices."

Hermione sniffed as if to say, "Mmhmm."

"Thank you for—" What could I possibly say after she saved my life? Saving my life seemed like such a small way to say something so grand and powerful. "Not condemning me to a lifetime of lycanthropy."

Hermione snorted. "You're welcome."

"I'm sorry for what I said."

Hermione's nostrils flared and her lips pulled back from her teeth slightly. "You may be now, but you meant what you said when you said it. I can smell a lie. You meant to hurt me at the time. I cannot—will not—forgive you for that. That you will have to live with."

She stood, and in a flash she was gone, a blur of sienna fur and the scents of sesame, coconut, cumin and spice. She had saved my life, even when she couldn't forgive me for hurting her, and I knew in my heart that had it been Lily—

Lily would have let me die.


Student From Hogwarts Casts Unforgivable, Others Exposed As Illegal Animagi!

Very strange things are happening at Hogwarts, dear readers!

Strange things, indeed.

From some reliable sources, I have discovered that a number of Hogwarts students were taken off grounds as part of an investigation involving quite an ugly altercation that took place just outside of Hogwarts and before the town of Hogsmeade.

(Photo of odd collection of foot, hoof, and paw prints)

While no official statement has been made as of yet, it looks like there was a battle of massive proportions involving the animal kingdom. My sources say that the prints in question were made by the illegal Animagi students.

While this reporter cannot get official confirmation as to who was involved, I can verify that elders from the prominent Black, Potter, and Lupin families have been seen sharing a lift at the Ministry.

Meanwhile, according to the Wizengamot docket, Hogwarts student Peter Pettigrew allegedly cast an Unforgivable killing curse at a registered agent of the Department of Mysteries and will be tried as an adult this very week. The use of the killing curse has a life sentence automatically attached to it, but there is a large chance that the Dementor Kiss will be prescribed instead.

Stay tuned, Readers!


I felt very intimidated when I saw Sanguini and Hermione sitting at the Wizengamot with a pair of Dementors floating nearby.

The Dementors hovered near Hermione and to my great surprise she leaned into the nearest one as she waited for the various character witnesses to come in for Pettigrew's trial.

Surprisingly, the Wizengamot had chosen to try him as an adult.

Unsurprisingly, Pettigrew did not have many people who could or rather would be willing to speak for him. Potter, Black, and Lupin all did, of course, but then their own respective statuses as two illegal Animagi and a werewolf that attacked an agent of the DoM (as well as a ghost at an exorcism) did not earn them that much by way of credibility.

They brought in a few classmates who gave them all glowing reputations until a great many other students were brought in who testified to the many and varied malicious pranks and cruel acts of degradation that had been perpetrated against them by the so-called Marauders, James Potter's schoolyard gang.

When Dumbledore came in, I figured I was going to see them get off yet again, even though it was a Wizengamot trial against Peter Pettigrew specifically. But to my great surprise, when the headmaster saw Sanguini and Hermione sitting beside him dressed to the nines in formal robes, he paled and gave a sombre answer to their questions.

Lily, who was on hand to testify that Pettigrew was a shy, sweet, and caring kind of boy, seemed to squirm a bit when Dumbledore admitted that he had seen no hint that there was such a depth of hatred in any of his students. He said he truly believed the pranks to be merely boys being boys and nothing worse than any other year.

People seemed to take in the look of the battered, bruised, and bandaged evidence to the contrary sitting on the other side of the room with no little consternation. They then rolled out a large stone basin and a wizened wizard beckoned me to approach. He then removed a strand of wispy memories from my head and they were projected upwards for everyone to see, engulfing the entire area, showing everything from my being lured to the Whomping Willow by Black to my failed escape from a transformed Lupin and the subsequent unholy wrath of Agent Fenrisúlfr.

Despite her level of violence, they all seemed to realise that she was only reacting to the threat and not acting mindlessly, and when the killing curse was used— it was quite clearly cast by Pettigrew and so his fate was sealed.

Even Dumbledore seemed horrified by what he had just witnessed.

The wizard returned my memories and I went to sit down.

The verdict was swift with his sentence to be carried out at once.

The Dementors floated towards him, and Pettigrew suddenly let out a terrible shriek, blurred, transformed into a rat, and fled!

Sanguini stood and yelled something in a language I didn't understand.

All hell broke loose as the giant wolf leapt from the seats and slammed onto the floor, her great jaws smashing through chairs like tissue paper. Wood splinters went flying in all directions, wizards and witches parting like the Red Sea.

SNAP!

SQUEAK!

"Vino," Sanguini said calmly, and Hermione promptly leapt toward him and immediately sat down (on the very unfortunate chairs).

"Dă-mi aia," he said, and Hermione opened her mouth.

Sanguini's face was scrunched in distaste as he reached into her mouth and pulled out the bleeding form of Pettigrew-rat from between her huge canines, holding him up by the tail.

A nearby Auror fetched the rat quickly, binding Pettigrew with multiple spells as the Wizengamot went back to their seats as if this was an everyday occurrence.

The wide-eyed people watching from the guest rows were probably not quite so comforted.

Sanguini gently placed a hand on Hermione's head and removed it after a moment.

The great wolf was Hermione again—or at least the form everything thought she was naturally—and she promptly took her place at Sanguini's side.

"Thank you, Lord Sanguini," the spokesperson for the Wizengamot said. They turned to the gathered. "We will add being an illegal Animagus to his list of offences; however, his sentence will remain the same. Kiss by Dementor. We will allow some time for the family to visit with the defendant before his sentence is carried out. In the meantime, Memories of the identity of one of our DoM specialists will be Obliviated in all present that are not of appropriate rank to know such things before this occurred. The Wizengamot is now in recess."

"Sirius Black, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of a fellow student," an Auror said as he stood by the wide-eyed student.

Black looked frantically to Dumbledore who slowly shook his head and then his father, who simply set his jaw and jerked a nod to the arresting Auror.

They took the dumbfounded Sirius Black away by wandpoint as James Potter and Remus Lupin tried their very best to merge with the floor.


"Let their energy flow through you," Sanguini directed as Hermione stood in the dim, almost dark of the cell. "Do not let their coldness distract you. Follow the flow of their energy to their presence and let their mind blend with yours."

Hermione was standing near the holding cells where the Dementors stood watch over Pettigrew practising what I could only imagine was "communicating with Dementors."

The Dementors were floating closer—a very intimidating thing to watch—and Hermione had such a look of concentration on her face.

One Dementor pulled a broom out of thin air, the other a glass of lemonade, and another a cardigan sweater.

Hermione opened her eyes and slumped, defeated.

"What did you ask for, child?" Sanguini asked.

It was strange that the term child seemed to be something that meant so much more but was not demeaning.

"A notebook," Hermione said with a sigh.

"And you were wondering how Dementors floated, really wanted a beverage, and you couldn't get past the feeling of their cold," Sanguini guessed.

Hermione slumped. "Yes, Master."

"The good news is that they knew what you were thinking," he said with a chuckle, "but not what you actually wanted."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Try again, child, but instead of a notebook, try for something unmistakeable."

Hermione took the objects from the Dementors, put on the sweater, drank the lemonade, and thanked the last Dementor for the broom, and then went back to concentrating.

Sanguini studied me with dispassionate eyes—all business. "I have been told that you will need a chaperone here in the DoM until the Ministry can decide if it will be safe for you to return to Hogwarts."

I grimaced. I wasn't quite sure what might happen to me if I went back to Hogwarts. Hogwarts was supposedly one of the safest places in the Wizarding world, but it made me wonder just how bad it was everywhere else if Hogwarts was considered to be "safe."

Would I be safe there?

Even with the mass Obliviation that happened after the Wizengamot session, secrets at Hogwarts always seemed to take on a life of their own.

Somehow, secrets never managed to remain secret—even if you just thought them silently to yourself. The bigger your secret was, the quicker people found out about it.

Perhaps it was a testament to Hermione's cover that no one suspected she was anything but a bookworm Muggleborn.

Bossy.

Book knowledge spewing—

How would she integrate back into the school? Hell, how would I? Knowing the things I knew now, it would be hard to go back to my old obliviousness.

The blind hatred for Potter and his mates—at least the ones that were left to go back to Hogwarts.

How would that go over, I wondered. Lily might have had to come to terms with her Gryffindor boys were not as golden as she thought. If Potter went back to the school, what story would he have for why Black and Pettigrew weren't there anymore?

And Lupin?

Would they let him return back to Hogwarts?

He'd almost killed me. Mind you, not on purpose, but the danger of the werewolf had not been neutralised.

"I'm not really sure how I feel about going back," I said honestly.

Sanguini eyed me with his golden gaze that seemed so much like the sun save for the ring of crimson that resembled a halo. "If the Ministry determines it is not safe for you to return to Hogwarts, then I will arrange for you to get a master here at the DoM. Horace seemed to think you had great promise in potions."

I could tell by his voice that Sanguini was not one to commit himself unless there was solid proof, and he wasn't trusting Horace's word without having seen my skill for himself. I felt a bit more respect for him, vampire or no, just for that character trait alone.

It was so hard to come to terms with vampires being real despite how obviously real they were. I think it was much the same with werewolves, which is why I had obliviously walked into Black's trap.

While book knowledge said they existed, I couldn't see them for myself. If I couldn't see something, it was hard to see it as real. Magic was real. I could see its effects. But the vast catalogue of improbable magical beings and creatures—

Out of sight made it less real.

I hadn't ever been one for Care of Magical Creatures, and I was starting to think maybe I should have at least taken some basic levels outside of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Lily had always loved charms and wand waving. Hermione has always loved knowledge, and we had become closer because of that, but luck had me meeting Lily before Hermione, and I had always considered Lily to be my very best friend.

I had proven that when I'd cut Hermione down in front of so many people. I had at that moment enjoyed that power to hurt someone, and part of me took out my impotence with Potter and his mates on the one victim that had my back for years.

And like the prize idiot, I'd looked to Lily for validation.

Lily, who didn't even believe me when I told her that Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew were bullies.

She, like Dumbledore, had always insisted that they were a bunch of toerags but basically harmless. And as time went on she was even more inclined to favour her house over my word.

Then, I had hurt Hermione, who had done nothing but be my friend and believe me—

And I had meant all the venom and hate in that moment, even when I had regrets after. Even when my heart was screaming at me to stop. And what good was feeling regret afterwards when I had willingly hurt her just to feel more empowered?

What had my hate made of me?

For years I had studied hard to become more powerful. To be feared. Respected.

To be respected by Lily—

And here in front of me was an ancient vampire and his powerful familiar that wanted nothing more than to be underestimated.

Hermione's complete trust in Sanguini was significant to me because she had always been against injustices and what she saw as slavery. She saw the treatment of house elves as nothing but abuse and slavery approved of by society.

She saw nothing wrong with being a familiar to a vampire who could have so easily been like the one who apparently didn't respect anyone, even his own familiar. But it was also clear that Sanguini treated his bond with her with an almost sacred respect. He took great care in his responsibility as her teacher as much as her life companion—a life that would most likely span countless years.

Was she foolish to have such trust in someone? Or was I foolish to have never thought such a healthy relationship could be possible?

Merlin knew my own mum and da were hardly the finest example of a harmonious home life. At least not in my personal experience.

Mum was a bit of a henpecker—always relentlessly picking away at things. Da was—well, if he wasn't a Muggle, I'd have said was Confunded all the time. It made me wonder why they ever got married. Da just stared off into space most days. He went to work, came back, and yet somehow we always seemed to be poor.

It was—odd, honestly.

I figured Da usually went out drinking or something, but once I followed him by walking home from school a different way, and he walked home, sat down in front of the tube, and showed absolutely no inclination to say or do anything.

Just from the most recent interactions, I had learned that the more supernatural beings and beasts carefully hid their true nature. There were those that didn't or couldn't such as Dementors and Cerebi, but for those that could, their power was more often used to appear normal rather than to intimidate others.

Arguably, those like Dementors, a Cerberus, or even a Lethifold were plenty intimidating enough. I had a feeling that if the majority of the Wizarding World found out what I had in the last few days—there would be utter chaos.

I wasn't even sure how I was holding it together.

Lured to my death via werewolf by Sirius Black.

Almost murdered by said rampaging werewolf.

Saved by a giant wolf that made a bloody dire wolf look like a Yorkshire terrier.

A giant wolf that took out said werewolf, a dog, a kamikaze deer, and a murderous rat-man that no one had even suspected was anything but a sycophant.

Everyone had thought Pettigrew was a lowly follower, even Potter's other idiot friends.

"It is quite understandable that you do not know how you will be treated upon returning to Hogwarts," Sanguini said, he turned and a small smile crept across his face as each of the Dementors produced a glowing icy blue gem that seemed to radiate frost. "Very good. That was much better."

The Dementors seemed to be waiting for something. Ominously. I wasn't even sure if they could wait any way but ominously.

Hermione smiled as she gathered up the gems into special containers that contained the frost magic. She then—

Merlin's pants—

She gave all of them hugs.

The lot of them hovered, gently placing their gnarled hands around her body as she pressed into their dark robes.

I couldn't even fathom it.

Dementors were known as XXXXX Dark creatures. How was it that something that dangerous—wanted hugs?

I suddenly realised in that moment—I was doing what everyone did to me. Judging based solely on appearances.

"Alright, my friends," Sanguini said warmly. "Thank you for your assistance. You may return to your other duties."

The Dementors seemed reluctant to leave until Hermione said, "See you tomorrow!"

Reassured, perhaps, they all drifted away.

"Please take Mr Snape to the Cluck and Wagger and get some lunch," Sanguini said, passing Hermione a pouch of coins. "You may stop at the shops and get some clothes and supplies for him for his stay with us until they decide if he must return to Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Master," Hermione said cheerily. She bowed her head, and Sanguini placed a gentle hand on her head.

He lifted it and Hermione gestured at me to follow as we left for lunch.


"Any word on what happened with Potter or Lupin?" I asked.

The bacon buttie and chips I had been eating were all but gone. I hadn't realised just how hungry I'd been until it was almost completely devoured.

As if by a miracle, two servings of sticky toffee pudding appeared on the table delivered by—a team of spiders?

The spiders waved their front legs in a cheery greeting and scurried off. Hermione looked up and waved to the smiling witches at the counter.

"How do so many people know you?" I asked.

"I grew up here and other places after I bonded with my master," Hermione said. "I stayed with him everywhere he went. When it was the weekend, he dropped me off with my parents. Holidays too. Much like school breaks."

"He talked regularly with your parents?" I asked.

"Of course," Hermione said, her brows knitting. "He wanted them to be fully aware of everything we did together. They were both very proud of me." She frowned. "Going to Hogwarts was very strange to them. It was the first time they didn't get weekly updates on what I was doing."

Suddenly, I realised why I had only seen Hermione on the weekends—something that had, however inadvertently, made me consider Lily a more reliable and appealing friend.

That and—

A part of me felt ashamed about it, now, but Lily was more attractive and energetic and made me feel like being her friend somehow made me more important.

She had been a vibrant and opinionated social butterfly, but everyone around her desperately desired her attention—even Potter and his reprobate mates, who gave her much unwanted harassing for the first years of our time at Hogwarts and later a sort of smug chumminess.

Hermione liked to keep to a small group of friends, and while I considered both Hermione and Lily far more gregarious than myself, I had to admit that Hermione wasn't really all that good with typical witchly social circles. She greatly preferred books.

It wasn't until I saw her relations with those in the DoM that I realised she was much more enthused when working with mature adults who encouraged her natural curiosity and tempered it with a strong, stable groundwork.

I had my doubts with regard to both of those qualities when it came to the instructors of Hogwarts. Slughorn seemed, while adequate enough to not blow anyone up in a titanic explosion, rather uninspired in his potion work. Any of the judicious tweaks I made, he rarely if ever recognised even if he did understand that the quality of my potions were far superior to everyone else's.

Flitwick was insufferably cheerful and made such grandiose gestures when much smaller ones would do. He wasn't bad at all, just—rather overenthusiastic.

Admittedly, I didn't really over-analyze faculty members like Professor Sprout or any of the professors who taught (at least to me) the more boring classes—and McGonagall was at least respectable in my eyes for not standing for prejudice even when her lions were the ones up to no good.

Not that the Headmaster was so gifted—

I had a whole house full of fellow students who had seen and experienced first hand the ugly reality of Dumbledore's so-called "fairness."

The culture down in the DoM seemed utterly unlike anything I'd imagined. I had expected to see a great many closed doors, high security areas, and tight-lipped bureaucrats, but instead I'd found a unique and yet surprisingly open magical community.

Far less bigotry than had I found at Hogwarts, which really surprised me. I would have thought that younger people would be more open—but that was definitely not the case.

Then again— they were living off the radar when compared to most of the Wizarding World. I could only imagine how badly living next to some "freaky witch who talks to Lethifolds" would go considering Lily's own sister couldn't even accept having a witch for a sibling.

And there I was—thinking of Lily again.

I had never even thought about it before until now—now that I was having an unexpected reprieve from Hogwarts—but why was I always thinking about Lily?

It wasn't like she'd done anything for me or even asked how I was doing, not even after Pettigrew's trial. No, instead of accepting that I was in the right all along, that Potter's gang were bullies who always had it out for me, she just lamented that the situation was horrible, and that it couldn't possibly be true.

She'd been Obliviated of her knowledge of Hermione's status as both a DoM agent and, well, her species, but even with a front row seat to her transformation, I'm pretty sure that no one would ever believe Hermione was really a wolf. It was so much easier to say Animagus as opposed to "descendant of the original giant Norse world-eater wolf."

More believable too, I figured.

But here I was, enjoying a good meal with civil company, even if Hermione didn't trust me not to hurt her again, and somehow, all I could think of was Lily. It was so frustrating, and I was annoying myself even as a part of me continuously wondered how she was doing and if she needed anything.

Yet Lily hadn't written me so much as a single letter.

"You," a female voice suddenly hissed. "Slave."

Hermione stiffened, and I looked up to see a woman—as pale as the painted white faces of Kabuki dancers—looking down her nose at us both.

Surprisingly, Hermione did not react as I expected her to. "How may I assist you, Lady Sabrina?"

"You will take this to Lord Sanguini immediately," the woman commanded. She dropped a velvet pouch on the table. "And you will not open it."

"Of course, Lady Sabrina," Hermione said, politely bowing her head.

The woman narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "Now."

Hermione bowed again and quickly strode off, leaving me. I rushed to catch up, but then I remembered we hadn't paid—

Conflicted, I went back to the table to find that Sabrina had picked up the pouch that Sanguini had given Hermione to pay for our things.

"That was ours," I said automatically.

The vampire curled her lip. "Was, yes," she growled. Her fingers clasped around it. "Slaves should know their proper place," she coldly informed me as I was abruptly flung a-over-t into the counter and bowled into the pair of startled witches tending it.

I came to some undetermined time later to find Hermione beside me pressing a cool cloth to my forehead and Sanguini there looking utterly wrathful—if a completely stoic face could be called wrathful. Perhaps it was the total lack of any discernible movement that made it so utterly terrifying.

It didn't exactly take a genius to realise that he was beyond infuriated, yet he was completely polite and even apologetic to the staff of the establishment. He helped right the furniture, and then he handed them a pouch of what I can only imagine were galleons to cover our meals.

"I apologise for this most unfortunate show of devastation," Sanguini said calmly. "No one informed me that she had arrived, and while that is not an excuse, she is not from around here."

"Lord Sanguini—oh!" the witches gushed. "Everyone here is perfectly fine. You have never treated us with anything but complete respect. Please don't think we're upset with you at all!"

Even with my pounding head, which was at least beginning to ease slightly, I could tell that Sanguini didn't need an elaborate show of power to be well-respected. He treated these people like they were worth something, and regardless of what they did, he made no show of superiority—other than the fact that his magic was utterly flawless, wordless, and wandless.

Hermione passed me a vial. "Declouding Potion," she said.

I'd never heard of such a thing. I opened it, sniffing it carefully. It didn't smell like anything at all—not even water. I couldn't help the suspicious look I gave her.

"If you want to live with a migraine for the rest of your life, be my guest, but you'll be forever under her mind roll for the rest of your life as well."

She gave me the same look she usually gave Potter.

I drank the potion without further protest.

I could just up and die, but dying was better than facing that look. It was stronger than ten acres of garlic.

Immediately, my head stopped pounding, and the unbearable scream-like pressure within my mind was finally cast out. I didn't realise I'd been fighting to keep myself from attacking Hermione until I wasn't holding back that terrible pressure anymore.

I wilted, confused, relieved, and then went right back to being confused.

When I at last regained my bearings, my head seemed much clearer, and I sighed in relief.

"Thank you," I said. I saw that Sanguini had given each of the witches a dose as well, only they were all too happy to drink without even questioning it.

I'd call them idiots, but—

I had to admit, if Sanguini had wanted them dead, he was fully capable of taking them out without resorting to poison. Of that—I had absolutely no doubt.

Was this what true power was?

Being able to do such great things but only using as much power as the situation required?

It put me back in conflict with myself because I had worked so hard to become—significant. Most of those in Slytherin wanted in some way or another to be significant. We had strong aspirations.

Even as these thoughts went through my head, I felt a piercing sensation like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud and beaming straight into my corneas. I saw a the bright shining image of a very young Lily I had held in my head since the day I'd met her—

And then it abruptly dissipated like a cloud of butterflies flying away from a bed of wildflowers.

I was alone inside my own head.

Perhaps for the very first time since I'd been a young child.

"Tss," I hissed as I rubbed my temples.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, frowning slightly.

I looked into her concerned eyes, lit within by the halo of light from the candles behind her, and it made her look truly divine. Lily was a false god. A mere pretender to the throne.

I felt—

I felt a sudden surge of powerful emotion.

First—despair.

I had hurt her, and I never again wanted to be the source of that kind of pain for her.

Second—regret. I had hurt her, and I had lost her trust.

Lastly, seeing such genuine concern for me in her eyes I felt a deep paralysing warmth.

"I'm so sorry!" I groaned.

I saw Hermione's brows immediately knit, her nostrils flaring and her mouth parting slightly as if she was aiming my scent to the back of her mouth.

Her eyes widened. "Master!"

"What is wrong, child?" Sanguini asked as he knelt beside us.

"The Declouding potion broke some sort of block in his mind—something quite powerful."

Hermione was feeling my forehead with one hand, even as my hand clasped her other one desperately.

Sanguini's hand splayed across my face. "I require your permission, child," he said.

"P-permission?"

"I need to search your mind for damage."

I looked to Hermione for some clue as to if it would hurt. She nodded to me. It didn't answer my question, but she seemed to think I should—

"You have it," I said.

I felt a coldness that turned into a soothing warmth, almost like the very first time I had been able to take a warm bath at Hogwarts. I'd never had that luxury at home—

And then he pulled away.

"He's been fixated—" Sanguini said grimly. "We need to get him to the clinic at once. He's been rolled before but not by a vampire."


"The spell was anchored to an old childhood memory," a witch in green robes said as a quill scribbled information across a parchment.

"What memory?" a man from the Ministry asked. The wizard looked a little—waxed. Almost as if he'd dipped his quirky little moustache into a pool of candle drippings. That couldn't possibly be comfortable.

I found myself thinking about a lot of things now that they had taken multiple strands of wispy memories from my head for evidence. Unspeakbles had done it, gently taking them out, duplicating them, and putting the originals back in my brain where they belonged.

I wasn't sure it was going to make any better sense to them because I had no idea what I was even processing while I was sitting on the bed.

"And the nature of the spell?" Moustache-wizard asked.

"Fixation—possibly on the first person they saw after the spell was cast or perhaps there was a timer placed on it. His memories do not contain any specifics beyond the spell itself."

The healer looked rather annoyed. I could certainly relate. Someone had gone and thoroughly scrambled my brain. Who wouldn't be a little irritated about that?

"Was it accidental or intentional?"

"Do you actually think I blinkered myself?" I incredulously asked the id—er, wizard.

Moustache-wizard, who hadn't even bothered to introduce himself, so that will be his name forever, looked uncomfortable and rather constipated.

"N-no," he stammered. "I just need to find out if there is someone we can hold accountable for this."

Sanguini turned his head to regard Moustache-wizard, and the man immediately looked like he needed to use the loo very very badly.

"If we knew that, you'd be standing in the Auror's office staring at the culprit and not poking us."

He must have been a bit irritated because his accent was starting to change. He said something to Hermione in a different language, and she immediately nodded.

"Yes, Master," she said and tugged me over to a private room.

Sanguini seemed to want both Hermione and myself kept out of the spotlight. We were close enough to still hear what was going on, but we were thankfully out of sight and out of mind when it came to the flustered-looking Moustache-wizard.

A healer trainee came in bearing a heaping tray of food. "Here you go, you two. The Cluck and Wagger sent you up a tray since you weren't able to finish your lunches earlier."

"That was very kind of them," Hermione said appreciatively. "Thank you very much."

"Healer Misha will be right with you after she's finished with the Ministry bloke. She said you are stable now and will not relapse, so please don't worry."

Hermione smiled and nodded, and her Lethifold reached over and straightened the poor trainee healer's collar which had gone cattywampus to just about everything else he was wearing.

Hermione turned to me and with surprise saw that I had already polished off my second bacon buttie and chips with ravenous fervour. She arched a brow. "Would you like my roast beef sandwich?"

I was a little embarrassed by it, but I nodded hungrily.

Hermione pushed her sandwich over to me.

"You're sure?" I wasn't sure why I was so insufferably hungry. If anything, I was used to not having much to eat at home.

"A mind roll causes the mind to spend a lot of energy trying to fight back against it. It might not succeed, but it still tries as best it can. It can be terribly exhausting for the victims—and you have been under the influence since you were quite young," Hermione said quietly. She seemed thoughtful. "I'd imagine spending your life constantly waiting for the next malicious prank on top of that would really take it out of you."

She tilted her head. "Don't fault yourself for not being able to fight it. You were just a young child. Young children should always be protected; instead you were viciously attacked. That was why my parents were so happy that I'd found my bondmate so early in life. They knew I'd always have him there looking out for me."

"How can you be so trusting?" I asked, truly baffled by her ability to trust a being that would or rather could abuse her so very easily.

Hermione tilted her head, obviously puzzled. "He smelled like Home."


Sirius Black Tried Before Wizengamot as an Adult and Convicted of Attempted Murder of a Classmate - Sentenced to Twenty Years in Azkaban and Subsequently Disowned by Black Family


Potter Family Suffers Sharp Decline In Sleekeazy's Sales Due To Son's Trial Before Wizengamot - Scion James Potter Charged With Assault Using Illegal Animagus Form


"Why are you still sulking, Lily?" Marlene asked as she combed her wavy hair with her fingers and tried out various kinds of ties in it.

Lily sighed heavily. "I can't remember much about that Wizengamot session, and we haven't seen James or Remus since. I don't believe that Peter cast an Unforgivable either. And Sirius doesn't like Sev but he wouldn't try to kill him, that's total rubbish! The Prophet must have made it all up just to sell more papers."

Marlene shook her head at that. "The Wizengamot can view memories," she said patiently. "They wouldn't have convicted him without them. If they saw it, it happened, Lils."

"But Peter?" Lily protested in disbelief. "He doesn't have it in him to cast a spell like that—a killing curse!"

Marlene sighed. "There is a war building out there, girlfriend. It's really hard to know who we can trust anymore. My mother sent me an owl to warn me to be really careful when we go to Hogsmeade. There has been a lot of activity out there lately. People are disappearing. People turning up dead. People ending up in St Mungos with terrible wounds. If Peter, James, Sirius, and Remus were out there playing around as animals and recklessly endangering other people, then they deserve what they get."

"If they were only playing around, they shouldn't be punished like criminals!" Lily exclaimed.

"Unforgivables are not something you should ever play around with," Marlene said, her face grim. "If they did that or—even if they were encouraging someone else to do it—it's just as bad! Besides—if Snape hasn't returned to school yet, then he must still be at Mungos or something. And then there's that witch who always beats us in points—Granger? She hasn't come back here, either."

"Sev dealt with her," Lily scoffed. "She's probably hiding in the library crying."

"Dealt?" Marlene asked, frowning at that.

"He dressed her down right in front of everyone when she called me selfish," Lily said smugly. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

"I heard about it, but I don't pay attention to hearsay. If I didn't actually see it go down, then it might be baseless gossip," Marlene pointed out. "I do know they took away their trunks and brooms along with the rest of their stuff. That I can tell you is the absolute truth. They don't do that if you're coming back."

Lily shook her head in fervent denial. "No, it can't be true. They're our friends. Even if they did run around as a bunch of animals, maybe they just got too caught up in their animal instincts! Like that barmy wizard in our books who turned into a stoat and couldn't stop killing rabbits, you know?"

"Lil, I know you were starting to really like James, but just in case you missed the owl, those guys were the utmost in horrid pranksters—and not in a harmless way. It wasn't just knocking down books or setting off a few dungbombs. Flitwick actually warded the Ravenclaw tower to restrict outsider access because his students were getting pranked on their way to class and falling down the bloody stairs!"

"I thought you said you didn't listen to gossip, Marlene," Lily said with a scowl.

"It's not gossip," Marlene informed her friend. "I was there when he did it, and the ward pushed me back down the hallway. He apologised to me after because he thought everyone was clear of the hall before he started."

Lily looked rather puckered as she scowled, but Marlene had already grabbed her books and left for the Great Hall.


When I woke up, there was this strange discombobulation as I tried to remember exactly where I was. The room was a touch on the cool side, and I could smell a pleasant mix of musk and antiquity to it, but it was not the damp and chill sort of dungeon environment that had Slytherins keeping the common room hearth blazing all year round.

There were books on shelves everywhere, which gave me the sense of sleeping in a library, and I realised with a little start that the temperature was probably ideal to keep the books in perfect condition. The bed was large and comfortable, but it lacked the four poster sides and the curtains Hogwarts had. The plush mattress was like sleeping on air, though, and that more than made up for the lack of "style."

There was a beautiful ebony pigeonhole desk with writing supplies carefully placed in each space. Ornate carvings of fantastic beasts adorned the drawers, making it look like they could come to life at any moment. My various school supplies and replacement books lay on one side of the desk waiting for me to figure out where I would put them.

Sanguini had tutors from the DoM coming in every day to work on my curriculum to make sure I didn't fall behind in what Hogwarts would have been teaching me. He'd said if I was unable to return, then he'd have to speak with some of the masters to see if any of them had room for an apprentice, otherwise I would have to go to classes with the other DoM children in their version of Hogwarts in the underground.

The only reason, he said, for why I was not doing that now was that my story was still being sorted out on an official level, and they didn't want to transfer me to that only to have to send me back to Hogwarts and bring even more drama into my life.

I had to respect the man for that at the very least.

Not that there weren't many other reasons—

I took care of my personal hygiene and marvelled at the self-cleaning tub that seemed more like a large hot tub than something that would be in a bathroom. The tub was carved out of some sort of highly polished stone, but the bottom had a sort of wavy texture that kept you from slipping and cracking your skull open.

Every so often I'd catch sight of those seemingly ubiquitous arachnids popping in, cleaning up the clutter, replacing supplies, and tidying up my apparent shambles of organisation.

Back home, I'd always been used to being absolutely skint on just about every day, so Hogwarts had been such a shock for me as to what was available to everyone. This place, however, made me feel like bloody royalty—not that I had people helping me dress or what have you, but if I needed something, I found it was already there. It didn't arrive on a silver platter or amidst sparkles of magic, but it would be there just waiting for me like I was an idiot for not having looked sooner.

I managed to make my way out of my chambers and look like a decently functional wizard, which had been a bit of a challenge before since the only clothes I had were not the uniform I had become accustomed to at Hogwarts.

My original clothing had been bagged and tagged as evidence of my ordeal, and I hadn't seen them since.

However—the clothing Hermione and Sanguini had taken me out to get had involved a tailor, and for the first time in my life I had clothes that really fit me without having to use resizing spells on them. Instead of shabby robes that covered up my shameful excuse for clothing, I now had a dress shirt, vest, and trousers made of silk so fine it almost felt like I was wearing nothing at all. There was no swimming in my father's old Muggle clothes. The dark green and silver thread brocade vest had an ornate serpent motif that made it seem more like fine art. I'd never seen such things on anyone but Lucius Malfoy, and even Lucius sometimes commented on high fashion, complaining about it being uncomfortable.

Just thinking about the cost of it all made me shudder a bit, even though it had never actually been discussed in front of me. Money was always exchanged through the velvet pouch, which Hermione had taken out of a larger bag; she'd also pulled out things to pay for our food and supplies. The bag had the mark of the tailor on it. The tailor had taken the bag, bowed, and handed her a new, empty one, which Hermione tucked into the other bag once more. After we were done that day, Hermione had passed the main bag over to Sanguini, and he had plucked some coins out so we could buy some sweets from the market—and I think we both had more than enough to keep us occupied.

It was odd to see Hermione looking utterly relaxed—I'd never seen her so at ease with politeness or social graces—she'd always been faultlessly polite, but Hogwarts was hardly one of Lucius' formal social parties. I'd often wondered why Lucius had always treated her with kid gloves, despite her being the rare Muggleborn Slytherin. There must have been something he picked up on that those like me hadn't. What that was, however, I still didn't know. I'd always figured it was because she had been sorted into Slytherin, so he had to be civil.

Watching her navigating the DoM, however, she was at ease as much as she was socially lubricated, and she went from place to place, person to person, with the grace of a dancer. She smiled more, was warmer, but she was also more tolerant of social status.

Her response to Lady Sabrina had been instant and natural, despite her stiffening at being talked down to like a slave. She'd apologised later for having had to leave me immediately without saying anything else, but she'd explained, too, that had she tipped her hand that I meant enough to linger, Sabrina would have likely taken more of an interest in me—something that neither of us would have wanted. I hadn't expected an apology in that regard, but—it felt strangely nice that she'd considered my feelings despite what I'd done to her.

It hadn't been until later that I had realised the extent of the danger I had been in or the depths to which Sanguini protected his wards.


Hermione had changed into her natural wolf form, and her rump had pressed me into the small alcove with protective insistence as the room seemed to explode with clashing power. She did not make any effort to fight herself, but instead focused on keeping herself between me and whatever was going on "out there."

"Out there" had been the absolutely beautiful panelled sitting room that Sanguini had Hermione and I studying in.

Sanguini had no servants that I could discern—save for the ubiquitous arachnids that seemed to be everywhere in the DoM. There was no signature presence of house elves.

If anything, there was a little stand in the middle of the arboretum that offered fresh lemonade with a clutter of excited baby spiderlings tending it—

It was definitely not the habit of house elves to be seen by those they served.

The poor sitting room looked like a warzone.

Sculptures were toppled, portraits tattered and torn from their frames, priceless books all but shredded, the bone china tea service shattered, claw strikes making the stone wall look like some faux paper construct—or the battered old walls of my childhood home in Cokeworth. The velvety curtains that filtered the soft light coming from the Arboretum were slashed, their wooden rods shattered.

As the battle raged, I could barely even see what was going on as the breaking continued, Lady Sabrina made a shriek, and a flying reptile smashed through the window and wall and joined the fight.

Hermione, however, immediately leapt in, fangs bared. She didn't wait. She didn't hesitate to ask for instructions. She just did it. She tore into the flying reptile, her jaws smashing into the more delicate wings, and I heard the bones crack between her powerful jaws—jaws that treated bones like bug-eaten wood.

The reptile shrieked, and it spat some sort of flaming acid into her face, and again—her flesh melted away from her bones, exposing her skull and an eerie flame-lit eyes. Flames seemed to dance across the saliva that dripped off of her teeth, and for a moment I was reminded of the two mythological sons of Fenrisúlfr—one that chased the sun, the other the moon.

The more the reptile attacked her—the stronger she became.

Bigger.

Angrier.

Her body seemed to reflect it by absorbing the other's attacks and assimilating them, making her stronger and her target less effective.

Their battle continued even as Sanguini was battling Lady Sabrina, and I was suddenly very grateful for the hiding place I had been unceremoniously shoved into.

Hermione, despite her remarkable ability to survive, was still wounded enough that healing her injuries was taking some time. She was starting to slow down, and the aggressive reptile was trying its best to separate her head from her neck using its tail and torque.

It was then that I noticed that sickeningly familiar green magic that had come from Pettigrew's wand tracking up her spine. It lit up her fur with an unholy glow and set it standing on end like spikes even as it travelled inexorably upward. Her entire head was haloed in this ominous, evil-looking green. Her eyes filled with that same colour magic, and it even seeped out her nostrils like mist.

Then, much like in a scene from one of those old Japanese Godzilla movies, she blasted that sickly green beam up from her throat and out her mouth and down the offending reptile's throat. Its entire body was lit up in that unnerving Avada Kedavra green. Cracks formed in its body like forks of lightning in the sky, and then its body burst apart—reptile chucks went splattering in every direction in a steaming, sizzling splatter.

I had no time to even process the brutal death when Lady Sabrina, coated in blood and ghastly wounds, suddenly seized Hermione with her supernatural strength and desperation, and cracked her spine over her knee with a horrifying, soul-numbing snap.

Hermione let out a pained yelp and then her body went limp.

The temperature in the room exploded as Sanguini let out a deadly hiss and, "Bagami-as pula in mormantul ma-ti!"

His claws slammed into Lady Sabrina's neck and clenched tightly as his fangs buried deep into her neck and ripped the flesh from her throat as he squeezed even harder. His other hand drove like a sledgehammer into her chest, shattering ribs as his claws squeezed around her heart.

"Ceapa ma-tii! You DARE to break the rules of honourable combat when my familiar fairly beat yours, you arrogant scorpie!"

Sanguini was the personification of absolute fury, and by fury, I mean covered in blood, flames radiating off his body, and some sort of venom dripping from his fanged grimace.

"You have broken every last rule of honourable combat. You have attacked my familiar! You have stolen property of mine given to my familiar for her use. You have insulted what is mine in public where others could hear you. You have rolled an innocent in full view of witnesses. I have every right to end your bloodline right here and now—and all that you care about will die along with you— including your daughter—perhaps the one person on this Earth you might actually care about."

"No!" the female vampire simpered. "No, I beg you, Lord Sanguini! I-I will do anything!"

"And what guarantee would even impress me, scorpie?" Sanguini growled. "What do you have that I could possibly believe or want?"

"I-I swear myself to your bloodline. My bloodline to yours. Loyal—" she grovelled. I could see her heart beating frantically in Sanguini's grasp. That could not be remotely comfortable, not even for the undead. "I swear it. On my very blood. All I have—yours."

Sanguini squeezed both her neck and her heart a little harder. "You will swear eternal fealty to both me and my bloodline. Every single one. Past, present, and future. Every member. Every familiar. Every cherished one. Every guest." His eyes flicked to the scattered chunks of her familiar which were being systematically cleaned up by a hungry Lethifold. "This will apply to you and all of your bloodline, familiars, connections—" His eyes narrowed. "Slaves. Vendors. Underground agents. Everything and everyone. And since you seem unable or unwilling to trust another being enough to form a full familiar bond—any half-hearted bonded beings, creatures, entities, aliens, mutants, monsters, poltergheists, and any others I might have inadvertently missed."

"I swear it!" Sabrina whimpered.

Sanguini took his hand from her heart, and with a surge of magic cleaned her blood off himself, bit his wrist, and forced it to her mouth with obvious distaste.

Sabrina drank from it desperately.

"Severus."

I perked, preferring not to leave my safe place.

I came out, but nervously. I was still bleeding in a few places thanks to all the flying debris, and being around vampires made me think that was a generally bad idea.

"Give her some of your blood, child, so she will not be able to hurt you again."

I was, I think, justifiably dubious.

But—

Sanguini had never lead me wrong, and he did have Sabrina by the neck—

I put my wounded arm close to her and flinched as the vampiress took blood from my wound.

Sanguini jerked Sabrina up with his arm and flung her into the now already ruined wall, and a hefty chunk of stone fell and struck her in the head. He immediately knelt by Hermione, cradling her head in his lap. He bit his wrist again, but this time there was a visible urgency in his expression.

Compassion.

Worry.

"Heart to heart. Blood to blood, child. Drink," he whispered.

Hermione's tongue lapped weakly at the offering, growing steadier as she cleaned the blood from his wound and his arm and even his fingers. Her wounds healed, and I even heard her bones pop as they realigned back to where they should have been. Her tail beat softly against the floor.

"You did very well, child," Sanguini said gently. He stroked her head with obvious care. "So very well." He ran his hand over her body checking to make sure there wasn't anything unseen or undetected, using his magic to clean the blood, debris, and whatever else off her.

He pressed his head to hers, and Hermione whined softly, tail beating the ground more strongly, and she shoved her muzzle into Sanguini like a hound who wanted pets right now, thank you.

Sanguini's chuckle seemed to reverberate through the floor. He soothed her muzzle, suffering her happy licks across his face.

It was then, I noticed that the Lethifold had cleaned all the blood and, erm, stray pieces of meat off the surfaces of the room and slithered over to Hermione and merged with her body once more—a skill I had no idea Lethifolds had.

"You managed to keep Walter from attacking during mortal combat, and that was very skillful of you in the midst of a life and death battle," he praised. "It could not have been easy since he is so very fond of you."

Hermione's tail thumped, obviously happy to have pleased her master. Sanguini seemed relieved in no small way that Hermione was healed and responsive.

Sanguini turned to me, and to my surprise, said, "Are you well, Severus?"

"Yes, I'm okay," I stammered. "Thank you."

There was a low thump as a clutter of spiders heaved the pieces of wall back up, rewove the curtains, restored the portraits, and swept all the dust out. Dementors hovered about menacingly as they righted random objects, their chilly magic swirling around them as they mended the broken ones and set them back in place with an unmistakable aura of annoyance.

I hadn't known Dementors could mend things— what other things were they capable of that the Wizarding World didn't know anything about because they just viewed them as the dreaded guards of Azkaban?

Sanguini stood, and Hermione followed, shaking out her coat with a wall-shaking shudder. She snuffled me, sticking her nose into all my corners and connecting limbs and gave me a warm slurp upside the face.

"I apologise for having to involve you with vampire politics," Sanguini said with a sigh. "Sabrina did not, until now, answer to the European Council. She retreated to a place very far south, and some suspected she buried herself in places like South Africa, but until now, she had not attempted to visit. We could not attack her unless she broke one of our laws."

Sanguini grimaced, flashing his fangs with clear distaste. "There were stories, of course, but she was very cunning and covered her tracks very well. Her treatment of her bloodline was, despite being irreverent, her right as the progenitor outside our Council. Here we have laws. No vampire of Europe will ever attack a familiar. You attack the master. The familiar attacks another familiar but only if the other attacks first, otherwise they are to stay out of combat. To attack a familiar after having defeated another in combat is—not done. Unconscionable but— to some, just cheating. Most masters believe their familiar should be strong but never as strong as their masters."

It didn't take me long to connect the dots as to what he wasn't saying. "You aren't like that."

Sanguini shook his head. "No, I take my bonds very seriously. To take a familiar is a forever thing. There must be respect, even love. There must be shared power because otherwise I cripple myself by not sharing my power with my familiar. And there are things most vampires do not realise— most believe that if the familiar dies so does the master, but in the most rare of bonds created in love and respect if one lives, so does the other. There is, however, not an easy way to test this without placing yourself in danger, and most vampires, especially master vampires, are very cautious when it comes to maybes. And—most master vampires are very protective of their power. They do not like to—share."

Hermione protested that Sanguini's hand had stopped rubbing her ears, and Sanguini laughed, summoning a brush to groom her fur with practised strokes.

"She found me in a building full of delegates, security, and both Muggles and supernaturals. How could I not love her instantly when such eyes locked on mine?"

At that moment, I understood. Hermione's faith in him was not foolish. She knew his heart, perhaps his soul because Sanguini had shared everything with her in the faith that she had not found him by anything less than the blessing of fate.

As a pup, no less.

Perhaps, under the crystal clear lens of youth unhampered by violence or hatred, distrust, she had followed her instincts to the very best chance of survival. Her parents had approved, so apparently with her species—this was a great feat she had managed.

An owl flew through the open window and clung to the perch in the middle of the room so powerfully that it wobbled with the landing.

Sanguini had to extricate himself from his familiar in order to retrieve the parchment, and Hermione looked rather put out that he couldn't do both at the same time. He read the parchment, his brows furrowing as he went further along.

He sighed. "Your test results are back, Severus. The spell that had affected you since childhood was not an act of accidental magic. It was in fact quite deliberate. Aurors and Unspeakables will be sent out to trace the spell signature starting in Cokeworth since that was where you most likely were when the spell was cast."

"Some random wizard cast a spell on me?" I asked.

"It could be a witch or a wizard, I fear," Sanguini said. "Since we don't know who it is, you will be stuck with us for a bit more time."

Even with the drama with Lady Sabrina, I was starting to think there was no safer place than being with Sanguini, who actively protected those who relied on him. He took his responsibilities very seriously.

"If you do not mind," I said. "I would be honoured to stay with you."

"Then I will see that your tutors are informed," Sanguini said. "After I deal with Lady Sabrina. Hermione, if you would please take Severus to the Council and register him with the Council as my protectorate, thanks to Lady Sabrina."

Hermione whufted, tail wagging furiously, and she shoved her great head under my hand.

And we had Disapparated with a crack!


It was so nice to be able to relax a little now that the chain of drama was finally simmering down. Meeting the Council had been pretty unnerving. There were certain members of it that were obviously not as well-versed in greasing the wheels of communication as Sanguini was.

Fortunately, Hermione knew all the right things to say, and I was quickly written down as a vassal of Sanguini—someone he officially protected.

Hermione's status as his familiar basically made her the voice of him, and they seemed to respect this far more than they respected me.

Not that I actually expected them to respect me. I was used to being treated as someone known but not truly valued. Lucius always made it clear I was under his protection, but people didn't always treat me with respect even if they didn't try to murder me outright.

At least with the Vampire Council they had a few thousand years give or take plus a few centuries of experience to find me boring. I was pretty sure if the Council found you interesting it could go either way on whether that was a good thing.


"Hello, child," a strangely young-looking vampire said. He looked no more than fifteen.

Hermione immediately perked, and she was a wolf in a moment, bounding over to the "child" with enthusiasm.

She lay down in front of him, head down to the floor as she looked up to him.

He placed a pale hand on her head, a small smile tugging on his lips. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Hermione whined, tail wagging but head still down.

"Share with me," the vampire said, his voice calm.

He made a gesture with his hand, causing a thin stream of blood to rise from Hermione's body to the vampire, and the vampire seemed to taste it as if he were savouring a fine wine. His eyes flashed crimson, and he nodded.

"I am glad my old friend has taken care of the situation. It will expand law through the south and into territories we do not normally watch over. It also rids us of the annoying—ah, well. You get the idea."

He pet Hermione between the ears. "Thank you for the update. Please tell your master that he owes me two hundred galleons for losing our bet."

Hermione's head cocked to the side,and she made a rather cute confused sound.

The young-looking vampire laughed. "I told him that he would not be alone forever. He did not believe me. Here," he said as he held out a velvet sack. "Take your friend to the town and get him some real clothes. He looks like a homeless refugee."

Hermione gently took the sack between her great jaws and tail wagged in thanks.

She then bounded back to me, and we were off again—


Vampires, I realised, had lived long enough to know exactly what sleeping on dirt and wearing next to nothing was like, so those that had—

Well, they truly appreciated a good tailor, for one.

And wearing some of my new custom tailored things definitely gave me an appreciation for true comfort.

"Any word about who fixated me?" I asked.

Hermione shook her head. "They are still looking. Whoever did it is using very complex magic—or else they purposely moved to Cokeworth because the magic that travels through that area is chaotic and tends to scramble traces."

I tilted my head.

"It's why my parents moved there," Hermione explained. "The magic that pools there helps them remain in human form indefinitely."

"How—did I not sense that?" I asked.

"The smoke and various particles emitted by the Muggle factories choke out nature's feel. It makes it hard to sense anything unless you're really trying hard. I used to think that my senses were horrible. Until the day I hitchhiked to London and tracked down my master."

Hermione looked smug. She cocked her head, and I realised how many times she'd done that and I'd never once connected it to her wolf nature.

"Did you want to see?"

I blinked.

"The memory."

She seemed to chuckle.

I tried not to seem too interested. "I guess."

She tapped her wand to her forehead, and silver wisps danced out around her wand tip. She guided them into a carved stone basin that had always been in the middle of the room like a birdbath missing the birds. "Go ahead."

How did I miss the Pensieve in the middle of the room? I was truly starting to believe I'd miss everything obvious while searching for the more complicated things.

I took a deep breath and dunked my head in.


There were so many new and interesting smells!

I chased that pigeon until I tripped over another pigeon and discovered my dreams of a fresh pigeon lunch was obtainable!

If only my mum and dad could see me now—

Well, maybe later. I had a mission.

I think.

After I figured out how to pluck all these feathers to get to the tasty insides.

After spitting out many mouthfuls of grey and black feathers, I pillaged the chewy insides with relish.

Something furry hissed at me from the side, and I bounded up to say hello, nose first because that was the proper way to greet a new friend.

Pain ran through me as claws hit my delicate nose, and I yelped in pain, sitting on my tail as I whimpered.

That wasn't how friends were supposed to work!

My mum and dad didn't explain how to greet angry friends on the first meeting. I wagged my tail hopefully. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.

The creature pounced on me, claws out and raked its sharp weapons across my face until it bled, and then I became seriously angry. How was I supposed to make friends if said friends kept making me bleed? Mum and dad never made me bleed.

My wound on my muzzle healed, and as it did, I realised my paws were working my claws in and out.

In. Out. In. Out.

This was new!

I reared up as my angry friend had and I gave them a good swat like they had to me, slicing their face.

Maybe this was the proper way to greet a friend in this strange place with all these new smells.

The creature yowled and ran away, smashing into rubbish as it went away in a hurry.

Part of me wanted to chase and maybe chew on their neck, but there was a tickle in my mind that told me there was something really important out there that was just for me. I licked my chops and continued on my way.

My nose kept leading me to bangers and other tasty things, and every so often a human would pick me up and cuddle me, and I would get these tasty things offered up. It was wonderful, and I made note that the tiny humans tended to share their stuff with their new playmate—at least until a taller human came and chased me off.

Humans were so contradictory!

It was okay, though. I had a mission. I had a tingle to follow. It started at my nose and tweaked my ears and zipped down to the tip of my tail. There was something out there that was just for me.

Sneaking onto the bus was interesting.

My parents' den was right in the middle of the Zone of Stench. My parents called it Cokeworth, but honestly it wasn't worth all that much. The squirrels were too fatty, and the birds all tasted like burnt tar.

My parents kept trying to encourage me to try out a human form, but they were mental. Why would I want to stand on my hind legs all the time and wobble like a top?

No thanks, I'd rather stay on all fours. Thanks for asking.

I'd learned a lot of human languages from the various immigrants that lived in Cokeworth and probably at least five different dialects of English, but I didn't bother trying to say the words as a wolf.

I'm pretty sure my vocal chords were not meant for human language.

Now, canine languages I could do. It was a lot like wolf only—garbled like they were blending Cockney with Stormzy with a splattering of West Country depending on how cultured the dog was.

Dogs were amazingly preoccupied at manipulating their people to get treats, which I could totally understand and chasing those clawed nose swatter creatures who never wanted to talk to me let alone tell me what they were.

Rude.

I padded along, dodging and weaving between legs and so many feet. I had to resist all the fascinating smells and sounds and follow that tingle—this promise of something that would be so worth it. So, I ignored my sore paw pads and kept on going, even though I really wished there was more dirt to run on instead of this evil flat stone that sort of sanded my paw pads down as I ran.

It's probably why humans liked shoes so much. I liked shoes too—but to chew on. Humans didn't like it when you chewed on their shoes, though, especially when you did it when their foot was still in it. I'm not sure why that mattered.

Still, that tingle was getting even stronger, and I had to get into one of the human buildings—I saw a strange kind of door that spun around sucking people in and spitting them out on the other side or sometimes just carrying them around and around.

Seemed risky.

There was a human standing outside, standing so stiffly that it was amazing they didn't fall over in the wind.

I watched the pattern of people coming and going, and eventually I figured out that if you waited for the stiff human to yell at someone else, he didn't pay attention to who went around the people-eating door.

I waited for my moment, heard him tell off some people out in front, and I dashed through the moving people-eating door by tucking myself between their crowded legs and then dashing out the other side.

The inside was terribly crowded, and oddly that worked to my advantage. They were so busy being loud and walking everywhere, that they weren't paying attention to me at all.

The tingle was getting stronger, and I kept following until I was foiled by yet another door with humans in dark clothes. They blocked the door for even other humans, which made no sense. What was the use of having a gathering if you couldn't—well, gather?

Again I sat at the bottom of one of the human removable fur things. Humans were so strange. They liked to peel off their fur and wear another. Mum and Dad called it clothes, but I called it creepy.

Sane wolves did not want to peel off their fur and put on another!

I'm not sure what that made my parents, but at least they did it while looking human and not as a wolf.

As I waited I noticed that people kept going in and there was this shiny multilayered thing that delivered spicy smelling snacks and drinks. It always parked in the same place, and then they would go past all the people with dark clothes.

When the shiny thing arrived, I ran over and tucked myself in next to the teapot and the trays of finger sandwiches. The latter smelled really good, and I was tempted to eat a few, but mum and dad always said that I should never try to be stealthy and eat at the same time.

Turning my nose from the food, I waited for my ride in, got past the door, and then I darted off into the next set of legs.

The tingle was really strong now, and noticed one of the humans standing in a group of other humans only he smelled like Home. He had a soft but commanding voice (kind of like when dad told me not to lick my rump in public) that was immediately attractive to me. He sounded confident and trustworthy.

That must be the one!

I dodged more legs and made a beeline towards him. There were a lot of people talking at him, and he was making some elaborate gestures and he talked as they pointed to some drawing on an easel . It was something important, but it wasn't mine, so I didn't really care too much.

It was so hard ignoring all the nice smelling shoes to chew on, but somehow I managed, but at one point I did stick my head into some person's leather bag and picked out some sort of metal and wood thing that tasted horrible.

Committed, I carried it with me because something told me I should greet his man I was hunting with a gift. Even—if I had no idea what that gift was.

It tasted foul. He probably wouldn't like it.

Still, I continued on, and then someone saw me.

I quickly dodged the hands reaching for me, and thumped right into the man that smelled like home. I looked up at him, hoping he'd see me and confirm my hunt was over.

Even if I really had no clue what I was hunting for.

Suddenly, a hand curved under my belly and he lifted me up, cradling me in his arms as he continued to talk. He gently took the foul-tasting thing from my mouth and handed it off to some gruff-looking guy nearby, who immediately started talking into his shoulder.

People are strange. I could understand talking to someone else. Talking to yourself, but talking to your shoulder? Weird.

Then, there was a lot of yelling as said gruff guy tackled some woman to the ground. Their head fur popped off their head to show a different patch of head fur.

Said female was apparently male?

Humans were even stranger than I thought!

"Hello, Hermione," the man rumbled as he stroked my ears. Oh, that felt so wonderful! "I am Sanguini."

Sanguini. Yes! That sounded perfect.

My tail wagged wildly, and I licked his chin, and as his eyes met mine, the endless warmth of welcome flowed into me. At that moment it was like the biggest and fattest pigeon in my life had just defeathered itself in front of me and hopped into my mouth. His hand rubbed my belly and everywhere else, and I wriggled and yipped in bliss as my sense of his mind in mine grew even stronger.

"Oh! Lord Sanguini," a short human said. "I had no idea you needed accommodations for a pet! I will be sure to have supplies brought to your suite before the delegation is completed."

They scampered off to places unknown as I was blissed out on heavenly ear scritches.

Sanguini placed me against his chest, and my ear squished against his chest. I could hear his heart beating. It was soothing and peaceful.

I was asleep a few seconds later, oblivious to everything but Sanguini's gentle embrace.


End of Chapter One


A/N: I'm sure wolf pup Hermione is absolutely adorable. Thank Dragon and the Rose for staying up to beta this chapter.