"I'm sorry, Honey," Hermione's mother said, leaning across her dining room table. "I know you've explained this before, but I still don't understand this Institute of yours. Is it like a university?"

"Kind of," Hermione said. "Except without all the pesky students." Her parents had always been disappointed that she hadn't gone to university, even when she explained that there was no wizard university in Britain and a magical education hadn't exactly prepared her for Oxford.

"So you're not teaching?" her father asked.

"Not directly, but that's what the books and articles are for. You know how in a Muggle university, the professors do research and publish their findings? It's the same sort of thing."

"Well, I'm really proud of you, Honey. Can we read your book when it's published?"

Hermione rubbed the back of her neck, being careful of the still-sore scars. "I'm not sure if that's allowed." As the immediate relatives of a witch, her parents were classified as 'allowably aware' by the Ministry of Magic. That meant they didn't have to be Memory Charmed for knowing magic existed, but she still wasn't supposed to do it in front of them. A magic-themed book, where would that fall? "But I'll check. Even if I can, though, I'm not sure you'll understand it. It's kind of esoteric even with wizards."

"Let us try if you can," her mother said. "I want to see what my little girl's up to."

Hermione blushed, but couldn't hold back her smile. Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," her father said, standing up from the table.

"That's odd; your cousins aren't supposed to be here until this evening," her mother said.

Her father opened the door, and a familiar voice said, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Granger. Is Hermione in?"

"Merry Christmas, um, Ron, was it? Come on in."

Hermione glanced at her watch as Ron stepped into the house, his knitted winter hat clutched in his hands. "Oh, I am a little late. It's not time to send out a search party, though."

"Hi, Mrs. Granger," Ron said with an awkward bob of his upper body. "Um, Hermione, can I have a word with you?" He jabbed his thumb towards the hall to the bedrooms.

"This will just take a minute," Hermione said, getting up from her seat.

"Take all the time you need, dear," her mother said.

As soon as Hermione got close enough, Ron grabbed her arm and pulled her into the hall. "Look, Hermione, I don't want you thinking I'm being a huge prick here, but—"

"Nothing good can possibly follow a start like that."

Ron closed his mouth on realizing she was right, then started again. "It's just, my mum is getting really freaked out."

"I'm not that late!"

"No, but your friends were early."

"So?"

"So, you kind of forgot to tell anyone that they were—" Ron caught himself, glanced towards the dining room where her parents were chatting, and lowered his voice. "Werewolves."

"My parents are perfectly aware that there are diseases which only affect wizards," Hermione said. "I didn't realize this was something you needed to be informed about."

"Well, you know, that guy Greg, you can tell just by looking at his hands. And the girl, she might look normal, but she's not even trying to hide it."

"Why should she? It's part of who she is. It shouldn't matter."

"Well, it d—" Her glare cut Ron short. He wanted to say 'it does', but he knew if he did, she'd hex him into another time zone. "It doesn't keep my mum from wigging out," he covered, "and Fleur is getting really pissy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How can you tell?" She slapped her hand over her mouth as she realized she'd said that out loud, and Ron burst out laughing. "Don't you dare tell her I said that."

"And risk my own neck? No worries." Ron got his laughter under control and lowered his voice again. "You have to admit, though, it wasn't a very nice thing to do to Bill."

"I didn't think about it bothering Bill." She had to admit, Bill Weasley had good reason to be skittish around werewolves, with the bite wounds from Greyback that so brutally scarred his face, each as raw as the scars on her neck.

"Yeah, well, Tonks and Remus are running interference, but I really think it would be better if you were there."

"OK, just let me get my things." She walked back into the dining room, Ron hanging back by the door. "Sorry, I need to get going. I'll be back for supper, though, I promise."

"That's fine. We knew you had plans for the afternoon," her mother said, giving her a hug and kiss.

Her father did the same, then held out his hand to Ron. "Good seeing you again, Ron."

"Thank you, Mr. Granger," he said, shaking.

Her father's sleeve rode up his arm as he shook hands, and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Whoa, whoa, what is this?" she asked, grabbing his wrist as he pulled his hand back. She pushed up his cuff. On the back of his arm was a deep, harsh scar running from an inch above his wrist to somewhere under his sleeve.

Her father pulled his hand back and pushed his sleeve back down. "It's nothing."

"That's not nothing! You promised no more charity work in war zones. You promised!"

"It wasn't a war zone!" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "A-Anymore. It wasn't a war zone anymore."

"The war had been over for at least a year," her mother said. "But you know wars, they leave things behind like, well, land mines."

"You hit a land mine?!"

"No! A goat did," her father said. "This goat was just walking around, and boom! I was kind of close and got hit by some shrapnel. But it didn't hurt any tendons or ligaments or anything. It just looks awful."

"That's because it is awful! Dad!"

"Look, the next trip will be a nice, safe little tropical paradise, I promise."

"The next trip," Hermione said in disgust.

"I know you're not happy about it, but it's important work."

"But it's so dangerous! One of these days you're going to get yourself killed, and I… I'll never forgive myself!"

Her father smiled despite himself. "Now Honey, it's not like it'd be your fault."

Problem was, it would be her fault.

The last year of the war, before she left with Harry and Ron, Hermione tried to explain to her parents what was going on and talk them into leaving the country. If they'd stayed, the Death Eaters surely would have found and killed them, or worse, just to get to her. But the more she tried to explain the danger, the more worried they were about her and the more determined they were to help her. As though they would stand a chance against even the weakest of wizards! In the end, she had to Obliviate the entire conversation from their memories, but she still needed to get them out of the country and as far away from the Death Eaters as possible.

All of her life, her parents had talked about volunteering for the dentist equivalent of Doctors Without Borders, but had always decided against it because it was too dangerous. So, she used a Memory Charm to make them forget their fear. They went, the Death Eaters couldn't find them, and they were never the wiser.

The problem was, the war had been over for nearly five years, but the Memory Charm remained. They still weren't afraid, no matter how dangerous the situation became. Trying to undo the charm risked causing as much damage as leaving it. Even creating a new memory of fear was risky. Too many spells or too strong could damage the memory, as Clio Dragoumi showed. Hermione had tried to get help from a professional Obliviator, but as soon as he realized she was asking for help to cure Muggles, he had laughed in her face. Up until she cast a Bat-Bogey Hex on him, anyway. The fine for doing that to a Ministry official had cost a week's salary, and she would have thought it cheap at twice the price.

Ron must have guessed what she was thinking, because he patted her arm as they stepped into a bedroom to apparate out of her parents' sight. "You did your best. You had to get them out of the line of fire somehow."

"I know," she sighed. "But why couldn't I have made them 'remember' a promise to take a year-long holiday in Australia when I turned 17?"

"You didn't know the war would be over in a year," Ron said.

"I suppose. Are we playing in the usual spot?"

"Yeah. Meet you there?"

She nodded and apparated to the Burrow. When they were in school, the trees near the house were too low to hide a Quidditch game from the neighboring Muggle town, but with time and a few clandestine growth potions, they were now tall enough to shield them from view. Every Christmas, the Weasleys invited everyone they knew to come play. As often as not, there were more spectators than actual players, but everyone had fun anyway.

Out on the pitch, Greg and Sammie were playing Chaser. Harry and Ginny were both Seeking, and Bill and George were also flying, probably as a combination of Beater and Keeper for the 3-on-3 game. A moment after Hermione appeared, Greg landed a spectacular goal, and Bill gave him a high five. "Yeah, I can tell Bill's absolutely traumatized."

Ron flushed red. "Um, I'm gonna go help Mum and Dad."

Lines of mismatched chairs had been set up on each end of the pitch. At one end, Tonks and Remus were talking with Charlie Weasley and a man Hermione didn't recognize. He looked close to Charlie's age and had blond hair that hung to his chin in disobedient curls. Fleur was nowhere in sight, but neither were Victoire or Teddy and Leanna Lupin, so she probably just had the little kids inside out of the cold. Arthur was trying to start a bonfire at the opposite end of the pitch, which would have been a trivial charm if Molly hadn't been trying to help, fluttering around like a large, bossy moth. Ron joined them, which surely only made things worse.

As Hermione walked up, Charlie turned and looked over the back of the chairs, then jumped up. "Hermione, we've been waiting for you," he said, running around them. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the front. "There's someone I want you to meet. This is Gavril; he came with me from Romania. Gavril, this is Hermione Granger."

With a long-suffering smile, Gavril stood and held out his hand. "Charlie has told me a lot about you," he said in a lilting accent.

Hermione took his hand and froze. There were fine hairs on his palm; apparently she wasn't the only one who had invited a werewolf that day. To hide her moment of shock, she put her other hand over his and shook warmly. "I'm so glad to meet you. How do you know Charlie?"

"Oh, we work together," Charlie said. Seemingly without realizing it, he took Gavril's hand and entwined their fingers. Gavril just smiled. "Gavril's a potions master at the Dragon Reserve."

"No, Mrs. Lowell is the master," Gavril corrected. "I'm just a journeyman, and struggling with that while she's on maternity leave."

"The boss thinks you're doing great, and hers is the only opinion that counts. Anyway, Gavril loves to travel, and he's never been to England, so I thought he might like to see it."

Tonks couldn't stop herself from snorting, and even Remus was obviously trying to swallow down a smile.

"What?" Charlie asked.

Tonks leaned over to Hermione. "Aren't they the cutest couple of 'friends' you have ever seen in your entire life?"

"Dori," Remus warned affectionately.

"What? They're adorable!"

"Charlie, honey, you're not going to stay in the closet if you keep doing that," Gavril said, swinging the hand Charlie was holding. Charlie cursed under his breath and let go.

"Honestly, Charlie, you're not fooling anyone except maybe Molly," Tonks said. "Even Arthur's on to you. He's just waiting for you to say something."

"I'm just not sure what to say. I really don't know how Mum's going to react when I tell her about us."

"She's going to love you just like she always has," Remus said.

"But complain that she won't be getting grandchildren from you, just like she always has," Tonks added with a joking grin.

"There are ways around that now, actually," Gavril said. "But Charlie would have to carry them. My lycanthropy would interfere."

"We're still talking about that," Charlie said. "I'm not sure how I could work with dragons if I were pregnant. Actually, the real reason we both came is because the Assisi Wildlife Refuge in Wales offered me a job, which would be a little safer, so we thought we'd see if we'd like the move."

"Well, how are you liking Great Britain?" Tonks asked.

Gavril scowled. "I'm not. I have never been treated this badly in my entire life."

"We kind of had a snafu coming in," Charlie said. "For a while I didn't think the Ministry was even going to let him into the country."

"I do not like this earring they insisted on putting on me," Gavril said, pulling his hair back by his left ear. A gold tag with enameled numbers wrapped around his earlobe. "It is very uncomfortable."

"That's a tracker," Remus said. He did his best to keep his voice even, but his face visibly darkened.

"Purple or green?" Tonks immediately asked.

"The numbers are green," Charlie said. He pointed to the pitch. "What's the significance? Those two kids asked the same thing."

"The green ones just track the werewolf they're on. Purple are contagious; the spell spreads to any werewolf you touch for 24 hours after. I don't think the WCU has many of those left, though. Silversmith doesn't make them anymore."

"Are you kidding me?" Gavril asked, his voice rising in volume. "It is bad enough that they put this on me and tell me if I do not leave by January 4th as planned, they will use it to send a Werewolf Hunter after me. Werewolf Hunters! I thought this was the 21st century, not the 16th! But now you tell me they really want to track anyone with lycanthropy I so much as brush against, and the only reason they do not is inventory?!" He slipped into his native language to continue his rant. Hermione wasn't sure what he was saying, but from the tone, it sounded like it included a large number of curse words.

Charlie spoke to him in the same language and eventually talked him down. "It's just until the 4th," he said, rubbing Gavril's back. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, I'm sorry. I do not mean to ruin the holiday." Gavril steepled his hands over his nose for a moment and took a deep breath, then shook them out. "It's just… When the Lowells told me what things were like here, I did not believe them. I knew they weren't lying, but I thought surely it was because they left during your civil war. I never imagined things would still be this bad."

"They've actually improved a lot," Remus said.

"Do not tell me this; it is not reassuring. I do not know how you live like this, Mr. Lupin. I do not know how those children are supposed to live like this."

He gestured to the Quidditch game just as Ginny and Harry both went into a dive from opposite sides of the pitch. The discussion momentarily forgotten, everyone on the sides jumped up, somehow simultaneously cheering both of them on. Greg rolled out of Harry's way and launched the Quaffle past George and into the left ring an instant before Harry's hand closed around the snitch, Ginny's fingers grazing his a moment too late.

"Ha, tied score!" Harry gloated.

"He got that in!" Bill said. "That was totally in before the snitch grab."

"I think he did," George grudgingly agreed.

"Ha! 210 to 200!" Ginny stuck her tongue out at Harry and flew a circle around him for good measure, then gave both Greg and Bill high fives.

Everyone moved to meet the players as they landed beside the pitch. "We'll have hot chocolate in just a few minutes," Molly called. Arthur took her moment of distraction as the opportunity he'd been waiting for and started the fire with a charm.

"No worries, Mum," Bill said.

"That was a great game," Harry said. He tapped Sammie's shoulder. "Come on, let's get your cards signed. Hermione, you got a quill?"

"Of course." She pulled a quill and inkwell out of her bag and handed them to him. Sammie squealed and pulled a few Chocolate Frog cards out of her pocket, practically bouncing as she followed him to Ron. Molly moved to the other side of the bonfire.

"That was amazing flying, Greg," Ginny said.

He shrugged. "It's all in the broom," he said, but his grin gave away the pleasure that he tried to hide in his voice.

"You've got to let me try that broom sometime."

Greg held it out to her. "Go nuts."

"Wanna trade for a few minutes?" Ginny asked, offering her Firebolt 2.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Don't worry, it's OK. They're going to be replaced at the end of the season anyway."

She held it out again, but he jumped away as though she had offered an exceptionally slimy flobberworm. "Really, I'm good."

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing personal, Miss Weasley; it's just, that thing's made of ash wood. I'd rather chew my own hand off than touch it." She wrinkled her forehead in confusion, so he leaned in and added in a mock-conspiratorial tone, "You do know I'm a werewolf, right?"

Molly let out a squeak and dropped the cauldron of milk she was levitating over the fire. It spilled over the flames, extinguishing them, and Arthur just sighed.

"You OK, ma'am?" Greg asked.

"Oh, yes! Just a little butterfingered is all." Molly waved her wand at the cauldron, but instead of floating gently, it shot into the air like a rocket. Greg whipped out his own wand and caught it, gently lowering it to the stones around the fire. "Thank you."

"Would you like some help over there?"

"No! Er, no, we can handle it. You kids just keep doing what you're doing."

Ginny blushed and shook her head. "I'm sorry; I wasn't even thinking about the ash wood. I'd love to get you on a professional Quidditch broom sometime, though. That flying really was amazing. Have you ever thought about trying out for a team?"

Greg laughed, a touch of bitterness coloring his voice. "You did catch the werewolf bit, right?"

The cauldron crashed to the ground again with a clang that echoed across the pitch.

"Are you sure you don't want any help, Mrs. Weasley?" Sammie asked softly as Ron handed back her card.

"No, no, I'm fine."

There was a bit less bounce in Sammie's steps as she, Harry, and Ron joined the group, and Charlie rubbed Gavril's back again.

"Molly doesn't mean anything by it," Remus said. "She went to visit Percy yesterday, and that always stretches her nerves thin. She's going to be mortified tomorrow morning when she realizes how she was acting."

"I hope you're right," Charlie said. "Hey, Ginny, I haven't been keeping up with British Quidditch. What is the deal with the Harpies leaving Holyhead and going to Fallsbrook?"

"We don't want to," Ginny said. "Holyhead is trying to force our hand, and since next season is our 800th, they're basically holding it hostage. They've said they won't renew our contract next season unless we take on a male player."

"I'm sorry, I do not know British teams," Gavril said. "Why don't the Harpies have any men?"

"That's why we were founded. Back in 1203, there were absolutely no women in professional Quidditch. Everyone said women weren't capable of being good players, and the Harpies were founded to prove them wrong. And boy, did we. We've always been one of the best teams in the country. Back when the British and Irish league was founded, the captain of the Harpies said the team would take male players when one of two things happened: either every other team in the league had at least one woman, or we couldn't find enough female talent."

"Don't the other teams have women?"

"Not all of them. There aren't any rules on the books anymore, but out of the 13 teams in the league, three don't have any women at all, one never has, and the Wigtown Wanderers are the only ones who even come close to the gender split you see in Hogwarts's teams."

"Hey, now," Ron said. "The Chudley Cannons are pretty good, too."

A mischievous grin crossed Ginny's face. "Ron, the Cannons are never good." As he sputtered, she continued, "That's why we're refusing to give in to Holyhead. The Harpies were founded to provide a place for talent that wouldn't have any outlet otherwise. Obviously that's still needed, so we're not backing down. If Holyhead doesn't cave in, Fallsbrook has offered us a contract instead."

"Fallsbrook Harpies just doesn't have the same ring to it," Charlie said.

"We'll probably change it to 'Fallsbrook Furies' if that happens," Ginny said.

"Won't that be confusing with the Falmouth Falcons, though?"

"If someone can't keep us straight from the bloody Falcons, I don't even know what to tell them!"

Charlie put his hands up in surrender before she got going.

Bill suddenly shouted, "Whoa, Bludger!" He ducked, and George pulled Sammie over the pitch borderline just before the still-flying Bludger would have knocked all three of them down.

"George, what are you doing leaving that Bludger flying around?" Molly shouted.

"I counted five other people out on the pitch!" he shouted back.

"Just go clean it up!"

"Bill was a Beater too!"

"George!" she said in a voice of warning.

"I'm going," he griped, heading back onto the pitch and swinging his broom and bat off his shoulder.

"I'll help," Sammie said, hurrying after him.

"Make sure all those balls get back into that crate," Molly called after George.

Remus grabbed Tonks's wrist as she clenched her jaw and drew a sharp, deep breath as though she were about to roar fire with it. "Dori, don't. That could have been a perfectly innocent statement."

"Innocent, my broomstick," she hissed. "You know exactly why she said that."

Hermione cringed. Furry fingers…

"Yeah, as soon as they're done, it's time for me and Sammie to go home," Greg said. "Once the balls have been counted."

Ginny turned a shade of red that nearly matched her hair. "I am really sorry about my mum. She's not normally like this."

"You know, it's OK. I've gotten a lot worse. And it was great meeting you guys. That was an awesome game."

While he made his goodbyes, George chased the Bludger all over the pitch. It seemed to know the game was over and didn't want to go back into storage. Sammie, meanwhile, reached the crate, took out her wand, and ordered, "Accio Quaffle."

"What do you think you're doing, young lady?!" Molly bellowed so loudly that everyone jumped, and the Quaffle sailed right past Sammie. "Performing magic outside of school!"

Sammie's lower lip started to tremble. "I don't go to school, Mrs. Weasley." Her voice was close to tears. "I'm on an apprenticeship."

"She's allowed, Molly," Arthur said.

Hermione remembered her research on the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for Harry's defense before their fifth year. The Decree only applied to children who had been offered a formal magical education. The Trace was placed by the entrance letter from Hogwarts, initiated when they crossed its threshold, and renewed every year by the letters handed out at the end of the school year reminding students not to use magic over the holidays. Fred and George's wish that someone would forget those was not idle; if a student didn't receive one, the Trace would expire, allowing them to cast as many spells as they wanted. However, anyone who was not offered an education was not restricted on the grounds that they probably could not do much magic anyway, and would need whatever they had for vocational training. How werewolves had escaped notice, Hermione wasn't sure, but the effect was the same. Since most werewolf children weren't invited to Hogwarts, they could do magic whenever they liked. Small recompense for being denied an education.

"Yeah, we're going," Greg said, starting across the pitch towards Sammie.

Somehow, George had not noticed his mother's bellow—probably due to a lifetime of alternately ignoring them and intentionally triggering them. "Sammie, head's up," he shouted, batting the Bludger towards her. She turned just in time to catch it right in her stomach. She doubled over around it and was knocked off her feet. Greg broke into a run, as did everyone else, but to Hermione's surprise, Molly darted towards her and reached Sammie first.

"It's all right, honey," Molly said, helping her roll onto her back. The Bludger flew out of her grasp as she let her knees down, and Bill caught it. Sammie gasped for breath. "It's going to be all right. Placidus." A ball of blue light smaller than the Snitch fell from her wand onto Sammie's stomach and spread to the bottom of her ribs and top of her legs. Her breathing came easier. "Does it feel like anything's broken? Any sharp pains?"

"No," Sammie said, pulling in deep breaths as though they were on clearance sale. "I think it just knocked the wind out of me."

"George, you big lummox!" Molly shouted, turning over her shoulder as he landed, a sheepish look on his face. "What were you thinking, batting that at someone on the ground? And when they weren't even looking! I raised you with more sense than that!"

"Sorry," George said.

"It's OK, Mrs. Weasley," Sammie said, trying to sit up. Molly helped her to a seat. "Greg does that to me all the time."

"I do," Greg said. "I really do."

"Shame on you, picking on your sister like that," Molly said, although it sounded like she was trying to hold back a laugh, or at least some relief that her children weren't the only ones batting Bludgers at each other. She turned back to Sammie. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Yeah, I'll be OK," Sammie said as Molly helped her to her feet. "Greg and I better just go."

"Nonsense! I'm not sending you home like this. Look at that. We've made you cry, and on Christmas, too." She put an arm around Sammie and gave her a half hug. Both Sammie and Greg looked at her like she'd just grown a second head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. You come down to the house and we'll get you warmed up. I don't have the things for an Invigoration Draught, but we can at least get you a spot of tea to help that charm wear off." She turned back to Greg. "You too. All you lot," she said, gesturing for everyone to follow her as she pulled Sammie towards the Burrow. "I'll make the hot chocolate in the kitchen. This bonfire was a stupid idea, anyway."

Greg raised a questioning eyebrow. "Don't try to understand her," George said, patting his back and half pushing him towards the house. "Just go with it."