Five years later…

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione jumped and whipped around to the door of her small office in the Tritonis Research Institute. "Yes, Mrs. Stibbons?"

Her boss stood so ramrod straight that Hermione wondered for the hundredth time if she wore a corset, and her lips were pursed as she tapped her toe on the tile floor. "Aren't you supposed to be going somewhere about now, Miss Granger?"

Hermione glanced at the wall clock. "Oh! Oh no! I lost track of time!" She grabbed her bag and jumped up, and Mrs. Stibbons grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway towards the lifts, her heels click-clacking all the way.

"Need I remind you that Ursula Aubrey is one of our most important donors? She does not request favors often, and it is absolutely crucial that we make a good impression when she does." A lift appeared right as they arrived at the doors, by design, and Mrs. Stibbons pulled her into the car and fussed over her robe as it descended to the lobby. "I trust you realize you are not my first choice for this visit. Unfortunately, you are our best—and by that I mean only—expert on house-elves. Or at least I must presume, since you have not actually published your book yet."

"I'm nearly done with it," Hermione said.

"So I've heard. And heard. And heard."

"Ow!" Hermione jerked away as Mrs. Stibbons's fussing hands brushed the wounds on her neck.

"Can't you do something about those?"

"Not this close to a full moon." They weren't really scars, but Hermione wasn't sure what else to call them. Her neck had never healed past the point where the bleeding stopped, remaining the raw skin exposed by Greyback's claws, and their severity waxed and waned with the moon. Under a new moon they were hardly noticeable, but now they were bright red and raw, throbbing and aching.

Mrs. Stibbons conjured a silk scarf and handed it to her as the elevator door opened. "At least cover them."

Hermione made a half-hearted effort to wrap the scarf around her neck as she followed her boss to the Floo-enchanted fireplaces in the lobby. Mrs. Stibbons gave her shoulders one last brush-off. "Remember, you want to make a positive impression for the Tritonis Institute."

"Of course, Mrs. Stibbons," she said, stepping into the Floo. As soon as her boss turned away, she pulled off the scarf and let it fly away into the Floo Network, and ordered "the Aubrey manor."

The Floo Network flashed past her, and she landed in a huge marble fireplace inside a dark-paneled room. Standing beside it was a man dressed in a morning coat. "Are you Miss Granger?"

"Yes, that's me. I'm so sorry I'm late, I—"

"Please follow me to Madam's study," he said, gesturing. Hermione had been in several mansions during her study of house elves, but never before had she seen a human butler. House elves serving as such, certainly, and once even a goblin, but among wizards, hiring a human for the position was considered decadent, even ostentatious. Looking around the mansion, though, Hermione could believe that the Aubreys had the money. Everywhere she looked were tones of ebony and deep mahogany, beautiful tapestries and paintings, all chosen with great care. Except for the human servants—Hermione noticed a maid cleaning with a feather duster and was struck that she must be a squib—everything in the house gave a message of elegance rather than decadence.

The butler showed Hermione into a study a floor up. Inside, a woman in her 60s was seated behind an ornately carved desk, and beside it sat a teenaged girl with strawberry blond hair and a woman in her 30s whose brown hair was pulled back into a chignon and littered with gray strands. The butler announced Hermione and then closed the door behind her.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Mrs. Aubrey," Hermione said.

"That's all right. These things happen. Now, the reason I asked for a house-elf expert is that I employ one who was freed by his last master, and he's gone missing. I'm terribly worried about him. This is Roma Darcy, a private inquiry agent who's agreed to help search for him. And I'm sorry, dear, I've forgotten your name," she said to the teenager.

"Samantha Delven," she said with a little wave.

"Miss Delven is a junior agent with my service," Roma said. "I think this case will be good training for her."

As Hermione took a seat, Roma took out a business card case and extended a card to her. "Oh, thank you." As Roma pulled her hand back, Hermione noticed that her ring finger was longer than her middle finger. There was something significant about that. What was it?

"Miss Granger?" Mrs. Aubrey asked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm just a little scatterbrained." She dug into her purse for her own business cards and handed one to Mrs. Aubrey. She held one out to Roma, then froze. Roma's eyes were yellow. Not a soft brown or amber; a bright, clear yellow. And the "gray" hairs in her bun weren't gray or white, they were blond. Snape's third-year essay on identifying werewolves came flooding back to her: ring fingers longer than the middle, pelt-like shading in the hair, wolf-like eyes.

"Miss Granger, is there a problem?" Roma asked when Hermione didn't let go of her card. And fangs. Roma had fangs. The only missing human-form trait was hair on the palm, and that only appeared in men.

"No, there is no problem," Mrs. Aubrey said, standing. She strode around the desk, grabbed Hermione's arm, and pulled her out of the study, letting the door slam behind her. "What is wrong with you, young lady?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

"No." Mrs. Aubrey put up a finger and shook it. "I do not tolerate bigotry of any kind in my house. Go back to your Institute and tell them to send someone else."

The study door opened with a whine of the hinges. "If I may, Mrs. Aubrey," Roma said. "If I recall correctly from the Chocolate Frog Card, Miss Granger is Muggleborn. This is probably the first time she's seen progressive juvenile-onset lycanthropy. I'm sure she's just curious."

"That's not an appropriate way to show it."

Roma held out her hands. "Who knows what she learned about werewolves in school." Mrs. Aubrey's face softened. "Why don't you take Samantha to view Niddy's quarters, and Miss Granger can ask me all the questions she has while you're gone. I'm sure by the time you finish, we'll be good friends and can get back to business."

"If you're sure…"

"Quite." She gestured for the girl to come out of the room. "Now take good notes, Sammie. I'll be checking."

"Will do, Mum—er, Ma'am," Samantha said.

Mrs. Aubrey led Sammie down the hall as Roma stepped aside and let Hermione back into the study. As soon as the door closed, the smile fell from Roma's face.

"Let's get a few things straight right now," she said. "I probably just saved your job. Whether you're grateful for that or not is up to you. However, if you are half as clever as your reputation says, you will pretend that what I just told Mrs. Aubrey is true and pull yourself together for the next hour or two."

"But it—"

Roma made a "chh" sound and clamped her fingers together in front of Hermione's face in a way that struck her as quiet as a Silencing Charm.

"Furthermore, let me be very clear. The only reason I saved your job is that I very much doubt the Tritonis Institute has a large number of house-elf experts, and I need some information to do this job. Now I have done several cases for Mrs. Aubrey in the past. She is very familiar with my capabilities and the quality of my work. If you try to sabotage me, she will know the reason for my failure, and I promise you will take the worst of it."

"I would never do that!" Hermione said. "Madam Darcy, it really is just the first time I've seen… so many werewolf traits." Remus Lupin only had the longer ring fingers and fine hairs on his palm. She wasn't sure he was a werewolf until she confirmed he took ill around the full moon. "What did you call it?"

"Progressive juvenile-onset lycanthropy," she repeated. "That simply means that I was bitten as a child, and my symptoms were not treated, so I developed classic werewolf traits as I grew."

"There is treatment for it, though?"

"In childhood, yes. I take Samantha and her brother to St. Mungo's fortnightly for medical transfigurations so they will pass as human. And to forestall your next assumption, lycanthropy is not hereditary; my children are adopted. Any other questions?"

"Why isn't Samantha in school?" As soon as she said it, Hermione knew she shouldn't have.

Roma's eyes widened, and she threw up her hands, turning away. "And she comes straight for my family.—Hogwarts only allows werewolves under special circumstances, and ours were not special. What else?"

Hermione shook her head. "I really am sorry—"

Roma made the "chh" noise and hand gesture to silence her again. "I only accept apologies in the form of changed behavior, Miss Granger. If you're done, we can start on house-elves while Mrs. Aubrey and Samantha finish up."

When Hermione first learned about the Tritonis Research Institute, she knew she had to work there. Founded by the late Hippia Tritonis and financed by private donors and its own publishing arm, the Institute paid specially selected wizards to research anything they wanted, as long as they were learning something and sharing it with others. Hermione had waited a whole year just for an interview, making ends meet in the meantime by working at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Unfortunately, since Ron had inherited Fred's half of the business, that had been an absolute disaster. One's boyfriend should never also be one's boss, full stop. They'd managed to salvage their friendship out of it, but she wasn't ready to try a romance with him again.

One of the many, many reasons she was so desperate to work at Tritonis was the library. It's magically expanded stacks contained over three million books on every topic imaginable. That's why Hermione was shocked to find only a dozen titles on werewolves. Only one of those—Hairy Snout, Human Heart—was written in the last century, and three of them were actually about werewolf hunting. A look in the medical section found two more volumes, both by an Ilias Razvan in the 1950s: Werewolf Anatomy and Lycanthropy and Its Complications. Where else could she look?

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Hermione squeaked and whipped around, and Prof. Megan Lilliput, her mentor, burst into laughter. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right. I was just lost in thought."

Megan put a finger on the stack of books in Hermione's arms and pushed down until she could see the top title. "That doesn't look like house-elves."

"No, I…" Hermione grimaced, and then sighed. "I need to know more about werewolves."

"No, you need to finish your book. Hermione, it's been three years, and you haven't published anything except a couple of articles."

"It's almost done!"

"'Ready for submission' done, or 'done writing' done?" The blush rising in Hermione's face made the answer clear. Meg lowered her voice. "Hermione, I don't want to scare you, but the only reason you've been able to go this long is because no one wants to sack one of the Heroes of Hogwarts. But at this point, Mrs. Stibbons is just looking for an excuse, and you seem to be offering a plethora of them."

"Why, have you heard something?"

"No, and that's the problem. Usually when Mrs. Aubrey asks the Institute for help, she sends her owl right back with a thank-you. This time there hasn't been a peep." She tapped the books in Hermione's arms. "This newfound curiosity about werewolves doesn't have anything to do with that, does it?"

"Well, yes."

To Hermione's surprise, Meg gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. That you can work around. Mrs. Aubrey's known for her eccentricity in hiring. If Stibbons catches you, tell her you were nervous that the werewolf might have furry fingers, and Mrs. Aubrey picked up on it. Stibbons will give you a pass for that."

"'The werewolf might have furry fingers'?" Hermione repeated. "What does that mean?"

"You know, furry fingers. Don't Muggles have that saying, too?" Hermione shook her head. "Oh, that's right. They say it 'sticky fingers'."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You're saying she's a thief?"

"No, you'd be saying she's a thief." Meg shrugged. "Werewolves are known for it."

"That's so offensive!"

"Do you want to keep your job or not?"

Hermione looked down at the books and muttered, "Not like that."

"Look, just give Stibbons a wide berth, and you won't need to worry about it. As for these." Meg took the werewolf books out of Hermione's arms. "No werewolves until you submit your house-elf book. You have to finish your first project before you start the next."

"Can I have just one? You know, for bedtime reading?"

With an annoyed grumbled, Meg looked through the stack, then handed back Werewolf Anatomy. "If it's really for bedtime reading, this should knock you right out."