Hermione could hardly contain her curiosity until she was safely within her office. She pulled Greyback's letters from her purse, set the ones from Ursula aside, and flipped through the others until she came to the one marked "To Remus Lupin". The handwriting was the same as the marginalia, but even shakier, as though written by an old man.

Lupin,

If you've kept in touch with your pack, you know what this letter is about. If not, I hope they've realized I was right about you. I would tell you that you are lucky I'm in Azkaban, but my threats are meaningless now. Even my handwriting shows it. I will be dead soon, and I'm sure that announcement will bring you relief at least, and probably some measure of joy.

However I may feel about what you have done to my children, discussing it was not the point of this letter. I told you, along with my young Treasures, that I was the one who bit you. However poor of an excuse for a werewolf you may be, I suppose you have a right to know why. I warn you that you may find it petty now, but rest assured—

Hermione stopped herself. She shouldn't be reading this; it wasn't meant for her. She could try to pretend it was just research, no different from reading Lord McConnell's 15th century letters about breeding his house-elves, but this was different. However much they might help her research, these letters were written to living people, explaining the reason for the single most important event in their lives. It should be their choice whether to share that reason.

She folded the letter again and tucked it and the other five back into her bag, then pulled the ones from Ursula towards herself. What about these? It wasn't quite the same, but Ursula was alive four years earlier and likely still was. A sunbeam fell across them as she considered. With a wrinkle of her nose, she rolled across the floor to pull the shade on the window.

Wait. Since when did she have a window?

Slowly, she turned around. Oh, that was a window, all right. Through it she could see the Institute's garden, the bare trees reaching their dark fingers towards the bright blue sky, setting off the walking path that wound in a figure eight around a pond in one loop and a collection of statues in the other. Wrinkling her forehead, she turned to the left wall, where her miniature fireplace was. Only it wasn't miniature anymore; it was a full-sized mantle.

Hermione eased herself out of her chair and slid back to her office door, opening it as though she expected something to jump out at her. Her nameplate was now made of brass, instead of the plain wood it had been the day before, and proclaimed, "Prof. Hermione Granger."

A sharp squeal erupted from her lips before she could slap her hands over them. She turned on her heel and dashed down the hall. "Meg! Meg!"

Meg leaned out of her office. "Judging by that sound, either you found a rat in your parchment drawer or—"

"I got my professorship!" Hermione screeched to a halt just long enough to grab her mentor's hands and start jumping up and down. She suddenly realized what she was doing, stopped, dropped Meg's hands, and turned a brilliant crimson.

Meg laughed. "That was my second guess. Come on, show me what you got." Hermione led Meg back to her office, and Meg went to the window. "Ooh, nice view! That's nicer than the one they gave me when I got titled."

Now that Hermione thought about it, wasn't the garden on the other side of the building? Oh, well, with wizard buildings, it was better not to ask. "I thought they didn't give you your title until they were ready to publish."

"They don't. There's probably a notice in your mail." Meg pushed through a few pieces of parchment on Hermione's desk and picked up a scroll sealed with wax. "I bet this is it."

Hermione took it, popped the seal off with her fingernail, and opened it.

To Hermione Granger:

Your work, The History and Culture of British House-Elves, has completed review by the Governing Committee of the Tritonis Research Institute and has been deemed ready for publication, with one exception. We have taken the liberty of removing the work's final sentence, "And that's all I have to say, so nyah."

You may expect a first edition copy to be delivered to your desk in 6 to 8 weeks. As is customary when the first full-length work of an Research Fellow is accepted for publication, you have been awarded the title of "Professor" and the benefits thereof. Your next pay deposit at Gringotts will reflect the standard pay for a first year Professor. Your publishing bonus will be deposited at the same time.

Congratulations,

Esmerelda Stibbons,
Governing Committee Chair,
Tritonis Research Institute

"Did you really end your manuscript with 'And that's all I have to say, so nyah'?" Meg asked with a giggle.

"I didn't plan to just drop it in a box the next morning! And I thought I'd get it back for revision anyway!" Hermione's eyes grew as wide as a house-elf's. "Merlin's Beard, they're sending it right to the printers!"

"Well, think how great your next book will look compared to this one." Hermione let out a pathetic little whine. "It'll be fine, don't worry. So, you're doing werewolf… what again?"

"Werewolf sociology. You know, how they fit into our society and all that."

"And this Azkaban visit was part of that?"

Hermione nodded. "I got some great information about the progression of Greyback's illness, and even found out that he had a sister."

Meg twisted her mouth and looked at Hermione until the younger woman squirmed. Meg was staring at the scars on her neck; she was sure of it.

"Let me see your research," Meg said suddenly.

"What?"

"Let me see your research on this project. I'm still your mentor and I still have the right to inspect your work. Now pony up."

With a resigned sigh, Hermione pulled out her Mental Notebook and handed it over. Meg flipped through it, sucking on the inside of her cheek, then held out her hand again. "Let me see your project proposal."

Hermione pulled it out of her desk. Meg read through it, clicking her tongue all the while. "This will never do."

"I know my research is a little biased right now, but I'm sure once I—"

"No, you're way too far off track. You're going to have to do it over from scratch."

Hermione literally put her foot down, the stomp echoing across her office. "I am not going to abandon all this research I've done."

"Of course not. That's why you need to rewrite your project proposal."

"I… what?"

"Hermione, it's time to face facts. You're not researching 'werewolf sociology'; you're researching Fenrir Greyback. That's fine. In fact, the Governing Committee will love you for it. Our true crime books always do well."

"But I don't want to write it as a true crime book."

"Then a biography, whatever. The point is, it's obviously going to be about Fenrir Greyback, and your project proposal needs to reflect that. Don't worry; you're not the first researcher to change her mind partway through. Just rewrite it and let me see it when you're done."

"Yeah, all right." As Hermione reached for the old proposal, a blush broke out across her face, bringing with it a goofy grin. "I thought you were going to scold me for the work I've been doing on him."

Meg shrugged. "If I were your mother, I might. But I'm not, and you're an adult. You're welcome to study whatever you like, as long as it's publishable, and this stuff usually is. Now be honest with me, Hermione. How are you feeling after being at Azkaban?"

"I'm all right. Maybe a little shaky, is all."

"I don't like the idea of you sitting in this empty office all alone. You should get together with a friend or something."

"I have a date tonight."

"Good, glad to hear it. What about this afternoon? It's the Friday after Christmas, Stibbons is out, hardly anyone is in the office, and I'm leaving in an hour. Why don't you play hookey just this once? You're a professor now; you can set your own hours."

Hermione's eyes fell on her bag, and she thought of the letters concealed inside. "You know, there is a friend I'd like to meet with this afternoon."

Hermione fidgeted with her butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks as Remus read the letter she'd found in Azkaban. At last he finished, folded it again, and set it on the table.

"Did you read this?" he asked.

"The first few paragraphs, but I stopped when I realized what it was about. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have read that much."

"That's all right. I take it Greyback is still part of your research?"

"He's become all of it, I'm afraid."

Remus slid the letter across the table to her. "I think this will help you, then."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Why should I be embarrassed by his bite?" His lips spread into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "It was a rather petty reason, too. When Greyback said he'd intentionally bitten me, I assumed it was because of my father. He made some trouble for the Death Eaters during Lord Voldemort's first rise to power. But according to this, it had nothing to do with him or the Death Eaters. My mother is a novelist. It hasn't made her rich, but she has a good following. Greyback wrote he bit me because he thought there would be public sympathy if one of her children were lycanthropic, and he hoped that sympathy would spread to other werewolves."

Hermione wrinkled her eyebrows and shook her head. "What kind of mind thinks like that?"

"A very desperate and disturbed one. And a rather naïve one. If he really believed that, he severely underestimated the taboo lycanthropy carried when I was a child."

"I imagine it brought you a lot more trouble than sympathy."

"It destroyed my parents' marriage," Remus said. "I doubt you'll ever meet my mother, but if you do, please don't mention this to her. If she knew why Greyback bit me, I'm sure she would blame herself, and I would hate for that to happen."

"Of course I wouldn't," Hermione said.

"Would you like to stop by Honeydukes before you go home? You still look a little pale from Azkaban."

"Honestly, I'm not sure about going home, especially after Azkaban. I really don't know what to do about the house. I wish I could just walk away from the whole thing, but I don't think I can afford rent anywhere else, and I definitely don't have enough for a down payment for a mortgage. But I don't know if I want to switch to the house in Warwick, either."

A blush crept across Remus's face. "Hermione, I have a confession. I recognized your address when you first moved in. Kingsley gave it to me during the war so I could try to join that pack. I arrived an hour or two after the Hunters raided. I didn't tell you because you were so excited about it, and I didn't think it would ever matter. But the pack I did join always spoke warmly about the people in your house. Do you think it would help if you watched a happy memory that happened there?"

"I'm willing to give it a shot. Do you know of one?"

"I'll ask my old packmates. I'm sure they'll remember something."

Hermione considered. "You know, that spell is so vague, I can probably cast it for 'when Anissa's happiest memory here happened' and have it work. Would you mind coming with me, just in case something goes wrong?"

"It would be my pleasure."

They took the Floo back to Hermione's house, and she pulled the genealogy book out of her bag and looked up the spell again. She and Remus went to the top of the stairs, and she cast the spell, this time on Anissa's happiest memory. The house changed around them, but not as drastically as it had last time. Instead of flats, it stayed a single family home, with open hallways to either side of the landing. The light shifted from early evening to late morning. On the ground floor, a much younger Anissa stood against the frame of the front door as straight as she could, and her father Jacob marked off her height one-handedly.

"Look how much you grew since last year," he said as Hermione and Remus came down the stairs.

Anissa turned around to look. "Wow! I'm getting big!"

"Sure are."

The ground floor wasn't empty this time, and birthday party decorations were hung in the foyer. Eleanor was standing in front of a folding table, setting out paper plates and cups. Leslie brought a cake in from the room Hermione had turned into a kitchen.

"Are we going to do this in here or outside?" Leslie asked, setting it down on the table.

"It's supposed to rain later," Eleanor said, "so I think we'll do the games outside first and everything else in here. We can always move it out if it stays nice."

Sebastian walked in the back door, knocked on the wall to get their attention, and signed something.

"That's a good idea," Eleanor said. "Can you get Kyle to help you?"

He gave her a thumbs up and went back outside.

"When's Grandpa gonna get here?" Anissa asked.

"He said the portkey would be at noon, so it should be any minute now."

Leslie took out a brass pocket-watch, the one Hermione had seen in Hembree's office. "Any second." She knelt beside Anissa so the girl could see the pocket face. "See the hand that's moving fast? He'll be here right when it hits the top. That's 10 seconds. Five."

There was a whoosh of air, and Eleanor reached over to catch the paper plates from blowing off the table. Anissa ran to the man and handful of kids who had just appeared in the foyer, and Remus muttered, "oh no."

"There's the birthday girl," the man said in a raspy voice, crouching to hug her and then picking her up. "How old are you today?"

"Five!" Anissa held up her hand with her fingers spread.

"Five! Wow. You'll be big enough to pick me up before you know it."

"Stop," Hermione said. Everyone in the scene froze, and her hand went to her mouth as she went towards the man. "Oh my gosh. That's Greyback, isn't it?"

"I am so sorry," Remus said. "I should have expected this. I know how close-knit his children were."

"No, it's all right. It's just…" She circled Greyback. "He didn't look like this at all during the war."

For the first time, she understood why Sammie had described Greyback as "handsome", although he was definitely past his prime. His grey hair was pulled into a ponytail and his Van Dyke beard neatly trimmed, but more than that, his eyes weren't bloodshot and his fingernails weren't yellow or long. He just plain looked healthier.

"This explains so much," Hermione said. "I wondered how he could stay at large for so long, but look at him. If you walked past him on the street, you'd never think anything of it unless maybe he smiled at you."

If Anissa was 11 now, this happened in 1996. Hermione went to a window to look outside. Early springtime. So this was a few months before the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, about a year before Greyback mauled Bill Weasley. How had he changed so much in a year?

Hermione looked in the genealogy book and set the spell running again. Greyback set Anissa down. "Why don't you and the pups go play outside?"

"Baz and Kyle have some games set up in the back," Eleanor said. The younger kids ran outside, while the teens with them followed more slowly, Jacob and Leslie herding them all.

"I'm glad you could come, Fenrir," Eleanor said.

Greyback hugged her. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world. How did your test go?"

"I got an 'O'. I'm a full paralegal now. Even better, that qualifies me for the apprenticeship program. It'll take six years, but at the end, I'll be a solicitor."

Greyback smiled widely. "That is wonderful! I am so proud of you. Will you be able to work?"

"It depends what the Ministry does with the Werewolf Codes. If they don't make it any worse, I can at least work on the goblin side. But if they don't restore the right to work with human clients by then, the firm will support me in suing for it."

"Going to change the world, eh?"

"That's the plan."

"Well, Sweetness, I'll believe it when I see it," Greyback said, "but you make me believe I actually might."

They followed the others outside. It took a few tries, but Hermione broke the spell, and the house shifted back to her own furnishings.

"They died a few months after this," Hermione said. Then she corrected herself, "The Hunters killed them a few months after this."

"This didn't really help, did it?" Remus asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"Well, here's a new idea. Take Crookshanks to the Warwick house and see what he thinks of it."