A/N: Uh…. Hrm. Well, this chapter happened! Kinda sorta lemon alert somewhere in this chapter, but the gods only know where because this chapter is freaking LONG! (Why do I do this to myself?! Why do I torture my betas like this?! Why is it so darn HOT outside?! What is the square root of pi?)

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01

Hair of the Mongoose, Fangs of the Wolf

Chapter 2

The Yin and the Yang

"Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you."

-Unknown

-Kingsley-

"I'm not sure what you did to garner such loyalty, Kings," Healer Everwood chuckled, "but I am glad you're here."

Hermione had her mouth open, giving Everwood a good dose of her wolfish breath. Severus was watching them very, very closely, but Hermione was being quite cooperative. Personality wise, at least as a wolf, Hermione seemed more amiable and willing to oblige.

I'd known Daisy Everwood since she and I were kids. We'd practically been siblings, and it was often that our parents boggled as to which child was theirs. It was made even more interesting by the fact Daisy was a white as the flower of her name. Daisy had a calm and friendly bedside manner, and she had always been the most kind and compassionate sort of person. She tried to mend birds and squirrels that showed up injured, and sometimes she had surges of accidental healing magic that did just that. Becoming a healer had just been one logical step everyone had expected. Her being a healer for the agents? Well, that was my fault. I regret nothing.

"Daisy Belle," I muttered. "You have no idea what it's like being a dire wolf magnet."

Daisy flashed me a smile as she swabbed Hermione's mouth and and examined the row of secondary teeth. "I'm not sure how that many teeth fit in one mouth," she said, examining them. There are two extra rows in there, not just one. And then there are the hollow point fangs that fold behind the canines."

"What?" I asked, peering at her like she was mad, but knowing she wasn't joking.

Daisy grunted as Hermione had had enough and she snatched Daisy's healer's hat and trotted off, shaking it menacingly and making deep growling noises. She plopped down next to the wary Severus, but he pinned her down with one foreleg and proceeded to groom her dutifully.

Neither wolf had shifted back yet from their latest change, but Daisy had speculated that was because they hadn't slept yet. That was usually the trigger for the change, or at least it had always been that way for Severus. Even on full moon nights, the change didn't happen unless he slept. We had always figured that was the time when he was the most relaxed and the wolf could come forth painlessly with much less resistance. The same seemed to be the case for the change back.

They had made a few shifts back and forth from human to wolf in the last week, but it seemed that Hermione's wolf was more inclined to rear her head with emotional surges, and that would trigger Severus to join her almost immediately. They had managed to hold it together long enough to take care of some unfinished business and collect the copious rewards they earned for bringing in Fenrir Greyback, but only just. Each time they succumbed to human exhaustion or emotion, they would become wolves again— sniffing, chasing each other, and following me around like my own personal body guards. I had to admit that no one was likely to come after me with two gargantuan beasts flanking me everywhere. The cover story for the majority of the normal populace was that the two beasts had imprinted on me after I had rescued them from one of the Dark Lord's experimental projects. It was a partial truth, but enough that people were inclined to give them and me a much larger personal space. The agents knew the truth, each having been drilled with code AW since Severus had been a newly-bitten victim.

Hermione had tolerated the magical collar with a little disgruntled rolling and trying to push it off by attempting to make like a hamster and squeeze herself out of it, but eventually she settled and gave in. She knew it was a necessary evil. The collar had their identification, my contact information, and all the things that would make it clear they were not just some random wild animal roaming the world unchecked. It also had a tracking charm on it so I would always know where they were, not that they ever moved that far away from me.

All and all, she was acting much like a pup, sticking her nose into everything, wanting to know everything, and absconding with every hat she could sink her teeth into. Severus was looking on with sort of detached attentiveness, making sure he knew where she was at all times yet seemingly content to allow her to inspect the world on her terms. Hermione would find "something interesting" and drag it back to him for him to sniff, and then she would bound off to find something else. Poor Daisy— her exam room would never be the same.

"My best guess is another mutation, Kings," Daisy Belle said, handing me a cold glass of lemonade. "Whatever latent mutation gene was in Severus responded to the venom and was assimilated into the were-trait. That made it possible for him to pass it on to Hermione. Yet, as we can see from the rather messy end of the unfortunate Fenrir Greyback, their bites are far more inclined to be fatal than contagious."

"Are you going to be able to devise an antivenin for them?" I asked.

Daisy held up the makeshift venom-milking jar. A litre of venom donated by each werewolf shimmered within. "Oh, I think we'll be able to, provided we can find a host animal that has the appropriate qualities to create the antivenin for us. Liam seems to think that as long as we use very small amounts, we can stick with using the hippogriffs to culture the anti-venin."

"That's a bit more than a small amount," I noted.

Daisy smiled. "Fenrir really didn't have a chance," she said. "This venom is a cocktail of neurotoxins, hemotoxins, cytotoxins, and cardiotoxins. It was probably pure hatefulness and spite that kept him alive long enough to even get here."

Curious eyes were peeking in through the window, and I knew it was time to introduce the two wolves to their potential healers. Each of them had been sworn into a higher level of Ministry secrecy than the standard healer confidentiality agreement, all of them were under very specific Vows, not that they really needed them at this point. Each of them had proven themselves as being of unimpeachable character, as far as I was concerned. They had patched up so many agents in various states from merely hurt to critically injured. They had to know the particulars of exactly what had happened to them. Healers, in my opinion, were simply amazing beings.

Hermione and Severus were standing on their hind legs, front paws splayed across the protective safety glass. One of the healers had placed his hand out to compare size. You could see the total amazement on their faces.

Daisy had been the very first test, and Hermione and Severus had passed it with flying colours. So far we had introduced them, singularly at least, to about twenty individual healers and various other agents who would very possibly be working with them at some point. This would be their first introduction to more than one person at a time, and they had all been prepped on safety protocol, wolf body language, and that little something extra that can only come from dealing with a magical animal that wasn't capable of speaking to you, so they could not warn you that they were preparing to eat your face off if you didn't stop that right now.

Daisy had set up a protective energy barrier for that specific purpose. They would allow the healers to pass through, but they would keep the wolves in check… at least we hoped they would. Time for theory to meet practice.

Daisy waved the others in, and they filed in slowly and warily. It wasn't true fear, but it was reasonable caution, which was probably a very good thing. Severus and Hermione had slowly been introduced to wands being used around them. We started with sticks shaped into wands, and Hermione was quite adamant about checking them over with her teeth for a few days. Daisy had a suspicion that Hermione was fully aware of the difference between a stick and a wand— even if they looked the same, but no one wanted to risk their beloved wand to test that theory.

Daisy, however, was confident after watching and working with them, and so she pulled out her wand out to perform some basic health scans— everything she would do if she had to treat them. She lost her hat, but Hermione left her wand completely unmolested. Neither wolf seemed inclined to view wands as a threat, at least when wielded by those they perceived to be friendlies. Daisy had grinned at me with that "I told you so" look.

"How did you know?" I asked her as the other healers introduced themselves to the two werewolves. The most easily accepted ones surrendered their hats to Hermione, and I made a mental note to add that to the list of introductory protocols.

"I've treated quite a few werewolves," Daisy admitted easily. "The balance between the human and wolf in these two is truly remarkable, perhaps even symbiotic. They don't resist the change at all— the wolf simply surfaces. You've seen Mr Lupin a few times back before he started living in the villages. Even the few agents we have that have to be locked up during the moon nights are very predictably violent and irrational. The change is torturous. The change back is almost more violent. By the time they come to in the morning, they aren't in much shape to be useful for hours."

Daisy chortled as Hermione had run off with Healer Ashleigh's sash, tail up and wagging with pure mischief. "Most werewolves change to become the very worst aspects we want to see. These two seem to harbour the best. They think, they reason, and they watch very, very carefully. It would make sense they would know the difference between a wand and something that only looks like a wand— just like they judge threat versus friendly behaviour."

"Higher reasoning," I mused. I'd been trying to tell people that Severus was more than just a giant wolf that protected me for years, but to hear it from Daisy made me feel quite validated about my own perceptions of him. Daisy did not have a friendship and working relationship with Severus to cloud her judgement, nor did she believe that I was biased. I did, however, trust Severus implicitly. That was, perhaps, a sort of bias all on its own. I knew, however, that Severus would stay at my side while we were "working." I could totally rely on him. I could also rely on Hermione staying right by his side and following his example.

"I need to check on Auror Tonks," I said with a sigh. "She took a right good blow to the head while fighting at Hogwarts. She spent the end of the battle trying to bleed out over the flagstones."

"She's getting pretty restless, Kings," Daisy told me. "We're keeping her stable as we regrow the bones in her leg, but if you don't have something for her to do when she finally wakes up, she's going to crawl right out of her hospital bed and get herself in trouble. Fortunately for both us and her, she's been unconscious for the duration. And that's probably for the best. That Skele-gro is seriously nasty stuff."

I snorted. "Moody hated that about her. Pink hair, shockingly clumsy, and an utterly kind heart. He hated that he'd try to be stern to someone, and she'd go and make nice with them like they were all going out for a spot of tea."

"She's a well-meaning lass, but she's hardly agent material. She's much too soft-hearted and kind," Daisy commented realistically. "If she were, say, a healer, it wouldn't really be an issue, but I think she uses her natural Metamorphmagus abilities to avoid trouble. She's a skilled Auror, good with people, but I think Alastor was really frustrated that he could never invite her in."

I watched Severus snuffle over the Healers, letting his keen nose lead him where it would. All of them were sitting on the floor, allowing the pair to walk around them peaceably. I was so glad to see it. They hadn't let me down yet.

Suddenly, something hit me.

"Daisy, what would you say to training Tonks up as a healer?" I asked. Tonks was a real people person. She loved to see people smile. Perhaps the solution had been right under our noses all along. Moody had been so very determined to make her a warrior— a fighter, that he hadn't been open to the idea that maybe what Nymphadora really needed was simply a change in focus.

Daisy tilted her head. "She's got the requisite care for people, that's for sure," she said. "You may be onto something, Kings." She paused, thinking. "Poppy over at Hogwarts said she was looking for someone to help her. She's trained a lot of fine mediwitches for us. Perhaps, she could start there— see if healing is more her calling. She'd also get to help rebuild Hogwarts, and I think a lot of people want to see Hogwarts back up and running as soon as possible."

I ran my fingers along my jaw. "I think you're onto something," I agreed. "Feel her out, ya? Get back to me."

"You got it, boss," Daisy said with a wink. I was hardly her boss, as we worked different areas, but she loved to call me that just to heckle me. I was always keeping a sharp lookout for people she could use, and she did the same for me.

A low, joint growl caught my attention, and I leapt up immediately. Severus and Hermione were staring at a young healer, black lips pulled back from exceedingly sharp teeth as they glared fiercely at him.

The young healer was obviously petrified, but he was also looking pretty confused. I could tell that whatever it was the wolves had sensed, he had no clue why he was being singled out. It was not the response of a guilty man. Severus and Hermione were not advancing on him either. They just kept him pinned with their rather intimidating stares and bulk. It didn't take much. Severus had been intimidating all on his own. Double that, and I'm pretty sure I could have had even Fenrir's lieutenants pissing themselves without the need to wait for a moon night.

"Severus," I called. "Hermione."

Twin sets of ears swiveled back to listen to me, but they kept staring intently at the young healer.

Something was off, I realized. Somehow, I was missing something here.

The other healers had gone still, but the werewolves were ignoring them.

"Healer Peters?" Daisy addressed the rather frightened-looking young healer. "Why are you dressed in blue today?"

"These were in my locker, ma'am," Peters said, his voice trembling. "I thought the elves had taken my robes for mending after that scuffle on level three."

My instincts were setting off alarm bells. I had my wand out and performed a series of scans on him. He was clean of Dark magic, but there was a lingering residue of it on his robes. Dark wizards and witches were like smokers. They reeked, magically, of their Dark magic. Most people responded to strong taints with nervousness and unease, but it took considerable training to tell the difference between Dark magic taint and simply abrasive personalities. Perhaps, that is why Moody always had it out for Severus. He had both. Mind you, Severus had been authorised for every single Dark spell he'd ever cast. At every debriefing he would hand me a vial of memories of every spell he'd had to cast and the circumstances in which it was cast. The memories were kept in safekeeping to cover him in case someone like Moody should get it into their head to go after Severus. Moody was an all-around good bloke and a damned fine Auror, but he had his fair share of flaws, just like the rest of us. I had a thing for bold and boisterous colours that seemed to attract hummingbirds like bees to honey. We all had our individual foibles.

I decided that refocus was needed. "Severus. Hermione," I said. "Peters, I want you to take that robe off, very, very slowly and pass it over to me."

They were all healers, right? Nothing they hadn't seen before—

The rather embarrassed healer slowly de-robed, passing them to me. Sure enough, Hermione and Severus ignored him completely, glaring at the fabric with determined focus. I held it out to them as Peters breathed a deep sigh of relief. I could tell he was going to be fine. He realised that he wasn't the target, and thankfully my being able to distract the wolves helped them have confidence in both me and the two wolves.

Something Daisy had said tickled the back of my mind. "They could tell the difference between a wand and a stick made to look like a wand. What if they could— I had to know.

"Find it," I said softly. "Take me to the source." I'd done scent training with Severus on a few occasions just to help pass the time on moon nights. He was actually quite good at it. Hermione was a very quick study, much like her human self, and they got the message instantly. I'd actually considered training Severus for search and rescue, but I figured that being "rescued" by a gigantic dire werewolf was probably going to scare the living daylights out of whoever we were trying to save.

Severus took point and dashed out the door with Hermione hot in pursuit. They blew right past the magical "bars" that Daisy had put up like they were nothing but air. I stared at Daisy a moment before I realised I had to follow and fast. Daisy had an utterly dumbfounded expression on her face. She was an extremely skilled witch. This wasn't her first rodeo, and the fact that Severus and Hermione had just blown by the magical bars she created would have her questioning the potency of her spellwork for weeks.

Severus was on a mission, and his demeanor had gone from casual wolf, if there was such a thing, to working wolf. It was as though he knew the difference between the things that mattered and when he was allowed to do whatever came natural. Hermione was watching him closely, but she was also following her nose, and they were both hot on the heels of whatever had left residue on the robes. I had no doubt they were tracking the Dark taint.

The wolves were utterly focused. They ignored everyone else. The light brown collars designated them as working animals, so most people dismissed it as Aurors doing a sweep. Mind you, the size of these two were enough to make a few people seriously consider laying off Ogden's firewhisky for life.

I saw Potter sitting outside one of the private rooms, and I knew he was keeping vigil for his old friend. Auror or no, we all had those we cared about, and you didn't turn that off just because your best mate spectacularly failed a field test. Not everyone was cut out for espionage, and that wasn't a bad thing, really. Severus and Hermione would probably be the first to tell a new recruit that if they weren't positively sure they could lie to their mother and be okay about it that they should walk back out the door and not try to become an Auror.

"Potter, assist me, please," I said.

Harry was out of his chair and wearing his game face in a split second. Good reflexes. Good obedience. He was going to make a fine Auror. There was no way he couldn't have seen the wolves go by, but to his credit, he knew to stay put until asked. I had high hopes for him.

"What did you need, sir?" he asked.

"They are tracking a Dark signature. Make sure people aren't crowding them.

"Yes, sir," he replied. He pulled out the brown "I'm working" sash and tied it around his waist. We couldn't always count on being in uniform when things happened. I was happy to see he hadn't neglected to carry his sash for such emergencies.

We reached our first "conflict" down a large corridor. Severus wanted to plough ahead, but Hermione wanted to go into the supply closet. Severus didn't want to continue without her, and Hermione didn't want to go with Severus. There was something behind that door she really wanted to check out.

Hermione made a form growling speech to him. Severus pinned his ears back. Hermione whined and growled. Severus replied in kind. Severus moved to leave, but Hermione shook her head, whuffing at him. She placed her paws on the door with a thump.

I decided to help settle the argument.

"Easy, let me check the door, okay Hermione?" I told the wolf.

Hermione whined, scratching at the door. Her disturbingly elongated tongue slithered out like a serpent's, tasting the air.

Well, that was pretty much confirmation regarding Nagini's influence on their magical DNA.

She stuffed her nose into my hand as I turned the knob, my wand out in case something came busting out.

A crumpled body lay on the floor of the closet, half-covered in mops and brooms. Cast-aside healer robes lay on the floor, and the man was quite naked. Apparently, someone had used the other robes to get close to another healer— someone who needed this specific healer's robes. This guy was unconscious and of no use to us. Severus was growling a warning, giving a strange bark to remind me that the trail was still hot and going somewhere else.

Harry had summoned backup via Patronus, and they were coming in behind. Good thinking.

"Perez, Goldman, please take care of this man," I said.

"Aye, boss," they chimed.

I snorted. Boss was much better than Minister.

"Potter, with me again," I said, following Severus, who was bounding down the hall again. Hermione, now satisfied, followed. It was good to know there was an effective working relationship with Severus and Hermione. They may not have had time to do so as humans, but as wolves, they were honing their blade together into a fine, sharp edge of perfection. For whatever reason, I was drawn into that web. They were as tied to me as they were to each other. Was it a pack? Trust? A kindling of respect of the people to the wolf? I didn't really know for sure. Whatever it was, it was working. They were allowing me to be their guide— the pack leader. They were putting their trust in me. I couldn't… ever let them down.

Severus and Hermione skidded to a door, their claws doing unspeakable things to the poor hospital tile. Both wolves seemed agitated by the slippery surface, and they glared at the floor as if it had committed some sort of heinous crime against wolf-kind. They sniffed the air and stuck their noses to the bottom of the door, their breaths emitting in panting and loud huffs of moist air. Severus and Hermione looked up at me with perked ears. Long sinuous, forked tongues flicked in and out, tasting the air.

No, that wasn't creepy at all.

Good thing I was used to strange and unusual.

Potter was keeping the gathering crowd back— curious folk with curious eyes. This was, thankfully, the Auror and agent floor, so the healers were all sworn to secrecy and had pretty much seen it all— Well, except for giant mutant dire werewolves though. Oh, well. Now they had.

Severus and I had worked extensively with hand signals and commands, but Hermione— well, her human self obviously knew them all, but how much would her wolf know? I gave the signal to stand back, and both wolves watched me carefully as I opened the door. My wand was out, Potter's wand was out, and I'm pretty sure that Severus and Hermione would have had theirs out if they had known how. Their ears were fully erect, tails stiff, and teeth bared. Close enough.

As I reached for the door, Hermione's jaws closed lightly around my wrist. Her amber eyes stared up at me meaningfully, a soft whine rising up from her throat. Severus curled his lips back from his teeth, looking extremely focused and ready to get at whatever was behind said door.

"Potter, back up very slowly," I directed. I too, did I told him. I cast Homenum Revelio very quietly, and saw nothing but a figure lying in the bed. I felt nothing out of the ordinary.

Severus growled, the sound causing a few objects to rattle on their tables. No, there was definitely something there. Severus wasn't the kind of wolf to hallucinate something that wasn't there. Hermione was also very insistent, trying to protect me. There was something in there, but maybe it wasn't even human. This could be bad. Very, very bad.

My eyes flicked to the door plaque. Room seven fifty two— wasn't that Tonks' room?

Now things were getting even worse. What was that phrase the new crop of young Aurors were using? Terribad. Yeah, I had a feeling this was going to definitely qualify as terribad.

I gestured for the healers to clear out the rooms and move patients and other medical personnel out of the area. There was no telling what we would find, much less what would happen, and there was also no telling just how bad it would be and how soon it would be happening. Fortunately, healers were speedy creatures when the need arose. They were like roadrunners in lime green healer robes. Rooms were swiftly cleared. Halls were swiftly cleared. Damn these people were efficient.

I pointed my wand at the door, and whispered, "Alohomora."

Potter and I quickly backed up as the door creaked open like a haunted house in a Muggle horror movie. Seriously? Was there some law that said if you were up to no good, the doors at the scene of your crime must all sound like their hinges needed a thorough greasing?

That's all I had time for as an oily-looking black tentacle shot out from the door like the gates of the Elder Gods had just been opened. The tentacle snatched the supply cart that I had been standing by, crushing it as easily as a dried out twig.

The two werewolves were a blur in motion— snarling as they jumped on the tentacle, each sinking their teeth into the rubbery flesh as it jerked back into the room, taking the wolves with it.

"Merlin!" Harry gasped. "What the bloody fuck was that?!"

"A large angry tentacle from somewhere south of Hades?" I replied rather dryly. I couldn't help myself. Obvious commentary was my preferred form of self-defense against freaking out like a green Auror newbie who had never seen so much as a drop of blood before.

Two tentacles slammed onto the floor right next to us, apparently disapproving of the content of our conversation. They didn't look in especially good shape. I recognised the telltale smell of rot and the puddles of curdled-looking blood. Whatever it was, it clearly was not immune to the mutant wolf creatures that Hermione and Severus had become. It was often speculated that Dark creatures could only be defeated by other Dark creatures. One could drive off a Dark creatures with a Patronus, but destruction— obliteration— could only come from one cut from the same cloth. It was only a theory as no one had ever actually proven it, but many higher-learning types believed that was why we had never been overrun by Dementors and Lethifolds. They could die, normally. How then, were they not everywhere?

Whatever Dark magic the Dark lord had imbued Nagini with had definitely been passed on to Severus and Hermione— the difference was that they were nothing like a Dementor or a Lethifold. They were… far more evolved, capable of higher thought, and willing to protect creatures other than themselves.

Obviously the Dark taint had affected them both on a visceral level but if they were truly Dark creatures, would they even have cared?

My thoughts kept me from trembling as I waited for another tentacle to come out, and sure it enough it did, taking out another cart full of scalpels. Holy—

Potter had cast a protective shield over us. The pointed metal instruments deflected off the surface. I shoved him away just as the tentacle came slamming down where he had been just before. It made a disgusting squelching sound as the suction cups stuck tightly to the tile.

I was never going to eat octopus again. Then again, maybe I would— for a sense of vengeance.

I sent off a quick slicing hex, and the tentacle was sheared away, sending a spray of greenish blood out to paint the hall. My stomach churned. Nasty stuff.

People used to say they never saw the Minister for Magic actually protecting the people with magic. Well, now they would. The severed tentacle writhed and smashed into the walls, knocking everything over as it convulsed down the hall, causing a few healers to scream and flee in terror.

I didn't blame them. Not one bit.

Crashing, growling, snarling, and the gnashing of teeth came from the open door as the entire wall gave way, exposing the writhing, oily darkness of nightmares made form. Tentacles swarmed as the wolves battled, biting, tearing, and ripping any flesh they could reach. The venom was trying to do its part as well. Despite this, the monster was starting to gather into a more solid form and didn't seemed to be slowing down at all. Severus was doing most of the attacking, distracting the beast, and Hermione was tackling the tentacles that got too close to what I dearly hoped was an uninjured Auror Tonks.

"Sir, would it help if we cast our Patroni?" Harry asked.

I nodded, and we pointed our wands to the massive Dark creature, conjuring our Patroni to our call. Potter's silvery stag and my lynx worked in tandem to bind the tentacles, and Severus and Hermione did the rest. Their claws raked wounds down each tentacle as their teeth sank in for multiple bites.

I saw the swirling dark cloud that they seemed to come from, and I realised that the tentacles, while assuredly dangerous, were coming from a source. I gestured to Potter, and we focused our Patroni on the nebulous mass of darkness.

We blasted together, and then I realised that we weren't alone. Many of the Healers were starting to join in, adding their Patroni to the mix, driving back the Darkness with the radiant purity of light. While my Patronus was not a thing formed from a vacuum, the healer's Patroni came with a feeling of warmth that displayed their heart of hearts. There was no doubt at that moment that these were true healers. Their magic was forged inside hearts that did their utmost to help others. They walked the powerful and righteous path of healing, and their magic was immensely strong.

A loud scream came from the center of the room as the wounded creature abruptly burst into flames, exploding outward, spraying a hideous rain of black gore. The two wolves stood over the body of Auror Tonks, their ivory fangs still bared fiercely as they watched the dying creature give its final death rattle.

A ting, ting, tinging sound as something shiny and metal dropped to the tiled floor and rolled towards us. A golden signet ring came to rest at our feet.

It was the signet ring of the Ancient Pureblood House of Selwyn.

"Oh, hey there, puppies," Auror Tonks' weary voice said as Hermione and Severus were cleaning the spatter of blood off her face. She was petting them as affectionately as she would a familiar hound. Her eyes were rather glassy, and her expression was more than a little dazed. "Don't tell mum, okay? I'll hide you in my closet."

With that, Auror Tonks promptly passed out again.

The swarm of healers moved in to take care of Tonks like the Red Sea swallowing up the unlucky armies of Egypt.

-Severus-

I woke with the kind of comforting, relentless warmth that normally comes when you really want to stay in bed, but you know you have a class in thirty minutes or a Dark Lord is summoning you out of a glorious deep sleep. My nose was pressed into the near-sentient curls of one bushy-haired witch. Her intoxicating scent of citrus, sandalwood, and moonflower caused me to growl softly. Before, she had this hint of deadly nightshade about her, and it had been quite appealing, but now it had shifted into the subtle, sweet scent of moonflower. It was still very alluring. This had happened every morning since the day Hermione had made her first shift — during the daylight hours— and it had triggered my own.

The first time we woke up together, we had practically flung ourselves out of bed and put on the others' clothes before realising we were putting on the wrong set of robes. We were so desperate to maintain at least some sense of decorum that all we succeeded in doing was to embarrass ourselves even more. We'd go to sleep in separate rooms, but we'd always wake up together. We'd fall asleep in different places, we'd still wake up together. One time we woke up sans clothing lying in the cool grass of a public park. Thank the gods it was early morning and we didn't traumatise someone's child for life.

Kingsley had finally convinced us to wear our tracking collars at all times so that it didn't happen again, and ever since then, we'd been waking up in bed together. I suppose that is better than waking up on the green near the children's duck pond on a Saturday afternoon— or sprawled on some random Muggle's pristine front lawn.

Strangely enough, when we, the human sides of this werewolf affair, stopped trying to avoid each other, we stopped waking up in the wilderness, parks, campgrounds, and other such places. Kingsley blamed himself for not being around as much due to being Minister for Magic and having to do all the official things none of us really wanted to. He had tried to assign us temporary handlers to keep track of us during our sleep-induced shifts, but apparently our wolves thought it was some kind of game to see how long it took to ditch the handlers.

I wasn't sure if we should apologise for that or not.

Our Orders of Merlin for the war, dealing with Greyback, and the "thing that showed up at Mungo's and tried to eat their patients" hung on the wall over our massive fireplace. Our wolves were truly saving the world.

Hermione and I had discussed things quite extensively, and the both of us seemed rather content with our monstrous lupine alter-egos. They weren't running amok and killing people, not at all. They were actually saving lives. Not many werewolves could say that.

As for waking up with a warm, naked witch next to me— I was hardly complaining. At first we had tried to keep a polite distance from each other, but after getting to know each other, we did finally admit we had quite a lot in common, we shared most of the same interests, and we even had the same disdain for dunderheads. Mine was honed to a precise razor edge, but she was just jaded enough to achieve a perfect understanding of where I was coming from. Now that the war was over, we had far more in common than not, and our lupine alter-egos were truly determined to remain together. After a while, we both realised that we didn't have a problem with that at all. All I had to do was get over my knee-jerk reaction to suppress any and all desire lest it be read by the Dark Lord or worse— Albus.

I nuzzled my face against hers, moving my mouth slowly over to the joint of her neck and shoulder, taking a little skin between my teeth. She let out a soft, needy growl, pulling me down on top of her.

"Morning," she murmured.

I arched a brow. "Good morning," I replied.

Hermione moved against me, pressing her face into my chest and taking a large intake of air, savouring my scent. I knew that was what she was doing because on many a morning, that is exactly what I did.

We had, at least until now, resisted the powerful drive to merge ourselves, mind, body, soul, and wolf— afraid, perhaps, for what it might mean or what it might do to the delicate balance between human and wolf. It wasn't that we feared the wolf. We feared it would upset the balance— the very magic that kept us so perfectly in tune. To lose that balance could endanger Kingsley, and neither of us wanted that. We had quite a few close calls of almost intimacy, but I had clamped my controls down over myself. Each time had felt like I was trying to sever a limb and then walk around without it. Hermione had seemed to far more comfortable with the possibility; the scent of her desire had been unmistakable.

It wasn't her; it was me.

That was such a lame thing to say. I couldn't quite get over that she had accepted such a fate so easily. I couldn't get over the tingle of doubt that said her attraction to me was because of the wolf, nothing more. My attraction to her was undeniable, but was it real or just some animal pheromones screwing with our minds? Hermione's small touches and affection seemed genuine. She said she had accepted her fate as a werewolf. She was okay with it.

Hermione had wondered if Alastor would have been able to accept her transformation. As much as she admired the cranky old dodger, she knew that he had very solid lines of what was acceptable and what was not. Dark magic was Dark magic to him. There had never been middle ground for Mad-Eye.

However, as I loomed over Hermione, my teeth bared as I took in her scent and practically tasted her on my tongue, I knew that some Power or deity had been looking out for us. How else could such a perfect storm of random events have brought us together in such an unexpected way? No one could have known that Lupin's bite would have awoken some latent gene in me. I couldn't have known that Nagini's bite would have mutated my already strange mutation of lycanthropy. Hermione definitely didn't plan to get bitten by me. I could have easily killed her instead of turning her. By all logical counts, we should have died, multiple times at that, yet we did not.

We had both lived.

We had both evolved.

Together.

I stared down at her— so perfect and powerful— wanting nothing more than to worship her every curve. Yet, even as this desire rose within me, my brain started off on its own tangent.

My time served with two half-mad masters, each believing the other to be the sucker had made it impossible for me to find true friends. Death Eaters did not have friends as much as they had compatriots who also followed the will of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had used me as everything from his spy to the person who picked up his case of lemon sherberts from the obscure Muggle confectionary store that made them— in bulk. I couldn't apprentice anyone. I couldn't befriend anyone. The closest to a friend that I had all those years was Minerva, and she and I had to do a little mending now that she knew the truth of why I had killed Albus. I did regret not being able to tell her, but Albus was determined that Minerva would be left in the dark. At least, now, she would be able to clean up Hogwarts and make it the school what it should have been all along. Bring in some new blood, teachers who were intelligent and prepared to make education their top priority. Not hiring any more pretentious, preening fops like Gilderoy Lockhart or dizzy, sherry-swilling lunatics like Sybil Trelawney would be a fine start. Put some more stringent rules in place regarding the illegal breeding and acquisition of magical animals and make sure one Rubeus Hagrid would follow them to the letter, and Hogwarts would improve that much more.

Hermione gave me a soft noise of disappointment as my mind drifted off from the moment at hand. Viewing my pause as disinterest or a display of steadfast control over my primal impulses, she pulled away, her scent reflecting this by changing to the dull, sullen odour of parched earth. It wasn't anything new for me to control myself, but we had become closer and more comfortable with each other. Hermione had often sought my touch and my scent, but I had a feeling that every time I shut down the chance for intimacy that part of Hermione was taking it as any logical woman would: rejection.

My wolf was unhappy as well, voicing his own displeasure by giving me a very sharp mental chomp on the rump. I growled lowly.

Hermione froze, and I could see the ghost of wolf ears lay flat on her head. I had sent a message, but it was the wrong one.

"I'm sorry," she said, vacating the bed in a smooth motion. "It was forward of me. I should show better control."

She fled before I could say anything more, leaving with the hint of her warmth in the bed and the memory of her skin pressed to mind as her genuine smile had greeted me. I cursed myself for being an idiot. Here was a fine, intelligent, witch who didn't mind waking up naked next to me, showed interest in me, shared interests with me, hoped I would take her up on her invitations for lovemaking, and I mucked it up over and over again.

Severus Snape, master spy and utterly deplorable and inept lover was the master high espionage and failure at proving to Hermione that she was beautiful, powerful— damn it all.

To top it off, my little friend down below had been more than happy to oblige her, and now I was painfully uncomfortable. I relieve my condition, I used what had always worked before: thinking of the memory of Lockhart kissing his own portrait, the mental image of Argus Filch tied up in pink ribbon presenting himself to Umbridge, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore naked. Horror and relief came hand in hand, and the painful pressure down below eased.

My lips pulled back from my teeth as my wolf tried to get a track on Hermione— tasting her scent in the air. I could feel my phantom ears pin back and my tail tuck between my legs. Her beautiful, alluring scent was stale and dry, cloaked by the scent of herbal shampoo and bath soap My wolf was unhappy. My mate was unhappy. Do something.

Hermione was not my mate! I clenched my hands into fists.

She could be, if you stopped thinking about it and started doing something about it.

I got up, my legs carrying me toward the bathroom in auto-pilot. I can't say what I was thinking, or even if I was thinking, but I wanted— needed— to mend the social insult I had committed.

Hermione exited just as I got there, her hair wrapped in a turban of towel and a large towel wrapped around her body. She looked up at me, and for a minute I saw a tender warmth in her eyes. But like a cloud passing over the sun, I saw her controls slip into place, driving her emotion from her face.

"Hermione," I said, reaching to touch her cheek.

"I'll have breakfast ready by the time you get out," she said, heading down the hall— out of reach.

I envied the wolf its ability to be true to itself regardless of situation, even if I didn't agree with it's thinking Hermione was "ours." After serving two masters, freedom of choice was a thing. I didn't want her to be bound to me because of some freakish mutant magic. I didn't want happiness at the expense of her freedom.

But something in my heart was pleading with me that it wasn't some magic that was taking away our choice in the matter. Earlier I had thanked the gods for bringing us together, yet soon after I was doubting if the feelings between I and Hermione were our choice. I didn't deserve her after all I had done— sanctioned or no—but I wanted her. I needed her, and it was the most terrifying feeling. I wanted her to need me as well. It was selfish, prideful.

Only a few months after the war's official end, and my heart was already wanting to bind itself to this witch— the unsung heroine in ways most of the Wizarding world would not even realise. They would remember Potter forever, but they would never know what she had done to keep the boy alive. She had been filed away as a sidekick or best friend, but not an equal.

She was my equal, and no one outside our inner circle would ever know.

I stumbled after Hermione, my feet seeming like they were sticking to the wood by a sticking charm. Where had my finesse gone? I was tripping over my own feet. I stumbled into a side table, knocking over the lamp. I caught it awkwardly but stubbed my toe. I winced in pain, cradling the lamp as I tried to put it back into place, bracing myself against the sofa as I tried not to curse loudly.

Lucius Malfoy I was not.

"Severus, are you okay?" Hermione guided me to the other side of the sofa and sat me down. There was concern in her eyes. She pulled the throw over me to preserve my rather abysmal dignity.

Fantastic, Severus. Run around the house trying to make a good impression wearing nothing but your birthday suit. You are an exemplar human being. I curled my lip as I scolded myself, and Hermione winced, reading my facial expression as easily as one would read a book. That was what we were trained to do, after all. She pulled away after she had put a pillow behind my head to make me comfortable and turned to leave— again.

My hand shot out, grasping her arm. "Hermione," I breathed, ragged.

She looked at me with such shock that I dropped my hand, instantly ashamed.

"Please," I said. "Sit."

She looked like a first year sitting in my office for the first time, knowing that her punishment for something was going to be horrible but not knowing what. She sat, awkwardly, making as far as we had come with being comfortable with each other seem like we had taken many steps backwards.

"I do not know how to be kind," I said, staring into her. "I—" Curse my utter lack of word-suave. "You misunderstood. It is not lack of want that makes me pause. It is abundance."

She stared at me, suspicion and doubt dancing across her eyes.

I swallowed, and it felt like I was trying to swallow sand. "I dread that all you feel for me is because of some magic stealing away your choice. I could not bear it if you were bound to me because of my— biting you." I closed my eyes, willing my words to come forth. "I want it to be real. I need it to be real."

Hermione looked at me with a slight softening of her features, but she was unsure. I could be lying. I was master of it.

"I served two masters for decades, Hermione," I said. "Each gave me two choices: obedience or death. There was really only one choice, and while they would say I had a choice, I didn't. I do not want that for you, Hermione. I don't want to find out that the reason I wish to be so many things for you is because I have no choice— because you have no choice."

Hermione closed her eyes, looking sad. "You are brilliant, Severus, but are so thick, sometimes."

I blinked.

"What's the first thing we were taught to do when we suspected undo influence?" she asked softly, barely a whisper.

"Run a trace for Da—" Oh. I was an idiot. Of course the first thing she would do was run tests to make sure she wasn't being bound by some magical geas. The big question was: why hadn't I done the same thing.

Because you knew it was real, my heart and mind chimed in. You knew it wasn't false. The gods put you together— not because they were forcing you to be together but because they knew you were perfect together.

What was the saying? Don't put your faith in the gods if you are just going to doubt them in the next hour.

If being turned into a giant dire werewolf with serpentine qualities was a blessing, what happened if you pissed them off?

I extended my hand to her— a peace offering. I dropped my mental shields. I exposed by insecurities. I took a chance that maybe, just maybe I hadn't screwed things up irreparably by making her think she wasn't desirable without the wolf. Hell, she was far more than merely just desirable. I caught the light stirrings of sandalwood and moonflowers and the hint of citrus on her skin.

Her fingers brushed lightly against my palm, and I hissed as the jolt of her magic ran along my skin like an electric current. My tongue flicked out even as I breathed in her scent, swirling it around in my mouth. Her scent clung tightly to my senses. I could feel— the inner line of fangs forming and unfolding for an entirely different purpose. It wasn't prey I was after this time.

I wanted her.

Slytherins prided themselves on the prized traits of Salazar Slytherin, but the biggest irony was that most of them were terrified of snakes. And they didn't particularly care for parselmouths. Despite rumours, they didn't dance with basilisks either. Most of them utterly loathed reptiles, yet when people referred to the Slytherins, they usually referred to them as "snakes".

Merlin, what would they think of me now?

I curved myself around Hermione, my arms pulling her close as my forked tongue slowly flicked in and out to taste her silky skin. She shuddered under me, her eyes rolling back with pleasure. Her towel fell away, and I growled and ran my hands down her flanks and upward towards her firm breasts. I covered one breast with my mouth, snaking my tongue out to brush over her inviting nipple. She bucked up against me almost immediately with a rather loud cry of pleasure and encouragement escaped from her throat. Her legs snaked out and clamped around my back, locking me against her as a low, predatory, and needful growl came from deep within her.

Oh my.

That sound and the wildness in her eyes utterly undid me. Our mouths fused as our tongues battled together, and I was touching her everywhere I could. I explored every inch of her skin, memorising every curve, mound, and its delectable texture. My fingers slid between her legs, and her dampness and heat were like a roaring furnace. Her pupils had completely swallowed up her irises and her eyes had gone a pure, fathomless black. She whimpered; she squirmed, and she growled. I knew I had never wanted anything or anyone more than I wanted her.

Her hands had manifested claws just enough to run faint scratches down my back, and I could feel them tingle and heal almost at the moment she made them. It had done much more than that— I absolutely hungered for her. I panted, growled, nipped, and pinned her wrists to the sofa cushions even as I eyed her slender neck.

Its silky smooth surface was pale, yet flushed and inviting. She panted, whining, and growling. She tilted her head to the side in an obvious invitation.

"Please," she moaned. "Severus." My name on her lips— the almost exotic sound of it— sent jolts of intense pleasure down my spine.

I clamped my teeth down upon her neck, feeling her skin give way as my rather mutant mouth did exactly what it was designed to do. The lines between I and my wolf were blurring rapidly as the depth of the bond between man and beast was becoming stronger and infinitely more pleasurable. The venom trickled down her skin, but I knew she wasn't in pain. She panted heavily, her hands clawing my back as her legs relaxed invitingly, leaving no question as to what she desired. I rubbed my cheek against hers, teeth bared. I leaned close, exposing my neck— testing the depth of her own resolve and the connection to her own beast.

Where I had held back, Hermione had not. Her bond with her inner beast was virtually instantaneous and flawless. Where I may have fought to know the boundaries, Hermione had rejoiced in the lack, and her fangs sank into the skin of my throat, marking me as I had marked her, sending the flow of ecstasy into my bloodstream along with the venom cocktail we had been so strangely blessed with. Mind you, I don't think it would have been wise to go kissing random people with these mouths, but I had no intention to do anything but worship Hermione until the coming of Ragnarök and beyond.

I felt like a nubile teenager trying to figure out what to stick where, but I was distracted— her scent, her heat, the sound of her breaths— I wanted it all. I was pressing up against her, writhing, hot, and hungry.

Severus, please.

My eyes widened. She was looking at me with such hunger and need.

Please.

Her voice was in my head, clear as a cloudless sky.

Hermione?

My hips moved without my permission, but her response was immediate. Her heat was all around me, pulling me in. I cried out, my nostrils flaring as a low growl loosed from my throat. I lost myself within her, primal and possessive, but, more than anything, I saw the look of mingled abandon and tender vulnerability in Hermione's face. I knew, with every thrust of my hips that I was forging the links of chain that bound me to her. Chords of magic and power twisted around our joined magical cores.

"I would be yours, if you would let me," I whispered into her skin— her very soul. "Yours and only yours. Until time itself comes to an end."

Her eyes met mine. I felt her hands against my cheeks as she pulled me down against her, our foreheads touching. "Under the sun or moon, I would be yours. Yours alone. And I would have you as mine. You and only you."

Cords of magic tightened, stronger than iron or silk.

We moved together, finding a primal rhythm together. We were one. We were eternal. We were endless.

We were standing on the end of the Abyss, staring into the great nothingness. What lay beyond it could be either our damnation or our salvation. It could be end of all magic or the door to the very heart of the arcane. Before we could have knowledge, we needed to have faith and make our way through the darkness to reach what lay beyond.

We were both at the very brink.

Hermione convulsed under me, casting herself body and soul into the Void, and I followed, my body joined with hers far too intimately to ever be parted from her again. The swirling blackness sucked us both into itself and ushered us into Oblivion.

-Hermione-

"Whooooo!"

I opened one eye, yawning. I felt good. So much better than good, in fact. I could smell the hummingbirds on the feeder outside and hear them chirping energetically at each other, apparently arguing over which of them was in charge of said feeder. I flicked my ears, my tail thumping steadily against the sofa cushions.

Wait.

I looked down at myself.

Fur, paws, claws— and tail. I ran my tongue over my teeth— and my second and third set of teeth, my eyes growing very wide. This surely had to be a dream. Right?

Pop.

Crinkles appeared with a large haunch of something. "Dinner, Mistress Hermione," he said. "Know mistress is very hungry when she wakes, I does."

Food. Glorious, wonderful food.

I jumped down on and trotted over at once.

Bless you, Crinkles.

"You is very welcome, Mistress Hermione," Crinkles beamed.

You can… understand me in this form?

"Of course, Mistress," Crinkles answered.

I licked my chops and panted. That pleased me greatly. My tail was wagging nonstop, but hunger was foremost on my mind and strongly demanded that I do something about it. Forgetting about Crinkles for the moment, I pounced on the meat, tearing into it with gusto.

The human voice in my head was balking at the idea of raw meat, but it tasted positively wonderful. It smelled like the ambrosia of the gods. I wanted it in my stomach right the hell now.

Severus flopped right next to me and tore in hungrily too. Our tails beat a near-synchronised tattoo against the floor as we scarfed down as much meat as we could into our stomachs.

Even when I was finally full, which took quite a while, Severus continued to clean up the bones until there was not a scrap of flesh left on them. My hunger was, thankfully, appeased, and I felt as though I could think much more clearly. It's hard to think too deeply when food, food, food is the main thing on your mind. Wolves in the wild could go days or weeks between meals, gorging themselves whenever they made a kill to make up for the leaner times in-between. I wasn't sure what it was like for the average werewolf, but both Severus and I tended to gorge every other week or so, and then take it a little easier until next time, provided we had ample snacks in between. This information was all coming from Kingsley, as until now, I'd never been that aware in my wolf form.

Severus was licking my jowls and cleaning them of blood, and I returned the favour. No one likes to run around with evidence of their dinner all over their face, come on now.

Thanks, I said, giving him a good slurp across the muzzle.

You're welcome.

We stared at each other wide-eyed.

Severus?

Hermione?

Our tails were going a hundred miles a minute as we snuffled each other, groomed, and sniffed each other's rumps. We chased each other around, play bowed, chased each other some more, pranced together like two reindeer in a harness, and then flopped on each other, panting heavily.

After a while, I realised that while I was definitely cognisant or at least aware of me while being a wolf, the wolf and were seamlessly welded together. The same must have been going through Severus' head as well, as he had that look of consternation that usually happened when he was thinking hard about something. Seeing that look on a wolf's face was even more interesting, so I'm pretty sure I looked pretty comical as I pondered life as a wolf.

"Whooo."

The both of us perked. An owl had arrived while we had been distracted. A small ribbon-wrapped parcel was under its foot.

Severus and I exchanged glances, our ears perked forward.

"Whoooooo." The owl peered at us.

The owl probably had instructions not to leave until someone had signed for it, and I had the sneaky suspicion that they weren't going to accept a pawprint smudge as a signature.

Think they'll take a paw print signature? Severus' voice rang in my head, dripping with sarcasm.

Doubtful, I mused.

Our tails were wagging in amusement as we both snuffled the owl curiously.

Think we can open it with our teeth? Severus mused, snuffling the package.

Think it's drool proof? I answered.

Kingsley knows better than to send parcels to dire werewolves, Severus said with a half-sneeze.

He has… he just double boxed and put an anti-drool and anti-venom charm on it, I chuckled, making a strange snuffling-growling sound.

The owl stared at us somewhat suspiciously.

We could wait for Harry to stop in, I suggested. He was supposed to visit today anyway.

Severus gave me a look that roughly translated to "Potter? Really?" It looked pretty much the same on both human and wolf. Who knew?

I do hope he brings a new hat with him, I said hopefully, tail wagging.

Severus gave me a look.

I looked upward innocently. I like hats.

I've noticed, Severus mused.

I had never noticed that particular fancy before, but my wolf and I were seemingly in perfect agreement that hats were the bee's knees. Just thinking about a hat made me start drooling profusely, sending a trail of foamy venom dripping to the floor like a certain scene from Cujo. There were four things that rated my attention and set my tail wagging: food, books, hats, and Severus. Books were iffy in wolf form. Trying to turn pages as a wolf would likely prove to be a challenge. Hrm, there was probably a fifth in there too: Kingsley. There was just something about him that was somehow inherently trustworthy and awe-inspiring. I never doubted that Kingsley had our best interests at heart, and there weren't many I could say were that steadfast and loyal.

My wolf, and I'm sure Severus' too, trusted Kingsley implicitly. We trusted him to guide us when our wolves weren't certain of what to do. There was something powerful in that depth of trust— powerful and reassuring as well.

Crack. Crack.

Two Apparitions materialised in the back garden, and there was only a small list of people who could do so freely. Kingsley could and our "handlers" for the day hours when Kings was busy doing Minister for Magic things. Poor guy. I didn't envy him that duty in the slightest, partly because despite his being the Minister, he was still our main handler. He was the only one would could. Our day-handlers who checked up on us had a few issues keeping our wolves on their radar.

Kings had done what any self-respecting Minister for Magic who was trying to kick out the Death Eating sympathisers would do: hired his two dire werewolves as his personal bodyguards. I would have, had I had them.

Oh, it is Kingsley, I said, ears perking towards the sliding door. My tail was wagging happily already. Maybe he would be wearing a hat?

Who is that with him? Severus asked suspiciously, growling lowly. His hackles were raised, tail straight as a board, and his teeth were showing.

I wasn't quite ready to jump on the defensive bandwagon just yet. I knew there were only a few people who could Apparate into my back garden without setting off every ward on the property. If Kingsley was bringing someone with him, it meant he trusted them— or he was bringing the person for us to beat the living daylights out of them.

Yaxley had once "tagged along" with me to Grimmauld Place via an Apparate. It had not been my best example of following Mad-Eye's "constant vigilance" command. To be fair, I was far more worried about Harry getting away, and I hadn't considered that someone could throw themselves at someone in mid-Disapparate and tag along for the ride. It would be exceedingly dangerous. You could arrive literally in pieces. Who did that kind of thing?

Yaxley, apparently. Not sure if that meant he was stupid, suicidal, or both, but there we go.

Due to the panic Yaxley's unexpected arrival had caused, I'd yanked Ron with me to the Forest of Dean in a chain Apparate-Disapparate once I realised I'd been followed. It hadn't ended well for Ron's skin. I'd never had issues Apparating under stress. Moody had me Apparating in mid-spell, mid-dodge, mid-dinner, and mid-God-save-the-Queen. I'd never before splinched someone— well, until Ron.

What was it about Ron that made things go sideways for me?

Even the simplest things like basic magical functions never worked right between Ron and I. It was like the moment Ron appeared, all of my active brain cells just died off and threw themselves off the nearest mental cliff screaming "NEVERRRRRR!"

I kept telling myself I was always being much too hard on the boy. I mean, yeah, technically he was almost an entire decade younger than me.

But Harry was too, and he didn't seem to cause this kind suicidal effect on the brain cells of those around him. Maybe it was just me? Harry was still his friend. Ginny never said she wanted to punch him in the kidneys and leave him naked and hogtied in Knockturn Alley— so why did I feel like that was a fine alternative? The entire allegedly Horcrux-inspired "you and Harry are shagging each other" situation hadn't helped with building a better relationship either. Molly had been utterly convinced that I was the whore of Gryffindor, no thanks to Rita Skeeter, and I had received the world's tiniest Easter egg as a protest for my being such a complete slag. Looking back on it, it was really bloody hilarious, but at the time my mind had settled on complete and utter bafflement.

Much to my relief, Kingsley had not brought Ronald with him. I'm not sure Kingsley could have stopped either of us from piddling all over his trainers. It would've surely ended far worse than that, but it would at least start with the basic demonstration of serious disapproval, wolf-style. Sadly, Ron didn't even have a hat to tear up, so I'd probably move on to tearing apart his robes, gnawing on his belt, burying his wand in the duck pond, and eating his Auror notebook, which every Auror was told they could never lose— or else. Me? Vindictive? I swear I'm perfectly amicable! At least, to non-wankers.

Severus' tail was wagging furiously as he looked at me. I slid my eyes over at him. You reading my mind, love?

Mmhmm, he replied, tail wagging and sporting a rather evil lupine grin.

Figures that talk of torturing Ronald would pique his interest. Probably the only one who might rate more interest would be Neville Longbottom, Severus' favourite student to hate. Some would argue and say that he didn't exactly have any love for me back then, but Neville inspired an emotional need to throttle. Hell, I had wanted to as well, at least in Potions. I'd saved his hide, or rather Trevor's hide, too many times to count. Fortunately, killing Nagini did not require the brewing a passable potion. He did swing a passable sword, though.

As the sliding door opened, Kingsley's guest instantly fell into a kneel, doing the standard don't-try-to-out-alpha-the-wolves introduction. I sniffed the air, but I recognised that all-too-familiar mess of mop-like black hair at once. It was Harry.

Severus gave a soft growl of pure irritation.

I licked the side of his muzzle to distract him from the target of his ire; he snuffled me and gave me a return slurp with interest. I led the charge forward. My keen nose was telling me all sorts of intriguing things about Harry. He had worn his current undershirt to bed and hadn't bothered to change it; I could smell the trace of a light, feminine perfume… something that Ginny was highly unlikely to wear. Very interesting, that.

I could also smell the scent of fresh pine needles on him, mud, and various dried grasses. There was also a slight lingering hint of duck shite around his shoes, so he had probably had a good romp in a public park earlier today. I gave him a proper sniffing over from top to bottom. The boy hadn't bathed this morning, and he had a stronger scent about him. If I had had to track him, it wouldn't have taken much. I could also smell his fear, just below the surface. He wasn't terrified as much as he was unsure what two very large werewolves were going to do to him if he stepped out of line.

There was another scent on his Auror trainee coat— old leather, tobacco smoke, firewhisky, and something else, something eerily familiar—

And then Harry was holding out a hat.

HAT!

I focused on that hat instantly. Hat! HATHATHAT!

I snatched it from his hand and shook it, and shook it, and shook it some more for good measure. It wasn't getting away from me! I foamed on it, drooled on it, envenomated it. I growled viciously at it, threw it up in the air, snatched it again, and tore into it again. No evil hat was going to get away from me!

Severus was tugging on it too. We snarled, pulling at it together. He snatched it from me, shaking it violently, and I pounced on him, trying to get it back. We snarled; we chased, and fought over it, fangs bared, bits of foaming drool flying everywhere. Finally, the hat ripped in half, and Severus and I flopped together, using our fangs to rip our halves to many, many smaller pieces.

Mmmm. Hats.

The most human part of me was complaining that I'd just torn Harry's hat to shreds, but that was like the buzzing of bees. Like a very faint background noise.

Severus seemed to be indoctrinated into the glory, bliss, and wonder of joyously ripping apart theoretically innocent headgear. The jury was still out on that one. Hats could be harbouring true evil. Well, at least germs and bugs and other pestilential things. But I suppose a hat could be a Dark object, right?

Told you so, I said, tail wagging furiously.

Severus didn't reply. He was still quite busy using his teeth to rip into the fabric of one very, very dead hat.

After I had my slice of hat torn into a multitude of tiny, itty bitty pieces, I trotted over and gave Harry a wet slurp across the face, making sure it was extra slobbery. I told myself that it was purely in thanks for the glorious hat, but my wolf and I were in perfect agreement that making Harry squirm was job number one.

It was strange and glorious, this fusing of wolf and myself. It felt warm and wonderfully accepting. There was the great, surging love between us, unlike anything that could be explained with inadequate human words. The only thing even close was the bond between Severus and myself, now that we had gotten over the enormous elephant in the room that was our burgeoning relationship.

I wagged my tail, thinking about it. He was a very good and generous lover.

I drooled a little more in true appreciation.

Severus was approaching Harry now, looking intimidating and rather suspicious, but my tail wagged. I knew exactly what he was up to. I could smell the Slytherin mischief on him.

He pulled his lips back from his teeth, exposing his forked tongue in a very unnerving manner, with a sort of evil lupine grin. His hot breath steamed up Harry's glasses, behind which was a set of very wide green eyes. Then, just when it looked like Severus was about to tear his face off with extreme prejudice, he suddenly gave Harry a very drooly slurp and then promptly pounced on me. We tumbled off into the room, rolling all over the floor, bumping into furniture, before finally flopping down in a panting heap next to the fireplace.

Harry was frozen in complete shock, but Kingsley was laughing uproariously. His head was tilted back as he belted out a booming howl of belly-shaking laughter.

Severus and I howled right along with him, filling the room with the echoing resonance of mischievous lupine mirth.

-Harry-

Kingsley had said that once they were relaxed enough to sleep, there was a good chance that the two of them would spontaneously transform back. It was only a matter of time. We had made the appointment to visit, so the human Hermione and Severus would have known we were coming, but it was pure chance as to which form would have greeted us upon Apparating in.

When the two did transform back, it wasn't like when Remus had transformed in front of us at all. There was the strange, almost unnatural shifting and cracking of realigning and reshaping bones, but it was smooth and apparently painless. Neither wolf appeared to suffer. Kingsley had told me that the shift came with relaxation— always had— which was why Severus had been human that night saving us from Remus. He shifted when he slept on moon nights.

Neither Hermione nor Severus appeared to be in any kind of distress or pain, and when they stirred after waking, they didn't seem uncomfortable at all. I found myself staring at them— Kingsley was sitting nearby, casually reading a book and sipping tea like nothing unusual was going on at all—but I couldn't help but stare like a wide-eyed first year having watched Professor McGonagall instantly shift from a tabby to a witch for the very first time.

It wasn't until I realised I was staring quite— enviously— at Professor Snape's rather impressive bits. Now, logically, I would have realised that he was most definitely and obviously male as a wolf, so it shouldn't have been that big a surprise. Still, I couldn't help staring.

Males are curious creatures, and having been one all my life, I can definitely attest that there are certain things you can't help but compare against other males. Trainer size, height, looks, who seems to attract the most positive attention from the females, and even the depth and timbre of one's voice. Ginny used to confess that she used to imagine Professor Snape reading her bloody bedtime stories. That had kind of broken my mind, to be honest— especially since she had confessed to that particular tidbit before I had pulled my head out of my own arse enough to realise that Professor Snape hadn't actually been the rampaging evil git I had always thought he was. Many of us had wondered what Professor Lockhart had over the female gender— was it some form of sexual magic or true charisma? Hell, even Firenze had a gaggle of girls following him around the school. I remember all too well hearing Lavender Brown giggling with Parvati Patil about how "dreamy" he was.

Me? I couldn't even get a date to the Yule Ball without making a complete honking arse of myself. Later, I had ended up with Ginny because— well, I really wasn't sure about why. She was just there in my life, all the time, so it had seemed like a natural progression. We'd had dates, we got along, and she even pulled me out of my shell a bit, despite the war going on, but I think there was more pressure on her to give me a chance than it was her best choice. Ginny had actually been seeing Theodore Nott after the war, and I had been seeing Luna Lovegood. Neville and Luna had an intense time together at Hogwarts, but they'd found that they just weren't right for each other after awhile. Not that the sex hadn't been totally awesome, but why they had shared that detail with me was certainly beyond me.

Okay, well, I will confess to having used Neville's prior knowledge to please Luna in various ways. She definitely keeps me on my toes. Officially, only Neville knew about my relationship with Luna, but a few people were starting to suspect because Ginny wasn't bothering to hide her trysts with Theo at all. They met in public, were frequently seen out on the town together and now that Rita Skeeter was out of the running on media character assassination, they could do it without ending up with my name plastered all over the Prophet with Hermione always being blamed as the reason why Ginny and I had "obviously" broken it off. Skeeter had never forgiven Hermione for trapping her in a jar and then making her write the truth for an entire year. The actual truth was apparently far more offensive to her.

Skeeter had been the reason why Hermione and Viktor hadn't worked out as a couple. It wasn't that they hadn't really enjoyed each other's company and even had a good shot at making things permanent, but Skeeter had made it her personal mission in life to make Viktor's life a living hell for being with the girl she hated so completely. Hermione had reluctantly brought their relationship to an end, saying that she cared for and valued Viktor far too much to see his reputation go down in flames over something he hadn't even done. They still remained close friends, and now that Skeeter was no longer in any condition to write her sensationalistic drivel, I had been wondering if they might get back together.

At least I had— until I saw Hermione and Professor Snape curled up together in front of the fireplace— entirely naked. Snape's arm had curled rather possessively around Hermione's waist, even as they shifted back to human forms. They had snuggled up together as wolves before the shift back had occurred. I might be just a trainee, but even I can see what's right in front of me pretty well. Their wolves were tightly bound— and it was obvious that their human sides were perfectly fine with that.

Now that I was on the career path as an Auror, and the war was over, Kingsley had filled me in about quite a few things— notably that both Snape and Hermione outranked me— by more than a lot. I knew enough to feel very, very guilty about how many times I'd told Hermione to mind her own business and then not listened to her when I should have. I had the suspicion that both of them didn't just outrank me as an Auror, either. They probably outranked just about everyone at the Ministry, even more so now that Kingsley had named them to his official Minister's Guard. They could go anywhere he could, and that was exactly what Kingsley wanted.

I had told Kings that the only thing I had ever wanted to be was an Auror. Even if I ended up supervising someday, I never wanted to be more than that. My life had suffered enough to know that while I wanted to help people, I wanted to do help in a relatively everyday way. Kings seemed almost relieved, giving me that smile that told me that he really did understand.

The one thing I hadn't told Kings, however, was that I was still in contact with Sirius. The entire going through the Veil had been a very elaborate ruse that had ported Sirius to a safe house somewhere in the Troodos mountain range of Cyprus. I'm not sure why I was still hiding it— perhaps because he was all I had left of my parents, short of Remus. Sirius, however, was my godfather. He was the only family I had left who really wanted to be with me.

Dumbledore had apparently arranged for the real Veil to be moved and a replica put in its place. The replica had specific instructions to dump anyone who went through into one of the empty cells in a particular wing of Azkaban, save for one specific person: Sirius Black. The old headmaster had apparently known I couldn't be trusted to not run off and do something stupid, and had made plans in advance for it. How he had known that the battle was going to happen in that particular place and time, I will never know.

Part of me was nagging at me, urging me to tell Kingsley. We all knew that Sirius had been framed for the mass murder of random Muggles all those years ago. There was no harm in telling him about Sirius. Why then, wouldn't I?

"Had I know this is all that it would have taken to get your attention, Potter, I would have taken an entirely different approach to your education in Potions," Snape said, sarcasm dripping from his words just like his wolf form's mutant venom.

A slender arm shot around Snape's torso and drew him back down towards the floor as a rather hungry-looking Hermione latched onto his neck. Snape's eyes rolled back in his head, and when he fixed me with a very potent stare, I realised I was still staring at him. Blood was rushing to my face and ears in total embarrassment. My best female mate and her, erm, lover were obviously very happy to wake up together in front of me. How do you even respond to that?

He was your professor! My brain was screaming at me, trying to snap me out of it. He was her professor!

Was, I reminded myself. Hermione was a grown witch. She had the right to make her own choices. Merlin knew they were both wicked brilliant. They were both scary powerful— and even Professor McGonagall had wondered if the reason she had driven Snape off during that confrontation in front of the school was because he hadn't wanted to murder her. He had deflected a fire spell to take out Amycus and Alecto Carrow, after all. That took real skill— more than skill.

Professor Snape had taken a lot of horrible things unto himself to save us. It hadn't been until I thought he was dead that I'd really come to terms with that. Coming to terms with the fact that he and my mum had been best mates as children— I realised there was a lot of things I didn't really know about my parents. I knew even less about Professor Snape. Even more ironically, I realized that I knew virtually nothing about my best female mate. Hermione, despite having been my friend for almost a decade now, was quite an enigma. I didn't doubt in the slightest that she would do and had done everything in her power to keep me alive. I did wonder if she viewed me as a friend or just someone who was a real pain in her arse to somehow keep alive.

What do you say to someone who dedicated so much of their life to keeping you from killing yourself via various random acts of stupid?

Thanks?

Somehow that didn't quite seem to cover it.

"Ron's in trouble," I said, trying to shift my thoughts with conversation. I tried to stare at the case of fresh flowers nearby instead of— damn, I was still ogling them.

Hermione's expression turned to a frown. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, perhaps instinctively. She shook her head. "What did he do?" she asked. Kingsley nonchalantly passed them clothes, barely looking up from his book. How did that man do that?

How to put this without painting Ron as an unmitigated arsewipe? "You know Ron and all those celebratory post-war parties, yeah? Well, Ron went out to one last night, got completely knackered and woke up married to Pansy Parkinson, of all people. Lavender Brown saw the rings and tried to murder them both. Ron claims he doesn't remember any bit of it. To top it all off, Lavender is pregnant, or so she says, with Ron's baby."

Hermione's face ran a wide gauntlet of emotions in a matter of seconds.

"Needless to say, Molly is now threatening to kick Ron out of the Burrow, and Auror Trainee Mayflower's pregnancy scan just came back positive," I continued. "She says she's only ever been with one bloke. Guess who," I added a bit lamely.

Hermione's gaze bored holes into me. "You have got to be kidding me."

I swallowed hard and fought the urge to start squirming again. "Fred and George once told me that Weasley genetics made for extremely potent little wrigglers," I confessed. I could feel my face turning very red again. "Apparently, contraceptive charms and potions only have about a fifty percent chance of working, at best, on Weasley men. They said Molly and Arthur tried their best and still ended up with seven children. Can you imagine how many—"

Hermione beat her head against Snape's shoulder.

"Let me guess," Severus' voice rumbled. "Weasley doesn't know how many witches he actually slept with?"

I shook my head ruefully. "He admitted to me that he couldn't begin to guess how many. Merlin, he did try, but all he remembers is having a really great time at the party."

"Harry," Hermione said my name with a sudden gasp, as if I had just kicked Crookshanks. "Did you sleep with Ginny?"

"W—what?" I blurted. "N—no! We never— I mean— we never had the opportunity and I—" Fuck. This was embarrassing as hell. "And I, um, always carried rubbers on me. Just in case."

Hermione gave a deep sigh of relief. "Thank the gods you were raised Muggle," she whispered.

My brain tried to piece together just why she was so relieved.

Hermione and Snape exchanged wry glances. Snape sniffed once, eyes narrowing as he stared at me. His lips pulled back from his teeth as he scented the air, his tongue flicking out in a disturbingly serpentine manner. I can't explain in words just how unnerving that was to watch. It was the action of an apex predator— a predator at the top of the food chain. My response was totally visceral. I felt like a cornered prey animal.

"What my mate here is trying to say politely, and I have qualms about bothering to humour her, is that it is a good thing you didn't stick your manly bits into her and get her pregnant, or your current courtship of Miss Lovegood would be overcast by a child support battle and perhaps the magical equivalent of a shotgun marriage." Snape eyed me with a stare right out of his professor-student stony regard handbook.

My jaw hit the ground. They knew? The scent— oh fuck. Nothing was getting by either of them. Kingsley was reading his book, but there was no way he hadn't heard the conversation. Just please murder me. Murder me now and bury my body somewhere— wait, "mate"?!

I had the sinking suspicion that he did not mean mate as in a friend.

"Whoooo."

Severus accepted a parcel from the arriving owl, passing it what could have been a pair of frog legs. The owl hastily made it disappear, as if it was afraid it was a limited time offer. Snape's eyes scanned the parchment that had been folded inside. "Hnn," he said. His eyes flicked over to Hermione, whose eyebrows shot up as if he'd said something startling.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand as he slipped something on her finger. "Madam Snape," he said coolly. "It seems we have been married. I fear there is no escape from me, now."

Hermione looked demurely into his face as she plucked something out of the box and slipped it into his finger. "Mmm. Same here, husband."

Snape growled lowly, pressing his mouth to hers with undeniable hunger. His eyes flicked over to me, daring me to say something.

There was no way in Hades I was going to say anything.

He pulled away as Hermione made a soft whine of disappointment, but she stood to go towards the kitchen. Snape, in the meantime, signed the parchment and wrapped it around the owl's leg. He passed it another treat, and the owl snatched eagerly it and flew off, taking his correspondence with it.

Molly was not going to be happy.

Molly didn't even know that Ginny and I had stopped seeing each other. Now, Ron had a multiple-pregnancy crisis, and that didn't even include the fact that Hermione was no longer available. It might be a good idea to stay away from the Burrow awhile. Far away.

A truly heavenly aroma was coming from the kitchen, and I saw Hermione industriously flipping something in a large wok over the stove.

"Beef, chicken, pork, shrimp, or everything, Kings?" Hermione called out.

"Woman, you could cook me giraffe, and I would happily eat it," Kings replied with a grin. He immediately set down his book and moved to the kitchen to join her.

I helped Kings set the table outside in the garden, and a few house elves showed up to set out cold drinks and place colourful cushions on the deck chairs. They set out the tossed salad in the middle of the table, and a very young house-elf— something I'd never before seen in my life— tried to work the cheese grater over the salad bowl with the assistance of an older elf. Then the elves disappeared with a soft pop, leaving no sign of ever having been there.

I found myself with one of those questions I should have asked ages ago, but never did. "What do house-elves eat?"

Kingsley arched a brow at me. "Each family usually gives their elves bits of their normal fare. Traditionally, milk is left out at night, but people like Hermione allow the elves to take whatever they need from the garden and from the things they cook for us."

"Oh," I said. Well, that made sense. It occurred to me that I had never given Kreacher food. I had assumed he didn't eat because he was magical— no wonder the elf took so long to warm up to me. That was why Hermione was always leaving milk out on the counter whenever she stayed at Grimmauld Place. All this time— I had never known. Sirius hadn't exactly given me a handbook when he'd left me with Kreacher. Perhaps, I needed to suck it up and sit down to have a heart-to-heart with Kreacher. I didn't want to be that guy who abused his elves just because he didn't know any better. Ignorance was not an excuse for abuse.

I, of all people, should know better.

When Hermione brought out a huge dish of delicious-smelling shrimp and chicken stir-fry, everything sort of faded away. She was apparently quite the accomplished cook, and I realised I'd never really noticed such things about her before. When we were out in the wilds, she had managed to find everything from wild berries to mushrooms and edible roots, she snared rabbits and other small game for food, even quite a few nice trout when we were near a decent fishing area. She'd even managed to bring us a sizeable stag once, which had admittedly unnerved me somewhat. We'd eaten well for a good month because of that. I'd always assumed it was because of her wide base of book knowledge made useful. Looking back on it, I remember how she always made sure I ate— even if it meant her going without. When Ron had been injured, she had barely eaten at all, seemingly given him her rations for a time. Later, Ronald had simply assumed that was his fair share. Only now, my brain no longer clouded by the effects of long-term Horcrux exposure, did I remember how she'd serve herself such small portions of our meals, just enough so as not to expire, and let Ron and I eat what we could. How many times would Ron and I have died without Hermione's help?

"Hermione, Professor Snape," I said after practically inhaling my dinner.

Both Hermione and Snape looked at me with dual arched eyebrows.

"Thank you," I said with a tired but genuine smile. "For everything."

The exchanged meaningful looks and nodded to me.

"You're welcome, Harry," Hermione said, her familiar smile creeping across her face.

I don't think Ron was a horrible friend as much as he wasn't a great person to everyone. He was my first friend friend on the train to Hogwarts, and my first link to the magical world. His family was the first thing closest to what a family should be like, at least, what it was supposed to be like in my head. I have no doubt that I had skewed vision of what an idea family would be like, save actually eating with one's family and not living under the stairs in a cupboard, and told to stay perfectly quiet when company came over.

I will admit that my dream of my parents far outweighed the truth of them. I eagerly clung to stories of how great my parents were, and I just as fanatically defended their honour to all comers. I had to in order to stay sane. Why else would I have been the Boy Who Lived instead of The Boy With Shit Parents.

Looking back, I wonder if there was such a thing as fate, or if my world was truly random. Then, I wonder if someone was manipulating things to get that bigger picture. I never once felt I was truly in control. I never felt like I was in charge, and being an Auror, well, that was me attempting to be in charge of my own life. I felt it was my turn to give back to the world and help people just as those who had helped me— without my asking and without being asked.

Ron, I felt, was always stuck trying to be better than his brothers. He was the youngest, and it was slowly killing him not being as good as so and so brother. Also, being the youngest, he rarely had anything new. His sister managed to get new things because she was the only female child of Molly and Arthur Weasley, and I think that just made it worse for him.

At the end of the war, suddenly he was a hero, and unlike me, he thrived on it. I had tried to dodge the fame bullet many, many times. I could see the gears turning in his head whenever Hermione was put in the negative light of the Prophet. Her shaming usually painted Ron, me, or Viktor as victims, which, in turn, gave him more attention. Whether he realised it or not, it seemed that whenever Hermione took a hit to her reputation, Ron's got better, and he liked it.

When Hermione had told him she needed space, I don't think Ron took it well. We were heroes, and that meant people were expected us to pair off with each other. And because they had shared a kiss after dispatching the Horcrux down in the Chamber of Secrets, it seemed even more logical. Of course, now I knew why Hermione had wanted the space. Being bitten by a werewolf was not exactly something you wanted people knowing when Rita Skeeter was all too ready to bring that out into the world.

I think Molly had a lot to do with it. She wanted— still wanted— Ginny and I to announce our intentions to the world, but mostly she wanted us to announce our getting married so she could get to planning "all the things." The problem was, we had no intention of doing so. Ginny and Theo very much together. I and Luna were doing famously, and neither of us were ready to tell Molly— not when Ron was up to his neck in pregnancy woes.

Ron had confessed, at least to me, that he'd been seeing Lavender for the last few years. They'd never really stopped seeing each other. She'd forgiven him his Hermione name calling while delirious, having believed that it had been Hermione who had spiked him with Amortentia at the same time as Romilda Vane. The truth was, Ron didn't know what he really wanted in a relationship. He liked the fame and the attention, and he loved having more choices. What he didn't like, however, was having the witches that were paying him attention also pay attention to other people. Yet, contradictorily, he was obviously seeing other witches.

Now, if you were in an open relationship and both sides were okay with it, more power to you, but living a promiscuous relationship life was just asking for trouble, especially if you expected your relationship fellows not to figure it out eventually.

Ronald had, partly due to his mum's pressuring, seen Hermione as the one to marry. She had the fame and the history with him to make it perfectly storybook, at least to those who didn't know diddly about them. Marriage, however, did not mean that he didn't want to find his love on the side like an emperor and his concubines. As for Hermione, if her wolf was any indicator, she'd found exactly what she wanted, and the kind of devotion and attentiveness that could only make me a little envious, even knowing I was with someone.

One thing was for sure, if Ron showed up to visit Hermione any time soon and expected her to cow to his proposal, she would probably laugh in his face— right before punching him. With Professor Snape around, well, he'd be lucky to get out of the house alive.

As it was, Ron was in a world of hurt due to being married to Pansy— who was now Pansy Weasley— and both she, Lavender, and Auror Mayflower were confirmed pregnant. All of which, after thorough checking, were Ron's. Now, amongst most Muggle jurisdiction, you are married to the person you sign the papers with and, short of Child Maintenance, you aren't married to them by default. Unfortunately, thanks to a little remnant of one Dolores Umbridge and the Minister for Magic Fudge, if you have a baby, you're married to them.

Kingsley had been trying to get that bit of horrible law rescinded, along with about a hundred other "little" gems, such as all non-Purebloods being considered "property" where all their assets belonged to the one with more "pure" blood, Muggle-borns having no right for a fair trial, werewolves and centaurs being ruled "beasts" and thus legal to hunt and kill, half-breeds being considered abominations and this legal to kill on sight, and the list went on. Most of them had been caught before they had managed to get into law, thank the gods, but the one that Ronald had found himself in was the "Pureblood right for multiple wives" to "rebuild the magical world."

It didn't take much to see where they were trying to go with that law when looking in combination with the "non-Pure don't have rights". The irony of this was that Umbridge wasn't even a Pureblood, unless you consider inbreeding the litmus test for Pureblood positive. There was definitely some crazy things going on in the Umbridge family tree, murder aside.

As for Lavender Weasley via impregnation, Pansy Weasley by documentation and drunken wedding joined by Preacher Bob from Birmingham, and Auror trainee Bridget Weasley (née Mayflower) — Ron was looking at at least three children, provided there were no twins or triplets, and at least three wives. Lavender was confined to a temporary cell until she faced the Wizengamot for attempted murder of Pansy. Molly was confined to her house for attempting to take out Pansy thinking she was coming in to murder her family, and Trainee Mayflower-Weasley was was so traumatised that she was in Mungo's, possibly having a miscarriage. These were only the witches we had on record.

Kingsley was working on getting a movement through to make it so the entire marriage by impregnation was nullified, but it was slow going and had to be handled on a case by case basis. There were a hundred other things going on at the same time, such as getting the remaining Death Eater sympathisers out of the Ministry. Changing the laws was going to be hard enough without having sympathisers throwing monkey wrenches into the mix.

"Harry, they're killin' me, Harry," Ron said as he held his head in his hands and repeating my name like a mantra. So far, he'd said my name about twenty times in the last two minutes.

I told you to watch yourself, Ron," I said. "Those parties— they aren't there for you, mate. They are there to be seen and be popular."

Ron shook his head. "They want me, Harry," he replied. "I just have to be more choosey is all. Once I get these marriages annulled."

I didn't want to be the one to tell him that even if he did get his marriages annulled, and that was a big if, he'd still be paying through the teeth for child support. Child Maintenance always sounded strange, like if the child's arm hurt, you'd just exchange it for a replacement. Magic was awesome and all, but it wasn't quite to that point yet.

"Ron, mate," I sighed. "You're going to have to face that this isn't going to go away."

"'Mione will make it go away," Ron said, convinced. "She'll just tell them it was a bit misunderstanding, and they'll believe her. After all, we were going to get married. That was the plan."

I wondered how much the Obliviators had taking away from Ron's head and what they had rewritten. I had a pretty good feeling that if Ron knew what Hermione was now— not even including who she was married to— that he'd have a nervous breakdown or try to murder someone. I'm honestly not sure which would happen.

Professor Snape— and I'd probably call him that the rest of my life, even if the man went off and became an expert Cursebreaker— if he wasn't one already. Both Snape and Hermione outranked me in a way that even if I was a full Auror with ten years under my belt, they'd still outrank me. That was all Kingsley had said, well, and that he trusted them implicitly. They were beyond reproach, and if Kingsley believed that, then I sure as hell was going to trust that. He had proven, time and time again, to be a virtually flawless judge of character. He'd also trusted me when very few took me seriously.

Again, I had the inkling that I really should tell Kings about Sirius, but again, I kept pushing that thought to the side. Just when I was ready to storm to Kingsley's office and spill my guts, I'd get a letter from Sirius asking how I was and hoping I was doing well, and all my gumption just left me. Did I want to keep his survival a secret because I couldn't afford to lose him as a connection to my parents? Why not have a relationship with Remus? He wasn't exactly hiding, after all.

"Ron," I interrupted his mumbling with a sigh. "Why are you so determined to try and make Hermione fix all of your problems? She doesn't need your problems. Hell, even I wouldn't touch your problems with a twenty-foot pole. Why do you think Hermione— logical, intelligent, hardworking, loyal-to-a-fault Hermione— would even want to get near you after all this?"

Privately, I wondered if Ron would really be stupid enough to try something with Hermione and end up in an old-fashioned wizarding duel with Professor Snape— the man who Kingsley trusted with his life.

I felt my eyelid twitching.

Would I be able to stop it? Did I even want to? Was it sadistic of me to want to make popcorn and watch? Maybe I should order a round of drinks from Rosmerta and share the love? Even as brassed-off as Molly currently was at her youngest son, she probably didn't want to receive notice that Ron had been obliterated off the face of Creation by the mere twitch of Snape's very finely-tuned eyebrow.

"She's bloody rolling in the galleons, mate," Ron was muttering half under his breath. "Even if every bit of my pay goes for supporting all those kids, we'll still have enough to get our own place—"

"Ron, would you just listen to yourself?" I interrupted. "Please. Just. Stop. Stop!" I grabbed his hands as Ron was flailing them about as he continued to mutter nonsense. "Listen to yourself, mate."

Ron looked at me as if I'd just slapped him upside the head with a tuna. "What, Harry?" He shifted his weight as he threw a shirt on. We'd come in for the checkup together after Auror Savage had insisted that Ron be tested for "the entire gauntlet," which was our slang for "every test you can think of, and a few more." Savage wanted him scanned for everything: Dark Magic, coercive potions, obscure curses and hexes, magical DNA, and everything in-between. If there was even the slimmest chance that Ron's total lack of inhibition and amnesia were due to any form of outside influence, then Savage wanted to know. Hell, I wanted to know. Molly most definitely wanted to know, and I'm certain that Kingsley wanted to know as well, as the paperwork for how to split a single Auror's check between Merlin-only-knew how many witches and their children was going to be a human resources nightmare that would require his personal attention.

"Can you just—" I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. I truly believed there was a decent bloke somewhere inside Ron. He had major issues, but we all had some of those, right? Everyone I knew had something that still haunted them, especially after the war. He had moments when he was downright— noble. It was just really hard to see them right now.

Very hard to see.

Buried arse-deep in mud hard to see—

A blur of dark fabric suddenly whooshed by me in double as I stood in the doorway. An instinctive need to dive under the closest desk followed shortly after. Two figures, dressed head-to-toe in the deepest, darkest black, glided past me with an eerie lack of discernable footsteps. One, I recognised from almost a decade of mingled fear and loathing. It didn't matter that I knew that the man wasn't the monster I had always imagined him to be— okay, well, he was kind of a bastard— but he wasn't truly evil incarnate. The other I recognised because after a year of living in a tent on the run together, I could recognise that hair from anywhere. That wild mane of curly hair, the slant of the shoulders— I just knew.

The restricted access Auror ward of St. Mungo's was an entire floor all by itself. The only people who ever got a bed in there were Aurors, hit wizards and witches, Unspeakables, and high-ranking ministry officials who had been injured while on the job. You didn't get admitted to this floor if you didn't have specific credentials and a very good reason to be there, and watching Kingsley's personal guard walk by without him meant Kingsley was in his secured office surrounded by Aurors, and Hermione and Professor Snape had other official business to attend to.

I tried to think of the man by his first name, but I utterly failed— yet again. Once a professor, always a professor; he was stuck with being Professor Snape forever unless my brain finally managed to somehow reprogram itself. But I knew myself well enough to know that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

One thing was for sure. I had to get Ron out of here as quickly as possible, lest there be a really, really ugly confrontation to compound the growing list of problems Ron was having this week. I owed it to Ron to at least try to do so. He was my best mate. He did save my life from the Horcrux trying to drown me. The little itch in the back of mind not so kindly pointed out that we had also tried to obliterate each other in a wand fight in the middle of the woods. It was the Horcrux, I told myself.

Sadly, I wasn't the only one to have noticed the blur of distinctively bushy hair, and Ron had pushed by me. "Mione, here?" he blurted. "I have to go talk to her and get her to listen to me!"

I tugged on his arm. "No, Ron," I urged. "Not here!"

"What do you mean, not here?" Ron blurted. "She's finally come out from her little hiding place, and I'm not going to let this opportunity slip away from me! Wait, is that—?"

"Snape," Ronald growled, his voice instantly going low and dark with fury. "What the hell is that greasy git doing here with my 'Mione?"

Would it be frowned on if I happened to stupefy my best mate in the middle of a hospital ward? Even if it was for his own good— or at least the preservation of his life? How much paperwork would I inflict on myself?

"Let idiots dig their own holes," Proudfoot always said. "Don't let them drag you into them, either."

As much as I would usually agree with Proudfoot every other time, this was Ron. Ron was the undisputed master of saying things in the heat of the moment that he would later be eating his own trainers over shortly after.

My hand slid to where my wand was hidden in the sleeve of my robes.

Sorry, Ron. This is for your own good.

Just as I was carefully moving forward to stun my best mate, which I swear was for his own good, a healer with an incoming gurney from the intake zone blew by me, knocking me aside and sending me sprawling into an instrument table.

"Sorry, friend," the healer muttered as he zoomed by.

Damnation! Ron had already disappeared down the hall before I could even straighten myself up again.

All I heard was, "Oi! Snape! Get your slimy Death Eater hands off my 'Mione!"

Yeah, I definitely should have stunned him when I had the chance.

War Hero Ronald Weasley Told to Bugger Off!

War Hero Ronald Weasley has had quite a week. Early this week, the war hero woke up married to a truly shocking number of witches due to the current pregnancy-and-marriage laws. Ronald Bilius Weasley is currently married to both Pansy Weasley (née Parkinson) and Lavender Weasley (née Brown). While we had received word that Auror trainee Weasley had also married via impregnation to his fellow Auror trainee, Bridget Mayflower, it has been discovered that the records at the Ministry were tampered with and that matter is currently under investigation.

Thanks to our Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, an investigation into the trainee's records revealed certain suspect inconsistencies, and agents were sent to confirm this via her medical records at St Mungo's. Auror trainee Mayflower relief was palpable. When we asked Trainee Mayflower for her reaction to this discovery, her response was, "Oh, thank Merlin! I was ready to take responsibility for going to that horrid celebration, but I wasn't ready for marriage, babies, and all of the headaches that go along with it! I just wish I knew why someone would want to make it look like I was pregnant. Who does that kind of thing?"

Ronald Weasley's two confirmed wives, Pansy and Lavender, apparently got into a rather spectacular catfight when Lavender found Ronald in bed with his other wife, Pansy. Lavender is currently awaiting her trial in front of the Wizengamot, and Pansy is currently at St Mungo's receiving treatment for multiple dueling lacerations and potions to regrow the significant amount of hair that Lavender apparently pulled out by the roots. It has been confirmed that both witches are carrying Ronald's unborn children, so the double marriage is legally binding. As to whether either of these witches will survive this rather unconventional arrangement, well, only time will tell.

To add to the drama, Auror trainee Weasley apparently confronted two of Minister Shacklebolt's personal guards while on other business at St Mungo's. Weasley called Severus Snape a "slimy Death Eater," called his new wife, Hermione Granger-Snape, a foul epithet that we cannot print as a family newspaper, and had "the unmitigated gall to lay his hands on her" as stated by Healer Dunworthy, who happened to be on duty at the time of this unfortunate incident. Other witnesses of the ensuing altercation expressed that Auror trainee Weasley's actions were "no way for a wizard to treat a witch, most especially the wife of another wizard and that "such disgusting behaviour is highly inappropriate for one who would seek to make a career in magical law enforcement."

Severus Snape challenged Ronald Weasley to a duel of honour for daring to cast undue aspersions upon his wife's character. When the smoke finally cleared, Severus Snape was the clear victor. Rather than the traditional taking of his opponent's life, Mr Snape demanded that Weasley "stay the hell away from my wife in perpetuity or I will not be so lenient should there be a next time."

"There has been more than enough loss of life in our world due to the lengthy Voldemort wars," Mr Snape stated as the results of the duel were officially recorded. "All he needs to do is stay away from my wife, and I will consider this distasteful matter settled."

"He's Imperiused her!" Trainee Weasley insisted after being physically removed from the premises. "There is no way she'd marry that horrible, greasy Slytherin git!"

When asked about the aftermath of the duel, Hermione Granger-Snape just shook her head rather sadly.

"I never thought I'd hear those words from Ronald, of all people," she told us. "I guess it just proves that growing up with someone doesn't always mean you truly know them."

Mr Weasley is currently on suspension from the Auror training program due to the altercation, and he has been required to submit himself to a registered mind healer for a battery of mental health examinations within the week. He is currently under house arrest, under bond of Mr and Mrs Arthur and Molly Weasley. How this will affect his ability to provide for his two newlywed wives and their future children is currently unknown.

"Some people are just not cut out to be Aurors," Auror Proudfoot stated. "You see it a lot when you train people. They have the drive for justice but don't know how to successfully interact with people, and being a good Auror requires a respectable proficiency in both skills. Sometimes, an Auror has such great skill on one area that it overshadows their lack of people skills, but now, especially after the war, people skills are a very big part of our job. Just because you don't make it as an Auror doesn't mean that you're a failure. It just means the job isn't for you. Not everyone can be an Auror, just like not everyone can be a Cursebreaker or a Hit Wizard. Me? I really wanted to be dragon trainer. As it turns out, I was way better at being an Auror. We all have to assess our personal strengths to find our best fit in life."

"Being an Auror is an awful lot of hard work, and it's more than a little stressful," Proudfoot continued. "We have crap hours sometimes, we keep working until the job is done, which often takes us away from our families when we'd rather be home helping raise our kids right. Our partners see us far more than our wives or husbands, and we usually end up sleeping in the barracks at the office instead of in our own beds at home. My wife is a very special kind of person. She shares me with my job, and she still loves me in the morning. That's what happens when you marry an Auror. You marry the wizard or the witch and their career as well. My wife is a truly special lady, and I greatly admire Mr Snape for keeping his temper and self-control during that duel. I'm not sure I could have done half as well in his shoes. Insult my lady and I'll rip you apart, you can be very certain of that."

When fellow war hero, Harry Potter, was asked to comment on the situation at St Mungo's, all he would say was, "I don't know what's going on in my best mate's head right now. I don't even think he does. What I do know is that there is a good bloke in there somewhere, but war— it really changes some people. Sometimes, we see enemies everywhere. We wake up in the dead of night with our wands clutched tightly in our hands, sweating, screaming, or thinking the ones we love are dead and gone. We desperately want someone to blame or some way to justify how we feel, but the truth is, there is no right way to feel after a war. Sometimes, we just need time to figure it all out. I hope that time will allow Ron find his own way there. He saved my life, and I saved his. Hermione saved us both. Severus Snape saved us all. We survived, but we were all terribly afraid in some way. Please give Ron the time and space to figure it all out. It's something he has been too busy to do up to this point. I think Hermione made the best choice in the end— asking for privacy and a bit of time to sort things out. Ron may not be asking for it himself, but I would ask you to please do so on his behalf. Remember this: You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space."

When asked what keeps the heroic Harry Potter grounded, the wizard smiled warmly.

"I have a wonderful witch who bakes me chocolate biscuits in the shape of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," he said with lop-sided grin. "We rarely see eye-to-eye, but we always agree to disagree. We always love each other in the end. She is my balance, my anchor, and my voice of reason when I get full of myself. I couldn't ask for anything more."

When asked what a Crumple-Horned Snorkack looks like, Mr Potter replied with a rather mischievous grin, "Like the biscuit."

A/N: Gardens don't plant themselves, but damn it would be easier if they did.

A/N II: The last part of Harry's comments about Ron were a quote from the late singer Johnny Cash.

"You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space."