Summary: [HG/SS] Sirius Black spent years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, but when he commits another crime against Hermione, no one was there to see it. Unfortunately, many people would rather trust Sirius than Severus, and Sirius is taking full advantage of this. [AU]

A/N: Damn you, plot bunnies! Stop plaguing me. You are like mosquito bites I have to itch!

Trigger Warning: Attempted rape in first chapter.

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose and Dutchgirl01

Nine Tails of Retribution

Chapter One

A Wolf in Dog's Clothing

"We only confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no big ones."

― François de La Rochefoucauld

Grimmauld Place felt dark, dank, cold, and felt terribly unlived in. The Order wasn't supposed to meet up here for another couple of days yet, but Harry had assured her that he would be showing up just as soon as Ron and his brothers could break him out of his prison-esque room at the Dursley's. For people who had never once displayed much of an interest in keeping Harry around, they sure put up quite a fight when he really wanted to leave.

No one seemed to be here, and I shivered a little, carefully stepping out of the musty floo with my beaded bag in hand— my pride and joy— that Minerva had taught me how to sew, how to weave the endless expansion spells into each stitch, and literally stuff my entire library into it. There were, to be fair, more just than my extensive collection of books inside it, but I had enjoyed seeing how much I could stuff into it while the purse still looked like nothing was inside at all.

Ever since my parents had died in such a horrific freak accident—the train they had been riding crashed in a tunnel of all things—Minerva had become like my mother and my father rolled into one. And for anyone who believed she didn't have the bollocks to be effective at both roles, well, they didn't know my mam very well. Officially, I still kept the Granger name, at least until I graduated, but not because I wasn't very proud to be a McGonagall. The stern Scottish witch had done nothing but do right by me. She was fair, solid, and loving foundation. She just knew that I wanted to graduate a Granger and pay that final tribute to my parents' memory.

On parchment, buried deep in the innermost bowels of the Ministry, hidden and witnessed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, Amelia Bones, and Alastor Moody, were my formal wizarding adoption papers. Emblazoned on my back was the ornate tattoo of a Scottish thistle and the McGonagall crest that had appeared the very moment the ink had set on the parchment, sealed in the magic that had locked me to Minerva in every way that mattered.

I had given my parent's old house to an elite branch of Aurors to be used as a safe house. Gods help anyone who came there looking to give me any trouble. The last time I'd been there, Alastor had met me at the door, and he had that way about him that made you think you were in trouble, he had proof, and you were going to be very, very sorry for whatever it was you had done. Even if you had no idea what you could possibly have done— he was a remarkably prickly sort. My secret, however, was that when no one was looking, I would hug him tight and bury my nose in his heavy leather coat and bask in the scent of his distinctive woodsy aftershave. The game was getting away with it for as long as I could before someone might chance to notice, and he would send me scrambling off in a hurry with a series of sharp words and a madly whirling eye. It was our little secret.

In the summer, when I was supposedly at home with my parents, I spent it in Minerva's summer house on the Scottish coast, and when I wasn't there or getting in mam's hair, she let me shadow my "friends" at the Aurors' Office. Moody would toss random files on my desk to see what I could make of them— testing me to see if noticed all of the things I was supposed to. If I missed something, I'd get properly groused at for being inobservant and lacking at "constant vigilance," but when I found what I was supposed to there would be this moment when he cracked a wide smile and clapped me on the back. He'd take me out to dinner to this quaint little Scottish home-cooking establishment in the middle-of-nowhere. He told me I wasn't a real "Scottish wench" unless I could eat a proper haggis, neeps, and tatties. I had to recite the "Address to a Haggis" and sing Auld Lang Syne. When I managed to do all the above, I was allowed to bring my mam back a full haggis, complete with stomach, and get the stuffing squeezed out of me by a very proud Minerva.

My crowning achievement, at least in the opinions of the other Aurors who would "find" things for me to learn, was the ability to swear fluently in Scottish. Of course, they didn't tell me what they had been teaching me, and when Moody heard what they were teaching me, he practically threw the lot of them into the holding cell. The damage was already done, however, because I recognised every single word Moody called them.

"Don't ye be repeating any of that to your mam," Moody growled at me.

I had shaken my head frantically in response to the mere thought of such a thing.

No way! I knew my mam well enough to know exactly what would happen if she ever caught me cursing in ANY language, and there were very few places I could have picked up Scottish, especially such a comprehensive schooling in profanities more becoming of a Glasgow dockworker.

The chill of Grimmauld Place, though, was like walking into a meat freezer, and I suddenly felt quite alone.

Pop.

The soft sound of house-elf Apparition signalled the arrival of Kreacher. He was carrying a tray with a large mug of frothy hot chocolate and a plate of fresh-baked biscuits. They smelled— absolutely glorious.

"Kreacher brings young mistress' favourite drink," the house-elf announced. He gently set the polished silver tray down on the side table, moving the drink and the biscuits over to me. He made the tray disappear, stoked the fire to life in the fireplace, and brought me an antique-looking quilt from the quilt rack in the corner. Someone had taken very good care of it. It was faded, but the stitches were still tight and strong and the edges were not frayed at all.

"Thank you, Kreacher," I said, comfortably snuggling beneath the quilt.

It was much warmer down in the kitchen, thanks to the fireplace. Kreacher was always close by, and the house-elf was always kind to me whenever other people weren't around. Even the portraits, which normally chattered or screamed at me when others were around, remained blissfully quiet. Down in the kitchen, I was close to the back gardens, and I had helped Severus set up potions laboratory in one of the many cellars.

There were a lot of stories about Professor Snape, but my relationship with him had drastically changed since I had been adopted by Minerva. As her daughter, I got to see quite a few "real" faces once the students left Hogwarts. He taught me how to brew healing potions, liniments, salves, and all things you-might-possibly-need-and-have-to-brew-them-over-a-campfire-sometime. He was actually a very practical teacher when he wasn't in front of an entire class of "raging dunderheads." He had been drilling me on how to shield my mind almost from the first night I had come back as Minerva's daughter, telling me that I should be practicing it faithfully until I could hold my shields up even in my sleep.

He had a dry sense of humour that practically oozed a well-honed edge of disdain for most human beings in general. He missed nothing. When he caught me trying to hide something— even something more embarrassing than a true secret— he would scold me for having "the pitiful shields typical of a cheeky Gryffindor." He knew just how much it flustered me, and he knew I'd refuse to let it go until I got better at hiding my thoughts from him. He taught me that most people project their thoughts, unknowing. The test of a true Legilimens was being able to read the thoughts buried deep below that. The test of the Occlumens was to make the Legilimens believe they were reading those thoughts. Most people thought it was all about blocking — but if that was all you did, it would be like covering up a door with a bookshelf. The door was still there, and the skilled person would know to check behind the shelf.

Often times, when Minerva was off doing all the important things she had to do for Hogwarts and the Order, it was Severus that watched over me. He, much like Moody, would give me things to work on, scold me when I failed at learning the proper lesson, and then give me that fraction of a nod and quirk of his lips to tell me I had done well. For Severus, that was like standing on top of a hill with a really large flag.

When it was just us, I was permitted to call him by his first name. It was my reward for salvaging an entire batch of Wolfsbane potion that had been contaminated by someone who had broken into the wrong cabinet looking for potion ingredients for their N.E.W.T. level classes. They had, despite being N.E.W.T. level, stirred the potion, foolishly thinking it wouldn't affect the potion (and tell them what it was.) Severus had used the infuriating situation as a teaching project to show me precisely how one stupid event could ruin an entire month's worth of hard work.

He was ready to run a trace on the magical imprint of the culprit, string them up by their toes and staple them to the rafters, but after I had begged him to let me attempt to fix it. It had taken me a week of tears, blood, cursing fluently in Scottish Gaelic, cursing in Latin, and an ungodly scream that had sent Severus running into the room at top, wand out, thinking I was being brutally slain by one of Hagrid's 'armless creatures.

He stared at me, then the cauldron of now-perfect Wolfsbane Potion, and then caught me just as I passed out in exhaustion. I woke up on his settee with an old copy of Advanced Potion Making that had extensive notes written in the margins by a very familiar hand, a blank, leather-bound journal, and— the most coveted and supposedly non-existent apprenticeship pin of Severus Snape. It was shaped like a normal button, blank upon first glance, but when I held it in my hand— I knew.

He said nothing. He didn't have to. I was all in.

Minerva hadn't had to ask me about training to be an Animagus either. That was my favourite summertime learning activity. I hadn't managed to make the shift, not yet, but mam was certain it would be soon. She had already registered me, preemptively, so if I did make the shift in the future without the ability to shift back, I wouldn't get in trouble for being an illegal Animagus.

No daughter of Transfiguration Mistress Minerva McGonagall was ever going to be a "bloody illegal Animagus."

On that same note, Severus also informed me, "No apprentice of mine is going to be a bleeding illegal Animagus."

I was seriously outnumbered if I wanted to be a "witless Gryffindor blithely charging into into the maelstrom of mayhem, just like the imbecilic Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Massive-Pain-In-Our-Collective-Arses". As a master, Severus was an highly exacting man with every specific standards of quality, and I will confess that I literally fell asleep mid-brew to find myself waking up back on Severus' settee once again, with a pot of tea and a large platter of sandwiches and biscuits waiting nearby. Lessons would begin again when I was properly caffeinated and fed, and sleep would happen with or without my permission. Sometimes my mam would arrive in the middle of the night, and she would cast quilts over us both, leave us a fresh pot of tea in stasis, make sure our projects were properly tended, and then give us both hell about it in the morning.

It was hard going back to normal class after growing into a relationship that inspired me to participate in a highly-competitive teacher-student creative insult flinging contest. I understood, from night after night of Occlumency and Legilimency lessons, that he had an image to uphold, and the image was not a nice one. He was not a particularly nice man, and sometimes I wondered if all of the small kindnesses were a merely a hallucination or a dream. He would snarl at me during class, forcing me into detention with him, but then, when the door closed behind me, all of those reservations would immediately fade away. The Severus I knew— my master— was back again.

I never told his secrets, and he had never had to ask. His teaching me Occlumency was all I needed to know. He knew there would come a time when I would have to hide something important in the only place I could never be parted from: my mind.

"Mrowl," Crooks jumped up into my lap and purred, kneading my lap before flopping in it. He sprawled across my lap like a noisy log. His breath smelled like salmon, and I knew that Kreacher had tended the hungry half-Kneazle with the same attentiveness he always shown me, at least, when no one else was around. I never knew why Kreacher's demeanor went from such tender consideration to spewing hate and calling me a Mudblood. I thought, perhaps, when I was the only one here that maybe the house was lonely. Maybe, I was all the house had, and it was going to treat me nice when that was the case.

Truly, I had no idea. I could only guess.

I knew that Kreacher was far more considerate than anyone ever gave him credit for. He had brought me this couch to sleep on, knowing that I liked to hang out in the kitchen when no one else was here. When others showed up, the couch would disappear, leaving no telltale evidence behind of his kindness.

The flames suddenly rose and crackled in the floo, and I tensed as a verdant green took over the warmer orange tongues of flame. A tall, dark, and pale figure stumbled out and my arms caught him just in time.

"Master?" I whispered softly.

I laid him down on the sofa, frowning as blood dripped heavily from his arm and chest. I summoned my bag to me, pulling out the cleverly hidden kit within my bag. From that, I pulled out my bottles of various potions and healing balms.

Severus' black eyes had swallowed up the whites, and his breathing came in harsh, painful gasps. His black robes were damp and sticky with blood. The strong coppery odor caused me to wrinkle my nose with distaste.

I worked quickly, Accio-ing a wash basin to my call, filling it with water, and warming with a quick spell. As an apprentice, the trace had been removed from me. Apprenticeships were very old-school agreements. The master was responsible for the apprentice, and between my mam and Severus Snape, no one was ever going to question about me getting away with anything. Ever.

Masters and apprentices were a sacred bond. There were many laws that didn't apply to masters and their apprenticeships because of just how sacred that bond really was. I hadn't realised this until my mam told me exactly why Severus hadn't taken an apprentice in all the years he had a potions master. He was responsible for me— as assuredly as my mam. His job was to teach and protect me, even if that meant protecting me against myself. My job, as apprentice was to trust him to do that and do exactly as I was told. I had to trust that what he was telling me to do had a valid reason. He had to trust that I'd do as I was told. We both had to trust each other. He had taken a big chance in trusting me. In taking me on, I had left him— vulnerable.

Bonds of trust aside, he was wounded, and I had all the potions and bandages. I stripped him down, carefully cleaning his wounds. I chanted the magic that sanitized possible Dark magic-infected wounds, and I smeared the rather smelly paste that I knew would mend his wounds without a scar. I traced intricate healing runes upon his skin, blowing on them gently to activate the magic, hoping it would be enough. Suddenly, I knew why he had drilled all of these things into me until I could do it in my sleep. He knew that there would come a day when I would have to tend to such wounds, and he also knew it would most likely be his own life that lay in the balance.

I wrapped his wounds with soft cloth bandages to keep the balms and ointments on his skin and the dirt away. I sucked in a vial of the potion I knew he would need, rolling it around in my mouth to activate it as I thought the words of the spell that would reinforce the magic within the potion. I pressed my mouth to his, filtered the potion little by little into his mouth, using my hand to gently stroke his throat and massage it so he would swallow. I felt the powerful magic flare to life as the last of the potion left my mouth, and I pulled away, trying not to be too disgusted by the icky aftertaste of the potion.

I cleaned and mended his robes with a quick spell, then redressed him, knowing that he felt very uncomfortable without his multiple layers— his many, many layers of unrelieved black.

It occurred to me, as my mind sort of sank into a soul-deep weariness, that had I not been there, Severus may not have made it to the laboratory to heal himself. The thought troubled me. What if he had died? Had something happened unexpectedly that had tipped off You-Know-Who, or did the Dark Lord enjoy torturing his minions as part of his normal practice?

That didn't seem like a logical business practice to me.

Business practice?

Severus was wearing off on me. There had to be a reason or benefit to be found, for me, in everything. The other professors at Hogwarts said I was like a sponge. Given the opportunity, I gleaned and soaked up all sorts of knowledge and habits. I'd memorised Filius' swish and flick down to the tone of his squeaky voice. I'd picked up Professor Vector's way of tilting her head when she peered at an equation, and I'd even picked up the same feline scowl of my mam when she caught someone doing something she didn't approve of. Much to Minerva's amusement, I'd even picked up Alastor Moody's way of standing like I was offended and suspicious of everyone and everything.

I had meant to stay awake and keep watch over my fallen master, but exhaustion decided to suck me into the darkness of Oblivion. I woke to the light touch of a hand on my head and the familiar brush of fingers in my hair.

"Master," I whispered. Strange, calling him my master seemed more intimate than his given name. Perhaps, it was because of our secret— our partnership and bond. Even though Minerva knew and even approved, it wasn't something I ever really spoke of.

Fathomless black eyes met mine as he winced with a hint of pain. He said nothing, but he never had to. I was used to what he didn't say. "Thank you," he whispered.

I almost fell over. Verbal praise? My jaw dropped; my eyes widened.

His long, elegant fingers clacked my mouth shut. "You look like a fish," he added dryly.

I practically burst into tears, pressing my head against his robes in relief while trying not to injure him further. I pressed my fingers to his left arm, silently begging the question. Most of the wounds had been there. His skin had resembled raw beef that had been dragged behind the Hogwarts Express.

He nodded silently, wincing as I unwrapped the bandages to change the dressing. Angry pink scars had formed under the ointment and the compress. I cleaned it off, carefully avoiding completely debriding his skin even more than it had already done all on its own.

His opposite hand stilled mine in mid wipe. He stared at his arm as though trying to bore into it with a drill.

"Let me clean it, Master," I said, wiping the compress debris off his arm. The compress was a project of my own making. I had spent hours meditating in Pomona Sprout's greenhouses, trying to combine Arithmancy with Herbology for the perfect compress. Severus had encouraged it, saying it would make an ideal final mastery project if it worked, and Professor Sprout had been more than eager to teach me everything I could absorb about her favourite plants. After finding all of the plants that I would need, I spent months with Poppy Pomfrey, learning about what was needed to absorb and neutralise poisons, Dark magic wounds, and the all-encompassing "very bad things" that came with war, Dark wizards, Dark Lords, et cetera. When placed on a wound, the paste was thick and cool, a mixture of green and gold mashed herbs, magic, and a healing base to hold the paste together. I had balanced in ground bezoar as the basic poison-absorbing ingredient, but it was a combination of other plants from the greenhouse, magic, and potions. The main ingredient, however, or at least the ingredient that a bit hard to come by, was unicorn blood— freely given.

Now, if you read the lore on unicorns, you'd think they were the purest animals the Light had to offer, and they were— to a point. The thing was, unicorns didn't treat each other very nicely. Let me amend that by saying, the stallions liked to skewer each other, and they would tear into each other like Siamese fighting fish on sight. My master had shown me probably one of the biggest secrets he had on one chilly autumn morning— real, live, honest-to-Merlin, unicorns.

The Dark Forest had about a score of mated unicorn pairs nestled deep within its darkened woods, and they all guarded a very particular patch of forest. There was a lush, green clearing set in the middle, about an hour's hike from Hogwarts. It was neutral ground, at least for grazing purposes, and the peace was kept, usually, by the mares. They didn't tolerate the violence when they were bringing their foals out to graze, and female unicorns did not have the same "issues" as the males. Sometimes, the males would get so irritated by the truce, that they would attempt to skewer each other OUTSIDE of the peaceful clearing.

Here lay the irony: unicorn blood and the touch of a unicorn horn was purifying and healing, but not to the actual unicorn.

Severus taught me how to sit quietly in the clearing and get to know the unicorns. The mares would let their foals come up and snuffle me. A few would try to eat my master's hair. Others would romp around wildly, and one day the foals got a little too excited and one kicked me in the head as another impaled me on its tiny, pristine horn.

I woke to one of the mares pressing her horn to my head, and another was pressing hers to my rather embarrassing unicorn horn impalement. The foals, whickered nearby, looking entirely abashed by their the unfortunate results of their behaviour. After the healing was completed, the mares lipped me tenderly on the shoulder with their velvet noses. That was when I discovered the tiny golden mark where that equally tiny unicorn horn had unintentionally shanked me. It had healed completely, but the scar was gold. Severus told me later that it was the unicorn's mark of acceptance. I'd be able to come out there without him from then on. The mares had marked me as worthy of healing.

From then on, whenever I visited, I tended their wounds as they had tended mine, patching up the slashes and stabs they gave each other as they dickered over territory and mares. In return, they allowed me to collect small samples of blood before sealing their wounds. The mark from the mares had also given me something I hadn't been expecting— acceptance by the centaurs.

The centaur patrols would often find me walking through, and they would accompany me there and back, saying that for me to be harmed would be a great slight to their honour, especially when the unicorns had accepted me. A large palomino centaur, who introduced himself as Firenze, taught me all about unicorn blood. It had the power to heal someone even on the very brink of death, but if it was taken without the unicorn's permission, the price of that healing was often far worse than death. He did not say what it was, but I knew from his dire expression that it was something so horrible as to be utterly unspeakable.

Fortunately, the amount of unicorn blood needed to make the compress was pretty minimal, and the stallions shed more than enough trying to skewer each other to death every breeding season. What was uncommon was the mutually beneficial relationship that Severus (and now myself) had with them. I had always wondered how he had gained such a gift in the first place, but every time I wanted to ask, I thought better of it. That he was willing to share the unicorns with me was enough. That they had accepted me was a gift beyond measure.

Severus gave a strangled cry, and that shook me out of my reverie. He held my hand before I could finish cleaning his arm and putting more compress on it.

"It's healing nicely," I promised him. "I swear it looked a lot worse last night."

He stared at me, shaking his head. "It's gone," he said, his eyes looking almost frightened.

"You'll probably scar a little," I apologised. "It was really bad."

His hand trembled. "Hermione," he whispered.

I knew something significant was going on. He usually called me anything but my given name.

"I did my best, I swear," I blurted quickly. "You were bleeding everywhere—"

Something in his expression stopped me from spilling my guts.

"The Mark," he whispered, voice almost too low to hear. "It's gone."

I frowned. Had he marked his arm with something he had to know? Had I washed it off when I cleaned his wound? Merlin, did I fuck something up really bad?"

"I'm sorry," I moaned, preparing to grovel. "I didn't mean to!" I was convinced he was going to give me that expression of complete disdain that he usually held for his other, normal, students. No worse, the expression he gave Neville for befouling his classroom by spectacularly blowing up or melting yet another cauldron.

Severus was convulsing— no, his shoulders were shaking. He was in pain, but he was— laughing? It was a deep, throaty, utterly intoxicating sound. He was obviously still in pain, yet it didn't seem to bother him all that much. It was so out of character that I felt like I needed to check to see if I had caused a bad reaction with the combined potions, salves, and ointments.

"Master?" I whispered, contemplating how I would restrain my master if he really, really didn't want to be restrained.

He turned to me, his black eyes glistening with overwhelming emotion. "Hermione, you are the only one who could do such grand things more by accident than by design." His pale fingers brushed my forever rebellious mane of hair back behind my ears. "While all the world just tries to blow themselves up, you— you glorious, brilliant girl— turn my entire world upside-down."

He slumped, exhausted, and I quickly reapplied the compress and ointments, carefully bandaging up this arm once more. I cleaned up the remnants of the old compress, frowning as I saw the gold and green colour had soaked up a foul-smelling, black nastiness. What had he been into? He'd obviously been beaten, possibly tortured, but his arm had looked as though someone had tried to shave it off. What the hell had happened?

I pulled the quilt over my master and sighed wearily. Healing was a tough business, and I had so much more respect for Madam Pomfrey for being able to do it day after day, child after child, one medical crisis after another. The sheer amount of stress of holding someone's life in her hands must be staggering.

I had always enjoyed learning from Madam Pomfrey. She had enjoyed having an extra pair of hands around, and I don't think she was complaining that I was absorbing every bit of what she was teaching me, either. I think she was hoping that reaching me would help Harry and Ron in a pinch, and maybe she was right. The three of us practically had nameplates over our usual beds in the hospital wing.

I cleaned up the mess from dressing Severus' wounds, forced myself to my feet, and put some of the leftover tea and biscuits in stasis by the table near his head. For once, it would be him waking up to tea and biscuits and not me. I felt a strange tingle on my head, as if my ears were swiveling to pinpoint sounds and a strange twitch of muscles on my posterior. It was decidedly odd, but considering the oddball position I had been holding myself in while trying to deal with the wounds, I was thankful my much-abused spine hadn't totally given out on me.

I relinquished my comfy spot by the fire to Severus, feeling he deserved a nice, warm sleep after whatever brutality he had experienced that night at Voldemort's hands. I didn't know all of the details, but I wasn't a completely oblivious person. I knew that there had been something significant on his arm, though he had always been very careful to keep it covered. Apparently, I had somehow done something to it— or something had happened to his arm, and I had healed it— but whatever it might have been, a great weight had clearly been lifted off of his shoulders. I would just have to wait for him to tell me what it was.

The fireplace in the parlour had instantly come to vibrant life as if by magic, and I silently thanked Kreacher for tending it so well. Warm blankets and a pillow lay on the larger davenport, and I gratefully flopped onto it with a jaw-cracking yawn. I snuffled into the extra fluffy pillow, savouring the scent of herbs and woodsmoke that still lingered on it.

Blackness, like a long and cherished friend, enveloped me almost instantly, dragging me into the peace of Oblivion.

"Hey, Kitten, you here all alone?"

I opened one groggy eye to find Sirius Black staring at me from across the room. The stench of smoke and stale beer assaulted my nose long before I recognised his black leather biker's jacket and spiky black hair. Where Harry's always looked as though his mother had somehow mated with a mop, Sirius' hair always looked like he'd stuck his finger into an electrical socket— or had been out flying a kite in a lightning storm. His hair always looked stiff and strangely arrogant, as if even his hair was telling you that you were absolutely nothing to him without him ever having to say a single word.

I realised that my comfy pillow had been exchanged for one that looked like it'd been chewed on by animals, and the quilt that had been so carefully set out for me was exchanged with what looked like Molly Weasley's thirds or fourths. The portrait was screaming from above the stairs—her voice terribly shrill and grating— letting fly with a wide variety of profanities about "filthy mudbloods and half-breeds," "stains of shame and dishonour," and "not in my Lord father's house." Strange, whenever I was there alone, the portrait remained quiet, but it sure happened whenever Sirius was around. Thinking back, it hadn't happened when I was tending my master, either. I really should ask Kreacher about it, but I didn't want to offend him. He was always vicious and nasty when others were around, but I didn't want him to be that way when I was alone with him. I valued that bit of tenderness and peace while I was here— until it became a nuclear battleground.

Kreacher had popped in with tea, but Sirius took one swig and spat it out directly in the house-elf's face. "What is this swill?" he snarled, swiftly kicking Kreacher halfway down the hall with one booted foot. Then the tea service went flying and subsequently crashed across the battered, hardwood floor spilling tea, milk, and sugar everywhere. The house-elf mumbled something that ended in "honoured to serve the most Noble and Ancient House of Black" as he disappeared.

"Sorry about that, Kitten," Sirius said. "I'm afraid the little bastard would try to poison you if he could.

My eyes darted, and I pulled the somewhat moth-eaten blanket fully over myself, despite being fully clothed. Kreacher had always made me freshly baked biscuits and tea that seemed like sky between the branches. I had never once had a bad meal from him. Sometimes, he would bring me the most delicate and savoury foods like roast duck with mint sauce and even the tiny game hens with sides of honeyed carrot medallions and some sort of casserole that tasted like absolute heaven. All of that would change whenever any others were about, though. The food would taste like stale cardboard, and the drinks downright unpalatable. I never managed to get a mug of hot chocolate or a single kind word out of Kreacher when there were others in the house. I was lucky if I got a stale piece of bread with no mould on it.

I had a vague memory of my latest dream— something about the forest, odd yipping cries, basking in the moonlight, and a strange craving for wild berries and random rodents. Honestly, I wasn't sure where that one had come from. Well, short of sheer lack of sleep. I'd once dreamed I was flying over the Forbidden Forest with Fawkes, and then dream had changed into one of me riding on a magic carpet with Fluffy barking ferociously and chasing after me. I'd had another when Ron was dressed up in a frothy pink dress, brandishing a mewing kitten plate over his family assets, and professing his love for Quidditch to Harry on the pitch at Hogwarts like one would profess undying love to a significant other. There were surreal ones, such as Draco being surprisingly friendly and studying with me in the library, Neville excelling in potions, and Seamus talking in Chinese. Such odd dreams were commonplace for me. Sane dreams only worried me. I'm glad Trelawney never got wind of them. I'm pretty sure death, doom, destruction, and an ominous cry of "We're all going to die!" would be tops on her list.

One thing my dreams taught me was that I never, ever, wanted to be in a situation where seeing Ronald Bilius Weasley's bits was anywhere close to becoming a possibility. Lavender could bloody well have him. Forever and ever and with my full blessings. Please, for the love of Merlin, take him away far, far from my traumatized brain. To be fair, I never wanted to see Harry's, Neville's, or most anyone else's, either, but I didn't have to dream about such things to set that devout wish into stone.

As I came to the realization that I was alone in the house with Sirius Black, I realised my comfort level had not improved so much as it had distinctly lowered. I had met him in perhaps the most dangerous situation I could have been in: huddled in the Shrieking Shack, thinking I had been cornered by a murderer. Then there was the unexpected greeting between Professor Lupin and Sirius Black. Suddenly, Peter Pettigrew was outed as the betrayer— Wormtail, also known as Ron's pet, Scabbers the rat. Even after Sirius had thrown himself at the transformed Professor Lupin to save Harry, I had never felt completely at ease with him.

But the reason was eluding me. It was a mere feeling, nothing more.

I really shouldn't think so badly of him. Crookshanks had helped him— seemed to trust him. Why, then, did I still have this feeling that things somehow weren't right with him? Maybe— maybe it was the alcohol. My father once told me that he didn't drink alcohol because he had seen all-too-well what drinking did to others, and he didn't like what he saw. Moody, who had quite a reputation for keeping firewhisky in his flask at all times, had actually let me take an experimental swig, much to the horror of Kingsley, who had been watching us. Moody had just laughed as he told me to tell poor Kingsley what it really was: Muggle ginger beer. Sweet as a summer tonic and enough kick to make your eyes go slightly crossed. Auror Kingsley had laughed himself into a wheezing, choking wreck of a wizard, clapping Moody heartily on the back before finally dragging himself off to work.

I had found myself in a lot of similar moments— getting to see the real people behind their professional masks. Normally, it was the kindness and warmth behind the mask, but something inside seemed to be trying to warn me that Sirius wasn't like that at all. There was something vaguely sinister hiding behind that mask of friendliness.

Constant vigilance.

What would Moody tell me to do?

"Lass, your gut is the first thing that will tell you something is wrong," he had told me as I fussed over a practice case file. "It will also tell you when something is right. You just have to practice listening to it enough to know the difference."

"This one," I had answered, pointing to the kindly-looking old wizard smoking a pipe.

Alastor stared at me, his eye whirling around. "You think the kindly-looking old man smoking a pipe is the Dark wizard, and this bloke is not?" He pointed to the rough, scruffy-looking wizard covered in dirt.

"Yes," I had answered, feeling (and probably looking) quite stupid.

Moody narrowed his magical eye as the other one stared deep into my eyes. "Why?"

I remember swallowing very hard before answering him. "That guy is covered in magical soot. His story about mixing up two potions by accident and setting himself on fire was highly probable. The Auror on site said that he smelled like licorice and fresh paint, and that is the odor you get when mixing Pepperup and sobering potions. They also explode if not mixed together in the proper proportions."

I had pointed to the kindly-looking older man with the pipe. "This guy said he was watching Merlin Geese nesting on his pond during the murder. That's impossible. Merlin Geese nest in the middle of winter; that's why they were dubbed Merlin Geese. Their eggs hatching seemed to be a miracle because it happened in the middle of a particularly harsh winter. Rumour has it that they are called Merlin Geese because the magi-zoologists would say, 'Merlin, it's cold out there!' every time they'd come back inside after watching them. There is no way he could be watching Merlin Geese nesting in July."

Moody's eyes stared into me— his magical one coming to an eerie stop.

"You owe me fifty galleons, Alastor," Kingsley crowed from his desk, sporting a wide smile.

Moody's scowl turned into a broad Cheshire cat grin. "Good job, lass."

"You're never going to get her to take your job, Moody," Auror Savage snickered as he poured himself a coffee. "All you're doing is driving her into a promising career in academics, far, far away from the likes of us."

"Psh," Moody snorted. "Shut it, Savage."

Kingsley had won fifty galleons that day; I got a huge ice cream sundae. It had tasted like sweet, sweet victory.

Somehow, I knew that my gut feeling of Sirius Black was not going to win me a celebratory ice cream sundae. If I failed at it, I wasn't going to get a scowl and try again. I would probably end up being ostracised by most of the Order and, most of all, Harry and Ron.

"Harry says you are brilliant," Sirius said, staring at me with a strange intensity. "Remus seems to think you're are the brightest witch of your age."

I flushed. I liked praise, but being told I was the brightest witch of my age always felt like— sarcasm. Perhaps I was a little too used to Severus calling me "stupid girl" or "bloody know-it-all." Oddly enough, I didn't view such words as the insults that most thought they were. They were almost "that horrible nickname that you can't shake because you did something embarrassing to get it."

"My lovely young cousin seems to think your talent is wasted pining over someone who will never be able to appreciate a bird like you," Sirius said in a low, rolling purr. "Nursing a crush on someone, hrm?"

My eyes went wide. What? "No, there's— no one."

"Not that I don't blame you for going for older men," he continued with a smirk, "but you could do so much better than letting the likes of Snivellus touch you."

Wha— My mind was stalled, frozen in shock. I was like the deer cornered by a spotlight or the Niffler caught in the act with the crown jewels clutched between his paws. I had expected him to think I was crushing on Harry or Ron— anyone but my master. Who would have told him that I— wait, cousin?

Think, Hermione, think.

Outside of Hogwarts, where was the only place Severus was ever seen in public with me? Weekends and the summer months I always spent either with my mam at our summer cottage or neck deep in Auror files thanks to Aurors Moody and Kingsley. The only people who knew who was on the short, authorised list of people who could pick me up from the Auror's office were the Aurors themselves. The list was quite small: my mam, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Amelia Bones, and Severus Snape. They were also the only ones who knew about my adoption— well, aside from Gringott's. The goblins always addressed me as Miss McGonagall. Minerva was a known Order member, and for my safety, they wanted to keep the adoption on the low. I would graduate as Hermione Granger, and when the war was finally over and done, I could finally greet my mam as the mother she was and proudly call myself Hermione Granger McGonagall.

That meant that the person who somehow leaked information to Sirius had ties to the Aurors' office— but who? Aurors were usually very tight-lipped, especially knowing Moody, who had made it very plain that he would rip the face off of anyone should they ever endanger or gossip about me, or Kingsley, who made it clear I was considered family. I was, whether I wished to be considered so or not, a member of the Auror family.

All the full Aurors knew me on sight, and all of them treated me like they would their very own child. Who, then, could it possibly be?

Cousin.

Oh.

Auror trainee, Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Black Tonks, Sirius' "lovely young cousin." Andromeda's portrait had been scorched off of the Black family tree after she married a Muggleborn wizard, Ted Tonks. I had memorised the entire family tree during one particularly boring afternoon with Kreacher as my only company. If someone— Tonks— had been new, she may have thought my attentiveness as Severus' apprentice was something like a schoolgirl crush. As a trainee, she wouldn't have known the reason Severus was picking me up.

"Ron seems to think Snape has been giving you way too many detentions," Sirius observed slyly. "Says he feels sorry for you, that you don't complain, and that you might even fancy the git. Now that," he said with a disdainful curl of his lip, "is just not right."

He was talking to Ron? To RON?

"I do not fancy Professor Snape," I bit out, trying not to grit my teeth together.

"You just need the right kind of wizard to show you where the real magic lies," Sirius said in a voice that practically dripped with sugary sweetness. His hand was slowly caressing my thigh, moving up towards my— Merlin, what the hell?!

I could smell a strong odor of alcohol on his breath as he drew ever nearer, and alarm bells were going off in my head though sheer disbelief had temporarily rendered me paralysed. He was definitely interested, and the sight of his proof was enough to make my blood run cold. I pulled away. "No!" I said firmly. "Whatever you heard was wrong! I am not interested in Professor Snape or anyone else!"

"Oh, don't be playing so hard to get now, Kitten," Sirius breathed into my face. "If you can fancy an inferior specimen of manhood like that beak-nosed, greasy-haired sleazeball, then we can definitely have us a good time, eh?"

"NO!" I exclaimed. "Please, get away from me, Sirius! Back off!"

"Oh, I am very serious," he answered me darkly. "If Snivellus is getting some young bird with no sense of what a real man is, then it is my Merlin-given duty as a wizard to reeducate her."

Then he grabbed my shoulders and pinned me down.

I struggled, squirming, and he smacked my head hard against one of the sofa's rolled arms, causing me to see stars. Fear coursed rapidly through every vein and artery of my body. My wand— where was my wand?!

"If someone ever tries to hold you down, Hermione," Auror Savage had instructed, "and they are unfortunate enough to be a male, smash your knee between their legs and get away as quickly as you can. Don't stop. Don't look for your wand. Don't even think about trying to cast a spell. Just get the hell out of there immediately."

His knees were pinning my legs down, forcing them open and rendering me unable to move. I whimpered as my wrists burned where he grasped them so tightly that I swore they were being crushed. I had no way to do what Savage had told me to do. I couldn't lever him off of me enough to move, much less attempt to mount a counter-attack or escape.

HISSSSSSSS!

A blur of ginger fury slammed into Sirius' face, claws fully extended and out for blood. The sounds of tearing, ripping, and yowling began to echo through the room. Crookshanks tore into Sirius' face with his front claws, hind claws, and teeth all working together to take out his feline rage on the bastard who dared to assault his mistress.

I used that initial moment of shocked surprise to maneuver the drunken wizard off of me, smashing him headfirst into the antique coffee table. Crooks went flying, having been grabbed and thrown hard by an infuriated Sirius. I was running— running as fast as I could towards the front door, trying desperately to Apparate, but nothing was happening. I might as well have been at Hogwarts. Nothing happened.

Sirius snarled, tackling my legs out from under me. I was slammed hard against the floor, crying out as my hands and elbows worked to pull me along— anything, ANYTHING to get me away from him. My trousers were being yanked down to my knees, and I was writhing, wriggling, and tearing myself out of them, trying to make like a snake and shed my outer skin to free myself. My one leg was free, and I kicked out as hard as I could, feeling the pain travel up my leg as I connected, ramming it into his face with a loud crack.

"Like it rough, do ya, kitten?" he growled at me. "I can give you exactly what you want."

Pain bloomed across my face as he backhanded me hard across the face, and I was seeing stars again, blackness threatening to swallow me whole.

No, please. Don't let this be the end. Fear— primal and rooted in the basic drive to survive— spread through my body until every fibre of my being was coated in pure adrenaline.

Fear of the dog.

Gnashing teeth.

Claws of pain.

Jaws of death.

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door.

"Open up, cousin! You better not be drunk, yeah? I brought hot pasties!"

Just for a second, the painful pressure on my body eased, and I grabbed it like a lifeline. I burst free, channeling all of my desperation, magic, terror, pain, and raw will to survive into escaping, and I was free— running on all fours like an animal and not even caring as long as I got away.

Escape!

Dark!

Flee!

Dog!

Jaws of death!

I tore down the hall, past the kitchen, and dove into the blessed darkness of the cellar.

"Merlin, Sirius," Tonks gasped. "What the bloody hell happened to your face?"

"Got in a bit of a scrap with some long-nailed bloke at the tavern," Sirius muttered.

"It looks like you got in a fight with McGonagall in her cat form," Tonks said, her eyebrows rising high into her bubblegum pink hair.

"Bah, the blood makes it seem worse than it is," Sirius said, grabbing a scrap of cloth to blot the blood from his face.

"You are such a dog, cousin," Tonks admonished. "Are you seriously blotting off the blood on your face with some poor witch's knickers?"

Sirius smirked. "Care to have a go?"

"Ugh, stop," Tonks said, wrinkling her nose at him. "Don't make me remind you just why I got top marks in making boys cry."

Sirius pouted, sticking out his swollen bottom lip.

"Hey, you seen Hermione? She here yet? Tonks asked, looking around. "This place is a total mess. You weren't shagging someone while Hermione was here, were you?"

Sirius snorted, checking to see if his bleeding was slowing any. Muttering a particularly vile profanity under his breath, he grabbed the cloth and blotted himself some more. "I've been busy."

"Busy," Tonks repeated disbelievingly.

"Worse than Half-bloods! Right here, in my house! Get out!" Walburga's portrait screamed. "Half-bloods, Mudbloods— stains on our noble family's pride and honour. Blood-traitors and filth! GET OUT!"

"Lovely family you have there," Tonks commented dryly, frowning as Sirius took the crumpled scrap of feminine clothing and tossed it into the fireplace. "You let some witch leave here half-dressed and you just toss her knickers into the fireplace? What if those were her favourites?"

"I'll just buy her a few new ones," Sirius harrumphed. "Knickers can be replaced. "Me, however, she'll never forget."

"You know, my mum always said that you were a real dog when you went to Hogwarts," Tonks said with a sigh. "She believed Azkaban would change you for the worst, that the place takes away any good you may have had inside of you."

"And what do you think, Nymphy," Sirius asked casually as he rearranged the cushions on the sofa.

"I think you had a real bum rap," Tonks sighed. "I'm still not all that sure about you, Sirius. I mean, just look at this place. You're about as responsible as a teenaged bloke at his new bachelor pad. Dumbledore seems to think you're worth sticking our necks out for, so I'm trying to see more than some horny wizard always looking for a new bird of the week to shag."

"Aw, I have so many years to make up for, baby cousin," Sirius purred. "I'm an innocent man."

Nymphadora raised a brow. "By the looks of your residence, I would say you should start with some general housekeeping. The others will start showing up here soon. Molly will complain that you're setting a bad example for the children. "

Sirius shook his head. "Why're you here so early, cousin?"

"Moody wanted me to make sure Hermione got here okay," Tonks replied with a small frown. "She was supposed to check in this morning."

"Oh, and why would old Moody care?" Sirius muttered. "She's no Dark witch."

Nymphadora snorted. "He has a soft spot for her. Keeps her on a scheduled check in to make sure she's alright."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Odd for a child. He doesn't do that for Harry or Ron does he?"

"You know Harry," Tonks snickered. "He's not really good about checking in when he's in the middle of getting into trouble."

"Right example of his father, that one," Sirius said, rubbing his stubble.

"You sure she didn't slip in last night while you were—" Tonks trailed off, "entertaining a guest?" She went to sit down, but she tripped over the umbrella box, splattering herself across the floor rug with a loud thump.

"You're a horrible cat, Nymph," Sirius muttered.

Tonks sighed, setting the umbrellas to rights and picking up the debris. Her hand paused as she felt a small, round, smooth button. She looked back at Sirius, shaking her head and pocketing the button smoothly.

Sirius was kicking a fresh log into the fireplace, watching the evidence of his depredations quickly burning into a small pile of unidentifiable ash. "So, any news on the Auror front? I'm dying here. Of total boredom."

Nymphadora shook her head. "Same old, same old Auror stuff. Moody is never happy with me. I trip too much, I trust too easily— you'd think I can't do anything right."

"What, no commentary on the bright pink hair?" Sirius ribbed, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Psh," Tonks grunted. "My hair is only one of many things I can't seem to do right. "Constant vigilance all the time, but he's bloody drinking firewhisky out of that stupid flask of his and then he has the nerve to tell me my judgement is impaired."

There was a loud crashing noise that seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and Sirius was up and out the door and down the hall before Tonks could even blink.

"Siri—"

As much as she really wanted to chase after him, something else caught her eye. She knelt, spotting the glint of metal and found a delicate chain with an oval locket on the strand. She picked it up, opening the clasp. A moving picture of Harry, Ron, and Hermione making silly faces at a camera lay inside. The chain had been broken, the clasp bent and snapped.

Tonks frowned. While it was certainly possible that it could have been there ever since the last Order meeting, she knew that Sirius had a house-elf. Lost items just didn't happen in magical houses. She knew because she'd tried to pull the wool over her mum's eyes many times only to be caught in a lie when her mother summoned the house-elf with her supposedly "lost" homework, jewelry, or a sweater she couldn't stand wearing.

Quick footsteps and a vicious snarl came from down the hall as Sirius stormed back. She quickly tucked the locket away in her pocket and sat on the couch, trying to look perfectly at ease. "Problems?" she casually asked her cousin.

"Bah," Sirius muttered. "Stupid sodding house-elf. I swear he lives just to find new ways to piss me off."

"So what was it this time?"

"Dropped an entire kettle of stew all over the kitchen floor," Sirius groused. "He knows I loathe stew, too."

"Well, I need to go check in with Moody before he has an aneurysm," Tonks sighed. "I'll see you later this evening when everything filters in, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," Sirius grumped. "Not like I can actually leave this place anyway. Bloody Dumbledore."

Tonks shook her head. "Hey, when this is all said and done, your name will finally be cleared. We just have to find that bloody rat and it'll all be right again."

Sirius sighed. "Moody would rather see me back in Azkaban."

Tonks shrugged. "You broke out of Azkaban, cousin. Even if you are perfectly innocent, and we are working very hard to prove that, he's still an Auror. He'll always be an Auror."

Sirius raised a brow. "And you, cousin? What happens when they take the training wheels off your Auror broom?"

Tonks gave him a sideways grin. "Just don't do anything too stupid or unlawful, and you'll be fine in my book."

"Booooring," Sirius replied with a grin.

"You're horrible," Tonks said. "Next time, just answer the sodding door, eh? I was about the break down the door thinking you'd been abducted by Death Eaters."

"More likely to be killed by an avalanche of temperamental paintings, cousin," Sirius muttered. "Go on, before old Moody has your hide."

Tonks was half out the door before she turned. "She was supposed to be here, Sirius. Where could Hermione have gone?"

Sirius pretended to ponder for a few moments. "Probably the Burrow. They were having that big family reunion, weren't they? Pretty much everyone will be there."

"Oh right, the reunion!" Tonks sighed. "That's where she must be. And here I am being all paranoid that something might've happened to her. She's probably buried in Weasleys right along with Harry. I should probably send her an owl, just to be sure."

"Naw, those three are like Nifflers with treasure, Tonks," Sirius offered lightly. "I'm sure they will all show up tonight for the meeting."

"You're right," Tonks agreed. "Later, cousin."

"Mmmhmm," Sirius said, closing the door behind her as a very dark expression moved across his face. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, Kitten. You're hiding in my house, lover girl. No Apparition, no floo, no way out for you. Only Black magic will get you out of this place, and as that means me, I strongly suggest you come out now and make nice before I really get angry."

Sirius pointed his wand to hand and hissed, scarlet drops of blood dripping from his palm. He let it drop on the floor of the house as the ancient wards flared to life.

"Here, kitty, kitty."

Fear.

Pain.

Dog.

Flee!

Every instinct I had was screaming at me to get out of there. Get out NOW! Get away—find safety. A small voice nagging in the back of my mind screamed at me to go back for my wand, while the other part said, better to lose a wand and a few potions you can re-brew than go back to where—

DOG!

FEAR!

PAIN!

The very thought of Sirius brought up up images of vicious snarling dogs and the gnashing of canine teeth. There was no way I was going back to where he was. I had practically dived into the murky darkness of the root cellar, not even thinking about where I was going. It was pure instinct— the overwhelming need to survive— that brought me there. I could hear talking through the floor above, muffled but clear enough to hear Tonks talking to Sirius. Sirius, however, obviously had her completed fooled.

FOOLED!

It wasn't just Tonks, though. He had fooled everyone. Maybe he was a hero, and maybe he wasn't. But there was definitely a dark side to Sirius Black, one that no one had ever expected.

"Young mistress, this way," I suddenly heard.

Kreacher?

I tried to reply, but all that came forth was a yip and a growl.

"This belongs to young mistress, please. Kreacher here. Saved your wand from the fire."

I heard a soft creak as a bright shaft of daylight streamed in from across the cellar, veiled slightly by a heavy layer of cobwebs. The house-elf stood on the tips of his toes, pushing the cellar door open just wide enough for me to get out.

I crept cautiously across the cellar floor, keeping low to the ground. It felt more natural to be closer to the ground. My eyes adjusted to the gloom faster than usual, and the light from outside was almost blinding, but I knew that freedom lay beyond.

I made a sudden break for it, diving towards the beams of sunlight just as I had previously dove into the concealing darkness of the cellar. As I entered into the blessed sunlight, a wave of sensory overload hit me— scents so strong, sounds so loud— I could hear the very rustling of rodents in the garden. I was suddenly very, very hungry.

I looked this way and that, and I tried to stand up, but fell to my side with yip.

I squirmed around, getting back on all fours. Ah, that was better. Wait, what?

I looked down my nose and saw a small black nose wiggling surrounded by reddish-brown fur with a strange, almost coppery cast to it. Long black whiskers wriggled along the sides of my face— muzzle— whatever. I looked down to see black paws wreathed in a sort of pale, green magical flame.

Whaaaaa?

Was this my Animagus form? Oh, gods, what in the seven hells was I? My meditations had been strange. My form had never come to me as one thing. I had seen everything from a puffy white cloud to a Dementor, a bloody frisbee, and even a few random species of birds. Minerva had said the meditations weren't always a gauge for what I would be, but apparently I had turned into something I hadn't even thought of!

"Young miss must escape," Kreacher urged, jarring me out of my confused thoughts. "Saved mistress' bag, Kreacher did. Put supplies inside. Very important things that miss must know about. Kreacher will tie bag around your neck."

Tie them around my… oh, right.

Kreacher seemed much more my size now, and the beaded bag went around my neck with a soft rustle, thankfully not reflecting the true weight of whatever he had placed inside. My wand was in there somewhere, thank the gods. Somehow— bless his little house-elf heart— he had rescued it from the remains of my favorite pair of trousers, which had been left (under major duress) in the parlour.

"Back gate is sheltered by hedges," Kreacher told me. "No one ever goes back there but Kreacher. Wards are up, young mistress. You must bleed on them to escape. Move fast. Gate will shut the moment your blood is dry."

This house was protected by blood magic? It shouldn't have surprised me, but— wasn't Sirius supposed to have been disowned by his parents?

Things were way too confusing right now. I really had to escape. I really wanted a plump, juicy mouse or a unwary chicken, and needed to find a way to get to my mam, Moody, or Severus. If this was my Animagus form, I wasn't sure if it would wear off or shed according to my will or emotions, and the last thing I needed was to show up half-naked in the middle of someplace full of random Muggles… Hell, I didn't want to show up half-naked in front of any magicals either. No thank you!

Kreacher tugged on the bag to make sure it was fastened securely. "Careful, young mistress," he cautioned. "Kreacher will make loud noise in kitchen. When you hear it, open the gate."

I tried to say thank you, but it came out as a yip and growl.

"You're welcome, mistress," Kreacher said, and with a pop, was gone.

I made a beeline for the hedges, diving under them and around until I found the far gate. Sure enough, there it was, heavily covered with ivy, but still functional— at least I dearly hoped it was functional.

Kreacher had said I had to bleed on it.

I sat down in front of it, looking it over. The damn thing wasn't even rusty. I found myself staring at my tail. Maybe if I—

Chomp.

Mouth full of thick, fluffy fur. Nope. That was not going to work.

I spat out a mouthful of fur, my tongue making odd sounds as I tried to evict the remaining fur from my mouth. Do not do that again. Check.

I stared at my paws. Hrm.

I turned my paw over to expose the smooth black pads. Maybe? Do I bite them or try to claw myself? I didn't really want to do either. I had to run on those to escape.

Ow!

My thoughts were interrupted as my tongue attempted to impale itself on a few of my very sharp teeth. I tasted blood. Well then…

Crash!

I heard something heavy being dropped in the kitchen, just as Kreacher had promised. Well, here goes nothing.

I licked the gate, smearing my blood over the enchanted metal.

Creeeaaaaaaakkkk.

The gate opened like the door of a haunted house in a Muggle horror movie, causing me to suppress an instinctive shudder.

Then I was out the gate as fast as my feet could carry me. The metal was quickly absorbing the blood, because I could feel the gate nearly closing on the end of my tail just as I popped through it.

Yip!

I tumbled into the long grass just beyond, staring at my tail to take a quick inventory of what I had left, fully expecting to find myself missing half a fluffy tail. I felt a strange tingling warmth and a surge of ecstatic victory as a second tail materialised right in front of my eyes.

Whaaa?

Okay, Hermione, there are very few creatures in the world that have multiple tails. There are far more creatures with more heads than tails— Orochi the giant serpent had multiples of both. I was definitely not that. I had a bushy fox-like tail, erm, make that tails. I could feel my ears swiveling. I had a long muzzle and reddish-brown fur, black pads on my paws. All things were pointing to fox, but there was only one creature I knew of that both looked like a fox and had multiple tails: the Japanese yōkai , the Kitsune.

Oh, what the hell. Was there ever anything in my life that was perfectly normal?

I was running top speed without even realising it. Apparently, even while my brain was contemplating my situation, part of me remembered about an insignificant little thing called survival. Well, at least my new aspect of myself was looking out for us.

There was a small fountain and park in between the houses and gardens, and I did my best to stay out of sight. I heard nothing chasing me, and even better yet, I wasn't hearing Sirius's voice anymore. No small amount of relief there. My stomach was growling, and my thoughts went straight to food. My sensitive nose smelled food, too, which further derailed my thoughts to a another survival concern.

As I leapt over one more garden wall of many, I saw them: Sussex hens milling about in the yard, predating on the bugs in the family garden. I licked my chops hungrily. The chickens were a few different colours: red, white, the sienna buff, speckled, and even a grey speckled hen. They looked beautiful, but they smelled absolutely delicious.

I hopped down into the garden, my senses alert for attack by an attentive rooster.

"'Ey there," a man said from the shade of a garden umbrella.

I froze.

"If it's food ye be wantin', I have a basket of fresh eggs 'ere, my wee friend," he said with a strange warmth. "I'd quite appreciate it if you left me my hens, though. They provide so the kids are fed. We sell the eggs down at market proper. Most magical folk don't seem to remember eggs come from actual chickens. They seem ta think they grow out of the ground or hang off a plant like a tomato and ye just pick 'em."

I cocked my head and sat down. He seemed friendly enough.

The man placed the basket down on the ground and nudged it closer to me with his foot. I crept closer, sniffing. Eggs. Oh, glorious eggs. Perfect little treasure chests of golden goodness awaited!

I cautiously stuck my muzzle into the basket and came out with a speckled brown egg, and I cracked into it with my teeth, lapping the insides up with my tongue. My eyes watched him, waiting for him to make a lunge for me, but it never happened. He sipped his iced tea calmly, his posture relaxed, and his legs crossed. I went into the basket again, pillaging another egg and quickly making it disappear. Meanwhile, the hens were happily chasing bugs around the yard, seeming to realise that I wouldn't be dining on them that day.

I made about a dozen eggs disappear before my belly was full and content.

Yip!

The man smiled at me. "Like that, did ya, pretty lass? Don't see many Kitsune around here. Last one I saw was in Japan guarding an ancient temple, but that was ages ago." He stroked his beard and sighed wistfully. "You look like you're on yer way to someplace important. I hope ye find it."

I stood, licking my jowls and waving my tails back and forth, happy to have a full stomach and a kind face watching over me.

I felt a sudden affection towards him, and I wanted to pay him back for his great kindness. The feeling was like a craving, and it spread from my head to the tip of my tail, filling me with warmth. I felt my tails lashing back and forth wildly, and the wispy green flames consumed me.

Fwoosh.

Flames jumped from me and enveloped each of the chickens around me in flames.

Oh Merlin, please, don't tell me I murdered the poor man's chickens! Not after he was kind enough to feed me!

The man let out a gasp and rushed forward, and I scrambled out of the way, terrified that I'd just committed wanton gallinicide.

Good one, Hermione. Not even one day out, and you've murdered all of the poor man's poultry.

"Merlin's beard," the man gasped. "They're all Magicae hens! I remember seeing a pair at the last rare magical poultry show. The eggs, just the unfertilised eggs alone, sold for nearly a hundred galleons." The man stared at me with utter amazement and no little awe. "Stay right here, I beg you. I'll be back in a tick."

I couldn't help but indulge a surge of pure curiosity. I looked around the yard and saw that all of the chickens had been transformed into enormous, radiant, pearlescent birds with golden combs. Their feet were as red as blood. The rooster was a deep midnight blue with combs the colour of freshwater pearls. Even the chicks— they were dark purple and black fuzzballs on bright red legs. I turned my eyes up, feeling something strange on my head. There was a chick perched right between my ears, peeping.

I wasn't a poultry farmer, but I think I had just given this family the proverbial golden geese.

The farmer returned with two small wooden bowls, ornately carved and polished with beeswax until they shimmered. He set them both down. In one, was pile of steamed rice. In the other, he poured some sort of liquid that smelled really good.

"Thank you, friend spirit," the man said, going to his knees and bowing. "Please accept my gratitude for your visit and blessing to my family."

I was pretty sure I wasn't a spirit, but then again, I was sure I was entirely human just a few hours ago. This man was obviously insistent on playing proper respect to tradition, and tradition was smelling positively divine at the moment. Despite my dozen egg meal, that liquid ambrosia and the perfectly cooked rice was calling out to me.

I stepped forward, tentatively lapped at the liquid, and felt my heart sing with joy. I lapped the glorious drink from the bowl, my tongue sliding across the surface to make it all disappear, and then I moved on to the bowl of white rice. The rice was sweet and sticky, and totally delicious. It was enough to make me swear off eggs forever, if only I could eat and drink this for the rest of my life!

Yip!

I was filled with a glorious feeling of satisfaction and joy of life.

Fwoop!

And I had just gained another tail.

The man stared at me, a grand smile spreading across his face. The puffball chick between my ears cheeped as if offering congratulations. "My name is Jonas Collier. My home is yours, if you should ever need shelter or food. This I swear, on my life and my magic." He had his wand out, and he saluted me with it. Warm, radiant magic formed an orb at the end of his wand and sealed his oath.

I approached him tentatively, placed my paws on his knees, and gave him a fond slurp across the nose. I gently nudged the chick into his cupped hands and then took off across the garden. I leapt over the fence like it was nothing.

Yip!

That display of such genuine, unselfish kindness seemed to give me power beyond measure. I felt as though I could fly. It was almost enough to make me forget what had originally brought me to Jonas Collier's garden patch.

I knew I had to get myself to safety and quickly. I thought of Minerva, and realised I had no idea where she would be right now. Our cottage was way up in Scotland along the coast, and my chances of getting up there or to Hogwarts were very slim. I thought about Moody— he was right here in London— but he was probably out working and off doing Auror things. Even if I could somehow Apparate, I'd still have to know exactly where I was going—

Severus!

He was always a safe place for me, but how would I find him? I had no idea where he lived outside of Hogwarts. He had left Grimmauld Place before I had woken up, so he could be anywhere. No, he would be somewhere safe where he could heal. Where would that be? Hogwarts was out. He'd often told me that the school was not relaxing in the slightest. He'd left before dawn— what if he had been called away to do something for Dumbledore?

Suddenly, I remembered him talking about trying to sell an old dump called Spinner's End— the place he had grown up in. It was in Cokeworth, wasn't it? I pondered hard, trying to remember. He'd said the place had more bad memories than good ones, but it was the one place no one would bother to look for him because no one would ever think he'd willingly go back there. That must be where he— ARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I slammed right into a dead, potted plant languishing on someone's back porch. The air smelled heavily of smoke, trash, and other unidentifiable muck. I could hear a river flowing nearby, but the air was both chilly and thick with a heavy mist. A giant chimney stack pointed straight to the ground as I lay, upside down, smashed into the planter. My tails were draped haphazardly over my face.

Ow.

I wriggled and got unsteadily to my feet, my head spinning crazily. Eurrgh. Where the hell was I?

One thing was for sure. I wasn't in London anymore.

I shook my head and sniffed, immediately regretting both. The smell was enough to make me wonder if this area had forgotten what indoor plumbing was. A sickly-looking squirrel eyed me from the garden wall, and I immediately felt terrible for it. Even the part of me that seemed to fancy a nice squirrel aperitif didn't want this one. I might get mouth rot from it.

This garden made the same sad attempt that my mother had, a landscaping experiment gone very wrong. It had looked like she'd tried to conjure the mystical hanging gardens of myth. Thinking of my mum, well, my original mum made me feel rather sullen. My parents had always been very supportive of me, and my mind always liked to ponder what they would think of me— assuming the image of me crashed haphazardly into some poor person's planter wouldn't have scared them off completely. They had been loving parents, and far more accepting than most might be with regards to finding their child suddenly being outed as a witch. My only comfort in their deaths is that the last time I had seen them they had been very happy and so proud of me. Both of them had tearfully told me so upon seeing me on my next holiday. They had died knowing I loved them, and, even in my grief, I knew they had loved me greatly.

My adopted family, officially Minerva, had expanded to include a number of "aunts and uncles" such as Alastor, Kingsley, and Amelia— and well, pretty much the entire Auror family as well. Then there was Severus— my mentor, my friend. He was so much more than just a friend. I could rely on him, trust him, but I knew that none of my "peers" would ever understand that. Despite his secrets, and I knew he had many of them, he had never once failed to look out for me, especially when it mattered the most. He, like Minerva, had become the rock I needed when everything else was crashing down around me. He had gathered up a frightened young girl who had lost her parents and distracted me with what he knew would never fail me: the overwhelming hunger for knowledge and the desire to achieve and prove myself to be so much more than what I appeared to be.

My three tails wagging lazily back and forth in the wind, I think I had achieved that and then some.

"To be wounded by something as pure as a unicorn, then healed, is a mark that touches the soul, Hermione," Firenze had once told me. "They will always recognise you as one of their trusted ones, but more importantly, their magic seeps into you, enhancing your inner spirit in so many ways. Humans used to harvest the horns, thinking that it was the horn they needed to purify, but that is not the whole truth. The magic is within the living unicorn, and only the living can bestow such purity of life."

Had the unicorn's mark affected my Animagus transformation? Had I become something… more?

What I really needed to do was get a good look at myself, and seeing as I was now in the most rundown garden I'd ever had the displeasure of seeing, I figured now was the time. Maybe there would be a nearby pond or a stream to look into. I snuffled about the garden, disturbing a rather sickly-looking family of mice and an even sicklier looking owl. Pickings were evidently pretty bad. Poor owl.

The owl landed almost right in front of me, snatching up one of the rather thin mice and swallowing it whole. I could almost hear the owl's stomach growling and the leaves themselves desiccating around me. When I found a calm pond just outside a crumbling wall, I noticed rather sad-looking weeping willow and a collection of ever sadder pussywillows that had seemingly dried and died with fuzzy catkins still clinging forgotten on the branches. The water was so foul-smelling that I could barely tell it from a pool of petrol. Even the shore was slick with brown foam and the distinctive slick of oil. Heaps of trash lined the shore and even the shallows, and the bones of an unfortunate duck lay in the dried muck, its foot and beak snared hopelessly in plastic rings.

It angered me to see such a place so utterly ruined, and my tails lashed in my annoyance.

"Look, Martin, a fox!" a young girl's voice said.

I spun around, all three tails floofed in instinctive alarm.

"He won't find nuthin 'ere to eat," the boy next to her said. "No one 'ere eats well. Not anymore— not since the mill shut down."

"Mummy said dey use to raise chickens in the yard. There used ta be geese 'n ducks in da pond," the little girl said. "I want to go swimming."

"The springs were blocked by the mill trash," the boy said. We can't swim in the pond no more. Ya know dat."

"It's not fair," the girl pouted. "We didna' put the trash here!"

"Little fox is gonna starve," the boy said. "Oi! Megan! Whatcha doing?"

"I don't want her to starve!" the little girl said, holding something out to me. "Come on. It's half of my cheese sarnie. It's not much, but it's better than you'll get around here."

"Megan, mum packed that for our lunch!"

"It's my half of the cheese sarnie, Martin," she hissed. "I can do wut I wanna with it!" She held out the sarnie half insistently. "Come on. I won't 'urt ya!"

I approached slowly. I didn't want to rob the girl of her only cheese sandwich, but she clearly meant it for me. I snuffled it, and wrinkled my nose at the rather stale bread, but she looked at me with such desperation to see me fed, that I grasped the sarnie half in my mouth and sat down and began to eat it.

"Mummy makes da best cheese sarnies," the girl breamed, patting me on the head.

I froze, thinking she was going to bonk me a little hard, but she was gentle, soothing the fur between my ears with tender strokes.

"That's a wild fox, Megan!" Martin protested. "It could be rabid!"

To be fair, it was broad daylight and foxes were nocturnal by nature. He did have a point. To her favour, I wasn't rabid, at least, I didn't think I was. I was enjoying her stroking my ears with her tiny hands, and my rear legs were kicking as I flopped to my side and let her rub my belly too.

"Such a waste, Megan," Martin sulked, keeping his distance. "He'll die out here. There's no food, and ya can't keep feedin' him your sarnies."

"Can too," she pouted.

"Then, you'll starve," he said, putting his small hand on hers.

Megan frowned, drawing me into an almost choking hug.

Hrkk! Can't breathe.

Megan seemed to realise she was inadvertently squeezing the life out of me and relaxed. "Nice foxy," she said, patting me gently.

She didn't seem to notice I had two tails too many. To test this hypothesis, I wriggled them all. My eyes widened as she pet them all.

"Nice foxy," she said. "You're so pretty, even with t'ree tails."

"Wut?" Martin said. He peered closely at me and shook his head. "Mum will be mad if she finds out you're making barmy stuff up again."

Megan scowled, scrunching up her little face. "I'm not making it up. She's pretty, an' she's speshul."

Martin just rolled his eyes.

Okay, so Martin wasn't seeing my extra appendages. Megan, on the other hand, did. Perhaps, that meant she would be going to Hogwarts eventually. She, like me, would get a letter when she turned eleven, inviting her to attend Hogwarts— provided, of course, she lived to be that old in all this squalor.

She was rubbing my belly again, and I felt a warmth spreading from nose to tails. My tails vibrated back and forth rapidly.

Zing.

Fwhoosh.

THWANG!

An arc of pure magic zapped from tail-to-tail and then quickly arced over to the pond, hitting it squarely in the middle. Megan exclaimed in childish glee, clapping her hands happily, and Martin just stared as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

Hrm, tough crowd.

My tails had slowed down to an easy back and forth swish.

"Blimey, look," Martin suddenly gasped.

No, thank you. This belly rub was positively divine.

Megan picked me up and squished me against her, carrying me like a sack of disobedient flour. I'd had a few of those. My mother had always found it amusing how I ended up with more flour on me than in the flour bin.

Megan was holding me tightly, and her hand stopped rubbing. I found myself looking out over the nasty little pond. The water was rippling from the center outwards, changing colour from the grey-brown muddy-looking filth to the clear, crystalline bluish-green of healthy, clean water. I could see the bloom of aquatic plants shimmering under the water and various species of fish swimming about the newly-revived plants and algae-covered rocks. Reeds were now growing along the edges, and pond lilies were blooming and spreading across the now-growing lake. It wasn't a pond at all.

The willow tree on the tiny island in the middle of the lake swayed to and fro, its branches covered in fine, shimmering leaves. I saw tadpoles swimming in the shallows, munching on the new, healthy plant life. A wind was churning, kicking up the scent of fresh, clean water. The green of returning life was spreading like spilt milk across every yard, seeping into the adjoining gardens. Flowers were blooming, dead trees were bursting out with greenery and flowers, and even the planter I'd crashed into was now practically overflowing with strawberry plants, with plenty of tempting red berries, just begging to be picked.

Well then. It was a really good belly rub.

Megan dropped me as she plucked huge, ripe gooseberries off the nearby bush. Ow.

"Martin, look!" she exclaimed. "Gooseberries!" She was stuffing them in her mouth as fast as she could. Martin, meanwhile, was staring at a row of tomato plants lined up in the garden. Before, they had been pitiful, half-dead specimens and now they were tall, bushy, and loaded with ripe tomatoes.

Bush beans, loaded with long beans in various colours, lined the garden rows. Large heads of cabbage, loaded bell pepper and aubergine plants, vines covered with cucumbers and squash, luffa gourds creeped up the restored, pristine white trellis, Corn silk swayed in the breeze off of thick stalks, multi-coloured stalks of Swiss chard, lines of turnip tops, potato plants, and even watermelons and pumpkins vined their way across the garden. As they walked around the back of the house in astonishment, Martin stared up at the long-dead apple tree that his father had decided to cut down next weekend, only to find it now strong, healthy, and positively loaded with huge, ripe apples. He grabbed one and bit into it, his mouth filled with crunchy white flesh and juicy deliciousness.

"Mum! Mummy!" Martin yelled, running towards the house with all due haste. "Come look!"

Megan had wandered over and spied the once-sickly oak tree at the edge of their yard. Her eyes widened as she saw it was now lush and full and covered in large acorns; she laughed when she saw one formerly scrawny squirrel absolutely going, well, nuts on them.

The mice were climbing the high grained grasses, stuffing their faces with the nutritious bounty before them.

I could hear loud muttering spreading throughout the subdivision as people were noticing the miraculous transformation of their once-pitiful landscape. Scores of ducks and geese were landing in the now-inviting waters, filling their beaks with plump insects and lush pond vegetation from the surface and the waters below.

Screams of delight and disbelief were spreading across the back gardens. Neighbours were excitedly chatting with neighbors. People were coming out of their houses to hug trees and each other. Children were streaming out to rush into and play in the now crystal clean water. People were hanging their laundry out to dry on pristine lines, no longer worried about staining their clean clothes in the filthy outside air.

Megan dropped me again, rushing towards the water with a squeal of pure delight. Suddenly, she stopped, turned around, and scampered back to me. She scooped me up, placed a sloppy kiss on my forehead, and put me back down. "Thank you, pretty foxy lady," she said. She took off towards the lake shore and splashed about with a gaggle of other giggling children who were doing exactly what she wanted to do.

Tingle. Tingle. Fwoop.

I turned my head to stare at my still tingling posterior. Well, hello there, tail number four.

Value of Cokeworth Property Increases by Millions Overnight

Land developers are all in a mad scramble to purchase the land in Cokeworth that has, quite literally, changed overnight. Residents woke up to find their gardens now green and flourishing, their nearby lake clean and flourishing, and wildlife returning after years of being considered the cesspool of England.

Developers such as Green By the Lake, Inc. are paying exceedingly well for Cokeworth land in hopes of being able to demolish the older, outdated homes, and replace them with cottages filled with all of the modern conveniences.

The areas affected were all within a mile of the old mill, which, when it was shut down decades ago, dumped hundreds of barrels of waste into the local water reservoir, and left a great many people unemployed and living in squalor.

Residents in the now lush lakeside community stand to make a fortune on the land value alone, though how many people will want to give up their now idyllic lakeside property remains to be seen.

As for what was responsible for this change, officials are saying that groundwork further in Cokeworth unclogged the springs that feed the lake, flushing the area with cleaner groundwater literally overnight. Questions about how the trees and other plant life also miraculously came back to life still remain unanswered.

"I'm going to go back home, go to bed, and pray that my yard gets a makeover, too," Mr Addleberry told our reporters this morning.

Mysterious Outbreak of Nature Magic Hits Muggle Cokeworth

The land has been revitalised in Cokeworth as of this morning, and the Ministry officials are totally gobsmacked. No one seems to be able to figure out what caused a more than two mile circle of land to be completely restored from festering rubbish heap to healthy, fertile land.

A few practicing Druid circles have been questioned, but none of them were present in Cokeworth at the time of the spontaneous restoration. The possibility of a very strong localised burst of accidental magic has been investigated, but most experts discount the childhood accidental magic theory due to the radius of the land affected.

Investigation into a possible boon from a number of nature deities from various cultures is being looked into, however, tracking down the origin of such an impressive display of benevolent magic will likely prove to be impossible.

"Just call it a miracle and be done with it," former Cokeworth resident Martha Cunningham advised. "You don't look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. Cokeworth was rock bottom. Anything that makes that muck heap a better place is a good thing for everyone."

The gathering throng of happy residents in the back gardens was getting a little too crowded for one three, er, four-tailed Kitsune, and so I found my way back to where I had started, with no little difficulty trying to pry my nose out of everything. Everything smelled absolutely fantastic, now, so I was having the exact opposite reaction of the one I'd experienced before. I was hardly an expert in multi-tailed magical foxes, but I was starting to put together a few rather suggestive trends. My magic, whatever it was, seemed to be tied to acts of kindness towards myself. A kind deed, such as a man offering me fresh eggs from his hens or a child offering me her half of a cheese sarnie seemed to be directly proportional to the strength of the magic I would then be capable of— and perhaps it also determined the nature of said magic.

From turning some ordinary chickens into a rare magical breed of poultry to restoring fertility and life to a sizeable patch of hell in the Midlands of England, my tails seemed to have a particular talent for getting themselves right into the thick of things. I had also stumbled into quite a bit of good fortune following my bit of very bad luck early this morning courtesy of one Sirius Black.

I sniffed the air and realised I could smell him.

Severus.

He was here, somewhere— oh! Well, now don't I feel sheepish?

The once-dead planter, which was now overflowing with ripe strawberries— I snatched a few and tore into them hungrily— was apparently right on the porch of my master. The air had been so foul that I hadn't even noticed my master's distinctive scent, an intoxicating combination of aromatic herbs, sandalwood, and musk. Hello, why didn't he smell that intoxicating before? My nose was twitching. My tails were vibrating. I felt positively victorious. Finally, I would be somewhere safe with someone I trusted with my life.

I sniffed around the porch and found an old pet door that had seen better days. It wasn't the size for a dog to force their way in, but maybe a certain determined Kitsune could wriggle her way in.

Only one way to find out, Hermione. Just don't get stuck. He would never let you live it down.

I concentrated hard, staring at the little flap door, determined to make myself fiiiiiiiiiiiaagghhrgh!

I found myself smashed into the wall on the other side, head on the floor, tails flopped over my face again. What the hell, body? I didn't even remember going through the door, but here I was, rolling tails-over-head, on the opposite side of where I had been. I scrambled to my feet, looking this way and that in case Severus had heard the commotion and started flinging spells.

Speaking of spells, how had I gotten past his wards? Did he have the same ones here as he had at Hogwarts? Possible. My head was still attached, so I was willing to chalk one up for my master's foresight. The inside looked— wow!

The entryway had a hardwood floor with an intricate inlay. Shoes were neatly in a rack by the door, and a pair of slippers were waiting on the stoop leading into the house. Ironically, there was a full-sized mirror hanging over a comfortable-looking leather sofa, and I remembered I'd really wanted to see what I looked like before the entire I-just-remade-your-subdivision incident.

I hopped up on the sofa and pressed my paws to the mirror, looking in.

Red and white face, black nose, black ears, black legs, and four rather smashing tails, if I didn't say so myself.

Yip!

I scrambled off the pristine sofa, and sniffed around. There was a cozy dining room just off a kitchen with an island and floating cabinetry. Stonewear lined the inside of the glass-fronted cabinets. A long planter with fresh cooking herbs overlooked the kitchen window and jars of various dried herbs and spices lined a rack by the stove— it was so very Severus. Fresh fruit filled a wicker basket on the counter. There was even a miniature lemon and lime tree in a planter. Damn. My master really knew how to make a kitchen fantastic!

I continued exploring, nose first, taking a bit of excess glee when I discovered his extensive library. I resisted the temptation to investigate the books further, telling myself that could be done later. I found a bathroom with an old claw-footed tub that set my tails wagging. I trotted up the carpet-lined wooden stairs, enjoying the springy bounce as I bounded up them. There was another bathroom upstairs, and I had to fight the urge to tug down the extra-fluffy, Persil-scented towels. There were three bedrooms, much to my surprise, and I explored each one. Open windows brought in the now-fresh breeze from the outside. Each room was pristine and perfect, as if he had an entire battalion of house-elves to care for the house.

Finally, I came to the very last room in the house, and I stuck my nose between the cracked door, sniffing eagerly. Mmmmmm. My master was definitely in here. I shamelessly trotted in, taking a few moments to look around, as a part of me was screaming that I shouldn't be sticking my nose, paws, or multiple tails in my master's private bedchambers!

Wherever my shame had lost itself, I was far too relieved to have found him, and with that, safety. The sheer amount of relief I felt was far beyond measure. As I stared at my master, lying on his side and snoring softly, I saw a vacant spot under his arm that just screamed Kitsune-sized.

Well, who could turn down such a lovely invitation?

I scrambled up onto the bed, wriggled underneath his arm, and snuggled up next to him, curling into his body and scent like my own, personal hug.

I was safe. I was with my beloved master again. He would see that got home to Minerva, and maybe they could both get me out of this rather strange vulpine predicament.

I yawned widely, showing all of my teeth, and laid my head over my paws, closing my eyes and drifting off to a peaceful, dogless sleep.

A/N: Plot bunnies. They are breeding like mad in the hutches, and I can't stop them! Sorry. Not sorry. Hope you enjoyed it, regardless. If you didn't, I'll sic The Dragon and the Rose on you.