A/N: And now the conclusion of: Shadow Play

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

Shadow Play

Chapter 4: Found. One Potter. Slightly Used, Abused, and Misused. Free To A Good Home

-Minerva-

"Whuuat?" Harry blurted, disorientated and exhausted.

The blue kitten was still sitting on his head when Poppy whisked the befuddled boy into the temporary delousing and bathing-slash-examination room. Kneazles, however, apparently love water and are equally happy about soap because the kitten bounced back into the room with a mane of soap suds and pounced his brothers and sisters mercilessly.

Poppy, good old Poppy. That witch could handle Armageddon with a sigh and a wave of her wand. Nothing really rattled her, save abuse, and part of me started to connect the dots that there were gaping holes there, still, and would remain until she slowed down a little to gain some cognitive therapy and un-Obliviation.

Gods knew I had needed it.

The blue kitten, which I heard Hermione tutting his name, Martijn, mewled and tussled with the brown and black tortoiseshell— Tom, I believe it was. Both kittens were seemingly determined to smear more suds on the other as they tore off chasing each other back into the other room to make hay. I heard crashing noises shortly after, and both kittens were carried back into the room by a larger grey Kneazle. They wiggled and mewled, unhappy to be deprived of their fun, but the elder Kneazle wasn't having any of it.

"Awww, you little buggers," Hermione cooed, lifting the kittens and plunking them into the enchanted kitten hamper. "Bed time for you before your daddy has to sit on you to get you to stay still." Each of Hermione's tentacles were caressing the kittens, putting them to bed.

"Mew!" the two miscreants complained. I could almost hear them saying "don't wanna don't wanna don't wanna!"

The large grey Kneazle plunked some catnip mice into the hamper, and suddenly the kittens all had a mouse, cuddled it, and was fast asleep. Dang, they were cute.

Suddenly the large grey Kneazle coughed, and Garrick Ollivander stood in its place. "Good evening, Madam McGonagall."

Blink.

Blink, blink.

"Many secrets hidden in the Department of Mysteries," the Kne— Garrick said.

I was still blinking.

"Garrick!" Hermione said. "You're horrible! You didn't even give her a chance to guess!"

The man who was a Kneazle, or the Kneazle that was a man grinned at me. Same old Ollivander. How had I never guessed?

"Give an old Kneazle some fun, Hermione. You'll understand when you're a few thousand years old."

Hermione's tentacles stood on end and whispered to each other. I could hear them hissing back and forth. "I don't think I'll have that much time," Hermione said.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Garrick chuckled.

Hermione huffed, blowing hair out of her face. It was so odd to see her so grown, so adult. It was almost as if her face now matched the spark of intelligence she had always had— but now—

Hermione's hand was on my shoulder, a warm smile on her face. It was a true smile. "It's hard at first, getting to know this," she said, gesturing to herself. One of her tentacles purred at me. I had no idea they could do that either. She leaned down over the kitten hamper and pulled out a brown kitten with golden dapples. The kitten mewled cutely and blinked at me. "This is Saskia. She'll sleep right over your neck and make you feel right at home."

I think my heart melted. The kitten sleepily walked off Hermione's hands and curled up right over my bosom, making herself at home. Garrick was smiling at me with approval. "You know, she'd love to go on adventures with her Auntie," he said with a wink.

My eyes widened, and my face crinkled. "Aww," I blurted, hugging the little kitten to myself.

Severus walked back in, looking quite tired. "Pups are finally asleep. I don't know how you do it, Hermione."

"Helps to fall into the rookery and be imprinted to the clan," she replied.

Severus arched a brow. "The things a person misses out on."

Hermione's tail corkscrewed around Severus' as she hugged him. "Forgive me, love," she said, her eyes warm.

"Whatever for?" Severus asked.

Hermione stepped away, seemingly painfully, and passed her hand over herself. Her body shimmered and changed— younger, bushier— and her tentacles pouted as they folded against her back and hid under her robes. "I fear Harry has a lot of revelations to come to terms with, but only so many at a time would be best."

Severus sighed, his tentacles seemed to pout as they rubbed against her cheek and then took into hiding, just as hers had.

True, I had memories that were hidden, but deep down, I had known the truth long ago. Potter— not so much. I could only imagine what finding out how old your friend really was along with finding out she was mated to your hated Potions professor would do to your already abused psyche. I was an old witch. I'd been teaching long enough that very little surprised me— save that somehow kids survived really stupid acts of— stupid and sheer dumb luck.

"You may want to—" Severus began, making a gesture with his hand.

"Oop!" Hermione blushed, making her tail vanish. "I've become rather fond of not having to hide my extra appendages," she confessed.

"It is— a very accepting place here," Severus said, a tug of a smile on his lips.

Hermione grinned. She looked at me. "We figure Harry will be more at ease if he has one 'peer' to talk to, even he wasn't really allowed to interact with me much."

I nodded. "I understand. Hermione—"

Her hand closed around mine, and even though her face looked so familiar and young, the feel of her magic was warm and mature, flowing across her skin and through her body through old channels. How had I not noticed it before?

"You weren't supposed to notice, Professor," Hermione said, so much sorrow in her expression and in her eyes. "Do not feel bad that you didn't. There is more you noticed than you remember, and one day, you will remember again, like Alastor."

I held her hand tightly. I nodded my head silently, feeling as though I had failed her. "Please, call me Minerva." It didn't feel right with her calling me professor anymore. She was an Unspeakable— the top of the top, crème de la crème. She was also a dangerous XXXXX magical creature thanks to none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Are you going to be all right?" Hermione asked, rubbing my hand. "It can be a lot to take in, just me, not even all the rest."

I found myself looking to Severus for some clue as to how to react, and then I realised that he, too, had gone through a rather shocking life changes too. All of us had—

"I'll be all right soon enough, dear," I said. "My pride is hurt that I didn't— couldn't—help you, recognise something—"

"If you had known, Minerva," Severus said, his voice rumbling with that familiar low drone, "he would have made sure you forgot."

I sighed. He was right, but I still felt like a complete oblivious and horrible example of responsibility.

"Mewwww," Saskia said, rubbing against my chin and bonking into it.

"Tell you what, my friend," Ollivander said with a wink. "You can kittensit Saskia tonight. I think she wants to make sure you're all hers before the other kittens get a go at it."

I felt my heart quiver as I soothed the kitten's ears. "Are you sure?"

Ollivander grinned. "The kittens choose their people," he replied. "They are a lot like wands."

"Mew!" Saskia said, radiating the kind of unmatched love that made me melt.

"I— well I guess there is no objecting then," I said.

Ollivander smiled, and it was a very feline smile. I should know considering I was a tabby Animagus. "No, there isn't."

-Hermione-

To be honest, I had no idea how to treat Harry anymore, but the poor sod looked weathered to the bone and beyond tired. To be fair, I was tired too, and I really wanted to curl up with my mate and all our pesky tentacles and whiskers and dream of the demise of Dumbledore— yet at the same time had it not been for Dumbledore, there was a good chance Severus and I would not be together. Was it fair to be both thankful and want someone to pay at the same time? Was that even a thing?

My shadow yawned expressively, and I could feel every one of my tentacles yawning in return, and the power of suggestion made me yawn as well, my tongue lolling out like a lion's between my exposed fangs.

Careful there, Hermione. We don't want to scare the pudding out of Harry this early. The point was to save him from his doomed quest with no backup, not scare him to death.

There was the rub, really. I wasn't exactly built for comfort to the human soul. Whatever it was that I had become, most people would probably not be looking for warm hugs and a cuddle, which is sad, really. I had a feeling my tentacles would love to oblige a good hug and cuddle. Good thing they had me. I loved hugs and cuddles. It was like self-fulfilling prophecy.

Severus' mental rumble sent a shiver down to my toes as he pouted that he'd rather be hugging and cuddling me instead of watching me run off to babysit Harry. About a half dozen gargoyle pups hummed in my head at the prospect of cuddles as well. Who said being a monster didn't give you hugs. Hah!

"Mew!"

I looked down.

Tiny paws touched my leg as a bright white face stared at me. The purple kitten looked up at me longingly.

"Hello, Evelien," I greeted.

"Mew!" she replied, a request or a command.

I picked her up and snuffled her, face to face. Her little tail stood straight up in commanding feline fashion as she head bonked my chin.

"Shouldn't you be in bed with your brothers and sisters?"

She stared at me adoringly, tail waving back and forth.

Kids. They always wanted to be up and in the middle of your business— especially super secret covert business.

She licked me on the nose, and I cuddled her, getting happy purrs in return.

Feeling like I was taking a baby to an 18 suitable only for adults movie, I carried the kitten with me, silently hoping that the kitten wasn't old enough to be scarred or scared by anything she might see. Perhaps I could leave her with—

"MEW!" she clung to my collar, diving under my hair.

I frowned. Kittens had Legilimency. Disturbing.

"You better behave yourself, young lady," I told the kitten, and she purred back. I realised I'd been channeling my mother at that moment, something I swore to myself so many times I'd never do.

Walking into the "guest room" that had been "Potter proofed" by a grumbly Severus, I found Harry curled up in the armchair, wrapped in a cocoon of quilts. I knew he was probably feeling quite naked, having been dewanded, deloused, dedirtified, and detrackered. Where those even words? Hell if I know. Oh, and de-artefacted and de-House-elfed.

There had been a lot of shite on Harry. A lot, a lot. The Unspeakables' safety and containment team had done a number on him making him fit to be a guest in our place the moment he got out of the bathtub. Our neighbours, well the ones that weren't the immediate Garrick, Minerva, and Poppy, had all come in and done him a good sizing up and sniff over, sometimes quite literally. Bollywog was a dragon, so it was just his head sticking through the door. Having him over for dinner or brunch was going to require forethought and large, dead animals of the hoofed variety.

Or a small whale.

Harry was thankfully out cold at the time Bollywog had come in to do inspection— thank the gods for small favours. I'm not sure how I'd rate to a dragon, to the be honest. I was pretty intimidating (I swear it was the tentacles, maybe it was the wings or the tail… the whiskers? Sentient shadow? Hell, nevermind) but a dragon was— well he was a dragon!

One of my tentacles pouted, and by pouting, I mean it stuck its "face" into my ear canal and raspberried me. I patted it comfortingly. There, there, love. You know I love you all. It rubbed against my cheek, jingling a little with its goblin-made bling and dove back under my collar.

Silly things. So insecure. How did tentacles get insecure? Gosh. I think they were afraid I wanted to be rid of them to be normal, but I had become quite at home with my monsterself, as it were. I couldn't imagine life without the little buggers being there anymore than I could imagine not being able to fly with the gargoyle pups. No way I was giving up that, thank you very much.

If anyone asks if it's worth it to be turned into a monster to be able to brood over gargoyle pups, the answer is hell yes.

Most folks wouldn't believe me. Well… their loss then.

I'd say ask Severus if I was lying, but that experience might make a few people (or more than a few people) run for the hills. His ability to strike terror into the lives of anyone did not expire with graduation or his Unspeakables uniform. Yet, Severus was also the victim of gargoyle pup and kitten pile ups, that had no shame about snuggling with him, so who was really right there?

Then again, gargoyle pups and Kneazle kittens had no shame about cuddling anyone, the scarier the better. Rumour had it that Edwin, the dusky pink narcoleptic Kneazle kitten, had really taken a shine to Bollywog, and they were often found sleeping together in the sun.

"Hello, Harry," I said, sitting down on the other armchair.

"Hermione? Is that really you?" Harry gasped.

"Real as rain," I replied, realising that wasn't quite the normal "Hermione answer" he would expect. "Of course it's me, Harry," I corrected. "Who else would I be?" I tapped my teeth for emphasis.

That seemed to placate him and he smiled tiredly. "It's so good to see someone I know," he said. "I've had a hellacious few months."

"What happened, Harry?" I asked. I offered him a cuppa as I nursed my own. "You just disappeared over the summer and then you, Ron, and Ginny didn't even come back to school."

Harry stared down at his feet, which had somehow gained fluffy duck-shaped stockings. Everytime he rubbed them together they quacked softly. Ah, magic. The gift that kept on giving. "Dumbledore has us on a quest. We were supposed to keep it quiet, but it all went to pot. Ginny— I think she had been using a glamour over herself. One day, though, she was throwing up. Ron suspected— and he just blew up. He grabbed Ginny by the collar and Disapparated, yelling that there was no way his baby sister— his pregnant baby sister— was going to stay out in the woods avoiding Death Eaters, no matter what Dumbledore had told her. He forgot the artefact concealed where we were. I couldn't afford to take it off, so he couldn't come back to me."

What a vague reason to be out in the forest dodging Death Eaters. "Harry, what on Earth could be so important and desperate that Dumbledore would send a child— barely seventeen, don't look at me like that, Harry— who never even held a job, worked out there where real life had you at a wand tip with Dark Wizards— to do his tasks? What special power did you have that the rest of us did not?" I kept my voice even. I kept it sympathetic and very Hermione— the swotty fellow student who had a level head but a propensity for idealism and a tendency to see things through rose-coloured glasses.

Truthfully, I wanted to shake him, but there was a part of me that knew I had been just as blind to Dumbledore's manipulations. Albus was good— better than good— at telling a person just enough to get them motivated. It wasn't beyond him to manipulate Harry to run some fool's errand—

Wait…

"What, exactly, did he have you doing, Harry?" I asked again.

"He had us move to various different places. Dobby would bring us fresh supplies and a piece of paper with the next place to go. We would get the artefact. We'd wrap it up in a special cloth and went it back with Dobby, and the next day we'd get our new location to go to. But—"

Harry took a deep breath. "When Ron found out about Ginny, we got in a really big row over it. He Disapparated with her, and it was just me. I thought I could do it by myself, and at first, I could. But without someone to talk to, I started going mad. Seeing things. I thought I saw Ron in so many places, but it never was. I couldn't sleep, got confused— fell into some quicksand. Thought I was a goner. Dobby came to my rescue, but he fell into the sand too. I'm not sure why, but I think the sand devoured magic or suppressed it somehow. Dobby couldn't Apparate anymore. The sand turned to mud, thick and horrible. The mud covered me, and the next thing I knew was darkness. When I could see again, Snape was there giving me the death glare. I figured I was in hell."

"Professor Snape, Harry," I said automatically.

"At least nothing changes with you, Hermione," Harry said. "That's comforting."

I remained silent. Oh, if you only knew, laddie. Ach, Daddy-Moody was infecting my speech patterns again. That would turn poor Harry on his keister listening to me talk like a drunken Scotsman.

"Where are we, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Guest quarters," I replied as honestly as I could. "You're safe here, Harry."

"I haven't felt safe in almost a year," Harry confessed.

"Mew!" Evelien said, striding out from my hair and storm down my leg and pounce Harry's knee. Even under the cocoon of blankets, felines have this eerie way to detect where your knees and your kidneys are. Magical Kneazles? No exception there.

As expected, therapy had nothing on kittens. They were the bee's knees. Harry pet the purple kitten with soothing strokes, his eyes going unfocused and his tension draining out of him. He didn't even question that the kitten was most definitely purple. It looked like a kitten, purred like a kitten— colour seemed moot, I suppose.

Maybe Moody could train them to be interrogators. A few pets and you'd be singing like a bird, spilling your guts as though you'd drank the bottle of Veritaserum. I don't recommend that, by the way. Ever. You'd be unable to spout the truth for months, if not permanently, well, if it was the stuff I brewed, anyway, provided you survived the toxicity of drinking the equivalent of a hundred doses of serum at once.

I brewed the Dewy, Cheatum, and Howe brand Veritaserum, and it made the typical kind look like Muggle Kool-aid. And yes, I could brew it and dispense it while sliding under a closing castle grate, like every other potion I had to brew with my three eccentric masters.

Harry sighed. "He wanted us to break into the Lestrange Vault. That was the one thing we hadn't figured out how we were going to do it. I mean, we had a way to get in, but not to open the vault. It was the one quest we could not finish."

I itched one of my tentacles surreptitiously. "The Lestrange vault? In Gringotts?" Gringotts was always the first place, but some pureblood families kept side vaults that stashed things in— things that screamed and writhed in the dark— things that shouldn't exist. Even the goblins didn't want that in their vaults, but mainly because stuff like that tended to escape and "infect" things in other vaults. That was bad for business.

Harry nodded. "Ginny wanted to go in to visit the Weasley Vault or even my vault and then sneak off to the Lestrange vault, but even if we weren't seen, we'd still have to get into it, and none of us could figure out how to do that without a goblin on our side."

That wasn't likely— unless the goblin had something really tempting in return. It wouldn't be gold, that's for sure. Brandywine had spent enough time drilling goblin-philosophy, social quirks, and language into us that I knew the only way a goblin would even consider such a traitorous deal was if it meant bringing something like a relic into goblin hands or as a favour for an honoured ally. Both were as rare as Tazmanian Tapdancing Fungus. The alliance between the goblins and the DoM was one of those alliances, and it dated back to— well, let's just say it went back long enough that no one actually remembered when. Once you were in with goblins, it was like a blood-bonded magical oath. Both sides knew better than to fuck it up.

Language, Hermione.

Oh, do stuff it.

My inner self not-so-politely told me where to stick it. I'm such a jerk.

Something felt off about the Lestrange Vault quest. Something more dangerous. I wanted to say it felt more— real. It would take a few hours for them to sort through Harry's testimonies and memories. My little interrogation was more for immediate answers, but was limited upon what Harry was willing to give to a fellow "peer."

I had a feeling, though, that Harry was more willing to speak about his adventure now that he'd been rescued from drowning in magic-suppression mud. Master Cheatum had been good about teaching me about that stuff. Natural substances that were so high in concentrated Earth magic that it did exactly opposite what you might expect. It dampened your magic instead of strengthening it, which is why they taught me things like orientation and wilderness survival. Getting out of quicksand is a bitch, but the truth about it is that it rarely ever is deep enough to actually drown you like they do in the jungle movies. It can, however, t rap you to the point where getting out of it is nigh impossible without help. That was the truth. Now, if you were one of those unfortunate sods that got sucked into quicksand and got spit out into a sinkhole, well that's a totally different issue. Sinkholes could be quite fatal, but that was because you literally had all the ground shift, suck you under, and then bury you alive. There was also the soil liquefaction factor. It was all kinds of complex. I vaguely remember something about shear factor and applied stress. Muggle history has plenty of freak photos of cars seemingly sunken right into the ground, buildings tipped and sunken as if foundations were for show and not function.

What it all boiled down to was that Harry was damn lucky to be alive, and that the gargoyle pups were avid search and rescue beasts, even at their age. Their ability to snatch Dobby right out of the air and drag him back proved that time and again. It was no wonder that Amelia was so happy to have them around. Imagine what they could do as grown specimens if as children they could do what they did.

Mind you, gargoyles only did things that benefitted their clan or those they trusted. The pups had gone off on the quest because I had needed to find Harry. That was all they cared about. I hadn't asked, they had just realised it was something I wanted and they wanted to please me because I was their mère. I had the bite marks to prove it.

"Harry, what was in the Lestrange vault that you had to get?" I asked.

"I'm not sure exactly. A cup or something, but he said I'd know it when I saw it."

Very vague.

"Mew!" the kitten bopped Harry on the nose.

Harry stared at the kitten in surprise. "We were saving that task for last. It was the only one that required us to break into a bank. Ginny was thinking if we talked to her father, he could talk to the Aurors, and we could get in officially on Auror business, but Ron said their father would never allow that. He'd want to know why, and we couldn't tell him why."

BOP!

"Gah!" Harry stared at the kitten who seemed to be giving him the stare I thought only Severus capable of— well, and Moody-dad. If they had a glaring contest who would win?

"It's not like we could tell him anything!" Harry protested to the kitten. "We didn't even know why!"

Kneazle kittens are apparently born interrogators. Who knew?

The purple kitten glowered at Harry. "Mew!"

"Dumbledore used Dobby to deliver the tasks," Harry told the kitten. "We weren't supposed to know anything else!"

Bop!

"To protect us!"

Bap! (Right across the face. Ouch.)

Harry slumped. "We have to trust him! He's Dumbledore!"

"Meeeyew." The kitten punctuated as clearly as Severus. Oh dear. We were such horrible role models.

"I just want it to be over. I want to be Harry. Just Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived, not the guy who somehow survived the impossible— not the bloke with the bloody scar," Harry groaned. "He promised. He promised when it was finally over, I'd be free."

Evelien bounced over to my lap, kneaded it, and curled up to sleep, her job apparently done. I rubbed her ears. Chalk one up for the Kneazle kitten.

I left Harry to sleep in a comfortable bed, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. All the information he knew, which wasn't much, all led back to Dumbledore, but then we already knew that it would. One thing was for certain. The Lestrange vault had something important in it, but all we had to go on was that it was a cup of some sort and somehow Harry would know what it was— just not until he saw it with his own eyes.

There was something else, too. His scar.

Until I had him here in my own "territory" so to speak, I hadn't realised just how strange that scar on his head was. It was ominously heavy with Dark magic—thick and different. I could feel it writhing under his skin, trying to come "play" and join the lake of magic deep inside me. Something had changed.

"Severus," I said, sitting next to him on the couch. He pulled me beside him with a soft rumble. "Is there a kind of magic that— expires after a certain time, like years later?"

I could feel his frown without seeing it. "In regards to what, exactly?"

"Harry's mark, the scar," I replied. "I can feel it now— the magic in it— and until now I never did. Not once. And that's not normal for me."

Severus' tentacles hissed towards mine, and they rubbed up against each other. There was a rush of warmth and awareness, and my eyes widened as I realised he had shared sensation with me, including the one with Harry's scar. "There are some spells linked to family magic. Great sacrifice, but those are protection spells. Lily— her sacrificial death shielded Harry, but familial magic has to be renewed say, once a year, by the closeness of another family member. The magic is protective, powerful, but concealing, no. That's not the nature of it."

"That was different," he said after a moment, "the sharing, that is."

"Does it bother you?" I asked. My tentacles perked, tiny question marks almost visible over each one.

Severus pulled me close, rubbing my shoulders. "No, it feels nice to be able to share everything— that someone else can trust me."

"He did a real number on us both, didn't he?" I asked.

Severus pressed his face into my hair, and I could hear him snuffling. "He was— is— a master of it. Do you think Potter will be receptive to the truth?"

"It will be hard," I replied. "But he will be far more apt to to believe it if the revelation comes from someone he's not been specifically conditioned not to trust."

"Well, I'm out," I said with a snort. "A peer is hardly the same when getting news like that."

"You are hardly a peer," Severus noted.

I smiled. "Commiserator?"

It was his turn to snort. "If he is anything like his father and a drop like his mother, he will trust Dumbledore until the sky is torn asunder and the very Earth opens up to devour him. It will take someone who has been left out of Dumbledore's immediate mention to break through it. Anyone from Hogwarts would be out, is my guess, because no one but Dumbledore was to be trusted there."

"Eventually," Severus said with a sigh, someone is going to have to tell Potter that Albus gave that potion to age Ginny knowing full well what it would do to her

I snuggled into him, enjoying the feel of his warmth. In all the years I'd "worked" for Albus, it had never come with physical comfort. In a way, he did me a favour, because I'd become a lot closer to my shadow, whiskers, and tentacles, but it also made me appreciate this beautiful closeness. And I knew Severus felt it too. It wasn't just the brain link, no. It was because he was forged as I was— only he wasn't given the opportunity to get to know his more beastly assets.

We snuggled on the couch instead of retreating to bed. It was insanely comfortable. I think Minerva had charmed it to to promote optimum rest— either that or it just happened to feel like sleeping on a cloud. I wasn't complaining. For once, sleeping in a more human form felt okay, and that was something different. My eyelids were growing heavy, and I snuggled into Severus' arms, listening to the sound of his breaths.

Thump.

Thump.

Rustle. Rustle.

Thump.

I felt warm balls of fur dropping on us from the rim of the couch.

PurrrrRrrrRrrrrr.

Crookshanks wedged under my arm as multiple balls of Kneazle kitten deposited themselves all over us, finding comfortable niches to insert themselves. I felt my tentacles pop out from under my collar and cuddle the nearest kitten.

Bother. There'd be no getting rid of them now.

Sleep dragged me under without my express permission. It was such a Kneazle.

-Harry-

I woke to the chirping of birds, and for a moment I thought I was back in the wilds. I busted out of my sleeping roll, only to find it wasn't a sleeping roll at all. The duvet was tangled around me, and I tumbled to the floor with a thud, completely unused to sleeping on a bed. We'd lost the tent when we'd forgotten to stake it down, and it blew out into storm, never to be seen again. I'd tried to ask Dobby to have Dumbledore send us another, but the one he sent was the Muggle kind. It did have comfortable bedrolls though. I think Dumbledore had figured as long as we slept comfortably— well more comfortably than on dirt— we would be okay.

It took me a moment to realise I was some place with a roof over my head and an open window. A cool breeze wafted in and smelled of water and earth. Maybe I would have appreciated it more if I hadn't been spending the last year camping and on the run.

Vaguely, I remembered I'd spilled my gut to Hermione, finding relief in finally having someone to talk to that might judge me, but at least she wasn't out to get me. Ever since Dumbledore told us not to rely on Hermione because she has tasks to do, I'd had to rely on Ron and Ginny and my father's invisibility cloak. At least the cloak got me out of most of the trouble Ron and Ginny brought upon us nosing about Hogwarts, trying to learn what was being hidden from us.

I got the nagging feeling that I had been in more danger than anyone wanted to say, but it was chased down by a sense of failure that I hadn't managed to finish the last task for Dumbledore. Sure it was dangerous, but— it was for the greater good: the end of the war, right?

I wished Sirius was here to talk to. He'd understand; I was sure of it. But that wasn't going to happen because I'd killed him with my own impulsive stupidity. Oh, Bellatrix held the most of my blame, having done the deed, but deep in the pit of my stomach, I knew if I had just listened to Hermione when she pleaded with me to make sure he wasn't at Grimmauld Place—

Sirius would still be alive.

I'd had a lot of time alone to think about it, after all.

Kreacher's blatent lies— I had believed them. He had never been truthful to me before, why had I so eagerly believed him that night? Because of the vision? A nightmare? Planted in my bead by Voldemort? I'd done just what he wanted me to do.

Stupid.

Impulsive.

Idiot.

I'd failed at Occlumency. I'd sneaked in and watched Snape's horrible memories, watched my father— my FATHER and his friends— torture the student-Snape, yet still I believed I didn't need some stupid Occlumency. I didn't need SNAPE telling me anything.

Only now, I was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, my father had been a swine. Maybe Professor Snape had every reason to hold a grudge, not that it was fair to take it out on me, but I was just as damned guilty of it as he had been. I'd never have believed such a thing before my year out on the run. I soaked up all the great things Sirius said about my dad, the hate they had for Snape— to the point where when Dumbledore himself had asked me to learn something from the man, I'd done everything I could except actually succeed at it.

Watched someone's memories without their permission? Oh yes.

Brassed off a professor who already had a hundred different reasons to hate me? Yup.

It wasn't until I'd been out on the run, needing spells and skills that worked, that I realised what a horrible student I had been. I'd really wished Hermione had been there to tell me just how spells were supposed to be. I'd let Ron make fun of her because it made him like me more, and the more he liked me, the more I got to see his family— a family that was magical and loved each other. But, just when I had begin to think maybe I should hang around her more, Dumbledore had whisked her away to do her own tasks.

Ron and Ginny, of course, wasted no time in making fun of her. They never called her a Mudblood— even they had their limits, but the know-it-all had apparently only endeared herself to being mocked and helping with homework. Now, who was laughing? I wondered where Hermione was now. Probably taking her N.E.W.T.s and laughing her way to Gringotts with a good job before she even graduated.

I wondered where I was.

Guest room, Hermione had said. Her guest room or just a guest room somewhere she was? Where was here, anyway?

I had seen Snape, unless it was a hallucination. I'd thought the Death Eaters had got me at last— but he hadn't. I was clean, fed, and— interrogated, but it had not been anything I'd have expected from say, Molly Weasley, on return from our quest.

I realised that the window could open further, and I decided to go exploring— but I should probably put on some trousers. Finding a pile of clean clothes nearby, I felt a twinge of relief that I was "back in civilisation." My wand, however, was missing in action.

A flash of memory told me my wand had sunken into the mud with me, and it was no one's fault but my own that it had. I sighed, pulled on the fresh clothes and slipped out of the window into what seemed like a garden in paradise.

"Kweh?" a bright yellow bird peered at me from the trees. It was munching on a mouthful of radish greens, the bright red radish dangling from its beak. It was taller than an ostrich, much more massive. It's large feet stomped on the ground with surprising softness. A cloud of fluffy, downy chicks ran around the bird's feet.

Kweh!

Wooheehoo!

Wark!

They all took mouthfuls of greens from the garden and walked off.

Ooooookay then.

A flock— was it a flock? — of phoenixes whirled their eyes at me, their beaks full of peaches, strawberries and grapes. Big ones, small ones, and one was apparently working on a cantaloupe.

There was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard filled with koi, wait, no. It was filled with some sort of potion that shaped itself into a bunch of koi-shaped— what the hell?

I wanted to touch the water, but what the hell would it do to me?

As if to answer my question a tiny black lintball with bright eyes and bright red feet dipped its head into the "water" and drank, belched a symphonic chord, and tore off into the orchard.

I wasn't much of a singer, so maybe it would be an improvement.

"Many interesting things live here, protected from the outside world," a woman said as she strolled in. She nursed a mug of coffee in her hands. "I am Amelia," she introduced herself. "Welcome to our little piece of paradise on Earth."

A "flock" of tiny hippogriffs flew by, chasing each other, or rather, chasing the one in front that had a tiny, miniature ferret clutched in its beak. I couldn't help but stare.

"Does this unsettle you, Mr Potter?"

"Harry, please," I said. I wasn't feeling the Mr at all. "I'm just… I went to a magical school. I thought I'd seen almost everything thanks to Hagrid. Yet here— it's like a whole new world."

Amelia let out a soft snort. "I fear Mr Hagrid's reputation is far more seasoned with the dangerous than the symbiotic. Here, all the creatures form a balance, a true ecosystem. We have Arbormagi and Magizoologists that make sure all of our creatures and people have what they need to thrive."

"It's amazing," I admitted. I loved Hagrid, and he always meant well, but after the Monstrous Book of Monsters and even Buckbeak, I did wonder about safety. Mind you, I thought that Draco deserved what he got, but Buckbeak didn't deserve to be prosecuted for Draco's reckless stupidity.

Hagrid's "dog" had almost eaten us. His blasted-ended skrewts had almost killed us. His dragonet had almost burnt down his hut. His half-brother had beaten Ginny up against a tree trying to figure out what would make her stop screaming.

All of them were "'armless, Harry."

Yet here— wow. I felt as though this is what my introduction to the Care of Magical Creatures should have been like.

"Un. Deux. Un. Deux. Un. Deux!" a female voice said.

The sound of flapping drew my attention. An assortment of creatures clung to the side of the water fountain, stretching their wings out to the sun and folding them over and over.

I felt my jaw dropping again.

"Gargoyle pups," Amelia said fondly. "Aren't they adorable?"

They were. They really were. I'd only seen one gargoyle in my life, and it guarded the Headmaster's office. "I— I had no idea they were social. The one at Hogwarts is alone. It guards the Headmaster's office."

"These are from a clan in France— probably one of the oldest lines of gargoyles in the world. As I recall, the one in Hogwarts is the last of a line that used to protect all of Hogwarts," Amelia said. "Something tragic happened, but no one knew what. Some said disease. Some said poison. Some said someone in Hogwarts offended them so much that they left. There were a lot of suppositions, but not enough evidence. All we know for sure is that shortly after Headmaster Dippet retired, the last of the gargoyles, save one, disappeared."

"I really should have read more of Hogwarts: A History," I said, suddenly regretting not ever reading Hermione's copy.

Amelia smiled, finishing her coffee and making the mug vanish with a hand wave. "You had us on quite a merry chase, Harry. What did you think of your time out there?"

I winced. Truth was, I hated it once I realised just how unprepared I was— unprepared and unable to get better at anything. The first month, it was like camping and total freedom, but then I started to realise how little I knew. Between Ron, Ginny, and myself, we tended to fill in the spaces, but there were times when both Ron and I had— well, let's just say we vastly preferred Quidditch to homework. Most of the teachers chose to let it slide on Quidditch weeks, provided we turned it in the week after. Most anyway. Never Professor Snape, though. Both he and Professor McGonagall always wanted their assigned work done regardless of Quidditch.

"At first it was great, but—" I sighed. "Reality began to set in about a month in. The tasks were okay between the three of us, but when Ron up and left with Ginny, I think I started to go a bit mad. I talked to myself, named my snitch Barnabas, started chittering back at random squirrels— When Dobby finally arrived, I actually wanted him to stay and talk to me. I didn't care what he talked about. Started to question why I was out there and what the hell I was doing."

"You doubted what you were doing was helping the war effort?"

Hah. I had plenty of doubts to spare. "I doubt a lot of things right now," I admitted. "Things never got any better. Any easier. If we were making a difference, shouldn't there have been some sign? A message? An attaboy or something, anything?"

I held my head in my hands. I was starting to realise I'd been a complete fool. "I have no idea what I was doing out there. I can tell you what I thought I was doing, but I don't know if that was really what was going on."

"Mew!"

A chorus of mews heralded the arrival of a litter of multicoloured kittens. They pounced on the gargoyle pups, clung to them, and then the pups took off, carrying them off to places known only to them.

"I had horrible dreams out there. Worse than ever. Worse and worse on top of worse," I said. "Headmaster Dumbledore once tried to get me to study how to shield my mind against Vold—"

Amelia's hand was over my mouth in an instant. She shook her head adamantly. "There is a reason we call him He That Shall Not Be Named, Harry. Say his name, and he can trace you wherever you are. Now, this place has some elaborate wards that make it impossible to complete the name to keep kids from saying it accidently, but you should get in the habit of not saying it. It would endanger you and everyone you were with."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "But— why didn't anyone tell me this?"

"Most people just know not to say the name, Harry," she said quietly. "Even if they don't think of the reason. It's something those born in the magical world just— don't do. And, somewhere in there, we forget to tell people the reason because it seems so obvious. Most people don't even know the old name. It isn't even an option. Had you used it, Harry, he would have found you, no matter where you hid."

All the times I had almost said Voldemort out loud… but— why hadn't Dumbledore warned me?

Was it really because he believed I wouldn't have been foolish enough to say it? He knew I was raised Muggle.

A strange expression flickered across Amelia's face. "He never told you, did he? Albus."

I flushed defensively. "He must have though I knew better!" I blurted, immediately wondering where that had come from. Hadn't I just had my own doubts? The hell, Harry? What's your issue? I clutched my forehead. The scar was burning. I heard the hissing whispers in my head, reminding me of my nightmares— of Sirius' death.

My fault.

My fault.

My stupid, impulsive, conviction—

"Harry," Amelia said, breaking me out of the downward spiral. "I'd really like our people to take a look at that scar of yours."

"It's not just a scar, is it?" I said, suddenly clear.

The woman's smile was grim. "No, Harry, but I think it's time we all knew what it truly is."

My jaw tightened. "Sure," I said. I paused. "Will it hurt?"

Amelia's expression was serious. "I hope not. It will not be our intention, i can promise you that."

I stared at my hands. "Okay. I've wanted to know why I had it for a long time."

"Probably all your life," she said, her face sympathetic.

I nodded. "Ever since I could look into a mirror."

Something was niggling in the back of my brain. "Amelia, do you know if— is Ginny all right? Ron?"

"Ronald Weasley has been accepted back into Hogwarts," Amelia said. "Ginevra, however, is in protective custody due to her condition. It would not take long before people with ill intent would want to get their hooks into the child of Harry Potter, even if that meant carving the baby out of the womb."

I felt a stone form in my stomach. Stupid Harry. What did you think would happen sticking your pecker into her? That she would be on the potion? So what if she had obviously wanted you— did you even suspect what would happen if she did get pregnant? What that would mean for her? You? The child?

I hadn't been thinking. No, not at all. It had been like I was suffocating and Ginny had been air. I couldn't get enough of her— hell, I hadn't been able to think clearly until—

Oh, Merlin.

Until she was pregnant.

"Amelia, is there—" Oh boy. Good one Harry, now she's staring at you. Her eyebrow raised. I swallowed hard. "Is it possible to be lured into, I mean, can you—" Fuck. Just spit it out, Harry.

She was staring at me intently.

"Is it possible that we were under the influence of something?" I blurted.

"To have— sex?" Amelia replied.

I fidgeted. "Yes."

"There are many things that can drive a person to succumb to the more primitive needs, Harry. The main, however, is often a lack of self control."

Oh, we'd lost control, alright.

"Right, but—" Oh boy, this was worse than talking to the parents of the witch. "Could something have made it worse?"

"This would probably be something better answered by a potions master, Harry."

I shuddered instinctively, and Amelia noticed, shaking her head.

"Harry, as an adult, we often have to work with people we may not like," she said quietly. "But we are often guilty of judging people before truly knowing them. That is far more damaging than just dislike. I think— you of all people, should know what it is like to be judged on hearsay rather than truth."

"But he's such a bloody git!" I blurted, filled with anger. Where had that come from— my head stung. I rubbed my scar over and over.

"Harry, I think it's time we had that scar looked at. Sooner rather than later."

I stared at her and then nodded. Something had to change soon before I offended someone who had every right to take it out on my hide in a non-school environment.

"Yeah," I said aloud. "I think so too."

"Mew!" the blue kitten was on top of my head, peering at me from my askew hair.

Wait, wasn't the kitten purple?

Suddenly a flood of multicoloured kittens pounced me mercilessly, and I went tumbling into the fountain with a splash.

I came out singing Nessun Dorma with the kittens singing the choir.

I dripped as Amelia handed me a towel. "Thanks." I think I said thanks, but it came out in song in a language I didn't know. I hope I didn't just insult her parentage. Even in song, that could get me with a dagger in the back or a bottle of poison ala Shakespeare.

I had enough problems, thanks.

Unspeakables were scary.

Damn scary.

Scary down to my toes, scary.

Their sibilant hissing speech was creepy. Their uniform was creepier. The truth was, I never heard hissing from snakes. To me, they were speaking to me like I was talking to Ron. Arguably, snakes seemed to have more going on upstairs than Quidditch, food, and Lavender Brown.

I felt like pissing myself in my shame and hypocrisy. I, too, had been obsessed with all things not studying. Having lived under the thumb of the Dursley's for most of my life, having real food, being able to have fun at all— it all seemed like the holy grail of freedom. Don't get me wrong, I loved magic and the magical world, but I picked and chose what I liked the best and clung to it. Flying on a broom felt like a kind of freedom the world had never given me before. It was that same freedom and the craving for it that made taking off on an errand for Dumbledore seem like I was finally paying the world back for rescuing me from Muggle banality.

But as I looked at these Unspeakables— the cream of the magical world, akin to hit wizards to Aurors or even, if I admitted it, student to teachers— I realised I'd been paying a lot of attention to the wrong things, much as any child would, sheltered by school that kept you safe.

Relatively safe.

I mean, how safe could you really be in a world where someone could accidently blow you up, turn you into a goblet or a pachyderm— ferret— or whatever.

Draco being a ferret— okay, I'll admit he deserved that, and I amused myself thinking about it whenever I thought of Draco. Though, after meeting his father up close and murderous, part of me wondered if Draco was a trapped in his life as I had been with the Dursleys. Perhaps, Draco was just another Dudley Dursley— spoiled and raised to believe he was better.

As the metal gauntlets sprawled over my face, I expected it to hurt. I expected to writhe as I did in my nightmares, tortured by things I could not stop.

But that torment never came.

Instead, there was a kind of strange warmth, like the sun brushing against my forehead and the rippling of tadpoles nipping at my toes.

"Harry. Your mummy and daddy love you."

I felt tears going down my cheeks, surging forth with a sob of emotion I hadn't realised was there.

"Mummy loves you."

"Daddy loves you."

"Harry, be safe."

"Be strong."

I felt the heat of my magic bubbling forth as though it wished to leave my body, and immediately, the warmth of that touch went away. The Unspeakable stepped back, hissing to the other. There was the clinking of the ornate looking crystals that hung in their headdress, their green, glowing eyes flaring from behind the dark blindfold. The other Unspeakable hissed to the other, one hand touching the others in what could have been comfort or reassurance.

They reached out to me instead, those cruel talons stretching across my face. Had Amelia not been there, calm and serene, I would have bolted. The Unspeakable's hand brushed my face as the other's hand gently touched theirs. Whatever they were doing, it seemed to be a team effort.

This time the sensation was less warm, almost more guarded.

"Idiot boy," I heard clearly in my head. "You cannot escape me."

Red eyes in a twisted, monstrous face stared back at me. Slits for a nose—

"You are mine, boy. There will be nothing left of you but me."

"No!" I cried, waving my hands in the air frantically. I was throwing wild punches, not caring who I hit. All I could see was the glow of those terrible eyes, coming closer.

CLOSER.

CLOSER!

The slither of scales against cold stone.

HissssSSSSSss…

HISSSSSS!

Kill.

Kill!

KILL!

I threw myself at the Unspeakables, my mouth parted in a violent hiss. Of course I would kill them for him. Soft mammals. Only the master deserved to be served. Curse this soft, weak, fleshy body! I could sense power. Beautiful, pulsing power.

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

I pounced on that writhing, beckoning power. It would be mine. I was snarling, hissing, a tangle of motion as my body moved like a serpent. I would have it. My master would have it. We would have it all!

I bit down with all my strength into the warm, fleshy skin hidden under the wrap of cloth instead of metal. The metallic scent of blood aroused my senses even more. I could feel my master's presence riding in to assist in the kill— he always enjoyed the kills with me. As it should be.

To my great annoyance, the flesh gave way under my bite, and I realised I wasn't getting the reaction I desired. They went limp under me, doing exactly the opposite of what I wanted. I wanted writhing and struggle. I wanted pointless fighting against my coils. I wanted the hapless struggle against inevitable death!

Coldness.

No, what was this?!

A freezing touch was upon my body as my victim stood up straight, shrugging their shoulders to straighten their cloth-covered exterior. The writhing pool of magic was there— so close. SO CLOSE!

I could not move.

I wanted it.

I needed it!

IT WOULD BE MINE!

Damn this accursed body that would not move! Why couldn't I move?! I felt that part of me that was most attuned to my master join with me even closer, giving me power. I felt his eagerness to have that power that was dangling so tantalisingly close to me. I felt the piece of my master that was inside the softmeat host— the warmblood boy. It was stronger now that He was with us.

I tried to get the fleshy meatsack to move. I flowed over his inside, taking over every thought. It was so much better than when he let me do what needed to be done. But this whiny little warmblood— the body would not move. All he did was scream inside his own mind as if deafening me was going to solve anything.

My master encouraged me to break out of the annoying prison and touch that glorious power. He hungered for it as I would hunger for prey. I slammed myself against the insides of the screaming, annoying host, annoyed that there was something familiar about him, like he should be like me. But this one— he was alien. His mind was rooted in weakness. He resisted my master's glorious touch!

Suddenly, there was a flood of heat and power, only it was coming from the inside. At first I thought it was my master, but this— this was different.

It was seething.

Rage.

Disgust.

Indignation.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"

What the?

"I'm tired of this curse!"

"I'm tired of you slithering around in my head like a parasite!"

"I'm tired of being used!"

"I'm tired of people thinking they can just tell me what to do and I'll just roll over and accept it!"

"I'm tired of the nightmares!"

"I'm tired of having his piece inside me that wants to hurt people!"

"I'm tired of feeling like it's me that wants everyone to suffer!"

"I'm tired of people either fearing me because my parents stood up to a murder!"

"I'm tired of people trying to be my friend because I'm chosen. Chosen for what? Chosen to suffer the likes of giant snake in my head?!"

"Get out!"

"GET OUT!"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"

What? NO! I was being pushed out. How was this possible? How could a weak warmblood softmeat get the upper hand on me!

No!

I was better than it!

I was stronger!

I was—

NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Fwwwwommmmmmmm!

-Severus-

Potter had a problem.

It was a bit of a hissing problem, seasoned with a smattering of barking mad Dark Lord.

Dark Lord was never a good thing. Ask me how I know.

Now, I wasn't Potter's best judge of character, but I was pretty sure he didn't enter into the conversation trying to take a bite out of Hermione, hissing like a brassed-off serpent, and practically oozing the very familiar and skin-crawling presence of a certain Dark Lord.

Goody.

Part of me wanted to throw in my two cents the moment Potter tried to sink his teeth into my mate, but the other part of me knew she could take it. The only thing I had to watch out for was if she still had a soft spot for Potter and chose to hold back.

I really shouldn't have worried.

Again, I was treating her like she was Potter's good friend and staunch ally, but she was not. She was a trained assassin, bringing a mark in close and then proving why she had taken out so many of the Dark Lord's pets, one after another.

I saw her shadow pin down Potter the moment his teeth sank into her arm. I think he expected her to struggle or scream, and the fact she wasn't and instead relaxed into it, even as the blood began to drip down her arm, was driving the boy mad.

Erm, madder.

Arguably, the Dark Lord was already extra barking mad to begin with, so there wasn't any change there, but Potter, I will reluctantly admit, was guilty of being an abused kid who suddenly had nine months out of the year when he wasn't being starved and treated like a seventh class citizen, just under that of a cockroach, only Petunia and Vernon never actually sprayed him with roach killer, as far as I know. It probably would have killed THEM just handling it, but I digress.

I'd spent enough time as a child of a dysfunctional family, and I knew Petunia from personal experience. The two sides of the same family fence— Petunia and Lily. In the end, I realised the two both had the same genes, not in the literal sense as much as I came to terms with Lily wanted to be as popular as Petunia did. The difference was the crowd in which they wanted to BE popular.

Yet, when looking at Potter— or rather Harry Potter— all I saw was his father's face and his mother's eyes. Two things I had never truly resolved my loathing for. One had a long history of abusive behaviour towards me, the other was marked by one event that sent years of friendship spiraling into Oblivion.

Yet, when I stared at the boy's face, it rapidly changed from scared and confused to hell-bent animalistic fury only to change again into something even more wrathful.

"Get the fuck out of my head!" Potter screamed, only his mouth was open, frozen by the shadow's touch. The exclamation was entirely mental, and something viscous and black began to pour out from his forehead— where the scar was. The skin had broken open, like a blister, and while a black foulness drained from the wound, it writhed and swirled in the air like a living thing, forming into the shape of the Dark Lord as his most treasured serpent, Nagini.

And that was when everything went pear-shaped.

While the shadows were great for living things with shadows, they were not so great for non-corporeal phantoms streaming out of a victim's magical scar.

Oh, but it was much more than a scar.

Horcrux.

The Dark Lord's cockiness about death was suddenly more clear. His dreadful transformation form from the comely and even dashing, smooth-tongued wizard into the red-eyed, serpentine and twisted creature he had become was even more understandable.

There was something familiar about the feel of the Dark Lord, perhaps so many years under his thumb, bearing his Mark. Nagini, however, had a hatred for me that eclipsed all others. She— and I could barely even call her a she, as she was far worse than any bear sow defending her cubs or even the most violently protective animal I could think of. Nagini was murder incarnate with only one respect— to Voldemort.

I wasn't even sure if she recognised me or even cared. Any excuse to murder was a-okay with her. Knowing who I was would have just added one more layer of spite against me. She flung herself at me, the intangible made form. The cloud of manifestation was somewhere between real and not— real enough to feel her strike, fangs sinking into my neck in an attempt to tear it out or poison me, perhaps both at the same time.

I had no time to divert my attention, even though I saw Hermione go down under a cloud of blackened, homicidal Dark Lord. I had to trust she had all the tools to deal with him.

Dumbledore had perfected his monster in her.

She had been all the things I had not, by no fault of mine. Who was to say I had been the only experiment. Regardless of that troubling thought, the answer was in front of me.

Hermione had shed all pretenses of humanity and demonstrated that Nagini and her Lord were not the only monsters in the room.

Black claws, wings, fangs, fur, whiskers, and tentacles burst free from their confinement as the Unspeakables uniform disappeared. For a moment, it was her human shape, soft and naked as the day she was born, but it was a birth of sorts. Hermione's younger face faded into her older self, and that twisted into that of the she-beast as the cloud of Dark Lord attempted to smother her.

Poor Potter. If he was watching, I think he might have pissed himself.

Her tentacles unfurled from her back like an angry nest of eels, fangs bared and slime dripping from their collective maws. Even the tentacle with the festive bling managed to look properly teed-off. Her whiskers, like long, serpents, caressed her face as it pushed out into a cruel, yet so overwhelmingly beautiful and fierce muzzle. Her wings snapped back, the not-so-small wing spurs flexed like dagger-wielding hands as her tail whipped out behind her.

"Hello, Tom," her voice rumbled like a mix of honey and venom. "Welcome to my parlor."

Red eyes and snake-like face twisted in shocked surprise and then anger. "No! No! He could not have succeeded! The power was to be mine! MINE! If anyone was to be the perfect vessel, it would be ME!"

He wrapped his hands around her neck, choking her. I felt the rush of heat off the phantom— the familiar rush of beast trapped under the surface.

I hadn't been the first, after all.

Tom Riddle had been, but he, too, had been a failure.

Unstable.

Dying.

"I found a way to stay alive despite his damnable tampering, and I will find a way to rip what is mine from your very core!" he hissed, shaking Hermione with all his might, his body both materialising and wrapping around her like a snake and de-materialising as though he was having issues maintaining the immense flow of power that it must have taken to sustain such a feat.

I only vaguely saw what happened next as Nagini's phantom was growing steadily more solid, and my blood was starting to paint the floor and the walls with our struggle together. Yet, even as it happened, I felt my skin knitting as the magic and bond with Hermione wove together my skin as it did my magic. I knew—

She was the key to why I would ultimately survive and why Tom had turned to Horcruxes.

We were failures, doomed to die. Unstable and unusable. So, Albus had cast Tom into the winds, but instead of dying, he had found other ways to keep his lifeforce tethered to this world. And me— I had tied myself to Tom with the Dark Mark, and thus my life had remained mine, for a time.

Albus must have known.

The change was upon me, and I saw no reason to fight what I had ultimately become. In joining with Hermione, I had embraced the full potential of what Albus had tried to make me. As my changing hands became talons and wrapped around Nagini's more "solid" neck, I knew the real reason why Albus had sent us out to kill each other. With the two of us out of the running, our magic would have flowed back into him, giving him all of what we were, and it would have been more than enough to deal with Tom Riddle.

No evidence.

No witnesses left.

"No!" I heard the Dark Lord's voice bellow. "I will kill you both. You are inferior! You are mere pale copies! All that you are was because of ME!"

Yet, I was calm.

Because she was calm.

Hermione's mind was placid, like the mountain lake, unhampered by the wind or the jumping of fish.

Ironically, both of us were slammed into the ground, being pinned by our phantom un-phantom attackers. Our tentacles snapped into the "air" unable to bite the magical smoke, and were understandably irritated that they should have been able to.

Yet, we were alien to him, and thus Nagini knew no better than her master. Much as Nagini was one with Voldemort, Hermione and I shared a bond that tied us together as one being. The bond was warmth despite what should have been a struggle between life and death. It was oxygen. It was the flow of magic itself. It was the siren song that could lure a man to his death, happily, willingly, with arms open wide, only to me it was the call home.

Even as my hands struggled to crush the form that was becoming more Nagini by the second, she decided she wanted to sink her fangs into me. Perhaps it wasn't venomous because she was manifesting, or maybe whatever she had was pants against what I had become, but as she glared into my face with those unblinking hateful eyes, I felt the corners of my mouth quirk upwards.

Solid enough to hold you.

Solid enough to have a shadow.

Nagini was frozen in place, my shadow having done what any defensive sort of friend would do and gave Nagini a really big hug. The hate in her mind poured through her eyes, which were glowing a distinctive red. Oh, so that's why the Dark Lord was so "sweet" on her.

She was more than just a murderous snake.

She was part of HIM.

A Horcrux.

Horcruxes were magic, and I knew exactly what magic wanted.

My tail was onto me, and it had slithered out from under me and towards my mate. Her tail apparently had the same idea. She was magic, but I was will and fortitude. Together—

Together, we were complete.

The moment our tails corkscrewed around each other, there was a deafening scream inside our heads. Rage, defiance, and fear mixed together as Tom Riddle realised he had been taken by the ultimate honey trap. The honey was magic, but he and Nagini had so kindly touched us both at the same time. I could feel their strength pouring into me, but Hermione—

Hermione was a Dark goddess. Her body was glowing as she rose off the ground, her wings unfolded like the demon of the mountain, shaking off his embrace and attempt to suffocate her. Her tentacles hissed in concert as they moved back and forth like cobras following the movement of the flute.

"Come," Hermione's voice purred like a lover's. "Let me adore you."

Glistening fangs dripped with venom as her eyes filled with the darkness of the midnight sky. Her tentacles struck just as her mouth full of fangs opened wide and clamped around Voldemort's "face." There was a crackling, crunching sound and the psychic scream that everywhere at once.

And then—

The flood of strength seemed without end— it was coming in a raging torrent, and I was high on it. I was powerful beyond all power, and it just kept coming. Vaguely, I was aware of the screams of hundreds of voices, and I realised— it wasn't just Voldemort's strength I was taking.

It was everyone connected to him.

Hermione let out a roaring bay as the flood of magic poured into her. I could feel Voldemort trying to pull power and strength from his minions— every single one— but it wasn't enough. The lake of magic inside Hermione was depthless and infinite, and all magic not specifically bound to us wanted to come home to her.

As strength of will and fortitude came to me.

Nagini's form was becoming more solid, but also cracking under my grip. Pieces of her shed like the breaking of a statue, crushed under my grip.

Hermione's jaws closed, and Voldemort's "head" flung up against the wall, shattering into countless, brittle pieces. There was a surge of Dark Magic as the pull of other, distant anchors fed into him, protecting him from death.

More Horcruxes.

How many did this man make?

But I felt Hermione's smug smile without seeing it. He was doing her work for her. She kept relieving him of his head, one bite and thrash at a time, and each time another would try to form, pulling on the energy and magic of his next Horcrux. Black, oily clouds tried to remake Tom's body so he could attack Hermione, but with each touch of his body against hers, he was giving her more of his magic— his and his stolen magic.

All those with the Mark were being drained of their magic to support their master— just like the Horcruxes. Death Eaters were not just his servants, but they were also his backup plan. He drew power from every single one of them just as they grew stronger with him— only now they were realising what the Mark was truly for.

Insurance.

Yet, as the Dark Lord frantically drained power minions from and his Horcruxes to maintain a physical form in his desperate attempt to seize Hermione's and my power from us as his just reward, something happened.

The hums of countless gargoyles resonated in my head, driving away the screams of the Dark Lord and his minions— not just the ones near us, but all those of the line of Hermione's "family." Every Notre Dame gargoyle lended their voice, their will, their love for their family. Even the pups— perhaps especially the pups— added their voice to the Song. The Song I had never heard so clearly until now.

I saw in my head Hermione's memory of when she had first crash landed into the rookery, surrounded by gargoyle eggs that she had miraculously missed. They hatched in a flurry, as if they sensed her warmth, and they instantly imprinted on her, Marked her, and claimed her as their own.

I felt the purr of every Kneazle kitten—

"A life debt is a life debt," Ollivander's purring voice said in my head.

Ollivander's ancient power flowed into the mix, driving away the suffocating Dark magic that was trying to overwhelm us both in the hopes that feeding Hermione too much would destroy her.

I felt Hermione's smile as she opened the floodgates of her magical lake, and while I knew she was not drowning, she used the link with the gargoyles and the Kneazles and shared the wave of purified magic with all that were connected to her— to us.

There was a roar in our minds— no, our very cores.

"Begone," Bastion's voice snarled through the bond, his powerful will guiding his clan's rage and poured it into the link with the Dark Lord.

I could see in my mind's eye, a line of Kneazle kittens, their fur spiked in anger, pouring their own sort of magic into the mix, powered even stronger by the influx of magic Hermione was giving them all.

Suddenly, Potter's anger and rage joined the mix. "THIS IS FOR MY PARENTS, YOU SICK SON OF BITCH!"

Tom Riddle's body exploded into a thousand charred pieces— his and Nagini's screams were cut off with a finality that I could feel rather than see.

Shhhhplurk.

A bone, the thick goop of a failed potion, and a rat-like human hand lay in the middle of the room.

Potter staggered, his face weary and worn as the weight of this entire childhood— sixteen years of carrying around an interloping Dark Lord in his mind and life. His hand went to his forehead, rubbing it in an instinctive motion, but the skin was now perfectly smooth. His distinctive lightning bolt scar was gone.

Admittedly, I was flat on my back, wings sprawled across the ground like a rug. I could barely think, barely move. My arms and feet were curled up, just the digits twitching as surely as if I'd been rolled by the most intense orgasm of my life. Moving any more than that caused the magic to ripple, and that sent my body into yet another round of ecstatic twitching.

In my mind's eye, I knew I wasn't alone. Hermione had shared the magic with her entire "family"—family that magic recognised over blood. Somewhere, someplace, there were countless gargoyles flat on their stomachs and backs, twitching like we were, positively rolled by the sharing of magic.

If the thrumming purrs in my head were any indicator, the Kneazles were in the same predicament.

I heard Potter thump as he slid down into the chair again. "You know, with all the surprises I've been forced to face lately, you being a Dark Lord-eating monster seems strangely fitting and perfectly understandable." He snorted in amusement. "I have no idea why this amuses me so much."

He rubbed the space between his eyes. "For a moment, I felt them all. Everyone and everything touched by him. Every one of those objects, every one of his people— I could feel him pulling all the energy he could from everything in order to get at you. I could feel his fear of you. His hate, but also his jealousy. He really believed he deserved it all— the power, the magic."

Potter swallowed hard enough that I could hear it.

"I saw it— what Dumbledore did to him. The pain, the experiments, and the promises were all there. His whole life in a few seconds," he said with some difficulty. "He was mad. Completely mad, but he never knew kindness in all his life, and I think—"

Potter's voice was quieter than I'd ever heard it— calm, peaceful, lacking the anger and the self-righteousness for once. "I think I have more respect now for the kindnesses I've been given despite everything that wasn't."

He let out a long sigh.

"I have a lot of thinking to do, but—" He breathed in a ragged breath. "Thank you, for giving me the respite in which to build a life of my own. A real life, free of that monster."

I wanted to tell him that some monsters aren't the obvious kind. Some monsters were far more evil on the inside than out, but I couldn't even form words. My head was full of nipped-out Kneazles and gargoyle pups. I couldn't even groan, my paws were twitching by themselves as magic frolicked through my mind and body.

In that moment, I knew I could forgive Potter for the greatest sin my mind had held onto: being born of the most hated wizard I had known in my childhood years and the childhood friend that could never forgive me for a word said in the heat of the moment.

Potter was his own person.

Harry was his own person. Good or bad. Lazy or not. Brave or not. For once, he was free to become a person of his own making— provided dear old Albus wasn't still guiding the boy with invisible strings.

I felt Hermione's tail tighten around mine, and I realised it could all wait. We'd just vanquished a Dark Lord. Surely they wouldn't begrudge us a little nap?

Monster Loose at Hogwarts — Parting Shot from He Who Shall Not Be Named?

Students were all evacuated safely from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry today shortly after Aurors working with Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries successfully foiled the possession of a former student by He Who Shall Not Be Named. The student, none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, Mr Harry Potter, was checked into St Mungo's for a thorough look over only for healers to discover that the scar that had so long plagued the young man had inexplicably vanished into thin air.

The battle of wills apparently occurred while Mr Potter was surrounded by Unspeakables and Aurors, and while no specific details of the incident were released, the few comments that we were able to glean described the scene as "epic" and "once in a lifetime". The Unspeakables, as to be expected, were not made available for comment.

Rumours in Hogwarts have been flying ever since Rita Skeeter published her book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, but the fact remains that there is a monster running rampant in Hogwarts. And, strangely, no one can seem to find the Headmaster. The school's gargoyle was found injured and unable to stand in front of the passageway leading to none other than the Headmaster's office.

Some have speculated that Albus Dumbledore IS, in fact, the monster, but what no one seems to be able to figure out is how or why— or even when. The timing was disturbingly synchronous with the possession attempt on Harry Potter. Rumours have also speculated if Harry's disappearance during this term at Hogwarts was due to his suspicion that Albus Dumbledore was up to no good, but others believe that it was Dumbledore himself that sent Harry, his best mate, and his best mate's sister out into the wilds.

But why?

No one knows.

The wizard's long-time familiar, the phoenix known as Fawkes, seems to have evacuated Hogwarts as well.

Teams are being sent to Hogwarts to investigate and remove any threat to the staff and students. Classes are temporarily being held at the Ministry, taking over the war propaganda offices that were formerly headed by Dolores Umbridge. The level, which had always been blocked off from the public and even those that worked at the Ministry, was found to have ample space for classrooms and makeshift dorms for the children and quarters for the teaching staff.

After Umbridge's attempt to break into the Ministry with nothing but a wand that she could apparently no longer command, she was taken to St Mungo's for treatment where healers were stunned to find she had somehow lost her magic and become a squib. Her final act as Undersecretary was to renounce all of the acts that had so clearly been biased against Muggles, squibs, magical creatures, and half-bloods— and promptly demanded to be sent to Mungo's to fix her condition.

While a return to Hogwarts is not yet possible, school is, at least, still on.

We shall post updates as we get them, dear readers. Stay with The Daily Prophet, your choice for the best news in the Wizarding World.

More Squibs Today Than Yesterday

St Mungos is filled to the rim with squibs.

As of this morning, the floos of St Mungo's have been flooded with frantic witches and wizards who seem to have lost all of their magic. The waiting rooms are full. The psychiatric ward is full. The healers are beating back the hordes of people demanding treatment while trying to treat those who are sick and dying of more immediate concerns!

So far, twenty brawls have broken out, where magicless people from countless families demand treatment over those who were injured in the last wave of attacks by Death Eaters shortly before the onslaught of magicless-once-magical people. Even more disturbing, many of these new squibs are from prominent pureblood families such as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Notts, Rosier, Bulstrode, Greengrass, Carrow, Rowle, and many others..

While many cases had members of these families brandishing their wands and threatening healers, it didn't take long for hospital staff to realise that while they still had their wands, nothing could possibly come of the threats, at least from a magical viewpoint.

Thrown objects and punches, however, were another matter entirely.

The physical altercations led to another matter of grave importance: each of these magicless victims bore the faded but unmistakeable Dark Mark worn by the fearsome followers of He Who Shall Not Be Named.

Chaos and pandemonium resulted in hospital staff summoning a swarm of Aurors St Mungo's to deal with the problem. The DMLE was forced to resort to borrowing additional Aurors from other Ministries due to the sheer number of combatants in need of subduing. Countries such as France, Bulgaria, the Netherlands, Switzerland, Italy, Ireland, Poland, Spain, Portugal, Romania, Germany, and all the way up to Estonia down to Greece have sent Aurors to help Magical Britain cope with the explosion of violence in and around St Mungo's.

"We're used to people pointing wands at us and trying to kill us," Auror Stonebridge said, "but these people are barking mad. They are throwing forks at us, trying to injure the other patients, throttling healers. They even tried to stab Healer Jenkins with a wand. A WAND! We need all the hands we can get to make sure no one else is hurt!"

"Dit is krankzinnig" exclaimed Dutch Auror Belder. "Wie valt er nou andere mensen aan met hun toverstaf. Notabene hun toverstaf, doe normaal?"

"I'm with Auror Belder," Auror Fitzgibbons said. "This is insane, and people attacking each other with their wands— physically, we mean— is just bloody mental! Who does that? Literally smacking someone with their wand?"

People are highly encouraged to seek out smaller clinics for medical assistance during this time, as St Mungo's seems to be the hardest hit with unmagical magical people gone mad.

"That—" Harry said as he frowned at the striking blond baby with icy baby blue eyes, "is not my child."

"Harry Potter you will take responsibility for—" Molly began, already ready to brandish her voice as a weapon, but then she stopped completely, her thoughts crashing like the Hogwarts Express off its tracks. "Wha— Ginevra Molly Weasley, are you telling me all this time you were swearing up and down that Harry got you pregnant that it was actually Draco Malfoy!?"

Fred, George, Charlie, Bill, Percy, and Arthur stared down at the distinctively platinum mop of fuzz on the baby's head.

Ron's face turned completely purple. "My sister shagged MALFOY?! What the hell, sis? You told me you wanted Ha—"

"WHAT?!" Molly screeched.

Harry took a few good steps back from the forming Hurricane Molly, and found himself standing by a human-looking Hermione with a gargoyle pup clinging to one shoulder and a Kneazle kit on the other.

"Oops," the gargoyle pup said, flapping his wings.

"Me-ew!" the kitten agreed, taking a moment to groom her cinnamon-coloured fur.

"Well, that sorts out paternity like a slap to the face," I said as my bonnie daughter leaned into my shoulder with a bump.

"You are enjoying this," Hermione said, winking at me.

"Me?" I answered.

Hermione arched a brow. "I think you breathe drama, Alastor. It's your thing."

"To you, magic, to Severus, fortitude, to me, drama," I replied. "We all have our things.

"I prefer tea," Minerva said from behind me, sipping her tea.

"It's probably good this happened this way," I said to Harry. "Had she tried to marry you in a ceremony having successfully been impregnated by Draco Malfoy, the magical fireworks would have been— fan-tastic." I exaggerated the last word with a sly smile.

"Well, the Malfoys have problems of their own now," Minerva said. "Lucius, well, we all knew he was in line to fawn over the Dark Lord's ideals, but Draco— it's a pity he got himself Marked and tied to the Dark Lord's madness and ultimately drained of magic. He was a misguided boy, but I had hoped he could pull away from his father's business."

Severus sniffed, his robes moving like the wings of his bestial form. "There was a time when Lucius was more honourable than fanatical. The person I knew as friend in school changed into something I no longer recognised. And Draco— he stopped looking to me for advice and answers the moment he hit puberty."

"The Wizengamot seems to think that the ultimate sentence has already been bestowed," I said. "I can't blame them really. The very idea of being stripped of all your magic is a sentence that most would dare not even contemplate— save for the likes of Umbridge, who wanted to do it to anyone she considered to be undeserving of magic."

To their credit, not that I doubted their skill, no one else was sporting tentacles and wings, whiskers, or tails, and Potter— was surprisingly able to keep a secret that most people would have taken straight to the loony bin. He really had grown and matured after his trip across the whole of Britain. He was also showing interest in becoming an Auror for all the right reasons: he knew what was out there and the reason why he had to be on top of his game.

Constant vigilance.

If Hermione believed he could be a good apprentice, then maybe I could give him a good shake. Hermione knew exactly what I would put him through, after all. She'd gone through it herself.

And, now that the world wasn't ending under the subjugation of the Dark Lord, Potter wasn't emotionally compromised by possession, and he was not the father of Ms Weasley's baby, life would be less complex for him. He could focus on becoming the best of his potential instead of trying to hold together a family.

The big question, however, was why did Ms Weasley let him believe the baby was his? She seemed honestly surprised that it wasn't. What was really going on?

"Nononono!" Ginny screeched. "There's no way! I only did it once!"

"WHAT?!" Molly exclaimed. "While you were with Harry?"

"It was just one night!" Ginny protested. "I asked Ron to tell Harry where to meet me, but he took longer than—"

"So you threw yourself at a MALFOY?!"

Oh boy. I think Potter had the right idea about staying out of that whirlwind of horror going on in the next room. Even the Healers, having checked the health of the baby and the mum, discreetly vanished into thin air like wisps of smoke.

I could hear them "conversing" through the walls, two "rooms" over. Arthur shuffled out of the room looking more than a little confused as to how to take it all.

"I'm truly sorry, Harry," he said after a while. "It's long been tradition to do paternity testing upon conception, but I never even thought to bring such pureblood nonsense into my own family. We had no great tracts of property or fortune that we had to protect. We've never been a wealthy family, so when Ron said our Ginny was pregnant—"

Harry let out a sigh. "It's okay, sir. I believed it too. I mean, we had— you know, so it was logical. I figured the contraceptive potion didn't work. Chance for failure, you know. Ginny told me it was Weasley genetics. I had no idea she was—"

He looked mighty uncomfortable. I couldn't blame him.

"... sleeping around, sir." Harry turned to look out the window into the garden.

We had moved Ms Weasley to one of our above ground safe compounds once she had decided she couldn't handle having a baby on her own without additional support. The drama with finding out their daughter was pregnant was bad enough. Ginevra was still holding back the fact that she had aged an additional year. That cauldron was going to explode eventually— hopefully not while I was there. Give me Dark Wizards any day to family drama.

Arthur put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, despite all of Molly's going on, we would have been proud having you as a son-in-law. I'm sorry this has all ended sideways."

"I'm going to MURDER that bloody blond, slimy Slytherin git!" the youngest male Weasley blurted.

There was a sharp sound of Disapparation with Aurors Fiddlestein and Addlebury Disapparating immediately after. There's a lesson in that for the kiddies. If you are going to make a death threat, don't do it in a room with attending Aurors who have fully functional ears. So much for Ronald Weasley's permission to leave the temporary dorms to see his sister. That was going to be revoked forthwith.

Severus was rubbing the space between his eyes, and we all knew what he was thinking of that particular Weasley without necessitating any words to fill in the blanks.

He probably wasn't wrong, either.

Ronald Weasley Attacks Draco Malfoy in Hyde Park, London.

Squibbed Malfoy Heir in Critical Condition in Muggle Hospital

The youngest male Weasley, Ronald Bilius Weasley, after learning his younger sister was pregnant with none other than Draco Malfoy's child, Apparated within plain sight of over a hundred Muggles in busy downtown London and attacked Mr Malfoy.

Mr Malfoy, who had taken up his life in penance for his being branded by the Dark Lord, threw himself in front of a group of Muggle children when Mr Weasley accused him of training the next batch of "baby Death Eaters." Unlike the other Death Eaters that were uncovered in the mass-Squibbing of magical Britain, Draco Malfoy was one of the few who were collateral damage, having never actually been found guilty of causing harm to another witch or wizard using Dark magic.

Others such as the young Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle, have been charged with multiple accounts of torture and Dark Magic use, all revealed after their attempt to cast the spells unsuccessfully after being Squibbed. While others like them were sent to various Muggle asylums for the criminally insane to serve out their sentences in lieu of Azkaban, those like Mr Draco Malfoy were released with the idea that having permanently lost their ability to use magic being a punishment in itself.

The children that Draco Malfoy protected were a group of orphans— victims of Death Eaters terrorising Muggle families. While Mr Malfoy was unavailable for comment, witnesses to the fight claimed that Mr Weasley "started waving around some kind of laser stick and hit the other bloke in the chest" shortly before Obliviation teams arrived to clean up the witness pool for the protection of everyone.

Mr Malfoy is said to be recovering slowly at an undisclosed location. Mr Weasley is currently being held by Aurors as the details of his attack on Mr Malfoy are sorted out and he is presented for a hearing in front of the Wizengamot.

"Quite a mess you've managed to get yourself into, Draco," I said, peering through my curtain of hair. It was a habit I'd never lost despite everything.

"Severus," Draco said my name with a tremor. "Have I died? Are the kids okay?" That's right. He had thought I was dead. I guess seeing a supposedly dead man standing before you is as good reason as any to think you've died.

"Thanks to you," I said. "What you did was very brave."

"Thanks."

"And utterly stupid for a person who had no magic to shield himself with."

"Yeah, that," Draco said with a frown.

"However, not having magic may have saved your life," I said. "The spell Weasley used on you was intended to use your magic against you. Instead, it just tried to tear you apart looking for it."

Draco frowned. "That's hardly better."

"You're alive, aren't you?"

He looked at me. "I'll give you that. You seem— very undead. I mean… not dead." He peered at me, confused. "Dumbledore said you were missing, but I think everyone took that for being dead. Even father—"

I sighed. Despite all of Lucius' horrible acts, he had loved his family. It was, perhaps, the same love of his family that drove him to do the horrible things he did in an attempt to preserve the way of life as he knew it. It was, perhaps, much like the civil war of the Americas, the North vs the South. Only Voldemort— Tom Riddle— had been like Germany's Hitler. Highly charismatic and inspiring to the masses of people. Many, too, believed he wanted the best for his country, and perhaps he did. Perhaps, they both did— but the problem is that when one person believes they know what's best for everyone. Albus believed he knew too. Eventually, people would figure out that the beast rampaging around Hogwarts was Albus, and they would, quite possibly, connect him to Riddle's demise and the ultimate Squibification of the masses.

I had a feeling those like Amelia would be sure to spin in that way for the protection of Hermione and myself. I didn't mind.

Amelia was like a mother velociraptor, ever-protective of her clutch and her "babies" whether human, beast, Kneazle, gargoyle, or whatever the heck we were. Check that… mother velociraptor stuck in a T-Rex body. Kind of like how the little dogs would be lethal in a bigger dog's body? That would be our boss. She'd mother us to death, but if anyone tried to harm us— well, I was just glad she was on our side.

"Your father loved you, Draco," I said. "His actions may not have been very telling in that department, but he genuinely wanted the best for you."

"He was lousy at showing it," Draco said.

"At least he did care, unlike my own father," I said quietly. "I don't think he liked anyone, let alone love."

Draco nodded, suddenly realising that I'd never really talked about my family before this. "You know, I really cared for Weaselette. When she dragged me off, my mind was full of how I would break it to father… I planned my entire future— and then she disappeared, and then I heard Weaselbee saying how his best mate knocked up his little sis. I'd kinda written her off."

"Advice?" I said.

"Please," Draco said. "I know I've given you grief over it but, please— I really do need advice."

"Even if you don't trust Ms Weasley completely, don't take it out on the child. All the child wants is the love of their parents, and not getting that could result in the next Tom Riddle—" I closed my eyes. "Or the next me."

Draco swallowed hard. "I don't know if father will survive as a Muggle. When he came back from Azkaban, he was a broken man, not like I remember, and then I realised what I remembered was a man who thought nothing of harming children that were not family or one of the other pureblood families. Yet, I never wanted for food or a home—"

"Just not affection," I replied. "Compassion."

Draco took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Is it selfish of me to have wanted both?"

"Ideal, perhaps, but not selfish, Draco," I said. "I technically had a roof over my head but lacked in other areas."

"I didn't mean it," Draco blurted.

"Hrn?" That was random, Draco. Care to elaborate?

"I called you a coward. I said I would never trust you. I—" Draco's face twisted in some sort of emotional torment. "I was afraid. Stupid. I should have listened, and now look at me."

"We all have our stupid things we do, Draco." I sighed. "You know what I think?"

Draco stared at me.

"Mew!" A cinnamon-coloured Kneazle kitten poked her head out from my pocket.

"I think you just need a good friend to keep you in line, not the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, who were obviously not chosen for their mental capacity." I frowned.

Thea, adventuress extraordinaire, stormed up Draco's leg up his chest and bonked him on the face with her paws. "Mew!"

"I think she's decided you're a fixer-upper case in need of Kneazle TLC.

"She's—" Draco gaped, doing a marvelous fish impression. "A real Kneazle?"

"I don't know many fake ones," I replied. Truth was, ever since the intense magical fusion we had drinking in all of the magic the Dark Lord threw at us, all those little mews translated quite well into the Queen's English. They were almost as precocious as the gargoyle pups. Almost. Kneazles, however, were more solitary, one-on-one project managers, however, and Thea had been evaluating Draco for redemption possibilities since we had arrived.

Bop!

Thea smacked Draco upside the nose. "Mew."

Draco's eyes widened and he gingerly pet the little queen of his face, getting a warm purr in return.

"I don't think I have to dress you down and give you the lecture about taking care of her or I will break your face, hrm?"

Draco shook his head. "Never."

"Good, I do hate such things," I replied with a sniff. "So, what are you going to do now that you have a child? Have you even seen your little girl?"

Draco's eyes widened. "No, by the time I heard about it and that it was not Potter's— I, well, I ended up here."

"I'd recommend staying away from magical duels," I said.

"I can't even summon an owl. I'd be a worthless fath—"

"No," I said sternly. "You are as good of a father as you let yourself be. That you make yourself to be, and magic is not what makes you a better person. You can be great or horrible without magic to prove it."

Draco looked sheepish, but I knew somewhere inside there he knew what I meant. He had a brain under that skull cage; he just had to apply himself better. Much like Potter, his chosen peers had molded his idea of self worth as much as his warped parental upbringing. But if Potter could pull off what he did in the end, than Draco too deserved that chance.

Hermione had told me that, ironically. Even after all she'd been through, holding back her true power while Draco made fun of her, tormented her, and made her life hell— Hermione said it would have hardly been fair if she'd torn him to pieces and left him a drooling, magicless mess because he called her a Mudblood. Hermione Granger the know-it-all swot had probably not existed since the very first year, and I and so many others, had never been more the wiser for it.

My fingers brushed a small vial that one of my tentacles had grasped in its mouth. It jingled in my ear surprisingly surreptitiously and then bit me after I took it. Wow, way to be bipolar there, Festive. Yes, that particular tentacle had a name. It dove back under my collar and disappeared, leaving me with the vial and sore ear. I was going to have to ask Hermione how she had such a wonderful relationship with her tentacles and mine just abused me as they felt like it.

Ow!

Apparently, Festive heard my thoughts and bit me again, punctuating with another merry jingle. I scowled.

Draco's eyes widened, probably thinking I was scowling at him.

I waved him off. "It's not you."

It's not you; it's me. Quite a few writhing, quirky, parts of me. It was bad enough our shadows had gone out on a date without us. Hermione said it was better than having my shadow scaring the fear of Merlin out of Draco. I had asked her if shadow-dating involved cuddling with her as she took a nap with a pile of Gargoyle pups and Kneazle kittens, and she had just smiled at me.

So not fair.

Hermione was apparently on a time share with herself.

I sighed. Considering what she was willing to do, however, I couldn't begrudge her quirks. I eyed the swirling vial of "potion" in my hand.

Magic swirled within: Draco's magic, purified down to the last magical joule. Hermione said, even if magic was willing to give Draco another chance, it had to judge him worthy. She had nothing to do with it. She had, however, sweet talked it into giving him a chance, but it had to decide on how permanent the arrangement was going to be. Ideally, magic wanted to return to her. She was the siren and magic was the sailors of Ulysses, but perhaps it was saying something powerful that she was not only willing but managed to convince it to give Draco another shake on her behalf.

I extended the "potion" to Draco. "You may not realise this, Draco, but there are those who are far more sympathetic to your situation that you might think."

Draco stared at the vial uncomprehendingly. He had no idea, and really how could he? If I didn't know what it was, I wouldn't have believed it myself.

"You may not know this, Draco, but the earliest manuscripts used to warn magical folk that if they were not good to magic, magic would leave them. Somehow, this warped into the belief that if you unmagical, you were being punished, and then later, the ruling class twisted it further, creating the pureblood lines that never once lost their magic. The Sacred Twenty-Eight. Of course, you know how warped the opinions are of those families, hrm?"

Draco nodded grimly. "Entitlement."

"I speculate that the reason pureblood families were so and perhaps are so fearful of Muggles is because of the stigma. Muggles remind them that their magic could possible leave them— the greatest shame one born of magic could possibly endure. And then, there is the greater shame that ones that were Muggleborn could rise from the ashes of their fallen ancestors and surpass them."

"It makes sense, don't you think? That if magic can leave because you are undeserving that it would, perhaps, come back if you were deserving?"

"I don't deserve it," Draco said, his eyes like molten steel. "Do you know what I did for the Dark Lord? It doesn't matter that I wanted to save my family. I cursed Katie Bell. I Imperiused Rosmerta. I was trying to kill Dumbledore! I— I don't deserve magic."

I raised my eyebrows. Draco had grown up quite a bit.

"And what of your daughter? Does she not deserve a father and mother to teach her the ways of the world? To not make the mistakes of her parents?" I wondered if Draco truly believed his punishment was just. Admittedly, he had done some pretty horrible things, and a child endowed with magic can do many more appalling things than a Muggle child even without being born a psychopath.

"Does Ms Weas—" I stopped. If he and she had consummated and had a child, legally of age (which only made it harder), the chances that she wasn't already Lady Ginevra Molly Malfoy were slim to none.

Wait.

What if Albus—

Why you sneaky old bastard. Albus Dumbledore had known that Ginevra and Draco were secretly lusting after each other. He knew if they consummated that all attempts to trace 'Ginevra Molly Weasley' would be fruitless.

Because she was actually Ginevra Molly Malfoy.

It was ruthlessly practical and probably saved her life while out on the run— her life and the life of Harry Potter. It was horrible, manipulative, and yet brilliant. He had, despite it all, probably saved their lives.

But what of Ronald Weasley? What had protected him?

I frowned. Perhaps, Ronald Weasley, in his banal likes and predictable behaviour was just that: predictable. The only thing that had torn the youngest male Weasley from Potter's side had been the overwhelming emotion that told him he had to take his sister home that very minute because she was pregnant.

Rubbish, really. How many generations of pregnant witches had there been? None of them spontaneously combusted. Ideally, yes, being taken care of was better, but— Then again, perhaps it was more about endangering the unborn heirs than the witch, specifically. Ginevra Weasley was known for her bat-bogey hexes, after all, and those were the "minor" spells of note.

I shook my head. I digress. I could have attempted to understand Dumbledore's machinations all day long, and I'd only be guessing most of the time. The man purposely made himself as obscure as possible. His desires, his wants— they all came back to him, but he hoarded over them like a nesting dragon during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Dumbledore would have to wait until this situation with Draco was fully resolved. The world needed fewer half-parented and orphaned babies, and Draco was perfectly capable of turning himself into someone better versus someone who stubbornly remained stuck in the mud up to their waist.

I handed Draco the vial. "Redemption is not only brooding and self-flagellation. Take it from someone who knows. Redemption starts when you stop looking behind you and start looking forward."

"What is this?" He looked at the vial somewhat suspiciously, yet he couldn't help but pet the crystal vial with a look of wistful longing in his eyes.

"A gift," I said. A curl of mischief tugged at my lips as my tentacles hissed quiety to themselves under my robes, "from my wife."

Draco hit the floor, his face as pale as milk, the vial flying out of his hands and crashing to the floor. The stopper popped, and the magic slithered out, ferret shaped, bouncing playfully around Draco's head like a wreath of birds in a Muggle cartoon. The magic rubbed up against him and then shot straight up his patrician nose.

Draco shot up like his arse was on fire, coughing hoarsely and all but hacking up his lungs. He sneezed sharply and his head turned into a ferret's. He sneezed again, and the rest of him followed suit.

A blond, frazzled, baffled-looking ferret stared up pitifully at me from the floor.

Festive poked me with Draco's wand, sliding it into my hand right before he, it— whatever— bit me again. Damn that bloody tentacle!

I placed Draco's wand in front of his ferret body.

"Your first assignment is to figure out how to un-ferret yourself, Draco," I said with a weary sigh. "Your second—" I held out my hand to silence him as I knew he was thinking something very loudly. "Your second assignment is to get your de-furred arse over to St Mungo's and meet your daughter. I would bring a Roman shield, highly polished, some disgustingly cute plush creatures for your daughter and a basket of Muggle sweets and things that Molly Weasley would never make herself."

I plunked down a bag of coins in a velvet bag with a shiny green cord. "This is so you can." There was enough quid in that bag to buy himself a sizeable amount of plush everythings and half a grocery as well as get himself some respectable clothes so he could be comfortably in between magical and Muggle. "I'd recommend a sizeable amount of fine chocolate to placate the feminine aspect of your trial. Hopefully the obnoxiously adorable plushies will at least cushion you from physical harm."

I stood up, fully confident that his condition would wear off after he stopped freaking out.

Thea, the cinnamon-coloured Kneazle kit, seemed to realise this was her time to shine and she bopped Draco squarely on the nose with her paw.

Fwwop!

Draco was sitting on the floor with his wand clenched between his teeth and the coin purse on his head.

Well, I suppose that works too.

"Mew," Thea agreed, radiating smugness.

Felines. They were all going to rule the world.

Rubeus Hagrid Named Game Warden for Azkaban

Azkaban has a very unique new tenant after Aurors took an entire week to finally extricate the monster from Hogwarts Castle. Rumours have not stopped flying at the Ministry, as worried citizens repeatedly demanded to know the identity of the monstrous beast, but all attempts to interview or get photos of the beast have been met with failure. One picture, supposedly legitimate, turned out to be none other than Mr Hagrid's pet boarhound, Fang.

The care of the creature seems to have fallen into Mr Hagrid's hands, forcing him to take on the job as game warden of Azkaban, leaving Hogwarts to Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. The Beast of Hogwarts, according to Mr Hagrid, "... is just misunderstood, is all. Give him a lemon sherbet and he purrs like a kitten. See?"

Regardless of this, the beast has been deemed far too dangerous to keep near students or typical magical folk, let alone Muggles, so a special holding area has been added to Azkaban to contain the beast. For whatever reason, the creature does not seem to like salt water, so the location is, if anything, ideal.

Many rumours have the beast as a strangely transformed Albus Dumbledore, while others insist that the beast ate Mr Dumbledore and assimilated some of his preferences, such as the fondness for lemon sherbets. Whatever happened, the beast isn't talking, and this paper can't even get an appointment to see the real creature up close.

As for who's going to run Hogwarts after the disappearance of a number of staff members, including Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Severus Snape, and the unsolved mystery of the disappearance of a Muggleborn student, Hermione Jean Granger, the Headmaster position has fallen to Professor Filius Flitwick and his new Deputy Headmistress, Pomona Sprout. The search is on for replacement professors for Potions, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Head Mediwitch for the school infirmary. Rumours claim that Headmaster Flitwick is looking to bring in new professors who have just completed their apprenticeships in brother and sister magical schools.

The investigation into the rumours swirling around Albus Dumbledore, however, seems to be just as mysterious as the beast the Aurors were forced to remove.

Headmaster Flitwick is confident that class terms will resume anew come autumn, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will demonstrate, once again, that it is the finest magical school in the world.

I believe that everyone can join us in wishing Hogwarts staff and students the very best. I think everyone is breathing a heavy sigh of relief that hiring new staff for Hogwarts is better than what many believed would be the end of the Wizarding War.

-Poppy-

"Ooo! You shadows! Get out of my cupboard, you naughty things!" Minerva scolded as two rather enamoured shadows bolted from the cupboard and fled to places unknown.

"Ooooo!" the gargoyle pups said together.

"Issues?" I said, chuckling.

"Those shadows are like snogging teenagers. Apt to show up in whatever place they think they are safe only to have me stumble on them!"

Minerva was scowling on her face, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. We both knew she found it more than a little amusing that Hermione and Severus' shadows got more free time together than most. The couple were often out doing dangerous tasks akin to that of Hit Wizards— the sort of thing that required the both of them.

They kept themselves well guarded, but ever so often, some sort of undefined something or other would tear a wing or bruise a tentacle that normal magic didn't heal too well, and they would come to me for salve, some chiding, and a bandage. Ever seen tentacles in a bandage? It was amusing.

Not much broke through their nigh impervious skin, so when it did, it was usually a scary sort of debriefing. Amelia took it quite seriously, as she should, as if it could hurt those two, it could hurt others much easier.

Minerva and I had taken up positions as teachers for the Unspeakables' children. They had families, too, and it was answering an age old question about the lives of Unspeakables and if they had lives.

Amelia was head over heels happy, as the gargoyle pups had taken to the children, and they were teaming up in classes, learning about each other and learning about magic together. Unlike most children, classes didn't start when they hit Hogwarts. Schooling started the moment you were able to crawl, and like the old-school ways, many of them were apprenticed before they were the age for Hogwarts

Kids were kids, but the society here, in this community of secrecy, seemed far more concerned with the preservation of their way of life. They knew that they had a good thing, and they wanted to keep it secret and safe. Not many young folk had that sort of wherewithal outside of here. Keeping a secret at Hogwarts was nonexistent for most.

The difference in this place was, even if you were apprenticed, you still have group classes with the other students to promote teamwork and actual team building, unlike the mess that was the Hogwarts Houses that promoted sabotage and getting the better hand over that person you might have to depend on later. We saw how well that worked out.

Oh, it wasn't all bad, or it wouldn't have been had we not been in the middle of a war, but there were things that could have been better. All schools have things they begged improvement. Ours just had wands and cranky magical elements.

Fwwop!

A heavy weight landed on my shoulders as the dark blue gargoyle pup hugged my head. "Bonjour, Madame Pomfrey!"

"Hello, love," I greeted, giving the pup scratches behind the ear.

He flapped his wings in a clap, appreciative of the attention. He rubbed up against me like a cat, crooning, making sure I was properly marked with about fifty-odd shared scents— and those were only the ones I could smell.. There was no hiding yourself from a gargoyle. They were just attuned to knowing every little part of their home, and their home was vast. They knew each person, familiar, beast, and everything in between. Every gargoyle did a little ritual when they saw you, bounding up to rub against you in some way and reinforce the "knowing" of who you were and where you fit in their collective awareness.

Mind you— ever since that one night when the Dark Lord had met his end, those of us that were tied to Hermione and Severus in a way that went beyond acquaintances, colleagues, and tolerated busy bodies, shared in a little of that magic that bound us all together as "clan" to the gargoyles and the Kneazle family. She hadn't had to, Hermione that is, share any of it, but she had. She purified all that was the Dark Lord's magic and seemingly cut it into equal sized portions, giving everyone she was bound to a share of the pie. Because we were tied to her, either by our relationship to her or a relation to Severus, the magic was content to enter a symbiosis with us. I had no doubt that if Hermione truly needed the magic, it would come back to her in a flood, but with the size of her support group now— the chances of her being harmed were exceedingly small.

The amount of sheer power it would take to harm her now was even more frightening. This same power, if harnessed in someone with more drive to use it for less scrupulous means— what were the chances that the one it DID go to refused to be cowed, corrupted, or controlled by it. Now that my memories had returned, I knew that Tom Riddle had been Albus' original choice, but it had destroyed the boy's mind rather than change his body. Severus had been the second choice— again, a failure to what Albus wanted: a perfect vessel for his eventual power. It was a power he had fully intended to take from Hermione, until he realised he could use Severus and Hermione against each other and take both of their power reserves at the moment of their death.

Only something went wrong.

Hermione and Severus hadn't killed each other, and their magic stabilised and fused instead of devouring each other, and Albus—

Albus got a really big dose of…

I wasn't even sure if karma covered it. Karma that took classes in elite mojo arse-kickery?

Bamf licked my temple. "Shouldn't mess with magic, or magic messes back," he quoted, having apparently paid attention to the afternoon lessons thoroughly. "And who was teaching you that, sweetling?" I asked the pup.

"Professor Tabby," Bamf replied, wings flapping with amusement.

"Minerva, did you know they are calling you Professor Tabby?"

Minerva grinned at me like the impudent cat that she was. I'd known the witch longer than most, and I was proud to have called her friend for most of them. The rest, I'd called that damnable tabby that knocked over bottles on my infirmary shelf when she'd succumbed to the undue influence of a catnip mouse.

Minerva passed me tea and I smiled at her in thanks. Bamf mmmmmmm-ed at me hopefully, and I shared my tea with the pup. Gargoyles like tea. Who knew?

The warm pup wriggled against me in thanks for the tea and then disappeared with a fwoosh.

"We've lived in Hogwarts for how many years, Minerva? Yet here, I feel we are learning anew what makes the magical world magical," I said with a chuckle.

Minerva grinned. "I love it. It puts a sort of spring in my step to know that tomorrow has something new in it for me. I feel— safe here, Poppy. I haven't had the dreams since moving here. The outside world may think me missing in action, but I have never felt so alive."

I had to nod. She was right. This place did feel safe and supportive. There was some irony in that, I had to admit. Hogwarts was reputed to be safest place in all of Britain, yet so much danger had come from within long before it had come from outside.

Tom Riddle had been created in Hogwarts— the boy would become the Dark Lord Voldemort. He'd been warped and broken after already being twisted by the circumstances of his own birth and time in an orphanage. There were quite a few avid discussion panels about it on Tuesdays over tea and crumpets, and Hermione usually brought her special gargoyle and Kneazle-shaped shortbread biscuits that had combined the much-loved secret recipe from Alastor's mam and a little magical mischief.

Bastion had found it amusing that he recognised some of the gargoyles that had been unwitting models for the biscuits. I had to admit, it was quite striking.

Rumour had it that Severus was the only one that knew the recipe outside of Moody's direct family, but Alastor had been smug. "He's my son-in-law. He's family."

How things had changed. Seeing Alastor's newfound or rather refound happiness made the irony of how he and Severus had been at each other's throats on more than one occasion.

That was then, as they say. This is now.

I was quite partial to now, truth be told.

"Ach," Minerva tutted. "You know they are going through all of Albus' things. He never wrote anything down, but he kept a great many vials of memories. I don't know if he hid it from himself or kept them so he'd never forget. I'm glad we're here, Poppy. I feel like going back to Hogwarts would just be asking for some latent spell to trigger and I'd forget everything again.

She had a point. We talked about what it would be like to go back to Hogwarts, but it was never serious. This place— even without us being thought missing in action— made us feel a part of something greater than ourselves, something worthwhile.

Patching up these wondrous people who put themselves on the line without ever getting public recognition? Taking care of their little one's boo-boos and being more involved in the lives of families? For a healer, it was a good job. Minerva, on the other hand, was determined that nothing could hold her back, and she would be cowed by no one. Somehow that wonderfully independent and assertive witch had become more sombre and resigned over the years, but now she was back.

And no one was complaining.

"It wasn't just us who trusted him, Minerva," I said to her. "We were not the only victims of Albus' deception. And— we can't even say we never caught on, because we did— for all the good it did us."

"I hear you're working with Severus on creating a potion to help heal the effects of chronic Obliviation," she said, offering up a biscuit.

I nodded. "We're not the only ones, I fear, that will need the balm to heal the mind, but there is some hope that this potion may heal other types of damage inflicted on the mind including the phantom pain experienced by victims of Cruciatus."

"There is an entire ward at St Mungo's that will be ready to promote you to sainthood for such a thing, I believe," Minerva said.

"Well, they'd have to know it was me as well as the wonderful people here, and that is quite unlikely," I said, "but I'd like to think that there is hope for them.".

There were those I knew well— cases of extreme torture— where minds were broken beyond any sanity— magical pathways in the brain permanently severed from their normal routes or bound into other places it did not belong.

"The balm is only one step," I said. "It's a big one, Minerva, but I'm trying to convince Hermione to hear me about studying to be a Psi-healer. Her ability to coax magic to do what she needs it to do, there is a chance she could also rebuild those pathways. There are two in all of Britain, and I happen to know one of them since he was knee high to a Bowtruckle. I also know that he's eagerly chomping at the bit to have an apprentice."

Minerva looked at me slyly. "Poppy, are you trying to give Hermione MORE things to do?"

I tried my best to look innocent, even though a grin was creeping across my face. "If anyone can handle a little extra study, Minerva, is it Hermione Gr—"

I stopped.

"Hermione Snape," I corrected.

Minerva shook her head at me. "You are letting the genie out of the bottle, Poppy."

I felt the smile spread over my face. "Worth it."

Years Pass…

-Hermione-

If someone had told me back when the only thing I thought I did well was magically castrate people that I would ever have found someone like me (and been mated to them) and become a Psi-healer, I would have laughed in their face and noshed on their magic pool just to test if they were completely off their plot.

'You aren't the only one,' Severus rumbled in my head, his mental voice sounding infinitely more purrable, as though it was echoing through a cavern. It made my tentacles purr quite literally, which would set off the hitchhiking Kneazle kitten of the day with a happy reply that vibrated against my neck. This of course, set off my tentacles in a bout of furious grooming of the furry passenger, which just encourage them to hitchhike against and again.

There were worst things…

Today's kitten was Saskia, and I was convinced she was going to be a healer when she grew up. She seemed to sense when my "work" switched to the healing element, and she would cling to me like a fuzzy, purring, obnoxiously adorable tumour, staying with me until all the healing stuff was done. Garrick seemed to find it entirely acceptable for his kitten to choose such a niche in life. He encouraged all of his kittens to "adopt" chosen people, dragons, gargoyles, or whatever came by and take life by the scruff and learn about it. Saskia was the healer.

Evelien was Auror's poster-kitten for interrogation. Moody took her into almost every interrogation and she had wizards and witches singing like birds to everything from stealing the bed sheets and using unforgivables on their neighbours. Stephanie, the tawny little queen of sweetness, bossed around the other kittens like it was her job, looking adorable as she did so, but was the picture of adorable snuggle-me-or-else— melting hearts wherever she went, but mostly staying in the wand shop with her father.

Thea hadn't left Draco's side since he earned back his magic, and so far, it hadn't left him again. Draco, true to his new perspective on magical deservedness, perhaps, made himself the father he'd never had by being there for his daughter Ruby.

She, in turn, had turned into quite a spitfire with almost no peers thanks to being born in a time of war when most if not no people with sanity were trying to have children. All hail teenage hormones. Oh, she may have been under the influence by that time-aging potion Dumbledore had given her, and yes it may have changed her name and protected her and her unborn daughter from being found out by Tom Riddle's cronies or the "man" himself by marrying magically to Draco, but the point of the matter was simple. She had few or no real peers her own age. There would a good chance the girl would be schooled in a class by herself unless she waited a year for the children born after the war caught up.

In all fairness, she wouldn't have survived childhood had she not been born a Malfoy, so there were worse things than being alive with no peers. Being dead was a definitely cramp in style.

Fred, George, and Bill had married and had kids on the way, and Harry kept me updated. Sometimes, Severus and I would travel with him under different faces. Severus could billow regardless of what he was wearing, and believe me watching him do so in tight pants with a cardigan made me want to strip that right off him and—

Okay, slow that train down right there, Hermione. What would your mother think.

She'd think it was about time for grandbabies.

Shut it, you.

I could feel Severus' amusement at my mental argument with myself, and remembering he was there. We'd held off on the having of children, not for lack of practice, but for finishing of my apprenticeship with Master Koerselman. Poppy's doing, really, but the apprenticeship had gone well. Severus and I were now a team, as we did our healing together. While we could do it singularly, together, we had learned how to heal magical pathways and restore strength, something only our combined talents could do. We had practiced on many many magical animals that had been injured during the war— the magical world was full of psychopaths as much if not more than the Muggle world. Magicals had a lesser population, so many it just stood out more.

Master Koerselman had been so ecstatic about having not one but two new apprentices, he practically core-dumped his entire life story and about fifty years of healing experience into our heads on the first night. It had our tentacles spinning with little moving bird halos into the next morning. The days after had been more laid back. He believed in learning by immersion. First, we learned the patients and how they presented, then we learned the why, and then and only then, did we learn the fixing.

Our master had learned that our magic seemed to work together in a way he'd never imagined, so while we studied from him, he studied us, and he became one of the few that knew the truth about us. Really, there was little you could hide from a healer, especially a master Psi-healer like Master Koerselman. It was bound to come out.

He took it well. He loved to pet our tentacles and give them jobs to do, and they loved that he did. Severus was jealous that our master got on with his tentacles better than he did. Master Koerselman gave the tentacles some healer's bling— and well, tentacles love bling. They were instant friends.

I kept trying to tell Severus to become one with the bling, but he just snorted and looked dour at the thought.

Master Koerselman gave Saskia her own little healer's hat too, and that made them friends for life. The little kit would stay with me during anything that involved healing, and that included study, so when I said I believed she would become a healer when she grew up, I meant it. She had a passion for it.

I squared my shoulders, taking in a deep, cleansing breath.

The patient in front of me would be our first attempt at healing a human mind of the ravages of both magical deprivation and physical damage caused by Cruciatus.

Correction, it was the first time without our master standing immediately by to assist, guide, and hover. That's what masters did when they were in charge of you— especially in healing. One step the wrong way and you could damage a mind more than it already was, and that not an option. This was our master's project, the end of our training, and beginning or the end of what would make us rise up as two of the only new Psi-healers in a long, long time.

Master Koerselman and Master Vogel were the only two in all of Europe, and the demands on their time had been significant. There were far more people in need than there were actual Psi-Healers. All one had to do was look at the hundreds of people in the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's to realise it was a huge problem, and both Masters Koerselman and Vogel were only two people with a finite amount of time.

They needed us just as much as the world needed them. Part of me thought it was because of the sheer number of needy patients, but another part of me believed it was because they needed someone to be around to teach others when they were finally in need of a well-deserved rest.

Now, since Masters Koerselman and Vogel were the only two Psi-Healers around, that meant that Vogel was the only one that could judge us worthy to keep Koerselman "honest" not that he would ever, ever tell us we were ready if we were not. He'd apprentice us another fifteen years if he thought we needed it. He was simply that sort of a person. I couldn't blame either of them. Who wanted to release someone to heal others who was incompetent, especially when you were healing someone's brain and their magic?

This patient that we were working on had no other hope, and there was an equal amount of chance that even doing something would do nothing. They had been cruising down a deteriorating train of worsening symptoms for over two decades, and they were also on a list that would prove their condition fatal— where the lack of healthy magic to places in the body it "should be" caused what was called the "unmagicking cascade."

It wasn't, ironically, because they had no magic. It was because they had magic but it wasn't getting to key places. It was all or nothing with a person or magical animal. Once the switch was flipped that allowed a being to use magic, the magic flowed within them. I imagined it a lot like the midichlorians of the Star Wars universe from Muggle sci-fi. You could have them and never be strong enough to use them, but once you were attuned to using them, there was really no going back from it. It wasn't a perfect match, but it was close enough that my brain made the leap. Merlin knew I and my father watched enough of it together on couch binges when I was barely up to his waist.

What it all boiled down to was, if magic left you, it left all of you, but if you once had and used magic and your body accustomed to that, having it in one part of your body but not every part of your body made for a constant strain, energy drain, and atrophy of of the body. The starving part of the body wanted what the other parts wanted, and the magic was behind a dam— hundreds if not thousands of dams. Just like having congestive heart failure and arterial blockage, bad things happened. It could take years to get as bad as this patient, but eventually— all those in places like Janus Thickey would die, and not from old age.

The two masters had been treating the worst of the worst wherever they went because of this, but it all boiled down to who needed them the worst versus the first come first serve method. And they all needed to eat and sleep because, as would a neurosurgeon, you didn't ever psi-heal while sleep deprived or intoxicated or under the influence of a potion. They had to take care of themselves. They HAD to.

Our patient, irony upon ironies, was none other than Mr Frank Longbottom. He, unlike his wife, had started to suffer more seriously from the cascade. The healers at St Mungo's feared that if he died, they would lose Alice too— their torture together had formed a strange sort of symbiotic bond between them. Because of this we would have to treat him, no buts about it, but we would also have to treat Alice soon after, or Alice's body would try and sap the magic out of Frank through that bond. The beauty of passing this test on Frank, however, was that we could all work on Alice together and it would go faster— after we had a good night's sleep and were properly fed and alert.

No one was kidding anyone about how long it would take to recover from healing Frank, even in the healing trance.

"Mew," Saskia said, radiating readiness. She might not being doing the actual work, but she was getting a first rate education on how things were done. One day, this kitten was going to be first rate, once she grew into her paws.

Both of the masters upstairs knew Severus and my true faces, and the truth was, we did our best healing in our "true" bodies. Anything else was a lie. We could shift to appear like whatever we needed to after the job was done it was far better to rely on the Unspeakables' glamour to do the work for us rather than maintain the magic to appear like otherwise. Hermione and Severus Snape were very distinctive on the "missing persons" people list thanks to Albus Dumbledore. Now, Amelia had been working on a very complex reintroduction story for us, which would go in place once we passed our mastery, but it would never be as Hermione and Severus Snape. It would be a cover with a specific face, and our glamours would be changed to reflect it only because we would have to be available as healers to the Wizarding world. Most of our work would be through the Unspeakable network, working on people that had been injured in their duty to the cause and their job, but she knew that there would always be people outside of the Unspeakables who were in true need.

Everyone needed a boss like Amelia, but they couldn't have ours. She was ours! My tentacles hissed together in total agreement.

Oh, Neville, I thought as we stared down at the worn and gaunt face of Frank Longbottom. I could feel Severus' mental remorse, having seen and experienced the Lestranges' torture firsthand. Alice and Frank had been one of the first most publicised examples of what had gotten Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan put in Azkaban.

I unfurled my wings, letting them hang more loosely around my shoulders as my whiskers extended outward to examine Frank's body, sliding over his body and thrumming as they checked him over. Severus, too, did the same, and the shared sensation made the mental picture inside our heads focus into one clearer picture. Psi-healers were a different sort of healer— they created a picture of the flow of magic in the body and the mind. Energy and magic— even a Muggle had energy about them. Magic was simply a different layer to the equation. It was energy that had the ability to transform into purpose-driven focus. Magic could "leave" the body, usually helped by a wand as a focus, and do a specific task. The magic would then return to the person, as energy is never truly destroyed. It took some time, however— which is why casting a lot of spells was so exhausting.

Here was the rub.

Cast a Dark spell, you retool that "neutral magic" into something Dark. Dark comes back Dark. So a person who cast a Dark magic, they weren't just changing the magic, they were changing themselves. Unlike me, whose body had been transformed to 'cleanse' magic, bringing it back to its natural, neutral state, most if not all humans and magical creatures were the magic they were. Humans were different in that they could act independently of the magic, choosing to use magic to take them down various paths. Dark magic, however, was like dark patches in the lungs of heavy smokers. There was no getting it out.

Enter the Psi-healer. They could, which is why we, Severus and I, were perfect for this task.

We moved Frank down to the mattress on the floor, one to protect against falls, but two so we could sit down beside him and do our thing. It could take hours, and standing would take concentration away from what we needed. Severus took one side and I took the other. We linked our wings together, forming a sort of black cocoon around Frank. Our whiskers continued to move over Frank, meanwhile our tentacles knitted together to help form a energy framework.

Our master usually had to do this by himself, but if he was working with Master Vogel, they did the same thing we were— with a few less tentacles and whiskers, erm, and wings.

Saskia curled up on top of Frank's stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. She integrated into the magical weave, typical of felines, making herself practically invisible within the weave.

We closed our eyes to block out the sensation of light and visual stimulus and opened that inner eye that saw the weave of our patient.

It was a train wreck.

It was like a dragon had run amok in a small town and knocked everything over just trying to turn around— all over his magical pathways.

Merlin, I said.

This will be a while, Severus answered, the soft rumble of his voice calming me.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the pressure of what we were doing, not just for our mastery but to save Neville's parents. This one was personal. While I didn't know Neville as a friend or even an ally thanks to what I had become, there had been a time when he'd been another student like me, when we'd known little about magic together. He would have been a peer. For that reason alone, it tied him to me. Severus, of course, had been his teacher, and again that was also a personal connection.

Emotionally, neither of us were compromised, so the process could go on. Psi-healers being as rare as they were, it probably wouldn't have mattered. Chances are, with only four of us in all of Europe, we really couldn't afford to step aside just because we knew someone unless it was someone within our most inner circle. That would be emotional compromise in an extreme.

Frank's pathways were like clogged arteries. I could see the blockages from the Cruciatus detritus all over. It wasn't physical, so a normal healer wouldn't see it. It was insidious. Severus and I decided together that tackling the larger nodes would be more wise since he was in such critical need.

All at once, I felt Saskia's soft paws ghost to a large nodule, pointing out the mother of all blockages. Such a good kitten.

We focused our energy there, and while Severus worked on whittling away the blockage and filtering strength into Frank's shutdown body, I forged a connection from one side of the blockage to where it should have gone.

It was like matching the ends of coloured yarn that had been cut, only the job was to fuse the ends together like it had never been cut, fibre by fibre, strand by strand, end to end. As soon all the pathways were mended on that particular node, I whispered again to the magic to coax it down the newly redone lines. I could feel its frustration and weariness.

"This way," I said to it.

"Open?" it replied. "Open!"

Unlike Death Eater Magic that desperately wanted to come to me, Frank's magic was happily neutral and at home, but it had been infected by the Dark magic of the cruciatus, so I drew it into myself, but not to devour it completely. I let me lake of purified magic consume it enough to purge the unnatural state of Darkness, and then I filtered it back out into Frank's magical pool.

The magic seemed to frolick back to him, energised and ready to go, happy to return home and no longer prevented from the natural flow of where it wanted to go. Unlike Death Eaters and Dark witches and wizards, the Darkened magic was not their own— theirs had been fighting against the corruption for, in Frank's case, three decades.

So, I took the Dark and chewed it up, and Frank's magic was free to go where it was supposed to.

One magical blockage down, hundreds to go. I felt Severus' whiskers rub against mine and we began again.

It took seventeen hours to restore Frank to rights, after which I don't remember much. Vaguely I remember Master Vogel patting us on the wings telling us we were finished. There was something about pinning, and then both masters ushered us to a private room to sleep it off.

I opened my eyes to see Saskia's golden spots in my face right next to my muzzle, nestled up against my one whisker. She was purring in the sleep, her little paws twitching in dreams.

"Murrrr," Severus rumbled, his talons slipping around my waist as his wings pulled me closer, melding my back to his front.

"Hello," I said dreamily.

"Congratulations Master Psi-Healer Snape," he purred. Technically our names would only be Snape amongst the Unspeakables and the Aurors of high rank and file, but to the public we would be Master Simon and Helena Bond. Really? Bond? Who came up with these names?

I could feel Severus' eyes rolling.

Oh well, at least it wasn't Smith.

At least our public names still had our first letters the same. Amelia said it would help us feel more like they were ours, but let's be truthful. Severus and Hermione are not easy names to sound like anything else.

"Good morning, Master Bond," I teased Severus, earning me a low growl and a kiss. I would have to tease him more often, thank you very much. Somehow between growl and kiss we had become our human selves, enjoying the "exotic" feel of a human body and the pleasures it allowed. In my head I compared it to people used to living in a nudist colony. You get use to that, wearing clothes became exotic. Being human was oddly exotic now that our natural forms had synchronised.

Still, even human, our tentacles wriggled and jingled pleasantly. Taking time to groom each other, rub scent all over each other, and generally make sure they all remembered each other. Sometimes, if we were hit by a nasty spell, we'd have a "new guy" that had to be inspected, prodded, hissed at and generally interrogated. I'd imagine it was like being put in a dark room with a spotlight as hundreds of hissing voices demanded to know your intentions.

Tentacles were not barmhartig, that is to say, merciful.

Curious. Homicidal. Bling-loving, but not merciful.

Still, what would they do if that one tentacle didn't meet the expectations? Would they try to drive it off? If so, where would it go? Tentacles were highly social, so if they drove the poor thing off to wallow in solitude somewhere else, would I be stuck with a tentacle on my elbow, sulking and brooding and in need of antidepressants?

Severus was still trying to find a way to get Festive to join my clutch of tentacles and leave him alone, but Festive wasn't having any of it. The bling-loving tentacle loved where it was and bit him often to prove it.

Love is pain.

Besides, someone had to be festive, and Severus' dour expression was hardly going to accomplish that.

NNAGHHHHHAAAA!

Severus' mouth, and his human teeth, were attached to my neck, sending shocks of twitchy pleasure all the way down to my toes, making them curl.

I vaguely recalled a conversation about having spawn of our own once we were well and truly graduated right before someone found my breast with his mouth. My body spasmed as a cry tore from my throat, and Severus' answering rumble was heavy with desire.

Part of my mind was screaming that Saskia was still sleeping on my pillow, and Severus slammed his hand down over her as a black bubble of magic surrounded her, blocking her vision and her hearing. A soft whoosh of the seashore came from the bubble, locking the kitten in a dome of utter obliviousness.

His teeth clamped on me just so, and I cried out, arms flailing, but he caught them in his hands and pressed them down, and his skillful tongue reminded me that the only thing that mattered was him, him, and HIM.

Check, please?

I tried to wriggle free my hands so I could touch him, but he wasn't cooperating. Instead, he pinned me just enough to have access to all the places he wanted. He worked on my neck, moving down lower, making every nerve in my body sing out for the relief that only he could give.

Suddenly, I remembered something, and my tentacles shot out and locked with his, pulling him down on top of me in a rush.

"I want you," I hissed into his ear. "Right. Now."

I could feel his body radiating smug satisfaction in my response to his teasing. "Yes, ma'am," he rumbled as he gave me everything I wanted— with interest.

I wasn't complaining.

Gods, I hope he silenced the room…

"How is Defence Against the Dark Arts?" I asked as I sipped a rather stunning mint tea with berries.

"Not as crazy as Malfoy has it," Harry said with a laugh.

"I'm not sure I'd want either you or Draco teaching flying. You two are horrible examples," I muttered.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'm really good on a broom!"

"While you are, indeed, satisfactory on a broom, I fear you will teach the younger generation how to be a brazen Seeker instead of how to be safe on a broom," Severus said, lip curling slightly.

Harry slumped. "Give a bloke some credit. I know not to teach kids like they are all going to be Seekers. Besides, Malfoy has a kid of his own, he's as paranoid as fuck about safety."

"Language, Harry," I said, raising a brow. "You're a teacher."

You're a healer and that doesn't stop you, my traitorous inner voice protested.

Shut it, you. Gosh.

"Headmaster Flitwick okay with Draco living at Hogwarts full time with Ruby?" I asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, after Ron flipped out on Ginny, the whole family thinks that she's safer with Draco here at Hogwarts than anywhere else. I mean, if he worked at the Ministry we'd have places, but—"

"I doubt Draco wants that sort of scrutiny. Too many curious eyes or condemning ones," Severus said.

"You're probably right," Harry agreed. "I'm happy not being the target of such wide-eyes and scorn. I'm happy being just Harry."

"Where is Ronald anyway?" I felt I had to ask. He'd served a few years in Azkaban for attacking Draco while he was magicless, and then he'd attacked his sister for "getting knocked up by bloody Malfoy," and he'd just lost his gourd. Meanwhile, his marriage by pregnancy wife, Lavender, had their child, and he was released right around the time his new son would turn four. He'd supposedly been a lot more mellow and appreciative of what he had, but thanks to his time in Azkaban and his reputation of beating up magicless folk, it made him a really hard sell for employers. Being an Auror was right out. George and Fred didn't want him around their young customers, and he'd ended up waiting tables at the Leaky.

Hardly glamorous, but he'd learned to suck it up and treat people right because brassed-off clients didn't tip.

I'd honestly stopped paying attention at that point, so I had no idea what he was up to.

"Still at the Leaky Cauldron," Harry said. "He's making good money there now that he's learned how to be considerate. Lavender is working at the Crystal Seer practicing Divination, so between the two of them Reuben is being well cared for."

I rubbed my neck absently and melted as Severus' talented hands and his shadow dissolved my knots in ai matter of seconds. "I love you so much," I blurted, unable to help myself.

Harry looked embarrassed, but Severus smiled down at me, upside down as he peered over my head. He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

My shadow made itself useful and melted Harry, causing him to fly backwards and groan in pleasure as all the knots in his back released at once.

Heh, take that, Harry. That'll teach you to scoff at my shadow's extra talents.

"As much as teaching is a diversion, I'm only doing it until they find a replacement. I'm much more at home being an Auror," Harry confessed.

"Alastor will be happy he didn't waste all the training on you," I mused.

Harry winced. "He gave me an earful when I said I was going to teach for year, like I'd gone mental and started to plant bowling pins in my garden and expected cherry trees."

Odd analogy, Harry, but okay. "I see," I said, sliding my eyes to the side.

He's mental, Severus mused in my head.

What does that make us, lover? I mused.

Batty, he replied, deadpan. His tail had sneakily corkscrewed around mind, using our robes for cover.

Truth was, Daddy-Moody knew that the best way to make him realise how important those skills he was trying to drill into Harry was needing them in battle and almost dying, losing a limb because you were dumb, or teaching them to the younger generation that was even more oblivious than you. The truth was, the younger generation did seriously stupid shite to each other for no better reason than they could and hadn't figured out why that was a bad idea yet. Part of it, the masters would say, was that their brains hadn't finished developing yet, something that technically wouldn't happen until after they graduated. This was why Unspeakables and Aurors weren't allowed to work solo until well into their thirties, if ever. There was something to be said about having someone there to watch your back, and contrary to popular belief, the more you cared about your partner, the less likely you were to do something that could get them killed. Now, whether you'd be able to keep your cool if someone actually managed to hard them, well, that was considered worth it at least in the Unspeakable business. Either the partner or the entire "family" of the Unspeakables would come knock on your head if you harmed their family— and we were all family.

"Liking teaching?" I asked Harry.

"Not as much as being an Auror, to be honest," Harry said. "I think I'm onto Moody."

I arched a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's letting me get this out of my system so I'll appreciate being an Auror more."

Seems he is growing up, Severus chimed in my head. I tried not to snort my tea.

Severus had finally rid himself of the phantoms of James Potter when looking at Harry. It had helped to see his contribution to the end of the big V-man up close and personal. While Lily's spurning had truly broken him, and perhaps had been the biggest reason Severus had thrown himself into Dumbledore's "tampering" he and I both realised that had things not gone as they did— we wouldn't have been complete either.

Part of me wondered, had he been happy, truly happy, with Lily Evans, married her, had two point five kids and a dog or Kneazle, where my life would have ended. Where would I have gone?

Or would I be at the beck and call of the most insidious wizard I knew? His assassin. His power base. His creature—

"Sir," Harry said, looking at Severus. "Remus told me what happened between you and my mum. The fight— and how they broke your wand. I'm sorry."

"You did not step on my wand, Mr Potter," Severus said, still having issues calling him Harry. I didn't blame him, really. It was somewhat amazing he called me by my first name.

I refuse to call my mate Ms Granger! His mental huff came clearly into my head.

Know-it-all?

Snort.

Swot?

Growl.

Buck-toothed hand-waver?

Severus was suddenly on top of me, snogging me senseless right in front of Harry. Harry was tugging at his collar trying to figure out if he was scared or something else.

Harry coughed awkwardly as Severus pulled away, his eyes locked with mine as his tongue slowly licked across his human teeth. "I called you so many horrible things. A liar. A coward. I didn't know. I thought my father— Sirius painted him so ideal. Remus apologised for not being honest with me from the start, but he said he didn't want to break what he knew Sirius had said and make me vulnerable. Remus said— no one likes to speak ill of the dead, and he, most of all, wanted to remember his friends well because memories were all he had left."

Severus let out a long sigh. "Mr Potter, you are not your father, and while you do have your mother's eyes, you are most definitely not her either. You have surpassed them both in ways all parents hope their children can do, and I am heartily glad of it.

Festive popped out from Severus' collar, holding a pristine white lily with dew-laden petals. He nudged Severus until he took it then bit him, jingled, and dove back under the collar.

Severus handed the lily to Harry. "There was a time, I made this flower for your mother, begging her to forgive me some hastily said, emotionally-charged words I did not truly mean." He looked upward, his face twisted with conflicting emotions. "We were not perfect friends because no friends are. No relationship can be truly perfect, but for a time, your mother and I shared a childhood and the wonder that comes from discovering you were magical. Perhaps, you will take it now as a token forgiveness, full circle."

Harry's hand trembled as he took the flower, emotion welling up in his eyes as he held it. He stroked the satiny petals with nothing shy of complete reverence, and he looked—

Harry threw his arms around Severus in a tight hug, causing my eyebrows to fly off my face and Severus' mental flailing combined with an oh so awkward sense of closure.

Painfully slow, like old gears being busted into movement, Severus returned the hug, his hands slowly curving around Harry's back.

I was smiling, my tentacles hissing together happily at the unexpected event.

At last, my mate closed the door on a painful past.

I felt his tail wrap warmly around mine as Festive popped out and jingled merrily at me. I grinned as the bling-loving tentacle rubbed up against my cheek and flirted shamelessly. He had a beautiful orchid clutched in his teeth.

I took the flower and kissed Festive on the "nose", and the tentacle blushed and darted back under Severus' collar.

That is so not fair, Severus' mental voice whinged.

My whiskers plucked the flower from my hand and skillfully wove it into my hair. I gazed at him fondly before leaving him and Harry to have a long overdue "talk."

Xenophilius Lovegood, Daughter, Son-in-Law, and Grandchild Disappear After Selling Quibbler to Hunt for the Greater Purple Snorkack

Seven years since giving away his daughter to his then-future son-in-law, Neville Longbottom, Xenophilius Lovegood and his happy family disappeared during a joined family vacation to Australia to hunt for the greater purple Snorkack.

Neville Longbottom, renowned Auror and partner to fellow Auror Harry Potter, had bid his coworkers farewell for a summer-long vacation after the three-year mission to stop the flow of illegal Dark artefacts into Knockturn Alley. Many of these had claimed over twenty lives of adults and children.

Xenophilius, who had sold off the Quibbler to none other than Augusta Longbottom, said he was looking forward to traveling the world, something he'd promised his late wife long ago and it was "about time he got around to it."

Postcards and photographs graced the Auror's office for almost three months and then stopped shortly after Xenophilius said they were going to Tasmania for one last search.

They never returned.

Those reporting missing are:

Xenophilius Lovegood

Neville Longbottom

Luna Longbottom (née Lovegood)

Frank Longbottom

Alice Longbottom

Franklin Longbottom

Franklin Longbottom was only six years old.

Ironically, after only a few years after their miraculous recovery from wounds from the first Wizarding War, Frank and Alice Longbottom were amongst those lost.

"No fair!" the golden-haired child whinged as his play companion snatched the ripe fruit from the top of the tree and dangled from the branch by his taloned feet, wrapping his wings around himself.

"Don't be a complainer, Franklin," the beastlet said with a sniff, plucking another fruit from the tree with his tail and dropping it down on top of the other child.

"I don't have wings!" Franklin protested.

Countless gargoyle pups in various stage of growth clung to the branches and munched on the fresh fruit, sharing it with the interloping and highly opportunistic phoenixes. "We do!"

The phoenixes warbled in agreement.

A young dragonet used his head to hoist Franklin up into the tree, and the child let out a squeal of surprise before jumping onto a thick limb. "Thanks, Edan!"

The dragonet sssssed in agreement, head crest flaring in approval.

Another beastlet had a basket full of dragonfruit she had plucked off the overgrown cactus tree. "Here you go, Edan! Dragonfruit for a dragonet!"

Edan hissed happily, catching the basket with his tail.

"Wark!"

"Kweh!"

"Whooheewho!"

A flock of multi-coloured birds ran by, wings spread at they chased each other through the grove.

The children giggled together.

"I hope you aren't causing trouble," a voice said and Neville Longbottom strolled into the orchard.

"No, daddy," Franklin said, tossing his father a large Fuji apple.

Neville caught it and smiled. "Don't forget your great-grandmother."

"I won't," Franklin promised. "She's with mummy and grandma having a hen party."

Neville's eyebrow rose. "Oh?"

"Honestly," the honey-coloured beast-child said, "they are having a conference on when we're ready to start our apprenticeships."

Neville yipped as Edan stuffed his snout into his robes looking for sweets. "GAH! Edan! Where are your manners?"

The dragonet slumped, making a soft, sad sound.

"You're the one being rude," the black beast-child said. "You always greet him with sweets!"

Neville, outwitted by children, could only sigh. He pulled out a brightly-wrapped ball of sweet rice mixed with coconut milk and mango. The dragonet squeaked with happiness, slurped Neville until he was dripping, and then bounced off with his prize, disappearing into the large cave above the orchard.

Neville shook his head.

The honey-furred beast tried to grab a stubbornly out of reach fig without having to fly. Her whiskers, much shorter than her parents, didn't quite reach, and her tail was firmly wrapped around the branch. Having not been hit with a dark spell, she had no tentacles to assist her, and she seemed quite put out.

"Uncle Neville, hit me with an Unforgivable!"

"What? NO!" Neville explained. "Poppy, they are called Unforgivable for a reason!"

"Oh come on, Uncle Nev! You know it won't hurt me! I'm tired of not having a tentacle of my very own! Mummy and daddy have dozens!"

Neville scratched his head furiously. "No! Your father would— he would— I do not want to be responsible for that!"

"Murder you," the black beastlet said, landing next to Neville with a thump as his wings folded around his shoulders.

Neville sighed. "Or worse."

"What's worse than being murdered?" All the children stared at him, gargoyle pups too.

"Being brought back from the brink of death to be tortured back to almost death. And then being chopped up for potions ingredients by your father," Neville surmised.

"Daddy wouldn't do that," the male beast said, face scrunching up.

"He'd make a special exception for me," Neville said with a visible shudder. "Shouldn't you be helping Amelia today, Alastair?"

"Not for another thirty seconds," the male beastlet said, tail looping as he plucked another fruit, gave half to a begging phoenix chick and ate the rest.

PWOOF!

Both beastlets Disapparated right out from the trees.

"Showoffs," Franklin pouted. "Daddy, are you going to show me how to Apparate?"

"Not until you're seventeen!" Neville said firmly.

His son slumped. "I can't fly; I can't Apparate—what can I do?"

"You can go clean your room before your grandmother finds—"

Franklin ran out of the orchard at full tilt at the mere mention of his grandmother.

"Always keep your den clean!" the pups chimed together.

Luna appeared beside him with uncanny stealth, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You know," she purred into his ear. "Master Culpepper has offered to apprentice Franklin in Potions. He has a lot of talent."

Neville shuddered. "He's not even eleven, Lu—"

Luna poked his ear.

"Ow!"

"You had a billywig trying to hamper your ability to accept things," Luna said calmly.

"Professor Snape will never let me live it down that Franklin is better than me in Potions!"

Luna hummed a pleasant tune. "Severus is the one who spoke to Master Culpepper about it. He's the one that noticed."

"What?!"

Luna stood on her tiptoes and snogged Neville mercilessly under the fruit trees.

An hour later, Neville found his pants and everything else missing as he tried to cover himself off with random leaves. "Okay, okay! I agree!" he blurted through the orchard.

The gathering of gargoyle pups spit out Neville's clothing in a pile in the middle of the Snapes' living room floor.

"What on earth is that?" Augusta asked, peering down at the pile.

Minerva's eyebrows lifted. "I recognise those trousers."

Poppy nudged Minerva, trying to hide a smile.

"What? I was Obliviated, not oblivious at Hogwarts, Poppy!"

Poppy looked skyward.

Severus and Hermione looked sideways in opposite directions.

Alastor put on his best gruff and irritated Auror-face.

Harry tried his best to become one with the couch.

"What am I missing here? Augusta demanded.

"Mew!" a brown and black tortoiseshell kitten and his blue and white tuxedo friend plopped into Augusta's lap and looked utterly adorable.

"Awwww!" Augusta cooed, loving on them, entirely derailed.

Years passed, blissfully uneventful (except for Dumblebeast, who laid a rotten egg and almost killed everyone in Azkaban).

-Hermione-

"I never properly thanked you for—" Neville began.

"No need, Neville," I said. "I'm just sorry we couldn't have done it sooner."

Neville shook his head adamantly. "No, Hermione. I got my parents back in the end, in a time where V— V— V-man wasn't around to finish what he started. They are here, playing with my children, watching them grow up. This is good. More than good. I could have lost them forever, yeah? I understand a lot more now that I'm living down here with the rest of the Unspeakable family. What you went through— what you both went through. I can't say that I'm still not really intimidated by you both, but I really appreciate what you did."

I squeezed Neville's hand warmly and smiled. One of my tentacles popped out of my collar and offered Neville some sort of miniature potted plant.

"A Singing Dragon Orchid!"

"I LOVE YOU!" Neville practically squealed, taking the plant and giving the tentacle a kiss on the "head."

The tentacle hiss-purred and slithered back under my collar, obviously very pleased with itself. Where it had found that, I had no idea. There are just some things you don't question. Where your tentacles get random things is one of those things.

Ever since my shadow had first given Augusta a backrub, Neville had been blissfully happier. She only visited once a week,having been sworn to absolute secrecy in order to do so, but between a little shadow-massage and having Frank and Alice back, family life had improved greatly for Neville, and having a job with the Unspeakables as one of their Herbologists was right up his alley. He took turns teaching the kids just as we all did, but his way with plants always seemed far more enthusiastic than his dedication to law enforcement.

I watched as Neville planted his new Singing Dragon Orchid in a special place in the garden just before a giant dragon-headed frog leapt out of the fountain with a symphonic roar of music.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Neville screamed like a little girl, tumbling backwards, arse over teakettle.

Severus' laughter rang out in my head. It never got old for him. Not once. Not ever.

Beastlets, gargoyle pups, kittens, children, phoenixes, and all babies in between piled up on Neville as he tried to catch his breath.

Severus shed the monster frog form for his more natural beast form, shaking the water from his wings and fur in what I considered the perfect shampoo commercial Severus.

Purr.

My beastlets pounced me from behind.

"Mummy! Can we go visit Nana and Grandpa?"

Severus mrrrred, rubbing up against me, his tail looped around mine as he radiated pure mischief.

"I suppose so. I think everything is handled here." I stared at Neville trying to escape the kids unsuccessfully, not that he was really trying. We all knew he loved them all just as much as they loved him.

"Tails together," Severus rumbled.

The children wrapped their tails around ours tightly.

CRACK!

We reappeared in my parent's garden. The scent of steaks sizzling on the grill wafted towards us.

My parents' eyes widened with happiness as they saw us.

"There are my favourite grandchildren!" my mother squealed as our two beastlets pounced her, hugging her tightly with their wings.

"Beer, Severus?" my father asked, taking an icy cold beverage from the ice chest.

Severus caught the beer in one hand and nodded. "Good evening, Mr Granger."

"Come, come! Sit by the porch fire! Your father just had to get one! He says it's just like magic!"

I felt the grin spread across my face as Severus' tail wrapped around mine, and I felt the hum of his love, silent but no less powerful.

One of my tentacles offered my mother a small crystal unicorn as Festive passed my father a goblin silver pocket watch just before biting Severus on the ear and disappearing.

My parents laughed together, giving us both a hug.

"I'm glad you could make it to Sunday family dinner," my father said. "Have you been taking care of our daughter?"

Severus wrapped me with one wing, pulling me close. "Always."

Fin.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the story, folks.