A/N: Being sick does two things. It makes you respect being well, even when you're feeling down while being well. It also makes you lose weight unintentionally… now if I could just do that intentionally. LOL.

Sigh.

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose

Time to Reflect

Chapter 2

While seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself.

Douglas Horton

John and Helen Granger, successful retired dentists, had a back garden filled with grandbats plus a few extra. Thea and Anemone were happily snuggled up to Mr Granger as he read from the Australian Dental Journal, and Xanthe and Talon were helping Mrs Granger prepare food for the evening snacks.

Had anyone heard, they'd have just thought the Grangers were entertaining happy children— albeit slightly well… squeaky children. Had anyone looked over the garden wall, they probably would have passed out in total shock.

Neither of the Grangers seemed to care that their grandkids were vampire bats, having heard the story of what had happened to their daughter and how Severus Snape had saved her life in the only way he could. They took it for what it was— a second chance to get to spend time with their daughter while the entire world wasn't being threatened. It had been her change that had allowed her to dispel the charm that had them convinced they were Mr and Mrs Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and like the intelligent, reasonable people they had always been, they had listened to the entire story of why their daughter had gone to such drastic lengths to protect them.

After learning what their daughter's supposed best friends had ultimately done to her to save their own skins, they didn't question whether Hermione had made the right decision— even though they did give her a little grief about having not at least asked first like a reasonable adult.

Even so, Mr and Mrs Granger began a long and fascinating journey into chiropterology and turned out to truly enjoy the fascinating field. Australia had quite a few bats in residence to study as well as their very own grandbats, and they took to it like they took to everything else they set their mind to— tenaciously.

Severus had really hit it off with John Granger, taking to the older man like a duck to water, appreciating his dry humour, sarcasm, and even his clever snark. He said it was from years of working with remarkably thick patients who wondered why their teeth were rotting away but didn't ever bother to brush their teeth— running around with food perpetually trapped between their molars. Severus had replied that if it was anything like working with children who were blithering dunderheads that tried to blow themselves and their fellows up quite often, well, maybe they were a bit more similar than he'd ever thought.

The two of them ended up sipping mugs of extra-strong Ceylon tea and munching on dark chocolate digestives, (their mutual favourites), sitting side-by-side with their feet up and watching footy games on the telly.

Hermione suspected that Severus really wanted to bring the Grangers "into the family" just to have someone he could— well, do all the usual man-things with.

Man.

Man-bat.

Vampire-man…

Well, whatever it was they were together.

Neville was far too happily engaged in singing Muggle show tunes to his much-beloved greenhouse of exotic plant life, usually, and Severus was just happy that they managed to get along— shocking enough in itself.

The Grangers were lucky in that they had Hermione "young". Still, they were already into their seventies—

They were fit and healthy and looked only fifty at the most, but it would have to happen soon lest they be geriatric— forever.

It wasn't that the Grangers weren't prepared for that eventuality— but too many of the vampires had become very fond of them— having so few people they actually cared to have around.

Unlike any of them— the Grangers seemed to get along with everyone. None of their cloud of vampires could say that— except for the batlings. The batlings of course just lacked any experience in hatred and bigotry. That was something no one wanted them to experience until they were old enough to make sense of it. Old enough was relative. They were already "old" enough to be adults in the human world, but they were still batlings to them— young, insufferably adorable, and full of questions about the universe as well as more than wanting to visit the grandparents.

It gave the Grangers extra spoiling time in the grandparent department. Neither they nor the batlings were going to complain about that.

Both Severus and Hermione had been grateful the integration had gone well— not only because they were something a little off from the normal scale of life but because grandchildren needed grandparents and in their own way, the grandparents needed grandchildren. The batlings needed to know the good side of humanity before they met the cruel sort, and the Grangers were ideally made for the role of mentor, role-model, and doing things the Muggle way.

Mr Granger had sneaked the batlings out on Halloween to pillage (and pay) for treats from the roaming ice cream van as well as taking them out for sweets. Everyone adored their "costumes" and the batlings enjoyed "fitting in" for a bit of fun, pranks, and general good times. John had purchased a gaming station for them to dinker with, and they even got him to play with them. The batlings would often dangle upside down while listening to their Muggle iPods, and invariably help their grandparents with the computer with disgusting adaptability. Talon had figured out how to program the DVR for Mrs Granger and program the remote to the new telly for Mr Granger. When a new device came in, Talon would sit there with the instruction booklet and read it backwards and forwards and have the thing up and running in a few minutes.

That had earned him an extra helping of custard with "breakfast."

Perhaps, Hermione speculated, not being limited to the most literal form of "life"was served them well. They had had a long time to puzzle over how different they were from what was standard "vampire" fare, and Severus had thought that their line craved life as the ultimate survivors— but what embodied that life was as varied as the person. The Longbottoms' craving for plant-blood and Minerva's hunger for all things that felines adored sort of proved that— that and the image of Minerva curled around a fresh salmon steak, hiss-screeching like someone was going to take a way her favourite catnip mouse.

No one wanted that.

A soft bell rang, signalling guests at the door, and Mr Granger grunted as he attempted to get up out of the chair to answer it. "Guests at this hour? New Zealand never sleeps."

There were two parts to the garden in the Granger home: the fenced and the back runs with the shrubs and trees and other such things that didn't need protection from wandering munchers. Both places were equally well filled, but the fenced in area was more for the protection of privacy of the grandbats and their more exotic family.

Thanks to Neville and Luna, the back gardens were bustling with life, colour, and its own kind of living magic, even at night. During the day the colours and blooms were everywhere, but at night the evening flowers bloomed just as heartily, sending clouds of glowing pollen into the breezes. Mrs Granger had loved the new additions, and she would talk to Neville for hours about plants.

It was clear that the Grangers had filled something vital in Neville's life— something he'd never had with his blood relations. He called her Auntie, and Mrs Granger had not disapproved.

As Mr Granger struggled out of the comfortable garden lounge chair, Thea and Anemone pinned him down with their bodies, heads cocked and ears swivelling. Talon and Xanthe exchanged looks at each other.

"Don't answer the door, Grandad," Talon said, his head poised to look at the door. Xanthe and he tugged Mrs Granger away from the kitchen and further back into the garden. "That's not one of your neighbours."

Mr Granger took Mrs Granger into his arms. His wife picked up the phone and started dialing and then stared at the handset. "It's dead, John."

"Use the mobile," Mr Granger said.

She rushed to the desk where she had left her phone charging as strange ripping and clawing noises came from outside.

"I can smell you, you little brats," a distorted voice came through the nearby open window. A dark shape moved outside, but when something tried to poke into the open window, the wards that Severus had painstakingly crafted came to life and something inhuman screamed.

Almost immediately, Apparates sounded off as Minerva and Neville showed up, their wings unfolded from their bodies like a living cape.

Minerva snarled, her feline face twisted into wrinkles and teeth. "Come, Mr and Mrs Granger. Children. We are leaving."

Crack!

Luna arrived, taking the children under her pale wings.

"Is it a monster?" the children asked.

Neville's face hardened. "The worst kind— the monster who was once human. Go."

Crack.

CrackCRACK!

Minerva and Luna left with the batlings and the Grangers just as the desperate smashing sounds came from the front door. The door shuddered and splintered, blasting to pieces even as the great beast outside howled in agony as its body met the wards just inside.

Neville's face darkened, his pale membrane on his wings seeming almost translucent. His hand opened, and a glimmering shaft of silver formed as a pommel met his palm. His finger-talons closed around it as the Sword of Godric Gryffindor materialised into his hand as if made for it.

As the shade passed the door, he snarled, thrusting the sword in deep as his other hand whipped around and released a handful of small, innocuous looking pods.

There was a baleful cry from outside and thumping as Neville calmly walked out the door to find the monstrous disfigured un-unicorn-beast both impaled to the hilt by the Sword of Godric Gryffindor and covered with growing, writhing, tightening vines.

"Hello, Ginny," Neville said, his voice deep and sans the nervous quiver he was known by for so long. "I've had some words I've wanted to get off my chest since you sent those bloody anti-vampire fanatics to burn down my house with my pregnant wife still in it. She lost that first child, thanks to you— we lost our own lives because of you— at least the lives we would have had."

Neville's eyes were glowing a deep, pulsating red. "You used me while your real love was out there saving the world and throwing his best friend to Bellatrix Lestrange, dumping me the moment you realised he was still alive. Psh. Such shallow faith, even to Harry. That's okay, though— I met Luna again, and we had a happy life until the fire tried to take everything. Why? Because we knew Hermione was alive? Because she knew the truth and that meant she would have told us the truth?"

Neville stared at the beast as he pulled the sword out of her side and then slashed it down, cutting off her twisted horn and a part of her hooves in one slash. "Let me bring you up to speed, hrm? She told us nothing. She wanted us to be happy— carefree. You tried to have us murdered for NOTHING."

"Now," Neville said. "It took me a while to figure out it was you, Ginny. Even I didn't think you were up to that. But— thanks to this little plant here—"

Neville pulled out a small, feather like frond. "I've discovered something better than Veritaserum. Your little cronies spilt their guts over who had paid them— something they would have been quite happy to do for free. Disgusting."

Neville's muzzle twisted into a sneer. He pulled out a crystal flask filled with crimson blood. "I have the perfect solution to everyone's woes."

He threw himself on Ginny's head and neck, shoving the opened flask to her muzzle and clamping her muzzle shut to force the liquid and the frond from the feather-like plant.

The beast's eyes went wide and wild, and she struggled against the vines without success. The crimson liquid flowed down her throat until the flask was empty.

"You can thank Snape for your cure, Ginny, but don't think he did it for you— he did it for our children, our families. Because when you wake up, all you will want to do is confess to every sin you've ever committed from the first time you shat your own nappy just after mummy changed it. Every single lie. Every last manipulation— even those so typical of adolescents. Your children will know you for who are you, as will everyone else. You will be the beast with a human face— the one hated even more than vampires. You see— this flask has the blood of every single vampire that remains in Britain. This is their gift to you."

Neville released her muzzle and let her head drop, taking the precious flask and tucking it away. "A long, long, mortal life with the truth."

The monster's eyes were wide with terror as Neville brandished the sword and curled his lips at her. "I do not murder— but for you I would make an exception for harming Luna and killing our unborn child. I think, however, that Hermione is right: better to let you live as you truly are than to live with myself after becoming you."

As the sirens started to wail in the neighbourhood, Neville stepped into the shadows and Disapparated with a sharp crack.

Ginevra Potter Publishes Shocking Tell-All Memoir Of What

Really Happened During the Wizarding War

The Wizarding World is still reeling following the greatly-anticipated release of Ginevra Potter's new tell-all book, The Monsters That We Made.

Months of highly-controversial interviews of Mrs Potter have been conducted since she was found lying unconscious in a Brightwater back garden by New Zealand Muggle authorities. All the incriminating evidence (that was subsequently confirmed) were brought to the attention of the DMLE after Mrs Potter herself outlined key events in explicit detail: times, names, dates, and deeds.

One of the main events that has earned Ginevra Potter a date before the Wizengamot is the support of her now-husband, Harry Potter, and her brother, Ronald Weasley, was the calculated sacrifice of their former best friend, Hermione Jean Granger, to the brutal hands of one of Riddle's most notorious Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange, in order facilitate their own escape of Malfoy Manor.

Incidentally, the Trio was initially captured after Mr Potter yelled aloud the chosen name of the Dark Lord Voldemort, despite having previously been warned that there was an active Taboo in place on that name at the time.

The uncovering of such disturbing events at Malfoy Manor have now forced Mr Lucius Malfoy to stand trial over the actions of himself, his wife, and his son during the Wizarding war in addition to charges of harbouring the Dark Lord, supporting the brutal torture of a minor, Luna Lovegood, and a school-age Hermione Granger, who had yet to sit her N.E.W.T.s or complete her seventh year at Hogwarts (due to only purebloods being permitted to attend school at the time). Granger was also, along with Potter and Weasley, secretly working on a crucial task set them by former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore in the days prior to his death, one that would permit Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort, to be made fully mortal, ensuring that, following his demise, he would never be able to return and threaten our world again..

While the outcome of some or all of these activities may or may not have led up to the eventual defeat of the Dark Lord, it still does not cancel out the grim moral and ethical quandary of whether doing something very wrong, though allegedly for the right reasons, was acceptable in these cases. The war itself was caused by deeds done for as many supposedly justified reasons as those fighting it, it will be up to the Wizengamot to sort through the evidence and determine what appropriate action(s) should be taken.

Meanwhile, in light of the accusations and supposed truths, Head Auror Harry Potter has been suspended until all matters have been addressed.

The trials are set for next month, and the docket is full. Most of the items have been sealed until after trial due to the unique conditions surrounding both Ginevra Potter's past violent crimes and Harry Potter's suspected influence in allowing her to avoid Azkaban for her previous murders and spread of a violent transformative curse.

Added to all of that is the public acknowledgement that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were instrumental in the sacking of our previous Minister For Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in order to pass their rather brutal new anti-vampirism laws in Britain. Which means that there is also an ongoing international manhunt for Ronald and Lavender Weasley as well as their two children, Rory and Liza, who have since disappeared after Ronald's treatment at St Mungo's after being bitten and mauled by his own sister. Rumour has it they have changed their names and fled to another country that is not aware of their true identity.

Aurors have provided photographs and dossiers of the fugitive family to all Wizarding nations in the hopes of bringing them to justice.

What this means for the children of both families remains uncertain., and depends on whether both parents are eventually convicted of war crimes.

Harry Potter and Wife, Ginevra, Choose Exile Over Azkaban

After the months long trails, Harry Potter and his wife, Ginevra Weasley have chosen to leave Britain over serving time in Azkaban. Hours after the trial, the couples' children have been found in the care of their grandparents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, their old house empty and sold, and no trace of them having ever been in Britain.

Due to the blurry circumstances of having ended the Wizarding War, the Potter family was given the choice of serving time in Azkaban for their parts in various war crimes or exile from Britain, for the period of ten years for each crime to be served consecutively.

Some factions are declaring outrage at letting the Potters escape justice, while others seem to think that living in exile is hardly getting away with everything due to the stigma caused as word of their exploits spreads throughout Europe and beyond.

Harry and Ginevra Potter, should they live that long, will be permitted back in Britain in one hundred and fifty years.

Seeing as they had driven out all the amicable vampires from Britain, the chances of them returning in our lifetime is vanishingly small unless they discover the secret of Nicolas Flamel's philosopher's stone.

"And so the vampiric unicorn plague has finally ended," Kingsley said with a sniff, putting down the newspaper with a grim look. "There is some irony that they used Ginevra's blood to cure the affliction rather than making their own cure."

"Seems no British vampire cared to volunteer to help," Severus sighed, making a face as Minerva groomed the bengal-bat's ears. "Must you two be so insufferable snuggly?"

Minerva snorted, made all the more comical by her batcat form. "I'm quite enjoying having another batcat around to dangle with, thank you very much, Severus."

"You broke the no bites on the first date rule," Severus said, glowering.

"I was irresistible,"Kingsley said cheekily. "That was a brilliant move on your part, Neville— making her into the antidote for all the victims— the truth frond was quite a beautiful touch."

Neville sipped his vegetable juice— or rather lapped at it with his long tongue in the glass. "I feel as though I avoided murder and went for justice."

"I do feel a bit sorry for Molly and Arthur," Luna said, sinking her fangs into a juicy pear. The pear shrivelled into almost nothing as she drained it of all fluid. "They've been raising children since they were barely out of Hogwarts."

Hermione sipped a goblet of crimson liquid, somehow making it look dainty. "It does make you wonder where Ronald and Lavender are with their children. I don't imagine either likes the idea of living unmagically and unobtrusively as possible."

"As far from us as they possibly can," Severus said. "If they are wise."

"Ron was not really known for being wise," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"I'm wise!" Xanthe crowed, stealing her sister's juice.

Anemone glared at her, pointed her ears at her, and they lit up with magic and sent her tumbling off her juice. She snatched it up and drank it greedily.

"Not wise enough, child," Kingsley said with a deep chuckle.

"And how are my favourite grandbats in the entire world?" Mr Granger asked as he flew in from the cave with his surprisingly nimble, dusty-coloured mate.

All the batlings squeaked with excitement as they launched at them both, having adopted them as grandparents regardless of their original birth mothers.

Mrs Granger shrugged, her pale wings glistening from what looked like an evening dip in the lake. "Regretting your new lifestyle?" she asked her husband who was covered from head to toe in happy batling wing-hugs. She looked down to see Talon hugging her side, having chosen her as his most favoured clinging target. She scooped him up and cuddled him, rubbing muzzles against his. He pegged her a few times with his tongue and laughed when she tickled him.

"I'm really glad you decided to stay with us," Talon said with a toothy smile.

Helen Granger smiled fondly at her grandpup. "I'm glad to be here, love."

"And we are glad to have you as well," Severus said with an arched brow. "Despite what some others might say."

Neville tried to pry Anemone off of Mr Granger with no avail. The batling had a tight wing-grip on her uncle and wouldn't let go. He gave Severus a look, and the Potions Master quirked one side of his mouth.

Twin batcat kittens zoomed over, one chasing the other who had a nice, juicy-looking fish in its mouth.

Severus sighed. "We will definitely need to expand the cave."

Luna smiled. "Neville is already working on an excellent plan for a new phosphorescent cave garden with flying passages surrounded in aquatic ecosystems!"

"Oh?" Severus replied.

Luna beamed proudly. "Aquariums are quite relaxing, don't you think? Phosphorescent gardens would add a great opportunity for plenty of creativity underground, and the gardens will use our neighbours' plentiful guano to fertilise our plants. We might even get a few visiting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and smiled. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Luna. Why don't we females take the batlings for their evening fly and can leave the males to discuss Quidditch, home planning, and convoluted tunnels to strange places?"

The batlings squeaked with pure happiness as the two batkittens slammed into Hermione with glee.

Minerva, Luna, Helen Granger, and Hermione chuckled together, spread their wings, and zoomed out their living quarters, out in the cave, and then into the night beyond—four excited batlings and two batkittens following their beloved adults into the evening sky.

Dear William,

I know it's been years now, dear, but we'd really like to put behind us what happened after the trials for Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

I know you thought it was pretty horrible of us to have them move out with Charlie and build new lives in Romania, but it wasn't our Ginny's fault that she was turned into a monster! She wasn't in control when she was changed. And Ron was attacked—

They've paid for their mistakes! They're good people, and they didn't deserve to be blamed for actions that were taken during a war. It was war, William! They did what they had to in order to to survive!

Look, your father and I would like you to move back to Britain to be closer to the family. At least when you were living in Cornwall, you were taking care of Aunt Tessie's place.

The grandchildren all ask about your hand on the family clock. They want to know where unplottable is and I honestly don't know quite what to tell them. Come home, William. The grandchildren need to see more of their family. Your father's so very tired of these long stretches of silence.

Please, please come home.

Your loving mother

Dear mum,

I noticed you made no mention of my wife and children, only the wish to have me home. Do you want me to come press my face to your bosom and beg your forgiveness for choosing a good life with Fleur and our children? I will not. I will not come "home"for that place hasn't been my home in decades.

Do not attempt to manipulate me with etudes about father, when I know full well that he has been forced to work night and day to take care of your grandchildren even when he would far rather be retired by now. If not for the terrible actions of their parents, those children would have a mother and a father, and on a more serious note, had they not survived the war because they refused to sacrifice their friends for that damnable greater good, this situation would be moot anyway.

Fleur and I will never return to Britain after what my sister and her husband did in the persecution of some of my dearest friends, and in that, I can live with a clear conscience.

"Victoire," Fleur admonished. "Stop hanging upside-down and come eat dinner with us. You're far too old to be pretending to be a bat."

Fleur and Bill's daughter pouted and vaulted off the place she was sharing with her friends and rushed to the table. The batlings exchanged shrugs and flew down to join everyone for dinner.

"Still getting mail from the matriarch?" Severus said, passing the salad bowl to Bill.

Bill sighed. "She doesn't give up. Even this many years after the entire 'If you don't support our family then you're not family anymore' tirade."

"She never expected you to actually stand by your beliefs?"

"Stand by my friends, no." He gave Severus a grim smile. "She's always taught me to stand by my beliefs, but she always assumed they would be the same as hers. Father— he has to live with her. He may not agree, but he feels if he stands up and makes a fuss then it will harm the broken tatters they have left of the family."

Hermione frowned. "That doesn't sound like much of a family if it's only hanging by a thread."

"Oui," Fleur agreed. "It iz quite the messed up."

Hermione grinned at Fleur. "You have such a way of saying things, Fleur."

"I'm French," she replied, smiling cheekily. "It iz genetic."

Hermione smiled at her, passing over a dish of Fleur's favourite summer rice salad.

"Ahh, you know ekzactly what I like, 'ermione!" Fleur announced happily, saluting her with the serving spoon as she served up some of the rice, corn, tomato, and tuna onto her plate.

As the food finished going around, and the various glasses filled with the necessary "supplement drinks," Bill rose a glass in toast. "To the friends proven during and after adversity and the family we choose for ourselves."

They all rose their glasses together.

"Mère, whatever happened to James, Albus, and Lily?"

"Or Rory and Liza?" Louis asked.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about them at work, Victoire."

"The French Ministry is not much interested in British affairs," Victoire said with a sniff. "And it is old news, so it is no longer whispered about."

Bill sighed. "Grandma Molly took in James, Albus, and Lily. Wouldn't let anyone else 'ruin' them. Lily's still living at the Burrow, but James left Britain for the States as soon as he was old enough and Albus is working with your Uncle Percy at the Ministry. Rory and Liza are still living in Romania with your Uncles Ronald and Harry and your Aunt Ginny and Lavender— training as clandestine dragon apprentices under your Uncle Charlie."

Victoire tilted her head in thought. "I'm not sure if that sounds quite as wonderful as I imagined when I was a child."

"Your imagination was always too big for your skull, missy," Bill teased, giving his eldest daughter a rap on the head.

She grinned up at him.

Bill smiled. "They aren't lauded as almighty heroes anymore, but they're doing well enough for themselves. The British Ministry, at least, has managed to fix a lot of the more corruptible elements in the making of laws, and hopefully things will continue to improve. Change, however, takes a great deal of time in Wizarding affairs, as we all should know by now."

Victoire and Louis shook their heads in agreement. "Dominique says they are all a bunch of blithering dunderheads at the Ministry."

Severus snorted as Kingsley gave him a look across the table.

"Some are, most assuredly," Kingsley agreed.

Fleur waved her hand imperiously. "Time for food and pleasant conversation. We all know better than to talk Ministry at the dinner table."

There was light laughter as they all shared stories from their day and a good meal together.

As the young batlings and batcats whispered together in the dark, they carefully packed a box of assorted fresh fruit, homemade preserves, filched shortbread fingers, sweets, sea salt, exotic saffrons, tonics, and a seemingly random Muggle game. They stuffed the empty spaces with soft fibre and placed a hand-quilled letter on top before closing the box and sealing it with a flash of magic.

The conspirators giggled together and hushed themselves, lowering their heads and cocking their ears to make sure no one else was listening in. Sighing with relief, they called over the "family owl" who looked at them with a rotated, curious hoot.

"Shh, Thérèse, don't be so loud," they admonished the bird.

They carefully tied twine around the box and shrank the box down so the owl could carry it without concern.

"Okay, Thérèse, take this to Arthur Weasley, and don't be seen, okay?"

The owl hooted, giving them a look that seemed to say, "really? This is me you're asking, after all."

They gave the owl an extra large frog leg and the owl downed it quickly. She hopped onto the shrunken box and carried it off into the night.

"I hope he likes it!" Ailsa whispered, grooming her cat ears with one wing.

Thea and Talon nodded in agreement. "It sounds like he needs a good pick me up," Thea said.

Ailsa and Alasdair nodded together, their ears flicking in unison.

"It must be really hard working all the time so you can't even see your family much," Talon said. "He's not a vampire either, so he's probably lots slower and way more achy. Father's special tonic should help soothe his aches and pains."

"The game will help his spirits," Thea said. "Uncle Bill said that he really likes Muggle things."

"Maybe, when Lily is finally out of Hogwarts, he'll be able to visit Uncle Bill and they won't be so sad anymore."

The batlings and batkittens squeaked together in agreement, assured that this would indeed be the case.

"It must be odd having only a short childhood," Ailsa said rather doubtfully. "It doesn't sound like they ever get to play enough."

Alasdair shrugged. "Humans are always in a rush to get somewhere fast."

"They don't have forever to figure things out like we do," Talon said thoughtfully.

Thea wing-tugged her fellow conspirators. "Let's all go to bed before mum and dad find us and start asking questions we don't want to answer."

The quartet squeaked together as they snuck back into their rookery, flipped upside down to dangle, folded their wings around themselves, and prompted began to saw squeaky (and mewing) logs together.

Meanwhile, Hermione snuggled into her mate's warm wing as she closed her eyes, content that while her children were up to something, they always had their hearts in the right places— the perfect balance of Slytherin and Gryffindor.

As Severus' warm wing pulled her closer, he grumbled into her mane of headfur. "Did they find the box and potions without destroying the lab?"

Hermione snuggled into his neck. "Mmhmm."

Severus gave his mate a tender lick. "You are Slytherin, hermione. You've lost your red and gold and gone for green and silver."

Hermione snorted into his fur. "Don't make me bite you."

Severus purr-rumbled, delicately taking her neck with his teeth and nibbling.

Hermione proceeded to nibble on him right back as they snuggled together, dangling in unison as sleep claimed them both.

"Welcome home, dad," Bill said as he set down his father's valise and bundles of random Muggle games and toys, doodads, thingamajigs, and a gazillion action figures.

Arthur Weasley, now nearly ninety years old and finally retired with no kids, grandkids, or a tether to some forced responsibility, gratefully sat down on their large, comfortable sofa and let out an enthusiastic sigh.

"I thought I'd never say this back in the day, but I'm so glad to be home somewhere far away from Ottery St Catchpole," Arthur said with profound feeling and unmistakable relief.

"We're glad you finally took us up on the offer, Arthur," Fleur said with a warm smile. There was a touch of silver now in her pale blonde hair, but she looked every bit as beautiful as she'd always been.

Arthur rolled his head on the top of the plush cushion. "I finally feel free to do something for myself. With Molly walling herself up in the Burrow like it's her own private castle— she managed to make me feel like a stranger. I slept there at night, caught a meal or two, and then worked—"

"I did love her, my Mollywobbles," he sighed. "She just—I don't know, turned into something I no longer recognised as the woman I knew. Maybe I worked too much, forgot who I was with. Maybe we forgot each other. I'm not sure. But I do know that once the kids were all out on their own, we were like two strangers."

"You barely saw each other once you started having to work so hard to take care of all of us," Bill said. "Only, it never got better for you. You never stopped having kids."

"You sure you're good with me having this place?" Arthur said, his amazement growing as he looked around him.

"We set it up just for you, dad," Bill said. "Fleur and I have our own place."

"I'd always imagined you in France," Arthur said, boggling. "But this place has some pretty gorgeous views."

"Welcome to New Zealand," Bill said. "The kids will teach you the best bug -zapping spells for the evenings. The mosquitoes and other bugs are ruddy pachyderm-sized around here."

Arthur looked rather excited at the prospect of gargantuan insects.

"We made up the bed so you can get some decent sleep, dad," Bill said. "You can meet and greet the others after you get settled in."

"Having a lie-in? Me?"

"Yes, you," Bill said, amused.

"I'm not sure I even remember how." Arthur stared upward at the rafters.

Bill shook his head as his father was fast asleep on the couch. He pointed his wand at him and floated him towards his bed, traded his robes for pyjamas and slid him under the covers. "Night, dad,"he said softly.

As he closed the door, Bill shook off the glamour and unfolded his wings from his body and took Fleur into his embrace. She let out a soft squeak of protest that wasn't really fooling anyone.

"Do you think your father— will he be okay with vampires and Veela?" Fleur asked.

"I think when he meets the batlings and batkittens, all his doubts about true nature of the vampire will go straight out the window," Bill said. "It will wait for later, however. Let him regain his zeal for life. Save the life-altering choices for when he remembers what truly gives him life. Let my mum's overbearing, hovering presence start to fade a little. It took me some time to get out from under her vast shadow."

Fleur smiled at him. "You did fine. Father will do fine too."

Bill gave his mate a snuggle. "Let's go home, love."

The pair let themselves out the door, closed it behind them and launched into the night sky, chasing each other home.

Harry wiped his brow as the funeral service ended. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and the speaker had honoured her memory in a flattering light despite all the drama that had followed her throughout life. He had crawled out of hiding to go with Charlie to Molly's funeral, and so much time had passed that few if any people recognised them anymore.

All of his black hair had turned into a salt and pepper mop, and his skin was dark and weathered now thanks to half a lifetime working with Charlie and the dragons day in and day out. It was a far cry from being an Auror, and far less glamourous. It paid well enough that they never went hungry, but with three children to support they never had excess like they did when they were both working lucrative jobs in the spotlight as Britain's loveable heroic darlings.

When they had chosen exile, he and Ginny had gotten an owl from Ron and Lavender to join them with Charlie in Romania. While dragon-training was hardly his first choice of new career, nearly all other options were closed him. What money he could spare he sent to Molly and Arthur to help with the kids, and he had the feeling Ginny felt put out that none of it could be used to go out once in a while.

Now that the children were grown up and had flown from the Burrow, he and Ginny had a few knuts to rub together, and they used it all to smuggle themselves back into Britain without setting off the alarms to attend Molly Weasley's funeral.

She'd lived a long life for a witch, though towards the end, she'd always asked about Arthur as though she were a witch of twenty once again. No one had heard from Arthur after Molly's great verbal explosion that Xenophilius had claimed he'd heard from his home back in the day. No one was sure exactly what was said, but whatever it was it had driven Arthur away for good. All attempts at locating him had failed, at least according to Percy, who had spent quite a bit trying to find his father to get his parents back together again. All attempts to move Molly out of Britain so they could be closer to her had met with failure.

As Harry turned to take Ginny's arm and fade back into the crowd, he startled as he saw someone who looked a lot like Arthur placing flowers on the grave of Molly Weasley.

Flowers— English bluebells, to be precise. Molly's favourite.

He didn't look a day over what Muggles would call sixty.

As Harry rushed forward to confront him, a group of attendees walked in front of his path, passing just long enough to break away from his line of sight.

Harry boggled.

He was gone. Whoever the man was, he couldn't have been Arthur himself— perhaps a distant relative that may have lived out of the country? The man looked younger than he was— more like the memory of him than the age Molly had been.

He stared down at the bluebells.

They were in a magicked pot— a unique bouquet of living plants.

Ron had always said that neither his mum or his dad had a green thumb unless you counted the time his father had accidentally covered himself in green Muggle house paint. Odd that. He'd expect such things from someone like Neville—

His mind was surely playing tricks on him.

Thankfully, unless you considered the children, the tell-tale sea of red was no longer quite as obvious as it used to be, and their identities were easily concealed. They still couldn't go out and enjoy their visit to Britain, not even the Muggle areas, thanks to the exile.

Ron had voiced constantly that it was no way to treat the bloke who had saved the bloody world, but Harry had known from the very moment they had covered up Hermione's unwilling "sacrifice" that they had all started down the slippery road to perdition.

Had they confessed to it, even regretted it, and did their very best absolve Snape of any wrongdoing in saving her life then maybe things would have gone differently.

Instead, they had viciously persecuted Snape for being a "monster", and Hermione as being the newly infected pariah-spawn of the greasy git. They'd stirred up the vampire-hating hunters and those who simply lusted after the rich pot of bounty galleons, driving the entire populace of British vampires even deeper underground than before.

And for what?

To keep their reputations clean?

To make the world think they had nobly ended the war without sacrifice?

To make everyone think they were somehow better than everyone else in that they didn't make the mistakes that other lowly mortals made?

Maybe it had been the grand parties and the sudden social elevation that had sealed their damnation: the fat contracts to promote the finest racing broom lines, the best seats at any major sporting events, and the shameless grovelling at their feet. Ginny had greatly enjoyed the clothes, the "samples", the "free" items that many hoped to catch her wearing out and about for sheer the promotion value.

Perhaps, had they saved the money they made off of such things, they'd have survived the exile with much more to spare. Perhaps, had he not spent so much trying to save Ginny from "the disease"-

Then again, had he not, she could have died, and his heart told him adamantly that no price was too great to save her life— his wife and the mother of his children.

The children he didn't even get to raise to adulthood.

Had he known of the eventual outcome, would he have done the same?

Could he have worked towards forgiveness with Hermione and thus have had a way to save Ginny's life long before everything had fallen to pieces?

Harry frowned.

The truth was grim.

Harry had truly believed they couldn't have saved Hermione at the time. They hadn't stood a chance against Bellatrix Lestrange. Unlike in the movies where the hero or heroine tells the other to leave without them for the greater good, Hermione had been screaming for help— any help. Her agony had been more than real.

But in that moment when choices were made, they had decided escaping without notice was better than having a brassed off Bellatrix knowing what they had done.

So they left her in Bellatrix's merciless hands and escaped with Dobby, Ollivander, and Luna.

Luna had told them the moment they arrived at Shell Cottage that Bellatrix was going to make Hermione's torture long and enjoyable— that being her personal enjoyment of causing as much pain as she could. He should, if she were him, have sent Dobby to rescue her too.

But then Ron had made the point that Dobby could Apparate them anywhere— risking Dobby would risk their success.

It had made sense.

It had.

Dobby could get them into Gringotts. Dobby could take them to safety in the blink of an eye. Dobby could get them in and out of Hogwarts if they needed it.

Late that evening, Luna had sadly said that Hermione was no longer amongst the living, so the drive to save her had fallen to the wayside for more important things. They'd had Dobby teleport them directly into the Lestrange family vault—

Only to find bloody Bellatrix waiting for them.

She'd gleefully buried them alive in replicating objects and had just been ready to kill them both when Hermione had seemingly pulled herself up out of the ground, snarled, and tore Bellatrix to shreds after draining the Dark witch completely dry.

"Hermione?!" Harry exclaimed, staring in horror at the pale-faced witch. Her human face was changing before their eyes, the blood meal having triggered a sort of grotesque transformation. Her female face jerked and then twisted into a bat-like muzzle. Her eyes were drained of the normal colour, replaced with a white and almost gold and and a shade of red so deep it was almost black.

She let out a shrill screech of anger— or was it hunger?- as wings tore open and spread out from her back. Bones and blood flexed and grew as membrane pulled between the bones, forming into batlike wings. Her rapidly changing body burst out of the remainder of her ragged clothing even as her hands and feet twisted, grew, realigned, and distorted.

SCREEEEEE!

She leapt at them, fangs bared, her eyes hungry, claws so very razor sharp.

"Hermione!" a deep voice commanded, intermingled with a deep, pulsing screeee.

A giant, black man-bat emerged out of the ground as he took one talon and ripped it across his wrist. Crimson dripped from it.

The hungry Hermione turned towards the fresh blood and practically fell upon him, lapping at his offering with a hunger so vast Harry could feel his stomach churn with it.

Harry watched in horror as the black bat's face twisted into a look of elation, his curled lips stretching across yellowed fangs. Meanwhile, Hermione lapped at the wound he had made, making soft sounds of hunger and need.

The black bat glowered at Harry and Ron with n othing short of venom and disgust.

"You are pathetic, Potter," he growled, and it was Snape's v oice m ixed with that unearthly other-ness. "It is because of her that you will win this war, for she has single-handedly drained dry every last Death Eater that accompanied Bellatrix to Gringott's, leaving not a single drop of blood between them, all in her waking, clawing herself to life hunger. Only her hatred for them eclipsed her hatred for the two of you for leaving her to die in agony."

"I led you to the sword. I left you the bags of supplies and food, and what did you do? You didn't even share it with her, did you, boy? Then, you had to stupidly call out the name of the Dark Lord, calling his ire upon you like the typhoon. It is because of YOU that the group was caught. It was because of YOU that she was tortured, weakened with hunger to the point where resisting torture was hardly even an option. Take your tainted goblet from the shelf and go, but know this, Mr Potter. At the end of this war, the truth will out, or so help me you will heartily wish that it had. Tell your sycophants the truth. Do this, and maybe kharma may take pity on you, for it will not be me who comes to visit in the dark of night should you fail in this."

Snape, curling his lips over his teeth, took Hermione into his embrace. The hunger was, ever so slightly, e asing. "And if you're are very lucky, it will not be her, for I have no doubt that when she regains her mind again, her first memories of you will not be great ones."

"You turned her into a MONSTER!" Ron spat, struggling against the burial of objects.

Snape's eyes were as black as pitch and as fathomless as the Abyss. "I put a stopper on her death, Mr Weasley, and gave her a choice of evils. She chose mine over the hell you ordered for her." With that, the vampire wrapped his great wings around Hermione and disappeared with a crack.

Harry flushed as he remembered the horrifying first sight of Hermione after they had so callously thrown her to the wolves. He, Ron, and Ginny— they had all worked very hard to bury the ugly truth and make sure Snape and Hermione were far too busy avoiding bounty hunters to make any trouble for them. A small part of him had begun to regret it, but when Ginny had become so happy and loving and their first child was on the way— he just couldn't find it within himself to jeopardize that.

Kharma, as Snape had warned him and Luna Lovegood had seconded, had finally come knocking.

Ron said that they should have done more to make sure all the mudslinging couldn't touch them, but after so many years of working hard with no end in sight— much of it having become harder due to encroaching old age— Harry started to think that may he should have recognised Ginny's illness for what it was: a warning to come clean. Maybe Ginny would have protested, but she'd be alive and well, and maybe they wouldn't have lost custody of their own children.

"Hullo, Harry Potter," an achingly familiar voice said. It sounded as it always had— frozen in time just as she had been.

"Hermione," Harry said, his eyes widening.

Hermione stood, bushy mane of hair and all, wrapped in a dark cloak that made her look like she was in mourning. Ironically, she looked like she fit in better dressed in all black than Harry did with his own makeshift clothing choices. Her brown eyes— no longer drained and hungry— eyed him with what could only be utter detachment.

"Living on the edge, are you? Seeing who will notice you and who will not?"

Harry panicked a little, wondering if others had heard her speak his name, but no one seemed to notice— they didn't even seem to notice Hermione either. His hand gripped around his wand reflexively, wondering if she would attack, if he could even defend himself, and what would happen should anyone realise who he was.

Hermione turned to face Molly's grave. "This is a sacred place, Harry. Even the lowest bottom feeder of vampire kind would never attack someone here. Vampires at least. Humans, of course, do horrible things anywhere that they wish."

Harry winced at the jab. "What do you want from me, Hermione?"

"Me?" Hermione laughed, a slight flash of fang in her smile. "Don't be daft, Harry. I don't want anything but for you to live a long, long life."

Harry eyed her with frank suspicion.

Hermione gave him a serene smile. "Growing old is a very expected human past time, Harry. Wizarding blood makes for remarkably long lives. Perhaps not as long as mine— but long enough. Long enough to respect the days back when better choices could have been made at the very least."

"Are you here to gloat?" harry asked.

Hermione's eyes flashed. "No, Harry. I'm far beyond gloating. I've moved right on to doing the best thing I could possibly do to spite your betrayal."

"Have me assassinated?"

Hermione scoffed. "Please. No, Harry. I plan to live a long, happy, wonderful in spite of everything you did to me."

A child, maybe in her early teens, glomped Hermione about the waist. "Mummy, can we go to Fortescue's for ice cream, please?"

Hermione's expression softened. "Of course, as long as your father is okay with it."

"He said to ask you and he'd agree to whatever you said."

Hermione arched a brow and shook her head. "Find your brother and the batkittens, otherwise there will be no living with them."

"But they'll want anchovy ice cream. Blech!" the child said with a delicate shudder.

"You don't have to eat it."

"But I have to smell it, mummy!" the teen complained.

Hermione gave her a fond stroke on the head. "Shoo. Go get your cloudmates and stay with your father."

"Yay!" the child said, giving her mother another hug and then dashing off— the hint of leathery wings behind her— so fast it was hard to see if it was really there.

"You— have children?!" Harry blurted, his eyes very wide.

"Of course I have children, Harry," Hermione tutted, using one finger to brush her mane back around her ear. "When two people love each other very much, children do tend to come afterwards."

"But you're a bloody vampire!" he protested.

Harry suddenly found himself being stared at. Many, many eyes were staring at them now. Hermione, however, was gone. Not a trace of her existed in the crowd anywhere to be seen.

Harry swore, realising he'd just done a first-rate job of outing himself, hurriedly grabbed Ginny's arm and rushed away from the grave of Molly Weasley as fast as he could.

The flash of brown uniforms and multiple cracks of Apparition signalled the arrival of Aurors, but Harry Potter, his wife, Ron, and Lavender were already gone.

Meanwhile, under the shade of a very large black umbrella, the vampire cloud watched their batlings and batkittens sharing ice cream (phoenix fruit fantasy for the Snape and Longbottom children and anchovy and cream for the Shacklebolt kits) as they giggled and laughed together — cheering at getting to "stay up late" and have ice cream like "humans did."

As Minerva leaned into Kingsley, Luna into Neville, Hermione into Severus, Helen Granger against John Granger, and Arthur leaning back in his comfy chair staring up at the fluffy white clouds with a pair of Muggle sunglasses on, life was looking very grand indeed.

Hidden on the wall, plastered there by a permanent sticking charm, an old Prophet page announced:

Vampires Welcome Again in Britain!

But They Haven't Been Seen… Yet

A/N: HEA! Yay! (Well for most of them) Big thanks to The Dragon and the Rose for tolerating my shenanigans and brain derailments. Classes start in a few weeks. Save me! *whimper*

Spiders whispering together: You know what the next story needs?

Blue spider: Moar spiderweb?

Red spider: Well, yeah that…

Purple spider: More spiders!

Black spider: Ob-viously.

All spiders turn to the black spider and look at him suspiciously before they all raise their front legs in a cheer.

Horray!