Summary: [HG/SS] When Hermione returns to the Shrieking Shack following Voldemort's demise, Snape's body is gone. Harry stubbornly insists that he's dead and one of his Death Eater mates probably just buried him somewhere, while Ron whines that it's time for her to pay more attention to him since they're going to get married, right? The boys have their own secrets, but Hermione does too. (AU, probably crack. Yup, monsters (OBviously), etc.)

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose

The Scent of Memory

(A birthday story for The Dragon and the Rose)

Monsters are the patron saints of imperfection.

Guillermo del Toro

"Come on, Hermione, we have to go!" Ron and Harry both pulled Hermione away from the dying Potions master despite her protests.

They didn't see her jab a glowing potion injector into Snape's thigh or press the tiny octopus-like creature over his neck.

They didn't see the desperate look in her eyes even as Snape's black eyes met hers, his mouth moving as if to speak, but no sound came forth.

Hermione's hand moved over his, her expression pained, tortured.

"Go," he mouthed.

"Professor—"

"Hermione, come on!"

This time Ron and Harry both pulled her away, kicking, sobbing all the way—

"She's gone bloody mental, mate," Ron snorted as they dragged her away.

Hermione hung limply between the two boys as Snape's body suddenly convulsed and went still.

Hermione's anguished moan was the last sound he heard… and the last sound that she made.

"She's done broken," Ron complained to Harry. "She won't speak. She won't eat. She just sits there, staring off into space since the end of the war. Ever since—"

Harry slammed his hands down on the table next to Hermione in a fit of pique.

"He's dead, Hermione! His Death Eater friends probably dragged him off. Probably burned him to ashes because of all that stuff I said about him!"

"Lies you mean," Ron muttered, but Harry waved him off.

Hermione stared into space, unmoving.

"Damn it, Hermione!" Ron said, shaking her. "The slimy old snake-git is dead! Snap out of it and worry about the things that really matter! Fred is dead! Mom is a wreck! We need to get married and rebuild!"

Hermione startled, standing.

"Finally!" Ron exclaimed in exasperation.

Crack!

She was gone.

Ron and Harry stared blankly into the space she once occupied.

Meanwhile, just outside St Ottery Catchpole, Muggles began to speak of the fictional Hound of Baskerville as an eerie, soul-shivering howl bayed from the forest.

Hermione Granger Missing!

Fiance Ronald Weasley Frantic to Find Her, Man-Who-Lived Starts Desperate Search!

War heroine Hermione Granger has mysteriously gone missing, and her emotionally-invested fiancé is frantic to find her so their wedding can heal his traumatised mother, Molly Weasley.

Mrs Weasley has already lost one son, Frederick Weasley, in the war as well as her two older brothers, and the family is eager to give her something positive to rejoice about in hopes of helping her through the grieving process.

The disappearance of Ronald's new fiancée, however, has put a decided kink in the planning for that most joyous occasion.

Harry Potter, Ronald's longtime best mate and the heroic Man-Who-Lived, has sworn to find her, rousing the entire Auror department do whatever is necessary to assist in uncovering the whereabouts of Hermione Granger.

"Hagrid, what in Merlin's name happened to you? You look like hell, man!" Minerva gasped, her brows furrowing as she took in the large claw marks, bite marks, and various badges of a nasty fight written all over the half-giant's body.

"Just training up a new pup is all, Headmistress," Hagrid said bluffly. "Caught him in a trap in the ol' forest, and he just needs a good taming is all."

Minerva frowned. "I have warned you repeatedly about bringing unauthorised beasts into Hogwarts, Hagrid."

"It's not unauthorised. He 'as already 'ere, aye!" Hagrid protested loudly. "And he needs some proper care and some training!"

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him in frank suspicion. "Training for what, exactly?"

"Well, Fang is, er… getting pretty 'ld and all," Hagrid mumbled. "Can't really do much of anything but lay around, he does. Need some fresh new blood is all."

"Hagrid, I want to see this 'pup' you are supposedly training. I need to know that you aren't biting off more than you can chew."

"That's not necessary, Headmistre—"

"I insist, Hagrid."

"Well, er, okay then, Headmistress," Hagrid said, frowning and stroking his beard, wincing as his arms seemed to be quite sore.

Minerva arched a brow at the state of Hagrid's hut, or what was left of it, finding the structure had been levelled to the ground and was on fire.

Fang woofed in greeting from the garden, wagging his tail, even as the hut burned down to the ground.

Large, deep swaths of claws scraped the ground and rubble.

"Hagrid, I want you helping with the rebuilding of this school. No more pet projects, trainings, or anything outside of care of the beasts we have such as the thestrals and hippogriffs. It's obvious that whatever you had was not some ordinary pup needing a little TLC."

Hagrid started to protest, but Minerva gave him the look that curled his beard. "Alright, Headmistress."

Meanwhile, Fang rolled over and stretched with his paws in the air even as Minerva noticed that the old wolfhound's body was nestled within an enormous footprint that was neither canine, equine, feline, lupine, vulpine, or even "draconine".

In fact it wasn't anything even remotely recognisable to her.

"Hagrid, if this 'pup' of yours harms anyone in this school, there will be words, and none of them will be nice, I assure you."

Hagrid, for once, did not dare to protest as he was far too busy attempting to eat his own beard to avoid the dark glare he was getting.

Minerva knew that Hagrid had an unfortunate propensity to adopt various horrible ideas in the form of supposedly "harmless" animals, but she wasn't quite sure what on the face of Merlin's beard he was, had, or at least tried to have contained near his hut.

The long length of shattered magical chain attested that whatever it was was not only powerful but big.

The demolished hut was also a key factor.

The tracks around the hut were as strange as they were huge— in fact, they actually seemed to be growing in size. Whatever it was Hagrid had discovered, it had seemingly started off smaller and perhaps even manageable and had quickly grown into something far larger and obviously much less manageable.

She could only hope it was nothing that would harm their students— and that whatever-it-was had fled deep into the forest or far, far away.

Hell, even the Whomping Willow had a limb or two missing—

Nothing had managed to dent that tree in decades— even a rogue flying car.

Hermione stood nearby— utterly silent.

She hadn't said so much as a word since the end of the war, specifically after the death of Severus.

Minerva frowned.

She had been apprenticed to him for years, Time-Turning for every year after the second, and she knew the bond between them had been incredibly tight—

The kind of partnership that she knew would have made Severus into a whole new man had it come along earlier in his life. Alas, nothing she had done when he was a student had ever truly helped him. She couldn't be everywhere all the time, hovering over him like a cat with one kitten, and it seemed like every bloody time she left him, he'd be the target of something utterly vicious.

Every single time.

He'd threw in his own full share of curses, mind you, but he was but one person and the attacks had clearly been the work of multiple wands— singling him out over and over for whatever torture came that week, day, year, hour, or minute.

Minerva still felt bad that she had never been able to do anything to prevent or stop it, and Albus had always insisted that "boys will be boys."

So he had known who it was—

But he had never told her who it was.

She had her suspicions, of course, but—

She could never catch them in the act.

Not even once.

It was like they were somehow invisible. Not Disillusioned, but actually invisible.

But Hermione had miraculously thawed out the man, slowly but surely— starting with impressing him by turning herself into an anthropomorphic cat.

Well, not intentionally.

She'd successfully brewed Polyjuice— alone in her second year, in a lavatory, no less.

Severus had practically threw out the entire infirmary to have the privacy to bind her into an apprenticeship.

Minerva had been livid with him… until she found out what the little witch had done and why Severus had descended upon the poor girl like a Kneazle in catnip.

Oh, but he'd still be crass, grumpy, moody, and everything else he was well-known for, but as each day passed, she could see subtle changes.

Hermione gained new confidence in herself through him— something she had always seemed to lack in the face of the constant mockery from her own housemates for being such a swot.

Severus had gained a connection to something that had once been completely ephemeral for him: human warmth.

Hermione had wriggled herself underneath his scales like a master locksmith, burying herself in his venom and rancor and finding comfort in it— from him.

Oh, to see the time when Hermione had been completely beside herself in anguish over the Yule Ball and the usual teenage drama that had come along with it—

Severus had suddenly found himself with an armful of despondent, weeping witch and had no idea what to do about it.

"They're far too immature for you anyway," Severus had informed her that night, seeming rather insensitive, but it had definitely lit a fire within Hermione Granger.

She'd left behind her doomed crush on Ronald Weasley and her desire to fit in to be happy. She worked on blazing her own path, no longer caring who approved—

Unless it was her teachers.

She left behind her peers like a butterfly leaving behind the crystalis—

And she was snapped up by the Department of Mysteries along with Severus the moment Amelia Bones had realised Madam Umbridge's crusade against Hogwarts threatened far more than just the lives of the students and staff.

Minerva knew because she, too, had been recruited by Madam Bones to be a set of eyes and ears within Hogwarts. It had become quite clear that Albus Dumbledore hadn't been one to tell anyone anything, instead choosing to inform select individuals based on his own notion of a need to know basis, and all that had accomplished was to set people against each other when they should have been working together—

Sirius Black being one glaring case-in-point.

Cooping the man up in Grimmauld like another kind of prisoner had the man who had already been going mad tip the scale to something even more—

And he had pushed himself onto the wrong witch.

Hermione.

Aged by her Time-Turning, she had quickly grown into her adult body, shedding the taboo of being off-limits as a child in Black's mind—

And Hermione had promptly shown him that she hadn't just learned potions from her master, oh no. In her fear and her desperation, she had permanently cursed Black's bits, transfiguring them into female parts, ensuring he would never thrust his cock into any unwilling witch ever again.

Ironically, it had been Snape himself who had kept his apprentice from murdering Black on the spot (as if turning his lower half female wasn't enough.)

And a Life-Debt had turned the tables on the twisted dynamic that had run between Sirius and Severus for upward of two decades.

Afterward, Sirius had feared Hermione Granger as the second coming of Hecate on Earth, or at least he did until he sacrificed himself to save Harry at the Department of Mysteries in an act of utter stupidity that could have and should have been avoided all along.

Perhaps, Minerva thought, Sirius wasn't too far wrong in his assessment of Hermione's character.

Hermione, much like the moon, had two sides— two equally powerful sides— the face that looked to the sun and reflected back and the other hidden side that was just as dark and mysterious as the Dark goddess Herself.

Hermione had been forged into a woman who knew what she had to do to single-handedly hold a trio together for Dumbledore's aspirations to bring down Tom Riddle—

A woman grown amongst boys.

For that was what they were to her.

Mere boys.

Their marriage had been quiet, beautiful yet private, held in a small, secluded chapel, just before Hermione had sent her parents to Australia under the names Monica and Wendell Wilkins.

Severus had customised a memory charm to expire once Lord Voldemort was well and truly dead, and they had agreed that if Hermione should die— well, then they wanted to remain oblivious.

They understood the price their daughter was paying for them, but they didn't want to remember her death.

Severus had, quite stoically, agreed.

Hermione had given Severus a bit of grief over the absolutely dreadful name choice.

Severus had explained that no would ever expect someone with such atrocious names of being anything but normal Muggles with no magical ties.

Minerva had to agree that the names he picked were indeed atrocious.

Utterly horrid, in fact..

Hermione was approximately, by Amelia's best guess, about twenty-seven. She had aged well, thankfully, and still looked barely out of her teens, and it kept her from looking too old to be a student.

It was ironic that both the DoM and Albus wanted her to use the Time-Turner, so she turned twice a day, once for Albus and once for the DoM, and twice to sleep.

Her sacrifice.

Her absolute determination to succeed.

Her will to survive to the very end.

But the one thing no one could count on was Harry Potter stupidly calling out Voldemort's name, knowing full well he had made it Taboo, and thus leading the Snatchers right to them—

And Hermione endured unspeakable torture at the demented hands of Bellatrix bloody Lestrange.

But not for very long.

For Hermione Granger needed no wand anymore.

Severus had personally seen to that.

The DoM had a number of other failsafes built in as well.

Bellatrix Lestrange died messily when the very curses that she had thrown on Hermione were reflected right back at her.

Hermione hadn't lifted a finger.

Bellatrix Lestrange had killed herself with her own Dark curses— far too mad to realise that the Dark euphoria she was feeling was an effect of being cursed by her very own spells.

Hermione had to practically drag herself to her feet in order to escape with Harry and Ron—

And they were none the wiser to the nature of Bellatrix' demise as she flung even more vile curses at them before finally expiring—

Nor, in fact, was anyone else—

For Bellatrix Lestrange had attempted to fling herself into Dobby's elf Apparition vortex, fully intending to pursue them.

Her remains washed ashore in Greenland, some weeks after the war, having been partially consumed by a shark.

Poor shark.

The unlucky creature undoubtedly died shortly after from a horrendous case of indigestion.

So the end of the war came about in a chaotic clustercluck of madness and Death Eater attacks. Literally—

Because Hermione had added some very special wards of her own to turn all enemies of Hogwarts into Bantam chickens— with a unique time delay feature so that all of them would pass through thinking themselves perfectly safe… well, until they weren't.

And so Hogwarts was invaded by a murderous flock of Bantam chickens.

Cute, adorable, albeit slightly homicidal bantam chickens—

The Ministry was now considering adding an egg business to raise funds for war victims due to the wild influx of chicken eggs, as every single Auror, secretarial and administrative desk had at least one chicken nest on it anymore…

Karma, Hermione Granger style, was a very fickle beast.

Hermione had made sure the wards had been, technically, outside of Hogwarts after Minerva's own lecture that transfiguration was not to be used as a form of punishment at Hogwarts.

Minerva privately admitted that she would have made an exception for invading Death Eaters, if Hermione had decided to ask her first.

Hogwarts had apparently agreed because the old castle had allowed her to tie the wards directly into her foundations, even if the wards in question did lay outside of Hogwarts herself.

It was sheer genius, really.

Scary, scary genius.

And very Slytherin in the bending of rules yet quite Gryffindor in still following them.

Minerva found it terribly depressing how someone so incredibly strong could just stop talking— stop truly living after such a massive victory, but she also realised that, at least to her, Hermione Snape had lost everything she had anchored her entire life around.

Her childhood.

Her master.

Her friend.

Her husband.

One of the few that knew her for who and what she really was— a hero.

Chirrup!

Kurrrrr!

Three gargoyle pups looked up at Hermione and batted at her legs for attention.

Hermione looked down at them, smiling but silent. She gestured to them, and they sat. She gestured again, and they stood up on their rear legs and did a neat backflip. She patted them fondly and gave them each a tasty biscuit.

Unbeknownst to Hagrid, Hogwarts had personally chosen Hermione to train the next generation of gargoyles— to socialise them, keep them in order, and generally manage their innate curious mischief.

She did it all silently, draped head-to-toe in the unrelenting black wool of her namesake.

A solemn spectre in life.

Unlike Hagrid, Hermione took her role very seriously in protecting both the beasts from the people and the people from the beasts. She, alone, was allowed to walk the Dark Forest and parlay with the centaurs without being harrassed, for she insisted that they have the power to decide who could come and go in their own territory.

And, somehow, she managed to do it all silently.

Magorian said that sometimes great gifts came with a terrible price— and he said her other senses might be heightened to make up for the lack in certain other areas, but Minerva couldn't really be sure. Hermione's sudden mutism was utterly baffling in someone who had always been so quick to speak her mind.

But the beasts all understood her.

And the centaurs understood her.

Hell, even the thestrals followed her around the castle grounds like an pseudo-invisible cloud of snack-seekers, begging her for bits of meat from the kitchens or from the hunts.

Hermione Granger-Snape had had to learn how to hunt, centaur-style, to be fully accepted as one of their own— to be free to walk the forest.

And just like anything else she put her mind to, she succeeded.

All without a sound.

Minerva sighed, and Hermione looked at her with a curiously cocked eyebrow.

"I just wonder how long it will take that bumbling oaf of a man to realise that you are right here and go toddling off to tell Potter and Weasley."

Hermione, silent as always, shrugged.

Perhaps, in truth, Hermione actually didn't care if anyone knew, but Hogwarts seemed determined to keep her secrets, and it kept running various distractions to ensure she was well taken care of and kept sufficiently occupied and out of sight. She even had her own private entrance to Hogwarts guarded by the happily protective parental gargoyles.

Minerva wondered if she was the only one who could see her, sometimes.

If anyone could come up with a selective Disillusionment spell, it was Hermione.

"Tea, my dear?" Minerva asked with a gentle smile.

Hermione inclined her head in assent.

Minerva looped Hermione's arm around hers. "Come, I have your favourite kind."

Hermione smiled at her and allowed the Headmistress to lead her away.

"I'm tellin' ya, 'arry," Hagrid said, slamming his huge fist down on the rickety card table.

The poor table instantly buckled and fell to pieces, dumping the tea tray all over Harry and Ron's laps.

"Sorry," Hagrid mumbled. "Probly should'na done tha'."

"What is it, Hagrid," Ron snapped, impatient and dripping.

"I swear I saw 'ermione here at Hogwarts this mornin'," Hagrid finally blurted.

"WUT?" Ronald yelped, jumping up right away. "What are we standing around HERE for! Let's go get her home!"

"Wait, Ron!" Harry called out, stumbling after his best mate. McGonagall isn't expecting—"

Crack!

Ron was gone.

Harry glared at Hagrid who picked up his mug from the floor and drank it down in one swig.

"I should'na said tha'—"

Harry stood, completely exasperated. "Next time, Hagrid, tell me first before inviting us both here."

"It's some vile beast!" the witch cried, cradling her baby to her. "I know it! I saw it! Ben, I—"

"You told me you didn't see it, Julia," her husband said, brows furrowing. "Just a bunch of shadows."

"I KNOW it was a beast!" Julia cried. "It was here to kill my baby!"

Ben sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Master Snape. I know the DoM takes all threats seriously, especially when it appears to involve Dark Magic, but I had no idea she'd contacted them to demand an official inquiry."

"IT WANTS TO EAT OUR BABY!" the woman wailed hysterically, causing her baby to, in turn, start crying his little heart out.

"Julia, for Merlin's sake, pull yourself together, you're scaring Silas!"

The witch wrung her hands and whimpered thinly in terror, clutching her infant to her breast.

Ben sighed again, herding Hermione into the next room. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't know she owled for help from the bloody DoM. She's been walking at night for years, but this year she keeps insisting that she's hearing and seeing something in the forest just outside Hogsmeade. Growling. Shapes. But— she's never actually seen anything, see?"

Hermione nodded. She waved her hand, dismissing the apology. She tapped her head with her finger, drawing it out.

"Of course. I'll— I'll do it. She's just so ruddy paranoid right now—" The young wizard gave her an apologetic look.

Hermione nodded slightly, handing him a vial.

"Why don't you just BELIEVE me!" Julia shrieked from the other room, and Hermione winced as the witch's voice reached a Molly Weasley degree of pitch and shrillness.

She sighed, shaking her head, sitting down in a nearby chair to wait.

Hermione walked into the forest, pondering what she had learned.

Fifty some sightings— or rather suspiciously paranoid sightings with no actual visual save for strange shadows— of some huge beast that had started to plague the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Deep growls, unnerving noises, and varied other such sounds dominated every memory she had gathered.

None of the noises were of anything that anyone at the DoM could actually identify—animal, beast, or even demon.

It was almost as if whatever made the sound had no earthly description.

But Julia's memories held something else that stirred something deep within her own memories—

A teasing scent upon the wind, strangely both familiar and yet frustratingly elusive.

Something that shouldn't have existed—

Because the source of it was dead.

She felt his absence as though he were a limb cut from her body. leaving only a gaping emptiness where he had once been a part of her whole.

Just as his body had disappeared, so, too, had her heart, her voice, her happiness and her hope for the future.

Hope for a time of peace to rebuild what they had both lost: their faith in people. Faith in friends. Faith in the world that could have her survive the godawful war and not allow him to survive after all he had done, all he had been through and sacrificed—

"When this is over, love, we will start a new life— we can move from this place, bury ourselves in the DoM, or even stay at Hogwarts and watch the dunderheads squirm a generation anew," Severus said, his hand lightly brushing her cheek. "It doesn't really matter to me where we end up, just as long as you are there with me. Go, stay with Potter, and find those damnable Horcruxes. Keep his sorry arse alive. I have done everything I can to ensure my own survival, now you must do the same for yours, my love. Come back to me. I beg you."

"I will. I will," Hermione swore.

They parted after a passionate kiss, with Severus clinging to her as though she were everything in his world.

"I love you," she whispered into his buttons.

He placed his hands on her face, pressing his forehead to hers. "And I you."

Hermione closed her eyes. It had all gone pear-shaped.

It didn't stop her soul from longing for him, though. Heart, soul, and everything in-between. It hadn't even started out as love at first sight, no.

Hell no.

They'd practically clashed their way into a relationship of mutual loathing at least until she'd learned to listen to his lessons, think for herself and not spew out a litany of memorised "facts" word for word from her study books.

Looking back on those memories, she realised what a little pain in the arse she had been, and she had then redoubled her efforts in being a true apprentice and not some student seeking extra-credit work.

He, too, had started to mellow a bit after her epiphany.

They had become a team, synchronised to the other's ways.

Whether they each had realised it or not, a genuine closeness had grown slowly from once barren ground, and by the time she had reached nineteen (at least by Time-Turner count), certain other emotions had started to come into play as well.

Perhaps, others would have been horrified, thinking it some horrible perverted affair between a teacher and an innocent young student who wasn't even of age, but Hermione had willingly sacrificed her own childhood to aid in Harry Potter's success.

She had left childhood well behind even as most young witches were still trying to figure out which boy appealed to them most or even deciding if boys were interesting at all—

She had left her childhood behind after the debacle at the Yule Ball— her idiotic crush on that redheaded imbecile, Ronald Weasley.

It had finally come to a head when she came to the realisation that he would never be mature enough to understand her.

In fact, no one in her peer group ever would.

So, after crying her heart out into her master's abused buttonline, she had finally pulled herself together and left the last vestiges of her childhood well and truly behind.

It had begun long before then, if she was completely honest with herself. Some part of her had stubbornly clung onto that tattered childish need to be young and— hah— carefree.

Severus hadn't said a thing afterwards, calmly working with her as he always had, but Ronald Weasley had subsequently suffered for his sins in a chain of rather unpleasant detentions that had involved scrubbing cauldrons by hand with various small brushes and even Muggle steel wool for some, yet unknown to her, reason.

She had a feeling that her master hadn't actually needed a reason.

No staff member at Hogwarts really questioned it, either. Ronald Weasley had quickly earned a reputation amongst them all as a hothead and a troublemaker. He and Harry Potter were always ending up neck deep in something quite shady.

She'd know because she was often dragged into it—

And so began her lessons in Occlumency—

What he didn't know he didn't have to punish, and he took care to read her daily.

Hourly.

Minute by minute.

Until he couldn't anymore.

Gods, how embarrassing.

For him, too, assuredly. No grown man wants to see a hormonal teenage witch's chaotic mind.

Or the fact that his voice literally haunted her dreams—

Gods.

His face had been so red.

HER face had been even redder.

She'd fled into her quarters and slammed the door, visibly mortified.

Assuredly not one of the best moments of her life.

Though, admittedly, it had lessened the doubts when she did actually harbour feelings for him that were not just about a simple teenage crush over a voice that could make a witch weak in the knees, even whilst even reading something as mind-numbingly dull as A History of Magic.

Even she had a problem staying awake reading that dreck—

Professor Binns, she was certain, was trying to bore his students to death so his classroom wouldn't be so "empty" anymore.

A low growling caught her attention, shaking her from her long chain of depressing thoughts. She froze, realising that it was the same odd growling noise that had come from a number of Julia's memories— hers and more.

Pop! Pop! POP!

Several gargoyle pups suddenly appeared at her side, growling and bristling at the shadows. They tugged on the sleeves of her robes, clearly begging her to move back towards Hogwarts. She reluctantly allowed herself to be herded back "home" even as something began to stir at the edge of her awareness.

As Hermione disappeared up the path to the castle, a huge, clawed hand-paw thumped down at the spot on the ground where she had stood. Slime dripped from moistened, leathery skin as a lank mane of oily black fur dripped a strong, musty-smelling fluid.

Dark lips pulled back from multiple rows of crystalline, stiletto teeth as its nostrils flared. Then they parted as the beast opened its maw, drawing the scent toward the back of its throat to better analyse it, perhaps even allowing it to identify the origin of the appealing, teasingly familiar scent.

The beast tilted back its head and howled, immediately tearing off after the source of the alluring scent.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing at all.

When Hermione arrived at Hogwarts to find Ronald talking to Headmistress McGonagall, the gargoyle pups slammed into the back of her legs with a startled yelp.

Ron started to turn—

"Mr Weasley! I would have you look me in the face when I'm talking to you!" Minerva practically hissed, and a startled Ronald couldn't help but do as he had been ordered— too many years of his head of house being the ultimate authority (short of his own mother) had, if nothing else, successfully instilled that instinctive response.

The gargoyle pups quickly herded her through a hidden side entrance and in via the "impenetrable" shrubberies with a quick FOOP!

Ron turned back to look and frowned. "Look, can you at least tell me if she's here? We're to be married! Mum is counting on it!"

Minerva's face scrunched up at that. "I highly doubt that your mother is the sort of woman to hang all of her hopes for happiness on one child's marriage, Mr Weasley."

Ron scowled. "It's really important, okay? Surely you understand, yeah?"

"No, Mr Weasley, I do not. A wedding is a happy occasion that should only take place between two consenting, agreeable adults. We are no longer living in the Dark Ages where all marriages were prearranged and children were expected to submit to whatever arrangements their parents so desired."

Minerva's expression darkened. "I would hate to think that a family that supposedly treasures free will and thinking would descend into advocating for a forced marriage."

"This isn't forced!" Ron blustered in outrage. "It's only natural! We kissed and everything!"

Minerva narrowed her eyes. "Might I mention, Mr Weasley, that you yourself were caught in far more than merely a state of undress in quite a few broom closets with Miss Brown— and on more than one occasion. Perhaps, I should write to Molly and send her the memories so she can begin making plans for you to wed Miss Brown?"

Ron paled, backing up. "That's different!"

"I have rebuilding to return to, Mr Weasley. Please do not come back here chasing ghosts."

"But this is—"

Minerva gave him a withering glare.

Ron gulped and took a step backward again.

"If you see her, tell her she needs to come home!"

With that, Ron Disapparated with all due haste— so fast that he left the entire seat of his Auror's uniform trousers to flutter to the ground in front of the Hogwarts' gates.

Minerva sighed and walked up the path, just missing the tearing of huge teeth into the leftover brown fabric, the mighty beast tearing it to shreds in a matter of seconds.

Dear Molly,

I am most gratified to hear that Ronald has an upcoming wedding planned. After all of his late night shenanigans at Hogwarts with the delightful Miss Brown, I am pleased to know that your son has grown up at last and accepted a life of responsibility with the witch he was so enamoured with all this time.

I will admit to having my doubts as to whether Ronald would step up and marry her after learning that contraceptive potions did not work very well for him. (Perhaps some form of Weasley family magic counteracted it?)

Anyway, my dear, please let me know if there is anything I can do to help facilitate the upcoming marriage of your son to Miss Lavender Brown. I will be more than happy to bear witness as to their First Kiss in front of the ministry as proof of their long-standing magical love.

Fondest Regards,Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Far away in Ottery St Catchpole…

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

Ron—

No, you know I can't put a restraining order on your own mother, for Merlin's sake, mate. I warned you about going to Hogwarts at all, but you just had to rush up there half-cocked and without me!

I swear, if they catch wind of— anything— being married to Lavender Brown is going to be the very least of your worries.

Now that the press knows all about your magic-blessed First Kiss (hell, even if it isn't true) if you don't marry her, Skeeter is going to fly up your arse so fast that your bloody head will take flight to parts unknown.

Take my advice: suck it up and face the music, mate.

It's probably for the best anyway, because Hermione would have found out eventually, and she would have sent those evil canaries of hers flying up where the sun doesn't shine.

You DO know you talk in your sleep, right?

Just— get this taken care of, Ron. Hermione is entirely out of the equation, now.

Harry

Muggleborn Heartbreaker Granger Ensorcels Ronald Weasley, Stealing Him Away From His True Love, Lavender Brown!

The supposed heroine of the Wizarding War enchanted her fellow war hero, dragged him to the altar and dumped him there, disappearing into the night.

A heartbroken Ronald Weasley then proceeded to scour all of Britain for her before the fact that he was, in fact, already magically bonded to fellow Gryffindor Lavender Brown over a shared kiss back in Hogwarts came to light.

Happy endings for Ronald Bilius Weasley, who is now set to marry the true love of his life this Saturday in a whirlwind wedding arranged in record time by his loving mother, Molly Weasley.

Hermione Granger, social-climbing tramp and shameless heartbreaker, hasn't been seen since she dumped innocent wizard Ronald Weasley in an inexplicable fit of pique.

Hermione hadn't slept well since returning from Ben and Julia Dowser's home on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The couple's encounter hadn't been the only one reported to the DoM, but Julia's memories had been the freshest of the lot. While the husband hadn't experienced any of it, his wife's memories had been surprisingly clear, if a bit terrified. There had been too much real fear in them to blame it all on paranoia.

But what was troubling her was the sense of something familiar—

Something just out of reach.

It stirred her into restlessness, and it also kindled a deep need to go back to that place where she had heard the sounds for herself.

Weeks had passed, and her insomnia was only getting worse.

Reports of the Beast of Hogsmeade ala Baskerville were getting much harder to ignore—

But all attempts to find the beast on purpose had failed.

All prints were smudged so badly that everyone believed it had both hooves and paws and even the claws of a dragon.

What utter nonsense.

If you believed the rumours, the beast was everything scary in the world, everything ugly and disgusting, everything dangerous.

Most beasts were not.

It was hybrids, like werewolves, that were truly dangerous, and those were more because there wasn't just the beast but a lurking human intelligence mixed with the animal— just enough to invoke total madness. There were also the Acromantulas who had just enough intelligence to be dangerous but not enough to have any compunctions about eating other sentient creatures.

Most beasts, Hermione knew, just had rules you had to follow— social cues, tells, and an unspoken respects that you had to know to get it right. Charlie, for example, knew this of dragons.

Hermione—

She had come to understand the beasts around Hogwarts after the war in a way she hadn't before.

A strange empathy—

An understanding.

Perhaps, she thought, it was learned in the silence of her life. Her mutism had flipped some sort of switch inside herself, or perhaps opened some channel between herself and Hogwarts. Maybe both, maybe neither.

She couldn't quite tell.

But the gargoyles understood her. The thestrals—

Even the hippogriffs.

The bats dipped around her as they zoomed off to catch their insects. The owls buttered her up for treats despite being "someone else's owl". Even the squid extended tentacles to her for attention.

Humans might be beyond her skill in navigation, but the beasts understood her.

The centaurs, too, seemed far more eager to parlay with her.

Even without words.

Ron having almost seen her had been a mistake. Normally, she didn't go by the front gate, but the pups had been quite insistent on her returning home quickly, and she had caught their infectious worry.

Now, however, he had other issues to worry about.

Crafty old Minerva.

Truly, she was a blessing.

As Hermione slipped into the woods, she caught that familiar again scent—

Painfully familiar.

Seizing pain hit her in the chest, and she crumpled to her knees.

Grief.

Loneliness.

The agony of losing something terribly vital—

"Severus," she whispered into her hands, her head laying on the backs of her hands as she bowed her head to the ground with a pained moan.

It hurt.

Gods, it hurt.

They'd done everything precisely to plan, and still it hadn't been enough.

She'd never been the kind of person to wish for her own death, but she desperately wanted the aching emptiness to end— the pain, the longing for the dream they had both held and fought for.

She'd fought, tooth and nail, to get back to him.

She'd promised him.

And still, the universe had cruelly conspired against them and stole him away from her.

She would never know his like again.

Not her broken, snarky, bitter, dryly mischievous, strangely tender, carefully mended, terribly insecure, utterly brave wizard— the man who perfectly fit against her, her beloved Severus.

The man who had hated her hand-waving, beat down her word-for-word book knowledge, forced her to think outside the box, who rubbed her nose in her own failings, yet praised without words, gave unselfishly without being asked, guided and mentored her throughout three stages of her life—

Her teacher, her master, mentor— her truest best friend.

The love of her life, despite it all.

Oh, the irony.

Neither Harry nor Ron had a clue that Hermione Granger had stopped being Hermione Granger long before her name officially became Snape. They hadn't a notion that it had been his hand that had taught her the shields, the charms, the spells, the incantations, the wandless magic, the brewing of delicate potions over a damnable campfire with her bones aching to simulate battle fatigue—

So she would be ready.

So she could protect them.

And none of it had helped them in the slightest when Harry had impulsively blurted out Voldemort's name and laid out the welcome mat to whoever felt like coming to pound them all into the ground.

Ron running away thinking that she and Harry were somehow sleeping together behind his back.

Ha, ha, ha…

Gods, no.

The only thing Harry Potter had about him that was remotely "right" was the colour of his hair, but that was truly the only similarity he shared with her Slytherin husband— that and the history his mum once had with the brooding potions master.

She crumpled in the leaf litter and mosses, clutching the crumpled wool of her robes, even as her mind reminded her that they were not his—

The lingering scent of him hung all around her.

Tears silently fell down her nose, her cheeks.

Her breaths came in ragged gasps.

Just let it finally end.

Let me be with him.

I've paid my dues to the world.

I've lost my childhood.

Lost my future.

Please.

Please—

I don't want to be in so much pain anymore.

I don't want him to be alone again— waiting another lifetime for me to finally give up the ghost.

Hadn't he suffered enough?

Hadn't she?

She closed her eyes, her hands instinctively kneading the black wool between her fingers like a cat with a favoured blanket. In her mind, she could feel the silken, oily feel of his hair, and she pressed her face into the warm wool with a whimper of pure need.

She could feel, smell his breath— the hint of strong black tea and fresh herbs, and his one almost-vice: dark caramel.

"No one must ever know," he'd demanded of her, his black eyes narrowing.

She'd pulled out another package. "I brought more."

Her body trembled, her eyes welded shut.

She couldn't open them and know he was gone. For now, she would cling to the fantasy that he was still there— alive, tolerating her clinginess with a sardonic eyeroll and awkward consolement.

For now, he was still alive, his warmth under his wool, his hair between her fingers, his scent in the air.

For now, it was the only thing that mattered.

It didn't matter, the painful grumbling in his stomach.

It didn't matter, the hundred, thousand things he could have preyed upon.

It didn't matter that it was so close to the place where others walked.

It didn't matter that he couldn't remember who he was— why he was.

All that mattered was the scent— the scent of ocean-drenched hair and the hint of aquatic plants mixed with the appealing tang of a female.

The female.

The only one that mattered.

He'd wandered for days, searching.

Needing.

Wanting—

So close, so near, and then she'd be gone.

No other lured him so close. No other reminded him there was more to him than wandering.

If only he could remember…

But he couldn't.

Only her scent— the scent!

It poked at his memories, spurring him on. If only he could find her— he might find himself.

Who he was—

What he was—

He felt bigger than everything else, yet he passed through things as often as he went around things. He left prints— when he remembered to.

He hungered, but he did not hunt.

He kept following the scent— that familiar, aching, needful scent.

And there it was!

Crumpled on the ground with the heat of her body leaking away as the night grew colder.

She should be warm!

He approached. He snuffled her, his nostrils flaring at her scent, so familiar, so right.

Her hands curled around his mane as she made sorrowful sounds of pain.

He ached to ease them.

He nuzzled, curling his body around her— the difference in size quite obviously in his favour.

Her small hands clenched his fur.

"Severus," she whispered.

Severus.

Severus.

Yes.

That was his name!

Severus.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

I hate seeing you cry.

He nuzzled. He crooned. He wrapped his body even more tightly around her.

She clung to his fur, his mane, his warmth—

Despite the fearsome body.

Despite the— slime.

His tongue slithered out and lathed across her skin, licking away her salty tears and gently dragging across her neck.

Her eyelids fluttered.

Her breathing slowly eased.

"Severus," she whispered against his muzzle.

Severus, yes. That was his name. That was— is— him.

Hermione—

That was her—

His.

She was his.

Thoughts jumbled and mixed together. Memories scraped their way to the surface.

Tendrils moved across her skin from deep within his monstrous body— seeking, needing a vital connection.

Suddenly he froze.

Hermione—

He saw her in his mind, smiling, cupping his face in her smaller hands.

He hesitated.

He was a monster.

A beast.

Something had changed.

He had changed.

His head hurt.

"Take them, take them!"

He looked into those familiar oh-so-green eyes as his memories leaked from his own eyes—

Even as the green-eyed boy-who-would-be-a-hero reached to collect them, he and the Weasel shoved something black and cold against Snape's chest as they made it look like they were supporting his body.

"Sirius saved this just for you," Potter whispered as he collected the memories. "It was my father's. I hope you rot in Hell, you bastard."

He convulsed in agony as something sank into his bloodied, snake-bitten chest.

Hermione's voice cried out from somewhere. "Professor!"

His vision was blurring. He couldn't reach his antidote. The boys were holding him down.

"H—Gr—" he choked.

Harry slammed his hand over his neck as the blood flowed down his open wounds, but Snape could feel him constricting with the malice he knew well from the Dark Lord— the hate. The loathing.

Something slammed into Harry and Ron, diving into his robes, gathering the injector—

Hermione.

Hermione!

He looked into her eyes as she plunged the injector into his body, and the sharp hiss of the magical plunger proceeded the sting of the concoction they had spent years perfecting together.

Hermione—

Her hands were on his face. "Professor!"

His brave, brave Hermione.

Even now, facing his death, she held onto her persona of the know-it-all swot female friend of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

They hadn't seen her plunge the injector into his thigh.

They hadn't seen her affix the tiny octopus-like creature over his bleeding neck—

They hadn't seen her desperate look of anguish as she cradled his head.

"Severus," she mouthed.

"Go," he mouthed back, silent.

She shook her head, admanant. "Professor—"

"Hermione, come on!"

This time Ron and Harry both pulled her away, kicking, sobbing all the way—

"She's gone bloody mental, mate," Ron snorted as they dragged her away.

The last thing he saw was her being dragged away, her body struggling to return to him—

The last thing he heard was her pitiful moan of anguish even as his body jerked wildly and then went stiff, unable to move as the pain wracked every nerve in his body and his vision blurred and darkened.

Only her scent— her beloved, familiar scent remained upon his face as his world went completely black.

Severus pulled away, his sucker-like tendrils making a thip! Sound as they were forced from her body even as his entire soul protested.

No, he wouldn't curse her to be like him.

Potter's curse.

Black's curse.

They probably were in on it together from the very beginning, well over a decade ago—

No.

Never!

Who could possibly embrace a beast?! What did it matter if he had been human once? At least his looks had been horrible and human— but not this.

But even as he tried to spare her—

Hermione's eyes were open and she caught his gaze.

Her hand extended to touch his monstrously twisted muzzle of stretched skin over a skeletal-like beast skull.

The other stroked the other side of his muzzle as she looked into his eyes.

"Severus?" she whispered.

She knew.

Gods, she knew!

He moved to leave—

Leave before he contaminated her— passed on his curse, whatever it was, to her!

But he was frozen in place as she wrapped her arms around his mane of oily fur, pressing her face into it.

"Don't leave me, Severus. Please, I need you."

She couldn't mean—

His tendrils were already seeking her again— reaching, needing to embrace her.

How could she accept such a grotesque, unnatural thing?

He tried to pull away for the third and final time—

"I love you," she said, her voice breaking. She reached for him, her hands brushing against his rebellious tendrils that refused to take his retreat laying down.

Thip! Thip THIP!

They swarmed around her hands and arms, pulling her close. Pulling her into his cursed body.

Hermione, no!

He wanted to push her away even as he wanted her to do exactly what she was doing— accepting him as he was now.

The feel of her was so right— her scent was, was—

Perfection.

He struggled not to fully embrace her, knowing the curse would seek to damn her as well, for that would be Potter and Black's way to ensure that no soul on Earth would dare risk trying to help him.

Who would help a cursed beast and risk becoming one as well?

"If I have to be what you are to be with you, Severus, I will— I accept it," she whispered into his ear. Her tears ran down his slime-covered body. "I would rather be what you are than live in misery without you."

Whatever willpower Severus Snape had to spare his wife his fate fled with her confession. His dark tendrils surrounded her, slithering over her skin as she gave into his embrace with a groan of release— completion.

Finally their bodies pressed together in the primordial darkness, even as his body was cursed it longed for his mate's warmth, something denied them until after the war—

The tendrils sank into her body, and she cried out, but she continued to cling to him.

He realised in that very moment that she had taken her marital vows so seriously—

For better or for worse.

For richer for poorer.

In sickness or in health—

"I love you," she gasped, her body shuddered against him—

A heated magic gathered inside him with the feeling of her love.

Her devotion.

Her promise of forever— kept.

She would have no other but him.

He would have no other but her.

He felt something shatter around him, bursting forth like a dam had broken, and the tendrils drew them together tight.

He felt her skin everywhere. He felt her heart, her breath. He was dizzy with her scent, thick with a need for him.

Only him.

And the cursed form fell away as the monstrous became mostly-human, and he surrendered to the need to claim her as a husband to his wife, sealing their ardour with his passion, his need, and his overwhelming love for her.

"Hermione," he managed to say, his voice both adoration and wonder.

"Make love to me, my husband," she said, her voice weighted with grief turned to elation. Her voice was hers again, returning with the return of her mate.

"As my lady commands," he replied with a groan, descending upon her body with fervent worship. "My love, my queen—"

Their impassioned cries were muffled by the cocoon of cursed tendrils that remained even hours later, as their bodies remained entwined. Severus' tendrils swarmed around his mate's heat and coaxed their twins from her body. They slithered together, exploring each other even as Severus and Hermione slept, twisting and forming into living Celtic knots. Even when the sun rose and most of the tendrils retreated back into whatever magical pocket allowed them to hide within the body, one thick tendril from Hermione's mane of hair and his oily, abused locks remained entwined in the shape of a perfect heart.

Perhaps, they too, had found their forever home.

Harry Potter knew he was in trouble.

They were in serious trouble.

He knew he was going to be in trouble ever since he saw the memories Snape had given him and realised that everything Sirius had told him had been just another kind of lie.

He had acted out in self-righteous in anger— the need for control over a life that hadn't seemed fair from the very beginning.

He needed Snape to be guilty, and he had acted to punish him in the end— desperate to carry out his godfather's last wish in honour of his father.

Surely, if two such significant people, his father and his father's best mate, had made something for Snape then Snape truly deserved it—

So what if he had seen that memory in the Pensieve that had a helpless Snape hanging upside down at their hands.

He'd deserved it.

All those years of scorn and ridicule—

He'd deserved it!

But no—

Snape's memories clearly proved otherwise.

Snape had tried to save him from himself multiple times to honour his mum's memory.

A friendship—

And he—

He had cruelly cursed him. Both he and Ron had believed he deserved whatever karma that parting "gift" had bestowed upon him.

The look on Hermione's face.

She suspected.

No, she must have known.

That was why she left.

No, a part of him said, she hadn't known at all. All she knew was that they had left their teacher to die—

That, alone, would have been enough to send Hermione Granger into a shocked, guilt-ridden stupor.

Her silence.

Her grief.

She was always so damned responsible.

Her agonised screams echoed throughout Malfoy Manor.

His fault.

He'd brought the ruddy Snatchers down on them.

She'd gone down fighting— fighting for him.

His fault.

He'd run off half-cocked to save Sirius at the Ministry when Hermione had begged him to make sure he wasn't home at Grimmauld Place.

Instead, he'd taken Kreacher's word that he wasn't there.

Oh, he hadn't been— in that ROOM.

Kreacher hadn't lied, technically.

He'd almost gotten them all killed.

He'd gotten Sirius killed.

His fault.

His fault!

You saved the world!

Guilt filled him. Sure, he'd defeated Voldemort—

But he'd taken out a grudge and frustration and need to make someone pay on Snape.

He'd deserved it!

Harry paced. No, even if he had deserved it, what he'd done to him was no better than what Bellatrix Lestrange had done to Hermione.

Torture.

An act of despicable, unvarnished evil—something absolutely vile.

The very thing Alastor Moody would have thrown him into Azkaban for, no matter who he'd done it to.

You call yourself an Auror?

Harry paced, growling.

He didn't notice how his feet had started to twist and reshape into hooves.

His hands twisted into paws.

He didn't notice how his body went on all fours instead of two and that his hair was thickening, spreading down his back like the scruff of a hyena.

He didn't notice how his voice had turned to growls, his head had twisted into a bestial skull covered in taut, leathery skin or that his body was bursting through his clothes as it jerked and twisted as he paced.

He didn't notice the fat, ugly tentacles pushing through his skin as slime began to drip from his pores.

He paced.

He growled.

He paced some more.

Ginny.

He needed her.

Ginny would make his torment go away.

His need.

He could smell her—

Sweet, sweet Ginny.

Just on the other side of the door, yes.

Yes!

He pushed against the door, splintering it.

Her scent—

His need—

His hunger—

Gut-twisting, souldeep hunger!

He needed her.

To connect—

To remember—

Remember what?

Ginny—

The female's scent was all that mattered.

Salvation lay within that familiar, sweet scent!

Tendrils extended from his body as he loomed over her, his body creeping over the bed they had shared since their marriage. They moved to connect to her—

Ginny's eyes opened, and she shrieked.

No!

No!

He shrank back, his ears hurting.

No, Ginny!

A spell hit him squarely in the face— once, then again!

Another…

Ginny!

Blackness swallowed him whole, but all he could think of was her scent— the scent of his mate, his salvation.

And she had rejected him.

Both Lavender Weasley and Ginevra Potter were pale-faced and stricken as they stood in front of the holding cells that held both Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley— heroes of the Wizarding War who were now cursed into something horrible.

Beyond horrible.

Barely even describable.

Chimeras of out of their worst nightmares—

"This can't be right," Molly wailed. "My Ronald would never do something to deserve this!"

Kingsley rubbed his chin and cracked his neck. "I'm sorry, Molly. This was caused by backlash from a curse that was satisfied. Powerful curses tied to artefacts, as you know, have to go somewhere, and if the cursed victim satisfies the condition, the backlash is usually three-fold back upon the caster."

"But they didn't curse anyone!" Molly protested, wringing her hands. "They were fighting in a war! How do I fix my boy, Kingsley? How do we fix Harry?"

Two cloaked figures spoke, but it came out as a low, sibilant hiss. Both were dressed head to toe in a hooded robe of a blue so dark it was almost black. Goblin silver masks covered and concealed their faces. The masks resembled the snarling oni-masks of the ancient samurai when intimidating was expected.

Molly flinched instinctively at the Unspeakables. No matter what colour they wore, what station they occupied, they were all too creepy for her.

Kingsley tilted his head to listen, seemingly unconcerned.

"The wife must confirm their bond to their husbands and—" Kingsley made a face and tugged at his collar slightly. "Allow the cursed tendrils to touch them and feel the emotional connection. We cannot guarantee that it will work. We simply know it had worked once."

"NO WAY!" Ginny and Lavender cried at once, even as the beasts threw themselves at the magical bars, desperate to get to them both.

"Of course you will!" Molly insisted, her mind made up.

"The hell I will!" Lavender said. "I've already got one half-curse from a werewolf on me. I don't want to end up like that!"

"Me either!" Ginny shrieked. "I'm not going to be felt up by a monster and just hope it turns into Harry!"

"What if the curse passes to us? Then what?"

"Yeah, no way! Too risky!"

"Ginevra—" Molly warned.

"No, mum. No way. If you love Ron so much, then you can go in there and let some tentacles feel you up!"

Molly looked utterly mortified even as Kingsley waved his hand. "Molly, remember also that even if they were to be cured, I would have to arrest them both for using a Dark artefact on a human being. It harboured a curse that was fully intended to last forever. The only reason it wasn't was because the Originator who made the curse gave it the old true love's kiss as the only escape— something I believe they believed could never happen to one it was meant for."

"Who?" Molly cried. "I want to talk to them! Surely this is all a big mistake!"

Kingsley sighed and waved to the Unspeakables. "Authorisation A-1-52. Those present are under Wizarding Oath not to reveal anything they see or hear here without express permission of those involved."

The dark clad figures pulled down their hoods and removed their masks.

"Severus?" Molly cried.

"Hermione!?" Ginny and Lavender said together.

At first they were still, but slowly, a number of tendrils unfurled from their hair, writhing like the tresses of Medusa. The tendrils perked in Molly, Lavender, and Ginevra's direction and hissed.

"As you can see for yourselves, the curse in question is still quite tenacious— but the escape clause was satisfied. The evidence, however, is damningly clear."

"But you said the curse clause was satisfied!" Lavender said. "It's obviously still active! Look at them!" She pointed her finger accusingly.

One of Hermione's tendrils flashed outward like a whip.

CHOMP!

And bit Lavender's finger.

"EEEEEE!" Lavender screeched. "I don't want to be contaminated! A beast!" She ran screaming out of the room only to knock herself out cold by slamming straight into the low-hanging cloak rack near a storage cupboard.

The irritated tendril was making spitting noises and proceeded to stick its "face" into a tube of toothpaste and clean out its "mouth."

Severus eyed the feisty tendril with some consternation, even as one of his tendrils flirted shamelessly with Hermione by caressing her cheek and neck in a slow, sensuous stroke.

Hermione gave him a lustful look that made him weak in the knees.

"There are some, erm, rather interesting benefits we have—" Severus coughed. "Ah, retained." His voice was heavy with desire.

"You let Snape—" Ginny was looking at Hermione with disgust clear in her eyes. "Harry said he was a hero, but—"

Hermione, not missing a beat, placed her hands against Severus' face and drew him down into a languid snog. As they pulled away, breathless, their tendrils shivering in joined pleasure, she said, "He is a hero, but he is also my husband. I swore to remain faithful in sickness or health— that whatever may come— we would face together. Becoming a beast has no fear for me, for even as a beast, he was drawn to lick my tears away. I would never abandon him. If I must be a beast to be with him, gladly I would do so than face the world without him."

The sound was almost audible as Ginny and Molly's brains simultaneously stalled, blue-screened, and core-dumped back to a prompt.

Severus' smile was smug and devilish. "I do not think they share your devotion, my wife." His half-lidded gaze was still heated, and his tendrils responded by ensnaring Hermione's and attempting to drag her in closer.

Kingsley coughed delicately. "As it is, Molly, the tracers have gone out from both Harry and Ronald's current bodies and from the rooms they initially changed in. The timing is perfect to when Severus and Hermione broke his cursed existence."

"But they are obviously still cursed!" Molly said, wringing her hands in distress. "What if that is why my baby looks like a beast!"

Kingsley frowned. "Severus is no longer cursed to be trapped in the form that James Potter and Sirius Black designed the curse around. They designed the shift to be permanent, but they also made it to push the consciousness behind a sort of artificial Occlumency—"

"One, they didn't plan on Severus having true Occlumency to preserve his true self, and two, they did not plan on him ever having a wife willing to risk all to save him." Kingsley frowned. "It would never have even happened had Harry not gotten the parcel from his godfather, and he and Ronald both ensured that it was forced into Severus' wound."

"So, it's not their fault! It's Sirius Black's fault! Or James Potter's fault!" Molly protested.

"They still used it, Molly."

Molly seemed to realise something. "What do you mean Occlumency preserved his true self?"

Kingsley looked grim. "I'm saying that we have no idea how long Ronald or Harry will be able to retain their human thinking if the curse isn't broken soon."

Molly's look of utter panic was obvious as she looked at her slavering son, who was slamming into the magical cell wall as he desperately tried to reach Lavender's out cold form.

Perhaps it was the lighting or the moment, the distraction or some trick of fate, but no one noticed that one determined tendril from Ronald's bestial body had travelled along the floor and burrowed into Lavender's leg without her permission, desperate to make the connection he longed for and desired above all else.

Lavender Weasley's body jerked suddenly as a blackened taint spread up her ankle, leg, and the remainder of her body— sealing the curse into their bodies for both himself and her for as long as James Potter and Sirius Black had made it so: an entire lifetime.

Kingsley, who had quickly dove to prevent Molly from getting too close to the bars, saw the tendril burrowing into Lavender's leg.

"Shite! Seal this place off now!"

Severus and Hermione locked hands and then slammed their hands down to the ground at the same time. The ground shook as their magic activated the wards, sealing all of them in a separate containment barrier as an alarm went off.

Unspeakables flooded into the room, wands brandished and magic flowing from person to person and person to room. A flash of red hit Lavender even as she lay convulsing on the ground, foam leaking out her mouth as her body absorbed the brunt of Ron's unwelcome, unwillingly accepted "gift." They moved her into the cell with him in a flash, bringing up the secondary and tertiary barriers before relaxing.

Even as Lavender's body foamed and jerked and twisted.

Changing right before their eyes.

Her new body burst out from her pastel lavender robes, ripping the fabric in a wave of slime and fur and grotesque bright orange tendrils that perfectly matched her "mate's". Her jaw jerked and elongated, bony teeth erupting from new gums as her skin stretched over a skull that was distinctly other.

She let out a shrieking scream of rage and fell upon Ronald, clawing and tearing, biting and slashing— their bodies at war with each other.

Unaccepting.

Uncompatible.

Unloved.

The unspeakables moved quickly, driving the pair off each other and forming a new line of bars in between.

Ronald-beast limped to the edge of the cage, bloody, torn and terrorised.

Lavender-beast threw herself at the bars to get at him again, desperate to tear him to pieces.

Ginny curled up in a ball behind her own barrier, terrified, whimpering and inconsolable even as Molly Weasley cradled her head in her hands and sobbed.

Severus, stoic and deadpan, merely sniffed once. "That was rather unexpected."

Minerva welcomed the Snapes "home" to Hogwarts with open arms, even getting an unexpected tendril-hug from the both of them.

She snort-giggled as they tickled her face. "Well, I never had that experience before," she said. "Severus— Hermione. Oh, thank the gods."

Reconstruction of the school went even faster than the news that the Man-Who-Conquered became the Man-Who-Stupidly-Cursed-Himself and his best mate became the Beast-Who-Cursed-His-Girlfriend.

Severus was pretty sure that somewhere in the Afterlife, an utterly livid Lily Potter was chasing and hexing Sirius Black and James Potter across the Endless Fields of Perpetual Fleeing, if there actually was such a thing.

The Department of Mysteries poked, prodded, tested, and retested Hermione and Severus numerous times after their ordeal, and short of having a rather dark and disturbing bestial form to chase each other around by moonlight, they were perfectly human in the mind, unlike Harry, Ronald, and Lavender.

The gargoyle pups seemed to think Hermione was even BETTER than before, and they piled up on her like she was the best babysitter in the whole wide world.

When Rubeus realised that the "pup" he had found and attempted to train had actually been a cursed Severus Snape, he gulped and decided to take up gardening instead (much to everyone's relief.)

It was said that the dark look Severus Snape gave the half-giant upon seeing him again spoke of "the kind of unspeakable murder that won't bother sneaking up on you and will definitely not care if you scream."

Hermione took up the reins as the new caretaker and trainer for the beasts of Hogwarts, and she and Severus built themselves a lovely new cottage on the school grounds— large enough that the gargoyles could move in and be "appropriately protective" but small enough not to be (as Severus put it) as outlandishly over-large as a sodding Malfoy estate."

Severus did not return to teaching, but he worked full-time stocking the potions for both Poppy and St Mungos, a job he truly enjoyed when he didn't have to constantly smack away exploding cauldrons and keep foolish children from blowing each other up.

Hogwarts seemed to approve of her new caretakers, and would often "make improvements" on their new home, such as giving Hermione a rather impressive hotspring to soak when her pregnancy started to make her back ache.

The centaurs continued to accept the peace treaty, often using the Snape's home and garden as the neutral ground at which to speak with Minerva or the other school officials— and none of the officials (save Minerva) seemed all that eager to do anything that might irritate the looming gargoyle parents and almost-intimidating gargoyle pups. Minerva, however, was Minerva, and Severus quipped that the "annoyingly loyal beasts always liked her anyway."

Bats gathered around the roof in the evenings to get the best insects, and the owls greatly preferred the Snapes' garden to the owlry, ridding their garden of all pesky vermin as an added bonus.

And when the night peaked, dark shapes would move across the green under the cover of moonlight or the lack thereof— monstrous beasts that seemed to have no place in the real world even as they frolicked, chased, rolled, and tumbled with each other.

It was said that no troublemaker ever dared stay outside after curfew or "the monsters would catch them" and "drag them off to the Headmistress' office by the seat of their trousers."

"Nonsense," Severus would say with a derisive snort. "If I was going to drag anyone it would be by the collar. Who knows where those trousers have been?"

The gargoyles, however, had learned to drag those they caught out by whichever part they got ahold of first, much to Minerva's amusement, Filch's glee, and the guilty students' absolute mortification.

Gradually, the younger gargoyles found the spots they wanted to guard the most, leaving their parents to take their places in the happier Hogwarts. Hogwarts seemed to breathe a sigh of relief— the scars of the war finally healing.

Cerys Minerva Snape was born on a blustery winter January day with a mop of curls straight out of the book of sentient Hermione tresses but in the raven black colour of her father's hair.

She was followed by Corwin Kingsley Snape about five minutes after, sporting perfectly straight golden brown hair and a vaguely familiar aquiline nose in miniature.

Both infants were "disturbingly human" according to Severus. Pink, wriggly, and determined to suck their mum's mammaries dry.

Hermione said he was just jealous.

Severus only arched a brow at her, but he didn't deny it either.

The kids quickly learned that Mummy and Daddy had eyes on the back of their heads— and they couldn't fool the tendrils either. The busy tendrils kept their wayward children from sticking forks into bad places, toppling over potion cauldrons, and other such mischief that only curious magical children could manage completely unintentionally.

They grew up thinking they were half-gargoyle, practicing perching with the pups and staring out over the garden. The rest of the time, they tried to flap their arms and fly about the grounds just like the resident bats and owls, much to Severus' consternation and Hermione's amusement.

There came a time when both children wanted to know why their mummy and daddy had "cool extra hands" and they did not, and Hermione always told them the same thing: they were once very, very lonely, and they attached themselves to their daddy, who was also very, very lonely. But then Daddy found Mummy, and they became a family, and their tendril-friends were allowed to stay because no one deserved to be left out to face the world alone.

Cerys promptly said she wanted tendril-friends too.

Corwin observed that they would be "dead useful."

Severus told them both that sort of thing was an adult decision and an even bigger responsibility than having a familiar because it was forever.

"More than having a hippogriff?"

"Definitely more, and no, you can't have a hippogriff either."

"Awwww…"

Cerys promptly forgot about her desire for tendril-friends when she found a book on Abraxian flying horses in the library only a week later.

And then she wanted a Nundu cub a week after that.

And a plague vulture after that—

Corwin, thankfully, only wanted an owl, and owls were not in short supply in the Snape garden.

A floofy grey owlet decided that Corwin was infinitely interesting.

And so the runt of the nest became the largest and most elegant owl of the roost and Corwin's best friend.

Despite their obvious differences, the twins shared many things in common, and they were to be found reading in the library together as often as they pretended to hate the other, making their bemused parents' heads spin with the whiplash of trying to decide what their offspring were going to do on any given day.

Still, whenever the pressure was on, the two always tackled any problems together. While they were often stymied by their attempts to pull the wool over their parents' eyes, they were not so ineffectual against other children.

Or unwary tutors—

Alas, their grandparents were amply brilliant and seemed to see them coming even without magic.

How could this be so?

They didn't even have tendril-friends!

It was all so baffling for the Snape twins.

Surely tendrils were the reason their parents were so hard to fool.

But— why did their grandma and grandpa seem to be so…

So…

Observant!

It was a mystery.

Maybe they'd understand when they were older.

Older than old Hagrid, for sure.

Maybe then, they could finally get one over on their parents.

Maybe.

Maybe if they were as old as, say—

Merlin?

Surely then they could finally be able to sneak a biscuit from the tin without being seen.

Right?

As the two Snape children sulked in the library and whispered to each other on the best plan to get to the latest biscuit tin that Auntie Minerva had sent, Hermione leaned into her husband and mrred as he pressed a kiss into her neck.

"Mmmmmy love," he purred, his voice low and seductive.

Hermione shivered, her tendrils standing on end. "Your voice should be illegal."

"But then," he rumbled. "I wouldn't be able to do… this."

He rolled his voice into her ear and she practically fell to the floor as her legs gave out under her. He caught her, chuckling— a very male and proud sound.

"Are we trying to conquer the world with our combined genetics?" Hermione asked, breathing heavily.

"Mrrrr, if I said yes?" Severus purred.

"I'd say the children should be visiting my parents— right now."

Severus' smile was wicked as he pressed a kiss to her neck as his slim fingers moved across her mouth to keep her from squeaking loudly. "I suppose. That can be. Arranged," he drawled.

Hermione's last coherent thought as her children disappeared into the floo to her parent's for the weekend was how her husband was a wickedly, dastardly, wonderfully manipulative wizard.

"Oh, gods, Severus!" she cried as he descended upon her.

And so did his tendrils.

His beautiful, wonderful, talented tendrils—

The world went black but for the earth-shattering pleasure of her mate's skillful attentions.

She'd have to remember to send a letter to the Afterlife to thank James Potter and Sirius Black for—

"SEVERUS!" she cried as his mouth covered her, distracting her with both tongue and hands.

Everything.

Definitely everything.

Somewhere, in the Afterlife, James Potter and Sirius Black clawed at their heads as the awful image of the greasy git enjoying the pleasures of his wife in blissful happiness burned into their minds— forever.

For they were already dead.

And still fleeing from Lily's endless unholy wrath.

Fin.

A/N: *cough* Happy Birthday, The Dragon and the Rose! Hope you liked um… betaing your own story? *eyedarts* *heart?*

Surprise! *whistle*

Dragon: I loved it! And hope your readers do too!