Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2691041.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi, F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Harry_Potter, Hannah_Abbott/Harry_Potter, Luna_Lovegood/
      Harry_Potter, Neville_Longbottom/Harry_Potter, TBA_-_Relationship, Hannah
      Abbott/Neville_Longbottom, Hannah_Abbott/Neville_Longbottom/Luna
      Lovegood, Harry_Potter/Blaise_Zabini, Neville_Longbottom/Blaise_Zabini,
      Neville_Longbottom/Luna_Lovegood/Blaise_Zabini, Luna_Lovegood/Blaise
      Zabini, Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape/Other(s)
  Character:
      Harry_Potter_Characters, Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger, Ron_Weasley,
      Luna_Lovegood, Hannah_Abbott, Neville_Longbottom, Severus_Snape, Remus
      Lupin, Andromeda_Black_Tonks, Draco_Malfoy, Albus_Dumbledore, Minerva
      McGonagall, Blaise_Zabini
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Violence, Torture, Rape/Non-con_Elements,
      Creature_Fic, beastie/anthro, First_Time, Multiple_Partners, Pregnancy,
      Mpreg, Magical_Pregnancy, hetero/slash, Magical_Creature, Harems, Mating
      Rituals, Mating_Bond, Sexual_Violence, Sexual_Slavery, Hogwarts_Seventh
      Year, alternative_sixth_year, Death_Eater_Revels, Magical_Inheritance,
      Minor_Character_Death, Abduction, Student-Teacher_Sexual_Tension
  Collections:
      Read_When_Finished
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-28 Updated: 2017-12-31 Chapters: 38/48 Words: 271887
****** Vanteeria Domestica ******
by andrea_readwolf
Summary
     With a new shiny Head Boy badge, Harry's returning to Hogwarts for
     his final year with a pocketful of plans and handful of wishful
     dreams. But an unusual inheritance and a Dark Lord threaten even the
     best laid plans.
***** The Last Summer *****
Chapter Summary
     It's Harry's last summer with the Dursleys; the last summer before
     his seventh and last year at Hogwarts.
Chapter Notes
     This story is a work in (excruciatingly slow) progress.
     It's a stress-reliever story--most scenes were originally written
     when I was/am feeling particularly edgy, pissy, or just generally
     want to tear the world to shreds. I was very descriptive, and I'm
     still debating how much I will actually post because they are...
     upsetting, even to me. It's nasty, mean, horrible, sickening, and
     very not nice.
     The Death Eater torture scenes should very well contain triggers for
     many readers--
     This story will also have elements of bestiality, blatant and
     implied; there will be scenes of dubious-consent, rape, abuse,
     slavery and some seriously violent situations.
     Despite this disclaimer, I'm honestly an equal-opportunist, generally
     happy-go-lucky person who's a big romantic and loves me a happy
     ending. And babies. Lots and lots of babies. So...
     There will be het, fem-slash, and m-slash, cross-generational
     relationships, and lots and lots of pregnancies.
     This is neither my first nor second Harry Potter fic. It is merely
     the second one I'm starting to share. It is incomplete--yes, I have
     an outline, with copious amounts of notes. Yes, I have a tentative
     ending in place, however, I'm willing to bend and flow depending on
     where the narrative actually leads. I'm posting with the hope of
     giving myself some accountability towards continuing/finishing.
     This story is currently unbeta-ed and quite raw. Any constructive
     criticism towards mechanics, grammar, plot development,
     characterization, and story continuum is appreciated.
     Thanks for reading!
 
Wednesday, 30 July, 1997
 
 
Harry Potter was having trouble falling asleep, despite an exhausting day. He
knew why, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
 
A glance at his watch—working again thanks to some nifty spell Hermione had
found—told him midnight was fast approaching.
 
It was silly, he tried to tell himself, but apparently, himself wasn’t
listening. Sure, it was a bit of a tradition to wait up till midnight the night
before his birthday, but, honestly, it was a bit unreasonable when he knew he
would be getting up early tomorrow morning. And he was absolutely positively
not worried a lick about his Inheritance. No, that was just silly. After all,
he’d seen both Hermione and Ron go through their Inheritances over the last
year—all that had changed for them was a bit of a growth spurt and a boost in
their magical core.
 
He’d already known Hermione was pretty powerful, so seeing her spells take on
new weight after her birthday wasn’t a big surprise. Seeing Ron’s capabilities
jump might have been, too, if Harry hadn’t witnessed his friend’s struggles
throughout the Fall and Winter terms as his magic tried to find a new
equilibrium. Harry knew a lot of Ron’s troubles came from his encounter with
the brains down in the Department of Mysterious, although Ron refused to talk
about it, and he couldn’t help the nugget of guilt he still felt for leading
his friends into a trap.
 
That thought made him think of Neville, who would have already gone through his
Inheritance since it was his birthday today. He wondered what his steady and
quiet friend had received when he turned seventeen. Harry had sent Hedwig off
to Neville two nights ago with his birthday wishes and some seeds he’d picked
up at the garden center he’d visited while on errands for his aunt.
 
Neville had confided in an earlier letter that he was more than a bit worried
about his Inheritance. In addition to his grandmother seeming to expect Neville
to step up and take more of an active role in Longbottom Family matters, there
was the ever underlying worry that the traumas of his childhood would somehow
interfere with his magical inheritance. Maybe something dire. Harry had wanted
to tell him he was worrying over nothing, but Neville, having grown up in the
wizarding world like Ron, was more likely to know than Harry was.
 
Ron had mentioned some kids going to sleep on the night of their birthday and
waking up the next morning with wings or covered in scales. Seamus had said his
Inheritance had come with excruciating pain that pierced every inch of his
body. Hermione had said it was mildly discomforting but nothing too extreme.
Dean, apparently, hadn’t noticed anything much at all. He wasn’t sure about
Lavender or Pavarti, but he knew for a fact no one in Gryffindor Tower had
sported scales or feathers this year unless they’d unknowingly partook in a
Canary Cream.
 
Green eyes crept back to the slender hands on his watch, watching as midnight
crept ever closer.
 
He supposed it would be just his luck to wind up with scales, wings, and a tail
to boot, Harry thought. And purple. No, no, green to match his eyes, he added
feeling his stomach roil. He didn’t even want to think what Petunia or Vernon
would do if he came downstairs tomorrow morning looking more ‘freakish’ than
normal.
 
What really sucked, though, was that there was little chance now he would be
waking up before 6am tomorrow to do his exercises. Oh well, it was his
birthday. A day without exercising could be his little treat to himself. That
and the day out on the town Remus had promised him. That was something he was
excited for.
 
The clock downstairs chimed—it was a new addition to the house décor, a
Christmas present Aunt Marge had gifted them this last year. Harry suspected
Aunt Petunia hated the monstrosity, but she didn’t say anything where he had
heard.
 
Still, he glanced at his watch to confirm…. Yes, it was midnight. It was 31
July. Harry was official seventeen. A tingle raced through him and he tensed in
expectation…
 
But nothing happened. No scales, no feathers, no wings, no pain—excruciating or
otherwise.
 
Reaching for his wand, he pointed it at Hedwig’s cage and casted a quick
“Scourgify!” The owl droppings and scraps of messy paper hiding bits and pieces
of things Harry would rather not think about disappeared, leaving behind a
clean cage.
 
“Reparo!” he called out softly, waving his wand over the broken digital radio/
alarm clock that had mysteriously been added to his bedroom sometime over the
last year. The clock gave out a <POP!> followed by a puff of smoke, and Harry
remembered muggle things and magic didn’t always mix so well. Oh well, it
wasn’t like it wasn’t broken already, he thought.
 
Then he grinned. Then he giggled—before quickly stifling the sound. He was
seventeen! He was legal! He was able to do magic whenever and wherever he
liked! Ha!
 
He surveyed the smallest bedroom of 4 Private Drive, and with twinkling eyes
set his wand in motion. When a wave of exhaustion swept over him, it was nearly
quarter to one and the bedroom was completely remodeled. It was, by far, the
nicest room in the entire house, he thought sinking down into the quilted
mattress and fresh linen sheets, the fluffy pillow cushioning his head soft
like a cloud.
 
The walls were sporting a fresh yellow, the clean window dressed out in ocean
blue curtains. The repaired desk and night table were standing solidly upon all
four legs and polished to a shine, the floor boards smoothly polished and
gleaming and covered in a plush area rug. He’d even been able to transfigure a
beat up shoebox into a trendy-looking book case that currently displayed all of
his school books from previous years, protected by several preservation charms
and some strong Notice-Me-Not charms. The best, in his opinion, however, was
the Muggle Repelling charm he’d placed on the door.
 
With any luck, his relatives might just ignore him for the rest of the summer!
 
It was only as he was drifting away into sleep that he thought of his
Inheritance, or seemingly lack thereof. It was nice to not be in pain.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
-Wednesday, 2 July, Surrey-
 
Harry sat nervously on the steps to 4 Privet Drive, knee jiggling as he scanned
up and down the street, waiting for a familiar figure. In his hands, he held
the letter that had arrived last night from his surrogate god-father, Remus,
stating that the older man would be around by 9 this morning to pick him up.
 It was only 8:40, but he couldn’t stand to wait any longer inside the house.
 
Apparently, neither could Remus because less than 5 minutes later, the
deceptively mild mannered werewolf came strolling up the path, a knowing little
smile crooked on his lips. 
 
“I thought you might be ready early,” the elder man greeted as Harry shot up
from the stoop.
 
“Remus!” the boy exclaimed joyfully, rushing up to him and engulfing the
werewolf in a large hug which the wolf returned with an extra little squeeze
and a quick little sniff.  “So, where are we going?” he asked when they finally
pulled away.  “You didn’t say in your letter. Just to be ready by 9. What are
we going to be doing?”
 
Remus laughed at Harry’s exuberance.  “Well, first, I thought it’s about time
you get to meet Sirius’s cousin—Andromeda Tonks nee Black.”
 
“Tonks?”
 
“Yep, she’s Tonks’s mum,” Remus confirmed. “The eldest of the three Black
sisters. She’s a formidable woman, an unabashed Slytherin, and was pretty much
Sirius’s favorite cousin after your father. So, do you have everything? Are you
ready to go?”
 
“Ready and willing,” Harry confirmed, still grinning unrepentantly, snatching
up his knapsack.
 
“Good. Then we’ll just head on back down to Figgy’s and use her floo.”
 
“What’s Tonks’s mum like? Is she anything like Tonks?” Harry wanted to know.
 
Remus snorted. “A typical Black lady is more like it,” he corrected. 
“Remember, this is the woman who one, defied her family and ran off to marry a
muggle-born, and two, turned around and named her daughter ‘Nymphadora’.”
 
Harry snickered and returned Remus’s grin. “So why are we going to meet her
now? Why not ever before?”
 
“Well, for one, there just never seemed to be the right time,” Remus explained,
apologetically.  “Last summer was, well, bad for everyone, and the summer
before that—“ “Wasn’t much better, yeah, I get it,” Harry sighed, nodding. 
“So, what’s changed? Why now?”
 
“Now, because you’re going to be 17 this summer,” Remus grinned again, ruffling
Harry’s already untidy hair. “A legal adult in our world. This means you’re
going to have even more responsibilities.  Andy knows this and basically told
Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that she would be meeting with you regularly
this summer to ensure you’re prepared.”
 
“Wait,” Harry paused. “Is she going to train me?”
 
Remus looked back at him.  “Not in the manner I’m sure you’re hoping, but yes,
she will be training you. Training you in lessons you should have been getting
all along as the heir to a family line.” He turned back around and continued
walking, trusting Harry to follow along. “In addition, I’ll be teaching you a
few things this summer, too. I hope you’re ready to work.”
 
Harry whooped delightedly and chased after him.
 
***
 
 Harry came stumbling out of the floo into the greeting room at Whitehorse
Lane, still laughing. If Remus hadn’t have caught him, he would have tumbled
onto the ground.
 
“Oh, my.”
 
“Wotcher, Harry, Remus,” Tonks’s familiar voice chirped. “Good to see you made
it okay. The muggles not getting you down too much, are they, Harry?”
 
“Nah, it’s all good. Good to see you, Tonks,” Harry greeted with a big smile.
 
“So what was so funny?”
 
“Oh, just the way Mrs. Figg’s cats took to Remus,” Harry snorted and Tonks
joined in at Remus’s bemused put-upon face.
 
“Nymphadora?” a smooth, cultured voice called their attention gently.
 
Harry started, startled by the surprising resemblance of the older woman.  This
is what Bellatrix would have looked like, he thought, if she hadn’t have spent
all those years locked up in Azkaban.
 
She was… stunning. A real looker, for being an older woman and all. Even more
refined looking that Mrs. Malfoy—and then he remembered the three women were
all sisters.
 
“Ah, hello Mrs. Tonks,” Harry stumbled out a greeting, bypassing a literally
steaming red Tonks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 
“Likewise,” the woman greeted. “Andromeda Tonks, Mr. Potter. You may call me
‘Andy’.”
 
“Then please, call me Harry,” he returned.
 
“There’s tea, in the drawing room. Shall we sit and have a cup?” the elder
woman offered motioning up towards the stairs.
 
“Ah, sure,” he agreed, shooting a questioning look towards Tonks and Remus,
who, he noticed, were standing awfully close to one another.  Had the auror
finally caught the wolf he wondered, following Andy up to the ground floor and
into the drawing room.  The couple followed a few short minutes behind,
unerringly settling into their seats as ones long accustomed to their placement
in a room.  Harry wondered just how much time Remus had been spending at
Whitehorse Lane recently.
 
“I have petitioned to Dumbledore, as your legal magical guardian for several
years now,” Andy began once they were all seated with their tea, “for the right
to instruct you in the manner in which you will be expected to perform. He has
denied my requests under various flimsy excuses, but no longer.  Mr. Potter,
Harry, this summer you will be turning seventeen and thus become a legal wizard
in our world, complete with all the rights and responsibilities that entails.”
 
Harry nodded. He was completely aware of when his birthday was and how old he
would be turning this year. He was looking forward to it—to finally being able
to perform magic outside of school without getting in trouble for it with the
ministry.
 
“You are the heir to two very illustrious families, Harry,” Andy continued,
calmly sipping her tea. “And as such, there are many important roles you will
be expected to play within our society. I know, from speaking with Remus this
past year, that no one has instructed you in these vital lessons. That is what
we will be doing this summer.”
 
“Good luck,” Tonks piped in.  “Mum’s a real taskmaster when it comes to all the
p’s and q’s.”
 
“The what?” Harry gaped.
 
“Politics and etiquette, Harry,” Andy replied with a wicked expression.
“Basically, everything you need to know to be a proper pureblooded lord;
hopefully without most of the typical biases our society is rife with
currently.”
 
***
 
Remus had been right in predicting Andromeda would be training Harry in
subjects that he would have rather happily ignored.  Tonks was equally as
correct in referring to her mother as a taskmaster.  Harry was whimpering and
ready to cry defeat before the first hour was up.  Before the end of the first
day, he was all but begging Remus to take him away, and by the end of the first
day he really was begging not to be forced back.
 
Remus, the traitor, just laughed at him and said he’d be around the same time
tomorrow.
 
It was grueling. He honestly thought he would rather spend a potions lesson
with Snape teaching than suffer through another one of Andromeda’s politics and
etiquette classes. There were so many rules! He didn’t know how one was
supposed to keep them all straight, and at different levels of society
different rules applied and…. He never realized there were so many different
ways to insult someone.
 
He grimaced, remembering—tomorrow Andy had promised to begin dancing lessons as
well.
 
***
 
By the end of the month, Harry had grown accustomed to his lessons and
even—though he would blatantly deny it—come to enjoy the time spent in
Andromeda Tonks’s company.  She was an intelligent woman with a sharp tongue
and a wicked sense of humour.  Under her tutelage Harry learned about what it
meant to be a pureblood without the biased views of his godfather or his
friends. He’d learned more about his family history—both the Blacks and the
Potters—and he’d also been reminded just how interrelated the wizarding world
was. He spent days tracing his family connections to half of his classmates,
though his closest relation remained Draco Malfoy.
 
As if that wasn’t enough, when he wasn’t learning about his family history or
the pureblood agenda/values, Edward Tonks, Andromeda’s husband who happened to
be a litigator, had him learning about law and finance. He was able to make
politics seem somewhat interesting by using stories from his own cases to
explain the different laws and governing systems.  
 
Several evenings a week he would stay for dinner with the Tonkses, and he
thoroughly enjoyed his talks with Remus and Edward as they sat in the drawing
room, playing a game of cards and listening to the news on the telly. He
learned more about the world he was living in—muggle and magical—from those
talks.
 
 ****
 
The first time when Remus wasn’t well enough to come by and collect Harry
himself, Tonks showed up to collect him. He’d been surprised, before
remembering the approaching full moon and just how jittery his honorary
godfather had been the day before.
 
“You know,” he told Tonks as they made their way down to Mrs. Figg’s. “I’m
quite capable of walking to Mrs. Figg’s house all on my own. I don’t need
someone to pick me up every day.”
 
Tonks shot an amused grin at him. “It’s not like we’re babysitting you or
anything,” she teased. “Remus and I know you’re capable of walking yourself
down the street, Harry, but, well there’s a lot going on, really.  Some of it
has to do with your protection, wanting to keep you safe, sure. But, mostly, we
just like spending a few quiet minutes one-on-one with you.  Is that okay?”
 
“I suppose so, but wouldn’t you rather be spending those one-one-one moments
with Remus,” he teased, wagging his eyebrows at her mockingly.
 
She laughed and slapped his shoulder.  “Oh, don’t you worry about that.”
 
“So you’re an item, then?”
 
“For the most part, yeah. Not officially, of course. He hasn’t asked me to be
his girlfriend or anything so blatant, but we’ve gone out together on a few
dates. Had a nice time together, stole a few kisses…”
 
“Ew! This is my honorary godfather you’re talking about here. That’s almost
like talking about your parents.”
 
“Auh, it’s not that bad. I once walked in on my parents in the act one night
when they’d forgotten to put a silencing charm up and woke me up. Now that was
scarring.”
 
“Enough! Enough,” Harry laughed, trying to cover his ears.
 
“Yeah, so, things are going pretty all right with you and my mum? I know she
can be a pretty hard ass about some of these rules and what not, but she really
does mean well.”
 
“Yeah, I know, I kind of figured that out from the get go. It’ just… never
cared to ever learn these things before, you know? And now, we’re trying to
cram a whole fifteen years’ worth of learning into one or two months. It’s a
bit much.”
 
“You’ll get it, Harry,” she encouraged, giving him a quick side hug. “Just
remember to be your polite, charming self, and even if you make any mistakes,
no one will care because of how wonderfully charming you are.”
 
“O, is that the secret to it, huh?”
 
“Yep,” Tonks chirped, grinning unreproachful at him and shooting him a saucy
little wink before knocking cheerfully on the old squib’s door.
 
*** 
 
By the time his birthday rolled around, Harry felt like his head might just
explode with all of the rules and manners and expectations Andromeda had spent
the last month cramming into his skull.  He was more than grateful to have an
extra day off.
 
It had been a Thursday, and the moon was in first quarter, so Remus had been
feeling especially well.  Petunia was out at one of her ladies’ clubs, Dudley
was running about with his friends, and Vernon was off at work, so Harry snuck
Remus into Privet Drive and up to see the new alterations to his bedroom.
Grinning, he swung the door wide and invited Remus in.
 
“Pretty good work, pup,” Remus praised, grinning and pulling Harry in for
another hug. “So how does it feel to be all legal?”
 
“Great,” Harry breathed, practically bouncing where he stood.  “I mean, I was a
little nervous last night, but…” He shrugged and held out his arms. “I’m pretty
okay except for some lack of sleep.”
 
Remus laughed.  “That worried about your inheritance, eh. You should have said
something. Tonks or I could’ve stayed over and kept you company or something.”
 
Harry shrugged. “No worries. Besides, I would’ve just kept you up with my
nervousness. But it was all for nothing, right?  I mean, I was kind of worried
after hearing some of those tales.  It would have been just my luck to grow
scales or horns or something.”
 
Remus chuckled some more.  “Well, as far as I’m aware, no one in your family
line has ever grown scales. Horns—well, antlers, now that’s a different story.
Come on. Let’s get over to Whitehorse so we can pick up the ladies.  Andy
mentioned wanting to stop at the bank first before shopping, and you still need
to claim your legal inheritance.”
 
“Yea, work before play,” Harry cheered lackluster, sharing a somewhat droll
grin with the older man.
 
* 
 
Andromeda had promised to sit down with him throughout the month of August and
make sense of the many portfolios the goblins had foisted off on Harry after he
claimed his inheritance of the Potter and Black family accounts.  He was very
grateful for her help, too.  At first, he wasn’t even sure where to begin… she
merely handed him the first folder on the stack.
 
“Here,” she said, holding the folder out to him.  “Open it. What does it say at
the top?” she prompted. 
 
And slowly, with her very calm and methodical way, they worked through first
the Potter files and then the Black files, putting everything into order.  He
discovered that while it was an ancient family line, having lived in the isles
since the early 7th century, the family accounts themselves were rather modest.
The last few wars had left the family with mixed holdings in various
states—some excellent stock selections expanding across both the magical and
muggle markets, a respectable pile of gold, several vault full of family
heirlooms, and two or three currently uninhabitable homes.  The family manor
was reportedly burnt down in ’77; the summer cottage in Godric’s Hollow was
partially destroyed in ’81; and another plot of land was “misplaced”.
 
Comparatively, the Black accounts had numerous properties scattered up and down
the island that were all marked as being in unknown condition. The accounts
themselves, however, were mostly financially strapped with little stock and a
decimated gold count. He was surprised to discover that Sirius’s personal vault
held more gold in it than the main Black Family vault.
 
“Aunt Walburga, no doubt,” Andy sighed looking over the numbers. “Probably went
straight into the coffers of the dark lord. Or else it’s stashed away in
multiple spots. She hated goblins almost as much as she hated muggles and
muggle-born. I always thought it was rather ironic that she lived the majority
of her life surrounded by muggles in the middle of London, don’t you agree?”
 
*
 
As August rolled along, the Tonks’ and Remus helped Harry retrain his magic as
it continued to fluctuate—the only noticeable effect of his inheritance. From
simple everyday household charms (like the nifty packing spell Tonks had once
told him about before) to impressive privacy wards, Harry had learned a ton of
magic he never would have if not for the simple act of exposure to other
witches and wizards.  He’d made sure to keep a running list that he planned on
giving to Hermione when he saw her again.
 
Harry steadily got better and better at those p’s and q’s.  He continued his
biweekly chats over cards with Edward Tonks.  In the mornings and some
afternoons, he would often visit with Andromeda. Sometimes, the witch would
insist he accompany her to various parks and gardens, strolling along the
lanes. These seemingly innocent strolls were rife with complex conversation and
dialog. Other times, she would magic an old phonograph to play and command him
to dance with her and make like he was enjoying himself. (Sometimes, he
actually did.)
 
Throughout everything, she would continue to train him in how to be a young,
independent wizarding lord and head of two families.  She would quiz him on his
goals—his hopes and dreams for the wizarding world, what steps he would take to
achieve them, how others might react upon learning of his goals, how he would
in turn respond to them. What would he do if goal was deemed unreasonable or
unattainable?  On and on she continued to grill and train him until the
Wednesday before he was to leave to return to Hogwarts.
 
“You’re a smart young man,” Andromeda said fondly as they settled into the
drawing room after their evening meal. “You have a good heart and a good head.
Just remember to check both before you run off to save the world. We’re here
for you, if you ever need someone to talk to or, well, whatever.”
 
Edward smiled and clasped her hand. “Why, my dear, I do believe that’s one of
the nicest things you’ve said to the boy all summer.”
 
“Pah,” the elder woman huffed, eyeing her husband.  “I’ve said plenty of ‘nice
things’ to Harry, all summer long,” she corrected. “I always say ‘nice things’,
it’s in my nature.”
 
Her husband just continued to smile, lifting her hand to his lips.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
***** Gotta Get Back to School *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry meets up with his classmates.
 
1 September
 
Harry woke exceptionally early Monday morning, and no amount of tossing or
turning would lull him back to sleep. By five, he gave it up as a loss and
rolled out of bed to pull on some running shorts and a shirt that had probably
seen its better days years ago but was still quite comfy. He waved his wand
over a pair of grubby sneakers, effectively cleaning and deodorizing them
before he shoved his feet into them, and carefully padded down the stairs and
out into the cool early morning air.  
 
This summer had been another scorcher, and he knew the cool wouldn’t last much
longer. Already the sun was beginning to lighten the sky towards the east. With
a roll of his shoulders and a shake of both legs, Harry took off down the
sidewalk at a steady jog, warming up his muscles before kicking up the speed.
By the time he’d gone two blocks he’d upped the tempo to an even-paced clip
that ate up the meters and allowed his mind to wander freely.
 
Today was 1 September 1997, and in just a few short hours Harry would meet up
with his friends and fellow schoolmates as they made their way off to their
final year of schooling at Hogwarts. He could hardly believe it—how incredibly
drastically his very life had changed just seven years ago with one letter. Not
that everything had miraculously gotten better, he reflected. There had been
plenty of bad stuff through the years, some very bad stuff, but there’d also
been some really great things, too.
 
‘That’s it, Potter,’ he coached himself. ‘Keep positive. Silver lining and all
that rot.’
 
He was panting harder now, but nowhere near as badly as when he’d first decided
to take to jogging. Actually, like most good ideas, it had been Hermione who
first put forth the concept of needing to be physically fit. Despite his
screaming body parts at the beginning, he couldn’t really fault her logic. It
had started with a DA meeting where they’d been trying to dodge incoming
spellfire. Few had made it to the end of the twenty-minute time period without
sustaining as least one hit, and none had made it through with their breath.
 
“This is utterly ridiculous!” the then-sixth-year Gryffindor prefect snapped.
 
“I agree,” Justin Finch-Fletchley groaned from his own position on the floor.
 
“Bloody shameful it is,” Seamus agreed mournfully. “Got tagged at least a dozen
times.”
 
“Cheer up, mate,” Dean put in, clapping him along the back. “At least you made
it through with all your bits in tacked.”  
 
All the boys winced at that reminder. Although Sara Fawcett insisted it was an
accident, none of the boys offered to pair up with previous girlfriends once
Macmillan had needed to be escorted to the infirmary.
 
“No!” Hermione gasped. “Well, yes, that, too, but what I was referring to is
the fact that all of us are in horrible physical shape.”
 
“Speak for yourself,” Pavarti murmured pushing sweaty strands of dark hair back
from her face. Near her, Lavender muffled a giggle behind a hand before
noticing her nail polish had chipped and grimacing.
 
“You know, in the muggle world,” Hermione pressed on, “students are required to
participate in physical education classes.”
 
“What?” squawked Ron. “Whatever would they want to do that for?”
 
“It’s considered healthy. Honestly, Ron,” she huffed. “I’m sure even
professional quidditch players have some form of a physical regime to keep in
shape.”
 
“You’re saying we should get something like that going, too?” Harry asked
curiously.
 
“Nothing drastic, of course,” Hermione rushed to put in. “Not at first in any
way, but if we were to start simple with, say a five minute jog? Maybe some
jumping jacks or push up or…” She trailed off with that musing look on her face
that Harry and Ron both knew to associate with trouble. Not the kind that meant
basilisk in the pipes, but the kind that meant a trip to the library was fast
approaching or, worse, an owl order form would be sent off sometime in the next
twelve hours.
 
“Well, let me think on it some more,” Hermione concluded. “I’ll have something
ready for the next meeting.
 
And she had. She’d called it ‘starting small’ with the intent to purposefully
build up their endurance. Many DA members had originally threatened to quit if
the physical fitness was going to be mandatory, but after only a month of extra
exercises, those who’d opted out really noticed a difference in their
classmates’ performance, and they had grudgingly joined on.
 
Summer had proven to be the real test—would they still continue with their
programs even without their peers there to keep them on track. Harry had tried,
but he’d missed a few days practice. He always felt worse though when he didn’t
work out, so he’d devised a routine that would still allow him to work out
without the Dursleys being aware. One of the methods he had developed was
running while it was dark outside—the Dursleys didn’t often get up any earlier
than half six. Another method he used was concentrating on his different
muscles while he was working around the house and yard. He’d remembered Dudley
watching a movie once about a kid doing menial labor while really training his
body for kung fu or karate. He’d thought it cool as a kid, although his
attempts at flying kicks didn’t go so great.
 
Still, the results were in as they say. The wizarding world might be going for
broke, but Harry was feeling at the top of his game. It helped loads that he’d
actually been able to practice magic this summer.   A good thing, too, because
his magic had gone a bit wonky after his birthday, and he’d needed the extra
practice just to rein it in.   During one of his training sessions with Remus
the old wolf had confessed that that was one of the reasons the magical
majority was set at seventeen—so young witches and wizards could refocus their
magic after their inheritances.
 
 Harry’s Magical Inheritance on the 31st had seemed pretty tame—something for
which Harry was both extremely grateful for and just a tad bit disappointed by.
Not that he would admit that last to anyone. He’d experienced a bit of a growth
spurt, adding only a handful of centimeters to his height for which he was very
thankful to have any added height at all. He was now a somewhat decent 5’7”—but
then again, he’d never really dared to hope to every come close to Ron’s 6’1”.
 
His reflexes seemed to have quickened and his muscles became more defined, as
well—of course, that could have just been the fact that he had eaten fairly
healthy all this summer and kept up his daily exercises. Physical improvements
left him achy all through August as his body adjusted, joints and muscles
stretching as his bones lengthened, and mild pain relievers had been his very
good friend. It took him nearly three weeks to realize his increasingly painful
headaches were a result from his eyes changing; his eyesight improved tiny bit
by tiny bit, to the point where he needed a new prescription. All to the good
in his opinion, he thought, readjusting his new frames as they slipped down his
sweaty nose.  
 
And, of course, his magic seemed wilder, harder to tame, unfocused. He had
needed the extra training Remus helped provide him with that summer just to
regain control of his magic. And his former Defense professor surely worked him
hard for that control. Four nights a week of magical study, two nights of
wizarding study, and one night freedom to make sure his summer homework was
completed.
 
Other than a somewhat persistent summer cold that left him with watery eyes, a
goobery nose, and sneezing at crazy, unpredictable times, the summer was good.
Great, even. Easily one of the best of his lifetime. He was looking forward to
next summer when there would be no Dursleys to return to for two month and no
school to return to in the fall.
 
Of course, he had to get through this year first, he thought as he turned back
onto Privet Drive. His trunk was already packed with all of his worldly
belongings—he’d taken care of that last night before he’d turned in. All that
was left for him this morning was to grab a bit of brekkie, and he was planning
on meeting up with Remus one last time in London for that, before hopping on
the tube bound for King’s Cross where he meet up with his friends for their
last train ride to Hogwarts. Their last year at Hogwarts.
 
It was really here, he thought giddily, running up the steps.
 
*
 
“Harry!” Hermione’s excited shout carried across the train platform before the
young woman herself plowed into him, wrapping him up in an affectionate
embrace. Thankfully his arms were empty, having just finished helping a younger
year wrangle his trunk onto the train.
 
“Hey, Hermione, let the man breathe, yeah?” Ron came up behind her followed by
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, who was overly-emotion due to the fact her son was
leaving for his last year. “Cheers, mate,” the ginger greeted with a friendly
hug before stepping back to make way for his mother.
 
“Harry, dear! Let me look at you,” Mrs. Weasley demanded, pulling him in close
for a smothering embrace before holding him at arm’s length to scrutinize his
appearance. “Well, you look better than most years, I suppose. Still a bit
thin, though. I don’t know why Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t let you stay with
us this year. You had no trouble, did you. You got the packages we sent?”
 
“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” he answered dutifully, unable to stop grinning at her, or
the roll of Ron’s eyes behind her. “I actually had a pretty good summer, and
Remus and I visited a lot.”
 
“Well, that’s good then, I suppose.” She looked a bit wistful as she cupped his
cheek and petted his hair, and it was with a jolt Harry realized she was
actually looking up at him. He was taller than Mrs. Weasley. His chest
constricted and before he could think twice, he engulfed her in another hug.
 
“Thank you, for everything.”
 
She gave him a squeeze back, and then she abruptly let his go. “Look at you,”
she gruffed. “Up you lot go, onto the train before it leaves without you.
Wouldn’t want that, now would you.”
 
“Oh! I need to find the Head Boy,” Hermione startled, suddenly remembering her
agenda for the train ride this year. “I’ll meet up with you both on the train?”
 
“Sure, sure,” Ron waved her off before sidling in to Harry to whisper, “She’s
been going mental for the last week, making lists of lists. She’s absolutely
barmy about this Head Girl business!”
 
“She’s wanted this since we were first years,” Harry reminded him. “What about
you? You upset about not being Head Boy this year?” he asked, watching his
friend a bit warily.
 
“Nah, I mean, sure it might have been nice, having the power and all that, but
I guess I kinda learned from being Prefect that there’s all this responsibility
involved as well. And, really, mate, you haven’t heard some of the things
Hermione’s been going on about. I pity the bloke who gets stuck having to work
with her this year. I mean, no one else is as used to her as we are!”
 
“So you guys really don’t know who the head boy is?” Harry asked, a bit
surprised.
 
“No. The letter Hermione got with her head girl badge only said she was to meet
up with the head boy today to start arranging things for this year and all.
Why, do you know? We couldn’t get anyone to confess to knowing. Did Remus or
someone say anything to you?”
 
“Uh, well, about that,” he hedge, hesitantly reaching into his pocket and
pulling out a shiny gold badge.
 
“Holy—really?” Ron whispered excitedly before laughing. “This is great!”
 
“Really?”
 
“Well, yeah! I mean, with you and Hermione being head boy and girl and me being
a prefect, we can completely rule the school! But,” Ron paused in his sinister
Hogwarts take-over dreaming to frown at Harry. “Why didn’t you say anything to
Hermione when she ran off looking for the head boy?”
 
Harry grinned at him. “Well, it’s like you said—you and me probably know her
best, and if I’d let her know now, she would have started dumping all those
plans and agendas and schemes that she’s been busily making for the last
month…”
 
Ron snorted. “True enough. She’s still going to dump’em on you, though, you
know. Well, I suppose it time to face the music,” he sighed, climbing onto the
train. “Where’d you put your stuff?”
 
“Fourth car, last compartment. Neville and Luna are already in there. I imagine
Ginny must have found them by now, too. Come on, let’s dump your stuff in
there, too, and then I want to do a walkthrough of the train, make sure
everyone’s mostly settled before meeting up in the Prefects’ car.”
 
“Sure, sure. Being responsible and all,” Ron nodded sagely. “The infection of
being a head boy. ‘Lo Neville. Good summer?”
 
“Hi Ron! Was a bit of alright, you?” Neville greeted, getting up to help Ron
chuck his trunk in the overhead rack.
 
“Hello, Ronald,” the blonde girl said calmly, looking up from the latest
edition of the Quibbler. Her brow puzzled, and her head tipped as she studied
him for a moment…and then her gaze drifted away.
 
“Oh, hey, Luna,” Ron mumbled.
 
“We’re going to do a sweep of the train before heading off to the Prefect’s
car,” Harry informed them. “Did you two need anything? Where’s Ginny? I thought
she would have been in here already.”
 
“Nah, we’re good,” Neville answered. “Let us know if you need anything, yeah?
We’ll see you later?”
 
“Ginny chose to sit in another compartment,” Luna announced, causing Harry to
frown.
 
“Oh, well, I guess we’ll meet up with you guys later then,” he
stumbled—verbally and physically as the train started to move. “Come on,” he
said, nudging Ron. “Let’s go make sure everyone’s settled, yeah?”
 
“Sure, mate. Whatever you say,” Ron agreed amicably as he shoved a box of
Bertie Botts’ in his pocket.
 
It took them over twenty minutes to traipse down one end of the train and up
the other, but by the time they reached the Prefect’s Car Harry felt satisfied,
having touched base with many of his school mates and greeting a majority of
the younger years, especially the first years. As they got further to the front
of the train, as they ran into other prefects fifth through seventh years, more
greetings were called out until they’d all filed into the large open car.
 
“Really, Granger,” Draco Malfoy drawled. “Even if I was Head Boy, I would
decline if it meant having to be any closer to you for any length of time.”
 
“I’ve already spoken to Anthony and Ernie,” Hermione huffed.
 
“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said as he followed Harry inside. “Is that all you’ve
done since we got on the train?”
 
“No, of course not, Ron, but—I—Harry? What are—?” Her eyes lit up. “Why didn’t
you say anything?” she demanded.
 
“You didn’t ask,” he answered simply with a smile and a small shrug. Then he
turned to the rest of the students gathered and clapped his hands. “All right
then. It looks like we’re all gathered. It’s good to see everyone here.”
 
Harry looked at each person. “We are different. We come from different Houses,
different families, different backgrounds. But we are all here for a similar
reason. We come to Hogwarts as children, eager to learn about Magic. Hopefully,
when we leave, we’re better equipped to become meaningful members of our world.
 
“Us, here, right now, are all here because someone thought we were responsible.
That we’re worthy of being role models for the rest of the students. That we’re
capable of making good decisions and leading others on the right path. And
we’re here to support each other.”
 
The other teenagers shifted under the weight of his gaze, but no one spoke up
just yet. Even Hermione sat watching him as attentively as any professor.
 
“I talked to Professor McGonagall quite a bit this summer, and we’ve come to an
agreement,” Harry continued. “Inside Hogwarts, it should not matter what side
of the war your family supports. Inside Hogwarts, we must set aside our
personal differences and stand together. We’re going to try and implement some
new changes, from the bottom up, so to speak. Hermione has a lot of ideas.
Well, I have a lot of ideas, too, but we’re going to need your help to make
them work. No, more than that. We need your input, your understanding of the
world and your housemates. And we need your commitment. I really feel we can
make a positive difference for future generations, and that’s something I
really want to be a part of.
 
“Can I have your commitment to making this year the best we can make it?”
 
“What about NEWTS?” Padma spoke up. “How much time are you asking us to commit
to, Harry?”
 
“Yes,” Ernie chimed in. “And just what are these commitments and plans of
yours?”
 
“Fair questions,” Harry allowed. “First, I plan on continuing the DA, but I
want to open it up. Open membership to all the houses, all the years,” he put
in quickly before any of them could start to protest. “And I want to branch it
out into other subject areas.”
 
“That would be a good idea,” Hermione nodded. “A lot of us get together as
study groups anyway, but if we could use the Room of Requirement to practice…”
 
“And if we had older years helping tutor younger years, it would be a great
review for those of us preparing for our OWLS or NEWTS,” Harry pointed out.
 
“What else?”
 
“Well,” Harry prepared to jump into his mental list of things he wanted and
hoped to accomplish within the school this year, his last year. What he hoped
would be his best year.
 
*
 
“Let’s leave it there,” Harry addressed the assembled Prefects less than an
hour later. “I need to meet with the Quidditch captains and seconds—if you’ll
let them know to come find me, yeah? I know there’s a lot more to go over, but
it’s important we’re all seen as a presence on the train. Move around a bit,
yeah. Don’t all stay in just one car. We’ll meet again tomorrow after dinner
and take it up from there. Thanks everyone and let’s make this year a totally
awesome one.”
 
They all started towards the end of the car when Harry thought of something.
“Malfoy? A moment longer, if you would?”
 
Hermione, disturbingly quiet throughout the meeting after her first outburst
when he’d entered the compartment, shot him a questioning look. He shook his
head and waved her off after Ron and the rest.
 
“What do you want, Potter?” the 7th year prefect drawled after the door closed
behind her.
 
“Draco,” Harry started again. “I know—I heard—About what happened this summer.
Your mother, and your father…”
 
“Officially, I no longer have a father, Potter, or don’t you bother to keep up
with the papers?”
 
Harry whipped his wand out, barely noticing the other boy’s posture tensing as
he threw spell after privacy spell at the door, windows, and walls.
 
“So you can interrogate and hex me in privacy?”
 
“Stop it, Draco,” Harry huffed, but he was determined to see this done, if
nothing more than to be able to tell Andromeda that he had. “I know you got my
letter, even if you chose not to reply. You are not my enemy, and I won’t treat
you as such. My words were true. I’m sorry about your mother’s death—“
“Suicide, don’t you mean,” the blonde snarked.
 
“Murder,” Harry corrected, tapping his scar. “In any case, I’m sorry she’s
dead. And that there’s nothing I can do to fix that, but my offer still
stands—a truce between the sons of the House of Black and an invitation to
rejoin the Black Family proper.”
 
“My, my, someone’s been studying fancy words and phrases this summer.”
 
“Thanks for noticing.” Harry barely hid a grimace with a lofty expression of
snootiness. It felt uncomfortable, even after a month full of pureblooded
trainings crammed into his skull. “Cousin Andromeda has been quite the major
general in our bi-weekly meetings.”
 
“Yes, well, it shows,” Draco replied dismissively. “Still, despite my supposed
disinheritance, I must decline your charity.”
 
“It’s not charity. I’m serious. I want truce between us. We are not enemies and
we don’t have to be bitter rivals, either. If things had been different, we
might have grown up as cousins.”
 
The blond scoffed. “I somehow doubt it. The Malfoys and Potters never ran in
the same circles.”
 
“Draco, stop being a prat. I need your support this year, with school at the
very least. Now, truce?” Harry asked, holding his hand out to the blond.
 
Draco stared at the hand. “I once offered you my hand,” he mused.
 
“And now here we are, seven years later, on the same train to Hogwarts, and I’m
offering you my hand in truce.”
 
“We are not friends.”
 
“Doesn’t mean we can’t be civil and friendly-like. We each have agendas and
needs the other can help with.”
 
“Almost Slytherin of you.”
 
“Maybe. Are you going to be Gryffidorish and turn down a potentially beneficial
arrangement because of bruised ego and past events?” he challenged.
 
Draco’s silver-grey eyes narrowed. “I should have been head boy. If my father—“
 
“Draco. You are not your father, and you make a damn fine prefect for
Slytherin, but we need the entire school, this year especially, our year, and
you just never got enough of the other Houses to support you. There was ever a
contest.”
 
“I really do hate you,” he muttered, but he reached out and took Harry’s hand,
squeezing it.
 
“I don’t much like you, either, but I recognize you as family, and I will help
you, if you need my help, even if I don’t like you.”
 
Draco nodded. “Then we are agreed. Is that all?”
 
“No, one more thing. I want to meet with Slytherin house—all of the Houses
really, but Slytherin first.”
 
“And just what do you think you’re going to achieve? Threat them all into
submission?”
 
“I don’t make threats. You know that, Draco. Can you see to it, tonight, after
the feast, that everyone is gathered and ready?”
 
“Professor Snape usually addresses the entire House after the feast.”
 
“Good. That’s fine, then. And Draco—I do meant it. If you need anything—“
 
“Don’t strain yourself, Potter.”
 
Harry sighed and let the weave of privacy spells release. Now he just had the
quidditch captains to deal with—which should hopefully go pretty smoothly—and
Hermione… who he hoped was somehow, somewhere blowing off steam right now or he
was likely to be hearing it for a while.
 
*
 
Harry managed to wheedle away nearly another hour by walking the length of the
train, avoiding his own compartment in favor of dropping in on others and
greeting the first years. He knew he was avoiding Hermione, but he wanted to
give her as much time as possible to get over the minor fact that he had made
head boy and hadn’t immediately told her.
 
Truth of the matter was, when he’d first found out he’d been selected as head
boy for the year, he’d turned the offer down. McGonagall had wasted no time in
sending the badge back to him, informing him there was no mistake and he was
the student chosen to represent and lead the school for this school year. When
he’d again tried to decline, the Deputy Headmistress had arrived in person to
personally return the badge and threaten to hex some sense into him if he
didn’t shapen up.
 
“Mr. Potter, the decision was unanimous,” the scottish matron announced,
sitting stately upon the Dursley’s living room sofa. “Yes, Mr. Potter, all of
the professors were in agreement as to your selection.”
 
“But, the war…” he had sputtered, staring at the gleaming badge Professor
McGonagall had placed on the coffee table between them. “I’m already a huge
target for Voldemort. My being head boy will only make Hogwarts a bigger
target!”
 
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Potter,” she shouted him down sternly. “While I
appreciate your position in this war, I will remind you, Hogwarts is first and
foremost a school for young people to learn. A diverse family made up of many
people with unique histories, but we all manage to get along within her walls.
That being said, the school is always and has always been a target for those
miscreants who would wish to derail and topple our society.
 
“You, Mr. Potter, are a natural leader, and I and the other professors all know
that you will do whatever necessary if or when it should become necessary to
protect the students. Therefore, you are simply the best and only choice for
head boy. I will leave you to make arrangements with Ms. Granger, who has been
selected as head girl for the school year. You will find directions as to your
responsibilities in the first letter that was sent. You do still have it, don’t
you, Mr. Potter?”
 
“I, er, yeah. Yes, ma’am. It’s in my room.”
 
“Very good then. I shall see you and your classmates on the first, Mr. Potter,”
she announced, standing to leave. She seemed to hesitate, and then turned back
to him. “And, Harry, I want you to know, you were my choice for Prefect three
years ago, but Professor Dumbledore felt you already had so much
responsibility. I know the quidditch captaincy never made up for that slight,
and I’m sorry.”
 
His head of house had disappearated with a crack before he could respond,
leaving the head boy’s badge and a young man with a lot on his mind behind.
 
That had been three weeks ago, and once he’d finally accepted the fact that he
would be head boy, he’d begun thinking of what it was he liked about
Hogwarts…and what were some ways it could have been better. He wouldn’t
lie—just not tell many people—but he’d taken a lot of ideas from things he’d
overheard Dudley and his gang talking about with their schools. In between
homework, housework, and all the extracurricular studies Remus and Andromeda
had him doing, he’d drawn up some plans and ideas, which he was actually
looking forward to discussing with Hermione.
 
Just as soon as he knew it was safe to go near her.
 
He hovered outside the door, wondering if it was too soon or if he should run
another circuit of the train, but the decision was taken from him by an airy
voice calling out through the door.
 
“Do come in, Harry. It’s not much fun to spend the entire trip standing out in
the corridor.”
 
He grimaced but slid the door open, surveying the room. Neville and Luna, of
course, were still there, as was Hermione, but Ron was strangely absent.
“Where’s Ron?”
 
Hermione sniffed. “He seemed to think I was going to tear into him or some
such.”
 
“He went to check out something Dean brought,” Neville replied quickly,
shooting nervous eyes towards the resident lioness before looking back at
Harry.
 
Harry sucked in a huge fortifying breath before looking back at Hermione. And
then, whatever he’d been about to say, died on his lips. “You’re not really
angry at him,” he said instead.
 
“No, I’m not angry,” Hermione agreed. “I’m hurt.”
 
Definitely worse.
 
“I didn’t not tell you sooner to hurt you,” he began.
 
“No, I know that.” She shot him a little smile. “You were really brilliant in
there, Harry. And it sounds like you have some really great ideas for the
year.”
 
“Yeah? Thanks. I’ve actually been looking forward to running them by you and
getting your lists.” She huffed out a little laugh and shook her head, nodding
him towards the open seat next to her. “So we’re good then?” he asked, slipping
onto the bench.
 
“Well, it depends. Just how much thought have you put in to this scheduling for
the DA expansion?”
 
“Uh, not too much,” he confessed. “Every time I try to think about how to
schedule it, my brain just sorts of implodes. I thought that was one thing I
was definitely going to need your expertise to get going.”
 
*
 
The Great Hall seemed smaller than normal, or maybe it was just that there were
more students than normal. For the first time in over a decade, Hogwarts was
welcoming a class that was nearly double its graduating class. There were only
thirty-two seventh year students. Harry hadn’t thought much of it when he was
younger—after all, there were only thirty-one students in the class below them,
but then, the class of ’98 would be the smallest class of the century. Not even
during Grindlewauld’s reign of terror on the continent did Hogwarts’s numbers
drop so low. In fact, Hogwarts’s population had swelled during those times
thanks to so many wizarding families encouraged to send their children away
from the contentment. Harry wouldn’t even been thinking about it now if it
weren’t for the fact he was hungry and Professor McGonagall had just led in a
line of sixty-one first years nervously waiting to be sorted.
 
Sixty-one little eleven year olds, all anxious to learn magic, Harry thought.
It would take forever to get them sorted. Beside him, Ron moaned and let his
head fall to the table. Hermione hissed at him to behave.
 
Would next year’s class be larger still, he wondered looking around at the
house tables. He’d never really noticed, but there were definitely more of the
younger years than the upper years. He would have to get Hermione to look over
the numbers and work out the details for his mentorship plan. It wouldn’t work
if the younger years continually outnumbered the upper years, at least not the
way he’d thought it would.
 
The prefects had seemed opened to his idea about expanding the DA. The
mentorship program he wanted to implement was an expansion upon that. Mostly,
it was like a big brother or big sister program, where older students would be
encouraged to “adopt” a younger student.
 
Harry’s idea was that the mentorships would help students get a perspective on
their lives, while guiding the younger students. Also, double- or triple
mentorships could be implemented for within a house by year and blood status
(relative experiences or alternative perspectives) as well as out of the house
and within subjects. A mentor should be a person you can go to… to vent,
unload, share vexations, any maybe get some good advice.
 
It was something Harry wish he’d had more formally. Sure, he knew he could go
to the Weasley twins for most things, but that wasn’t the same. Really, he
ended up going to Hermione for most things, but there was so much Hermione
simply didn’t know, not because she wasn’t smart, but because she hadn’t been
raised in the wizarding world, either. A mentor, someone older who could have
helped guide Harry…
 
It was all part of his school improvement plan. Harry wasn’t concerned about
the academics—that was the teachers issue—but Hogwarts was a boarding school in
Scotland, and there was only so many times one could go to Hogsmeade for a bit
of extracurricular. There needed to be more, in his opinion, and this was his
chance to make some changes that had the potential to go a long way.
 
The sorting was underway and well into the C’s. He’d missed the Sorting Hat’s
song, he realized. Oh well, he’d have to ask Hermione what hints and
suggestions it had made this year. It must have been something big from the way
she kept looking pointedly at him. He clapped politely as another firstie was
sorted, this one a Slytherin, and thought about what he wanted to say to that
House.
***** A Meeting of Snakes *****
Chapter Summary
     Draco's summer was not so pleasant as Harry's.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 A Meeting of Snakes
 
~THEN~  
 
“Draco,” Harry started again. “I know—I heard—about what happened this summer.
Your mother and your father… I’m sorry about your mother’s death—”
 
“Suicide, don’t you mean,” the blonde snarled.
 
“Murder,” Harry corrected, tapping his scar. 
 
~NOW~
-Sunday, 29 June, Madrona, Cornwall-
  
He had failed. The meddlesome old windbag was still breathing. He had failed,
and now his family would pay the price. He swallowed nervously, fighting to
control the shivering of his body as he knelt on the hard stone floor, head
bowed low, neck exposed, horribly vulnerable before the snake-like monster,
perched negligently on his thrown.  His mother and father knelt to either side
of him, bracketing him, as if they could shield him from the disastrous outcome
of this meeting.
 
He had failed.
 
He could feel the heat and rage of the dark lord, pressing down against him
like a physical hand forcing his back further into a bend, practically scraping
his face into the floor, as if it could open up and swallow him whole, hiding
him from the oppressive weight of the dark lord’s magic. It scalded him, singed
his skin with fiery heat to the point he half-expected smoke to rise from his
form.
 
He had failed.
 
Plot after plot, foiled or … failed.   He shivered again, anxious, unsure what
exactly would happen to them now—other than pain.  Pain, excruciating pain, was
always a given when meeting with the dark lord. He wished it wasn’t so, but if
it meant leaving with his life today, and with the lives of his parents, he
would gladly accept the pain that was sure to come.
 
“I confess myself…disappointed,” the dark lord spoke finally, and to either
side of him, he and his parents tensed even more.  “I placed my faith, and the
honor of your family, in your hands—gave you a simple task to complete—and you
failed.”
 
“My Lord,” his father began, practically simpering, and it soured his stomach
to see and hear his proud, noble father, humbling himself like so. This was not
the way things were meant to be.
 
“Silence,” the dark lord hissed, angry red eyes glaring at the patriarch before
flickering back over mother and son. “You have been less than successful since
my return. So much so, you could be considered a hindrance.”
 
That’s right. It wasn’t just his failure that saw them here today, on their
hands and knees.  His father had failed, too.
 
“Perhaps it would be a favor to simply wipe the Malfoy name from the ledgers
here and now, start afresh with one of the cadet lines…”
 
Surely he wouldn’t really kill them…would he?  He needed all the followers and
supporters he could get! And the Malfoy name still—
 
“Oh, how the mighty Malfoy name has fallen, fallen into the mud. One could
question whether you’re any better than the mud bloods now,” the dark lord
taunted.  “One, simple task, Draco. Was that too much to ask? One little death,
and you and your family could have regained the honor and prestige of being
back amongst my best…. But you failed me.  Just as your father has failed me. 
One time too many, I think.”
 
“Milord, please allow—“ Narcissa rushed to say, but she was not allow to
continue.
 
“No, Narcissa. My patience is gone. What fondness I might have held for you and
yours—your cunning mind and skillful manipulations of those around you—they are
worthless to my now. Even in light of your… disability, I might have
reconsidered, if your son had proven to be successful—“
 
“I tried,” the boy broke in, hating how weak and pathetic he sounded.  “I did.
But nothing worked!”
 
“Then you did not try hard enough,” the dark lord snapped. “Pitiful. You are
not fit to bare my mark,” the maniac continued on a hiss, snatching the boy’s
arm and digging his wand into the flesh. 
 
Draco screamed. As painful as the branding was, removing the Dark Mark was
triply so. It was not something he even knew was possible—removing the dark
mark from a follower’s flesh—but this… this pain… it was worse than even his
aunt’s cruciatus.   
 
He was aware of nothing but the pain, originating from his arm, where the dark
mark burned and sizzled, racing up through his arm into the entirety of his
body. Racing like liquid lightening, setting his body on growing waves of
torturous pain.
 
With a final, savage tug, the last of the mark’s color drained away, leaving
the boy’s arm pristine and lily-white once more.  The dark lord stepped back,
studying the whimpering and panting teen. The boy’s parents twitched with
abortive movement. Oh, how they wanted to go to their son, shield and protect
him.  He almost laughed at the pitiful, weak sight of it.
 
He slumped, unable to support himself any longer, and his mother was there to
catch him, bolster him up as she had always done.
 
“Since you are of no use as one of my knights, you shall serve the cause with
your body,” the dark lord announced, more than a little disdainful. “You are…
pretty enough, I suppose. Surely some of my followers will find you somewhat
appealing.  Lucius, you will need to see about procuring a new heir, and since
Narcissa is of no help to you there, a new wife as well, I should think.  Good
bye, my dear,” the dark lord continued, lifting his wand, the killing curse
already falling from his lips.
 
 
The summer between Harry’s sixth and seventh years had been a whirlwind of
experiences and learning. 
Of course, the summer wasn’t all good.  Sure, he didn’t have to deal with his
relatives overly much, and yeah, once he was seventeen, he was able to finish
all of his chores with a wave or two of his wand. Plus, he managed to eat well,
stay healthy, and even exercise quite a bit.  He was probably looking better
than ever—and he was pretty sure he caught the eye of a witch or two to prove
it! 
But then, there’d been the dreams. Nightmarish visions, more like.  And the
attacks—both on muggles and magicals.  Voldemort and the Death Eaters certainly
weren’t holding back anymore.  It seemed that after the failed attack on
Hogwarts last year, Voldemort was madder than ever.
 
And Harry’d been an unwilling witness to the torture and murder of countless
victims. Narcissa Malfoy among them.
 
It was one of his more haunting memories. Perhaps because he’d actually met the
woman before. Perhaps because he knew she was Andromeda’s little sister,
Draco’s mother.  Whatever the case, the image of the proud pureblooded woman
being treated so horribly…
 
It made him sick.
 
And what was worse, he knew Draco wasn’t the only Death Eater’s child to have
lost a parent recently due to the madness of a Dark Lord.
 
“Gather around,” Snape called, striding purposefully into the Slytherin common
room.  He turned, his robes snapping around his legs, dark eyes piercing into
the faces and minds of all his current snakes. 
 
“You are here because the sorting hat saw something within you,” he began, his
low melodic voice weaving through the gathered teens like an invisible spell. 
“Not because of your blood or your family. You are here being within you there
burns a cunning ambition. Whether it is to be the best, the most talented, the
strongest, the most revered—it does not matter. This house will stand together,
protect one another from those who will attack us, and make no mistake, they
will attack you.  Slytherins are shrewd and cunning, strong leaders. We must
always set a strong example for the rest of the school of what it means to be
magical.  You will not fail; you will not embarrass me, this house, or
yourselves.”
 
He stabbed them with another piercing stare before calling, “Potter!”
 
Many of the students gathered muttered and murmured, surprised when he stepped
forward. He’d followed Snape in, but the other man demanded such attention that
few had realized he was even there.  Snape took a step back now, and Harry step
into the center spot light.  He turned and tried to look at as many of the
snakes as possible before beginning.
 
“Good evening. As many of you are already aware, my name is Harry Potter.” He
ignored the twitters and snarkisms. “It is not “the Boy Who Lived” or “The
Chosen One”.  It’s Harry. Potter, if you prefer.  I’m your Head Boy this year,
and that means I’ll be working closely with your prefects to make sure it is a
successful year.
 
“Yes, I know there is a war going on outside our gates. I don’t care. Hogwarts
is a school. We are children becoming young adults. We have pressures put on us
from our families. I don’t care. I will tell you the same thing I told the
prefects this afternoon:
 
“We are different. We come from different Houses, different families, different
backgrounds.  But we are all here for a similar reason.  We come to Hogwarts as
children, eager to learn about Magic. Hopefully, when we leave, we’re better
equipped to become meaningful members of our world.
 
“Inside Hogwarts, it should not matter what side of the war your family
supports.  Inside Hogwarts, we must set aside our personal differences and
stand together.  Slytherin are proud. They are smart and ambitious. They
analyze all the possible outcomes before deciding exactly what should be done.
And then they see it done.”
 
He studied them. Waiting, weighing his next words.  “I’m not going to try to
convince you to fight on either side of the war. That’s a decision each and
every one of us must make for ourselves.  What I am going to do, however, is
show you my memories.”
 
At this, Dobby popped in with a pensive Harry had found in one of his vaults.
 
“I’m going to show you my memories not to change your mind, but so you will be
better informed to make your own decisions, choose the path that will lead you
to your ambitions. I tell you know, the Headmaster did not approve of me doing
this.  He thought you were too young to see these memories.” He studied them in
silence again, watching them fidget uncertainly. “Perhaps you are. They’re not
pretty. Many of them haunt my nightmares.”  He found Draco’s wide eyes in the
crowd.  “I’m sure some of you already share those nightmares. However, I firmly
believe, and Professor Snape has agreed with me, that you need to know what
your choices are.”
 
He raised his wand to his temple and began extracting the first memory he’d
chosen to share.  “It’s not pretty. It’s not valiant or noble. It’s merely the
truth as I know it.”
 
And he showed them. Showed them everything he could think of as important. 
Many of the girls didn’t last, many of the younger years also turned away. Only
the upper years were left, shaking, staring.
 
“Why are you showing us this?” Goyle asked hoarsely, eyes red-rimmed from
unshed tears.
 
“So that you know,” Harry answered.  “So that you understand.  There is no
glory. There is no honor. There is no power. There is only misery, treachery,
groveling, humiliation and death.”
 
He cleared his throat and motioned Dobby to take the pensive away again.  “Now
you know.  Tom Riddle was a wizard with amibition. He was cunning and powerful,
but he has no honor of family or magic or tradition. I ask you to ask
yourselves: what do you actions prove?   What is it you really want? You are
the future of your families, the future of our world. What history will you
make?”
 
No one answered him.  With a nod towards the professor, Harry turned and left.
   
 Draco woke with a strangled scream, fighting against the bedsheets that
smothered him. Gasping, shaking, wild eyes searched the darkened space
surrounding him, as if to reassure himself that he was safe.
 
He was safe.  He was alive.  His mother… was not, he remembered, his chest
exploding in a new wave of pain, as if someone were reaching into his center
and squeezing, ripping, tearing at his heart.  His beautiful, wonderful mother…
dead.  Killed. Murdered.
 
He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that even now, months later,
threatened to consume him.
  
 He hadn’t seen it—wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not, really. It
had been… chaotic. The dark lord had cast the killing curse and his mother and
father had both somehow managed to push him out of the way, but he’d cracked
his head on the stone floor and was too dazed to process what was really
happening around him.
  
 When he came back to his senses, aware once again somewhat of what was
happening around him, he realized he was in a strange room with his father
shouting into the floo. His mother absent.
  
 “Tell him he has a deal,” his father snapped. “But Draco is out; he must go;
he can’t stay here. He was serious—he was going to send him to the houses. I
will not allow my son to be drugged up and used as some brood mare! It’s not
safe for him to stay here. Not now. You can tell him that I’m sending him away,
and when I’m finished, I’ll be by to discuss the details. ”
  
 Lucius withdrew from the fire, using his cane to help himself up.
  
 “Father, what is happening?”
 
“Balpey!” Lucius called, practically shouted.  It was as close to frantic as
Draco could ever remember seeing his father. “Quick. Come along, Draco. We have
very little time to get you away.  Balpey!”
 
  “Master calls?” a diminutive house elf replied, cowering close to the settee
Draco had been lying on.
  
 “Quickly. Pack up all of Draco’s essentials, now! Rosmy, where are you?”
  
 “Here, Master Malfoy.”
  
 “Good. Pack all of Narcissa’s belongings and make sure they are moved safely
to her vault,” Lucius ordered the petite elf that appeared next. “You don’t
have much time, so recruit whoever you need to see the job done efficiently.
Understood?”
  
 “Yes, Master Malfoy. Rosmy be seeing it done now.”
  
 “Come along, Draco, we don’t have much time,” he continued, sweeping from the
room and expecting his son to follow.
 
What else could he do but follow? “Father, I don’t understand. What’s
happening? Did Mother—is she--?”
  
 “She’s gone,” Lucius snapped, striding purposefully down one corridor of the
unfamiliar house.  “You must also be gone before the sun rises. I know this
will be difficult for you, but it is important that you survive, Draco. Do you
understand? You are the last of the main line here in Britain, but it’s not
safe for you to remain.”
  
 “You’re sending me away? Now?” Draco cried in disbelief.  Why now, when he’d
failed, when his mother was gone, when—“What about you?”
  
 Lucius turned and snatched up Draco’s arm, squeezing painfully, causing the
boy to wince. “I cannot leave, I wish I could, but it simply isn’t possible.
That is why you must go now. Do you understand?”
  
 “No,” Draco protested, but his father whipped around and began striding down
the hallway again, his hold on Draco’s arm sliding down to the boy’s wrist
ensuring he was tugged along behind him.
  
 “It will be announced that upon the death of your mother, you faltered in your
faith to the dark lord’s cause,” Lucius continued.  “I will, of course, be
severely hurt and disappointed by your disloyalty and therefor publically
announce your disinheritance as the Malfoy heir. This should give you some
breathing space, at least for some short period of time. In the meantime, I
will send you to my cousins’. Out of sight, out of mind, and perhaps, in a
month’s time, it might be safe for you to return. But if not…”
  
 “Return? Why do I have to leave in the first place?”
  
 “Draco, will you stop and think! The dark lord wants you dead, wants all of us
dead. You cannot stay here in his line of sight.”
  
 “You’re not safe, either!”
 
 “No, I’m not,’ his father agreed with a sigh.  “But right now, you are more
important.”
 
 Lucius studied his son’s face, devouring the sight of him.  “You are my son.
You are the rightful heir to the Malfoy name. You must do everything in your
power to survive, Draco, and I will do my very best to see that you do. Even if
I have to deal with the old coot himself.”
 
 Draco gasped.  “Dumbledore? You’re going to Dumbledore? But—“ 
 
 “I want you to understand, Draco,” Lucius continued, steamrolling over his
son’s shock. “The dark lord you know now, the dark lord you’ve met and seen, he
is not the man he was when I was your age.  He’s not the same man who earned
this family’s loyalty. He’s… warped. Insane.  He cannot be allowed to continue
unchecked or it will surely be the end of us all.” 
 
 “But he’s the dark lord,” Draco returned. “He’s supposed to—“ 
 
 “He’s supposed to do a lot, but he’s not, and he hasn’t for a long time,”
Lucius cut in. “Now, Balpey! Balpey! Where is the infernal elf?” 
 
“Balpey being here, Master.”
 
“Finally. Good, do you have all of Draco’s essentials?” 
  
“Yes, Master. They being packed and ready for your orders.” 
 
 “Good, bring them here,” Lucius ordered as he strode into a parlour room.
“Draco needs to be away as quickly as possible.
 
With a snap of the elf’s fingers, several large trunks arrived. A flick and
swish of his wand saw the trunks shrunk down to pocket-size before Lucius sent
them flying over to his son to catch.  “You’ll be on the continent for at least
the rest of the summer. Perhaps for the remainder of the year,” he told his
son. “I trust you will be able to keep up with your studies if it is deemed not
safe for you to return in September?
 
“Father
 
Lucius closed his eyes against his son’s lost look and breathed deeply.
“Draco,” he finally said, opening his eyes once more and grasping Draco’s
shoulders. “You are and always will be my son. I know this last year has not
been easy for you, for any of us, and I can’t promise it won’t get worse in the
weeks and months to come, but…”
 
“I love you,” he rushed out, daring to cut his father off.  “I’m sorry,” he
added, unable to quell the welling emotion of his failure. “I’m so, so sorry.”
 
“This is not your fault,” Lucius corrected. “None of this is your fault. It
never was.”  He pushed the blond hair, so like his own, away from his son’s
face.  “I’m proud of you, Draco, and I love you. Please keep yourself safe. 
Now, go.  Take this portkey and go,” he said staunchly, shoving a figurine of a
lovely woman sitting on a rock.
 
“Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,”  Lucius said clearly, and Draco disappeared from
England not to be seen again until earlier this morning. 
 
 
~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~
 
Draco Malfoy had returned to England, returned to Hogwarts. He returned home,
because make no mistake, England was his home.  Was he scared? Yes, but he
wasn’t going to be a coward about it.  He knew his father would have preferred
for him to stay with his cousins in France, but he just couldn’t.  He couldn’t.
 
He had spent the time with his extended family, haunted by the nightmares that
chased him relentlessly.
 
Several days after arriving at the family chateau, word had arrived from
England. A news clipping announcing the death of Lady Malfoy. Almost
immediately the gossip mongrels started whispering about suicide.  Days later
came another announcement, just has his father had warned him: disinheritance.
 
Draco shivered.  How low the Malfoy name and family had fallen.  He knew the
other purebloods had watched him eagerly, anxious to see if he displayed any of
his family’s noteworthy inheritance. He knew they were all talking about him,
calling him a blood traitor, a penniless son of a Death Eater, a murderer or
worse.
 
He was none of those things, and he’d be damned if he hid away, cowering from
those who would dare besmirch him.
 
Draco Malfoy was not a blood traitor. He was very aware and proud of just what
pedigree and to what extend he could trace his family lines.  From the noble
Black Family, the Rosiers, the Flints, the Blustrodes from his mother to the
LeStrange, the Cresswells, the Quinceys from his father, he was a pureblooded
British wizard.  He did not need some wings of a night fury or the allure of a
veela to make him special.
 
Dracor Malfoy was not a penniless, disinherited son. Even if his father truly
did disinherit him from the Malfoy line, he still had access to his personal
trusts—the ones from his grandparents and his mother.  True, they were nowhere
near the sum of the formidable Malfoy fortune, but they were still quite a
pretty penny.
 
Draco Malfoy was not a murdered or worse.  The very simple fact that Dumbledore
still lived, despite the dark lord charging the youngest Malfoy with the vetted
headmaster’s death…  Draco eyes squeezed shut and he shook.  Last year had been
the singly most horrid year of his life.  His father being thrown into Azkaban,
his branding as a marked Death Eater, his assigned mission… kill Dumbledore. 
And then, finally, his mother’s death. Yes, singularly the worst, most horrible
year of his life.
 
But he would be damned if he let others continue to dictate his life and his
choices.  He was practically a free man now.  Seventeen—legal in the wizarding
world—with his own funds. Seemingly not beholden to any one cause. He could do
practically whatever he pleased.
 
If only he knew what it was he wanted.
 
Draco sighed heavily and flopped back over in his bed.
 
The letter from Potter had been an unexpected overture. He believed the other’s
sincerity—bloody saint Potter.  He just hadn’t known what to do with it.  In
the end though, it was that letter which finally cemented his decision to
return to Hogwarts.  And despite everything—all the whispers and sly little
glances shot his way—Draco was glad he’d returned. Britain was his home, and
this was where he belonged.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Okay... this all should be fixed up now. I'm still incredibly annoyed
     that several paragraphs of the scenes I worked on today got lost in
     the cut & paste game. ~_~ Next, I plan on wrapping up the Harry-
     Hermione scene before taking tea with the headmaster. Then it's a
     trip to Hogsmeade. :) Sorry for any confusion today while I was
     working out the edits.
***** Impression *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry's inheritance begins to have a more... wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am
     effect. Dub-con.
________________________________________
9/5 – Hermione’s Imprinting*
Hermione finished her sentence, complete with period at the end, before looking
up. Just moments before Harry had burst through the door with the crackling
energy and heat pouring off him that followed him everywhere he went these
days, but he hadn’t said or done anything since. She studied him, standing just
inside the doorway wearing a confused look as he stared into space. The summer
had been kinder than previous summers; he had grown some, filled out, but she
could still see the eleven year old boy who had become one of her first friends
in the young man standing before her.
“Harry, what is it?”
He sucked in a heavy breath, letting it out slowly in one of the calming
exercises she had tried to teach him last year. “Are you wearing perfume?” he
asked, surprising her. He took another step towards her—when had he nearly
crossed the room, she wondered.
“Uh, no, not at the moment, no,” she answered a bit confused herself. “Are you
trying to say I smell?” She honestly meant it jokingly, but then his eyes
fastened on her and her breath caught, all teasing forgotten. There was
something in his eyes, some light or intensity that scared her, scared her for
the very reason that it made her pulse jump and her breath short. “Harry,
did—did something happen?”
He was at her side now, and she didn’t remember him moving. What was happening?
What—he leaned in over her, his heat and energy tingling along her back and
side, racing along her nerves, and pressed his face against her neck and
shoulder, burying his nose against her skin, and she shivered.
“Harry, I—“ She had no idea what she would have said next because just then she
felt his tongue slide over her skin, and it was like a switch had been flipped.
All her rational and logical thinking had been cut off. Her quill dropped to
the parchment, ink splattering over her Charms essay.
“Sweet,” he whispered, but it wasn’t in his normal voice. It was deeper, more
gravelly, and it excited her beyond reason. A cry caught in her throat, leaving
only a tiny whimper as his lips ghosted up her neck and across her jaw. And
then they were upon hers, his tongue pressing past her lips and spearing into
her mouth before she could even think of what to do in response.
She wasn’t really experienced with kissing, but for some reason, she wasn’t
worried about if she was doing it right. She wasn’t analyzing what he was
doing; she was just feeling. And right now she was feeling need. The need to be
closer, the need to touch, the need to be touched. It was all overwhelming,
threatening to drown her in the very need for sensation.
His hands were on her arms, pulling her up from the chair, and then they were
under her sweater, molding her breasts and dragging another cry from her as she
tore her mouth away from his and sucked a huge lungful of air greedily. He
didn’t stop, and she got caught in the material of her own sweater as he tried
to rip it off her. She was left to free her own arms when he abandoned the
process to feast on her breasts, sucking and biting the modest mounds through
the material of her bra.
He growled, honestly growled, before pushing her back onto the table. She
reached for him, trying to keep his heat against her naked skin, and he was
there, covering her. His power, his magic, wrapped around her and she felt safe
and protected, as if nothing could ever hurt her—seconds later she was split
apart when pain ripped through her as Harry pushed himself inside her. She
wasn’t even aware of when he had pushed her skirt up or torn off her panties.
He gave her his mouth again, whether in an effort to muffle her screams or
soothe her, she didn’t know. All she knew was he didn’t stop and she didn’t
push him away. She held onto him desperately as he continued to pump and thrust
inside of her. She sucked on the tongue he thrust into her mouth even as her
body tried to adjust to everything else. His fingers were digging into her
hips, shooting sparks of pain through her nervous system even as other pains
and hurts tried to mellow out. And then his mouth disappeared from hers, and he
buried his face against her throat. She groaned… and then shouted as his teeth
sunk into her flesh combined with a particularly deep thrust of his hips.
And then it was over. His pumping hips eventually slowed before coming to a
stop. His tongue laved repeatedly over the throbbing ache against her neck. His
hand ran up and down her side, the nails lightly scratching her, making her
shiver. Or that could just be shock settling in, her mind provided. And she
realized suddenly, she could think again…and thinking really wasn’t such a good
thing right then. And then Harry moved against her, her Harry; his hips snug
against her throbbing sex, and his stomach flesh against her belly, and his
mouth covering hers, inviting her to suck on his tongue. His body rumbled
against hers, a loud purr of satisfaction, and then he was lifting her up
against him and carrying her away.
She had one last moment to wonder if it was a spell gone wrong or a curse
before her back slammed into the soft duvet covered bed and she lost all sense
of logical thought again.
The school did not see their head boy or head girl for the entire next day.
When they did reappear late Sunday afternoon, it was to find Hermione tearing
through library books with a purpose and Harry flying with a death wish.
It had taken nearly two days for…whatever it was to run out of their system.
When Hermione awoke Sunday morning it wasn’t to Harry moving against or inside
of her, as had been the case with several of her previous wakings. In fact, she
noted with surprise that she was alone in the room. She moved to get up and
groaned as her body protested. Gods, but she ached in places she didn’t even
want to contemplate.
She heard the shower running and hesitantly made her way towards the connecting
bathroom. She found Harry there, as she had expected, but unexpectantly, he was
curled up beneath the showerhead, rocking back and forth with his face buried
against his knees.
“Harry?” she called tentatively. He jerked, cringing away, curling up tighter
against himself. She hesitated only another moment, his nakedness seeming
almost a moot matter after the last day and a half, and went to him. As she got
closer, she could finally hear him repeating over and over, “Oh, god. I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh, god.”
“Harry?” she called again, reaching for him, but he screamed and scuttled away
from her. “Harry, stop,” she commanded in her most demanding tone. “Listen to
me, Harry.”
He stopped moving away from her, but he couldn’t quite stop his shivering and
shaking. “Harry, look at me,” she tried, but he shook his head frantically,
eyes squeezed shut. “Look at me,” she ordered. Slowly, his head climbed out of
his knees. His eyes darted over her body, widening almost comically, before
panic took over and he hid his face again.
“Harry,” she asked softly, feeling a little hurt. “Do you hate me?”
“Wha—“ he sputtered, looking up with surprise. “No! I—Oh, god, Hermione, I’m so
sorry, I don’t know what—I, oh god, I’m so, so sorry,” he trailed off with a
moan.
She shuffled closer again until she could cuddle him close. He fell into her
lap with little else prodding him and cried. She sat numb against the bath
tiles as the warm water showered down over them and stroked his back as he
cried himself out. She had no tears, only questions, and she wondered if that
made her a little strange. Not that she was like most other girls anyway. After
all, how many girls could say their best friends were two boys—and wasn’t that
a sad fact, she mused.
No, she wasn’t mad or angry at Harry. And now that the strange compulsion was
off of her, she wasn’t mad or angry with herself, either. She began
categorizing what she knew: Harry had been out making rounds Friday night while
she chose to finish up her Charms essay. He had come back, and what had he
said? Something about a smell, she thought. She would have to ask him, if she
could calm him down. A smell, and then he had kissed her. No, he had smelt her
neck first, and then licked her, she remembered, and then they had kissed. And
then they had done a lot more than just kiss.
She hadn’t been naïve or innocent, but she had been a virgin, and that first
coupling had hurt. That fact alone would have told her that something was off
with Harry—she just couldn’t picture Harry as an inconsiderate lover; ignore
the fact that before this weekend, Hermione had had a difficult time imagining
Harry as any kind of lover. Which made her reaction to him all the more
strange. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him…more that she wasn’t IN love with
him. But that surely hadn’t been an issue when it came to sex. And that’s
pretty much what it had been, she thought with a little sadness. They hadn’t
made love, it had been pure sex. Multiple times, she recalled, shifting and
stretching some aching muscles.
So, whatever had affected Harry had also transferred to her. But what was it?
She couldn’t think of a spell or potion off hand that would affect more than
the person it was cast upon. She would have to research, of course. It was just
a good thing she had already finished up the majority of her weekend work.
Before she could head for the library, however, she would have to deal with
Harry.
Her sweet, gentle, confused Harry, she sighed mentally. She spelled the water
off, petting his back a few more times before finally tugging at him to sit up.
He really had become a nice looking man, she thought abstractly. He wasn’t
nearly so scrawny under his clothes as she always pictured him to be, but then
again, she had to remind herself, he wasn’t twelve anymore.
“Harry, look at me,” she asked him, forced his head up. “I’m not mad, honestly,
Harry. But I need to know—Friday night, what happened before you got back to
the room. Did you meet anybody, hear anything strange? Eat or drink anything
after dinner?”
“Hermione, I—“ He swallowed and forced himself to look away from her. “I—no. It
was pretty quiet. A couple of Hufflepuffs sneaking from the kitchens. A
Gryffindor and Slytherin making time up in a fourth floor classroom; that was a
little weird. And a Ravenclaw who was trying to sneak into the restricted
section, but that was all. I thought about stopping by the kitchens myself and
bringing something back, but then decided against it and just—I ran into Snape
a few corridors down. We exchanged our customary greetings, snide remarks and
belittling comments and all, but it wasn’t anything really out of the
ordinary.”
“You seemed angry when you entered,” she prompted.
“No, not angry, just annoyed that that greasy git is still here,” Harry
corrected.
Hermione frowned. “You mentioned you smelled something, asked if I was wearing
any perfume,” she reminded him.
“You don’t wear perfume,” Harry responded, but he was frowning in thoughts of
his own. “There was a smell in the air. It was… delicious. And all I could
think about was finding it and…and… well, devouring it,” he finished, somewhat
embarrassingly.
“Devouring?” she repeated. “So there was a smell that made you hungry?”
“Yeah, only, the smell, it was coming from you, Hermione.”
She puzzled over that one, wondering if she had been the one hexed and not
Harry, she began to rerun her night, but she couldn’t find anything out of the
ordinary. “Well, I’m just going to have to do some research,” she said to
herself, but Harry groaned.
“Hermione, seriously, you don’t—“
“Harry, you can’t honestly tell me that what happened is anything like our
normal selves,” she reproached. “I love you, Harry, but I’m not in love with
you, and I know you’re not in love with me. As such, I sincerely doubt that
without outside prompting you and I would ever have done what we did, and so, I
think it’s important to know what led to such events so that we may be better
able to prevent them from happening again in the future.”
“I—“ He was redder than Ron had every accomplished. “All right, Hermione. And,
and—I’m sorry. Sorry I hurt you and all.”
She bussed a kiss against his forehead affectionately. “It wasn’t all bad,
Harry, and all things considered, losing your virginity to your best friend
isn’t such a horrible thing, don’t you agree.”
“Oh, god, Hermione, I’m so sorry.”
She pushed him away and stood. “Get over it, Harry. Like I said, I’m not angry
with you or anything.”
“But—“
“No buts about it,” she said determinedly. “It’s in the past. Let’s move
forward.”
“Will you at least let me heal you?” he asked shyly.
“Heal…?” she began but then caught a reflection of herself in one of the
mirrors. Her eyes went wide. She was literally covered in bite and scratch
marks and small bruise colored patches across her body. She just stared,
dumbfounded, as Harry stepped up behind her, reached across her and dragged his
hand down her body, limbs and all.
She could feel the tingle of his magic as it seeped into her skin, blending
with her own magic, and slowly, before her eyes, the bruises and scratches
began to fade and heal. His fingers ran along each indent his teeth had left,
but the marks themselves were more stubborn to fade. He hesitated only a breath
before finally moving his hand over her sex, cupping her, and she gasped as his
magic slid inside her, caressing and healing all the sore and aching bits. She
shivered, leaning back against him for support as his magic continued to fill
her. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hands reaching up to grip his arms, and she
moaned heartily as her orgasm washed over her.
She tilted her head back, twisting up until she could reach his mouth, and the
kiss was sweet and gentle and everything she knew him to be. And when she
turned into him and he wrapped her up in his arms and his magic, she knew what
it was to be loved and made love to.
________________________________________
9/19 – Hermione’s 18th
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@1@1@@@2@9@@@1@4@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
Ten days later, and Hermione had discovered nothing in the library that really
helped. Needless to say, the Head Girl was rather put out. She’d determined
that a creature inheritance was the likely culprit, but that was as far as
she’d gotten, and she didn’t want to go to Harry with her suspicions until she
had more to show. There were literally hundreds of creatures and magical beings
that used scent to determine possible mates. Most magical beings also possessed
the ability to heal their mates. But that wasn’t enough to tell her what
creature Harry might possibly have inherited.
It didn’t help any that she was busy with school work and all the little
projects Harry had tasked her with. The mentorship and study groups were a
great idea, she easily admitted. They’d commandeered several unused classrooms
and worked out a rotating schedule that allowed everyone a chance to lead and
review, or follow and learn. Already three groups had set up regular meetings
and the students were saying they felt more confident in their lessons. She
hoped they could continue this for longer than the first few months.
The mentorship was moving a lot slower to get going. The simple problem of the
under years outnumbering the older years was a big enough hurdle, but then you
threw in other elements like houses, blood status, sex… and things just got
complicated. Still, they had started attempting to pair up possible students
last week, and things looked promising.
Their priority was the first years, and they’d asked certain second and third
years to take them in hand. This week they planned to focus on pairing up the
fifth years with sixth and seventh years. Eventually, the third and fourth
years would pair with the second years; the fourth and fifth would take on the
third years; and the seventh years would take on the sixth years.
They had a plan. They were putting that plan in place. If only things looked
half as promising for the situation between her and Harry, she sighed
thoughtfully.
She’d used this last week and a half to continue studying him—his behavior, his
actions, even his eating habits, but nothing struck a chord with her. She had
noticed he wasn’t really eating all that much. He would say he wasn’t all that
hungry, but he would continually sample the different foods, as if searching
for something he liked.
There was an air of confidence and authority he exuded—one she knew he’d always
had, but now it seemed… Well, it seemed as if he was more comfortable with
himself now. A lot of that could just be maturity, she knew, and the
responsibility of not just the DA but the entire school as head boy probably
had a lot to do with it. Still, it was nice to see him being the strong and
confident wizard she always knew he could be. Watching him interact with the
other students, with the other houses… seeing how others naturally followed his
lead…
And then there was the continually brushing against her, all casual and
unobtrusively, not even overly noticeably unless one was on the lookout for
such things. With her hypersensitivity towards Harry now, though, she was
noticing every little thing it seemed. Plus, she was aware of how Harry had
used to detest even the most casual of touches. She had her suspicions of why,
but had always felt a little helpless on how to help him. It was too late now.
Despite not eating much, he was still growing. She would guess he’d grown
another three centimeters, just in the last three weeks of school. And his hair
was actually growing, too. Not a lot, but it was definitely longer. And his eye
sight was improving—he’d already told them about that this summer, and she knew
it had to have something to do with his inheritance since it started after his
birthday.
But it just wasn’t enough!
She huffed, closing another useless tomb. How was she supposed to find out how
to help Harry? It wasn’t like there were any Potter family members left to ask
about any creature inheritances, and Remus already said he didn’t know of
anything. They were stuck, and she absolutely hated it.
“Come in,” she growled, pushing her hair away from her face and facing towards
the door to greet whoever had braved the Head Boy and Girl’s chambers this
evening.
It wasn’t the first time visitors had come seeking her or Harry out, and she
was sure it wouldn’t be the last this year, either. Oh well, that’s the price
one pays when they set up an open door policy, she reminded herself.
“Surprise!” several voices cried out as more bodies then she’d expected came
spilling through the door.
“Happy birthday!” several more called out as Prefects from all the houses and
her year mates and several more Gryffindors piled in, shooting sparks from
their wands.
Luna, Ginny, and Hannah Abbott swished and flicked their wands about the
apartment, sending ribbons, banners, and balloons flying.
“All right, everybody,” Harry called over the others. “Make room for the cake!”
And in he came with a large monstrosity of a confection. “And I promise you,
it’s more edible than Hagrid’s,” he teased, grinning at her. “And it’s even
carrot, so it’s somewhat healthy!”
She just laughed as he set it down before her.
“What is all this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ron shouted out. “It’s a birthday party!”
“Yes, it’s not every day our Head Girl turns eighteen,” Ginny grinned at her.
“You’ve been doing so much already this year,” Hannah spoke up. “When Harry
mentioned it being your birthday this week…well, we thought we’d like to do
something nice to show you how much we appreciate you.”
“Speak for yourself, Puffer,” Draco drawled, leaning against the wall but
watching them all avidly. “I’m just here for the cake and extra points. Plus,
Potter’s promised to give us a special lesson on the Patronous Charm.”
Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, but he just grinned and shrugged.
“Well, this is lovely, thank you,” Hermione said, turning back to the others.
“Come on, Hermione, cut the cake already!” Seamus called from somewhere in the
back. “We have a bet going on how good a cook Harry is!”
“You baked this yourself?” she asked, no little bit surprised.
“Had to promise to let the house elves clean my chambers for an entire week,”
he grinned sheepishly. “Starting tonight.”
“Harry!” she yelped, scandalized.
“Cut the cake! Cut the cake!” a chant began up, and helpless to do otherwise,
she drew her wand and expertly divided the cake into equal pieces.
“I hope there’s enough,” she worried as plates magically appeared and Susan
Bones started divvying up pieces to plates and passing them out. Someone else
conjured forks, and another person produced butterbeers and pumpkin juice.
“How is it?” Harry asked nervously, watching her take her first bite. “It’s not
too sweet, is it? I couldn’t tell, but I’m pretty sure I remembered the recipe
right.”
“It’s delicious,” she gushed, quick to take another bite. “I didn’t know you
could bake.”
He shrugged.
“Here, try a piece,” she insisted, holding a forkful out to him.
“Oh, no, uh, you know, it doesn’t—ah,” he tried, but she swiftly bypassed his
protests and pressed the utensil up to his mouth, forcing him to either eat it
or wear it. He opened his mouth obediently and accepted the morsel.
Sudden catcalls and whistles broke them out of the moment.
“Look at you two,” Seamus called, “like a bunch of love birds, you are!”
Even Ron was laughing at them as Lavender clung onto him.
“Really, Potter, what sort of illicit dealings do you two get up to all alone
in here?” Zacharias chimed in.
“Oh, you know,” Hermione answered with fake blasé. “Wild orgies and satanic
rituals.”
“What kind of rituals?” someone whispered while the other laughed in shocked
amusement at the head girl’s reply.
Someone set up a wireless while others conjured up chairs and sofas, and soon
people were intermixing naturally in the relaxed social setting.
“This was a really nice idea,” Hermione murmured as she leaned back against Ron
on one of the conjured sofas. Lavender was snuggled up to his other side while
Harry was resting back on the floor with his head in her lap as she leisurely
finger combed his hair.
It was as she had said: nice. Mellow and relaxed. No one was really talking
about homework or classes, but they were still all getting along and talking.
“We should do something like this more often.”
“I agree,” Ginny perked up. “At least once a month. It could be like a birthday
party for everyone born in that month, or it could just be a regular social.”
“Mm, sure,” Harry murmured. “Add it to the schedule.”
“We’re going to be really busy this year,” Hermione mused. “With everything you
were mentioning and our Newts this year, too.”
“Oooh, do tell,” Pasny called from another sofa, having heard her. “What does
our illustrious head boy have planned for us? He keeps hinting but he hasn’t
given any solid clues yet!”
“A lot!” Hermione laughed as the others answered in a chorus of groans and
moaning protests. “Well, all right. Here’s one plan,” she began, and suddenly
even the wireless was turned down as everyone tried to listen in.
“Quidditch.”
“What about quidditch?” Ernie asked loudly.
“What about,” Harry answered, “If we had more than just the four house teams?”
“More than—but—“
“There’s always been four teams!”
“What do you mean more?”
The shouted questions kept pouring in, but Harry stayed where he was, eyes
closed peacefully as Hermione continued to card through his hair. When the
voices finally died down, it was with one silky command.
“Explain yourself, Potter.”
Harry grinned and peeked an eye open at Draco. “It’s simple, really. More teams
means more players which means more interaction between the houses. We could
still have the four house teams, but in addition, we could have junior and
senior teams, too. Let the first through fourth years field the junior teams,
and fifth through seventh years can field the senior teams. Let’s say we have
eight interested junior teams, that would be 56 students, right? And if we had,
oh, five senior teams? That would mean another 35 students, in addition to the
28 of us now who are on a house team… that would be nearly half the school more
actively involved in quidditch. Plus, it’s a great opportunity for us house
captains to field for reserve players while allowing the players themselves to
have more game experience. The junior and senior teams could even been mixed
houses,” he concluded.
Someone whistled.
“I wouldn’t mind being able to play a little more quidditch.”
“But won’t it take away from our practice time now?”
“Nah. If anything, it’ll allow your team to practice in a real game, right?”
“Who would captain these other teams?”
“What would they be called?”
“Well, I’d imagine each team would need to get a staff member to represent
them, and they’d probably get to pick their own names, but it would have to be
approved by the headmaster or someone.”
“We could be the badgers!”
“Ha, don’t you think it better to pick something a little less house-
orientated.”
“You could always use horntails or chimera?”
“You lot would be better suited as the kneazles.”
“Hey!”
“How about the nundas?”
“Well, your breath is certainly foul enough.”
“What would you name your team?”
“I don’t have to, or have you forgotten I’m already on my house team?”
“That’s besides the point!”
“Well, regardless of names,” Harry said loudly, “I’m still waiting to hear back
approval from the headmaster, but I’ll be sure to tell him the prefects and all
were all excited about the idea the next time we meet.”
“What else have you got planned for us, Potter?”
“Well, I figured we could have a few more formal dances this year—“ To which
the boys groaned and the girls practically squealed. “There are these little
socials. Plus, I was hoping to bring back more of the traditional celebrations
for some of our holidays.”
“Careful, Potter, some might accuse you of going Dark.”
Harry scoffed. “Traditional doesn’t mean Dark. Besides, I think it’s important
that those of us who weren’t raised in the wizarding world learn about and get
to experience traditional wizarding celebrations. Not that I don’t like
Halloween candy and all, but I know there’s supposed to be more going on, and
I’d like to know what.”
“Dumbledore would never allow us to have a traditional Samhain celebration,”
someone muttered.
“Have you ever asked?” Harry countered.
“Well, I for one and terribly excited about the idea,” Hermione jumped in.
“I’ve read about it, of course, but that doesn’t really replace the actual
experience.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Harry agreed.
“It’s sounds pretty ambitious if you ask me.”
“Ah, well, you know, ambition isn’t just for Slytherins.”
________________________________________
***** Hannah’s Imprinting *****
9/23 – Hannah’s imprinting
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@0@1@@@2@1@@@1@0@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry heard the muffled cries before he entered what should have been a
deserted hallway. All thoughts of scolding whoever was out-of-bounds past
curfew disapperated when he saw the folded up form of the seventh year
Hufflepuff prefect huddled up near the base of Landon Bell-Smythe’s statue.
“Hannah?” he called out tentatively as he caught sight of her. “Is everything
all right?” Her face flew up out of her knees as he approached; wide blue eyes
horribly red-rimmed, cheeks splotched and motley as she rubbed furiously at her
tears and sniffed piteously.
“Oh, Harry,” she gasped, shoving to her feet. “I didn’t think anyone would be
down this way. Sorry you had to see me like this. It’s—“
“Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing. Really. Zach and I just had a disagreement is all, and I’m being
overly emotional, I know. Really, I—“
But he was closer now, his mind fogging over as a strange but intoxicating
scent filled his nostrils. “Are you wearing a special perfume?”
“I—What? No,” she laughed nervously as he stepped closer still. “I—“
She didn’t know what she might have said for at that very moment Harry had
reached her and buried his face against her throat. Places inside of her
ignited as her world spun out of focus, and when she came aware of herself and
her surroundings again, it was to discover she was in one of the unused
classrooms, lying naked in a bed that shouldn’t have been there, and weak
morning light was beginning to filter through the windows. And she hurt, all
over. Her body ached even in places she’d never ached before!
Hannah tried to sit up, but even that was too painful, and she laid where she
was in stunned disbelief until she could finally muster the energy needed to
roll over onto her side and curl up into herself. It could have been only a
handful of minutes later when she heard the door open and she stiffened. If
someone found her like this…
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Harry was urgently whispering. “It was just
like last time, ‘Mione. What am I going to do? I can’t stay here if things like
this keep happening. Not if I’m a menace to every student!”
“Calm down, Harry. Just, go back to our rooms and wait for me there. Go on. Go.
I’ll be back as soon as I can, and Harry? We will figure out what’s happening,”
the Head Girl assured him.
The door snitched shut without another word passing between the two, and for a
moment Hannah wondered if Hermione had left, too, but then the other girl
called her name.
“I know you’re awake,” Hermione informed her gently. “Is it all right if I come
over there?”
Hannah didn’t know what to say. If the signals she was receiving from her body
could be trusted, it was a very real possibility that she had slept with some
person. And if Harry’s actions and her memory from last night were taken into
account, that person was Harry Potter. And now here was Hermione, Harry’s best
friend, who many believed was Harry’s girlfriend even if the pair hadn’t
official announced anything—alone in a room with her. Hannah felt horribly
sick. Not only did she not remember the event her body was screaming had
happened, but she had committed the horrible grievance of sleeping with another
girl’s boy!
“Hannah, may I sit down?”
She started—when had Hermione crossed the room? Wide blue eyes rose up to stare
at the Head Girl with fresh tears already swimming in them. “I don’t know what
happened,” she confessed.
Hermione was on her in an instant—swooping down and pulling her up into her
arms and lap as a fresh wave of confused tears poured out from the blonde.
Hermione just held her, soothing her hair and her back and conjuring
handkerchief after handkerchief for her tears and running nose.
When at last it seemed her tears had run out, Hermione continued to just hold
and pet her for several minutes.
“Hannah, I know how scary and confusing this all is, but I need your help. You
know Harry would never willingly hurt you—“
“I know, I know!” the blonde assured her. “It’s just—I don’t know how this
happened! I mean, he never even hinted that he would like me like that, and—I
always thought that you—and now…I don’t know!”
“I know,” Hermione soothed. “I understand. Something has happened, Hannah, to
Harry. Something happened with his Inheritance this summer, and we don’t know
what. And of course Harry’s parents aren’t here to help us figure anything out,
and he has no surviving relatives, either, so we’re trying to figure it out on
our own, to understand why these things are happening to him.”
Hannah stared at her, stunned. “You mean…” She licked her lips nervously. “It’s
happened before. He’s done this to someone else?”
Hermione frowned over her answer, holding tight to Hannah’s hands. “Two weeks
ago,” she started. “The first weekend after term began. You remember all those
rumors that started because Harry and I disappeared that weekend? Well, that
Friday Harry offered to cover my rounds so I could look something up. He came
back and… He said he smelled something—and then he kissed my neck. Two days
later, I woke up much in the same state you’re in right now.”
“I’m sure you weren’t crying hysterically,” Hannah sighed, upset with herself.
“No, but Harry was,” Hermione confessed. Hannah looked surprised, so the Head
Girl continued. “Just like today, he was scared and confused. He didn’t know
why or how it had happened, and all he could think about was that he’d hurt me
and how I would hate him. How you will hate him.”
“I don’t hate him!”
“No, neither do I, but he’s convinced himself that I did. Much like he’s
probably convinced himself right now that you will hate him because he’s hurt
you.”
“Harry’s not like that!” Hannah protested. “He doesn’t just maliciously hurt
people. And—and he didn’t really hurt me, per se. It’s just—I’ve
never—before—and—”
Hermione hugged her. “Can you tell me what you remember?”
So Hannah did, telling about her fight with Zach and hiding out in one of the
less popular corridor to have a pity-me moment when Harry found her.
“He asked you about a perfume, too?” Hermione questioned. “That’s interesting.
A common factor. And you said he kissed your neck first.”
“Well, he sort of sniffed me first, and then,” she was blushing a fierce red.
“He licked me,” she whispered. “And I just forgot about anything else.”
“Yes, exactly,” Hermione agreed. “Hannah, do you think you’d be okay to be
around Harry again. I mean—“
“I know, I think. I mean, we have classes together and it would be odd—“
“No, more than that,” Hermione corrected, coloring also. “I mean, after I woke
up that morning, I was hurting as well. But Harry—whatever it is that’s
happening to him, he has a way, his magic, he can help heal you so you won’t
hurt anymore.” She looked determinedly at the Hufflepuff prefect. “He’s back in
our rooms right now, probably beating himself up over this, but if you were to
come with me…”
She trailed off, waiting for the other girl to decide.
“I—but how will we get through the hallways?” Hannah asked dazedly. “My
clothes… and I’m not even sure I could stand let alone walk very far…”
“We’re witches, aren’t we?” Hermione replied smartly, producing her wand. In a
few short minutes they had repaired Hannah’s clothing and combined a minor
healing charm with a glamour that concealed most of the bruises and bite marks.
With the added boon of a Notice-Me-Not charm they made it to the Head Boy’s and
Girl’s quarters without incident, only to find Harry tearing apart the room and
flinging his things into his trunk.
“Harry Potter, what do you think you are doing?” Hermione practically
screeched.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped back. “I’m leaving! It’s not
safe if I’m here. I’m—“
“Not going anywhere! Running away won’t help us solve anything. Now, I think—“
But Harry wasn’t paying her any attention. He’d seen Hannah standing slightly
behind Hermione and all color drained from his face. “Oh, gods. Hannah, I’m—“
“It’ll be all right, Harry,” she interrupted, stepping out from behind the head
girl. “Hermione and I talked about some things, and I think I understand a bit
more what happened.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” he muttered before shaking his head. “Listen, I
really am sorry. I never intended to hurt you.” He reached up, his fingers
running along a bruise mark along her throat. The discoloration fade away
beneath his finger tips and Hannah’s breath caught.
Hermione shot a startled look between the two of them before shoving both Harry
and Hannah into the head boy’s chambers and shutting the door firmly behind
them. Sagging against the door, Hermione took a moment to try and organize her
thoughts, but her emotions kept swimming up to try and choke her.
It was silly, of course. There had never been anything even remotely romantic
about hers and Harry’s relationship, but ever since that weekend, Hermione
would find her thoughts leaning towards that direction. Thinking more about
Harry—things he said, things he did, and how he looked— than her studies.
And then there was the way her body seemed to be hyper aware of him at times.
And after the way they had made love, it was really only too easy to understand
how and why her body and mind would react this way to him, but it didn’t help
her deal with it.
She wasn’t even sure how Harry was feeling about matters between them. And now
this whole thing with Hannah! It was practically the same, she realized: a
scent, a sniff, a lick, followed by a complete loss of one’s sanity and crazy,
mad sex that left one sore and aching. In all her searching Hermione hadn’t
found a spell or potion that fit the criteria. She hadn’t told Harry yet, but
she’d begun searching through creature references. Although it was not often
openly encouraged in the wizarding world, it was quite possible for certain
races and species to cross populate with humans. People like Hagrid and
Professor Flitwick and Fleur Delacour were examples of that.
Hearing a moan float through the door Hermione was still leaning against, she
hastily jumped away, aiming a silencing charm as she went, before snatching up
her bag with parchment and quills and her books, and hightailing it for the
door. It was Wednesday, and she had the first morning block free on Wednesday,
but she could always visit the library.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@0@1@@@2@@2@@@1@0@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
Harry stroke Hannah’s cheek, studying her face. “I’m sorry. I hurt you. I never
meant to.”
Something inside her that she hadn’t even realized was tense softened. Hannah
puzzled against his palm. His other hand came up to cradle her face as he
looked directly into her pretty blue eyes.
“Hannah, do you trust me?”
“Of course, Harry.”
“You shouldn’t,” he breathed a second before his lips brushed over hers.
She moaned as tingles of awareness raced up and down her spine. Her arms rose
of their own accord to wrap around his shoulders and neck. His hands were warm
and soothing as the slid from her face to her throat, down her shoulders and
arms and up her torso, inside her robe. It felt like she was being wrapped up
in the softest cashmere, and then his hands slid over her breasts and it felt
like being stung by a lightning hex. Fire quickly replaced the tingles as her
body responded greedily, wantonly, to his.
He pulled away from her mouth to lay kisses over her breasts, squeezing and
molding them with his hands.
“Your tits are amazing,” Harry told her reverently, running his tongue over the
various bite marks covering the delicate skin.
“Harry,” she moaned, hands running up to rest in his hair. And then she gasped
in pain as her back banged into the door behind her.
Harry was off her in an instant. “Oh, god, Hannah, I’m sorry. I—“
“It’s not that,” Hannah waved his protests away, still wincing. “Hermione did a
healing charm earlier, but it didn’t cover everything.” She tried stretching
her back, rolling her shoulders, which caused her bared breast to wiggly and
jiggle and dance.
Harry was captivated, much to her amusement.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Ah, turn around, and, uh, let me see?”
“Why?”
“Well, um, before, when with Hermione and I was my magic or somehow anyway it
helped heal all her bruises so I thought you and well, just turn around,” he
finished.
Hannah blinked, her mind furiously trying to work out what he had just said.
Finally, she decided to do as he asked and turned around, allowing her robe to
fall to the floor. “Are you sure you don’t want me lying down,” she tried to
tease, but it didn’t chase away the nervous fluttering or the heavy aching
between her legs.
“Uh, the only place to lay down in here is one the bed. Or the floor, but that
wouldn’t be very comfortable, I wouldn’t think.”
“Oh, well.” She hesitated, looking back at him and then sweeping through the
room. They were in his bedchambers she suddenly realized. How had she missed
that fact before? And there really wasn’t all that much in here despite the
size of the room. She looked at the bed and then decided. If he refused, that
was one thing, but she really hoped he wouldn’t.
She removed the skirt Hermione had helped her repair and dropped it onto the
floor near her blouse and robe. Then she climbed up onto the bed, noting its
softness before stretching down and out. Harry hadn’t moved away from the door.
“Okay,” she said, having to clear her throat first to do so. “Go ahead and work
your magic, Harry.”
Harry looked at the young naked woman lying in his bed and swallowed. He was
already hard and excited from their earlier petting and kissing. Actually,
seeing what he’d been touching just a moment before was amazing, but more than
that, it was humbling. Hannah had always been a presence in Harry’s life, since
his first day of Hogwarts. Not nearly as important as Hermione, it was true,
but a presence none-the-less. He’d been aware of her on at least some level—she
was a friendly face, a kind smile, an uplifting voice in the mob. And now she
was a beautiful naked woman in his bed. Curvy and soft, her normally pale skin
was literally covered in colorful bruise marks and scrapes. Across her back,
the skin looked like it had been rubbed raw, and he realized it must be a
result of their coupling against a stone wall followed by another session along
the floor.
Harry climbed onto the bed and started at her shoulders; he ran his hands down
her back all the way her thighs. Again and again he caressed, his hands infused
with his magic until all of the bruising had melted away.
“That feels absolutely amazing.”
“Really?”
“Really. Better than a hot bath. I feel all relaxed and mellow.”
“All relaxed?” He wasn’t feeling very relaxed. In fact, he was still very much
hard, harder than he could ever remember, and he let her know, rubbing his
penis against her ass as he lightly brushed his fingers over her hips. She
shifted, her hips rising up to meet him.
“Hannah.”
“Yes.”
“Are you—I mean…?”
“Yes, Harry.” She rose against him again, and this time, he spread her legs to
either side of his and sat up, coaxing her up with him. She protested moving at
first, but finally was seated in his lap, her butt pressed against his pelvis
as he continued to rub against her. His hands were on her breasts again, and he
sucked at her throat.
“You really do have the most amazing tits,” he groaned.
Frustrated, she grabbed one of his hands and buried it between her legs,
moaning. He was a quick study, and soon Hannah was moaning in release. With his
hand already at work between her thighs, it was only a little work before he
was fully inside her, completely, evoking a second orgasm right on the cusp of
the first. Minutes later he joined her.
He breathed heavily against her shoulder as they rested. Before long she
started shifting as her legs tired and cramped up. It was as they were both
lying stretched out, Harry semi-casually tracing his hands over Hannah’s chest
and stomach, up her sides and back over her shoulders—that she irrevocably
drenched the warm afterglow moment.
“I’ll have to stop by Madam Promfrey’s during lunch today,” Hannah sighed.
Harry stiffened, pulling away to better look at her. “Are you still hurting
somewhere? I can—“
“No, no, it’s not that,” Hannah rushed to assure him, coloring prettily. “It’s
just, that, I mean, I wasn’t, you know, intending to have relations with
anyone, not that I mind, really. It was very enjoyable, Harry, honestly. But I
wasn’t prepared, you understand. But Madame Promfrey is sure to have some IC
potion in the hospital wing. It’s frowned upon, of course, but then, in a
school with teenagers, I can’t imagine her NOT having some.”
He frowned. “Icy potion? Like for a burn?”
“Ah, no. IC. The Interruptus Concepteous Potion,” Hannah corrected. “Witches
take it after they’ve engaged in an unanticipated affair. As I said, it’s
frowned upon by most because, really, relations of such nature should never be
unanticipated, but it does happen, obviously.”
“Interrup—you mean, like a day after potion?”
“A day after—well, yes. I suppose you could call it that.”
“You mean, so you wouldn’t get pregnant.”
“Well, yes. I mean—Harry?”
But he wasn’t listening or even seeing her right then. Instead, he was thinking
about what Voldemort and his Death Eaters would do to anyone Harry loved,
especially a child.
And then he started thinking about the possibility of a child. His child. A
baby. They were still in school—their NEWT year, no less. He still had a
megalomaniac and his merry band of psychopaths out to kill him. Having a baby
right now was… was tantamount to idiocy and stupidity and… A baby. A little
piece of him and some other person. A possible family.
Harry had never thought too much about having kids before. He was a seventeen
year old boy, after all. He’d never played house when he was in primary, never
babysat or interacted much at all with any neighborhood kids other than to
occasionally distract Duddly and his gang from picking on someone younger. And
then he was in Hogwarts, too busy being a wizard and staying alive every year
to think very much about the future other than wonder if he would live long
enough to graduate, let alone survive the war.
But it wasn’t like people stopped living and marrying and having kids just
because there was a war going on. His entire form was proof of that. Just
because Voldemort was after his head didn’t mean he couldn’t go, fall in love,
get married, have some sprogs… It just meant any wife and kids he had would
have to be especially careful, and in possession of a healthy, hefty dose of
paranoia quite possibly.
But as much as he had never thought about making a family, he’d never come
close to even contemplating having a baby with a woman he wasn’t married to. He
wasn’t dumb. He knew sex led to babies. He’d only had sex with two women, twice
each, but both times he hadn’t used protection, which meant… Hannah or Hermione
could be pregnant, with his baby.
But Hannah was talking about stopping it, and it was Newt year, so Hermione
would probably definitely be against getting pregnant. But… a baby…
Harry could feel his magic stir up inside of him, slowly reaching out, beyond
him , searching. A baby… A bit of himself in a tiny, new person…
“Harry, I could—I mean, I know you’re the last in line, and all,” Hannah
hesitated, searching his face and then pushed on. “Did you want a child? I
could, I mean, there’s a spell. If I were, that is, with Madame Pomfrey’s help,
I could, if it was to be that I did get pregnant, then I could cast a spell and
it would make it so I wouldn’t lose the baby, I just wouldn’t have it now. And
then, after Hogwarts, I could have the spell removed and have the baby then. I
mean, if that’s something you would want, of course. I wouldn’t force anything
on you or anything.”
“Hannah, I can’t—I mean,” Harry sputtered, struggled. “With Voldemort still out
there... I’ve already put you at risk because we’re friends. If it got out that
you were pregnant with my baby…”
“I’m already at risk, Harry,” she cut him off, rather sharply. “Voldemort
killed my mother last year. The only reason I didn’t become a ward of the state
is because my godmother was able to take me in until I turned seventeen and
legal. And we’re not even sure if I’m pregnant, so how is it anyone else is
going to find out? One thing at a time, Harry. One thing at a time. Would you,
Harry Potter, agree to consider me, Hannah Abbot, a candidate to bare your
child?”
The question, while worded funnily, filled Harry with a sense of longing, and…
something more. He felt his magic welling up again, responding to her words. It
seemed to stretch and extend, reaching out beyond his body, reaching towards
Hannah. He watched her breath catch and a shiver run down and up her body,
pricking goose flesh along her arms and legs. Her blue eyes fluttered shut. He
felt his magic, felt it reaching into her, caressing her magic, wrapping around
and filling her, with himself.
“I accept your offer of consideration,” he found himself answering before he
could shake away the spell. And it was a spell, he realized as he felt her
magic rise up in response, caressing him back.
Hannah nodded dazedly, leaning heavily against him, rubbing against him as if
to warm herself, or simply because the magic still rushing between them felt so
deliciously good. He leaned into her, pushing her back into the bed, relishing
in the rubbing of his skin along her skin. The tiny hairs the caught and
tickled along their limbs, the plushy curves of her body as he pressed harder
against her, the breathy moans that pulled from her open lips.
“I want to,” he panted.
“Mm, yes,” she breathed, arching up against him again.
He could still feel it, their magic, swirling around each other, blending and
mixing and dancing in a chaotic turn, urging them together. He could see it, he
realized, wafting off their skin, radiating and pulsing and…
“Harry, please,” Hannah cried airy, frotting against him, and there was no way
any healthy male could ever turn down that invitation. He might only remember
snippets of the previous night—the heat, the frenzy, the frantic rounds of
coupling—but he remembered her scent and taste well enough that he thought he
might never forget it, and the sound of her voice, crying out as he entered
her, brought her body again and again; the warmth and ecstasy he found in his
own release. He reached for that again, surging forward to join their bodies
again in that most intimate of ties.
“Harry!” she entreated, reaching up to pull him deeper, embracing him with
arms, legs, her whole body… urging him on, fast, hard, more, more, more until
he didn’t think he had any left to give. Just the deep, rhythmic press of his
pelvis to hers as he buried himself again and again and again inside her
warmth, until their magic tightened, pulled, crackled, snapped, and popped
between them, leaving them both gasping in the aftermath.
 
***** A Visit to M. Pomfrey *****
9/24 – visit to M. Pomfrey
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@0@@1@@2@@5@@1@@0@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hannah found Hermione as her Arithmancy class let out for lunch and snatched
the Head Girl away from the throng of seventh years intent on lunch. Hermione
sputtered a weak protest that died quickly upon seeing the resolute expression
on the Hufflepuff prefect’s face. The blonde led them on a convoluted route
through the corridors until even Hermione was confused at where she was being
led, until the Infirmary doors were there before them.
Maintaining her vulture-like grip on Hermione’s hand, Hannah continued her
dedicated pace into the hospital wing until the doors were fully shut behind
them and Madame Pomfrey was already emerging from her office.
“Good morning, dears,” the bustling woman greeting running a critical eye over
the pair. “Neither one of you seems to be in poor health,” she observed.
In lieu of a greeting, Hannah drew her wand. Holding the carved ivy wood steady
and pointing straight up before her, the blonde young woman stepped forward.
“On your magic and your vows as a mediwitch, do you swear to keep my secrets
sacred unto yourself?”
Madame Pomfrey pulled herself up rigid before copying Hannah’s pose. “I so
swear,” she vowed. “Though, I assure you, it is unnecessary. Now, ladies, how
can I be of service?”
“I need to know if I’m pregnant,” Hannah announced. Behind her, Hermione
gasped, but before her Madame Pomfrey was sighing. With a wave and an
incantation neither girl was familiar with, a silver-blue mist enveloped the
Hufflepuff prefect. Then it melted away.
“No, Miss Abbott, you are not with child,” the mediwitch pronounced.
Hannah practically slumped where she stood, but it wasn’t relief she was
feeling. “But I can be,” she asked desperately. “Everything is all right with
me, right? I can get pregnant?”
“I assure you, you are a perfectly healthy young woman. But you are still young
yet. You have your entire life ahead of you, plenty of time for babies and
children. Right now you should be focusing on your schoolwork and studies. I
believe this is your NEWT year, am I not correct?”
“And if I’m killed before this war ends?” Hannah snapped. “Will I still have
time for babies then? Will it matter if I pass my NEWTs if I’m dead?”
Hermione stepped up, grasping Hanna’s shoulders and squeezing gently before
stepping in front of her. “Madame Pomfrey, if you’d please, the same spells for
me,” the Head Girl requested. “For pregnancy and fertility.”
The mediwitch’s mouth thinned in a disapproving frown, but a moment later the
diagnostic charm was cast, the same silvery-blue mist floating to envelope
Hermione before dissolving. The prognosis was the same: fertile, but not
pregnant.
“One more thing, Madame,” Hannah spoke before Hermione could escort her out.
“There is a charm that would delay pregnancy after conception.”
“I am aware of it,” the mediwitch responded, lips thinning further.
“I would request your aid in performing it, should it become necessary.”
“One would hope that it would not be necessary,” Madame Pomfrey replied a bit
sharply.
Hannah looked at her. “I am not that one,” she informed her before turning and
leading the way out.
Hermione suffered a moment on indecision—wanting to ask about the spell
mentioned, wanting to follow Hannah—but finally turned and followed the
Hufflepuff out of the Infirmary.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@0@5@@@0@9@@@1@3@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry was brooding. Officially, he was working on his charms essay that had
been assigned this week, but in reality, he was sitting in the library, at
Hermione’s table, brooding. Hermione and Hannah hadn’t shown up to lunch, and
his mind was on overdrive, wondering where they were, if they were okay, what
they were doing, did they eat somewhere else? His leg jittered under the table,
a rapid staccato, and his muscles tensed and tightened, ready to hurl him from
his chair at a moment’s notice. His quills and inks sat untouched as he stared
unseeing at his books and parchment.
“Hey, mate! Did you finish that charms essay yet?” Ron asked, depositing
several books onto their table that he had no real intention of reading, but it
would look better if they were there when Hermione finally showed up.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Um…” He dragged himself away from his internal struggles of
whether to stay where he was or go off looking for his girls—‘his’ girls?—and
started rummaging through his bag for said essay. “Got it done the other night.
Why didn’t you?”
“Had a chess meet, remember? It was Hermione’s idea since you and she are going
to be so busy this year.”
“Right.” And he did remember. It had been one of Harry’s plans for the year to
have more clubs and activities at Hogwarts besides quidditch, to help promote
school unification and socialization among the houses. It just so happened that
Hermione was of a similar mind, and it was her idea specifically to start the
chess club first because of Ron.
Of course, the idea of having more clubs and activities was great…but not very
specific. That’s where the other prefects came in, hopefully. They’d started
with the chess club, spreading the word to the prefects and on down about a
meet for all those interested in the game, meetings tentatively schedule for
every other week. Then he’d asked for other ideas.
They’d bantered around some other games, including the idea of a board game
night on alternate Fridays—it was Hermione’s suggestion to include muggle and
wizarding games, and Harry’s interest has been pricked, not having played any
other than chess before—but they were still working on the practicality of
getting and storing the games. No, actually, that was a lie, because they
weren’t working on it at all. Harry frowned. Maybe he could get someone else to
look into it…
And he spotted a likely target entering the library right that moment.
The stocky blond seventh year Hufflepuff entered the library and paused—like a
lord overseeing his kingdom, or, rather, and future politician surveying a room
for potential. Either way, McMillian spotted Harry soon enough, and the headboy
signaled him over.
“Harry!” Ernie greeting, rather loudly for the library and earned several dirty
looks from a group of fifth years who were already being dumped on in
preparations for their OWLS.
“Ernie,” he acknowledge, more sedately. “Got a moment? There’s a project
Hermione and I are interested in getting started, and I think you’re just the
one to get the ball rolling.”
“You need a ball?” Ernie asked confused.
“Er, no. No, actually, we want some board games. Wizarding and muggle. Do you
think you could get us a collection?”
“A collection of board games?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a few of the popular or maybe some really
traditional ones.”
“To borrow or to keep?”
“Oh, well, I don’t know just yet. I guess, I guess let’s start with borrowing,
and then we can take it from there. See what happens?”
“When did you want them?”
“By next Wednesday, say? A week long enough, do you reckon?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t make any promises.”
“Great. Thanks, Ernie. I know you were the right man to turn to.” The
Hufflepuff seemed to swell, and Harry told him it was worth a little inflated
ego if McMillian was able to get the job done. Now he just had to remember to
let Hermione know the matter was underway.
“And, Harry. What do you think of a political club?”
“Political club? What do you mean?”
“Where those with an interest might discuss politics.”
“Like a—a—a junior Wizengamot? Minus the trials and all?”
“Yes, I suppose you could liken it to that.”
“Sound like it might be something. Why don’t you write-up a proposal and share
it at the next Prefects’ meeting,” Harry suggested.
“I’ll do that. And I’ll see what I can do about those board games. Harry, Ron,”
he ended in parting, turning away. “Ladies,” he added to the two newcomers
before swiftly and purposefully heading off towards a different area of the
library.
“Hermione,” Harry sighed with no little relief, feeling something inside him
settle and relax. “H-Hannah. You two all right?”
“Perfectly. Was Ernie mentioning board games?”
“Yeah, uh, I asked him to see about collecting some for us,” he informed her,
looking both of them over critically. They certainly looked perfect he thought,
shifting in his seat as something else started to agree with him.
“Ron! You’re not copying Harry’s essay are you?! Harry!”
“What! No!” Ron protested. “Think after seven years I’ven’t learned not to copy
from Harry?”
“Hey!”
“I’m only looking it over for ideas. See,” he gestured to the books he’d
collected earlier. “I’m doing my own work.”
Hermione looked at the titles and sniffed, pulling out two and pushing the
others away. “Here. These will help you most. Harry, will you be here long?
Hannah and I need to talk to you privately about another matter. I’m going to
take her back to our rooms now.”
“Uh, no. No, in fact, I’m not getting much done here anyway, so I’d might as
well come with you now. Just give me a minute to collect my things and check
these books out.”
“I’ll get the books,” Hermione offered, collecting two texts and taking them up
to Madame Prince. Hannah shifted nervously, indecisively between following
Hermione and remaining with Harry.
“What’s going on?” Ron asked, frowning at Harry and then the blonde Hufflepuff.
“You’re not really going to leave me on my own here, Harry. Help a mate out.
Moral support and all that.”
“Sorry, Ron. I think Seamus and Dean are in here, too, somewhere. And I know I
saw Terry and Michael earlier. Pavarti and Lavendar are over around the corner
near the west side.”
“Nah, never get anything done with those two. Fine. Leave me. See what I care.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“I’m fine. Go, take care of whatever it is, but don’t forget quidditch
practice, eh?”
“I set the time, so, yeah. I think we’re good. See you then, right?”
“Right,” the redhead muttered as he was left abandoned at the table, Abbott
trailing closely to Harry as he met up with Hermione near the door and the
three disappeared completely.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@0@5@@@0@9@@@1@3@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s going on?” he asked immediately after the door closed behind them,
tossing his bag into the corner, ignoring Hermione’s huff at his treatment of
educational property.
“Hannah and I went to the Hospital wing during lunch,” Hermione began.
“Is everything all right?” he demanded, looking from one to the other. “Are you
all right? Are you still hurting? You would have told me if you were still
hurting right? What did Madame Pomfrey—“
Hannah pulled back from the impromptu kiss and studied Harry’s stunned face.
“Hn. What do you know? It really does work.”
“Harry, we’re fine,” Hermione told him. “Perfectly healthy and not in any pain
what-so-ever.”
“Maybe an achy muscle,” Hannah put in, grinning at him despite the annoyed look
Hermione shot her. “But, yes, in perfect health. That wasn’t why we went to see
Madame Pomfrey.”
“Then what—“
“We had her preform the pregnancy charm, Harry.”
“And, are you…?” he asked, looking from one to the other.
“No,” Hannah admitted.
And wasn’t that a stabbing pain of disappointment. Which was crazy, he knew.
He’d had these thoughts earlier.
“We’re not pregnant,” Hannah continued. “But we can still be. Remember the
charm I told you about this morning? I have received Madame Pomfrey’s agreement
to use it.”
“What is this charm?” Hermione demanded.
“It allows a witch to conceive a child and then to, well, put off the
pregnancy, like a stasis. It was used often during wars and invasions, when men
would go off to battle and it wasn’t safe for a witch to begin carrying a
child.”
“Is there a limit on the stasis?” Hermione asked. “Is it safe for the mother or
the child?”
“There is a limit,” Hannah admitted. “It’s only really safe to carry on the
spell for as long as a normal gestation, so, about forty weeks? But that’s
still gives plenty of time for us. It means we could safely become pregnant
this year and not have to stress over it affecting our NEWTS. Many seventh
years end up using it for that reason. Especially those who are betrothed or
engaged.”
“It must be frowned upon,” Hermione postured.
“Mostly by the old pureblood families because it can be used as a potential
line theft.”
“Line theft?”
“Well, yes. It’s impossible to tell who the father of the baby is until after
it’s born, and if the mother is pregnant before she is married and then
released the spell after, the child is legally her husband’s. It was used ages
ago to try and counter act the Norman invasion and even the Vikings before
them. If a witch was already pregnant and then raped she wouldn’t have to
suffer an unwanted child and the possibility of her magic killing her
lessened.”
“WHAT!?!” Even Hermione looked shocked at that.
“If a witch—or wizard—is raped, there’s a tendency for their magic to lash out
and kill them. It’s why it’s such a hideous crime to sexually abuse someone…”
“But Voldemort—“ Hannah flinched. “He has his Death Eaters out there hurting
people all the time!”
Hannah shivered. “I know, but it’s not like they’re doing, doing that!”
“But they are,” Harry protested. “It’s horrible. They have a house, like a
house of horrors. There’s a room, rooms, with all these people chained to
different devices, and the Death Eaters can come and go to any time, use them
however they wish. And these people, they are rotated out regularly, there’s
always a new victim, a fresh target.”
“Are you sure they’re witches and wizards and not muggles?”
“No, no, I’m not sure, but… “
“But it’s disgusting regardless.” Hermione broke in. Hannah nodded, looking
shaken.
Then she did give herself a shake. “But that’s not what we were talking about.
Hermione, this morning I offered myself to Harry, to carry his child.”
“You did?”
“Yes. It’s, well, family is important, and I know that the Potter Family is
centuries old. It shouldn’t be allowed to die because of some—what did you call
him earlier?”
“A snake-faced megalomaniac monster?” Harry offered.
“Yes, that,” Hannah agreed, “Who didn’t have the decency to stay dead! And
Harry’s the last of his line. So it’s really, well, it’s almost a duty, not to
mention an honor to aid in the rebuilding of such a distinguished and historic
family line.”
“An honor?” Hermione repeated, shivering.
“Yes, an honor to be considered a candidate to be a mother to Harry’s child.”
He felt it again, the tingling rise of his magic, calling out in response.
“An honor to be considered a candidate to be a mother,” Hermione whispered,
looking at Harry standing next to her.
“I accept your offer of consideration,” Harry whispered in response, closing
the gap between them.
And that was the spell, Harry realized, the same from earlier, calling his
magic out, mixing and blending with Hermione’s. Pushing, pressing at them
together.
“Are you two going to have sex now?” Hannah asked. “Because I really don’t
think I’m ready to watch, and I’m really not ready to offer to join.”
Harry and Hermione broke apart, staring at each other with something akin to
horror and disbelief.
“We’re not about to have sex,” Hermione gasped.
“But, you two, you’re … together, though,” Hannah frowned. “It’s all right.
I’ll just nip out and, I don’t know. We can get together at a later time.
Tonight, or…”
“We are not going to have sex,” Harry insisted. “Not least because we have
Potions in little less than forty minutes.”
“Ah, well, yes. Potions is bit of a buzz kill,” Hannah allowed with a little
shiver, immensely saddened she’d been obliged to continue taking the class
herself if she wanted to continue on in her chosen career path. “But you’re
going to have to complete the pact eventually, so I’ll just get out of your way
now. There’s only Transfiguration first block Friday. We can get together after
and… discuss things?”
“I have History and Arithmacy after lunch,” Hermione corrected. “But, yes. We
can all sit down together Friday and discuss this.”
“What we know, what we suspect, where we plan to go from here,” Hannah agreed,
nodding.
“Yeah, Friday. Sounds great,” Harry mumbled. “Meanwhile I’ll try not to attack
anyone else in the meantime, right?”
“It’ll be fine, Harry. You’ll see,” Hannah tried to reassure him, hesitantly
reaching over and rubbing his shoulder and back. “We’ll get this figured out,
and once it makes sense, it won’t seem so scary anymore.”
“And meeting Friday will give us tomorrow to take care of any assignments for
the week,” Hermione continued on.
“We’ll need more than tomorrow, Hermione,” Harry protested. “The professors
have really gone a bit mad this year with their workload, in case you’ve failed
to notice.”
“It’s NEWTS’ year is all,” the head girl excused away. “Perfectly
understandable and doable if you just keep to the schedule.”
“And don’t forget we have a Prefects meeting tomorrow night after dinner.”
“Yes, but that shouldn’t take too much time. It’s just a briefing.”
“I don’t know. There are a couple of things I want to get started now that
classes are up and running and everyone’s settled a bit into a routine.”
“Well, we can discuss that later. Right now you were right. We really should
start making our way towards potions. I suspect Slughorn will be giving us
another ‘surprise’ quiz like last Wednesday.”
***** Completing the Pact *****
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@0@1@@@2@8@@@1@0@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was late. Rounds were complete, curfew had come and gone, homework was
worked on, and Harry still couldn’t sleep. He was reading in his room when
Hermione knocked against the open door. He tossed the book aside, sitting up.
“What’s up?”
Hermione stepped inside but hovered at the entrance, biting her lip and rubbing
her thumb and index fingers. A sure sign she was nervous or uncertain about
something. “Harry, I was wondering,” the older girl began.
Although it was late and he was already in his pajamas, Hermione he noted was
still in her loungewear. She hadn’t even smeared that face gunk potion she’d
taken to using at the end of last year. Her hair, caught up in a messy
ponytail, was far from neat or orderly. And yet, somehow, he found the entire
picture highly enticing. Harry shifted some more, this time in an effort to
hide the effect her proximity had on him.
“I was wondering if you would,” she began again but then faltered and
retreated. “Never mind. I’ll just, good night.”
“No, wait!” He scrambled up off the bed, tangling in the comforter in his rush
to get to her and nearly tumbling to the floor in the process. “Wait, what did
you want to ask me?” he gasped.
“I,” she tried again, squaring her shoulders and forcing herself to look at him
in the face. “I was wondering if you would allow me to look at you,” she rushed
out, her cheeks infusing with color.
Harry blinked. “Come again?”
She couldn’t continue looking at him, she found. It was just too embarrassing.
“As you’re aware, my experience with boys is rather limited, and so my
opportunities to explore and study have been rare. I was hoping, that maybe,
you would, I’ve seen pictures, of course. But pictures and illustrations in a
book just aren’t the same as a live model, and—“
“You want to look at me,” he repeated dumbly, his voice cracking slightly.
“Like, naked-like, looking?”
“Well, yes.”
He licked his lips, shifting from foot to foot. This was Hermione, he tried to
rationalize, and normally he would never even think about getting naked with
his best friend, but then considering the things that had been happening
between them recently… And really, when had he ever done things normally? The
crutch of the matter was, his body was really, really happy with the idea of
stripping naked; especially when he could pretty well remember what Hermione
looked like underneath her clothes. Sure, he was no stunning specimen of the
male physique—he was too skinny, even if he did have some pretty pronounced
muscles. Hermione, on the other hand… and turnabout was only fair.
“Uh, okay. I guess, I mean, sure,” he finally forced his voice to reply. “Uh,
where—“
“Here’s all right,” Hermione rushed to assure him, unable to hide the
excitement in her voice, which in turn served to excite Harry. It was kind of a
rush to know a pretty girl was interested in seeing you naked, after all.
He debated whether he should try some corny move, like dancing to the strip
tease theme or something, but quickly passed on that idea, simply reaching up
to start unbuttoning his pajama tops. He was almost done before Hermione left
the door way. Turning to drop the night shirt at the bottom of his bed, he was
surprised to find Hermione standing right in front of him. She reached out,
touching his shoulder before running her fingers down his arms, up again and
across his chest. Her fingers brushed over his nipple, and he started, shocked
at the titillating sensation.
Hermione ran her hand down Harry’s chest, tracing her finger tips along the
natural contours, detouring to cover some of the unnatural discolorations,
remnants of old wounds. Harry sucked in a harsh breath, eyes fluttering shut as
his hands fisted and clenched at his sides in an effort not to reach out and
grab her. Her fingers brushed against his nipples again, causing his breath to
hitch. She did it again, and then she cupped her palm over his chest.
“Women’s breasts experience different levels of sensitivity and tenderness
throughout the month,” she began rattling off. “Do men experience that change?”
“I—I don’t rightly know.”
“Probably not, I’d imagine. After all, the tenderness is tied to hormone
levels. Still…” She hesitated a moment before darting forward and tracing the
dusky brown nipple with her tongue.
Harry groaned, “Hermione.”
“Still, it’s reassuring to see it’s such an erogenous zone for a man.” She
trailed around to stand behind him. “So many scars.”
He shivered.
“I’m surprised at how pronounced your muscles are,” she murmured.
“Quidditch,” he panted.
Hermione frowned. “But you don’t do all that much. Sit on a broom and chase
after a little ball.”
Harry huffed out a tiny laugh. “Sure you’d say that, but think of all the
balancing that sitting on that broom takes. And because we all practice with
the Quaffle, there’s lots of catching and throwing going on at practices for
everyone. Plus, as a Seeker, I do a lot more acrobatic flying that the others.
And then there’s all the work I do over the summers,” he threw in, almost as an
afterthought.
“And these scars,” she noted sadly, and Harry could tell she was tracing them
along his skin.
“Oh, you know. Boys will be boys.”
“Somehow I doubt if I asked the rest of the Gryffindor seventh years to strip
their shirts that they would have even half as many scars as you do, Harry,
even added up all together.”
“What do you want me to say, Hermione? I know they’re ugly.”
“No, Harry. They’re not ugly. It just hurts to know how much you’ve suffered.”
She pressed her lips to his skin, as if she could kiss away the long ago hurts.
“Still, your back is different.”
“Huh?”
“It’s almost like you have extra muscles in your back.”
“Probably from all the lifting and painting this summer. My aunt decided that
she wanted a fresh coat of paint on everything—the fence, the garage, the
house, inside and out.”
Hermione hummed but didn’t comment. Which was good because her fingers had
skimmed down his back and slipped past the waist band of his pajamas,
effectively frying Harry’s brain cells.
“Will you take them off?”
“Wha-What?” Harry swallowed.
“Your—your pants. Will you take them off now, please.”
“Hermione, look, I don’t think—“
“It’s okay. I just want to—to look, to see and—and compare.”
“Hermione, I’m not—I’m not, you know. I mean, you’re really pretty and—“
“Harry, are you embarrassed about your body or about my seeing it? I’ve liked
what I’ve seen so far, and I realize you’re aroused. Is that what you’re afraid
of me seeing? Because, if that’s the case, I’ll remind you, I’ve felt you naked
before.”
“I—oh gods,” Harry groaned, sucking in a huge gulp of air while he started
tugging his pajama bottoms off.
He dropped his pants. He was still turned away from her, but that didn’t matter
all that much. He was naked. In his bedroom. With his best friend. And Hermione
was looking at him. Staring at him. Studying him. And worse—she was touching
him.
He groaned as her fingers slid from his back to his butt, teasing the tiny
delicate hair that covered his skin, nearly invisible. Her fingers traced down
and then up the curve of his ass, and he groaned, trembling, wanting to spread
his legs a bit and invite that inquisitive touch to his dangly bits.
As it was, he was trembling, fighting to stay standing. “Hermione, gods. I
need…”
“Does it hurt?” She asked, and he twitched, surprised to realize that she’d
moved so she could continue stroking and feeling up his ass, but so she should
see and study his front, too. And right now, her eyes were glued to his penis.
Her fingers curled against his skin, her nails lightly scratching him.
“Touch me,” he pleaded.
She looked up at his face, and she must have seen something because she
withdrew her hands completely. A protesting whimper caught in his throat. He
wanted her hands on him, wanted her body on his…
“Lie down, on the bed, please,” she directed, and after only a moment’s breath
to process the request, he complied, laying back against his sheets and pillow,
legs spread out and open for her gaze, inviting her touch.
That’s what she wanted, right? The freedom to look and touch every part of his
body? And Harry wanted that, wanted her touch on every part of him. Wanted her
touch and taste and scent on every bit of him. So he laid back and spread
himself wide for her in offering, silently begging her to touch and taste and
take from him.
“I feel compelled towards you,” Hermione finally admitted, still studying the
visage before her, eyes eating up the sight hungrily, greedily feasting.
“Touch me.”
And this time she did, reaching out and touching his knee. His muscles jumped
and spasmed under her fingers as they slowly ran up his thigh, shifting the
delicate hairs. Then, emboldened, her palm pressed down, cupping the warmth of
his skin. Her other hand came up, reaching for his opposite thigh.
“Compelled to touch you,” she continued on whispered breath. She leaned over
him, rubbing her face against his chest again. “Smell you.” She dragged her
chin down the center of his torso before dipping down to tease his bellybutton.
His hips twitched and jerked. If not for the natural curve, her chin would have
been caressing his cock right then.
“I want to touch you.”
“Touch me,” he growled.
And she did, bringing her hands up those final inches that crossed the space
from his thighs to his privates, transversing those tiny hairs that grew darker
and coarser, teasing her fingers until she slid past and onto silky skin. She’d
seen pictures, in books, of course, but this was another example of where books
just could not properly prepare one for real life. He was… beautiful, her mind
tried to supply. This bit of anatomy that was so different from anything on her
own body. It was fascinating, and she wanted…
Her fingers trailed up and down the length of him, a light caress that was
maddening, skimming from root to tip. He reached down and grabbed her hand,
forcing her fingers to curl around his shaft and squeeze… Her breath caught,
eyes widening as they looked down at him with a mixture of emotions that he
didn’t care to analyze right then and there, too caught up in the exquisiteness
of her soft hand moving against his most delicate bits.
“Don’t stop,” he told her, not offering much of a choice, his hand still
covering hers, guiding her movements up and down his shaft. Not that she had
much interest in stopping as he continued to show her just how he liked to
wank, with slow twists and glides and smears and tugs. His other hand reached
up and curled around her neck, tugging her back down over him, and she yelped
when she lost her balance and went tumbling, sprawling against him.
He grunted, hips pumping up, as he dragged her face to his and hissed against
her lips. “Just like that. So fucking perfect, Hermione. You’re fucking
perfect. Feels so bloody brilliant. I’m gonna come, Hermione. I’m gonna come
all over your hand. Your fucking perfect hand, on my cock, and it feels so
fucking good, Hermione. Gonna come.”
“Harry! I want—I—mphf!” She wasn’t given the chance to tell him want she
wanted. His tongue pressed into her mouth even as his penis pressed into her
hand, and his movements sped up, jerkily, desperately until he cried out
against her, body trembling under hers. She felt the sticky wetness of his cum
coating their joined hands, still moving over his penis but slower now,
gentling, until finally he lie panting but still beneath her. Even his kisses
had eased back into a nuzzling rub of skin against skin.
“Give me a moment,” he murmured against her cheek, causing her to shiver. The
one hand at her neck was still squeezing, gently massaging, keeping the sparks
and tingles that raced through her alive and charged.
“What—what for?” she questioned, fingers tangling with his, gliding and
smearing cum from her hand to his. The sensation was…intriguing.
Green eyes opened, bright, luminous, and… something she wasn’t sure but sent
those shivers racing through her at an accelerant tempo.
“To return the favor,” he told her, rolling them over, pressing his naked body
into hers as she fell into the mattress, and she realized for the first time
that although he was completely naked, she was still dressed.
“Harry,” she moaned, head falling back as his mouth closed over her throat.
“I want to touch you, Hermione.” His hot breath caused goose flesh to prickle
down across skin. “I want to taste you.” His tongue was like wet fire, searing
and burning her, and then his teeth scraped against her skin. “All of you.”
She undulated below him, hips pressing up to rock against his pelvis, cradled
and frotting against hers. Her hands clenched against his, even as he pressed
them down into the mattress up near the pillow cradling her head. And she felt
she could do little more than lie there, gasping for breath and reveling in the
fiery sweep of emotions he managed to evoke within her.
“Please,” she gasped. “Please, Harry, touch me.”
And he did.
His hands reached for the hem of her lounge shirt, pushing and wrenching it up,
forcing her arms up over her head and freeing her upper body to the cool night
air. And then he paused, took a moment to force himself to slow down and just
look, like she had. And what he saw was beautiful: Hermione, laying half naked
in his bed, chest heaving under the weight of her panting breaths, skin flushed
with arousal and maybe just a hint of self-conscious embarrassment, and her
breasts…
He groaned, reaching up to cup one exquisite breast, test its weight and
texture, marvel at how perfect it felt in his hand. “Fucking perfect,” he
whispered again, daring to look up into those brown-brown eyes.
“Beautiful and perfect and mine,” he told her, falling over her to reclaim her
mouth. His tongue breached her lips, thrust in again and again before sucking
her tongue back into his mouth, encouraging her to kiss him back as both hands
continued to play and explore her breasts. Finally he pulled back, dropped down
to her chest and began laving and bathing her breasts in scalding kisses and
scraping bites. She continued to writhe and undulate beneath him and he
growled, bucking forcefully between her thighs.
“Do you feel that, Hermione? Can you feel how hard I’m getting, again, because
of you?”
“…Harry…”
“Amazing, beautiful, perfect Hermione,” he whispered against her teat. “You’re
going to make me come again, from just the sight, smell, touch of you.
Hermione…” He groaned again, thrusting against her, sharply enough to draw a
cry from her lips. “My Hermione.”
“Harry, please,” she whimpered, desperately clutching at him.
“What do you want?” he asked her, rubbing his face into the valley between her
beautiful, amazing breasts, squeezing each one in his hands, pressing them
together so he could attempt to kiss both nipples at once. “Do you want more?
Do you want me to touch you more?”
“Yes! Yes, Harry! Touch me! Please, touch me,” she begged, wiggling beneath
him, struggling to press more of her body against his, but that was nearly
impossible. They were already pressed tightly to one another.
His hands fell from her breasts, and she sobbed at the lack of contact. Nails
scraped at her hips, and the tugging of cloth helped her realize he’d gone for
her lounge slacks, was attempting to remove them, and she quickly arched up off
the bed, giving him the space needed to wrench the offending clothing down her
hips, sloughing off her legs, and kicked away. Only his hands, pressing
intimately into the hot, moist folds of her sex, made her realize he’d
effectively removed her panties as well.
The act of removing her pants had forced Harry to scooch lower down her body,
but that was perfectly fine with him because he now had immediate access to
Hermione’s intimate bits. Those bits that a woman protected most fiercely
against casual touches or sweaty-palmed groups in a broom closet. Ready,
immediate, and permission granted access, he thought, spreading her legs apart
and looking his fill even as his fingers pressed and sunk into her warmth.
He’d not really looked or bothered to study this womanly bit before—not in the
rush of sex and fucking two weeks ago, when everything was so crazily fucked
up. He’d looked a little bit, this morning with Hannah—had it really only been
this morning?!?!—but Hannah was a little bit different from Hermione, more than
just being blonde, he realized.
It was sort of like how a bloke was similar but different from any other bloke,
he thought abstractly, watching transfixed as his fingers continued to
disappear and reappear from inside her body. Inside her. He had his fingers
inside Hermione’s body, the same way he’d had his dick there, and wasn’t that
just bloody amazing? Brilliant. The way her body just stretched and opened and
took him in like that. He pressed a third finger, watching the opening stretch
and accept his intrusion as Hermione continued to moan and writhe and try to
press against him.
His thumb brushed over the little nub, and he watched in amazement as she
reacted, the magic literally pouring off her, trying to wrap around him and
draw him into her. He was more than willing, more than eager to sink his dick
into her again and chase after that euphoric sense of completion, but there was
something he wanted to do first, since he had her here in his bed, spread out
willingly before him.
He inched closer, rubbing his cheek over her soft belly and down to the side
until his head was resting on her hip. How many times had they’d stayed up in
the common rooms at night with his head resting in her lap, so close, just like
this, and yet so innocent, unassuming, unthinkingly…? Now there was no
innocence in the position. His eyes darted up to look at her face—got
momentarily distracted by those perfect breasts again, falling to either side
of her chest. She had a hand fisted in the pillow under her head, another
clenching in the sheets below. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face turned
away, but he could still she the flush of her skin, glowing from her face down
her neck and across those gorgeous breasts.
“Hermione.”
He waited until she would look at him. It only took a minute, but finally she
did force her gaze down her naked body, took in the visage of an equally naked
Harry, his face cradled so near, so close to her sex, and it tightened and
pulled at things inside her that she didn’t think could be tightened or
stretched any farther, and she cried out, beyond articulate words.
“I want to taste you.”
Apparently she did have words left, because suddenly a litany of them were
pouring from her lips. “Yes! Please, please, Harry, I need, I need. Please,
touch me. Taste me. Harry, please, yes!”
He didn’t wait for her to finish giving her consent, merely tipped his face
forward, rubbing his cheeks against the wiry coarse hairs that covered her
mound. He forced the folds of her sex further apart and then buried face, mouth
and nose against her heated sex. She screamed, he thought, maybe, but he was
too distracted to pay her shouts and words any attention.
There was really nothing quite like it to describe the texture and taste of
her. Vaguely he remember listening in on the other boys talking about women’s
bits, trying to describe it, but it wasn’t fishy or in any way disgusting.
Maybe a little creepy weird, yeah, because let’s face it—there was a bloody
hole where a cock and balls should’ve been! But, if anything, Harry thought it
was entirely enchanting. Almost as amazing as breasts. Or maybe it was a tie.
He wasn’t sure yet.
He used his tongue to trace along the little bumps and ridges, intrigued at the
unevenness and the little creases; ran his tongue around his fingers, where
they continued to stroke in and out of her opening, and even pulled his fingers
away so he could press his tongue into that gaping hole, amazed at the way it
seemed to open and close and squeeze around him. So hot. So incredibly hot. And
then he returned to that little nub of flesh that had cause those amazing
reactions earlier when he’d brushed it with his thumb. How would she respond if
he sucked on it, he wondered.
She screamed again, body bucking and thrashing so violently he had to use one
hand and his body draped across her thighs just to keep her hips against the
bed. Still, he didn’t stop, wasn’t sure if he could stop, enthralled by the
scent and taste of her, the feeling of her body and magic as he wrapped around
him, dancing and whirling about in a frenzied cacophony or sounds and colors
and sensations.
“Harry! Please! Stop! Please, I can’t--!”
He pulled back, shocked, stunned, slightly horrified as he looked up at her,
her body twitching and shivering uncontrollably as her sobs filled the room.
“Hermione? Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he soothed, crawling back up the bed and
pulling her against him, nuzzling her cheek and chin. “Please, Hermione.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed brokenly, curling in around him. “Too much, Harry. It’s
too much. Hurts.”
“What hurts, Hermione? Tell me,” he coaxed. “Tell me and I’ll make it go away.
Tell me how to make it better, Hermione?”
“It’s too much,” she cried again. “I need.”
He pulled her closer to him. “What, Hermione? What do you need?”
She grasped at his hand, tugging, pulling his hand down until it pressed
against her soft, flat belly. “Hurts,” she whimpered. “Why does it hurt? Oh,
gods, Harry. Need, want, so badly. Don’t understand.”
But he thought he might. He could see it, if he allowed himself to focus on it,
the angry flux of magic that was pulling at both of them, spearing both their
magical cores with tentacles that wrapped around and pulled at their magic, and
he thought he could Hannah’s voice from earlier that day, telling them, warning
them.
'You’re going to have to complete the pact eventually…'
He’d thought it earlier, when it had happened with Hannah. A spell. A spell
he’d completed almost immediately with Hannah, but it had been nearly twelve
hours for him and Hermione. Twelve hours for the magic to build, and tighten,
and pull at them, demand them to complete the pact.
“Hermione,” he breathed against her cheek, nuzzling her again as she continued
to sob and shake against him. He maneuvered her around until he could wrap
around her, pressing into her back. “Shh, Hermione, I have you, I accept your
offer of consideration,” he whispered into her ear before turning to nuzzle and
kiss along her neck. “Mother of my children.”
The magic pinged, tightened. Hermione cried out again, hands clenching around
his, balling into fists that pressed into her empty belly.
Magic was strange and amazing and powerful and scary, he thought, shifting her
thighs apart and nudging his still happily-erect penis against her hot folds,
silky wet and welcoming, he thought, slowly thrusting forward, little bit by
little bit until he was nestled completely within her.
Oh, gods, he was inside Hermione—and his hips jerked of their own violation.
Inside her, having sex with his best friend, with Hermione. And she was hot and
wanton, and moaning and writhing against him, thrusting down on his shaft as
the magic in the air, the magic of the spell and their own magic poured off
their bodies, pumping into the air around them with the same furious speed as
he found themselves pumping against each other’s bodies. And he could see it,
that magic, their magic. It swirled in the air around them, clogging and
choking them with its sheer supremacy dominance sovereignty potential might
intensity potency.
It was overwhelming, overpowering, and he came with a might shout. A feeling
like his magic was pulling from him, being sucked from his body, hurting his
every bone and muscle for an infinity…. And then it was over, slammed back into
his own body, his own person once more. Every nerve and muscle twitched in over
sensitized aftermath.
Hermione lay shivering in his arms still, sweaty and exhausted.
“That was… that was… what was that?” she asked after several minutes of
restorative silence.
“Magic,” he answered, as if that one word could answer her multitude of
questions, but really, it was the only answer that could.
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t or wouldn’t, he didn’t know, but for the next
however many minutes, she continued to lie in his arms, resting back against
him. It could have been hours but was more closer to minutes later that she
finally spoke again.
“I should… I should go. Back to my room.”
His arms tightened instinctively. “Don’t,” he pleaded, pressing his face into
the side of her throat. “Stay with me.”
“Harry…”
“I don’t think I could let you go now, Hermione,” he confessed. “I know you
said before that you weren’t in love with me, but I think I am, with you, and
you know me, Hermione. Better than anyone, better than even myself sometimes. I
can’t… I don’t… The thought of it, Hermione, the thought of letting you go
right now, the thought of someone else potentially seeing you like this,
touching you like this…”
He pressed against her, tightening his hold around her. It was so difficult,
trying to find the words to express himself to her, but it was so much easier
when holding her to him, touching her, possessing her like this.
“Mine, Hermione. You’re mine. And I think I would hurt anyone who would try and
take you away from me.”
“Harry, I—”
“Stay. Stay with me. It’s late, you’re naked. Your bed’s so far away. I’m warm,
and I’m here, and my bed is so very comfortable with both of us together.” He
continued to nuzzle against her neck, his fingers still curled around hers as
they rested against her middle. “The morning will be here soon enough. Stay,
Hermione. Sleep with me.”
“So much to do tomorrow,” she mumbled. “Full schedule.”
“All the more reason to get your sleep,” he crooned gently. “Sleep now,
Hermione.”
“Mm. Still need to get up early for calisthenics.”
“My alarm is set. I’ll wake you.”
“Need to… check over… Defense and Charms and ‘rithmacy and runes.”
He kissed neck. “Rest, mother of my children,” he breathed softly, brushing his
fingers over her smooth belly.
“Mmm, too soon,” she mumbled, mostly asleep. “Can take… up to five days, and…
not ready. Checked. After dinner. Next month, maybe…”
He smiled and allowed sleep to take him, thoughts of what Hermione would look
like, heavily pregnant with his children, with a baby suckling at her breast,
with their children scampering around, playing and carrying on in all sorts of
misadventures. They would be brilliant.
***** The Astronomy Tower *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter has been revised.
9/24 – Same Night, The Astronomy Tower
 The week after Hermione’s impromptu birthday party found Neville Longbottom up
in the astronomy tower late a Friday evening. The other students had left,
dragging their tired bodies back to their beds; the 7th term Gryffindor hadn’t
followed the masses. At first, he’d assisted the die-hard astrologists, putting
away the various equipment used by the late-night astronomy students. But then,
even they had finished and went down to find their beds.
Not Neville, though. He was waiting—reflecting, angsting, and waiting.
There was never a guarantee that the other would show up, but he knew it was
more likely than not. And besides, he had thoughts on his mind—heavy thoughts
that bore thinking about that he couldn’t quite focus properly on in the
confined space of the Gryffindor tower. But here, here on the tallest tower of
the castle, there was no ceiling to bounce off of. He could let his thoughts
and ideas wander freely, allow them to trickle through his head and then slide
peacefully into the endless night sky above him, while still feeling the firm,
supportive strength of the stone beneath him.
It was a comfort he only sought at night, something even his beloved
greenhouses could not provide.
It had started some time in their fifth year, and now, practically two years
later, it was a bit of a routine. He came here, several nights a week, mostly
just to think, but also... Many nights, he didn’t remain alone, and that was
good. Perhaps too good, his treacherous mind thought.
He felt guilty, deceiving. This year more than any other. He had seen the
looks, seen the almost-not-quite casual little touches and caresses. He knew
something had changed between the two student heads. Something drastic, life-
altering. His chest clenched painfully, and he clenched his eyes shut against
their burning.
Neville had always had a thing for his smaller dark-haired dorm mate. Ever
since first year, he could suppose. Sure, at first it had been a bit of hero
worship—the Harry Potter and all that—but he’d quickly gotten over that. The
reality was nothing like he’d expected, but then, if he was to be honest, he
was quite relieved for that. Sure he’d never felt quite deserving of being
friends with Harry, but somewhen in their fifth year, things had begun to
change. And then he’d been allowed to go with Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the
Ministry of Magic, and it had been awful.
All those years, all those adventures… He’d always been a little jealous, a
little envious of their escapades. They were true Gryffindors, he would think.
But the Department of Mysteries fiasco was…horrendous. He’d been terrified, but
he’d survived. They’d all somehow survived. Well, the students had, at least.
Neville hadn’t known until sometime during that summer that Harry’s beloved
godfather was Sirius Black, who had died that same night.
Neville had learned things about himself from that night. He’d learned things
about his fellow Gryffindors and people he wanted to call friends. Not all of
them were good, but he realized they couldn’t be unlearned. It was a more
determined Neville Longbottom who returned to Hogwarts for their sixth year.
Neville didn’t like fighting, but he would fight. He would fight to defend and
protect those he cared about and respected, and there wasn’t really anyone else
he respected or cared about so much as Harry Potter. He loved and respected his
Gran, but she was blood. Neville willingly and wholeheartedly had given his
love and respect to one Harry Potter that night in the Ministry…and the other
boy never knew it.
That was why, when they’d returned to Hogwarts for their sixth year, Neville
had made it a point to be there for Harry, whatever the other boy may have
needed. It had started with little things—he’d went down to the kitchens and
spoken to the house elves about helping out, making sure there were little
snacks available whenever Harry was someplace with a table handy. He’d shared
one of his Gran’s favorite wizarding tailor order forms with the other boy,
ostensibly asking Harry’s opinion about what the other boy thought about him
getting this or that robe or pair of trousers and then offering Harry a chance
to look. He’d made reference to some tea tonics that purposely helped with
sleep, and when that didn’t work, he’d started setting an alarm around Harry’s
bed that would alert him if the other boy was having a nightmare.
It was the later that had him startling awake late one night in time to catch
the sound of someone hurriedly stumbling towards the water closet. Neville
fumbled out of his own bed, slipping into his house robe and slippers before
following. He found Harry lurching precariously over one of the toilet bowls,
retching. Neville watched helplessly while the other boy continue to vomit,
wondering what to do, before finally heading to one of the sinks and getting a
cup of water.
“You all right, Harry?” he asked worriedly when it looked like the other boy
was finished heaving.
“Yeah, thanks, Neville. Sorry if I woke you,” Harry mumbled, gratefully taking
the water and rinsing out his sour mouth.
“No worries about me. What about you?” Neville insisted, studying his face
carefully. Harry looked pale, paler than normal, anyway, and there were dark
bruises under his eyes.
“About as good to be expected, I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?” he offered when it looked like Harry wasn’t going to
say anymore.
Harry hemmed and hawed before finally answering. “It’s just nightmares, Nev.
Nothing to worry about.”
“Nightmares or visions?” he asked, a bit boldly for himself, but then, he was
learning he’d have to be a bit bold to get Harry to take him seriously.
Especially if it was in regards to Harry himself. Harry never seemed to care
about himself enough, at least not in Neville’s opinion.
Harry’s eyes slammed shut and he breathed deeply, forcibly swallowing. For a
long minute, it didn’t seem as if Harry was going to answer him, but finally he
did.
“They’re monsters,” Harry said shallowly. “No human being could do the things
they do. It’s…disgusting and horrible and sickening and…and they’re monsters.”
Neville squeezed his eyes shut, stomach twisting. A vision, then, he thought,
and once more Harry had been trapped into seeing what the Death Eaters were
doing to some innocent victim. Making a quick decision, Neville grabbed Harry’s
hand and tugged him out of the bathroom. “Come on,” he told the other, leading
him out of their dorm room and down and out of the common room, too.
It was late enough that Neville wasn’t worried about anyone finding them. They
were heading away from Gryffindor Tower before Harry finally began questioning
him.
“Where are we going?” Harry asked, not fighting Neville’s grip on his hand that
tugged him along insistently. “This is the wrong way for the Room of
Requirement or the kitchens.”
“We’re not going there,” Neville agreed, leading him straight to the Astronomy
Tower’s steps.
“Neville, what—it’s going to be bloody freezing up there,” Harry finally
protested as they began climbing.
Neville shot him a look back. “You’ve got your wand, don’t you? Heating
charms.”
He led them all the way to the top of the tower and out onto the observation
floor. It was the highest point in all of the castle. They had an unhindered
360 panoramic view of the world around them, the night sky luminous above them,
the numerous stars twinkling like diamonds in an inky blue-black sea of space.
Neville led him right smack into the center of the space before releasing
Harry’s hand. With a flick of his wand he’d somehow managed to conjure a semi-
decent blanket before shooting off a warming charm for him and Harry. He
stretched out, laying on his back and pillowing his head on his arms as he
stared up at the night sky above them.
He didn’t move otherwise, didn’t say anything. He just lay there and let the
other boy decide to join him on the blanket or not. After a heart-achingly long
pause, Harry crumpled down beside him, sitting hunched over. Good enough,
Neville thought, reaching up and pulling Harry down against his side, silently
offering his body as a pillow for the other teen. Harry tensed, but then slowly
relaxed against him, and Neville smiled. He’d come this far, it wasn’t too much
harder to work up the courage to bury a hand in Harry’s wild, unruly mop of
dark hair, gently combing and massaging the scalp of the head that pressed
against his stomach.
For the longest time, they didn’t say anything. Each lost in their own
thoughts; they didn’t need to say anything. But finally, Neville spoke first.
“I like to come up here, a couple of nights a week,” he said into the darkness.
“I like looking up at the sky, seeing all those stars and constellations,
slowly moving through the sky. Sometimes I think I can actually see dancing
colors in the space between. All swirling blues and blacks and purples, filling
the night sky. And I think, how immense the world, the universe must be, and
how small and insignificant I must be when compared to all that. But I still
matter. My choices, my decisions, the things I do or don’t do… they still
matter. I matter.”
Harry shifted against him, but didn’t say anything for the longest time. And
then, finally, he did.
“I wish I could unsee what I’ve seen. I wish I could just wave my wand and make
it all stop, all just disappear. Sometimes I just feel so helpless—I mean, I
can’t do anything to help these people, just watch them get tortured and raped
and killed.”
He kept his silence, giving Harry’s shoulder a quick squeeze of comfort before
he continued to card his fingers through the inky black hair. He didn’t speak,
but let the other boy have his release.
“It’s… they’re awful. Gods awful. Disgusting and sickening and… and evil, Nev.”
Harry shivered. “What they do… what they did to that poor family tonight… How
can anyone be so cruel? I wouldn’t even wish that on my relatives. And they
just laughed and cheered each other on…”
Harry continued to shiver, and Neville reached for his wand, casting another
localized warming charm around them, although he suspected Harry’s shiver, much
like his own, had little to do with the frigid October air and more to do with
topic.
“And he was there… he was… proud of them,” Harry rasped. “It was awful, Nev.
What they made that father do to his little girl… She must have been only seven
or eight. She was so small, and she screamed, begged, and… and they just
laughed,” he choked. “They laughed as they took turns with the mother and the
older daughter, and…. Gods, Nev.”
Harry curled around the other teen, burying his face against Neville’s stomach
and pulling his knees up against Neville’s side. He reached out with his other
arm, pulling the slighter teen up closer to him. Harry was still so much
smaller than any other the other sixth years, and Neville had always been a
bit…bigger—pudgier if not taller, although in the last couple of years he’d
managed to sprout up some. He was definitely broader and taller than Harry now.
“They’re monsters.”
Neville didn’t know what to say. He agreed, he almost always agreed with Harry.
“He was touring houses again tonight, too. I’m not sure what exactly they’re
looking for, but I think they might have found it. He was really pleased
tonight, and this was before… before the…entertainment. They’re always talking
about these plans,” he sneered, “But I can never seem to make sense of it. And
they’re planning another raid, but I don’t know when or where.”
“It’s not your responsibility,” Neville finally cut in, reminding him. “That’s
what Dumbledore and the Ministry are supposed to be doing, right?”
“I know, but…”
“But nothing,” Neville answered. He added another supportive shoulder squeeze
before continuing. “If it makes you feel any better, maybe you could tell
Dumbledore about your newest vision.”
“He’ll just give me that worried, disappointed look again,” Harry groused.
“Not everyone can learn Occulemency, he should know that,” he defended his
friend. Harry had spoken only breifly before about the failed lessons from his
fifth year, and Neville had offered what tips he knew about the art. It didn’t
seem to change Harry’s opinion of himself as a failure, but Neville wasn’t
ready to give up trying. “It’s especially difficult for someone who’s so
empathic.”
Harry grumbled against his stomach, but he didn’t try to pull away. Not yet.
“I’m not some bleeding heart.”
“No, but you care,” Neville insisted calmly. “You sincerely care about people,
Harry, and that matters. That matters a lot, to the people you help and others,
too.”
They lapsed into another stretch of semi-comfortable silence, and Neville
soaked up the moment. It was peaceful. It was calm. It was soothing. Just
being. A warm body in the night, a pillar of strength. It was something Harry
excelled at—making him feel necessary, important. Only a few others had ever
made Neville feel like he mattered, he made a difference, and he savored these
moments whenever and however he could.
That Harry Potter—strong, confident, powerful Harry Potter—was one of those
people made his chest swell and ache with pride and purpose. Being able to be
there for Harry when the other teen was shredded… being able to support the
teen as he painstakingly mended himself back together… being able to be the
calm shelter and support Harry seemed to crave and need so badly… Harry, who
was always the bolster for others.
“Are you feeling a bit better now?” he asked gently, hating to break the
moment, but knowing it needed to be done.
“Yeah, I suppose I am,” Harry mumbled, not making any move to leave.
That was fine with Neville. He would stay there the entire night if that’s what
Harry needed. He would do just about anything to help the other teen, more so
now than ever before, he decided.
“I’ll always be here for you, Harry, if you ever need anything,” he promised
softly.
“Thanks, Nev,” the teen murmured, offering up a quick squeeze, not quite a hug,
before pushing up to his feet. “You’re a true friend. This was…good. I feel
better. Thanks.”
Neville smiled, sad and whimsical as he watched Harry retreat back into the
castle. He closed his eyes and tilted his face back towards the night sky,
focusing on regulating his breathing.
If only….
And that’s how it started. Neville would continue to retreat to the Astronomy
Towers to think and genuine reflect… and sometimes, he wouldn’t be there alone.
Sometimes Harry would come floundering onto the scene. Sometimes the other boy
would scream off the side of the tower; sometimes he would sob uncontrollably.
Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything; sometimes, however, he would ramble off
everything he’d been forced to witness, and Neville felt guilty, but he’d often
wished Harry wouldn’t, because the words he spoke were the words of horrendous
nightmares—pain and cruelty and the vilest of vile.
No matter what, Neville welcomed Harry agreeably, silently offering his
strength and support to the other teen. He never asked him any questions or
forced him to talk. He just continued to lie there quietly, offering what
comfort he could. After last year, he was used to this, had come to desire this
quiet, personal time with Harry. Sometimes the other teen would just lie there
quietly, allowing Neville to ramble on—sharing random stories of when he was
little or of something that had happened that day. Most of the time, though,
they just passed the time in silence.
And then sometimes, Harry didn’t show.
Tonight, it seemed, would be one of those nights.
Neville sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. This year had been different all
around. He was different. Harry was different. And there was definitely
something happening between Harry and Hermione, Neville was sure of it. It made
sense, really. They were both powerful and smart and amazing and beautiful…
Neville groaned, pressing his fists against his eye sockets.
It was more than just Harry and Hermione being Headboy and Headgirl, he could
tell. There was a special energy that wafted off of them both, that resonated
in the very air between them. Neville could almost imagine the taste of it, the
feel of it rippling against his skin. He knew if he went through the family
rituals like his Gran had wanted this summer, than he would be doing a lot more
than just imagining. But he hadn’t been ready for that.
It wasn’t like he didn’t have any family pride or was ashamed of his family’s
ancestry. He just wasn’t ready to open himself up to those potential changes
right now. Not when he didn’t know how it would affect him, affect his ability
to support Harry. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t still feel the family magics
bubbling beneath his skin, occasionally escaping in tiny bursts. He could still
access the deeper family magics, if he really needed to. He didn’t need to go
through some ritual to realize his full potential. His Gran was wrong, he was
sure of it. Sure, it would take longer to master his inheritance by allowing
the magic to mature naturally instead of releasing it all in one go, but that
was okay with him.
Neville rolled over onto his feet and stretched. It was time to get some sleep.
***** Luna Makes an Offer *****
Chapter Summary
     Luna knows something the trio don't, and she's willing to share.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter has been revised...again.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
Tues. 9/30 –Luna makes her offer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 The lithe slip of a woman hummed merrily as she moved through the corridors,
joyful at the thought of what might be served for pudding this evening.  It was
only a Tuesday, but the first month of school was already over.  Already she
had learned so much from her classes, and even more from her tutorials.  She
was having a lovely time in the extended version of the DA this year, and she
thought it was a brilliant idea of Harry’s. Almost worthy of a
Ravenclaw, she thought with a little smile.
 
A sudden piercing pain through her core had her crumpling, as if to protect her
sensitive organs. 
 
There was no protection, for there was no physical wound, and Luna Lovegood was
left panting for breath as she leaned heavily against the stone wall.  She
closed her silvery eyes and focused on calming her breaths, small fist clenched
tightly to her middle.  Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to ease, her
tense and tight muscles began to release, and she stood up. Still focusing on
her steady breathing, she slowly relaxed her magic, letting it flow freely
through and around her body.
 
She was running out of time, she thought sadly.  She would have to make a
decision, and soon, or else she would lose the opportunity. There was little
doubt of it, now.
 
“Luna?” a voice called out from a little ways.
 
Quickly, she reined her wild, unfettered magic back in, pulling it back towards
her core and tucking it away in a special little pocket…but not before a little
tendril flicked out and licked caressingly alongside the other’s magical
signal. She gasped as that signal flared up in response, trailing back after
her, singing back through her tingling nerves.
 
“Luna? What is it? Are you alright?”
 
He was closer now, practically on her, but she was able to return her smile to
her face before she turned to greet him. 
“Hello, Harry. Lovely evening for a stroll.”
 
“Uh, yeah, I suppose,” the head boy mumbled appeasingly.
 
He was such a sweet boy. And powerful, of course. She already knew that. And
she’d already suspected that he would have received more than just a little
power boost most magicals enjoyed on their coming of age. Seeing him again on
the train September first had been enough to confirm her suspicions. Keen
observations—and more than a little knowledge of pureblooded society—had given
her further clues. Her conclusions were far from off-putting. Indeed, they
helped make her final decision easier. She knew it would be the right choice.
 
She enjoyed looking at him, watching his magic dance about him. He was
spectacular, and she never tired of the sight.
 
“Listen, I was wondering, would you mind helping out in the Room tonight? Some
of the fifth years caught up to me and asked for some extra Defense help after
dinner today. Apparently, they’re expecting a quiz, and you know how Snape can
get. But I was supposed to be helping the second years practice, and—“
 
“That’s fine, Harry,” she cut him off. He really did have a bad habit of
rambling. “I’d be happy to help.”
 
“Really?” he sounded so relieved, it was endearing she thought how sincerely he
cared about helping everyone. He was a good soul. “Oh, that’s great. Hermione
and Neville have their own study groups going on tonight, and, well, I didn’t
know who else I should ask, and—“
 
“Second year Defense under Professor Snape is not much different from my own
under Professor Lupin, I don’t think, and even so, you’ve taught us all very
well. I’m sure I can help them. Is that all, Harry?”
 
“Er, yeah, I guess. You heading to dinner?” he asked, motioning in the general
direction of the Great Hall.
 
“Yes,” she answered sweetly. “Do you think they’ll have pudding?”
 
Harry grinned at her. “If they don’t, we can always swing by the kitchens after
study group,” he offered.
 
“I do like pudding,” she commented, heading off towards the Great Hall, Harry
beside her.
 
*
 
Harry Potter was an interesting fellow.  When they had first been introduced,
she was already a fourth year student. Half way through her Hogwarts career. He
was in his OWLs year, and seemed horribly…lost.  Yes, that was her word for
Harry. He was a lost soul, looking desperately for something, she wasn’t sure
what. Just as she still wasn’t sure if he’d found whatever it was he was
looking for…or if he’d simply given up on the search.
 
In any case, the Harry Potter of now was a different person than the boy she
had met several years ago, and that was only all too reasonable. After all,
hadn’t they lived through two years’ worth of experiences since that time? He
was a stronger person now, she thought, but still very needy. So very willing
to please and help and take care of others.
Although he hadn’t been her first choice, she couldn’t deny there were very
many better choices to be had. And what’s more, she genuinely liked Harry
Potter; she thought well of him and trusted him.
 
And she was running out of time, she thought as a stitch caught her in her
side, her magic flexing unstably in its special pocket.   
 
*
 
 “Good job, everyone,” Harry called out, drawing an end to the Defense Study
Group. “Fifth years, you should be all set for your Defense quiz tomorrow. 
Seventh years, don’t forget the Potions cram session after lunch!”
 
All around the room there were numerous shouts of gratitude and bemoaning
groans of impending doom as the different forms started to trickle out of the
Room of Requirement.  The second years Luna had been working with all thanked
her for her time—one little girl, a Gryffindor by her tie, even gave her a hug
before darting off with her friends. Luna smiled after her, more than a little
bemused.
 
They’d decided to keep using the Room for defense lessons as it seemed to be
the safest place they could blow things up and not create too big of a mess.
Most of the other subject study groups could safely meet in any old classroom
without worrying too much about causing the castle damage. Not so, Defense.
 
While all the others left, Luna remained, watching calmly as Harry quickly set
about putting the room to rights.
 
“You’re doing a very good job,” she commented.
 
 “Hey, Luna,” Harry grinned back at her.  “Thanks. And you, too.  Thanks for
agreeing to work with the second years tonight. Hey, listen, I’m sorry about
you missing the Arithmacy and Runes study groups tonight; I didn’t know you’d
been planning on going with Hermione. You should’ve said something.”
 
“It was no trouble,” she replied, flicking her wand to help him clean up
faster.
 
“Well, I’m grateful. Those fifth years who came up to me before dinner? They
really are nervous about their test tomorrow. It’s probably a good thing I
could work with them tonight.”
 
“You’re very good with them,” she commented before changing the subject.  “Did
you know, nearly two in every three pureblooded families can trace a magical
being or creature in their ancestry?”
 
Harry stumbled, whirling around to stare at her. “Wha-what?”
 
 “Oh, yes,” the Ravenclaw girl continued on casually.  “It was quite a
prestigious thing, once upon a time, to be able to trace your family’s magic
back to a specific being or creature.  Tradition has it that those families
that allowed their blood to mix with certain powerful magical beings enjoyed an
extra magical boost upon reaching maturity.” 
 
She finished banishing the pillows into a pile and turned to face him directly.
Studying him, staring at him, and yet, he felt like she wasn’t even seeing
him. 
 
“You can understand, then, why it was once considered such a prestigious badge
of honor, to be able to claim creature blood.”
 
“I don’t understand,” Harry mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, watching her
steadily.  “What does this have to—how do you even know this? Hermione’s never
said anything—“
 
“It’s one of the reasons purebloods have been so against muggleborns,” she
continued unhurriedly.  “It’s said that the muggle blood dilutes the
concentration of magical being blood, which then hinders the chance of
fantastical inheritances.”
 
She paused, a small frown puzzling her face, head tilted sideways.  “I always
wondered, though, how to explain squibs and muggleborns, especially when some
of the muggleborns like Hermione, are so obviously powerful magically.  Don’t
you think that odd, too?” she asked before turning to scan the neatened room. 
 
 
With a thought, the room around them dissolved into something much more cozy—a
large hearth fire blazed to life, a push throw rug plumped beneath their feet,
and a two oversized large cushioned armchairs plumped up invitingly. More than
adequate, she thought, giving up a little word of thanks to the castle and
feeling a pleased caress of magic in response.
 
“This led to the Purist Wars,” she continued, “when muggle-borns and half-
bloods persecuted purebloods for ‘bestiality’ over 700 years ago. The stigma
still continues, which is a bit ridiculous if you ask me. After all, aren’t we
all magical beings?”
 
He knew she had a point—Luna always had a point for saying the things she did,
you just had to figure out what it was. He’d never heard of the Purist Wars—but
he would certainly ask Hermione about them later. He did sort of know that
wizards had been known to… cross with other magical beings, he thought
squeamishly.  He might have not thought too much on it, but he knew Hagrid’s
mum was a giantess and his dad a wizard. He knew Fleur’s grandmother was a
veela, and everyone suspected one of Flitwick’s parents to have been a goblin. 
 
So, yeah, he kind of knew those things happened, and he’d heard some of the
crazy tales the boys had told about inheritances last year. It had been why he
was so worried this summer when his own inheritance was supposed to take place…
but… nothing had happened.  His inheritance had been completely normal.  He was
completely normal.
 
He….
 
Harry shivered. Hermione and Hannah had both teamed up to research why had
happened to him, but they hadn’t found anything. Not yet.  What if this was the
key they were missing? Luna always seemed to know things, she was always so
perceptive—if you were wise enough to listen and figure out what she was really
saying, that it.  Maybe this was what she was getting at. Was it really
possibly that he… that the Potters…?  They were an old, pureblooded family,
right? And it wasn’t like he knew anything much about them. Not even Andromeda
had talked about the possibility of magical beings being in his ancestry during
any one of their talks this summer. But…
 
“Luna,” Harry asked carefully, wetting his lips nervously.  “Do you know… I
mean… do the Potters have any known magical creature blood in their history?”
 
She continued to look at him, and he shifted uneasily, but determined to wait
her out for an answer.  Luna tended to know a lot of things—probably why she’d
been sorted a Ravenclaw he figured.
 
“I don’t know,” she answered finally.  “Not for sure, but it’s quite likely. 
The Blacks, for instance, have definitely had their creature encounters, and,
well, really, most pureblood families have, so I would imagine yes. I don’t
mind, however.”
 
“Thanks, Luna,” Harry huffed, somewhat put out. He’d felt like he was so close
to a revelation… something important.
 
“You’re quite nice, Harry,” she continued, still studying him.
 
“Thanks, Luna,” Harry repeated. “I think you’re nice, too.”
 
“You’ve always been kind to me; you possess a good heart and strong charisma.”
 
Harry blushed and scratched at his cheek in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to
other people complimenting him much and wasn’t sure what to say at this point. 
Did he thank her again? Try to compliment her in return? What?
 
She turned away to stare at the fire. “At first I thought I would choose
Ronald, you understand.”
 
No, no he didn’t. Harry frowned, suddenly feeling more uncomfortable than
before. Even with Hermione being his best friend, he wasn’t really great at
these little heart-to-heart chats that girls seemed to like. He’d even caught
Hannah and Hermione going at it several times in the last week. He didn’t
understand how girls could seemingly go on and on, chatting about seemingly
nothing.
 
“He’s very funny, and I do like to laugh, but he hasn’t matured as well as I’d
hoped.  And, well, I do need to be grounded before my birthday. I shouldn’t
like to go through my inheritance ungrounded. I can’t imagine it would be very
nice. But as I said, you’re very nice, and you have a very good heart. I know
you will be a good match.”
 
Harry colored with nervous embarrassment, fidgeting and shuffling, trying to
look any which direction other than forward.  A thoughtful frown mewed Luna’s
face before she calmly stepped forward, completely annihilating any sense of
personal space and brushing her body up against Harry’s.  She tilted her face
upwards and kissed him.
 
Harry jumped back with a sputtered protest, tripping and falling
back—thankfully onto a soft, cushy armchair. Luna followed, however, going so
far as to climb into his lap and trap him there with the very real and warm
weight of her body.  She could feel his body respond to hers, and encouraged,
she reached down and brushed his groin.
 
“Shit! Luna—“ he hissed, squirming.
 
“Please consider it,” she whispered against his cheek.  “I’ve been studying,
and I’m confident I can make the experience very enjoyable for you.”
 
Harry choked on a hysterical laugh.  Was she really suggestion what it sounded
like? “That isn’t it, Luna. Look, there’s something things going on right now,
with me, at the moment and all, and—“
 
“Voldemort?” she asked, calmly and curiously.
 
“No. I mean, yes,” he huffed. “There’s that, but there’s also other stuff,” he
alluded with a frantic hand wave. Other stuff like him going completely out of
control and practically raping his best friend and another girl—even if they
forgave him, even if they weren’t angry with him and said it wasn’t his fault,
he wasn’t stupid enough to try and think of it as anything other than what it
was: rape.  It didn’t matter that he didn’t mean to hurt them or that he wasn’t
in control. Really, that just made it all the worse in his opinion.  And
really, he had no business being alone with any other girl while they still
were unsure of what the hell was going on with him.  Although, maybe he could
try suggestion to Hermione looking at some possible creature or magical being
inheritances that would cause one to lose their mind and attack girls…
 
“Oh. You mean your Vanterrian inheritance,” Luna nodded sagely. “Yes, I could
see how that could be distracting for you, but I can assure it won’t be much of
a problem.”
 
“My—my val-what?”
 
“Vanteerian,” the blonde supplied, still sitting contentedly on his lap.  “I
suspected, of course, when I saw you again on the train. I was a little
saddened at first, but then when I saw you with Hermione and Hannah, I realized
you couldn’t be full-blooded, so it’s okay.  After all, Valteerians only have
one mate and you’ve already taken two, so one more shouldn’t matter.”
 
Harry forcibly pushed aside the thought of ‘mates’ and tried to focus on what
Luna was telling him. Did she really know what was wrong with him? “I’ve never
heard of a Valerian before.”
 
“Vanteerian,” Luna calmly corrected.
 
“And you think I’m one of these?” Harry questioned in disbelief. 
“What—Why—How?” he started before cutting her off.
 
“Wait. Come with me,” he commanded, pushing her off him and grabbing her hand.
He practically drug her from the room and off towards the nearest entrance to
the head boy and girl’s chambers—thankful that there was an entrance near every
dormitory that could be easily reached.
 
* 
 
Hannah and Hermione were cozied up on the head’s sofa near the fireplace, an
extremely comfortable blanket Hannah’s grandmother had made for her thrown over
their legs as they amiably chatted about their day and their experiences at
their separate study groups that evening.  Despite her worries surrounding
Harry, Hermione could hardly remember a time when she had felt so contented. 
She adored Harry, she did, and Ron was a dear friend, too,  but her best
friends really couldn’t compare with a real girlfriend, and Hannah had taken to
the role admirably. The Hufflepuff girl was mostly smiles and giggles and
sunshine—with a crack of humor and mischievousness thrown in. She could also be
quite determined and forceful when following through with what she believed was
right, Hermione had discovered.  And while the two had been friendly in years
past, Hermione was glad of their new-found closer relationship of this year.
 
“So I told her,” Hannah was saying when Harry came bursting through the door.
“If that’s the way you really feel, you should just tell him!”
 
“Hermione!” Harry shouted as he pushed through the door dragging a bemused
looking Luna Lovegood behind him.
 
“What—Harry? Luna? What’s going on?” the head girl asked, clearly surprised and
confused as she sat up. Beside her, Hannah also straightened, looking over a
wild-eyed and frantic looking Harry and the somewhat strangely serene Luna.
 
 “Tell them,” he demanded, letting go of Luna’s hand once they were safely
inside the common room.  “Tell them  what you told me.”
 
Looking puzzled, Luna obediently began to repeat her words from earlier.  “I’ve
studied love-making skills and—“
 
“No, not that! The other part,” Harry corrected, coloring even worse than
before. “About Vantorians.”
 
“Vantorians?” Hermione repeated bemused.  “Are these like wrackspurts and
nargles?”
 
“No, I don’t think so,” Luna mused.  “Vanteerians are considered magical
beings, not magical creatures, because they can look human—it’s a true shape
for them, just like their cat form.”
 
“But… Vanteerians are extinct,” Hannah said frowning. “And even if they
weren’t, Harry couldn’t be one, could he?” she asked, frowning to look first
from the blonde and then to the raven-haired boy, considering.
 
“Well, not fully,” Luna agreed.
 
“Cat form?” Hermione asked.
 
“Mmm, yes.  Vanteerians are large winged cats—“
 
“Like tigers, lions, panthers and such,” Hannah supplied, eagerly recalling
everything she could remember about the fantastical beings she had read about
in a storybook when she was little; which, granted, wasn’t all that much. “And
they’re said to be, well, I guess the closest you would understand, Hermione,
is like a fallen angel.”
 
“Why haven’t I ever heard of them before?”
 
“I don’t know. Why haven’t you?” Luna returned.  “I thought even muggles were
aware of them.  Of course, they consider them made-up, like dragons and
unicorns and mermaids.”
 
“And you think Harry might be one?” she asked, staring from one girl’s face to
the other.  Hannah looked honestly thoughtful, but Luna was… well, Luna.
 
 “But he can’t be,” Hannah frowned.  “I mean, yes, he’s an excellent flyer,
very agile and lithe, handsome and charismatic, faithful and loyal—protective,”
she rattled off unhesitatingly.  “But Vanteerians mate for life, which is why
they’re now extinct.”
 
The Hufflepuff turned towards Hermione to explain.  “If one mate is killed or
even dies naturally, the remaining mate pines away until it, too, dies.  They
only ever take one mate, and then they raise their cubs together, hunt
together, do everything together really.”
 
“So the reason you think Harry isn’t this Vanteerian is because…”
 
“If he were truly a full Vanteerian,” Luna continued, “then his innate being
would not allow him to be intimate with more than one female—his mate.  As he
has been intimate with both you and Hannah, I see no reason why he can’t also
be intimate with me.”
 
“Which is why you were studying about sex,” Hermione concluded tiredly.
 
“Oh, no. Sex is an interesting subject all on its own without needing a reason
to study it.”
 
“Luna,” Harry broke in.  “How did you know that, uh, I mean, with Hermione and
Hannah. We didn’t tell anyone.”
 
“Were you trying to hide it?” the blonde asked somewhat surprised.  “Wasn’t
very smart to be out in the corridors or to leave marks then. It’s okay. I
don’t mind marking. I’ve read that they can be quite pleasurable to both give
and receive.”
 
“Luna, I don’t think—“
 
“Don’t worry, Harry.  I’m sure that with both Hermione and me here, we can help
you.  Not thinking is a common problem for a lot of people.”
 
Hannah looked from one face to another, as if weighing a heavy thought… and
then she sighed resolutely.  “Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon I suppose. 
I mean, it’s not the life I’d ever imagined for myself, but I think we could
make it work.”
 
“It?” Hermione asked weakly, not even sure if she wanted to be following along
where this conversation seemed to be heading.  She had just partially come to
accept her evolving relationship between herself and Harry, let alone the
tentative relationship that had started to form between herself and the blonde
Hufflepuff. Although not sexual in itself, yet, there was the shared
experiences of having been with the same man, and, if Hermione hadn’t misread
the subtle hints Hannah occasionally dropped, it seemed the other girl had no
hesitation of being intimate with Hermione herself, if she would be willing. 
To be honest with herself, Hermione wasn’t too sure how willing she was, but it
wasn’t as if Hannah was pressuring her, so it wasn’t an issue yet. Just a
possibility. Hermione liked knowing she had options, but…
 
“Well, yes. I mean, the three of us,” Hannah went on, waving negligently
between the three girls present before thinking to include the lone male. “The
four of us, with Harry.”  And then she hesitated, a fissure of uncertainty
marring her pretty face. “Unless you were thinking this arrangement was only
going to be temporary?”
 
“It won’t,” Luna informed them stoutly. “Vanteerian mate for life and are
extremely protective as well as possessive.  I suspect that is why Harry hurt
Smith the other day when he was talking poorly of you.”
 
Hannah looked surprised.  “Harry hurt Zachary?” she asked in disbelief. “He
wouldn’t tell us what happened.”
 
“Yes,” Luna nodded solemnly. “He was saying some very not nice things about
you.  Rather unwisely, too. Harry heard him and didn’t like it at all.”
 
“That’s terrible!” Hermione gasped.
 
“Well, I don’t think anyone really believed what Smith was saying. And if they
did, I doubt they would act or say anything about it now.”
 
“But, don’t you see!” the head girl pressed on.  “Harry can’t just go around
attacking other students!  He’ll get in trouble!”
 
“I’m sure he deserved it,” Hannah grumbled, still annoyed with her housemate. 
“But Luna, what I don’t understand is why you would think Harry was a
Vanterrian?”
 
Luna turned back to stare at Harry.  “I can see him, his cat, his wings, his
magic… It’s not complete yet, but it’s coming…” she murmured, eyes unfocusing
slightly as her magic swelled within its special pocket. Small tendrils slipped
free of her control and curled around the dark-haired teen beside her. 
 
“The heightened senses of a prime predator,” she whispered melodically, as if
reciting a youthful poem. “The wings of an angel, the strength of a vampire,
the lifeline of an elf, the sexual nature of an incubus, and the beauty of a
Veela. I can see it,” she continued, breaking the spell of her words by turning
back to look at both seventh year girls. “What I can’t see is why he seems to
have more than one mate.”
 
“More than… you mean Hannah and myself?” Hermione asked shakily.
 
Luna shook her head, frowning.  “No. There are more.” She reached out a hand,
as if she were caressing or playing with some invisible thread the others
couldn’t see. 
 
“So much potential. So many possibilities. That is why I know there will be
room for me, as well. Harry can accept me for who I am, without spoiling the
bonds he’s already made with you two.  Besides,” she added with a quirky smile.
“Potters are known for siring boys. I’m curious if he could break the Lovegood
curse of bearing only girls. An interesting experiment, don’t you think?”
 
****
 
Chapter End Notes
     I love having a holiday that coincides with a writing mood. :) I've
     gone back over the last two chapters now--Neville and Luna--and added
     some more personal detail for the two of them. At some point, I would
     like to add more for Hermione and Hannah individually as well as some
     of the other characters. That way this story isn't trapped by only
     Harry's perspective. If there's something specific or generic you're
     interesting in knowing, just drop me a line.
     As always, this story is a fluxuating work in progress.
***** Luna’s Imprinting *****
Chapter Summary
     Whatever Luna wants.... Luna gets.
     And Harry, Luna wants you....
Chapter Notes
     This chapter has been revised.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Saturday 10/4 – Luna’s Imprinting
 
 The girls had stayed up much too late Tuesday night talking about him. Harry
couldn’t find it in him to be really angry or upset at them, more he was angry
and upset about his situation. Not knowing the truth of things. They could
speculate all they liked about harry supposedly being a Vanteerian—yes, he’d
learned how to say it correctly—but without any definite proof… what good was
it?
 
It had been about a half hour into the girls’ debates that Hermione had finally
shouted, “What about what Harry wants? Don’t you think he should at least get a
say in this?” she asked exasperatedly.
 
He looked up, hollowly returning their waiting stares from where he sat in
between Hermione and Hannah on the sofa, Luna stretched out on the rug between
them and the fire, her legs kicking back and forth. “I don’t see why now should
be any different?” he finally answered.  “I mean, I never asked for anything of
this.”
 
“Harry,” Hermione started, reaching for his hand before Hannah cut her off.
 
“Are you unhappy with it?” she demanded gently, nudging her shoulder into his.
“I know most guys like to joke and get off on the idea of having lots of
girlfriends, but you’ve never been like most guys, Harry. I don’t think you
could if you tried.” She smiled at him and cuddled up to him on the sofa.
“That’s just one of the reasons why I think it could work. You, me, Hermione,
Luna, and anyone else that should happen to join our little group.”
 
“What you’re talking about, Hannah… it’s a bit…”
 
“Unreal,” Hermione finished.
 
“Not really,” the curvy blonde replied chipperly. “At least not so much in the
wizarding world. Maybe not in the muggle world, but in the wizarding world you
hear often enough about multiple marriages or bondings because of family titles
and all. Especially if one of the matriarchal lines, like the Lovegoods or
Bones, tries to marry into a patriarchal line.”
 
“Of course,” Hermione murmured. “I remember reading something about that
before, but I didn’t think the practice was still in effect.”
 
Hannah smiled at her amusedly. “A lot of things don’t get talked about openly
any more, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still happen.”
 
Hermione huffed. “I wish they’d just teach us all this openly instead of making
us fumble around in the dark and try and figure it all out ourselves. How are
we ever supposed to learn if no one’s there to teach us?” she groused.
 
“There’s always books,” Luna supplied.
 
“Or you could just ask,” Hannah offered. “But you’re right. It’s not the first
time we in Hufflepuff have thought about having to privately teach our muggle-
borns and muggle-raised some of the traditions of the wizarding world.”
 
“The Ravenclaws hold special study groups for the younger years,” Luna shared.
 “Slytherin does, too.”
 
“Figures,” the lioness groused.
 
“See, you should have gone to Ravenclaw,” Harry teased her.
 
“And you should’ve gone to Slytherin?” she countered.
 
“Touché.”
 
“Anyway, that still leaves us with the here and now,” Hermione pushed on. “What
do you think, Harry?”
 
“Trying not to at the moment,” he confessed.  “I mean, we don’t really know
anything for sure, do we? Luna seems to think I’m this Vanteerian creature, but
then both she and Hannah are saying I can’t be, so, I mean, we’re not much
better off than we were before, are we?”
 
“Not at all,” Hannah protested.  “We can fairly definitely agree that
whatever’s going on with you, Harry, has something to do with your inheritance,
don’t you agree? And it looks like it’s a creature inheritance.”
 
“We should ask Remus if he knows of anything happening to your father,”
Hermione suggested. “And maybe Mrs. Tonks? You did mention you were meeting
with her over the summer to learn more about the Black Family. Maybe she can
tell you more about some possible inheritances through the Black line.”
 
“I suppose so,” Harry hedged, scratching his around his face. “It couldn’t
hurt, at least.”
 
“And I’ll ask Daddy if he has any other books about Vanteerians, shall I?” Luna
offered. “Maybe there’s something that we’ve missed.”
 
“Like why I attack some girls and not others?” Harry asked darkly.
 
“I would think that’s because you have more than one potential mate,” Luna
countered mater-of-factly over the other two girls’ would-be protests. “It
could be something of a mixed creature inheritance, I suppose. Although those
are really uncommon.”
 
“Great,” Harry muttered.
 
“Harry,” Hannah started, pulling away from him slightly, leaning back against
the sofa’s arm to put that little bit of space between them. “I know we really
haven’t talked about it much, but… are you that unhappy of the thought of being
in a relationship with me and Hermione? I mean, I know you and Hermione have a
shared history together, and I understand that, but I had hoped…”
 
“No, Hannah, it’s not—I mean, you’re—and Hermione—and—It’s not you, it’s me!”
he finally spit out, glaring at Hermione when she failed to hide what
suspiciously sounded like a giggle.
 
“Really?” she snorted, not intimidated by his dark look at all. “‘It’s not you,
it’s me?’ That’s the best you can come up with?”
 
“Not helping.”
 
“Ah, well, if it’s help you’re wanting,” Hermione continued, somewhat gaily,
leaving forward to look at Hannah from around Harry’s front.  “I have it on
very good authority that Harry is quite attracted to you and your attributes
and he very much enjoys his time with you.”
 
Hannah colored prettily and smiled. “Good. Not as good as hearing him say it,”
she added with a nod, “but good none-the-less. I quite enjoy my time with you,
too,” she concluded, leaning forward to whisper against his cheek before
dropping a sweet little peck and pulling away.
 
Harry made an intangible little noised that caused both girls to laugh again. 
“What was that, Harry? Did you say something?” Hermione teased, leaning in to
his shoulder.
 
“I will not be held unaccountable if you continue to tease me like this,” he
warned, reaching around before trying to tickle either girl.  They shrieked and
flung their limbs wildly—Hermione rolling away, laughing breathlessly as she
wound up on the floor, but Hannah took full advantage of the tight confines of
the sofa to straddle Harry’s lap and return the tickle attach.  It quickly
turned into something much more heated, the two teens frotting uninhibitedly
against one another as they snogged passionately.
 
A small, needy whimper from beside her drew Hermione’s attention away from the
two on the sofa to the one beside her on the floor. 
 
Luna had stopped swinging her legs and instead seemed rooted to the floor,
silver eyes hungrily eating up the image before them.  But it was more than
that, Hermione realized, watching Luna’s fixed gazed.  The younger girl was
seeing more than what Hermione saw, she was sure of it.
 
“What do you see?” she asked breathlessly, little more than a whisper so as not
to distract the other two who were already going heavy at it.
 
“Harry’s magic,” Luna answered trancelike. “It flows out from him like ribbons,
encasing her, and she shines. It radiates from him in all directions, like
wings, splayed in flight. So pretty, the colors dancing around them…”
 
Beside her, Luna gasped, snapping her eyes shut tight and breathing heavily. 
“Luna?” Hermione called gently. “Are you okay?”
 
“I will be,” the blonde whimpered, trembling.
 
“Come on, let’s go to my room,” the head girl cajoled, pulling the slighter
girl up with her. “I’ve learned Hannah is quite…open in her affections, and
Harry never seems to remember where he is when she gets started.”
 
“He gets caught up in the moment,” Luna hummed, blindly following where the
other girl led. “It’s his nature.”
 
“Maybe, but what’s her excuse?” Hermione quipped, shutting the door firmly
behind them.  “Luna, really, what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this
before?”
 
“My inheritance is approaching,” Luna confessed, slowly evening out her
breathing and forcing her body to relax. 
 
“I don’t understand. No one else mentioned having trouble before their
inheritance,” Hermione frowned, seating Luna on her bed and taking a seat
across from her at her vanity. “And I understand not everyone’s the same,
especially when it comes to magical inheritances, but, I mean…”
 
“You’re not mistaken,” Luna smiled at her. “It’s not normal, but then, normal
isn’t much fun, is it?”
 
“What happened? I mean, why—err, how?”
 
“It was my mother. She was very smart, you see, and inquisitive. She liked to
experiment a lot. That’s how she died. She was experimenting.  Daddy said I was
too close by when the accident happened, and something happened to my core—it
shifted,” Luna explained nonchalantly. “It’s why I can see things easier than
others. I see magic differently.  Hannah already told you the Lovegoods are a
matriarchal family.  My mother’s blood carries the gift of the fae. My father
was a young druid when he met my mother. They fell in love and had me. It was
practically a guarantee that I would inherit my family’s special magics, but
with the shift in my core…”
 
“You need someone to ground you, don’t you?” Hermione asked, awe filled.
 
Lunda nodded. “Without a bond to ground me, it’s very possible I could lose
myself when my inheritance does come.”
 
“And you think Harry can help you?”
 
“Harry having multiple mates already actually makes things all the better,”
Luna confirmed.  “It means any fluctuations in my magic, in any of our magic,
would be picked up and dispersed between all of us, not just one other person.”
 
“Like a coven?”
 
“Yes, exactly. Or a harem,” she added with amusement as a rather loud shout
punctuated through Hermione’s closed door.
 
Hermione huffed and flung a silencing charm at her door, cheeks blazing.
“Really, you wouldn’t know they were both virgins only a few weeks ago.”
 
“I’m sure experience has little to do with it, if Harry really is a Vanteerian.
They are, after all, sexual creatures.”
 
“I’ve never heard of Vanteerians in the magical world before,” Hermione
frowned. “I mean, I know of the sub-category of winged felines in magical
creatures, but I’ve never seen a reference to something called a Vanteerian.”
 
“No, I suppose not,” Luna said forlornly.  “Hogwarts library seems to be
missing quite a few important tombs when it comes to magical beings.  I’ll ask
Daddy to send me some of our books from home.”
 
“That would be great,” Hermione practically gushed. “And I’m going to go ahead
and write Remus, too.”
 
“Professor Lupin?”
 
“Yes, he’s sort of like Harry’s godfather. He was friends with Harry’s
parents.”
 
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before, I think. He’s very nice. He was a very good
teacher, too.”
 
“Yes, he is,” Hermione agreed, smiling at the other witch.  “Would you like to
borrow some stationary to write your father? Those two shouldn’t be very much
longer out there, and then we can talk about how Harry can help you.”
 
“Is that why you didn’t join them? Because I’m here?” Luna frowned. “I wouldn’t
have minded. I thought you three looked quite lovely together when you were
simply sitting.”
 
Hermione stuttered and blushed some more. “Uh, no, it’s, uh, not like them, I
mean, between us. We’re just friends,” she insisted.
 
“I would hope so. I should think it a very sad thing to have a lover who was
not also a friend.”
 
“No, I mean it’s not… my relationship isn’t intimate with…can we talk about
something else, please?”
 
Luna stared at her, and Hermione shifted nervously.  “Did you not like sex with
Harry?”
 
“Luna, please,” the older girl entreated.
 
“Hannah seems to enjoy it rather well,” Luna continued. “I should hope to enjoy
it, too. I’ve read a lot, and—“
 
“Don’t you think that’s something you should discuss with Harry?” Hermione
interrupted somewhat desperately.
 
“Well, yes, I suppose I should,” Luna mused, standing up and heading towards
the door.
 
Hermione was a second too slow catch on.  “Luna, wait!” she shouted, leaping
from her chair, but the blonde was already through the door.
 
“Are you finished?” Luna asked the cozying couple on the couch.  “Only, it’s
getting late and I don’t want to be caught out past curfew.”
 
Harry groaned, hiding his face against Hannah’s shoulder, but the curvy blonde
just laugh and pushed back from him, straightening her clothes as she went. 
“It’s all right, Luna,” Hannah replied, smiling relaxedly.  “I’ll be sure to
walk you to your tower before I head back.”
 
“Thank you, Hannah. That’s very nice of you.”  
 
“No problem. I’m happy to help.  Now about you and Harry,” the Hufflepuff
continued.  “Things sort of just spontaneously happened for Hermione and me.”
 
“I’ll need a little time to prepare myself,” Luna frowned.  “I was hoping
perhaps this Sunday, if that would work for you, Harry?”
 
“Uh, Sunday? To, uh, I mean, and—huh?”
 
“Best not make it Sunday,” Hannah cut in.  “Harry can get pretty intense when
he’s all dominating male. You’ll probably want the whole weekend.”
 
“Homework,” Hermione piped in.
 
“We can push and get anything urgent or due at the beginning of the week done
Friday,” Hannah negotiated. “Then Harry and Luna could meet up Saturday
morning, and that would still give them two whole days to recoup.”
 
“Wait a minute,” Harry interrupted. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
 
The three girls turned away from each other and looked at him, as if just
remembering he was there.
 
“Of course you do, Harry,” Hermione answered before Hannah cut in.
 
“Were you really going to say no?”
 
“Well, I mean, it seems rather much, don’t you think?” Harry hedged.  “I mean,
we haven’t even figured out what’s going on with me and you and Hermione, and
now you’re ready to add someone else?”
 
“What can I say? I’m a Hufflepuff—we’re all, the more the merrier, you know,”
the girl smiled beatifically at him, batting her eyes and causing the two
Gryffindors to snort.  Luna thought this must be some inside joke and decided
to laugh.  “Anyway,” Hannah continued, shooting Luna a little bemused look.
 
“Harry,” Hermione stepped in.  “Luna needs to bond with someone before her
inheritance to help ground her magic. If she doesn’t, it could turn out very
poorly. And, well, we think, Luna and I, that is, that what’s happening between
us might be forming something similar to a coven bond.”
 
Hannah’s eyes widened, but Harry just looked at her haplessly. “Like, a witch’s
coven? Isn’t that just sort of a secret group of witches who get together and
practice witchcraft?”
 
“Not necessarily,” Hannah replied.  “Some of the more famous covens were run by
witches, but they’re not always same-sex.  Really, a coven is a group who
practices magic together. They can literally share magic between each other,
and so when they do spells together, their spell craft is genuinely more
powerful.  But covens are really rare. I mean, to be able to find one other
person whose magic resonates well with yours is… well, it’s pretty amazing. But
to find enough to actually build a coven? That’s rare.”
 
“And yet you’ve already begun,” Luna pointed out.
 
“You’ve seen this already, haven’t you?” the Hufflepuff queried.  “Some of the
younger years, they used to call you names. They said you would say the
strangest things—and I’ve seen it, too, during DA meetings and study groups. 
You see things, don’t you, Luna?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“And you’ve seen this? A coven of witches, and Harry at the center?”
 
“No,” the Ravenclaw shook her head minutely.  “Not so much. Not so definite. 
Just… many possibilities.”  Luna’s luminous silver eyes unfocused and she
stared off at the space between them. “So much potential.”
 
“Harry,” Hannah asked, turning back to the recently-shagged teen. “Would you
really say no to her? Deny her the help she needs?”
 
“Now, wait just a minute,” Hermione spoke up. “I agree, we need to help Luna,
but why should that mean it has to be Harry that grounds her?”
 
“Listen, it’s late,” Harry cut in. “And, to tell the truth, I’m not sure what I
think about all this. I mean, do I have to make a decision tonight, or can we
talk about this some more tomorrow, after we’ve all had some sleep and some
time to think about it some?”
 
“Of course, Harry,” Hannah agreed, shooting an incomprehensible glance at
Hermione before gathering Luna up and escorting her out. “See you tomorrow,
Harry, Hermione.  Pleasant dreams.”
 
***
 
Nothing had been settled that night or the next. Friday, a letter arrived from
Remus. Yes, the Potters did, like many other pureblood families, have some mix
in their ancestry—how could they not when most all purebloods in Brittan were
in some why related?—but he didn’t know for sure what.  Then had come the
interrogation after Harry’s health and wellbeing.
 
Friday night had come and passed, and still Harry wasn’t sure what he would do,
although he did spend the evening completing the assignments due on Monday.
 Saturday morning dawned, and still Harry wasn’t sure what he should do.
Hermione and Hannah weren’t really helpful. Hermione insisted he needed to make
his own choice; Hannah seemed to think there was no choice at all.
 
When Luna approached them at lunch time with a small stack of books, he felt
horrible, because he still didn’t have an answer for her.  But then again, she
didn’t ask him a question, did she?
 
“Here are the books my father sent,” the Ravenclaw announced, setting the books
down beside Hermione. The older girl was already reaching for the top volume. 
“Harry, I have a few more things to prepare. If you could come by the Room
around three, I should have everything ready by then.”
 
And then she’d turned and walked away.
 
And that’s how Harry found himself waiting nervously outside the Room of
Requirement, waiting for Luna to invite him in.
 
He still wasn’t sure that he had agreed to this—yes, Luna was a friend and
someone he cared about. And his girls seemed to be okay with the idea of him
having sex with another girl, which was crazy, but then, so was having sex with
two girls, and there he was.  He’d tried asking Hermione a little bit more
about covens, but other than witches and wizards sharing magic to do certain
powerful spells, nothing really struck out at him as memorable.
 
Luna hummed a merry tune as she showed Harry into the room she had prepared. It
looked much the same as the cozy space she had conjured earlier in the week. 
With one noticeable difference. He twitched and fidgeted, desperately trying
not to look at the seemingly large bed set off to the side. The dancing fire
lit the room in a warm glow. The two padded armchairs set before the fireplace
invitingly. A soft-looking area rug cushioned the stone floors. There was a
table with a centerpiece of what Harry suspected were wild flowers and a
platter decorated with fruits and cheeses. There were no painting on the walls,
but there were several tapestries. One depicted a woman transfiguring into a
tree. Another showed a young girl dancing in a field of flowers. A third caused
Harry to look away quickly, cheeks stained with embarrassment.
 
But looking away didn’t help any because Luna was there, smiling pleasantly at
him, and he noticed what he had been trying desperately not to notice. Luna was
practically naked, which was impressive because she really was covered from
neck to ankle. It was just that the robe she was wearing was so sheer, it could
have been made from spider webs or demiguise fur. It floated around her slender
form, caressing curves he hadn’t even been consciously aware that she
possessed.
 
“Luna, I don’t think,” he began nervously, taking a hasty step back as she
approached.
 
“Thank you, Harry,” Luna sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “I knew you would be
the right choice.” Her breathing deepened, her chest rising, calling his
attention to the two pert petite breasts peeking through the gauzy material.
 
“Luna, I really don’t think,” he tried again, but the words strangled to death
in a groan as the very air in the room electrified around them.
 
Luna had exhaled deeply, and it was like the world had changed. Harry’s
nostrils flared as he took in the sudden scent of her—it was intoxicating. He
couldn’t prevent himself from stepping up into her, burying his face against
her throat and breathing her in.
 
“Oh, god,” he growled, fingers digging in to her skin and drawing her closer
still.
 
“Too much?” Luna gasped, eyes fluttering.
 
“Oh god,” Harry moaned failing to his knees before her. “What—what did you do?”
 
“Hmm? Oh, I just released a bit of my magic,” she murmured. “It can be very
overwhelm to one who’s so sensitive.   I don’t want you senseless. Not right
away, at least, so I pulled a little of it back in.”
 
“How—oh god. It—I—I want you,” Harry panted, rubbing his face against her
belly, hands clutching in the material at her hips. “I can’t even stop myself
from touching you, but I can. What did you do?”
 
“You’re very susceptible to your chosen mates,” Luna mused, brushing her
fingertips down his cheek. “Especially when our magic fluctuates. Others no
longer learn to control this, but the Lovegoods always have. It has always been
an essential lesson. If you’d like, I could try teaching the others how to
control their magical fluctuations?”
 
“Magical fluctuations? What?” Harry murmured dazedly, breathing her in. It was
like her scent was a piece of candy he could roll over his tongue.
 
Luna smiled. “Don’t worry, Harry. I don’t want you to worry about anything here
and now. I know what to expect, and I have enough control for the both of us.
Now, I believe you’re a bit over dressed, Harry. We need to fix this.”
 
Luna hummed merrily to herself, waving her wand and slashing down with a side
flick. “Devisto. Salvin closiato.”  And just like that, he was naked before
her.
 
She took his hand and led him to the bed she’d conjured just for this evening.
“Relax,” she told him, pushing him back to lay naked on the blankets. He
squirmed, and she grinned before climbing up over him. Once more she relaxed
her control over her magic and let nature have its way.
 
The result was instantaneous as Harry reared up beneath her, grabbing at her
neck and dragging her body down against his. He rolled them over, so that Luna
now had her back pressed to the bed and her thighs were forced apart to make
room for his hips. She didn’t mind. Even when the sharp pain of teeth cutting
into the tender flesh of her throat and shoulder had her crying out, she didn’t
mind. With very little rooting at all, he found the core of her and entered
with little preparation or warning. She screamed then, as he tore through the
shield of her virginity with no hesitation.
 
She forced herself to focus on her breathing, but her entire body was rippling,
her magic fighting against her restraint from within and Harry’s magic
battering against her from without. She knew he was powerful, had thought she
had prepared herself properly…but nothing could have prepared her for the way
his magic forced itself inside of her, shattering her shields and freeing her
wild magic in a matter of minutes.
 
She screamed again as image upon image crashed against her. Sights of what
would be, could be, must never be, filling up her mind’s eye until she thought
she would be blinded by the Sight. She had waited too long to ground herself,
she thought desperately afraid. She was too close to her inheritance.
 
But then, just as quickly as she’d been overwhelmed, Harry was there,
commanding she look at him, see only him as he hovered over her face, body
still ploughing away with incredible speed and force.
 
“Mine,” he growled, eyes glowing eerily even in the firelight. “Say it! Mine!”
 
“Yours,” she gasped, feeling a tightening in her loins. “Yours, Harry, yours!”
 
“Mother of my sons.”
 
“Father of my daughters.”
 
He roared, arching over her as his hips gave one might last thrust against her
pelvis, and then he shivered, a whole-body quiver, before he crashed down into
her. She gasped, body shaking, shocky, as he panted against her throat.
 
And then he nuzzled her and started purring.
 
Luna smiled, slowly petting at the dark damp hair, as she relaxed back into the
bed fully and closed her eyes, relieved that there was no rush of unwanted
images. She had been right, all those years ago when she foresaw Ronald Weasley
would help her with her inheritance—she just didn’t realize he would be the one
to introduce her to her future mate. That was alright, though. Things did have
a way of working out in the end.
 
Chapter End Notes
     As a reminder: this story is a work-in-progress. I'm posting it in
     its raw form because after five years sitting on my hard drive, it's
     not getting anywhere, fast. Although I do have a general outline and
     some fixed plot points, much of the actual narrative is...
     undeveloped.
     This presents a rare opportunity for me.
     In most all of my previous narratives, I always seemed to have a firm
     grasp on the plot and characters (sure, a few of those characters
     threw me for a loop a time or two, but we worked it out). Not so with
     Vanteerian. Perhaps it's because of the nature in which I used this
     fic--to safely express some of my darker moods. Whatever the case, it
     seems the majority of the story was made up of rape, torture, and
     dubious consent. I got rather graphic with the Death Eater scenes.
     Removing the bulk of those scenes from the narrative has left little
     story.
     So I would invite all to comment on where they see this story going,
     what scenes would they like to see. I'm hoping to spark something to
     help ease this narrative into completion, finally.
***** The Lioness, & the Vanteerian *****
Chapter Summary
     A mostly Hermione-centric chapter.
Chapter Notes
     revised
Mon. 10/6 – The Lioness & the Vanteerian
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry didn’t return from the Room until late Sunday evening. Hannah had spent
some of the afternoon with her, but mostly, Hermione thought herself poor
company. She had read through two of the books Luna had given her already, but
they were little more than folklore and legends. It was more than a little
frustration for the Gryffindor. On the one hand, much of what she’d read did
sound like it could possibly apply to the current situation with Harry, but not
all of it, and not exactly. And even more damning, to Hermione’s way of
thinking, she could find absolutely no reference to support the books’ claims
in the Hogwarts’ library.
What all the books she did have available to her seemed to agree on was that
Vanteerians were an ancient and power race, long thought extinct. Which, in her
mind, was simply more damning evidence towards a positive diagnosis of Harry’s
condition. After all, if it was unlikely to happen, it would. Six years of
friendship with one Harry Potter had taught her that.
She had tried to stay up Sunday night, waiting for Harry to return. She didn’t
want to admit how nervous him being with yet another girl made her feel. After
all, if she admitted she was nervous, that would mean she cared more than she
should. Harry was her friend—true, they were friends with benefits currently,
but still just friends. And yes, she’d agreed to help him have a baby at some
point, but that still didn’t mean they were romantically involved or anything.
Things with Hannah had… well, they were a surprise. Harry hadn’t meant to
attack the Hufflepuff prefect any more than he’d meant to attack her. It had
been instinctual. Something, if the readings could be trusted, within the girls
had called to him on an instinctual level. And if Luna was correct, than a
sexual relationship would have been the most natural way for Harry to respond
to them. And, yes, it had been very good, Hermione thought blushingly. And she
did feel closer to Harry now, a special little bond with her best friend.
A special little bond that he now would share with two other girls, she thought
with a grimace.
She wasn’t sure what to do. Harry was her best friend. She cared for him
deeply, she did. She enjoyed the sexual nature of their recently developed
relationship. But she honestly hadn’t seen it being as anything more than
temporary.
But…
But the thought of not being there, spending time with Harry… it hurt. It hurt
worse than the niggling thought of how many others Harry might be with.
It was ridiculous to expect Harry to be faithful to her. They weren’t in that
type of relationship. They were friends, occasionally lovers, but…
And she honestly enjoyed Hannah’s company. It was quite nice to have an honest
to goodness girlfriend, but it was strange, too. Hannah was… so much more open
about her sexuality than Hermione. She was confused by it, knowing the other
girl had been a virgin at the beginning of the school year, just like her and
Harry. And yet… and yet, the blonde had no shame in crawling onto Harry’s lap
when they were alone, or kissing him, or touching him, or putting his hands on
her body, or…
Or, Hermione didn’t know what.
And now there was Luna.
She liked the Ravenclaw girl. Trusted her. Maybe they weren’t so much friends
as they were friendly. Yes, the girl was a little strange, but Hermione had
come to see that as simply part of the girl’s charm. And she was smart,
brilliant if off-colored. Of course, if what she had said about her magic being
skewed because of an accident when she was little was true, that made perfect
sense to Hermione. She could easily accept that the other girl saw the world
differently. It might make Hermione’s head hurt and the seemingly illogicalness
of the other girl, but she could accept that.
And she could accept that Harry and the blonde Ravenclaw had a special
relationship, even before this year. There had been something about the waifish
girl that had attracted Harry, Hermione had noticed although she doubted Harry
had himself. Harry was a bit clueless like that. Still, she hadn’t thought much
of it. At least not before last week.
But now…
Hermione couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Thinking about what Harry and
Luna were doing in the Room, possibly right that minute. It had been different
with Hannah. Hannah she had learned about after the fact, and then the other
girl had been completely open and honest in her attentions. If Hermione had
wanted to watch, or heaven forbid actually join them, she knew neither one
would have minded.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Hermione scrubbed her face, as if to forcibly wash away her troubling thoughts.
It was Monday. Harry was back in his chambers—alone. Yes, she had checked. He
would be getting up in another few minutes, and they would head down to the
Great Hall for breakfast together.
Would he want to talk about his encounter with Luna? How would this change
things further between them? How would this change things between her and Luna?
Where would Hannah fit in in all this?
Hermione took several deep breaths and focused on calming her nerves. Looking
at her reflection in the mirror, she nodded decisively. What would be, would
be, she told herself, and she would continue to help Harry face it, no matter
what came at them.
“Harry?” she called, heading out into the common room. “Are you getting up?”
“Already up,” a bleary-eyed head boy mumbled, trundling sleepily from his dorm.
“Breakfast?”
“If you’re ready?” she prevaricated, casting a dubious eye over his rumpled
robes and unruly hair.
“’m ready,” he yawned.
And, exasperated, she shook her head and whipped out her wand. More than a few
perfunctory grooming charms later, the head boy was looking decidedly more
respectable.
“Thanks, Mione.” He grinned dopily back at her, and she rolled her eyes before
snatching up her satchel and heading out through the door he held open for her.
Thankfully, he was awake enough to choose the door closer to the Hufflepuff
dorms and, thereby, the Great Hall.
“Really, Harry. You’re going to have to eventually learn some of these charms
yourself.”
“Why when you already know them and can cast them better than I could anyway?”
“I’m won’t always be around,” she warned.
“Then I’ll have no one but myself to embarrass, so it won’t matter, would it,”
he returned teasingly.
She snorted. “I think Hannah or Luna might say differently.”
When he said nothing, she looked to see if he was even still with her, and
found him scowling. She paused around the corner from the Great Hall, out of
the way of anyone save possibly some early rising Hufflepuffs or DA members.
“Are you second guessing your decision this weekend?”
“That’s just it,” he tried to explain. “I had decided not to do it, but when I
got there… I don’t know. Something happened and… well, it just happened. Again.
Like before with you and Hannah, only, somehow, Luna could… I don’t know,
control it?”
He looked up at her, still frowning, and felt hapless to do anything but stare
back at him.
“I wasn’t going to do it,” he repeated, as if entreated her to believe him, and
she did. Harry had tried to hide the truth, but he never purposefully outright
lied to her. “I was going to tell her that we would help her, help her find
someone else, someone better, I don’t know! But I knew I’d already hurt you and
Hannah, and even if you’ve forgiven me, I hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt
anyone like that again. But…”
He squeezed his eyes shut, hands fisted at his sides, and Hermione’s chest
ached for him. But what…?
“It happened again,” he whispered, as if answering her silent question. “It
happened again, just like before, with the scent and the sudden driven need
and… but she somehow controlled it,” he added, stunned, looking up at her with
wide, pleading eyes. “She made it… not so…so intense. I mean, I could think,
and I remember more, but I still couldn’t stop.”
Harry swallowed hard, looking up at her miserably. “Hermione, what’s going on?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure, Harry,” she told him honestly, closing the
distance between them to rub his arm. As if her touch could somehow help him
relax…but he did seem to ease up a little. “I’m not sure, but Luna has some
good leads, and Hannah and I are starting to put together some possibilities,
no matter how seemingly impossible they may be.”
He snorted dejectedly. “Impossible, that’s me.”
“Cheer up, Harry,” she told him, and then, impulsively, she darted in and gave
him a quick hug. “We’ll figure a way through this. We always do.”
“You always do, you mean.”
“And you always manage to succeed,” she countered, offering an encouraging
smile back at him. “No matter how seemingly impossible the odds!”
 
****
Hogwarts’ sixth and seventh years—the NEWT years—tended to be the most open
scheduled as well as the most academic intensive of the forms. The reason for
this being, of course, that once you’ve sat and passed your OWLs, you weren’t
required to take any of the core curriculum classes anymore. Unless, of course,
you were Hermione Granger, and then your schedule didn’t change all that much.
For Harry, Mondays were his busiest course day, leading off with Potions first
and then Transfiguration and Herbology after lunch. One of the other nice
things about being a sixth or seventh year was that the classes were no longer
separated out by House. So when the study group got together during second
block to prepare for one of McGonagall’s famous pass-this-quiz-or-I-will-use-
you-as-a-scratching-post cram sessions, it was an eclectic blend of
Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins who were all sweating it
out together.
“Why is it all wibbly wobbly?” Neville moaned, staring forlornly at his coffee
table.
“Well, at least yours is not all timey whimy,” Michael groused, glaring at his
mis-shapened alarm clock.
“What do you plan on doing with an alarm clock anyway?” Draco drawled, lazily
circling his wand and conjuring up a large, heavy footed chair before casually
flicking it away. “You can just use an alarm charm.”
“Not if you’re around muggles, you can’t,” Susan pointed out.
“Yes, well, Merlin forbid that should ever happen,” Pansy simpered.
“Here, Neville,” Hannah huffed, leaving her small group to join him. “Are you
remembering to keep a clear image about what it is you’re conjuring?”
“Try not to focus so much on the mechanics,” Hermione suggested to Michael,
bemusedly observing the alarm clock that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a
psychedelic Alice trip. “Just picture what you want and allow the magic to
happen. I’ve found if I get too caught up in the hows and whys something works,
the magic doesn’t work, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” Daphne spoke up. “Magic already knows what a table is, what a chair
is, what an alarm clock is. You’re not inventing them, you’re conjuring
them—calling them up to existence.”
“Sort of like an Accio,” Harry mused. “But instead of calling for something
that’s already in existence and that you know where it’s at, you’re asking
magic to create one for you to use now. Right?”
“You know, that almost made sense,” Draco replied, banishing another throne-
like chair. “Well, I think I’m ready, and I’m sure lunch is being served. I’ll
see you class then.”
“Right, I’m done then, too,” Terry called, putting up his wand and basically
leading the exodus.
“Listen Harry,” Ernie caught his attention as the others were leaving. “I
managed to speak to a few people about those board games you asked about the
other night. We should be receiving them sometime this week.”
“Really? That’s great, Ernie, thanks,” Harry replied, clapping the other boy on
the arm and grinning. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing what kind of
board games the wizarding world can boast. They’re really popular in the muggle
world, you know.”
“Yes, well, I thought you’d like to know.”
“I appreciate it, Ernie. Oh, hey, were you able to set up a time and place for
that political group you were thinking of?”
“Yes, actually. And I wanted to invite you to come. Someone of your caliber and
influence… well, you should know what’s going on in our world on the broader
scale.”
“You’re probably right, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now,” Harry
hedged. He personally hated the thought of politics and politicians. His
dealings with the ministry thus far hadn’t done very much to persuade him
otherwise.
“Well, think on in some, yeah?” Ernie insisted. “We’ll be meeting tomorrow
night as sort of a preliminary—see who’s interested and what exactly their
interested in. I was thinking more along the lines of discussing the laws and
Wizengamot decisions being made, but Mandy and Lisa are talking about
discussing how the government is set up and how politics work, so we might just
be splitting off into two groups.”
“Or more,” Harry pointed out. “Or maybe not. There’s no reason why you couldn’t
do a little of both every time you meet up. The important thing is that your
out there sharing your ideas, right?”
“If you say so, Harry. Well, I’d best be going. I’m supposed to be meeting
Morag this evening and I haven’t quite finalized my plans. Wish me luck, eh?”
“Good luck,” Harry called after the Hufflepuff agreeably.
“Now there’s a couple I hadn’t expected,” Hannah mused, coming up behind him.
“What? Ernie and Morag?”
“Yeah.”
“I think they’re rather cute,” Hermione commented, fusing with Neville’s wand
movements.
“It’s useless,” the taller boy moaned.
“Here, Neville, just,” Harry said, coming to the other boy’s rescue. “Just…
remember that old end table that used to be in the dorm before Seamus broke it
last year?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember all the scratches and nicks that used to cover it, and yet how smooth
it was because it was all old and worn?”
“Of course. I used to trip and catch myself on it all the time,” Neville
remembered.
“Well then, make it appear,” Harry commanded. “Right here, right now. Just give
your wand a wave and imagine that little table.”
Neville shot him a dubious look, but he obeyed. Sucking in a deep breath, he
shot a nervous look between the three remaining seventh years before swishing
and circling his wand tip around in the precise motions for conjuring an
inanimate object.
He exhaled loudly.
Hannah and Hermione clapped and smiled at him while Harry clapped his arm and
shoulder, grinning up at him, green eyes alight with pleasure. “See. Have a
little more faith in yourself, Nev. You can do this,” the head boy told him
before releasing him and turning back to the girls. “Come on, let’s go get some
lunch, yeah?”
The girls struck up a chatter as they led the way out of the empty classroom
they’d taken over for their Transfiguration study groups, Harry following
closely behind. Neville didn’t. Instead, he sunk onto the little conjured end
table, closing his eyes and breathing steadily.
He wasn’t sure he could continue to do this…
****
 
Professor McGonagall asked Hermione to stay after class, so the others went
ahead after shooting her a questioning look. The head girl shooed them off
before turning to meet her professor and head of house at the front of the
classroom.
“I was wondering, if you had no plans for this evening,” the Gryffindor head
began, “If you would like to stop by my office and have a chat about how things
are going for you this year.”
“Professor?” Hermione asked, somewhat confused. She highly respected and
admired the Transfiguration Mistress, but it wasn’t like McGonagall had ever
fostered any type of relationship with her lions.
“Nothing’s wrong,” the elder assured her. “I’m just curious. After all, you and
Mr. Potter are implementing quite a few changes. I would like to hear your take
on things, when we both have more time to discuss matters more in depth,” she
added as some of her sixth years started to trickle in despite there still
being ten more minutes of the break period.
“Of course, Professor.”
“Good, good. I believe you have Herbology next?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, off with you. And, Ms. Granger? Feel obliged to bathe before our
meeting. I understand Professor Sprout will have you fertilizing in Greenhouse
2.”
“Yes, Professor,” Hermione answered, not quite avoiding the wrinkle of distaste
at the aforementioned task.
Herbology was somewhat interesting—especially when she considered how some of
the ingredients were used in various ways in different potions or how some
remedies had been known to muggle healers for centuries—but she was not overly
fond of the subject. Not anything like Neville, who was grinning excitedly and
telling them what they would be doing that day as they walked down to the
greenhouses as a group.
She was thankful that the others had waited for her, but she could have done
without Neville’s ramble. Especially when her mind was so preoccupied by
Professor McGonagall’s unusual request. A hand slipped into hers and gave a
little shake and squeeze.
“Everything all right?” Harry asked softly when she looked up.
“Fine. The Professor just wants to have a little chat about our plans for this
year.”
Harry frowned. “Well, it’s not like it’s all that big of a secret,” he hummed.
“I mean, I’ve already mentioned them most to Dumbledore.”
“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you more later, all right?”
“Course.” He smiled and turned away.
***
Hermione stormed up to the prefects’ bath leaving several other tired and
miserable seventh years to trail behind her. Fertilizing in Greenhouse 2 her
right foot! She fumed, unmindful of the small group of third years who
scattered quickly out of her way.
She soaped and showered off three times before she even begun to feel clean,
but thankfully that was long enough to somewhat defuse her mad.
“Come relax in the bath,” Hannah called, seeing the head girl finally exit a
shower cubicle.
Hermione started—still tense—and then forcibly made herself relax. “I can’t
stay long,” she hedged, padding over to the large, steaming bath.
“Why not?” Hannah asked, scooting over to make room for the other girl.
“Professor McGonagall ask me to stop by her office,” Hermione explained,
sighing as her body slipped into the heated water. “She wants to have a chat,”
she added almost cattily.
“Ooh, you are in a bad mood,” Hannah practically teased. “Maybe you should stop
to have some private time with Harry before you go to your meeting.”
“Hannah!” the head girl cried, much to the other girl’s delight as the blonde
continued to laugh delightedly. In a fit of pique, Hermione splashed her.
The two girls froze, both stunned… and then a wicked twinkle gleamed in blue
eyes and the battle was on. It wasn’t long, but it was absolutely what Hermione
had needed to break her bad mood—although, to be fair, anyone would be in a bad
mood if a bumbling idiot had managed to land an entire barrel of dung in your
lap.
Flushed and panting, the girls clung to the sides of the pools, grinning madly.
“I needed that,” Hermione admitted, turning over to settle back into the
embedded seat.
“I know,” Hannah grinned back at her. “You were spitting mad. I’m surprised you
didn’t hex that gargoyle’s bollocks off.”
Hermione snorted. “Comparing Goyle to gargoyles is really an insult to
gargoyles.”
Hannah giggled. “Are you all better for your meeting now?”
“Yes, I think I am. Thank you.”
“No problem. It was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
“What? Bathe together?” Hermione teased.
“I’ll wash your back if you’ll wash mine?” Hannah offered, batting her
eyelashes coquettishly.
She stared at the blonde stunned for one full minute before bursting out
laughing. “Careful there, someone might think you were hitting on me, and then
what would Harry say?”
“He’d probably ask if he could watch,” Hannah chuffed. “Men are apparently all
about these crazy lesbian fantasies. Of course, I always thought it would be
hotter to watch two guys going at it rather than two girls.”
“It’s supposedly really common and natural for one to be attracted to the idea
of two members of the opposite sex engaging in sexual situations,” Hermione
spouted. “Well, at least if you were heterosexual, I suppose. If you were
homosexual, I would imagine the opposite to be true.”
“You know you go all lectorial when you get nervous about something,” Hannah
commented.
“I do not!” Hermione balked, causing Hannah to laugh again as the two girls
finally climbed out of the bath.
“So have you ever thought about it?” the blonde asked as she tossed a towel
towards Hermione.
“Thought about what?”
“Two guys, going at it?” Hannah watched her from the corner of her eye while
pretending to focus on drying herself off. “I mean, I would think, if what you
said is true… and then with you being best friends with Harry and Ron…”
Hermione’s face wrinkled into a grimace. “No, I can honestly say I’ve never
thought of Ron and Harry ever being sexual together. In fact, the idea…well, it
makes me a bit squeamish,” she admitted.
Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I could see Ron and Harry, but I
think that’s just because the thought of Ron and anyone being sexy makes me
squeamish. How you can stand to be in the same common room as him and Lavender,
I don’t know.”
“I know, I know,” Hermione commiserated. “Still, there was a time when I used
to like Ron. Well, I mean, that is to say, I thought I had a crush on him. I
got over it, you understand.”
“Naturally,” the blonde agreed, and they lapsed into a bit of silence and they
pulled on two fresh, generic robes that were waiting for them thanks to the
house elves who kept the bathrooms neat and tidy and stocked. “Did you never
have a crush on Harry, then? Before this year, I mean.”
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I mean, Harry was always just
this wonderful, painfully shy boy who had such needy eyes. I loved him, yes,
without a doubt. He was my first friend you know, and… well, there was never a
doubt in my mind that I would do anything he needed, but…”
“But?”
“But I don’t think I ever really considered the possibility that he would ever
need or want me for… well, for a relationship other than what we already had,”
Hermione confessed. “It’s not that I’m against it, I’m not! It’s just…”
“It’s just you never could allow yourself to believe that someone as wonderful
as Harry would ever want someone as plain as you,” Hannah offered softly,
sharing a small, knowing smile with the other girl. “I don’t know why,” she
continued, “But I’m glad he did choose me. I mean, even if I’m not his only
one, I kinda feel really special and lucky to be able to know Harry like this.”
Hermione smiled. “Yes.”
“Hey, you’d better get going to your meeting with McMonagall. You don’t want
her to start coughing up furballs,” Hannah teased. “Will you make it to
dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, well, I’ll make sure to check in on the Charms study group tonight, if
you’d like. I know some of the fifth year Ravenclaws offered to lead tonight’s
session for the younger years, but I’m not sure if anyone’s offered for the
upper years yet.”
“Padma can do it if I’m not back, but I should be,” the head girl murmured,
checking her reflection briefly in the mirror before turning back to the
blonde. “Thanks, again, Hannah.” And then she darted away, leaving a thoughtful
Hufflepuff to follow at her own pace.
***
“Ms. Granger, right on time,” the cat animagus replied when Hermione knocked on
the open office door. “Come in, shut the door behind you.”
“You wanted to speak, Professor?”
“Yes, have a seat,” the elder woman directed, conjuring up an elegant tea
service. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m afraid I don’t know how you take your
tea.”
“Just a dollop of cream, please. Thank you.”
And with that, the pleasantries of ritual were out of way.
“So now, tell me,” Professor McGonagall began after seating herself behind her
desk with a cup of milk tea. “How is the year progressing from your point of
view?”
“Well, I would say,” Hermione began. “As you know, we’ve started various study
groups off the template of the DA.”
“Yes, the other professors were mentioning a noticeable improvement in both
student performance and theoretical comprehension,” she fished with a
compliment.
“Yes, well, it really helps to have the older students teaching the younger
students,” Hermione explained. “It provides for practice and review at the same
time. The only ones really left out are the seventh years, but we try to have
our own study sessions after the others are done.”
“Understandable. I hope you would feel comfortable to approach one of the
professors if you felt you needed more direction in these study sessions?”
McGonagall reminded firmly, making a mental note for herself to discuss a
possible preemptive move for the teachers. One of them should probably be
dropping by these study sessions anyway, just to make sure the students were
being safe, of course.
“Right now, I think we’re capable of handling things ourselves, but I’ll make
sure to pass the offer along. If anything, I could see maybe one or two
approaching a professor and then coming back to teach the group.”
“It is an interesting program you and Mr. Potter have set up. Students teaching
students.”
“It’s proving helpful for everyone.”
“The staff agrees,” McGonagall informed her. “We approve. But these study
groups are not the only projects you and Mr. Potter have designed…?”
“No, we now have the mentorship program running. There are a few students that
are still proving difficult to match up, but I think we’ve managed to pair or
group up the majority. It’s been… an interesting challenge.”
“Indeed. And remind me, how exactly is this program meant to work?”
“Well, it’s really more of a security system for everyone. It pairs younger
students with older students, sometimes two or three different students, which
gives you access to someone else if you’re having a problem or dilemma or just
need to talk to somebody.”
McGonagall frowned a little at that last. “I would think that’s what one’s head
of house was for.”
“With all due respect, it’s not the same,” Hermione tried to answer delicately.
“But that’s what we’re here for, to help lead and guide the students in our
house,” the older woman protested.
“But it’s not always leadership we need as students,” the head girl countered.
“If we need to gripe about a teacher, we can’t go to our head of house just to
blow some steam. If we’re having relationship issues with our boyfriend or
girlfriend, we can’t go to a Professor. If we’re feeling homesick or missing
the conveniences of the muggle world or we’re feeling especially confused by
something in the wizarding world… These are things better suited by someone
closer in age who can understand the immediacy of our issues. I’m sorry
professor, but Professor Snape is the youngest professor on staff, and I
certainly can’t see anyone not in Slytherin voluntarily going to him to
complain about anything.”
McGonagall attempted to hide a smile, unsuccessfully. “No, I suppose not. Well,
all right then. But why not use the prefects for this? After all, there is a
reason we have for selecting them.”
“Yes, and the prefects do help lead their house’s mentorships, but this way, by
spreading out the responsibility to include everyone, well it fosters more
relationships this way. And it’s not all about leadership and following the
rules, like the prefects are. A mentor is a person to help connect you to the
bigger picture. It’s why we tried to be so careful when matching people up.”
And this mentorship is progressing well?”
“It’s still too new to say for certain,” Hermione hedged. “But we have hopes
for it to continue. Right now, almost everyone except the first years have a
mentoree, someone who can come to them for help or advice. And everyone except
the seventh years have a mentor—someone they can go to for help or advice. It
was a little tricky, just because there are so many younger years than uppers.”
“Mmm,” she hummed agreeably. The staff had all been commenting on the number of
younger students. If the class sizes continued to grow, Hogwarts would have to
hire more staff. “The headmaster has alluded to several other pet projects for
this year?”
“Yes!” Hermione grinned excitedly. “We’ve already started with some extra
clubs—chess club and board games were the first two to get started. And
McMillian is trying to start up a political club. There’s talk of a drawing
group and musicians’ group, too. Someone mentioned foreign languages, and a few
of the muggle borns asked about football, rugby, and even basketball.”
McGonagall blinked. “It used to be, in years gone past, Hogwarts offered many
more extracurricular electives. There were classes for Art Appreciation,
Musical Studies, Healing, Warding, Dueling, Politics, Estate management, Laws,
Wizarding Etiquette, and even different languages.”
“I know. It said so in ‘Hogwarts: A History’, but it also said that funding ran
low during periods of strife and so all but the deemed core-curriculum classes
were kept,” Hermione shared. “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Divination was the
next class to be cut, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes it was,” McGonagall confessed. “Nearly twenty years ago.”
“Yes, well, there might still be a war going on and the wizarding world is
still experience ‘periods of strife’, but that doesn’t mean our education and
enrichment should suffer,” Hermione proclaimed. “Right now we’re just looking
towards what the students are interested in for this year. If we had more time,
we’d try tackling some of the other subjects. I know swordsmanship and weaponry
is not really needed for this day and age, but I think I would enjoy fencing.
And there used to be a home and craft class that taught all sorts of useful
charms and spells for running a household. Or the basic healing class?
Wizarding law?”
Hermione sighed. “There’s just so much we still don’t know yet, and we’re
expected to graduate and be productive citizens in less than a year…”
“Ms. Granger,” the elder witch sighed. “I know it can be daunting, the thought
of leaving these castle walls and going out to make your own way… and you are
right. There are still many things you don’t yet know, nor will you know for
many years yet. But it is my upmost belief that with your heart and your
courage, there is nothing you cannot achieve. Now, here, have a biscuit.”
Hermione stared bemusedly at the tin of shortbread that suddenly appeared
before her. Obediently, she took one, and she even gave it a nibble.
“Now, I believe that you are on the right track with these extracurriculars you
and Mr. Potter are setting up, and it does the students good to have more say
in their education. Perhaps they will remember it in years to come and help
fund those classes for when the time comes for their children to attend. One
can only hope. In the meantime, if I may, I wonder how things are progressing
between you and Mr. Potter?”
“Harry?”
“Yes. The role of head boy is not the easiest, and there are some who say he
lacked experience because he was not made a prefect first.”
“That’s a bunch of rubbish!” Hermione nearly shouted. “Harry’s a natural
leader, all the other prefects look up to him. Half of these ideas for getting
the houses to socialize more are his! Plus, he has all the experience of
leading the DA.”
McGonagall’s lips twitched. “Indeed. And you have not found it too arduous
sharing the head boy’s and girl’s common area with him?”
“Why would I? I mean, we’ve been friends since first year and shared
Gryffindor’s common room just fine. Sure, it’s a bit smaller than we’re used
to, but then again, we’re not entertaining an entire house of students, just
our friends or mentorees or a study group or impromptu prefect meeting.”
“You remind me much of another young Gryffindor couple,” the old woman sighed
wistfully. “Sometimes I find it difficult not to believe you’re the
reincarnation of Lily and James.”
“It’s my belief that Harry is a better person than his father was,” Hermione
said stoutly, “and I really don’t know enough of Lily other than everyone
speaks highly of her, so, I thank you for the compliment.”
“Ah, well, when you get to be my age, you’re continually seeing the parents in
the children,” McGonagall mused. “Or sometimes grandchildren. Well, then, I
shant keep you longer, Ms. Granger. Thank you for taking the time to talk with
me.”
“Certainly, professor,” Hermione replied, moving to stand. And then she thought
of something. “Professor, if I may?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Have you heard of a Vanteerian?”
She looked startled at first, and then thoughtful, which made Hermione
hopeful—not that she didn’t trust Hannah’s and Luna’s information per say. More
that over a week at the library had turned up nothing but occasional allusions
to the creature, and that just wasn’t enough to reassure her of the credibility
of Luna’s books from home.
“Vanteerian is the name of the race,” McGonagall said finally. “They are
referred to as Vanteera in the singular.”
Hermione blinked. “That might be why I was unable to find anything…”
“Doubtful. They’re a very old, very magical, very mythical being, long believed
to be extinct. Very few tales still exist that speak of them by that name. May
I ask where you came across such a name? It’s not one you hear often, even in
learned circles.”
“Luna,” Hermione answered before having to clear her throat. “Luna Lovegood
mentioned it, and then Hannah Abbott said she remembered something about them,
but when I looked in the library, I couldn’t find much of anything about
Vanteerians.”
“No, I should think not,” McGonagall huffed. “Like I said, they are a mythical
magical being long thought to be extinct, long before this castle was built. It
is said they are the ancestors of many of today’s magical beings, however—the
Veela, the vampire, the weres, the slyphs, and some even say they are the
original Lilitheans.”
“I see,” Hermione murmured, frowning. That certainly conformed with what she
had read in Luna’s books. “Thank you,” she concluded, nodding towards the older
witch before leaving.
She did not see the worried look the elder shot her.
***
***** A Meeting of Staff *****
Chapter Summary
     Teachers. Such gossips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wednesday, October 8, 1997
 
“I think it strange, is all,” Minerva McGonagall was heard commenting as she
and Poppy Pomfrey entered the lounge where monthly staff meeting were regularly
held.
“Most of your house is strange,” Severus mumbled, moving a chess piece at the
board laid out between him and Filius.
The shorter wizard chuckled. “Well, to each their own quirks!” he chirped,
moving his piece decisively. “Checkmate!”
“Damned.”
“What say you, Minerva? Chance a game before Dumbledore arrives?” the Charms
master entreated as the youngest member of staff and head of house currently at
Hogwarts turned away in peevishness. It was always a delight to trounce
Severus—simply because it was a rare occasion. The Gryffindor head of house and
mediwitch made their way to the side table to collect their refreshments while
they waited for the rest of the staff to arrive.
“Not tonight, Filius, thank you,” Minerva replied, graciously accepting the cup
of tea Poppy handed her. “No, rather, I wondered what you could tell me about
vanteerians? Ms. Granger mentioned the name to me the other day, saying she’d
heard it from one of your ravens, Ms. Lovegood.”
“Well, goodness! Now there’s a creature you don’t hear spoken of very often now
and days,” Filius squeaked. “Trust Ms. Lovegood to know of it. She does know
her magical beings and creatures!”
“If one believes in such things as snorkrats and jingleboppers,” Severus
snarked, moving to replenish his own tea. “But in this case, she is correct.
There was such a being known as a vanteera.”
“Yes, I know,” Minerva snapped back. “I remembered that much, but what else I
could remember was only that they were supposedly the precursors of today’s
weres, veelas, vampires, and slyphs.”
“Not exactly,” Filius corrected. “It would be more correct to say those modern
beings are more of a cadet branch of the vanteerias, wouldn’t you say,
Severus?”
The Potions Master turned Defense Professor huffed. “Nearly. It was a very rare
magical creature to begin with. Many thought of them as fallen angels or
spiritual deities. They were even worshipped in some cultures. Others thought
they were demons from another plane of existence. That is where the rumors of
them being related to our modern day creatures derive.”
“What do you mean?” Poppy asked, settling at the table halfway down from the
heads of house just as the Hufflepuff head of house came tearing into the room
full of high dungeon.
“I mean, Filius, I truly mean it!” Pomona shouted. “If you don’t keep that fool
out of my dandelions, I’m going to sic my snapdragons on him! No proper respect
for plants!”
“Mr. Talgart again, I presume?” Severus mused.
“You presume correctly!” the tuffity elder witch humfphed. “That boy is a
nuisance to gardens all over!”
“Come, now, Pomena, I’m sure the lad meant well,” Minerva tried.
“No, no he didn’t! Barbarian, that’s what he is!”
“I’ll make sure and have another word with Ian tonight, shall I?” Filius
offered.
“I think you should because I mean it, Filius, I will not be held accountable
if that boy ruins another patch!”
“He’s not hurt, is he?” Poppy asked warily, wondering if she would be excused
from tonight’s meeting.
“From dandelions? Of course not,” Severus scowled. “Even if he managed to fall
face first into the lot of them, most he would suffer is a bit of a headache
when he finally awoke.”
“The boy is fine. It’s my dandelions that are all riled up!” the herbologist
exclaimed. “Thankfully Mr. Longbottom stopped by this afternoon, and he’s
working his magic as week speak.” The Hufflepuff shot a questioning look
towards the boy-in-question’s head of house.
“No, Pomena, for the last time, I don’t know,” Minerva sighed. “Neither Augusta
nor the boy has chosen to confide in me as to whether or not the boy received
his family’s inheritance. In truth, I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned something
to you.”
“I would think it fairly obvious the boy’s inheritance,” Severus sneered. “Was
there little doubt after his abysmal performance in potions?”
“That’s no concrete proof, Severus, and you know it,” Minerva huffed.
The potions and defense master shrugged negligently and leaned back in his
chosen chair.
“Speaking of inheritances,” Poppy spoke up. “I have Ms. Whilthby back in the
infirmary for observation this evening.”
Minerva sighed. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told her that she is
highly unlikely to inherit her however-times-removed grandaunt’s condition.”
“Yes, well, we have another three sixth years who have birthdays this month,
and I shouldn’t need to remind you all to keep an eye open for them.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Severus agreed. “And yet, you do, at every meeting.”
“Now, Severus, a little redundancy never hurt.”
“Truly? I have always found it excruciatingly painful.”
“Ach, well, consider it retribution then. I understand you took another hundred
points from your younger years today,” Filius teased. “Karma, you know.”
“And speaking of redundancy,” Minerva put in. “You were about to tell us about
Vanteerians, Severus?”
He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and he glared at them all. Many of
the other professors had trickled in and settled themselves around the table
with their cups and cakes. Aurora and Charity had been babbling about something
or another, but they both mummed up and turned to face his end of the table.
Irma had slid silently into the chair beside him. They were just waiting on a
few others now. And Dumbledore.
Minerva returned his look steadily, folding her hand on the table as if to say
she would wait him out. He unfolded his arms and leaned back in his chair
before deigning to continue with the impromptu dark creatures lesson.
“The vanteera was a supposedly beautiful creature—more beautiful than a siren
or veela. It was purported to be in possession of incredible strength—stronger
than a vampire or lycanthrope—and its magical power was considered immense.
They were highly sexualized creatures, like the lilithean or succubae, and were
said to sustain nourishment from such relations. These comparisons are why it
is assumed to be a precursor to our modern creatures. That, and the belief that
the vanteera existed first.”
“Rather an argument of the chicken and the egg, isn’t it?” Septima mused behind
her tea cup.
“Yes, well, the creature itself was said to have two natural forms—that of a
humanoid and that of a feline, usually a predator such as a panther or lion,”
he added with a small nod towards Minerva.
“And wings,” Filius tooted. “Big, black wings. That’s how many of the
tapestries and drawings depicted them. As large winged game cats.”
“Wings like a bird?” Pomora asked, intrigued. “Similar to the sphinx?”
“Like a bat,” Severus corrected swiftly. “Large and smooth, sleek wings—the
blackest of blacks—and razor sharp claws that can inject a poison into its
victim with the merest swipe.”
“Are they natural shapeshifters?” Sinistra asked. “Or is it more of a curse,
like lycanthropy?”
“Oh, no, indeed,” Filius answered excitedly. “It is a true form for the
vanteria, and they can even take on the form of a simple housecat or even a
bat!”
“Which doesn’t matter much at all since they are considered a long extinct
being,” Severus wrapped up.
“Which is sad indeed,” Albus intoned as he entered the room. “Of which being
are were discussing?”
“Vanteerian, Albus,” Minerva supplied readily. “Ms. Granger made mention of the
creature the other day, heard it from the Lovegood girl, apparently, and wanted
to know what I know, and I realized, I didn’t know all that much.”
“Ah, a fascinating creature indeed,” Albus mused, petting his long beard.
“Emotional, primal, and highly family orientated. Extremely protective of their
mate and circle.”
“Their circle?” several voices chimed in, and even Severus looked questioning.
Albus smiled genially. “Why, yes. While most sources will agree that a vanteera
mates for life—one mate, and if something happens to that mate, then the other
will pine away and die. There are other sources, however, that suggested that
the vanteerian would actually live in a larger family-like circle. There would
be one prime couple, the alpha couple, and then there would be several other
secondary mates and couples. Since the vanteeria feed on pleasure and sexual
gratification, it would only make sense for the creature to have multiple food
sources. And research suggests that any offspring would be reared by the entire
circle.”
“You’re speaking of a harem,” Poppy sniffed.
“Similar, I suppose,” Albus agreed, but he couldn’t resist adding, “Or a
coven.”
“I don’t remember reading anything about a vanteera having more than one mate
let alone living in a…a harem,” Severus groused.
“No, quite possibly not,” the headmaster agreed. “After all, the creatures were
already quite endangered by the time some of my earliest references were first
being recorded. They were considered extinct not long after. I would think it
difficult to live in a family when there are no more of your species.”
“So if one did survive, it most likely mated outside of its race,” Aurora mused
sadly.
Septima nodded. “It would give itself the best odds of survival, as opposed to
outright extinction. It’s quite possible it did interbreed with other creatures
and thus beget the beasts we are familiar with today.”
“While this has been a riveting conversation,” Dumbledore called his
professors’ attention as he spied Sybil slipping in. “I applaud you all, and I
thank you for making it to our staff meeting in such a timely manner. And now
that we are all here, perhaps, we might begin, so the sooner you all may return
to your evening…”
“But Albus,” Minerva protested. “Where’s Hagrid?”
“Ah, I’m afraid our Care of Magical Creatures Professor has been called into
the forest for an urgent matter. It is a shame, for I know he would have truly
enjoyed our earlier discussion.”
“He’ll be all right?” Charity asked nervously.
“My dear, I ask you not to worry about Hagrid. He is quite safe in the forest,
and he will be back before the morning. Now, I should like to know of any
pressing concerns that have revealed themselves after a full month’s of
lessons. The first years are settled in, I trust?”
“Yes, all sixty-one of them,” Minerva replied tersly.
“It is quite a lot,” Aurora commented. “Without the upper forms’ assistance, I
should find myself quite overwhelmed to help them all.”
“I’ve opened some of the old study rooms,” Irma announced, “to provide for more
space for smaller groups or individuals to work in peace. There’s just too many
students to service in just the main floor of the library now.”
“Why, that’s marvelous! Some of those rooms haven’t been opened in decades.”
“That’s dangerous,” Minerva countered, and Severus agreed.
“More students, more chances for trouble.”
“Don’t be such a humglum, Severus,” Bethsheda finally spoke up. “It’s a good
thing for there to be more children in this old building. Haven’t you all
noticed how much happier the castle seems with the extra numbers?”
“Still so much lower than decades past,” Pomora noted sadly.
“Still more than this staff should safely be asked to handle with our limited
numbers,” Minerva countered. “This mentoring system Harry and Hermione have set
up, it’s helpful, but it doesn’t replace good adult supervision, Albus.”
“And we’ve spoken on this before, Minerva,” the headmaster countered.
“If the funds aren’t available, then we must find them!” she shouted forcibly.
“Do you know that the students are setting up extra-curricular clubs? Clubs to
teach themselves! Teach themselves subjects we should be instructing them in!
The school can’t be put off and neglected much longer, Albus. You need to talk
to the Board of Governors. Convince them to allot more galleons to the budget
so that we can hire proper staffing.”
“The children are doing well to start,” Filius agreed. “But not even a book can
replace the solid support of an experienced wand.”
“Right now it’s simple things,” Minerva continued. “Games and talk groups, but
Hermione tells me they’re also talking about studying languages and the arts.
She even mentioned healing and fencing!”
“While many of the minor charms are safe for the children to practice with,”
Poppy interjected, “Serious damage could result from even the smallest
miscasting of any of the more-than-basic spells.”
“You’re going to have to face facts, Albus,” the deputy headmistress said
sternly. “We need more support.”
“The children need more support,” Pomora added. “It really isn’t fair to them,
and quite honestly, I’m finding it difficult to keep track of so many at once.
There’s simply too many of them. We need help.”
“I could do with an assistant or two,” Filius admitted. “Currently, I have a
few of my Ravenclaws assisting me, but Pomora’s right. It really isn’t fair to
them, not when they have their own studies to attend to.”
“I’m concerned,” Septima shared, “that this trend will continue for another
decade more. It would behoove us to make preparations now before it is too late
and becomes a serious problem.”
“It is already a problem,” Severus grumbled, and Septima nodded to him in
acknowledgement but didn’t speak further.
In his chair at the head of the table, Dumbledore sighed. “I will, of course,
go to the governors once more and express to them our concerns.”
“Fat lot of good that will do,” Bethsheba cackled. “You should try letting some
of us speak to them, or better yet, the students. I bet you if some of your
Ravenclaws, Filius, or your Slytherins, Severus, wrote home to their mommies
and daddies, and then those parents started writing to the governors then we’d
start seeing some changes around here, and for the better.”
Severus looked bored at the suggestion, but both Filius and Pomora looked
intrigued. Even Minerva seemed to be considering the idea.
“Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger have quite an ambitious schedule planned,” Minerva
told them casually. “She would not tell me everything, but I was given the
impression that these extra tutorial classes and the mentorship program were
only the beginning.”
“Indeed,” Albus allowed, nodding. “In fact, I have with me this evening, a new
proposal from our headboy and girl. A request.”
“What do they want now? A petting zoo?” Severus scoffed.
“Careful they don’t hear you say that,” Septima chastised. “They might just
think it’s a good idea!”
“Ah, not quite. Nothing so mundane,” the headmaster hedged, retrieving a
parchment from his many pockets. “Here it is, Minerva?” he asked, handing the
roll over to his deputy. “If you would?”
The Gryffindor head of head tool the parchment and quickly scanned it, her
eyebrows rising ever higher the further along she went. “Ms. Granger suggested
this?” she asked in disbelief.
“It was Mr. Potter who delivered the request,” Albus reminded her.
“Well? What is it now?” Severus demanded.
“They’re asking to hold a traditional Samhain celebration,” Minerva told him,
handing the parchment over to Filius who was sitting beside her. “In addition
to the normal Halloween Feast.”
“Oh, I say!” Several of the other professors twittered on excitedly. “We
haven’t hosted a Samhain ritual for the students in… ages!”
“No, we haven’t,” Albus agreed, frowning slightly.
“And this was Potter’s idea?” Severus scoffed.
“I detect Ms. Granger’s work here,” Filius put in. “It’s quite detailed in its
requested itinerary.”
“Not to mention it’s Ms. Granger’s handwriting,” Minerva pointed out.
“Never the less, the request comes from Harry,” Albus said even as Filius
passed on the parchment to Severus. “As he put it, he wishes to honor his
parents’ memory more appropriately than a feast.”
Many of the professors at the table made maudlin noises at that statement, but
Severus remained as stoic as ever. For years, he honored the death and loss of
his dearest friend in private, sneering at all the others of the wizarding
world who celebrated the day joyously. And now her son, nearly grown a full
man, was here to try and publicize her sacrifice. He practically vibrated in
his seat with rage.
“It’s a very respectfully thought out ritual,” Filius said approvingly. “And it
allows for all others who have suffered losses.”
“Oh, it is quite traditional,” Pomora exclaimed, unabashedly looking over
Severus’s shoulder, and when his hands began shaking too badly for her to read
easily, she plucked the parchment from his fingers and placed it on the table
near the other professors so they could read it, too.
“Have you given your permission, yet?” Septima asked, looking down the table
towards the heads. “Only, I should like to make some small changes to my
lessons to better prepare any of my students who wish to participate fully in
such a ritual.”
“Oh, that’s a marvelous idea,” Aurora exclaimed. “I usually do something for
the students, too, but if they’re to hold a traditional ritual, I’ll be able to
make more explicit concrete connections for them!”
“Then you approve?” Albus asked, smiling benignly.
“Of course!” Pomora laughed. “It’s a lovely idea, and the students’ own! We
should do our best to honor our students’ requests, especially when it connects
to our history and past. My herb garden is just about done, so I can easily
have my first years collect the proper clippings.”
“It says here they want to set up an alter outside the Great Hall,” Charity
frowned. “Do you think some of the muggleborns might not protest?”
“I think you’ll find them much more excited at the prospect of participating in
something magical than you would them protesting,” Severus purred. “Unless, of
course, you’re asking them to do extra work.”
“So we’re agreed then?” Albus cut in. “I shall tell Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger
that their Samhain celebrations are approved?”
“We should see about writing some of the parents, though,” Minerva suggested.
“We’ll definitely need the extra support! And Severus, perhaps you could take a
few moments in one of your classes to review protective circles and warding?”
And with that, the meeting went on.
****
 
 
 
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Summary
     Friday, October 10, 1997-- Dark beginnings.
Chapter Notes
     All those warnings listed in the tags? Yep. This chapter will begin
     to hit on about half of them... The squirmy half. At least for the
     first part.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-Two nights later-
He let the report he was reading fall back to the desktop with disgust. He was
in a foul mood, he knew. Though the results of months’—no, years’ worth of
plans, he found the lot of it to be tedious. Beneath his skill.
Still, it was important to know what going on, and verbal reports tended to be
delivered with too much stuttering and groveling… They were a great waste of
his time. He looked at the office around him, ready for a break.
This manor home had been… generously gifted to him for his private use shortly
after his rebirth. It was a standing testament to how diminished the wizarding
world had become. Merely three decades before, the house sheltered one of many
of the cadet branches to the Rookwoods. Now, that family was nearly extinct,
the properties and holdings of that once proud family laying fallow. The
Rookwoods were merely one of the many pureblooded families that were quickly
dying out.
He stood and left the home office, choosing to wander the empty hallways of the
home. It was a quaint little manor—not as large as some of his followers. Not
as large as even his father’s manor—but it suited his needs perfectly, with
only a limited few allowed access to its grounds. This was now his private
domain, one of many properties that had been deeded to the cause. His cause.
He smirked, thinking on his plans, their progress. With a snap decision, he
turned towards the parlor and the floo connection to be found there. It would
do well for all if he were to make an unannounced inspection of his properties
and see for himself how some of his plans were progressing. It was always a…
delight… to watch the younger minions scrabble and scurry when he approached.
He chose Duval Hall as his first stop. Both it and Madrona were located near
the coast of Cornwall. Many of his followers had been to both locations, but
Madrona he preferred to use for official and unofficial meetings on a large or
small scale. Many of his planning parties took place in that home, but it was
Duval Hall where many of his followers preferred to visit.
Not that he blamed them, he mused as he entered through one of the private
apparition points warded specifically for himself. A flick of his wand sent a
disillusionment charm trickling over his head and shoulders, like raw egg
sliding down one’s neck. A small swirl cast a silencing charm on his feet least
he alert any would-be attentive sentry. He chuckled quietly to himself.
Would-be attentive, indeed, for it wasn’t likely. Too many dependent entirely
upon the wards to protect themselves and lost themselves in the pleasures and
delights to be found within Duval Hall. Really, it was more of a play house, he
thought fondly. A safe haven for those upright pillars of society to flex their
power and release their frustrations. A booster for those too weak or pitiful
to feel power over some other wretched human being. Hell for those unfortunate
enough to be guests.
Each property had a suite set aside as his personal chambers, and it was to
here he apparated before stealing down the back staircase like a thief. It
amused him, to be sneaking around his own properties, spying on his own people.
You could learn so much about a person when they didn’t know you were watching.
It was a skill he had employed often when he was younger, he thought fondly,
rubbing a thumb along the bulky ring on his right hand.
In the kitchen, he found a house elf at the stove and two robed wizards at the
table discussing menial ministerial office work. Uninteresting. He moved on.
Duval Hall was a decent-sized manor home. There were three levels, plus a two
level basement. Off the kitchen were two dining rooms, one formal, one
informal. Elsewhere on the ground floor there were the typical lord’s and
lady’s salons and a parlor room that might at one time have been a music room
or library. Another room was what obviously had been a library or personal
study. Upstairs, there were a total of six bedrooms plus a children’s suit.
Downstairs, there was an empty wine cellar and ritual chamber.
The building had come to them with but the bare bones, but that was fine. It
suited his needs perfectly as a location for his people to… play.
In what would have been the larger, formal dining room, the two longer walls
accessorized dangling shackles, the heavy iron chains sprouting from the walls,
ceiling, and floors. There was space allotted for six guests and two very
special seats of honor towards the center of the room. Currently, only one of
the wall shackles was in use—a female of debatable health and stature. In the
center of the room, two of his own were working over another female, strapped
into the harness and mewling pitifully.
He moved on. The smaller dining room was empty save for a dirty, huddled entity
in one corner. He didn’t bother to investigate. There were three large dog
crates in the parlor, but only one was occupied by a whimpering boy. In the
lady’s salon, a girl lie sprawled across the floor, bleeding from numerous,
shallow cuts, panting and shivering, her back an intriguing lattice work of
angry lash marks. In the lord’s salon he found two more of his people sitting
around, enjoying a drink while they pet and fondled two naked little girls,
sisters from the looks of them.
Frowning, he made his way back upstairs to investigate. Duvall Hall was
supposed to be one of his more populated guest houses, and yet, he’d only
counted seven. There should have been another dozen, easily. Upstairs he found
more vacant rooms, one encrusted with blood and offal, but no other living
bodies.
Scowling and annoyed, he quickly vanished to inspect the two other homes that
were set up similarly to Duvall Hall and found them equally as under staffed.
The farm in Lincolnshire, Belfair, and Bryn Mawr in Wales had a handful of
slaves each. Furious, he apparated to back to Cornwall and strode intently into
the main meeting all of Madrona.
“Wormtail!” he bellowed, whirling when he heard the simpering rodent. “Your
arm.”
He ignored the sniveling creature, focusing instead on calling his key players.
Shoving the whimpering Death Eater at his feet away, he settled onto the large
throne-like chair at the end of the room and waited. Appearances were
important, he reminded himself, working to sooth his roiling magic—a feat he
would have failed at even a year ago, he was ashamed to admit, even to himself.
Once more, he caressed the large family ring on his right hand. It had been the
right choice, he reminded himself. He had been too unstable, too… insane.
He sneered.
He would have preferred to have used the diary, of course, but unfortunately,
the diary was no more. For which Lucius had suffered dearly for. The ring had
sufficed, however, to help him regain control. It was now a matter of
retraining his mind—a much slower process, indeed.
Swiftly, several robed figures swept into the meeting hall, sinking gracefully
to their knees before him.
He left them waiting. Waiting till the last had arrived.
“I decided to tour my properties this evening,” he hissed mildly, as if
discussing the weather for the weekend. Calmly, lackadaisically. The bodies
before him were well trained indeed; they shifted not a muscle. “Tell me, did
you know our caches were so low… Pike?”
“My Lord,” the healer began, nervously wetting his lips. “Yes, my Lord, and for
good reason.”
“Really? Pray tell. What possible ‘good’ reason is there for our caches being
practically empty?”
“They have been moved to Springbrook House, my Lord,” the healer rushed to
inform him. “As per the plans you shared with me.”
He was intrigued. “The house is up and ready?”
“My Lord,” a second death eater spoke.
“Yes, Smethwyck, what is it? Speak!”
“Our spell crafters finished warding the property only last week,” the stocky
man replied. “We’ve been working to relocate the promising ones and test out
the different rooms’ capabilities.”
“And why was I not informed of this sooner?” he growled.
“You asked us to oversee the project, sir, my lord,” the third death eater
spoke, his thick voice marred by his heavy accent. “We had planned to present
it to you once everything had been finalized. There are still a few—“
“I wish to see it,” he demanded pushing to his feet.
“Of course, my lord,” Smethwyck grimaced. “It is, however—“
“Now,” he snapped, cutting the fool man off. If he hadn’t been necessary for
this project… Ah, well, he was still useful. And Peltier… the young man was
full of promise and potential. Much like himself when he was younger, he mused.
“Peltier, you may take me there now.”
“Of course, my lord,” the young man replied with a short bow. “Springbrook
House may be found……”
The property was steeped in old magic, and had come to them when a great-aunt
of a great-aunt had finally died, leaving Livius Peltier as the only viable
inheritor. The young Peltier, fresh from the halls of Durmstrang and eager to
please his lord, had offered the old home to the cause. Like so many times
before, he had graciously accepted, but he knew… One step upon that blessed
land and he had known…
Springbrook House was to become the keystone to one of his grandest, most
ambitious plans.
The plan had gestated more than a year ago. His beloved Nagini was brooding… So
many homes left empty, family lines dying out… The wizarding world was dying.
And that could not be allowed to happen.
Peltier led him to the main gates of the small estate, officially added him to
the wards, and then swiftly stepped back to allow him entrance. “Springbrook
House, my lord. May it please you.”
He said nothing, merely striding forward and up the small walk that led to the
front door. Pike, Smethwyck, and Peltier followed. It was an unassuming
structure from the outside, but he knew the laborious hours of warding and
spell crafting that covered the house from ground up. Appearances, after all,
could be deceiving.
The cloak room opened up to a long hallway with many doors.
“Is there someplace in particular my lord would like to see first?” Peltier
diplomatically inquired.
“I wish to see it all,” he replied, looking down at the boy.
“Of course. You may recall, Springbrook boast four levels from ground up,” the
boy began the tour. “Here on the ground floor we have the dining room, study,
parlor, along with two guest rooms. Below are the kitchens and a fully
functional potions lab. We will be able to brew to all of our requirements. On
the first floor, we have prepared several comfortable living suites for your
people, my lord. The third and fourth floors have been expanded and devoted to
attending to the breeders and nursery.”
“Show me.”
“Shall we begin from the top and work our ways down?” Smethwyck suggested
nervously, motioning to the simple staircase. “The nursery is empty at the
moment, of course, but we have nanny elves already at the ready. Each of the
top two floors has time compression capabilities, although we haven’t tested
them out for longer than a few hours yet.”
“What good is but a few hours?” he hissed as he made the climb up; passed the
first floor landing, ignoring the uncannily similar corridor of doors; passed
the second floor landing, where there were no doors at all, only a wall mural;
up to the third floor, which boasted an almost cheerful open area with five
doors.
“That’s just for our trials, my lord,” Smethwyck rushed to explain. “Once we
are fully operational, the time chambers should be able to move months at a
time.”
“Except for the nursery,” Pike piped up, stepping forward to usher him into the
first room. “The time compression for the nursery has been set for only a week,
but that’s to ensure the babes’ health. We estimate the first arrivals will be
here before the end of the month,” the healer went on. “As you can see, we’ve
already prepared this room for our current population.”
He could see. The room, while not small, per say, was also not very large, but
what there was of it was filled with baby bedding. Along one wall was a row of
basinets. Along the other two, were cribs. In the center were several rocking
chairs, leaving the final wall free for a large armoire and what he suspected
to be a changing table.
“Yes, and by the time the first group is ready to graduate to cribs, there will
be plenty of new arrivals to take their place,” Smethwyck crowed.
“The three other rooms on this level are similar to this,” Peltier explained.
“While the other is a play room. Shall we continue down?”
They did. Instead of going down the same stairs they had ascended, Peltier led
them to a second stair case towards the rear of the house. “The second floor,”
Pike explained, “can only be accessed from the kitchen or the nursery.”
“A safety precaution,” Smethwyck added.
And there he found their missing cache.
It was laid out like an infirmary, which had been obviously enlarged past the
capacity of the building’s original structure. Towards the very back of the
room was another door. Between them and that door sat cot after cot, stretching
the entire length of room, at least twenty a row. Half the beds were already
occupied, most with women but some men, all asleep and all at various stages of
pregnancies.
“We’re currently set up for sixty,” Smethwyck explained, “but we possess to
capacity to nearly double that if needs be.”
“The breeders are doing well,” Pike spoke up, moving to walk the rows, his wand
out and casting diagnostic charm after diagnostic charm. “And no anomalies have
been detected in the babes. I have several medically trained elves that monitor
this room always, and I’ve designed a special delivery room in the back so that
when one goes into labor he or she won’t disrupt the others.”
“Very good,” he mused, studying the sleeping forms. They had done well. It was
a promising start, but it was only a start. “If this does well, we will create
another Springbrook,” he told them.
“Shouldn’t we next prepare for when the babes are ready to leave here?” Peltier
questioned. “Even with the slower time compression, the first will have begun
to outgrow this place within a year.”
He resisted the urge to hex the boy just for questioning him…just barely.
“Another will be in charge of that phase,” he told them, even though in truth
he hadn’t planned that far yet. He would have to decide who he should foist the
unamusing toddlers onto. After all, he didn’t care for children. He wanted
followers and soldiers, good little biddable minions who went out and followed
orders.
“Yes, of course, my lord,” Pike was quick to acquiesce. “We will, of course, be
happy to establish as many Springbrook homes as you wish.”
“Yes, you will,” he purred menacingly. “I wish to see the ground floor now.
Take me.”
They took yet another stair case, this one leading to the afore mentioned
kitchen where a large wooden table dominated.
“Would Masters be wanting something to eat?” a diminutive house elf squeak
fearfully from the sink basin.
“No, thank you, Claris. We’re just walking through.”
“Very good, Master Livius.”
“This way, my lord,” Peltier continued, leading on to yet a different stair
case and back up to the ground floor.
“So far you have done well,” he allowed as the little lordling led them into a
cozy parlor.
And they had done well. He was pleased. Well, mostly. The house was only half
filled. It looks like he would have to send his snatchers out on more raids
soon. And then he would choose another location for a refinery—something better
than an orphanage, surely. “You are recording who has successfully sired?”
“We will be, yes, my lord,” Pike affirmed. “Each babe will be affixed with an
identification bracelet when it is born, and the father will be notified as
well.”
“You have done well,” he told the trio once more. “Continue to do so. Soon I
will have more work for you.”
They murmured words of meaningless gratitude, but he’d already dismissed them
from his mind. If his plan was to proceed successfully, he would need more
fodder. Yes, he would have to contact Cadwallander soon. And then he would find
another team to prepare for phase two—the toddlers and primaries. Let someone
else deal with the technicalities of it all. After all, that’s what being
higher management was about—making the decisions and delegating the work.
****
Neville woke with a start, at first confused why he would have awoken in the
seeming middle of the night… but then, all at once, he realized his silent ward
alert had been triggered. Harry had had another nightmare.
It had been a much trickier bit of magic to set a ward around the head boy’s
bed chamber that would still alert him if the other boy was having a nightmare.
Especially since they no longer shared a room. Instead of warding his actual
bed, Neville had warded a small potted plant that he had then given to Harry—to
help with good dreams, he’d said, so the other boy would have to keep it close
to his bed. It only went off if and when Harry left his bed…
Of course, it wasn’t an absolute guarantee that Harry had had a nightmare, but
it was a pretty good darn bet. Neville trudged into a heavy cloak and pulled on
some heavier socks to protect his legs from the biting wind. It might only be
October, but it was still plenty cold in the hills of Scotland. Then he made
his way over and up to the Astronomy Tower to prepare.
He had just finished with the localized warming and silencing spells when the
door behind him burst open. Harry was a whirlwind of energy, exploding onto the
scene…and Neville drank him up, radiating and humming.
Harry ran up to the parapet and screamed, releasing a dark well of anger and
anguish into the night sky. Neville waited patiently behind until the other boy
collapsed boneless against the stone fixtures. There was a time, when he had
first started bringing Harry here and establishing this area as a safe zone,
when Neville had feared Harry would one day hurtle himself off over the side of
the ramparts. Those days were thankfully past, and he felt reassured that no
matter how much Harry might scream and rage into the night, the other boy would
not try to end his pain in a purposeful fall.
Neville waited, waited until Harry was panting heavily and curled up on the
floor, burying his head under his arms. Ragged and raw, bleeding from invisible
wounds.
And then he slid down onto the stone beside him and pulled the smaller teen to
him. Harry didn’t resist, slumping against him first and then slowly sliding
down to lay in his lap.
Still, he said nothing. He waited, calmly combing through Harry’s dark hair,
waited until Harry’s breathing had evened out some. Waited until the first of
the warming charms started to weaken before recasting them and waiting some
more. He didn’t mind waiting quietly. He didn’t mind these stolen moments in
the night when Harry felt safe enough to confide his pain and fear in him.
No, quite the opposite. Neville relished them. No matter what time, how late or
early, these were the moments when Harry—strong, proud, noble Harry
Potter—turned to him for comfort, depended on him—Neville Longbottom, the long-
thought-squib, the ignominious scion of the Longbottom family. Here, he was a
disgrace to nobody. Here, he was a trusted friend and confident, an important
source of comfort and compassion. Here, he was needy and worthy.
If only it could be more than that, though, he thought wistfully.
“He’s… breeding,” Harry hissed hoarsely, shocking Neville out of his castrating
thoughts. “All those prisoners, he has them locked up in a house somewhere, in
a big old room full of beds. All those men and women who were being r-raped,”
the dark haired boy gasped out. “He plans on harvesting the babies and growing
his own army.”
Harry stared up at him hollowly. “Neville, some of those girls, they’re our
age… and there are boys there, too. Boys, who are pregnant… but how can a
muggle man get pregnant? …and they were definitely males, Neville. Hannah said
that they must have been all muggles, because if they were magicals, their
magic would have rebelled somehow, but…”
Neville’s gut twisted, and he battled his nerves down, closing his eyes and
settling his swirling, excited magic. Here was his chance, his chance to share
an important piece of himself with Harry… would he listen? Would he be
receptive? He hoped so.
“It’s believed, that long ago, before there were wizards and witches, there
were just plain humans and the creatures and spirits that infused the world
with magic,” Neville began, licking his lips nervously. “The creatures and
spirits weren’t natural to this world; they came here from somewhere else, and
they brought magic with them. The humans wanted this magic for themselves, and
they sought out to catch and capture the creatures, to try and harness their
magic.
“Some were successful, and they learned the secrets of magic. Others, not so
much, or rather, not in the manner they had intended,” Neville went on to
explain. “You see, the creatures, the magical spirits who walked this world,
they were inquisitive and highly intelligent, but they came with their own
agenda. Seldom did one get caught who didn’t want to be caught. Some of the
creatures, once caught, forced themselves onto their would-be-captors. Others
would tease and taunt their hunters until they were caught. But rarely did they
ever get caught unless they wanted to be, though, and it’s from these
beginnings that magic in humans originated.”
“Luna said…” Harry hedged nervously. “She said that many of the magical
families today have some creature blood in them.”
“The truth is more likely that all do,” Neville shared.
“Even you?”
“Even Hermione,” Neville countered. “Somewhere. Well, if you’re to believe the
origin of magic came from elsewhere,” he quickly amended.
“And do you?” Harry asked baldly. “Believe, that it is?”
“Well, it makes sense, I think. How else can you really explain why some people
have magic and others don’t?”
“So, these creatures bred with humans and created witches and wizards,” Harry
summarized. “And you think that’s what Voldemort has done? Found some creatures
to breed regular humans with? But that doesn’t explain the men, Nev. Even if
it’s possible in the magical world, muggle men just don’t have what it takes to
grow a baby without magic.”
“No, but there are some creatures who are powerful enough to impregnate even a
muggle man,” Neville shared. “But they’re rare. It’s more likely the snatchers
somehow caught some nymphs,” he admitted.
“Wait, but… I thought they were all women?” Harry frowned, struggling to
remember his magical creature history.
“Not… exactly.” Neville sighed, absently playing with a little curl of magic
along his fingers as he stared up at the starry sky. “Nymphs were—are—nature
spirits. Nature is all about life—growing, nurturing, dying, rebirth. Nymphs
themselves were… well, they enjoyed the chase, and many times they didn’t mind
being caught. And when they were caught, they did what many things in nature
are wont to do, right? They reproduced and multiplied. Stands to reason that
some of those children were males, right? But that wouldn’t have made them any
less, um, inclined than their parents, and so you can have male nymphs. But
more importantly,” Neville continued. “You can have male nymphs that can
reproduce naturally, without a female. They’re naturally fertile, just like
trees and plants—they’re male, but they’re not all male.”
“So, they can what? Germinate,” Harry snorted. “Cross pollinate?”
“Yeah, I suppose you could say,” Neville murmured, blushing slightly.
“And so you think those guys Voldemort has knocked up are some sort of nymph?”
“It’s a theory.”
Harry scrubbed at his face, moaning frustrated. “He plans on sending his
snatcher teams out to grab more innocent people.”
“At least he’s keeping them alive…” Neville offered.
“For what, though? Incubators? That’s not alive!”
“It’s better than dead,” Neville countered. “At least this way, there’s a
chance, a hope that they might be rescued. No matter how bad it gets, if
they’re still alive, there’s hope, right?”
Harry huffed. “I hate it when you throw my words back at me.”
And Neville grinned. “Can’t help it if you say some pretty smart things from
time to time.”
They lapsed into another silence, the night sky circling lazily overhead.
“Nev?”
“Mmh?”
“You ever heard of a vanteerian?”
Neville frowned, shifting to look down at the boy sprawled in his lap. “What
about it?”
“Luna seems to think I’m one,” Harry shared softly, not looking at him.
Neville’s eyes widened and he froze, heart seizing in his chest. That was…
impossible, wasn’t it? He forced himself to swallow and breathe again, his fist
clenching around the tiny little vine that was growing around his fingers. “The
vanteerian are considered extinct, Harry,” he said deeply, having to clear his
throat several times before succeeding. “Supposedly died out a millennium ago.
They were the very first of the magical creatures to… to breed with humans,
though. Or so the story goes.”
“So you’ve heard of them,” Harry asked, looking up at him. “Tell me?”
Neville sighed, knowing he wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny the other boy, and so
he trudged through his memories of hiding in his family’s library and reading
the many fairy tales and mythologies his family had managed to collect over the
centuries.
“A vanteera,” Neville began haltingly. “They’re beautiful. The most beautiful
creature to have ever walked the earth. Beautiful and powerful and deadly.”
“Well, that pretty much rules me out,” Harry snorted.
“They were shape shifters, feline originally, although they learned to morph
into other animals, including humans,” Neville continued, rushing on to add,
“And they fed off sex.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Apparently, they didn’t need to eat like a regular creature, but they
had to have a steady source of intimacy, of which sex was the most satisfying.”
“I don’t get how Luna seems to think I’m one of these things,” Harry groused.
“Especially if they’re supposedly extinct!”
Neville frowned. “Did she say why?”
“Does she ever explain herself?” Harry countered, sharing a wry grin with the
other boy. Neville nodded knowingly. Luna was incredibly smart—too smart,
really. It was practically impossible to know what she was talking about most
times.
“Well, the vanteerian were said to be magically powerful,” he suggested.
“I’m not all that powerful,” Harry denied mechanically.
“They have wings and razor sharp claws.”
“Wing-free and clawless,” Harry replied, holding up his hands for proof.
“Um…they can work special magic, like shadow magic and elemental magic?”
“I don’t even know what those are!”
“They have heightened senses, like a werewolf, and can even see magic…?”
Harry didn’t immediately dispute, and Neville looked down at his surprised.
“Harry?”
“After my birthday,” Harry started hesitantly. “Things, sort of… changed a
bit.”
“Your inheritance began,” Neville responded sagely. “Yeah, mine, too.”
“But, I mean, it wasn’t all… I mean, nothing drastic happened! I didn’t sprout
wings or grow claws,” he protested. “I just… I don’t know. I could sort of… see
things better,” he bungled through, trying to explain. “I could sense things a
little bit more clearly, I guess. And, sometimes, I don’t know, I can… well;
sometimes I think I can see things.”
“Like colors, in the air?” Neville suggested.
“Not all the time,” Harry spouted off. “I mean, sometimes I don’t even realize
what I’m doing, staring at things others can’t see… I thought it was maybe just
something like the thestrals, you know? Some people can see them, some can’t.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, wondering. “Can you make yourself see it?”
“I don’t know,” Harry answered miserably.
“Here, try,” Neville suggested, holding out his hand and casually calling forth
a bit of magic like he had done earlier. Slowly, a little trickle of his magic
came forth and began to weave around his fingers.
Harry sat up, staring transfixed. “What is it?” he breathed.
Smiling, Neville called up a little bit more of his magic, and the tiny
potential became concrete, forming a tiny, living vine that curled around his
fingers. He held the fingerling out to Harry.
“Neville…is that your…”
“My inheritance,” he confirmed. “Gran wanted me to do the family ritual this
summer to bring it forth all at once, but I wouldn’t. It’s not supposed to be
forced,” he told the other boy. “Magical Inheritances, they’re supposed to take
time, Harry. It’s a process, a natural change in both your body and magic. It’s
not just supposed to happen right when you turn seventeen. Poof! Happy
birthday, have some extra magic!”
Harry snorted, but Neville continued.
“A true magical inheritance takes more than just twenty-four hours to develop.
And all the family rituals out there that rush it, they corrupt it, weaken it
and make it less. They essentially are killing their potential, like a gardener
who adds too much water or too much fertilizer trying to rush things.” He added
more magic, convincing the tiny sprout to grow and curl onto Harry’s hand.
“Your date of birth is just a marking place, like the spring, it signals your
magic it’s time to grow…”
“This is amazing, Nev. No wonder you’re so good with plants.”
“Mmm, it’s part of my family’s inheritance, although I’m the first in
generations to actually inherit.”
“What is it, exactly?”
“Can’t you guess?” Neville grinned, feeling light-hearted and hopeful as he
leaned in closer to the other boy. “Nymph,” he whispered before daringly
pressing his lips to Harry’s.
 
 
****
Chapter End Notes
     Well, this chapter turned in several different directions that I
     hadn't expected or quite planned for. Sorry for the cliffy. Neville
     made a move about two weeks too early. Now I need to go back to the
     notes and figure out how this is going to work. :/
     As usual, this is a raw first draft.
***** The Nymph and the Vanteera *****
Chapter Summary
     Neville gets satisfaction.
Chapter Notes
     Explicit sexual encounters between males and all that might entail,
     including mentions of mpreg.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
-Friday, October 10, 1997, the Astronomy Tower-
 
~THEN~  
 
“A true magical inheritance takes more than just twenty-four hours to develop.
…Your date of birth is just a marking place, like the spring, it signals your
magic it’s time to grow…”
 
“This is amazing, Nev. No wonder you’re so good with plants.”
 
“Mmm, it’s part of my family’s inheritance, although I’m the first in
generations to actually inherit.”
 
“What is it, exactly?”
 
“Can’t you guess?” Neville grinned, feeling light-hearted and hopeful as he
leaned in closer to the other boy. “Nymph,” he whispered before daringly
pressing his lips to Harry’s.
 
 
~NOW~
 
 
It wasn’t sweet, Neville was too nervous that this would be his only chance and
everything within him was pounding erratically, demanding.  He thought he could
understand now how his ancestors had felt, confronted with a creature as
exquisite as Harry, a vanteera—and Neville had little doubt in Luna’s
prognostication.  It explained so much; Neville’s overwhelming need to be with
the other boy, the pounding, insistent desire that had engulfed him ever since
returning to school this September.
 
More instinctively than consciously, Neville called on his natural magic to
assist him in his seduction.
 
Harry’s lips parted beneath his, and he didn’t wait to discover if it was in
protest or invitation before sucking the other boy’s bottom lip between his
teeth.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me this last month?” he
practically growled.
 
“Nev—what?” Harry panted.
 
The taller boy groaned, burying his face into Harry’s neck, nuzzling at his
throat, from which a low, rumbling purr began to emit.  “You don’t even know,
do you?”
 
“Know what?” Harry asked, hands clenching in the thick material of Neville’s
robe while he fought for control of his magic and body, which were vibrating
with excitement, responding readily, eagerly to the other boy.  A lot like it
had with Luna, he realized suddenly.
 
Neville pulled back, struggling to calm his racing heart. Harry hadn’t pushed
him away. This was good. This was… potential.  “You know how you said you felt
like there were more people watching you this year?”
 
“Yeah, we discussed that,” Harry acknowledge, licking his lips nervously, not
sure where exactly this was going or what it had to do with Neville kissing
him. “Said it was because I was head boy this year; of course more people would
be watching me, waiting for me to screw up.”
 
“Yes. No,” Neville corrected, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to refocus.
He needed to stay focused for this bit. Couldn’t let his magical nature have
free rein. Not yet.  “No, it’s not just that. You were right. There are more
people watching you this year, and yes, it’s partially because your head boy.”
 
“But not completely.”
 
“No, not completely,” Neville agreed.  “You said, Luna told you, the purebloods
are taught, about our family inheritances—what to expect, what not to expect,
the possibilities. Most of the pureblooded families are all interrelated, some
way, to some degree. So we know, we’re taught,” he struggled to explain. 
“Mostly through family gossip and stories. We know, we learn, but it’s never
supposed to be written down just anywhere, so you can’t just look it up
somewhere, can you?”
 
“I don’t—“
 
“They’ve been watching you, Harry, to see if you would inherit,” Neville stated
plainly. “Most of the traditional purebloods detest muggles so much because
they see them as weakening the magical blood lines. Pure muggles, after all,
have no magic, no creature blood in them. But it’s not true. If anything, I
think it seems to strengthen the creature blood.”
 
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
 
“Doesn’t it?” he countered. “Look at us. Really look at us, Harry, at our
classmates.  Who are magically the strongest among us? You? Hermione? Hell,
even Dean’s more powerful than Seamus or Ron—both who are as pureblooded as you
get these days. And you all have recent muggle blood.”
 
“But—“
 
“But if you believe that magic originally comes from a magical being’s
inheritance, and all purebloods have these magical creatures’ blood swimming
through our veins… then wouldn’t it stand to reason that some of our
inheritances are actually… canceling out our potential magic?”
 
In his head, Harry could hear Aunt Marge’s voice: “If there’s something wrong
with the bitch, then there will be something wrong with the pup.”
 
“Just look at the two people who are considered the strongest wizards alive:
Dumbledore and V-Voldemort,” Neville pressed on.
 
“Voldemort’s father was a muggle,” Harry confessed.
 
“And Dumbledore’s mother was a muggleborn,” Neville shared, nodded. 
 
“So…what?” Harry asked, miserably.
 
“So… Luna says you’ve inherited your family’s creature magic,” Neville
finished. “You’re coming into your inheritance as a vanteera…and it’s driving
me absolutely barmy.”
 
“Wait, so the other purebloods all know I’m becoming a vanteera?” he asked
exasperatedly.  Why did everyone seem to know more about him than he did?
 
“No, not a vanteera,” Neville corrected. “Like I said, they’re thought to be
extinct now.  But the Potters were suspected of having fae or faun in their
line, possibly even incubus according to some rumors, and the Blacks are well
known to carry different variations of fae and veela, specifically keres.”
 
“How come you know all this?” Harry demanded.
 
“I told you, we learn it as kids.”
 
“So, even Ron--?”
 
“Nymphs, imps, and fae,” Neville replied readily. “All throughout the Weasley
and Prewitt lines. But, you’ll notice,, he didn’t have any special family
inheritance last year.”
 
“Yeah? Neither did Hermione.”
 
Neville shook his head. “You didn’t notice her spells getting stronger? Faster?
Better? Or the way the torches and fires seemed to grow in her presence all
last winter? I would be willing to bet money that if she did an inheritance
test, you’d find elementals in her blood line.”
 
Harry sat back, stunned. “You’re for real,” he breathed.
 
“Luna doesn’t lie, Harry, you know that, and neither do I. If she says you’re
coming into a vanteerian inheritance, you are.”  He leaned forward again,
cupping Harry’s cheeks to force the other boy to look at him directly, and this
time it was a sweet kiss, a gentle pressing of lips against lips. 
 
It lasted barely a minute before Neville was opening his mouth and licking at
Harry’s lips, asking for entrance. Entrance which was readily granted; he dove
in, caressing and enticing, encouraging Harry to reciprocate.  It was good--it
was very good--but it wasn’t enough. Breathless, panting, Neville tore his
mouth free and buried his face back against Harry’s throat, nuzzling.
 
“All month long, Harry,” he moaned. “You’ve been driving me crazy. Can’t eat,
can’t sleep, can’t focus without thinking about you anymore! And it’s only
getting worse!”
 
“I wasn’t—it wasn’t—I’m not doing anything!” Harry sputtered, hands burrowing
into Neville’s silky hair and clenching.
 
“But you are,” Neville amended. “Even if you didn’t know it, even if it was
unintentional, you’ve been steadily driving me crazy for the last month. It’s
your scent, the taste and smell of your magic. It’s been steadily pouring off
of you since you got back, Harry, and it keeps getting stronger. It’s your
magic, calling out for mates.”
 
“Like, like pheromones?” Harry gasped.
 
“Mmm.” Neville couldn’t resist, now that he was so close, and he started
licking and sucking along Harry’s neck. And now he was the one crawling into
Harry’s lap, trying to get that much closer. “You’re building a pard, aren’t
you?”
 
“A—a what?” Harry moaned, nearly completed distracted by the sensations racing
through his body. Gods, but it was brilliant, and he didn’t know how much
longer he would be able to resist the temptation to do more.
 
“Pard, circle, family,” Neville susurrated, tugging at Harry’s robe, trying to
reach more skin underneath. “I want in, if you’ll have me. I can help; I can be
an asset to you.”
 
“Need to think—“
 
“Thinking’s overrated,” Neville growled, pushing Harry back onto the floor.
Harry’s grip on him didn’t slacked, and Neville ended up following him down,
squirming and wiggling atop him. “Please, please, Harry, please. Fuck me, suck
me, please, I don’t care. I just—I can’t take anymore, dammit! You’re driving
me crazy.”
 
Harry growled and rolled Neville over, cupping his hand over the thick groin
swelling between Neville’s legs.  “I’ve never fucked a guy before.”
 
“Don’t care, don’t care, I just—please, Harry,” Neville grunted and groaned,
spreading his thighs wide and arching against him.
 
Harry kissed him again but didn’t do more else than continue rubbing against
him, almost teasing the other boy. “If we do this, then what?” he wanted to
know.  “Are you going to be like Hermione and Hannah and Luna? Promising to
have my kids?”
 
Neville’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned.  “I knew it. Knew you must have
been building a pard. Hermione, Luna, and Hannah Abbott?” he asked
rhetorically. “But it won’t be enough.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“Death eaters aren’t the only ones who need to breed, Harry,” Neville didn’t
hesitate to respond. “You and me? We’re the last of our family. And we’re not
the only ones. The whole wizarding world is dying.  I’m expected to sire at
least two children for the Longbottom family, but if that’s what you want from
me, yes,” Neville answered. “I’ll gladly have your children.”
 
Neville reached up and pulled Harry’s face down to within easy reach,
leveraging up to meet his lips with his own and kissing him enthusiastically. 
“Now, will you accept me?”
 
Harry growled, pushing Neville back fully onto the floor. The kiss was fierce,
a clash of teeth and tongue punctuated by a symphony of moans and groans. 
Clothing skewed; hands were insistent wanderers, grabbing and squeezing and
constantly on the move.  And still, it wasn’t enough.
 
With a force of herculean strength, Neville pushed back at Harry, encouraging
him to roll over and allow him free.  He smiled, flushed and radiant, down at
Harry before flicking the head boy’s robes and pants out of the way and
crouching low over his groin.  With an obscene moan, Neville swallowed his
cock, sucking the length straight down to his throat, choking but determined.
 
Harry shouted, body jackknifing as his hands clenched in Neville’s hair,
holding the other down on his cock, thrusting and fucking into his mouth with
abandon. Neville held onto his hips with enough pressure that Harry would find
small bruise marks tomorrow, but tonight, all he currently cared about was the
hot, wet suction surrounding his cock, the convulsing muscles of Neville’s
throat squeezing around his cock head, and the vibrations of moans rising up
and engulfing him.
 
With a final shout, Harry came, body freezing as the spasms of release rushed
through him, until finally… he slumped back onto freezing stone floor, limp.
Neville nuzzled up into him, rubbing his face and chin over his privates before
laying a gentle little kiss atop the sleeping penis and tucking it safely back
inside Harry’s pants.
 
“Bloody hell, Nev,” Harry panted. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
 
Neville smiled up at him and crawled his way up Harry’s chest. “It was all
right, then?”
 
“Bloody brilliant, it was.”
 
“Mm, good. I liked it, too. Wouldn’t get too comfortable, though. We’re not
finished.”
 
“Uh,”
 
“Not if you accept me,” Neville pressed on, looking at him worriedly now. “You
do accept me, don’t you, Harry? Into your pard?”
 
“I—what’s a—you said that before,” Harry sidestepped. “A pard. What is it?”
 
“I told you. It’s a vanteera’s family circle or unit.  A vanteera is a shape
shifter, but one of its true forms is a cat, a big predator. That’s why their
family grouping is called a pard. The vanteerian themselves were more like
angels, though, like I said—beautiful and powerful and amazing. There’s always
an alpha pair. The vanteera and its chosen first mate. That’s Hermione, right?”
 
“I don’t—I mean, that is to say… I guess so, yes?”
 
Neville nodded. “Then it doesn’t matter what order the rest of us come in.”
 
“The rest?” Harry asked shallowly. “How many, uh, mates, does a vanteera
normally have?”
 
“No one knows, do they? Some books like to say that the Vanteera only has one
mate, the alpha mate, but I’ve read several other stories where that didn’t
make sense. Vanteerians lived in large groups, and I think they were…well, very
friendly with everyone, let’s say.”
 
“How do you know this?” Harry demanded.  “Hermione’s been reading the books
Luna gave her all week, and hasn’t been able to tell me as much. And you said
that the families didn’t write about these things.”
 
Neville shrugged. “Somewhere along the lines, the Longbottoms, or someone who
married into the family must have had ties to the vanteerian, I think. There
were a lot of old story books in my library, and when I was little, I liked
reading them.  I—I thought it would be pretty great if I grew up to be one, you
know. All powerful and beautiful and revered… Wasn’t to be, huh?”
 
“Neville…”
 
The other boy shrugged. “It’s all right. Really. I’m quite happy with what
magic’s given me.”  He curled into the smaller teen, settling in comfortably.
 
“A bit of better now?” Harry asked after another few minutes had passed.
 
“A bit,” Neville agreed, smiling contentedly.  
 
“You know we’re going to have to talk to Hermione and the others about this.”
 
And pop went his little bubble of contentedness.
 
 
**** 
 
Neville hadn’t wanted to leave the astronomy tower, but Harry had pointed out
it was actually very early in the morning, and freezing to boot. Dawn would be
coming soon enough, and it would be great if he could get a few more hours of
sleep before then.  Neville, however, had stalled and hemmed and hawed until
Harry finally invited the other boy back to his quarters.  Neville had been
eager to leave then.
 
Back inside his much warmer and comfortable bedchambers, Harry had looked on
bemusedly as Neville shucked his robes and crawled into Harry’s bed in nothing
more than his pants. 
 
“You know, it’s strange,” he commented nonchalantly.  “When I did this with
Hermione and Hannah, and even a bit with Luna, I was, like, some crazy beast.
But with you I’m not. I still feel like… me. Like I’m in control and can say no
at any time.”
 
“You’re getting stronger,” Neville nodded sagely. “Becoming more controlled.
You’re magic’s not so desperately seeking mates now that you’ve got several.
It’s appeased, if not exactly content, yet. And it probably helps that you’re
not starving anymore.”
 
“What do you mean it’s appeased?” Harry frowned, crossing his arms and
continuing to watch as Neville got all cozy in his bed.
 
“Vanteerians are social, sensual creatures, Harry,” Neville told him patiently.
 
“Yeah, I got that.”
 
“They feed off of sex, intimacy. I bet your creature was just about starving
when you got back to Hogwarts. I know you don’t talk about it much at all, but
we all know things aren’t good for you at home with your relatives. And you
really haven’t been eating a whole lot at meals, cause you don’t need to eat
regular food anymore.”
 
“Because I’m a vanteera.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“But what if I’m not?” Harry protested, still not completely convinced. Not
that he didn’t believe Luna, but he did. Mostly. It was just… this was so
unbelievable! Especially when he wasn’t sprouting wings or fur or claws like
everyone seemed to think these creatures had.
 
“Then I would guess you’d probably inherited your dad’s family magic and were
an incubus.  They feed off sex, too.”
 
“Great!” he groused, whirling away from the sight on the bed. “So I really am
going to go around raping unsuspecting students.”
 
“What? No!” Neville protested, leaning up in the bed. “What would make you
think that?”
 
“You just said I was an incubus that feds off sex!”
 
“I said I would’ve guessed so, if you weren’t a vanteera, but even then, incubi
don’t necessarily rape—you can’t rape the willing, yeah? And incubi, they feel
more satisfied if they sleep with a willing bed partner, and with their innate
magic that naturally lowers a person’s inhibitions…well, they don’t lack for
bed partners, right? But, even then, you’re not an incubus.”
 
“How can you be sure?”
 
“Other than Luna having told you you’re a vanteera, you mean?” Neville scoffed,
rolling his eyes as he pulled his hands free from the blankets, lifted a bit of
white cloth before flinging it across the room in the general direction of his
robe.  “Because an incubus would never have made me beg them to fuck me, and an
incubus wouldn’t still be standing there fully dressed when I’m sitting very
naked in his bed,” he taunted.
 
Harry swallowed.  “You’re serious about this, then? I mean, you want me to…?”
 
“To fuck me? Claim me? Mate me and breed me?” Neville supplied.  “I’ve never
been more sure about anything else in my life, Harry.”
 
Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and he groaned.  “I’ll be able to control it?” he
grounded out.  “It won’t be all…all emotions and instincts and hazy, will it?”
 
“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Neville reassured him.  “If you’ve really fed
the girls already, I think it’s safe to say you’re not starving anymore, but
that doesn’t mean you can’t still feed.”
 
“Why Neville?”
 
“Why?”
 
“Why are you doing this? Why do you want this? Me?”
 
“Isn’t it obvious?” the sandy haired young man asked, sitting up and allowing
the blankets to fall into his lap.  “I’m in love with you. Have been for years.
Would’ve done just about anything to have you notice me when we were younger.”
 
“I noticed you,” Harry whispered dryly.
 
“But you didn’t want me.”
 
“I was a kid, Nev. Shy and scared and confused. I didn’t know what I wanted
other than to be safe and liked.”
 
“I liked you,” Neville insisted. “I would’ve kept you safe.”
 
“No one can keep me safe, Neville. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
 
“We can try,” he vowed. “Me and the girls, we’ll do our best to keep you and
our family safe…if you’ll let us.”
 
“And if you get hurt?”
 
“Then we’ll take care of each other and help each other heal.”
 
Harry huffed, turning away to glare at the door. “I’m scared of this. Of what’s
happening to me. Of what I’m doing.”
 
“You don’t have to be. I promise. Your magic won’t let you pick anyone who
wouldn’t be right for us.”
 
Harry whirled back around and fixed Neville with a dirty look. “And you think
you’re right?”
 
“You brought me back to your rooms, Harry.  You invited me here.” Neville
smiled at him confidently. “You haven’t pushed me away…and you’re not going
to.  Even if you don’t fuck me tonight, you will eventually.”
 
“How can you be so sure?”
 
“You already gifted me with your seed once tonight,” Neville mused, laying back
and allowing the covers to fall down to his thighs, fully exposing his body to
Harry’s hungry gaze.  His penis lay full along his hip, curving up around his
small belly. His hand rubbed soothingly over his tummy, as if to remind Harry
that it was full of his cum which he’d partaken of not even an hour ago. He
spread his legs invitingly, reaching a second hand down to pull his scrotum out
of the line of sight, tilting his hips just enough so Harry could see the
winking puckered flesh of his arsehole if he but looked.
 
And he looked, his breath catching as he watched Neville play a bit with his
ball sack, rolling them around in his hand before reaching lower and rubbing a
finger along that enticing, forbidden space.  Harry licked his lips, breath
coming faster as he watched.
 
“Got anything to make this easier?” Neville asked, watching as Harry watched
him, feeling emboldened and powerful. He moaned, eyes fluttering, pressing a
finger against his hole, barely resisting another smile when he thought he
heard Harry make a little noise.
 
“In the night stand.”
 
“Get it for me?” he asked, waiting, waiting, trying to be patient…
 
He heard the slide of wood before he felt the bed dip, just a little, and he
looked up to see Harry, one knee on the bed, holding out a little blue jar,
eyes still transfixed on his arse, and this time, he didn’t resist grinning.
“Open it?” he requested, waiting for the other boy to do so before scooping up
a dollop and pressing his finger back to his opening.  He didn’t even pause,
pushing his finger straight into his body, allowing the glop of cream to smooth
over his inner walls.  It wouldn’t be enough, he knew. Not for how he wanted
the night to end, but it was certainly enough to get Harry fully onto the bed
with him.
 
“More?” he entreated, hooking a hand around one thigh to pull his leg further
out of the way, giving Harry a better view at what he was offering. 
 
With a little chuffing noise, Harry scooped up some of the cream onto his own
fingers and pressed them against where Neville’s hand was shoved into his own
body. 
 
“Yes, please,” he entreated, writhing just a bit on his own hand. And then he
cried out, splitting open as Harry pressed two more fingers into his bumhole at
once. It was more than he had expected, but less that what he could take and he
wiggled and squirmed, inviting those fingers to explore him.
 
“You stretch open,” Harry mused. “Almost like a girl.”
 
“Not a girl,” Neville gasped. 
 
“No, you’re not,” Harry agreed, reaching out and grasping Neville’s cock with
his other hand, squeezing and tugging and causing Neville to shout.  “You
really want this, don’t you?” he asked somewhat bemusedly.
 
“You mean do I really want you to shove your cock up my ass and fuck me?”
Neville panted. “Yeah, I really do.”
 
Harry snorted.  “Will it hurt?”
 
“I’m good for it, Harry, promise,” Neville insisted, reaching down and
gathering up another scoop of cream to shove inside against Harry’s fingers. 
“Feel how slick you’re making me?  You’ll slide right in and fill me up good,
Harry. Promise.”
 
“I’ve only had sex with the girls before.”
 
“That’s okay.  It’s not all that different,” the other boy panted, relaxing
against the pillows.  “You get naked, and then you take your cock and put it up
against my hole.  Then you put it in. Simple, right?”
 
Harry laughed again. “Yeah, simple. So, we’ll do this.”
 
“Gods, please,” Neville groaned, sitting up to hurriedly help Harry undress. 
“Do you care if I’m face up?” he asked almost shyly. “I kind of like the idea
of being able to watch as you fuck me.”
 
It was Harry’s turn to groan. “No, yeah, that’s fine. Shit, Nev… I’m so hard
again.”
 
“Good, it’ll make you fucking me easier! Now, come on.”
 
It took a bit of maneuvering, but finally, Harry was kneeled up under Neville,
with one of the boy’s legs hooked over his upper arm while Harry held the other
out of the way. And then he was sinking into Neville’s body, pushing through
that tiny sphincter and completely impaling the other boy.
 
A litany of curses and pleas fell from Neville’s lips, and Harry shivered as he
seemed to soak them all up.  It was so hot… so tight… so good. And there was
Neville, begging him for more. Harry was more than willing to comply, chasing
after the ultimate high that accompanied orgasm with wild abandon.  
 
One month, only one month ago he’d been a virgin, and already he couldn’t
imagine his life without this heady rush he got from fucking, feeling someone
moan and writhe and beg beneath him… Feeling their body relax and give for him,
mold to him, so pliant and yet demanding at the same time. It was amazing.
 
Beneath him Neville howled, using his legs hooked over Harry’s arms to leverage
up and fuck himself deeper onto Harry’s cock, and Harry groaned.
 
“Gods, right there, Harry. Right… there…. Please!”
 
Gods help him, he tried, with seemingly limited success.  He continued to hold
Neville’s legs up as his hips ground against the other boy’s, rooting to get
deeper, as if that were possible, with his balls already smashed up against
Neville’s tight rump, and Neville’s balls and dick crushed between their
rubbing bellies.  Sweat slicked up their skin, making their grip slip and slide
over each other. 
 
“Fuck, Harry! Come on, come in me,” he panted, throwing his head back. “Fill me
up!”
 
“You want it?” Harry growled. “You want me to fill you up, maybe even knock you
up right here?”
 
Neville groaned, thrashing his head back and forth against the pillow. “Yes!
Yes! Fuck me!  Fill me! Come in me, Harry! Please, come in me!”
 
With a shout, he complied, releasing his seed to Neville for the second time
that night before collapsing atop him. Beneath him, Neville hummed, holding him
close and humping against his stomach. “So good, Harry,” he purred, nuzzling
against his temple before sighing. “If only you could knock me up right now.”
 
“Hmm?” Harry mumbled, trying to rouse the energy to respond more coherently.
 
“Even for a nymph, we need to be in season,” Neville mused, combing his fingers
through Harry’s hair and down his back, smearing the quickly drying beads of
sweat. “And vanteerians, too, I think. But that’s okay. We’ve got time.”
 
Harry mumbled unintelligently, and Neville smiled, closing his eyes and
relaxing back, content once again.
 

 
What’s to come?
*sleeping/waking
*confronting Hermione
*meeting with the girls.
*what do they know/suspect about Vanteerians
*Death Eater raids
*planning Samhain rituals
*flashbacks to summer
*meeting with Dumbledore
*A Hogsmeade weekend
.
.
.
.
Not necessarily in that order.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Mid-winter break is over. ~_~ Gone are the lazy days of cuddling with
     my computer from dawn till long past dusk... Which means, unless I
     get some major mojo inspiration, it might not be till April when I
     get some quality writing time in.
     As always, this story is an active WIP. Questions, comments,
     concerns, and constructive criticism are welcome.
***** A Meeting of Pard *****
Chapter Summary
     Hermione and the girls find out about Neville.
Chapter Notes
     I realized today that some updates are better than no updates, and
     since life has been a bit hectic and I haven't been writing much at
     all, I decided to post what I do have instead of waiting for a more
     decent length. Sorry it's short.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
-Saturday, October 11, 1997, the Head Suite-
 
~THEN~  
 
Beneath him, Neville hummed, holding him close and humping against his stomach.
“So good, Harry,” he purred, nuzzling against his temple before sighing. “If
only you could knock me up right now.”
 
“Hmm?” Harry mumbled, trying to rouse the energy to respond more coherently.
 
“Even for a nymph, we need to be in season,” Neville mused, combing his fingers
through Harry’s hair and down his back, smearing the quickly drying beads of
sweat. “And vanteerians, too, I think. But that’s okay. We’ve got time.”
 
Harry mumbled unintelligently, and Neville smiled, closing his eyes and
relaxing back, content once again.
 
 
~NOW~
 
Maturing through her adolescent years with two boys as her best friends may
have skewed Hermione’s sense of decorum some, it was true.  Whatever the case,
she had never held much ceremony upon entering the boys’ dormitories before and
that certainly had not changed any this year now that it was her best friend-
cum-lover who occupied the head boy’s suite.  Such was the blasé mindset that
saw the head girl entering Harry’s bedchambers with barely a habitual customary
knock as she breezed through.
 
Only for her words of greeting to die unspoken on her lips.
 
The two figures on the bed merely shifted in their sleep, slight
acknowledgement that was more likely due to the cooler air that had entered the
room with her than her own presence.  It wasn’t even that Harry wasn’t alone in
his bed that surprised her so.  No, if anything, Hannah’s panache for sleeping
over in the head boy’s room had made her quite acquainted with finding Harry
accompanied, and she herself had even taken a turn or two at cuddling up to the
head boy.  
 
It wasn’t always sexual, either, she knew. Not for herself or for Hannah, or
now, Luna.  Sometimes it was just nice to sleep with another person, and it was
a fact all of them had observed that Harry definitely slept better when he
wasn’t left alone.
 
No, it wasn’t the fact that Harry wasn’t alone in bed that stunned her so badly
this morning.  It was the fact of who he was in bed with… the fact that it
wasn’t Hannah or Luna, but someone else entirely. 
 
It had been a bit of an adjustment when it had been her and Harry and… this
situation they were in.  And then it was her and Hannah and Harry…  And she
thought she’d handled it well, she really did, adjusting to the idea that Harry
was intimate with both her and another girl…
 
But then there was Luna.  Luna who was….well, Luna. 
 
And the three girls had talked about things, with and without Harry in the
room.  They were pulling together what facts they could about the situation
they were finding themselves in.  And intellectually, Hermione thought she knew
and was prepared for the idea that Harry would possibly find more…’mates’…
potential mates. Other girlfriends and lovers.
 
The girls were…bonding, in their own right. Adjusting.  Admittedly, Hannah and
Luna seemed to be adjusting quite easily to the concept of being one girlfriend
out of many, but… Hermione thought she was handling things fairly well, very
well, indeed.
 
But this…
 
This just popped the cauldron right off of the fire!
 
Never had she honestly expected to find Harry in bed with… with another… with
someone who wasn’t a ‘she’!  Not that she had anything against…it… but… what
the hell, her frazzled mind sputtered while she continued to stare dumbfounded
at the two boys entwined on the bed.  And from the rumpled sheets, it was more
than evident that it was not a platonic arrangement.
 
And it was Neville.
 
Neville Longbottom.  And Harry.  In bed.  Very obviously naked, in bed,
together.
 
How the hell did that happen? her mind sent out again.
 
Sweet, dear, kind-hearted Neville Longbottom.  Who was actually quite muscular
underneath all those jumpers he wore, she noted distractedly.  She hadn’t even
thought about Neville being like that—had thought the boy had liked Ginny
or…huh?
 
“What. The. Hell?” she finally vocalized, feeling almost scandalous for
cursing, but, really! Some situations really did call for it.
 
The boys on the bed twitched some more, obviously starting to wake up.
 
“Mione? What time is it?” Harry mumbled.
 
“Almost time for breakfast,” she answered dazedly.
 
“Mm, alright. Getting up. Soon.”
 
“Suppose I should be getting going,” Neville rumbled sleepily. “Need to get
some fresh robes before heading down.”
 
“Borrow one of mine,” Harry protested, not willing to move off his living
pillow.
 
Neville snorted. “Thanks, Harry, but you’re a bit short for me.”
 
“Hey!”
 
“It’s true. And a lengthening charm will just ruin the cloth. Might be good for
a quick fix, but a bit unnecessarily when I can just go back to my own room and
get my own clothes, don’t you think?”
 
“Uh, guys? Excuse me,” Hermione cut in, “But will one of you tell me what’s
happened?”
 
Neville smiled, almost beatifically.  “Harry’s accepted me into the pard,” he
answered almost at the same time as Harry.
 
“Neville knows about vanteerians and me and us.”
 
“But, I mean,” the head girl sputtered.  “I thought you liked girls!”  She
finally exclaimed before blushing fiercely.
 
“It’s not like that, Hermione,” Neville countered, shifting up to sit up in the
bed despite Harry’s protests. “I mean, it is—I like girls—“
 
“You do?”
 
“I do,” he told the smaller teen now frowning up at him before looking back at
Hermione. “I just like Harry more. Is that really so bad? I mean me, being with
you guys? I know I’m not all that great at a lot of things, but I’ve improved a
lot the last year, and I can still get better...”
 
“Neville, it’s not that,” Hermione sputtered. “You’re a great person, and a
good wizard, and you’re outstanding at Herbology. You are a great person,
Neville. I just—I just wasn’t expecting… this. It’s a bit much to take in,
don’t you think? I mean, Hannah and I were just starting to figure things out
when Luna showed up, and now here you are, not even a week later—“
 
“Well, actually, Luna approached us on a Tuesday, so—“
 
“Shut up, Harry. I’m not mad, Neville, not at you,” she rushed on, seeing the
hesitance and withdrawal of the other boy at her sharp tone. “No, I’m not
really angry with you, either, Harry. I’m just really confused. I…I need to
think on this,” she said, moving to leave the room.
 
“Thinking’s overrated.”
 
“Says the boy who leaps before he looks,” she retorted, shooting a wry look at
Harry. “I’m going to head down to breakfast. I suggest you two also get a move
on. We’re supposed to meet up with the DA in a few hours for calisthenics, and
no, Neville. Sex does not substitute for exercise. Hannah already tried that
suggestion. I’ll see you both later. After I’ve had a chance to think about
this,” she added before quickly disappearing back out the door, closing it
behind her.
 
“Don’t worry, Nev,” Harry reassured, sitting up in bed as well. “She’ll be
fine.”
 
“I know. I told you—your magic wouldn’t have accepted me if I couldn’t be a
good fit,” Neville said whimsically.  “But I just don’t like it when Hermione’s
mad at me.”
 
“She’s not mad at you—you heard her. She’s not mad at me, either. This is all
just a bit of a change for her, is all. She just needs time to adjust. You’ll
see. By lunch time, she’ll have come around.”
 
“You sure about that?”
 
“Positive. Now come on,” Harry ordered, climbing out of bed. “Let’s go get some
breakfast. And maybe we should find Hannah and Luna, too.”
 
 
*****
 
Harry showered and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast while Neville
headed back up to Gryffindor tower for his own shower and change of clothes. 
He was mildly disappointed that the other boy hadn’t taken him up on his offer
to shower together—knowing from experience with the girls that showering
together was a lot of fun—but he was even more disappointed to realize Hermione
wasn’t at the Gryffindor table. Nor was she at any of the other tables. 
 
He shot a look over for Hannah or Luna as he made his way towards his normal
seat, but the other girls weren’t there yet, either.  They still hadn’t shown
up a little later when Neville finally arrived, sliding onto the bench beside
him.
 
“The girls already eat?”
 
“Haven’t seen them.” Harry frowned. “Think maybe Hermione already grabbed
them?”
 
“I suppose it’s possible,” Neville allowed.  “If we don’t see them before the
DA meeting, we’ll just have to talk to them afterwards, right?”
 
“I suppose,” Harry mumbled, not really happy with the idea. But that’s what
ended up being the case. Luna arrived ahead of Hermione and Hannah at the DA
meeting, fluttering in on a wave of dreamy smiles before settling in to a
series of stretches. Hermione, on the other hand, steadfastly refused to look
in either his or Neville’s direction, seriously causing Harry to reconsider his
earlier proclamation of Hermione being over it by lunch time.  As if to make up
for her friend and sister’s complete avoidance, Hannah couldn’t seem to stop
staring at the two boys, which wasn’t at all reassuring, either.
 
It wasn’t until later that afternoon, after Harry had made a bit of a
production of asking Neville over to his private quarters, loud enough for the
girls to overhear, that Hermione looked at him.
 
“That’s a good idea,” she told him.  “I’m just going to go shower off in the
prefect’s bath and then I’ll meet up with you? There were some questions I
wanted to ask Neville, too.”
 
“Good idea,” Hannah chirped. “I’ll join you. The prefect baths are so much
nicer than the dormitory’s.”
 
Harry watched her leave, somewhat dejectedly, until Neville shoulder bumped
him.  “Come on, mate. Ron’s already run off to shower so he can meet up with
Lavender, and well, if you still wanted to try for that shower, well, I’m game
if you are,” he offered with forced bravado.
 
He managed to coax a crooked little smile to his face. “Yeah, all right. I’m
game,” he agreed, leading Neville out and back to the heads’ chambers.
 
Less than an hour later both boys were sitting out in the common room, rosy and
glowing and relaxed, waiting for the girls to arrive.  Hannah strolled in
first, tossing her boneless self down beside Harry on the sofa, throwing her
legs into his lap and leaning back against Neville.
 
“So, you two shagged, huh? How was it?”
 
“Hannah!” Hermione gasped, coming in behind Luna and firmly shutting the door.
 
“What? It’s not like we weren’t all wondering.”
 
“I’m more interested in the anal sex,” Luna added. “Did it hurt?”
 
“What? Uh, that’s to say—“ Harry shot a desperate and embarrassed look over at
Neville. The other boy hadn’t said anything about it hurting, but that didn’t
mean it hadn’t. And really, when you think about it… He winced.
 
Coloring brightly, but well used to both Hannah’s and Luna’s forthrightness and
bluntness, Neville struggled to answer as truthfully as possible.  “It can
hurt, I mean, if you’re not careful. But it can be really, really good, too.”
 
“I’m betting it was really, really good,” Hannah quipped, shooting an amused
look back at Luna. “Just from experience.”
 
“Oh, you’ve had anal sex?” Luna asked intrigued.  “I thought you said—“
 
“Not yet,” Hannah agreed. “But I’m young, and curious, and look, girls! Now
we’ve got two boys to play with?”
 
Luna giggled, but Hermione looked mostly overwhelmed and unsure.  “Hermione,
come and sit down,” Luna entreated, patting the space beside her on the love
seat.  “We talked about this.”
 
“Nothing too serious,” Hannah reassured the boys.  “Hermione, of course, wasn’t
raised with pureblooded customs like the rest of us—our cute Headboy excepted,
of course—so Luna and I have been trying to get her caught up on some things.
We’ve had the other girls helping a bit, too.”
 
“Is that where you three have been disappearing to some nights?” Harry asked.
 
“I told you it was study groups,” Hannah replied.
 
“Just not for your standard Hogwarts academics,” Luna added.
 
“Although it should be,” the head girl groused. “How are muggle borns and
muggle raised supposed to know about our world if no one bothers to teach
them?”
 
“Which is why we’re pushing forward with the etiquette club,” Hannah reminded
her calmly.
 
“And it’s part of the mentorship, too,” Harry added, instinctively beginning to
pet and rub the legs in his lap. “The more we can get people talking, the more
we’ll learn naturally from each other.”
 
“I know,” Hermione sighed. “It’s just frustrating. I mean, I never really
understood just how prevalent magical being and creature inheritances were.”
 
“It’s not at all guaranteed,” Neville told her. “Just because we all have the
blood, doesn’t mean it will show. Especially if it’s too mixed up.”
 
“Yeah. Neville has a theory that you’d probably be interested in, Hermione,”
Harry told her. “You, too, Luna.”
 
“I know,” the blonde responded. “We’ve talked before, and I agree.  It’s
evident enough in our classmates.”
 
“What are you talking about?” Hermione demanded mildly.
 
Luna looked at her for a moment, head tilted, before she turned back to the
boys.  “Neville, you inherited your family’s magic.”
 
“Yes,” he replied, nodded, even though it hadn’t been a question. “The first in
a while, actually. I think it’s because my mum was a half-blood.”
 
“Ooh, you had an inheritance,” Hannah asked breathlessly. “Something good?”
 
He manifested a small lily bloom and held it out to her. “Decent.” 
 
She grinned and plucked the flower from his fingers, sniffing it delicately
before tucking it into her hair with a grin.
 
“And Harry’s inherited his family’s magic,” Luna continued. “And so have I.”
 
“Neville thinks Hermione got an inheritance, too,” Harry said before looking
down at the girl half in his lap. “Hannah, did you get a creature inheritance?”
 
 
“Now you ask me after almost a month of boinking?” the blonde girl snorted.
 
“Did you just say—“ Neville sputtered.
 
“‘Boinking?” Harry finished.
 
“Boys,” she huffed. “It’s not like it’s any worse than calling it shagging, is
it?”
 
“Sounds a mite more respectable though to say you were off shagging than off
boinking, don’t you think?” Neville asked.
 
“No, not really,” Hannah replied before turning back to Harry. “Any way, no,
Harry, to answer your questions. I did not get a creature inheritance on my
17th birthday. I’m just a plain old witch, thank you very much. I’ll leave all
the special bits to you all, shall I?”
 
“Thanks.”
 
“No problem,” she answered, stretching. “But this will work out nicely.”
 
“Come again?” Hermione asked.
 
“Don’t you see? Now we can all hang out together and no one will become too
suspicious.”
 
“Suspicious about what?” Harry frowned, wondering just how much the rest of the
school was aware of his little problem.
 
“Harry, how do you think it might have looked to some of our classmates when I
started hanging out here a whole lot suddenly last month?” Hannah asked him
seriously.
 
“I don’t know.”
 
“They thought she had a crush on you and was using Hermione to try and get
closer to you,” Neville supplied.
 
“What? No!”
 
“Yes, actually. And when Luna started hanging around a bit more than before,
you can bet the rumor mongrels had something to say about it.”
 
“They did,” Neville agreed.
 
“The popular theory is that we’re having wild orgies,” Luna hummed.
 
“Not yet, but hopefully.”
 
“Hannah.”
 
“What? Like you wouldn’t enjoy it,” the blonde shot back at Hermione. “But back
to my point.”
 
“You had one?” Hermione muttered.
“Yes. With Neville here, we can set it up to look like I was coming to you for
help getting together with Neville—and it worked. Now we can all hang out
together just like we were double dating.”
 
“That might work for you and Neville, but how’s that going to help Luna?” Harry
asked.
 
Hannah shrugged. “Luna’s Luna. She gets a pass just for being herself.”  She
thought for a moment, looking between Neville and Harry before offering,
“Unless there’s another guy out there who you’re interested in? Maybe a 6th
year like her? I know a couple of Hufflepuffs who wouldn’t mind a chance—“
 
“No, just no. Stop,” Harry cut her off, shaking his head.
 
“There’s Colin Creevy. He’s grown up some.”
 
“Not helping, Neville.”
 
The other boy looked horribly innocent, despite the glare the head boy was
shooting his way. “Wasn’t I? Oh, my bad.”
 
“Are you sure you’re a nymph and not an imp?” Harry groused.
 
“Pretty sure, yes. But the two are somewhat related. Distant cousins, I think.”
 
“You can stop now.”
 
“It does make you wonder though,” Luna mused.
 
“What does?” Hermione sighed, rubbing at her temple.
“Well, I mean, Harry has a girl from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor
each. We just need a Slytherin to complete the set.”
 
“Who said anything about a set?” Harry balked.
 
“And now you have a Gryffindor boy, too. Will you be adding more boys?” Hannah
asked.
“Why do I have to add any one?” Harry practically whined.  “And I would just
like to say I don’t like this word “add”—it implies I have some sort of choice
in all this. I didn’t. I wouldn’t have chosen to do that to you or Hermione.
Not like that.”
 
Hannah nudged him forcibly with a foot.  “I thought we already talked about
this, Harry. It wasn’t rape. You didn’t force us. We didn’t say no. We weren’t
drugged. It might not have been the way we would have chosen for our first
times, but neither Hermione nor I regret that it was you. Not then and not now,
and not the many times in between. You are not forcing us to be with you, we
are choosing to do so, and so help me, if you don’t stop bringing this up, I
will hit you,” she promised venomnently.
 
“I told you, Harry,” Neville sighed. “The reason you were probably so out of
control before was because you were starving. Didn’t you say you were at it all
weekend that first weekend we were back? You and Hermione, right? And I bet you
didn’t really do anything again until you were with Hannah.”
 
“Yeah, no, I agree,” Hannah nodded before pausing to think and frown. “So you
think that’s why he went a little gung-ho with me? Because he was hungry again?
Yeah, I’m a slab of mutton. Lovely.”
 
“Yes. No. Hannah!” Neville growled tweaking the girl’s arm. “Yes, he was
probably hungry again, but you’ll notice he didn’t find just any random girl—”
 
“No, he found me.”
 
“In an easy to find spot?” Neville questioned.
 
“Well no.”  Hannah frowned in thought.  “I was down one of the lower corridors.
Out of the way because, well, I was upset and I didn’t want anyone to find me.”
 
“But he found you,” Neville pointed out before continuing to make his point. 
“His magic sought you out, Hannah. You. Not some other girl. Not some random
girl.”
 
“Auh, now I feel kind of special. Thanks Harry. Thanks Neville.”
 
“You are special,” Harry insisted.
 
“Yes, you are, but that’s not my point,” Neville pressed.
Hannah huffed again. “Well, then what is?”
 
“Harry, since you and Hannah-“
 
“Boinked?” she inserted helpfully, grinning unrepentantly at the look Neville
shot her.
 
“Shagged,” he continued forcibly.  “Have you, you know, continued to be
intimate with the girls?”
 
“Well, yes,” the head boy admitted.
 
“Definitely,” Hannah confirmed.
 
“And so, then Luna comes along, and she wants in, but you’re not starving so,
you don’t just jump her right then and there. You’re able to wait and plan. You
told me it was different with her,” Neville pointed out.
 
“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to do it,” Harry reminded him. “I mean, I went there
to tell her no, but then, well, things just sort of happened.”
 
“Oops. She just fell on your dick.”
 
“Hannah,” Hermione sighed.
 
“What? It’s funny. Come on.”
 
“Anyway,” Neville continued more determined to finish, “Now you have three
people feeding you up intimately, you should be able to control your hungers.”
 
“But you still think there will be more. That my—what did you call it? A
pard?—will be bigger?” Harry sighed.  “What’s wrong with just the five of us?”
 
“Fives a good number, but it’s not great,” Luna mused. “Seven’s better, but so
is nine and thirteen—seven plus five plus one.
 
“I don’t want thirteen lovers! Heck! Four of you are more than I ever would’ve
thought in a lifetime, let alone all at once.”
 
“Family circle, Harry,” Neville reminded him. “It’ll be as large as your magic
and creature demand.”
 
“Well, it better not be greedy!”
*****
Chapter End Notes
     I found out I will have company over spring break...so I won't
     actually have time to write like I did over mid-winter break. :/
***** Full Moon Mating *****
Chapter Summary
     A little bit of Voldemort, a little bit of the pard, a whole lot of
     Harry and Hermione.
Chapter Notes
     The warnings on this story exist for a reason. This chapter hits on
     several of them. May contain triggers for some, squeamishness for
     others.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
~THEN~
Springbrook House was to become the keystone to one of his grandest, most
ambitious plans.
The plan had gestated more than a year ago. His beloved Nagini was brooding… So
many homes left empty, family lines dying out… The wizarding world was dying.
And that could not be allowed to happen.
If his plan was to proceed successfully, he would need more fodder. Yes, he
would have to contact Cadwallander soon. And then he would find another team to
prepare for phase two—the toddlers and primaries. Let someone else deal with
the technicalities of it all. After all, that’s what being higher management
was about—making the decisions and delegating the work.
3
~NOW~
-October 1997, Madorna Hall-
 
He was not a greedy man. No, indeed. He was merely a wizard of refined tastes.
One who demanded and deserved the best, he thought as he surveyed the fruits of
tonight’s harvest. He’d sent serval parties out across the country with the
direction to not come back empty handed. His loyal death eaters had not
disobeyed him. They wouldn’t have dared.
Still.
Still, he found himself dissatisfied with the selection offered before him. One
or two, perhaps, had some possibilities… but no. Neither was truly good enough,
worthy enough, to benefit from his attentions.
He waved the two teenagers off, knowing they would be sent to one of the
houses, if they weren’t picked up by one of his elite first. Speaking of…
Yaxley was next to step forward, depositing with a flick of his wand, five
bodies. Always the achiever, Yaxley, he thought darkly, looking over the newest
offerings. Of course, only three were really viable for his purposes—a middle-
aged woman and two young adults, one male, one female. The two smaller captives
were barely more than babes. He sincerely doubted they’d even started primary
yet.
“The elder is their mother, I take it.”
“Proof of her ability,” Yaxley nodded. “If it pleases you.”
“They’re a bit young to send to the houses, don’t you think, Yaxley,” he
purred, quite sure he knew what his knight wanted.
“They’re not too young to be taught their proper place, my lord. I could handle
their training myself.”
“Yes, you would like that, wouldn’t Yaxley? Tell me, Yaxley, how many of our
guests are currently occupying the third floor thanks to your efforts?” Of
course he already knew the answer, having read over the updated report sent
over earlier this day.
One of his oldest followers, Yaxley looked up with, dare he say it, a hint,
just a tremor, of nervousness. Yaxley was always fairly good at hiding his fear
around him, but not good enough. “My lord?” the death eater responded.
“I’ll allow you to take the two home with you, but in return, you have one
month to successfully breed the mother,” he instructed, amused by the sour face
the other man made. “Take them away, and see to it the other two are sent to
the houses.”
Yaxley retreated, and another death eater stepped forward to take his place,
presenting his goods for the evening. And so it went, nearly two dozen times
over. Most were successful enough to bring back more than a duo of offerings.
Some were ambitious enough to tackle a full handful. No one was unwise enough
to bring any forward to might conceivably be too weathered and worn for their
needs. And only Yaxley had been so bold as to offer up such unripened bounty.
He sighed. None of the selection had truly tempted him. Time was running out if
he wanted to enact the chosen ritual by November 1st. Not that he didn’t have
alternatives, of course. He was nothing if not resourceful. Plans within plans,
contingencies within contingencies. All with his end goal in mind.
His houses were only one part of the larger plan, albeit, an important and
successful part.
His houses were finally repopulated, but for how long? There was still plenty
of spaces to be filled at Springbrook. By Imbolc the first of his new minions
would have arrived. Already he had sent Smethwyck and Pike along to begin work
on a second facility, this one for the children to be reared in. By the time
they were finished, the babes would be ready for their new home, and he could
send the pair on to prepare another breeding home. In a decade’s time, he will
have succeeded in doubling the wizarding population of Brittan… and they would
all be loyal to him.
*****
~Thursday after classes, October 16th, head suite~
It seemed Hannah was right.
With Neville now hanging around more with Harry and the girls, and Hannah
hanging off of Neville’s arm, many of the gossip mongrels took to the ready
explanation that Hannah had approached the head boy and girl to better get
access to the other seventh year Gryffindor as opposed to getting at the head
boy—who everyone agreed was obviously together with their head girl, even if
the two would neither confirm or deny it.
Of course, the more risqué of the Hogwarts’ gossipers insisted that the five
students were up to deviant sexual acts behind the closed doors of the head
suite.
If only.
The blond Hufflepuff was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire place,
head pillowed on her arms as she listened and somewhat participated in the
conversation going on between the two heads. Hermione was curled up in her
chair with her notebooks spread around her like a defensive barrier. Neville
and Luna were curled up on the couch together, all comfy and cuddly. Harry
alternated between pacing the room as he thought aloud and flinging himself
onto the sofa next to Neville and Luna.
“So the staff approved our request to hold a full Samhain festival, complete
with ritual,” Harry was telling them.
“Really? That’s brilliant,” Hermione responded, reaching for one of her many
notebooks. “So we’ll bring that up at the prefect meeting Saturday.”
“Definitely. I want to go all out and really celebrate,” Harry confirmed. “Do
you still have the original list we made up?”
Hermione shot him a dirty look. “And the two revised lists. We should also draw
additional suggestions.”
“And delegate again,” he added, grinning.
“And delegate,” she agreed. “I’m really impressed with the job Ernie did in
gathering all those games. I never realized how many muggle games had their
origins in wizarding games.”
“Not everything crosses over,” Hannah said, “But there’s always been some
blending. Can’t be helped, what with muggle-borns and all, I mean, can it?”
“True. So I’ll make sure to draw up a list of who will be in charge of setting
what up then?” Hermione announced before suggesting, “Maybe we should also set
up a supervision schedule, so that way we all get to participate some and no
one’s left in charge of something for the whole time?”
“Great idea, yeah,” Harry agreed. “We know we’re going to do the bonfire.”
“That’s after the feast, though,” Hermione reminded him before reading over
their list.
“We planned on starting the day with some outside activities—Hagrid has agreed
to lead a nature walk through parts of the forest, and we wanted to ask both
him and Sprout to help with the making of some fall wreaths and table settings.
The house elves will help us set up a pumpkin carving station—of course, it
would be more authentic if we could use turnips, but Hagrid has all those
lovely pumpkins for us to use. There were the pickup games of quidditch, and
didn’t you suggest some friendly races, too? We were going to set up an altar
outside the Great Hall for honoring our dead. Inside the hall, we were going to
have some candy making stations set up at the different tables after lunch—make
our own apples and chocolates and things after lunch. I think we should be able
to get a couple of molds and even make some candy houses, or maybe Professor
Flitwick will teach us some charms? After dinner we’ll lite the bonfire—we can
even throw in some of our dinner bones. We’ll hold the ritual for our dead—do
you think Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore would be willing to
represent the crone and her consort for us? It’s not too impolite to ask, is
it? I suppose we could ask Madame Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick… or maybe
Professor Sprout…? Anyway, after the ritual, we will set up several different
areas for divination practice. The older Divination students should be able to
run a few different tricks—I’m sure Professor Trawlawny would love to go on
about who’s going to die this year, and other such mayhem, but we should
probably leave it to the students to practice at.”
“It all sounds grand,” Hannah murmured. “Way better than just the feast we
always do every year. It’s nice to think that we’ll be honoring our families
all together instead of privately.”
“It’s still a celebration,” Harry added, “But it’s also a serious time, too.”
“It’s lovely,” Luna agreed. “And we can even ask the thestrals to join us.
Maybe we could even take some short rides on the thestrals. Do you think Hagrid
would be okay with that?”
“He’d probably love the idea,” Neville snorted.
“I don’t know which is worse—thestrels or hippogriffs,” Hermione muttered.
“Really?” Neville asked surprised. “I would have thought thestrals, because you
couldn’t see them, could you?”
“No, you’re right. That was terribly disconcerting. But then, they at least
flew mostly evenly. Buckbeak was rocking so much, I always felt like he was
trying to buck me off.”
“You just don’t like flying,” Harry accused. “I need to take you up flying with
me sometime on my broom.”
“No thank you. That’s quite all right. I’ll pass. It’s scary enough just
watching you fly that thing, let alone being up there with you.”
“I wouldn’t let you fall, Hermione, you know that.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to be off the good, solid ground any time
soon, thank you very much.”
“Well, it sounds like you have everything you need in order for the prefect
meeting,” Hannah said, sitting up. “Shall we move on?”
“Move on? To what?” Harry asked, confused.
“Have you noticed anymore urgings to any other people?” she asked bluntly “We
all agreed that it was unlikely that it would remain just the five of us—“
“You all agreed,” Harry staunchly pointed out. “I didn’t agree to nothing.”
“Seven is the next most powerful number, which means there’s the potential for
two new additions into the pard. I like that name, pard, it’s different,”
Hannah continued, climbing up and joining Neville and Luna on the sofa.
“It is a derivative from the leopard that all vanterians turn into,” Luna told
her.
“Just leopards?” Hermione asked. “I thought they could transform into other
large cats.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure,” Luna admitted, humming a bit in thought. “I suppose
we’ll find out.”
“You haven’t felt any inclination to try and transform, have you?” Neville
asked Harry.
“Or maybe chase a ball of yarn?” Hannah put in.
“Ha, ha. No. I haven’t.”
“Well, the pard is the family unit. It consists of the alpha pair, which I
think we can all agree is Harry and Hermione, and then the other members,”
Neville reminded them. “There’s no timeline for when or how many other members
will join.”
“And just why can we all agree that I’m the alpha?” Hermione scoffed.
“You mean, besides the fact that he chose you first?” Neville asked wryly.
“Get over it, Hermione. It’s obvious, even if you don’t see it yourself,”
Hannah huffed, snuggling into Neville’s lap.
“What’s obvious?”
“Harry’s protective of all of us, but more so you,” Hannah pointed out. “He
doesn’t mind us girls hanging around together, or even Luna and I hanging off
of Neville, but do you ever notice that you and Neville never cuddle? It’s been
a week, and he and I and even Luna have done more together, but you always hold
back.”
“Well excuse me if I’m not exactly comfortable with the idea of multiple
partners being intimate with each other all at once.”
“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” Neville asked. “I mean, you didn’t
mind too much knowing Harry and I are intimate, at least once you got over the
shock, or even that Luna and I or Hannah and I or even Harry and the others are
all still intimate… You accept that.”
“It’s a little hard not to.”
“But you don’t seek it out for yourself, even knowing we’d be willing and
accepting.”
Beside him on the couch, Harry stiffened.
“And I haven’t sought you out, either,” Neville rushed on to say. “Not because
I don’t like you, but because it’s not my place. I wouldn’t dare approach you,
and I wouldn’t even attempt to without Harry’s express permission and or
inclusion.”
“Excuse me?” Hermione balked.
Neville nodded towards where Harry sat stiff beside him. “Hannah and I could
start getting hot and heavy right here, and Harry wouldn’t stop us. Hell, he
might even join us—“
“One can always hope,” Hannah purred, nuzzling into Neville’s chest and
shooting a hopeful look towards Harry, who wasn’t looking at anyone else save
Hermione.”
“But if you were to step forward, he would stop it,” Neville continued, unfazed
by the promiscuous girl in his lap. He’d known Hannah Abbott for years, and in
the last week he’d gotten to know her better. Much better, he thought, running
a hand down her side and to her hip.
“Not that it will be an issue very much longer,” Luna announced, startling
everyone.
“What do you mean?” Harry practically growled at her.
Luna smiled back at him before turning towards Neville and Hannah. “Shall we go
down to dinner?”
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Harry was… antsy. There was no other word for it.
He’d gone down to dinner with the others, but nothing seemed appetizing to him,
and he ended up playing more with the food that was on his plate than eating
it. Hermione had high-tailed it to the library directly after the evening meal,
while Hannah and Luna agreed to head back to the Room of Requirement for some
more study groups and peer tutorials. Even Ron was using the peer tutorials
tonight, in effort to get the Transfiguration theories they were supposed to
write about in their essay due tomorrow. Luckily he’d already finished up his
Transfiguration essay and even got started on his DADA and Charms homework
before dinner. He’d helped anyone else who was there in need—mostly some
firsties and second years with their Transfiguration, a couple of third and
fourth years with DADA, some more third years with Muggle Studies, and even
some struggling fifth years with Potions.
But Harry was too antsy to stick around the Room very much longer tonight. He
felt… itchy, jittery, and stretched. He considered going for a fly—for all of
five seconds before dismissing the idea. It was annoying in the extreme. He
wanted… something. He just didn’t know what. He’d tried reading, strolling,
even going for a jog. Nothing had helped. He couldn’t even sit still long
enough to pen a letter to Remus—he’d tried.
When Hermione returned to their suites less than half an hour later, he greeted
her with gratitude and pleasure.
“Of all the—“ the head girl groused, storming into the room and dumping her bag
and books on the study table with force and throwing the balcony doors open to
let in the brisk night breeze. “Those two second year Hufflepuffs!” she
exploded.
“The ones who seemed to be following in the twins’ footsteps?” Harry
questioned, following her out onto the balcony.
“Yes! Dungbombs,” Hermione spat. “Right outside the library! Stinks to high
heavens, and you know that stench. It permeates everything! I couldn’t stand to
stay another minute. It was nauseating.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as they are, I tell you that! Madame Pince had them in hand
before I left,” Hermione huffed, swiping her hair away from her face. Brown
eyes narrowed, and she studied him as he continued to hover in the doorway to
the balcony. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” she continued, approaching him. “You didn’t really eat a
thing at dinner tonight—don’t think I haven’t noticed—and you’ve been right
twitchy all day.”
He reached out and pulled her to him, luxuriating in the way she came easily
and melted against him, the very action feeling like a balm against his jittery
nerves. He buried his face against her hair, inhaling her scent, and nuzzling
down to her throat.
She hummed, rubbing her hands up and down his back, soaking in the warmth he
radiated. “Did you need me to look over your Transfiguration paper one more
time?”
“No,” he mumbled against her skin, his arms banding tighter around her, pulling
her closer, as if he could pull her into himself…or better yet, his mind
supplied, if he could meld into her. He brushed his lips against the smooth
skin of her throat and one hand slid up off her back and onto her neck,
gripping and massaging the tense muscles bundled there.
Hermione moaned, and Harry grinned, dropping his other hand to the gentle swell
of her bum and caressing. Her fingers tensed and dug into the skin on his back.
“It’s a good thing I finished my arithmacy work then,” she breathed, her body
naturally undulating against his.
“Yes,” he agreed with a hiss, his own finger digging into the soft flesh of bum
and squeezing. “Want you.”
Hermione swallowed another moan, both amazed and slightly bemused by how
quickly Harry seemed able to arouse her body. “Good thing I want you, too,” she
managed after a try or two.
Harry growled—literally growled—and it chased shivers along her spine as he
yanked her out into the open night air of the balcony. It was a lovely set
balcony, overlooking a good bit of the lake and the Forbidden Forest. Decently
sized with enough room to set up a telescope or bring out a chair to read on
sunnier days. And tonight, it was flooded with silvery light from the full moon
just beginning to peek over the tree tops of the forest.
Hermione was sure neither one of them had used a wand, but suddenly, their
clothes were vanished. The chilly night air startled a gasp from Hermione as
her skin prickled with goose flesh. Another gasp as Harry shoved her up against
the stone of the parapet, bent over so far that her head and shoulders hung
over the sides. A yelp as she scrambled at the stone for purchase before she
could fall. And then Harry was pressing up against her again. His heat warming
her chilled flesh as his hands grasped her waist and pulled her back onto him.
There was barely any need for readjustment as Harry’s penis slid smoothly
against her, and then inside her, pressing just right, and she melted into the
easy rhythm. They’d engaged in sexual activities a number of times now—not
every day, but enough for her to agree with what her mother had once told her:
it got easier and better the more times you did it.
Easier and much, much better, Hermione thought, shifting and canting her hips
back just right so that on the next thrust forward, Harry slid even deeper,
skin smacking as he grunted, filling her. And it was good, it was oh so good.
Her hands scraped against the stone in an effort to keep herself from face
planting and kissing the parapet, and Harry’s hands were griping her hips with
an almost punishing force—sure enough to leave marks and bruises for tomorrow.
But that was all right, too, because it was still good.
And then it was more than good.
It was hot, and Hermione began to notice an uncomfortable burning and ache.
And then it wasn’t so good anymore, not good at all, and she screamed.
***
Harry wasn’t exactly sure where and when it all changed—from a pleasurable,
hard shagging into something darker, more primal. He could feel the magic,
swirling around them like always whenever he had sex with one of the pard—and
like always, it was just that little bit stronger, just that little bit wilder,
whenever it was Hermione he was with.
He could feel the pressure, like a physical weight, pushing against his
insides, struggling to push outside of his skin.
And then it spilt past his skin, and everything changed.
Harry felt it happening—an eternity stretching him from one moment to the
next—and he was helpless to stop it. He felt the change, pressing on his skin,
on his muscles, on his being—and he was helpless to stop.
Soft, black fur spilled over his stretched skin in a viscous ripple of magic.
His bones ached, his innards ached, and he knew the magic wasn’t finished with
him yet.
Beneath him, Hermione was warm and soft and glowing in the moonlight as he
continued to move in and out of her. A part of him screamed that she was
his—his to use, his to fuck, his to mate, his to breed—and he felt himself
swelling inside her, larger than he believed humanly possible, filling her
deeper than ever. He knew she realized something had changed, something was
wrong, when her moans turn into groans.
He thought to go slower, to try and stop, but whatever was happening to him, it
refused to relinquish control. He screamed, a piercing cry renting the night
air, as a tingling, shooting pain in his penis flared, a prelude to the pained
and frightened screams tearing from Hermione’s throat.
He couldn’t withdraw from her body now, even if he wanted to. They were joined.
His scream of triumph joins hers in the night air even as another internal part
of him shouted at him that she was his to protect, and now he’s hurting her.
But it wass muffled by the chant of ‘she is mine. She is mine,’ echoed in the
repeated humping of his hips against hers.
Lightning pain seared through his pelvis and down his penis, accompanied by a
sharper scream from Hermione, and then he’s coming, filling her womb with his
seed. A moment later, another scream rent the air, once again his own, as his
back ripped away and two large, heavy, wings sprung forth. Amongst the sea of
pain and pleasure, Harry’s teeth ached, and his face cramped, and before he had
another thought, he was biting down on Hermione’s exposed shoulder, brutally
piercing her delicate skin with sharp canines. Coppery blood spilled into his
mouth as his seed continued to pump forcibly into her womb, filling her.
Shock reduced Hermione into a quivering, moaning mass, and Harry cuddled her
gently against him, caressing her belly and breasts as he purred with
satisfaction of a successful mating. They were still joined intimately, and
would be for some time he instinctively knew, his cock locked inside her by
tiny barbs that would pull and tear if he were to try and leave her before the
mating was complete. But that was all right; he has no intention of leaving
her.
And then the warm bubble of contentment burst. He wasn’t sure what exactly
alerted him at first, but Harry’s head turned sharply, green eyes flashing like
a cat’s in the dark, and he hissed a warning to the would-be intruders to stay
back. Automatically, instinctually, his arms tightened around Hermione, and his
wings folded forward to hide her from sight as he continued to glare at the
four beings in the doorway, barred from entry by his own magic, although when
the wards had gone up, he had no idea.
Peripherally, he recognized them, knew them, and he knew they were not a real
threat to him or his mate, but still lost in the throes of the mating, he
mistrusts all. Two males, two females, two possible mates, two too old to mate,
none who belong here now. He growled another warning—stay back, go away, you
may not come near my mate!
 
***
Headmaster Dumbledore was alerted to a significant magical disturbance by one
of the wards shortly before curfew. It was happenstance that had him running
into Professors McGonagall and Snape on his way to investigate. Neither
professor was in an agreeable mood—Minerva having come from the library and
dung bomb fiasco and Severus having rousted a pair of amorous sixth years from
a dungeon classroom, and both dead set on sharing their grievousness with him.
Since he had no intention of stopping to chat, the two professors saw fit to
follow after him with their litany of complaints, and thus, shortly, they found
themselves outside the entryway to the Heads Suite.
He knocked politely, for propriety’s sake, of course, and then when the door
went unanswered, allowed himself in.
“Albus, what—“ sputtered his Deputy Headmistress seconds before the amorous
scene of the two disrobed students on the balcony was made clear.
“The wards alerted me to a strong disturbance,” he explained calmly,
contemplating the benefits of attempting to alert the two students to their
company or retreating and having them summoned to him the next day.
“Potter! Granger!” Severus barked sharply, to no reply. He attempted to shoot
two stinging hexes at the indecent couple, but the spells failed to connect.
“Mr. Potter,” Minerva began, storming into the room in high dungeon, only to
smack into an invisible ward and come up short ten feet from the balcony
entrance.
Sneering in disgust, Severus raised his wand and again attempted to hex the two
teens, only for his spells to fizzle upon contact with the same ward that had
stop Minerva.
She turned to the headmaster. “Do something!”
It was then that the girl on the balcony began screaming in pain.
“Albus!” Minerva shouted. “You must do something!”
“By all means,” Severus sneered at her even as he continued to watch the scene
before him in fascinated horror, watching as the young head-boy began to
transform before them and suspicions began to fall into place. “If you have no
care to live beyond tonight.”
“I’m afraid, Minerva, he is right,” Dumbledore told her painfully. “At this
moment, there is nothing we can do.”
“But Albus!” she sputtered in protest. “Surely--! He’s hurting her! We can’t
just stand here and allow this—“
“And how precisely do you expect us to stop them?” Severus demanded of her.
“Our spells cannot penetrate his shield to stun him, and if we were to try and
stop him without first stunning him, he would surely turn on us and likely kill
us! Look at him!”
“We must wait,” Dumbledore agreed.
“He’s killing her!”
“If what we suspect is true,” Dumbledore cautioned, “and Harry is indeed a
Vanteeria, then all our information lends belief that his chosen mate will
survive the act.”
At that moment a second scream rent through the night air, causing each of the
three professors to start, staring back at the two on the balcony. Black
leather-furred wings had burst free of Potter’s back, spraying globs of flesh
and blood across the balcony, and were splayed wide. They pumped the air,
wrenching cries of pain from Potter before he buried his mouth against the
girl’s shoulder, biting harshly.
“That’s—” Severus started, and then swallowed, unable to continue as he stared
at the male form on the balcony. It was humanoid, but no longer human. No, in
fact, it looked more feline, and if that was true, then…
“Certainly convincing evidence,” the headmaster murmured.
“Dear gods,” Minerva whimpered, clutching her hands. “Albus, we must—“
Hermione screamed once more and then subsided into a quivering, whimpering mess
as Harry stopped thrusting against her and held her to him instead. One could
almost say he cuddled her if they had not seen the aggression in the previous
act.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said calmly from behind them, dragging their
attention away from the pair on the balcony, to the young woman standing inside
the open doorway holding a tray.
“Hermione, at least, will be embarrassed to know there were witnesses to such
an intimate act,” Luna continued, heading to the study table to relieve herself
of the tray she’d asked the house elves to help prepare for her friends. “She
doesn’t like people watching her. Harry, too, will be annoyed once he remembers
himself. But before then, he’ll only be antagonistic to anyone he views as a
threat. There, see,” she concluded, nodding past them.
They whipped around at the hiss that emerged from Potter, and grimaced.
“If you really want to talk to them, you’d be best waiting till tomorrow,” Luna
continued, withdrawing several potions vials and laying them out carefully next
to the tray.
“Miss Lovegood, you seem strangely unperturbed by these events,” Minerva
observed.
Luna blinked at her.
“What can you tell us,” Dumbledore interceded before Severus could snap at the
girl, “about what’s happening between Mr. Potter and Miss Granger.”
“I thought everyone was familiar with the mating habits of Vanteeria. I’ll
admit, I was confused at first, too. After all, it’s widely known that everyone
knows a Vanteeria has only one mate, so I wrote Daddy, and he was able to send
me some more reference material that was really very helpful. Did you know,
Professor, that ‘Vanteeria’ is actually the genus name for several species of
feline humanoid beings. From what I’ve been able to gather, I suspect Harry
belongs to the Vanteerian Rex species.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Severus growled.
“No, nor had I. It was quite illuminating,” Luna concurred. “If you would like,
I’d be happy to lend you the tome in which I found the information. After
Hermione is finished with it, of course. Speaking of which, I really do think
it would be in everyone’s best interests if we left now. Harry and Hermione
will be tied up together for as long as up to an hour, and I think they would
both feel more comfortable if they were able to retreat to their bed.”
“‘Tied up?’” Minerva repeated weakly, wondering just what had happened to her
students.
“Well, not literally,” Luna mused. “After all, Harry is feline, not canine.
Still, it will most likely take a good half hour before the barbs are
reabsorbed and the penile spine retracts.”
Minerva wavered, but Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “And
you are sure they will both be quite well for this evening?”
“Of course.” She turned to study the potions master, and Severus found himself
looking away. Not that that was much better as he found himself locking gazes
with Potter, the green eyes burning into him, to the very innards of him he
thought fancifully, and he shivered uncontrollably.
“Even you and I should leave, Professor,” Luna added softly, waiting for him
near the doorway where Dumbledore had already escorted out a weakly protesting
Minerva. “This is not our time.”
Severus glared at the annoying little chit before gathering himself and
whisking away from the room. A good, strong cup of tea with a little splash of
cognac was in order, he thought. He paused on the other side, turning back to
ensure the Lovegood girl left the Heads’ Suite as well, sending her another
special glare when she smiled sweetly at him, snicking the door shut and then
skipping away down the hall.
***
Harry continued to glare as the four finally left, the blonde last with a smile
and nod to him before closing the door behind her. He felt his magic expand out
until it encased the entirety of the Heads’ Suite, and then he turned back to
the young woman in his arms, nuzzling and caressing her for several more
minutes. When he felt she was truly pliant against him, he carefully shifted
her weight against him, and relocated them into his bed chambers. He had to be
extra careful when laying down as the barbs along his shaft would tug and
potential tear delicate flesh.
Luna’s estimations were correct, and nearly half an hour later, Harry felt the
tingling that signaled his magic reabsorbing the barbs and penile spine,
allowing his penis to soften and slip free from Hermione’s vagina in a wash of
blood and semen. She murmured a protest, shifting gently back against him, and
he continued to cuddle and soothe her, nuzzling her neck and throat while
running his hands along her tantalizing skin. He slid one hand down, cupping
her sex, his fingers playing in the soupy mess as his magic gushed forth,
sealing up the tiny wounds caused by the coupling.
Hermione moaned sleepily as the warm magic spread through her—like submerging
in a warm, relaxing bath, only this warmed her from the inside out, titillating
and stimulating her body. A hot tongue rasped along her shoulder, hands and
fingers continued to dance across her skin, roving from breasts to belly in a
soothing rhythm that thrummed and thumped her insides.
Wait. That was the bed thumping, she realized with no little puzzlement. She
pulled away, despite her body’s protests, and turned around, eyes widening in
disbelief.
They had been discussing Luna’s theory of Harry’s inheritance problem as a
possibility, but Hermione would be the first to admit, she hadn’t thought it
truly possible. But there before her was the proof—fur, wings, tail, and all!
“Harry, you’re… Oh, my,” she finally ended, reaching out to cup his soft, furry
cheek, half bemused as he nuzzled into it. It was still Harry, although
slightly different. Besides the obvious differences—fur, wings, and tail!!!—he
still looked like Harry. More muscular, maybe; a few adjustments in the face,
sure. But… “I’m really going to have to read that book of Luna’s,” she mused,
reaching up to run her hand through his hair—still human hair, not fur.
He buried his face against her shoulder, and this time she could feel the magic
humming between them.
“Mine,” he voiced, brushing his lips over the mark he’d made earlier, the
visible sign of their mating, the mark of claiming, the mark that pronounced to
all and any that she was his Mate. “Mine to love, mine to cherish, mine to
protect, mine to mate. Mine,” he repeated.
The magic was pushing against her, trying to jump down her throat and choke
her, she thought, until she was finally able to utter, “Yours.” And then the
magic washed over her, into her, gentling and fulfilling.
He pushed her back into the soft cushion of the mattress and covered her with
his own body, nuzzling and licking and kissing where he went. And he went
everyway. Behind him, his tail lashed about, lazily whipping through the air in
contentment. This was the gentle coupling, the calm love-making of two mates.
The frenzied heat of claiming was over now, and he could take his time to truly
appreciate the scent and texture and taste of his mate, of his Hermione.
Hermione moaned wantonly as Harry's tongue rasped against her clitoris, sending
shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. She arched off the cool sheets, her
body on fire with need. A need that seemed would be a long time in being
fulfilled as Harry continued to feast upon her. His tongue slipped inside her
body, lapping up the metallic bittersweet mixture of cum and blood. He was at
it for what seemed like to Hermione endless ages before he crawled back up her
body and slid smoothly inside her again, filling her with the evidence of his
own need.
She cried, sweet tears, clinging to him as Harry moved in and out of her body
in gentle waves of passion and love. His lips ghosted over her face, licking
away the trace of her tears before locking against hers. Their tongues battled,
slip sliding against the other's until she submitted, relaxing back into the
bedding and willingly receiving everything he could give to her, everything he
would share with her. And in that moment, he gave her everything he had.
 
******
 
Still to come…
*flashbacks to summer
*meeting with Dumbledore
*A Hogsmeade weekend
Chapter End Notes
     This is it. I honestly do not anticipate another update for a while.
     I have several busy weeks ahead that I need to make it through before
     I can breathe again, not to mention my headaches and pain levels have
     been getting worse. I am not abandoning the story, however.
***** TGIF *****
Chapter Summary
     Morning after, a chat with the headmaster, and a romp with the pard.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
~THEN~
“If you really want to talk to them, you’d be best waiting till tomorrow,” Luna
continued, withdrawing several potions vials and laying them out carefully next
to the tray.
“Miss Lovegood, you seem strangely unperturbed by these events,” Minerva
observed.
Luna blinked at her.
“What can you tell us,” Dumbledore interceded before Severus could snap at the
girl, “about what’s happening between Mr. Potter and Miss Granger.”
“I thought everyone was familiar with the mating habits of Vanteeria.”
 
~NOW~
-Friday, 17 October, early morning, Hogwarts Head Suite -
Consciousness was hard fought for, and even as she made the valiant attempt,
Hermione struggled to remember why she was bothering. There was a deep rooted
ache that transpired throughout her body, a throbbing that longed to soothe her
back into slumber. A silky caress of soft, fuzzy warmth—like a pair of your
favorite woolen pajamas—cradled her as her mind continued to drag and claw
itself into the waking world.
Already, waking thoughts were beginning to flitter across the front of her
mind. Random thoughts such as what time was it? Was it time to get up? What day
was it? Did she have classes today? Couldn’t she sleep in for just a little bit
longer? Was it Saturday yet? No, Friday. Would they have blueberries on the
table this morning? Thirsty. It would be nice to have some Squash, but pumpkin
juice was all right.
Her stomach cramped painfully, and she grimaced, sleepily grumbling over the
joys of being a girl. Behind her there was an answering grumbling as her soft,
fuzzy blanket tightened around her. The deep, throaty purr was the final push
to rocket her into full blown awareness.
Hermione blinked rapidly, mind furiously at work organizing all the random
thoughts and sensations registering, quickly filtering in her memories from the
night before. Yes, it was Friday, but it was still dark out. Yes, she was in
bed with someone, and that someone was Harry. Yes, her body was aching, and for
very good read, but no, that deep, throaty purr was not a normal human sound.
Sheer force of will and determination prevented her from lapsing into
hyperventilating, but it was shaky control at best. Carefully, she inched
herself closer to the end of the bed—delicately, hyper aware of not only the
raw tenderness of her own bruised body, but also acutely aware of the other
being in the bed with her.
It was Harry. She knew it was Harry. But…
Finally, once she had provided herself with those precious scant inches of
space, she could resist temptation no more, and she allowed herself to look
back at her sleeping partner fully.
It was Harry. But it wasn’t.
At first, her mind blanked, as if refusing to process what she was seeing, but
she had been in the wizarding world long enough now to be able to press past
this moment of disbelief, of impossible, of utterly fantastical, and analyze
what was evident before her. It was rather a sight, and as more and more of the
reality of it sunk in, she found herself trembling and suddenly overwhelmed.
Here, finally, was the proof, the last piece, as it was, and neither she nor
Harry would be able to deny it any longer. The large, black humanoid feline
with wings still sleeping in the bed was impossible to refute. As she watched,
the one wing which had been draped over her fluttered and drew in closer to the
warm main body to which it was attached. Harry’s face—slightly misshaped to
allow for the more feline features but still recognizably Harry—scrunched as if
in annoyance or discomfort before nuzzling back into the pillow. A hand reached
out for the space Hermione had just vacated—a paw? What did one call a
thickened hand covered in fur with thick claws emerging from the nail beds?
And… and, yes, it was, he did, that was most assuredly a tail. A long, sleek,
black tail curled in amongst the rumpled sheets.
A nervous bubble of laughter escaped as she slid out of the bed and slowly
backed away, not taking her eyes away from the sleeping form.
This was… this was… she didn’t know what this was. She couldn’t think. She
didn’t know.
A rhythmic thumping from the bed and low rumbling purr—a deeper and louder
sound than she had ever her Crookshanks make—originated from the bed and
arrested her momentum. A languorous stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn preceded
one penetrating green eye slitting open, piercing her where she’d froze in
retreat.
“Hermione,” he grumbled, and his voice did little to stop her trembling, caused
an aching clenching in her belly. “Come back to bed.”
“Oh, I—I really think I should—“
“Sleep now. Think later,” he growled, stretched and rubbing against the
bedsheets, causing them to pull and shift dangerously for what remained of his
modesty. Although, it didn’t look like this Harry cared very much for any
modesty in this moment. He sat up, a deep growl rumbling warningly in his
throat, when she tried to take another step further from the bed. “Come back to
bed.”
“I was just going—“
“Bed.”
That final demand was enough to finally solidify her spine as she straightened
and firmed herself. “Now, listen here,” she began angrily, but this Harry-
creature was having none of her protests.
In a movement she barely registered, he was off the bed and in front of her,
sliding his nude body against hers. He tugged her arms forward and slipped
behind her, surrounding her as he basically frog-marched her back to the bed.
“Rest,” he purred against her throat, nuzzling at her ear and neck.
“What—what if I need to use the facilities?” she asked breathlessly, resisting
that final push onto the mattress.
A large paw-hand pressed against her ribcage, made her swallow a panicked
sob—never had she felt so small or… or frail. It smoothed down her stomach,
over her fleshy belly, before dipping lower to cup her mons. She couldn’t
prevent the small whimper of fear—this might have been Harry, but it wasn’t her
Harry!
She felt the warm gush of his magic pour up into her body. “Sleep,” he
insisted. “Rest. Heal,” he added, nuzzling over an especially tender spot on
her shoulder, and she thought she might have remembered him… biting her? Oh,
gods, what had she gotten into this time?
He succeeded in manhandling her back onto the bed, purring contentedly while
she lay there, ramrod straight. Once again, one of those silken soft wings
spread out over her like a living blanket while he cuddled her close like a
child’s plush toy, arm and leg thrown haphazardly across her body, trapping
her.
“Sleep, Hermione,” he murmured sleepily. “Tomorrow comes soon enough.”
******
She didn’t think she would have been able to get any more sleep that night, but
apparently, at some point, she had because now with dawn coloring the windows,
she was once again awaking.
Unlike her last time waking, she remembered where she was, who she was with,
and what had happened to put her there. Harry, she noticed rather objectively,
was still feline-looking. In the light of day, however, she felt more in
control of herself, more capable of handling the crazy loops and twists life
with Harry Potter seemed destined to deliver.
Harry, her best friend, was a Vanteerian.
Okay. Well, they’d already pretty much decided on that before, hadn’t they? So,
this really didn’t change anything all that much. After all, one of the
characteristics of the vanteeria was its shapeshifting ability, usually that of
a cat of some sort. It was maybe a little surprising to see her best friend
covered in thick black fur that actually blocked out any hint of his pale skin.
Okay, and the claws. Yes, the claws were a bit of a distraction and a
peculiarity in the way they extended from the nail bed of the fingers.
Oh, and the wings. Mustn’t forget the wings, she reminded herself. Nothing like
birds’ wings, more like a bat’s, she thought, brazenly running her fingers
along the soft, fuzzy membrane. Like peach fuzz, she thought, muffling a
snicker. It was a little silly to think the ancients had likened a vanteera to
an angel. More like a demon, she would have thought, with the peculiar facial
features of a feline imposed over a human skull…. Unless, of course, he could
fully shift?
Already she began thinking of different tests she would have Harry attempt. Was
he stuck in this form? Could he control the shift? How much control would he
have? Would he be able to transform into a fully feline form? Would it be a
house cat or something bigger? Could he keep his wings but loose the cat
features? Could he fly with the wings? Would he be able to shift at all?
“Thinking too hard,” Harry mumbled in protest.
“Yes, well, in case you missed it, you have fur.”
“Wha?”
“Fur,” Hermione confirmed, feeling much more in control and assured with the
light of day filling the room. “And a tail. Oh, and wings.”
Harry practically flew from the bed, whirling around and trying to see behind
himself causing her to laugh. “What the hell!”
He glared at her reproachfully once he stopped twirling around like a puppy.
“Bloody hell, Hermione, I can’t go to class like this!”
“No, I imagine not,” she replied, still chuckling at the sheer absurdity of
life with Harry Potter. “I don’t think any of your robes would fit now
anyways.”
 
****
Despite Hermione’s encouragement, making Harry’s new additions disappear was
not as easy as simply wishing them away, and breakfast was almost over by the
time the head boy and head girl made their appearance.
“Hey, are you two okay?” Ron asked, leaning over the table as he snacked up
some more bangers for his plate as Neville scooted closer to Hannah to allow
more room on the bench for the two to sit down. .
“We ran into some…complications last night,” Harry muttered, starting to pile
his plate with beans, toast and rashers while Hermione reached for the tomatoes
and fresh fruit, sliding some onto his plate as well.
"Is that what they're calling it now?" his former dorm mate teased before being
smacked by his girlfriend and having his attention drawn back to Seamus's and
Dean's conversation.
Hannah frowned prettily and leaned in front of Neville. “Complications?” she
hissed once she was sure the others weren't listening in.
“Yes, well,” Hermione explained while Harry poked suspiciously at the fruit on
his plate. “Your suspicious about Harry became a reality, and it took us a
while this morning to make him presentable again.”
“Our suspici—you mean—Harry really is—“
“Yes,” Hermione cut in quickly before Neville could say anything else. “And we
can discuss it after Transfiguration. Harry, do eat something, don’t just pick
at your food.”
Harry scowled down at his plate, specifically at the rashers that just didn’t
taste right. With a humph, he passed off the should-be deliciously fried meat
onto Neville’s plate and dug into the fruit. At least it was something.
“I’m so ready for the weekend,” Hannah squirmed. “Will you be going into
Hogsmeade with us?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Harry sighed. “I’m going to need the extra time to
get—this—figured out,” he huffed.
“Do you want us to stay and help?” Neville asked, frowning.
“Nah, you’re good. I mean, we can test somethings out today, but you should be
fine to enjoy your weekend. Weren’t you talking about maybe visiting Madame
Puddifoot’s?” he teased, knocking shoulders.
“Only for a little bit,” Hannah defended. “I’m more of a pub girl than a
teahouse, but if we’re going to help keep the rumor-mill focused on us dating,
we thought we should give them a little fuel.”
“What about you, Luna?” Hermione asked. “What are your plans?”
“I need to pick up a few things in Hogsmeade, but I don’t anticipate it taking
me all that long. I figure, if I head down early, I should be able to avoid
most of the crowds, and then I can make it back in time for lunch. That will
give me plenty of time to finish up some of my essays and work on my arithmacy
project.”
Just then, the post flew in, and Hedwig dived straight for Harry’s shoulder,
grooming his hair and chirping at him. He grinned and reached up to release the
letter tied to her leg. “Hey, girl. What’ve you got?”
“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked as he read the note.
“Looks like I’ll be having lunch with the Headmaster,” he answered, passing her
the letter.
******
After Transfiguration first period, in which McGonagall staunchly refused to
look at either Hermione or Harry, their group retreated to the head boy’s and
girl’s chambers for their free period after waving off the other Gryffindor's
invitation to head down to the pitch for some flying. Hermione had history and
arithmacy after lunch, but Luna would be joining them since her classes for the
week would be over. They spent the hour before lunch testing Harry’s vanteerian
abilities—not all that fun for Harry, although the rest of the pard seemed to
be enjoying themselves.
Harry practiced calling out his wings, allowing the others to touch and explore
the velvety membranes that extended and retracted from his shoulder blades,
leaving thin scars down his back. He flapped them about—not having much space
to attempt to fly with them while inside the castle, but at least they were
able to determine they were large enough and quite possibly strong enough to
allow him to fly once he was outside. He had been tempted to try jumping off
the balcony, but Hermione had quickly put a stop to that idea.
"Don't even think about it," she told him when she noticed him eyeing up the
balcony contemplatively.
Neville snorted. "Face it, mate. That's not going to happen anything soon."
It seemed like they had only scratched the surface of their explorations by the
time the lunch period had arrived. Harry walked the pard down to the great hall
where they met up with Luna before he left them to head back up towards the
headmaster’s office. His shoulders felt stiff and achy from his strange and new
accessories. His skin itched. He felt irritable, and really, he just wanted to
be back with his pard, but…
Harry took a deep breath to try and calm his tingling nerves. In this, his last
year as a student at Hogwarts, he and the headmaster had reached an amiable
equilibrium. The head boy would often take tea with the headmaster once or
twice a week. They would spend the time talking about the school, the students,
Hermione’s and his plans for the school year, his plans for after they
graduated. Sometimes they played chess (which was almost as bad as playing
against Ron), and sometimes they played a weird tile game, but mostly, they
talked. Harry found himself feeling closer to the old man that he’d ever had
before…. And that made him feel slightly guilty for somewhat hiding his
inheritance from the headmaster.
“Ah, Harry, come in, come in,” the elderly wizard greeted when he knocked at
his door. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I thought it might be
nice to have a nice quiet lunch, just the two of us, hmm? Come, let’s sit and
talk. Would you like some tea, or would you prefer some pumpkin juice? You’ll
find this is a special blend. In fact, I’ve asked the elves to specially
prepare our meal today. Hmm?”
As he spoke, Dumbledore led the way to a quaint little tea table with two
chairs. Small plates and platters were already laid out, awaiting them, but
unlike previous times, Harry noticed some of the plates were golden and others
silver.
“I think you will find,” Dumbledore continued as they took their seats, “That
the dishes on the golden plates to be more palatable, Harry, but, by all means,
try the silver, if you’d like.”
Harry frowned, wondering if he’d be able to eat much of anything—they’d
discovered that there were some foods that Harry did not react well with,
although he was mostly stubborn in giving up attempting them still. Of course,
since returning to Hogwarts, Harry had found himself not overly hungry
anymore—which presented another problem with Hermione’s insistence that he at
least attempt to eat something at each meal.
“Now, Harry, is there anything you would like to tell me first, before we begin
our fine meal?” the headmaster opened.
Harry thought, as he stared at the plates and dishes. “I think, well, most
things seem to be going well,” Harry hesitated to answer, serving himself from
the golden plates as prompted. “The mentorships seem to be working well,
mostly. And, of course, there’s a lot of excitement for the extra quidditch
teams. Thanks for getting the rest of the staff to agree to be sponsors.”
“No trouble, my boy. Many of the staff enjoy their quidditch, too, you know.
And I understand quidditch isn’t the only extra club the students have
approached the staff about?”
“No, just the most popular,” Harry agreed. “There’s quite a few extra clubs
getting started this year. We had the prefects post suggestion lists in each of
the common rooms, so it really is something that the students themselves have
an interest in. The lists are all connected, so whenever something is added to
one, it shows up on all the others. If there’s enough interest, then a meet up
time is posted. Hermione keeps track of the master list, so anything
inappropriate can be removed from the lists, and Anthony Goldstein is actually
in charge of organizing any of the groups that wish to become formal clubs.”
“Ah, delegation at its best,” Dumbledore mused, and Harry grinned. “And your
Samhain celebrations?”
“Hermione and I are going to take this weekend and really flesh out our plans,”
Harry admitted. “As you know, we gave you the bare bones of a plan, but we’re
hoping to have a solid schedule, complete with supervision and break relief.
Our goal is to get as many people involved as possible. Speaking of which…”
Harry hesitated a moment, slightly embarrassed and nervous about his next
request, hoping like that the elder wizard wouldn’t be insulted. “We were
wondering, that is, Hermione and I, well, we were hoping you and Professor
McGonagall would be agreeable, that is to say, if you don’t mind, of course,
but we would like you to represent the crone and her consort in our festival…?”
Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise and then wrinkled into a
delightedly wide smile. “Ah, a truly traditional celebration, then? We haven’t
had one at Hogwarts since my youth. I would be delighted to play such an
important role, my boy, and I’m sure Professor McGonagall will be equally as
honored.”
“I don’t suppose, that is to say… would you be willing to ask her?” Harry
blushed. “Hermione and I were going to today, but, well, she didn’t, that is to
say, she seemed a bit, er, irritable.”
“Ah, well, I feel I should confess something to you,” the headmaster began
gravely before turning to look away from Harry’s questioning eyes. “Last night,
as I was preparing for bed, I felt a strange disturbance in the wards.
Understandably, I was concerned and went to investigate, which led me to your
rooms. I’m afraid I ran into Professors McGonagall and Snape along the way, and
they came, too. Well, I—I wonder, how much you remember of last evening?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Er—“
“Yes, exactly,” Dumbledore nodded, coughing a little to clear his throat. “I
wonder, how are you finding your meal?”
Harry blinked, confused at the sudden topic change, and startled when he
realized he’d eaten most all of the food. The food from the golden plates.
“I—it was delicious.”
“Salt,” the headmaster proclaimed sagely.
“Excuse me?”
“The difference between the golden and silver plates,” Dumbledore explained,
“is salt. Or rather, lack thereof. You see, I think you’ll find that although
vanteerians do not necessarily need to eat to sustain themselves, they do still
enjoy the action. They are, however, allergic to salt, so all of their meals
must be prepared fresh and as natural as possible.”
“Salt.”
“Yes. I have some other books here that I think you or Ms. Granger will find of
interest. I’m sure you’re very excited and perhaps a bit overwhelmed.”
“Did you know?” Harry asked, feeling quite suddenly angry.
“Did I know that you would become or inherit a magical being upon your
birthday?” Dumbledore clarified. “No. No, I didn’t know. I knew it was somewhat
possible, of course, being that your father was a pureblood, but he did not
present a magical creature inheritance and nor did your mother, being
muggleborn. However, some weeks ago, Ms. Granger apparently approached
Professor McGonagall, inquiring about vanteerians. She, in turn, brought the
subject to the rest of the staff’s attention. Many thought nothing more of it,
but those few of us who have always had an invested interest in your wellbeing,
my boy, knew better than to simply dismiss any random event. Hence, I was able
to gather these books which I think may be of some service to you. I’m afraid
you will find them conflicting at best and horribly outdated.”
Harry stared at the three rather slim, ratty looking novels. They looked
positively ancient—as if they would fall apart if he even breathed on them.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to take them?”
“I think they would be of service to you much more than they will me,”
Dumbledore answered. “Besides which, I have already read them.”
Harry sighed. “So you think I’m this vanteerian creature, too, then.”
“Do not despair, Harry," Dumbledore advised. "A magical being inheritance is a
rare and wondrous gift. Many magical children grow-up daydreaming and
pretending to be a magical being, but few ever achieve their dreams. Less and
less, it seems, every year. That you have, well, quite honestly, nothing you
manage to accomplish should surprise me anymore, but you constantly do."
“It means I’m not a normal human being anymore.”
“I’m sorry to tell you, Harry, but you were never normal. You have always been
marvelously extraordinary. A fact for which I am sorely grateful for, for you
would not have been able to accomplish a fraction of your achievements if you
were not so wonderfully abnormal. Besides, I’m of the personal opinion that
‘normal’ is severely overrated. Abnormal beings have much more fun, I’m
convinced,” Dumbledore added with a twinkling smile.
“I’m not sure how much fun it is, sprouting wings and all.”
“Ah, yes, you’ve transformed now, haven’t you? Was it a complete
transformation? You were still humanoid when we left you last night.” There was
a faint tint of blush coloring the old man's cheeks, just barely visible over
his white whiskers, but his intellectual curiosity would not allow for
something as mediocre as embarrassment to deter him from his pursuit of
knowledge.
“I sprouted wings and fur all over.”
“But you did not otherwise change shape? Ah, well, perhaps that will come
later. If these texts are to be believed, you will have at least one animal
shape, as well as the characteristics of several of our more modern magical
beings.”
“Yeah, Hannah and Luna have been telling us,” Harry sighed. “It’s a lot to take
in, really.”
“You are more than capable of handling it, I’m sure. We are never given more
than we can handle; only just enough to make us stronger. And you have quite
the strong circle of friends to help and support you. I hope you will remember
I am also here for you, my boy.”
****
Harry returned to the head boy’s suite with the headmaster’s tomes in hand. He
found Hannah, Luna, and Neville on the sofa, heavenly involved in a fast and
furious snogfest, quickly devolving into a shag fest. Hannah and Luna were each
straddling one of Neville’s thighs as they took turns snogging or sucking on
his throat and chest. The girls’ blouses were strewn carelessly on the stone
floor while Neville’s own dress shirt hung off his shoulders, completely
unbuttoned. One of his hands was molding and squeezing one of Hanna’s breasts,
the other was squeezing and rubbing along Luna’s hip and ass.
“Mm, want to be filled up, want your cock inside me, filling me up," Hannah was
mumbling. "Feel so empty. So empty inside. Need you to fill me up, come inside
me and fill me up with your cum. Want it so bad.”
“You're such a naughty girl, Hannah,” Harry mused, making sure to seal and
spell the door behind him as he carefully set the books he was carrying down.
“Look at you rubbing and begging so enticingly against Neville, begging him to
feed your greedy pussy, fill you up. Your needy little pussy needs a cock
again, doesn’t it? You can’t go but a couple of hours without needing to be
filled, to be fucked. You love being shagged, don’t you?”
 "Gods, yes!” the girl shouted, arching her back as she thrust her groin
against Neville's thigh and pushed her breasts into his palm, eyes fluttering.
"What do you think? Do you think Neville and I should take turns with you,
fucking you, filling you up with our cum?”
The blonde moaned, hips canting back in invitation. “Such a greedy pussy. You
want me to shove my cock up inside you right now, don’t you? You don’t care
that you’re sitting on another bloke’s lap, rubbing against him like a needy
little bitch in heat. You don’t care about anything but having your needy
little pussy filled, do you?”
“Gods, please, Harry! So wet!”
“What do you say, Neville? Should we take turns filling Hannah’s needy little
pussy with our cocks until we completely fill her up with cum?”
“We could do that,” Neville agreed, “But it seems a bit unfair to Luna.”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” the other blonde responded, sliding free from Neville’s
lap and laying back into the arm of the sofa, legs spread wide as she began to
stroke herself. “I’m quite content to enjoy the view.”
“You heard her, Hannah?" Harry whispered as he came up behind her, rubbing his
hands down her sides to grip her hips. "Luna’s going to watch as Neville and I
fuck you, fill you with our cum. Do you like that idea?”
Hannah moaned and Neville laughed, “I’d say so, my pants are drenched from
where she’s rubbing herself. You better fuck her soon before she comes
anymore.”
Harry tilted her hips up and back, pushing her chest and shoulders down into
Neville. He flipped her skirt up and groaned when he realized she wasn’t
wearing any panties underneath. “You dirty little girl. You wanted to get
fucked, didn’t you? Not wearing any panties… were you hoping for any cock to
come by and fill you up?”
“No!”
“Good, because you’re ours. I won’t share you with anyone who is not already
one of us, do you understand, Hannah? You are ours,” he growled, thrusting into
her hot, wet sheath, causing her to cry out sharply as he filled her. “Say it.”
“Yours. Yours! I’m sure. I belong to you, you and our pard.”
“Mm,” Harry purred. “Very good. Can you feel my cock, Hannah? Can you feel how
deeply it’s sinking inside of you, filling you up? Is it enough or do you want
more?”
Hannah cried and sobbed and nodded, delirious, arms wrapping in a near strangle
hold around Neville's neck. “Oh, gods, so good, you’re filling me so good,
Harry, so deep. So good, Harry. Feels so full, so good. I want it. I want it
all. Give it to me, Harry.”
“You want more?”
“Yes, yes, more, please, give me more,” she begged, thrashing between him and
Neville.
Harry grinned and thrust deep, particularly deep, and ground his pelvis into
hers. In a moment, he felt the tingling pressure, similar to as if he was going
to urinate, but different, and Hannah tensed, freezing for a moment before
groaning.
“Oh, gods, what’s that?” she gasped, smooshing her pussy against him as the
pressure built, deeper inside her than she'd ever felt touched. “Shit, Harry,
what is that? What are you doing?”
“Do you like it?” he panted.
“I—I don’t know,” she gasped, looking wide eyed and fearful into Neville’s
face, and she realized she was still straddling his lap while Harry continued
to fuck her from behind, his hips smacking into her, causing her to bounce and
jiggle against Neville while he helped hold and support her. She whimpered.
“You like how good I’m filling you up, don’t you? You love how much my cock
sinks so deep inside your pussy. I’m going to come, and when I do, I’m going to
pour all my cum deep inside your pussy, Hannah. You’ll be leaking for days,” he
promised with a particularly savage thrust that saw her rearing back,
screaming. He held still even as she writhed, savoring the feeling of his
release rushing from him… and only once he was sure he was finished, did he
stumble back and fall onto the sofa beside Neville.
“That… was hot,” the nymph breathed, staring glassy eyed towards Harry, checks
flushed.
“Yeah? You liked that?” Harry asked breathlessly, more than a little
lightheaded.
“Hell, yeah,” Neville responded, licking his dry lips and adjusting his spent
cock, uncomfortable in its confined spade of his trousers.
“Mm, me, too,” Hannah mumbled from where she had curled up against Neville's
chest, legs still spread and very obviously leaking from her core.
“You had a satisfying meeting with the headmaster?” Luna asked, casually
licking her fingers clean.
“Uh, well, yes, I suppose I did, but honestly, it was more the sight that
greeted me when I got back that was so inspiring,” Harry confessed, reaching
over and flicking one of Neville’s nipples, causing the boy to jerk, which in
turned disrupted Hannah who mewed in protest. “Dumbledore gave us some books
about vanteerians that he thought might be helpful.”
“That was very nice of him.”
“Yes, it was,” Harry agreed, frowning at her. “Are you going to continue to
hang out all the way over there, or are you going to come over here and
cuddle?” he finally asked.
Luna grinned and agreeably crawled over Neville and Hannah, who were leisurely
going at it again—Neville having pulled the Hufflepuff properly into his lap so
he could impale her and was slowly undulating in and out—and tumbled into
Harry’s lap, curling up and cuddling. “Better?” she asked.
“Much,” he agreed, pulling her just that inch closer and nuzzling against her
crown while his hands sought to stroke and soothe. “Hermione will be annoyed
with us if she finds out we spent the entire afternoon snuggling and shagging.”
“Then I suppose we should probably do something other than just shagging and
snuggling,” Luna responded with a small pout. “I suppose we could test your
abilities now that you’ve finally transformed. Do you think you could call up
your fur again? I think it would be quite cute to see a Harry-kitty.”
Harry snorted. “I don’t think it works like that, Luna?”
“How do you know? Have you tried?” she challenged, and he grinned and shook his
head, shifting her off his lap so he could stand.
“Alright, so a cat, huh? The books said I should be able to transform into a
leopard or panther, right?”
“Or a house cat,” Luna reminded him. “You should also be able to transform into
a humanoid feline, like last night.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a place to start,” Harry said with a deep breath,
closing his eyes and trying to imagine himself covered in thick black fur like
he had been this morning. His face had looked funny this morning, too, he
remembered, misshaped. It hadn’t felt funny, though, which was strange, he
thought. And he’d had a tail, which had moved smoothly with him and
surprisingly not gotten in the way at all.
“Yes,” Luna hissed, rubbing a hand along his hip, buttocks, and thigh. Harry
purred in response—literally purred. He blinked in surprise, and realized he
was taller than he had been a moment ago, and that the world seemed in sharper
contrast, and scents were stronger, more distinct. He stepped away from the
musky bodies on the sofa, and he realized his balance and center of gravity had
shifted as well. Looking down, he saw his feet had elongated and that he was
essentially standing on the balls of his feet. He was the strange humanoid
feline from this morning.
“Beautiful, Harry,” Luna told him. “You’re absolutely beautiful. Do you want to
try transforming completely into a cat now or back to human?”
He thought about it. “Let’s push on. I would like to know, for sure, if I can
really transform like the books say I’m supposed to be able to.”
Luna grinned at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he might have experienced
a similar fissure of fear as when Hermione decided he needed to learn a
particular spell. That moment of panic a man feels when he realizes he’s just
agreed to something, he knows not for sure what.
 
Still to come…
*A Hogsmeade weekend
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks for the kudos and prods--it really did make me sit down and
     work some scenes out. I did go back and add to previous chapters--
     filling in the summer a bit more, including more on Draco's
     background. I'd like to remind everyone that this is a slow-to-update
     as well as very RAW rough-draft of a story. It is being posted not as
     a ready-to-publish piece but as a kick-in-the-pants-need-to-actually-
     finish-filling-in-the-missing-scenes work. Thank you for your
     continued support and understanding.
***** Hogsmeade *****
Chapter Notes
     revised
Hogsmeade
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
~THEN~
“I’m so ready for the weekend,” Hannah squirmed. “Will you be going into
Hogsmeade with us?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Harry sighed. “I’m going to need the extra time to
get—this—figured out,” he huffed.
“Do you want us to stay and help?” Neville asked, frowning.
“Nah, you’re good. I mean, we can test somethings out today, but you should be
fine to enjoy your weekend. Weren’t you talking about maybe visiting Madame
Puddifoot’s?” he teased, knocking shoulders.
“Only for a little bit,” Hannah defended. “I’m more of a pub girl than a
teahouse, but if we’re going to help keep the rumor-mill focused on us dating,
we thought we should give them a little fuel.”
“What about you, Luna?” Hermione asked. “What are your plans?”
“I need to pick up a few things in Hogsmeade, but I don’t anticipate it taking
me all that long. I figure, if I head down early, I should be able to avoid
most of the crowds, and then I can make it back in time for lunch. That will
give me plenty of time to finish up some of my essays and work on my arithmacy
project.”
 
~NOW~
-Saturday, 18 October, Hogsmeade-
It was still very early when Luna arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, but
surprisingly, there were already several members of Gryffindor seated.  She
slipped onto the bench next to Hannah and Neville.  The latter was slightly
blurry-eyed, as were several of the other boys, but the Hufflepuff girl was as
giggly and bouncy as ever, chatting amiably with Lavender, Pavarti, and her
fellow Ravenclaw, Padma.
“Morning, Luna!" Hannah greeted with ever-effusive enthusiasm.  "The group of
us were planning on heading down to Hogsmeade together before splitting up. 
And, if it’s all right with you, Neville and I would like to join you while you
run your errands. There are some things I need to pick up, too, for myself and
some of the first and second years.”
“That’s fine,” the Ravenclaw responded calmly, returning Hannah’s friendly
smile with one of her own. “It’s very nice of your to help pick up things for
the first and second years who can’t go to Hogsmeade. What will you get?”
“Oh, the regular, I suppose – quills, parchment, and chocolate.” She grinned at
her pard mate. “And the seventh years always chip in and buy the first years
scarves.”
"I wish our seventh years had down that for us," Ron groused, still rubbing the
sleep from his eyes. "I want to hit of Honeyduke's for sure."
"Why am I not surprised," Lavender mused, shaking her head and rolling her eyes
at her best friend.  "Well, as long as you remember to pick me up some
chocolate."
"What? Aren't you coming?" Ron asked confused.
Pavarti huffed a sympathetic laugh as Lavender sighed. "I told you, Ron. We're
going to spend the morning shopping, and then we'll all meet up at the Three
Broomsticks. Of course, you're always welcomed to join us."
"Whoa! Danger, mate, danger," Seamus piped up. "Back away slowly, and you just
might survive."
"Err, right, yeah, no, that's okay," Ron sputter. "You go have fun. I'm fine." 
The other's twittered, but for once, Ron didn't mind that they were possibly
laughing at him, just glad to have escaped an obviously dire fate.
“I need to pick out a new set of robes for indoors and outdoors,” Neville put
in. “But I could always have my gran order them from our tailor. I would like
to pick up some candy, though, and there’s supposed to be a new book out about
subtropical plants.”
“So that’s a stop at all the staple shops, then?” Hannah questioned, looking at
them for confirmation. “I mustn’t forget, either—Hermione asked for some
knitting wool in all our favorite colors. I think she’s planning on making us
all scarves for Christmas.”
“She has been practicing,” Neville commented. “She’s definitely gotten better.”
“That’s very nice of her,” Luna mused. “I shall have to think of something I
can make for everyone, too. It’s so much nicer than simply bought gifts.”
“I’m not ready to think about Christmas presents yet!” Hannah mock-wailed.
“It’s only October. We still have two whole months before Christmas.”
“Actually, I think Harry mentioned something about trying to hold a Yule
celebration this year,” Neville mused.
Seamus turned to him, wide-eyed. “Are they gonna try an’ bring back all the old
traditions, then? Might dangerous, I would think.”
“Maybe not *all*,” he hedged with a wary grin. “But I have a feeling they’re
going to at least attempt as many as they can get away with. He mentioned
something about some of the rift between the purebloods and muggle-borns could
be mended if only the muggle-borns were exposed more to the wizarding
traditions. That muggles now-a-days were a lot more open-minded then they had
been in the past, and many of the kids today would really enjoy the different
celebrations and traditions, but they didn’t know because no one ever taught
them or talked about them.” Neville shrugged.
“Sounds more like something Hermione would say, if you ask me,” Ron coughed,
half-choking on a meat roll.
“Do you think he’s right?” Padma asked nervously.
“Ignorance and arrogance often go hand in hand,” Luna answered. “Do you think
it’s too early to head out now?”
“Well, if we leave now,” Dean thought aloud, “it would give us time to stroll
the shops right when they opened and maybe beat most of the crowds.”
“Sounds good to me,” Hannah nodded, standing up and leading the others to stand
as well. “Let’s get our errands done and then we can go on our date,” she
teased Neville, taking his arm.
“Joy,” he sighed, holding out his other arm to Luna, who giggled lightly and
followed her escort out.
The band of students merrily made their way down to the wizarding village,
where they then split off into smaller clusters to go about their morning. The
pard trio was succeedful in accomplishing their errands before the crowds
became too swollen and choking. They all bought more than they had originally
intended, but were happy with their purchases and intentions. It was nearing
noon when, loaded down with their bags shrunken into one large sized sack, Luna
kissed first Hannah’s and then Neville’s cheek outside Madame Puddifoot’s,
wishing them fun before heading back to Hogwarts.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Neville entreated, and Hannah hastily agreed,
squeezing the younger girl’s hand.
“Thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” Luna promised. “I really do want to
work on my arithmacy project today.”
They let her go somewhat reluctantly, watching until she was past the corner
before turning to face their own challenge. “Well, I suppose we should get to
it,” Neville said stoutly, reaching forward to hold the door open for Hannah.
“So noble,” she teased, setting the mood for the rest of their ‘date’. As they
sat beside one another at the tiny little table with rose petals and cherry
blossoms floating in the air, they teased and joked back and forth in addition
to really getting to know one another. Surely they had been friendly for many
years, and more recently they had become more than just friendly, but still,
there was plenty to discover about each other. Behind the privacy of a spell,
Neville shared some of his family history with the blonde Hufflepuff, as well
as some of his hopes for the future. Hannah also shared some of her past
hardships and future hopes and dreams.
They were just agreeing to head back to Hogwarts and skip the Three Broomsticks
altogether when they heard the screams.
===============================================================================
 
It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year—October 18th.
The weather was surprisingly fine—a beautiful, crisp autumn day, tempting more
than a fair few students to spend as much time as possible in the small
wizarding town. By lunchtime, most all the students who were eligible to visit
Hogsmeade had left, leaving the great hall and the school over all with an
almost eerie empty feeling of vacancy and space.
The news in the papers had been getting steadily worse as the days progressed.
Attacks and kidnappings, murder and mayhem smeared the headlines more days than
not, but still, off the students were allowed to go, out of the safety of
Hogwarts' gates.
Surely they could have done something else, made some other sort of
arrangements. They *knew* it wasn't safe.
Dumbledore still allowed them to go.
The Death Eaters attacked.
It was too sweet of a temptation to pass up. They raided the village.
Out of a 335 student body, nearly 200 students were in the village that day.
When the distress call came in the form of a cat patronus, Professor
McGonagall’s voice calling out, “Death Eaters! In Hogsmeade!” the remaining
students started screaming and crying.
“Be calm!” Dumbledore commanded. “You are safe here. Stay in the castle!” He
then turned to the staff who were present and began issuing further orders.
Meanwhile, Harry turned to Hermione. “I need to go.”
“Like hell you do,” the head girl grumbled. “We need to stay here and help keep
the first and second years calm.”
“You can do that. Get them organized and ready to greet the returning students.
They’re probably going to need some extra beds and stuff in the Hospital Wing.
Maybe teach the firsties some simple first aid tricks for when people start
getting back, but I need to get out there and help.”
“Dammit, Harry, you just can’t—“
“Neville and Hannah are still out there,” Harry hissed, “Along with others. I
can’t just sit behind, Hermione. I have to go.”
She growled fiercely, and then surprising them both, pulled him in for a quick,
angry kiss before releasing him. “You better come back safely, Potter.”
He grinned lopsidedly at her. “I’ll always come back to you, Hermione.
Promise.”
And then he was gone.
Harry pushed at his magic, willing his body to change, just like he’d practiced
repeatedly the day before. The change came smoothly—one moment a young man
running through the halls of the castles, towards the main door, the next a
large black panther broke free of the stonewalls. He scented the acrid taste of
smoke long before he saw it rising up above the treetops from the direction of
Hogsmeade. With a heave, large bat-like wings unfurled from his back and pumped
at the air.
He could hear the chaos—the screaming of people afraid, the crying of children,
the yelling and shouting of spells—as he got ever closer. But not close enough,
not fast enough.
The crack snap of apparitions sounded loudly in his ears, and he swooped low
and tried to maw a robed and masked Death Eater who was trying to grab at
another student while holding onto a screaming child.
He was too late. The death eater had snatched up the second child and popped
away. Harry landed hard and pushed at his magic again, willing his body to
change and reform back into that of a young man, wand in hand at the ready.
But there was no one left to fight.
The entire raid had lasted less than ten minutes, leaving behind burning
buildings and terrified people.
Quickly, Harry scurried up to the first group he saw. “Is everyone here all
right? Is anyone hurt?”
“My brother, Scott, is,” one of the girls cried, younger enough to be a third
or fourth year. “One of them grabbed Robin and was trying to get me, too, but
he fought him off, and he cursed Scott and grabbed Lanthy instead!”
He got a look at Scott’s injury—a jagged slice from shoulder to hip that was
bleeding steadily. Another kid was holding his robe against the wound, trying
to slow the blood. “Try ‘episky’,” he told them, and then, determining that the
kid would live, he moved on.
By the time he’d reached the fourth group, Harry had already conjured seven
black sheets to drape over bodies left fallen. When others started
arriving—aurors and the teachers from Hogwarts—he nearly hexed them in defense
of a sixth group of students he was attempting to treat.
“Professor!” he called out, seeing an ashen Professor McGonagall limping
towards a tall, dark auror he recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt from the
Order.
“Potter!” the scottswoman’s brogue ran deep.
“There’s a lot injured—students and townsfolks alike,” he spoke quickly,
jogging up to them. “I wasn’t sure if we wanted to tempt sending the students
back to Hogwarts through the gates or if we should send them through the secret
passage through Honeydukes.”
“It wouldn’t remain a secret passage if most of the students know about it,”
the deputy headmistress pointed out. “The headmaster’s sent word that Hagrid is
sending the carriages down. We’ll be able to transport all the students and
anyone injured back to Hogwarts. The Three Broomsticks is in shambles, but
Abeforth has opened up the Hogshead. We’ll send the students who can be moved
there. Meanwhile, we need to take a headcount. They were snatching children,
the evil thieves!”
With a sense of direction, Harry left the raving woman to her rant, darting
back the way he came to inform the groups he’d already met up with where to go.
He quickly taught several students the mobilicorpus spell so they could safely
move their peers as well. As he continued forward, he noticed members of the
groups he’d already visited breaking off and tending to other groups further
ahead, and slowly, more and more students crawled out of their hiding spaces
and joined the exodus towards the Hogshead.
Aurors were swarming the small town before much longer, running from one spot
to another, shouting and calling out to each other as they surveyed the damage.
Harry ignored them all—once, he’d thought to join their ranks, but he’d moved
beyond that future career choice by his sixth year. He wasn’t sure what he
wanted to be when he grew up, but he thought he knew he didn’t want to spend
any more of his time chasing after evil wizards. He wanted to act, not react,
he thought despairingly as he knelt beside a whimpering elder witch.
“Are you hurt?”
“They took my Livius, my grandson,” the woman gasped. “They took him. Pushed me
right aside and snatched him away. Dagbert tried to stop them, and they killed
him. Just like that. Sweet old dumb Dagbert, never hurt anyone, and they killed
him. Took my grandbaby and killed my friend. Why? Why are they snatching
children? What do they want? He’s barely even fourteen. So excited, we were
going to be having lunch in the Three Broomsticks…”
Harry called another student over, a fifth year prefect from Slytherin, and
charged him with helping get the old witch and any others over to the Hogshead.
He conjured a black sheet for the wizard lying nearby, and then he pushed on.
He was just approaching the Hogshead when he heard the carriages rumbling up
the path from Hogwarts. He sighed. Soon the students would be safely back at
Hogwarts.
“Everybody, listen up,” he called stepping into the dingy pub. “The carriages
are approaching. We need to get everyone back as safely as possible. Let’s send
our most injured in the first wave, that way they can get to Madame Pomfrey’s
tender care in a timely manner,” he attempted to tease. “We also need a head
count of who’s here and who’s missing. Prefects? Grab a parchment a start up a
list of who’s here and accounted for—start with the injured and their
companions so we can get them on the carriages. Anyone sixth or seventh year
who feels they’re capable, there’s a lot of cleanup needed. Get your name on a
list and then pick a couple of spots around town where you can help out for a
while, until the rest of the carriages get here.”
“Do you think it wise?” one of the upper years called. “I mean, is it safe for
us to go out there again?”
“The town is crawling with aurors currently and has just been attacked by death
eaters,” Harry growled. “Of course it’s not safe! But there are still people
out there who are hurt and need help. What kind of Hufflepuff would you be if
you didn’t offer them aid?”
When the carriages rolled up outside the pub there were additional screams and
cries of terror, and many of the students already on edge had their wands drawn
and pointed, ready to fend off the danger.
“What are they?” one of the younger years whimpered. “They’re horrid looking!”
Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Do you mean the
thestrals?” he asked calmly heading out to pat one along the skeleton neck.
“They won’t hurt you. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Hogwarts has its
very own herd of thestrals that live in the forrest.”
“I’ve never seen them before!” another student, older than before, called out.
“No,” Harry agreed, looking at the pale, muck-streaked faces before him, and he
thought a little piece of himself die as he realized they’d all lost a piece of
their innocence today. “Only someone who’s seen death, seen someone die, can
see a thestral. Now, come along. We don’t have much time for wasting. Those of
you in Care of Magical Creatures can ask Hagrid to tell you more about them,
but for right now, it’s important to get everyone safely back to the castle.
Prefects? Who’s signed in and ready to go? Let’s get them loaded and on their
way!”
He turned the situation at the Hogshead over to the fifth and sixth year
prefects to manage while he led the capable others back out into the smoking
town. It promised to be a long, stressful afternoon and night.
===============================================================================
 
 
Hermione exhaled deeply as she stood up and absently swiped a strand of sweaty
bangs back from her face, looking out and surveying the scene before her. The
Great Hall was transformed. Gone were the house tables—pushed back to make way
for hastily conjured cots. Along one wall, the Slytherin table alone remained,
leavened down with a veritable feast of finger foods waiting patiently for
someone to come along and pick at them. Thank goodness for stasis charms.
As the daughter of dentists, Hermione had been well equipped in emergency first
aid response. She knew how to treat a variety of bumps, scrapes, and bruises.
As one of Harry Potter’s closest friends, she’d learned to develop a bit wider
repertoire of first aid. After all, the wizarding world did not have paramedics
who would be arriving within minutes of a phone call, and, well, Harry and Ron
could be more than a little stubborn on seeking assistance when hurt or
injured. Still, even with her casual perusal of various medical spells and
first aid treatment, Hermione had never participated in a triage situation, and
that is what she found herself embroiled in.
 Let it not be said the head girl wasn’t a quick study.
 Working side-by-side with Madame Pomfrey and a handful of other upper years,
Hermione greeted each new carriage that arrived from Hogsmeade. With her heart
skyrocketing into her throat with each new arrival, her pulse battering an
allegro tempo as she raced to see which familiar face would appear next, she
helped bring the wounded and traumatized witches and wizards into the Great
Hall where they could be assessed more fully and treated.
Thankfully, most could be cured with a few wand flicks and a swallow of potion.
Professor Snape had disappeared with a small handful of students almost as soon
as the line of carriages began arriving. Hermione had barely noticed his
absence until she spotted a house elf delivering a tray of freshly made
potions—bruise salves, calming draughts, skelo-grow, burn salves, even sleeping
aids. As quickly as the potions seemed to run out, a fresh batch would arrive.
 Additional healers from St. Mungo’s had been called in to assist. Several of
the students who had not been in Hogsmeade were anxious to assist, following
around the healers like ducklings and unfortunately sometimes getting in the
way. When that happened, the head healer bellowed for everyone not injured and
seeking treatment to leave the hall immediately.
 “He can’t mean for everyone to leave,” Hermione protested, glaring at the man
from across the hall before turning to those nearest her. “Anthony, can you see
about finding a prefect from each House. We’ll send the first and second years
to their dorms, unless they have family down here. Then they can stay.”
 “I’m not sure how much of a difference it’ll make,” the seventh year Ravenclaw
replied. “It’s like most all of the school’s here in beds already.”
 “Hopefully, it’ll be enough,” Hermione grimaced. “With so many wounded, Madame
Pomfrey will probably be releasing the less injured back to their own beds to
recover. That should free up more space for the Hogsmeade residents who can’t
return home yet.”
 She watched, heartbroken, as another body draped in a black sheet was gently
levitated into one of the side chambers.   Anthony looked to where she was
looking and breathed out rapidly. “Yeah. I think—I think I’ll check in with
Madame Pomfrey, then, too, and see if she’ll be willing to let us start moving
some of the others out of here.”
 Outside, another carriage rolled up through the Hogwarts gates, laden with
passengers and on towards the large entry doors where others waited to help the
injured and wounded witches and wizards into the Great Hall. And the pattern
repeated. Over and over. Too many times to count.
===============================================================================
 Harry scurried from one building to the next. Aurors had arrived, eventually,
and he was helping to clear buildings and identify the injured for rescue. He
scuttled down next to the crumpled form of an older witch. A quick spell had
alerted him to the fact she was still alive but unconscious, and he did a quick
visual scan even as he waved his wand for a simple diagnostic.
 “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” he asked gently but firmly. “Can you wake up? We’re
going to get you help. Just hang in there, okay?”
 “Harry?” a weak, shaky voice called out to him, and he almost didn’t recognize
it. Almost.
 Senses high on alert, his head whipped around as he peered into the wreckage
of one of the store fronts. Hogsmeade was a mess. Even with magic, Harry
figured it would take a bit to put everything back to rights… and even then, it
would never be the same. Could never be the same.
 “Harry,” the same voice breathed out with relief, and this time, Harry was
sure of who it was.
 “Hannah,” he called out, sliding down near the wreckage, trying to get closer.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
 The blonde Hufflepuff gave out a small, whimpering, huff of a laugh. “Been a
bit better,” she answered before coughing. “Neville’s here, too. He’s still
out. I think he’s hurt worse, but I don’t want to try and move anything… the
rest of the wall might come down on us…”
 “I’ll get you out, just hold tight.”
 “Not going anywhere, promise,” Hannah sighed, still breathing noticeably
heavy. “There were Deatheaters, Harry.”
 “I know, Hannah. But it’s all right. They’re gone now. You’re safe. They can’t
hurt you anymore.”
 “But they tried. One came up and tried to grab me, but Neville fought him off.
And I was so scared, Harry. I didn’t know what to do. I just froze up. All
those things you’d taught us in the DA. They just vanished, right out of my
head. I couldn’t think of a thing. And then Neville was there, fighting to
protect me. And he was so… beautiful, Harry. And then I just snapped out of it,
and I fought, Harry. I helped fight the Death Eaters. I don’t think I really
hurt any of them, but I didn’t just hide, Harry. I helped fight them.”
 “You did well, Hannah. I’m very proud of you for defending yourself and
Neville.”
 As he kept her talking, Harry studied the lay of the building. Hannah was
right to fear attempting to move any of the debris off of where she and Neville
were hiding. One small shift looked like it could finish taking down the entire
wall. Still, he couldn’t just leave them in there, waiting around for someone
else to show up. Who knows how long that could take?
 “Harry!” another voice shouted from down the lane, whipping his attention
around.
 “Ron! Quick,” he shouted, relieved to see his long-time friend. “Get over
here! Hannah and Neville are trapped under all of this. We need to try and get
them out.”
“Bloody hell,” the ginger puffed, hoofing it over to Harry was and trying to
catch sight of Neville and his girlfriend. “Shit, alright, yeah, okay. How do
you want to do this?”
 Taking a deep breath, Harry lifted his wand. “Carefully,” he instructed as he
began picking his way through the upper levels of debris covering Hannah and
Neville. It took some time, in which others had come up on them and then raced
off, but eventually Harry and Ron had safely uncovered Hannah’s hiding spot.
 It was nothing more than a natural lean to from where the wall had caved in
and formed a neat little triangular space with the ground and remaining wall.
 Neville was indeed laid out prone, and if not for the steady rise and fall of
his chest as the young wizard-nymph breathed, Harry might have panicked. Well,
panicked more than he already was. Hannah was curled up against Neville’s side,
but Harry could see where a loose board had pinned her leg. A quick visual scan
bred suspicions, shortly followed up by flick of his wand that confirmed it—the
leg was broken. Hannah would definitely need more medical aid than he could
provide on the spot. Thankfully, help was now on the way.  
 The pair of them were filthy, and injured, and Harry was angrier than he could
ever remember being before. He wanted to finish tearing the wall down with his
bare hands. Or better yet, have those death eaters who had dared attack his
pard here in front of him right this very minute. Then he would tear them apart
with his hands and teeth. Shred them to ribbons. Give them a practical
demonstration that they would never forget of what happens to someone or
something that dared to hurt his—
 “Harry?” Hannah called again, her voice sounding weaker than ever.
 “It’s okay, Hannah,” he responded, crawling down next to her. “I’m here.
You’re safe. I’m going to get you back home.”
 “Okay. Tired. And cold.”
 “Just hold on, okay, Hannah? Hold on a little bit longer,” he encouraged,
stroking her cheek, mindful of the nasty gash. “Ron’s here, too. Help is on its
way, and we’re going to get you back home. Then, you and Hermione and Luna can
take a nice long hot bath if you want. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
 “’d like that,” the blonde slurred blearily, offering up a small twitch of her
lips in a pale attempt of one of her generous smiles, before she slipped fully
into uncounsciousness.
===============================================================================
 
They had succeeded in hording the majority of the first and second years back
to their dormitories. Somewhat surprisingly, the feat was made slightly more
complicated by the mentorships—not only were the students concerned about the
wellbeing of themselves and their family members, but also their mentors and
mentees. Hermione herself caught three first years attempting to sneak back
down stairs before one of the fifth year Hufflepuff prefects suggested putting
the younger mentees to work, helping escort some of the more stable upper years
back to their dorms. Soon enough, the students had a slowly moving chain of
escorts leading the way back to all four common rooms. 
The carriages up from Hogsmeade had slowed in the last hours, but still
Hermione hadn’t spied any sight of the three she was most worried
about—Neville, Hannah, or Harry. She tried not to be worried—tried not to let
her worry show. Threw herself into helping with the wounded that had arrived.
 “Hermione,” Luna called softly, appearing suddenly at her side, gently
touching her arm to break into the head girl's focus.
 “He’s found them,” the blonde told her, fingers curling into the fabric of her
cardigan. “They’re on their way back. He’s bringing them back.”
 Hermione released a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay, good. Are they—did you—“ She
bit off the questions she wanted to asked, unwilling to press the young fae
girl who was still gaining control over her awakening powers.
 “They’re hurt, but they will be fine. I—“
 Luna’s head tilted, cocked to the side as if she was hearing something or saw
something only she could notice—which is what Hermione knew she was probably
doing. Seeing or hearing fragments of future possibilities. As much as the head
girl herself didn’t believe in divination as a rule, she’d come to grudgingly
accept the fact that Luna was… different. The exception to make the rule.
“Interesting,” the younger girl finally breathed, blinking out of her trance.
 “What? What’s interesting? Luna!” Hermione snapped when it seemed like she
wasn’t going to be answered.
 The Ravenclaw blinked owlishly at her before refocusing on the somewhat
frazzled head girl. “We might have a member join us soon. I hadn’t anticipated,
hadn’t seen them before, so…. Interesting,” she concluded. “It should be fun.”
 “Fun? Another? You mean…” Hermione looked around them, not noticing anyone
nearby who was paying them any attention before she continued on in a hissed
voice. “You mean another… for the pard?”
 The blonde nodded, smiling pleasantly. “Yes!”
 “No,” Hermione returned. “Now’s not the time to be—“
 “Not right away, not immediately,” Luna cut in calmly. “But… possibly,
depending. Tonight might be the beginning. Potentially. The potential is there.
Shall we go meet Harry and the others at the steps?”
 Hermione puffed out an exasperated breath, but she nonetheless followed the
other girl out from the Great Hall and into the main entry where the thestral-
pulled carriages had been delivering their loads. From the top of the steps,
they could see another carriage lumbering up the lane. She waited impatiently
as it approached. It seemed to be going slower the closer it came, and Hermione
wanted to scream. A cool hand slipping into hers and squeezing was the only
thing keeping her rooted to her spot and not flying down the steps to run out
and meet the carriage.
Finally, it pulled to a stop below them, and nothing could stop her from
rushing down the steps. Not even Luna, who was actually half a step ahead of
her.
“Harry!”
“Hermione. Luna,” the head boy greeting as he stepped down from the carriage.
“Thank goodness you’re here. I need some help. Neville’s unconscious, and
Hannah keeps slipping in and out. She has a broken leg, for sure. Plus, I’ve
got others here as well.”
 “Everyone’s being sent to the Great Hall first,” Hermione told him. “They’ve
called in medi-witches and additional Healers from St. Mungo’s.”
 “Well, let us get out and we can head up there,” an anxious voice called out
from behind him. Harry turned and held a hand out to help the waspish young
woman down. “Let go, Blaise! You’re just as hurt as me,” the blonde Slytherin
hissed, taking Harry’s hand and stepping clear of the carriage.
 Once down, Daphne Greengrass surveyed her surroundings briefly before turning
on the head girl. “Granger,” she greeted. “You said everyone’s in the Great
Hall. Have you seen my sister?”
 “Asotria, right?” Hermione tried to remember. “I don’t think so, sorry. At
least, I don’t remember seeing her among the injured I was working with.”
“Bella,” Blaise Zabini murmured affectionately, stepping up behind her and
squeezing her shoulders reassuringly, having followed her out of the carriage.
“There’s still a chance. She’s a smart girl.”
 “That’s not the point,” the blonde snapped, blue eyes threatening to bleed red
with unshed tears. “They were grabbing people! What if they took her!”
“I didn’t see everyone, I’m sorry. She might be in there or in her dorms,”
Hermione offered. “We’ve been sending a lot of the less wounded back to their
common rooms after they’ve been treated. Most just have bumps and
scraps—they’re more scared and in shock than physically hurt.”
 “Come, let us check,” the dark skinned Italian coaxed, sighing when his blonde
companion rushed forwards with nary a glance back. He turned to them even as
Harry was helping Hannah down and releasing her into Hermione’s care. “Potter,
thank you for stopping to allow us to ride back with you.”
 “Not a problem. We were all heading to the same place anyway, right?”
 Zabini studied him further before nodding. “Of course,” he allowed before
following Greengrass up the steps.
 Meanwhile, Harry turned back to Neville, levitating him carefully out of the
carriage and then following the others up the steps and into the Great Hall.
  
===============================================================================
 
By the next morning, the Daily Prophet was announcing the tallies. No one knew
for sure how the paper had gotten the numbers so accurately. No one outside of
the ministry—which had attempted to cover up the attack—cared. They were too
much in shock still.
Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade when the Hogwarts' children were present.
38 deaths were reported; 9 were Hogwarts’ students.
127 critically injured; 53 were deemed seriously injured beyond Madame
Pomfrey’s capabilities and were emergency portkeyed to St. Mungo’s.
81 witches and wizards were missing; 27 of them students. No ransom was
received.
20 of the 27 students taken had been girls between the ages of 13 and 18.
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were hit the hardest, many muggle-borns and half-
bloods, but no house was left untouched.
Ginny Weasley among the missing.
 
Still to come…
*Fallout
***** Fallout *****
Chapter Summary
     In the wake of the Hogsmeade Attack, no one is left unaffected.
Chapter Notes
     Possible trigger warnings need apply.
     Oh, and sex. Yep, one of those chapters that earn this story its
     rating.
     Revised 1/16/16
Fallout
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~THEN~
 
Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade.
38 deaths were reported; 9 were Hogwarts’ students.
 127 injured; 53 were deemed seriously injured beyond Madame Pomfrey’s
capabilities and were emergency portkeyed to St. Mungo’s.
81 witches and wizards were missing; 37 of them students. No ransom was
received. 
24 of the 37 students taken had been girls between the ages of 13 and 18.
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were hit the hardest, many muggle-borns and half-
bloods, but no house was left untouched.
Ginny Weasley was among the missing. 
 
~NOW~
-The Week that Followed-
 Hannah’s leg was not a clean break—more’s the pity for her. Harry commiserated
with her, holding her hand as a mediwitch came by to vanish the smashed bone
fragments and administer a dose of Skelo-grow. He tried to distract her with
stories he half-remembered from listening to Dudley watch the telly from his
cupboard, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was.
 Hermione had commandeered two cots side by side for their use, so Neville was
laid out right beside them. Luna had taken up position at his side and was
lovingly combing through his sweaty brown hair as the nymph continued to sleep
on. A healer had visited them and deemed Neville would recover. He was merely
magically exhausted and apparently his magic had put him in a coma to recoup.
 “Do you think…” Hermione hesitated. “I could go bring one of his plants here.
Do you think it would help?” she offered.
 “Couldn’t hurt,” Hannah mumbled groggily. “He did throw around a lot of magic
against those death eaters.”
 “I think that’s a lovely idea, Hermione. Thank you,” Luna encouraged. “Some of
his plants nearby will surely help him feel better.”
 With a final nod from Harry, the head girl darted off to go collect some of
the many little clippings the nymph had gifted them over the last couple of
weeks. Since nymphs were creatures of nature, she hoped their presence would
help soothe and support the boy's magic in replenishing itself.
 “I should have been there,” Harry grumbled, watching Luna pet Neville while he
continued to caress Hannah’s hand.
 “Not much you could’ve done if you were there,” Hannah protested, wincing and
cuddling closer to him. “It’s not like they were sticking around to fight or
anything. Just popping up and grabbing people before popping away again.”
 “I could’ve maybe helped protect some of the students or something.”
 “You could’ve gotten hurt, too,” Hannah denied. “I glad you and Hermione
weren’t there. You, too, Luna. I’m glad you were safe. Neville and I were
already decided to head back. Missed you guys.”
“Aw,” Luna smiled prettily at the other blonde. “Just think, we could have
enjoyed the entire rest of the afternoon together. Death eaters suck.”
 Harry snorted and nearly choked on air. “Yeah, they do.”
 “Here,” Hermione called out as she returned, a tray filled with miniature pots
in hand. She set them out and quickly resized them, watching a bit mesmerized
as some of the clippings seemed to lean closer towards Neville, the leaves
actually turning towards him. “I hope it helps,” she muttered, settling onto
the cot on the other side from Luna.
 “I’m sure it will help a lot,” Luna reassured her just as a commotion at the
other end of the hall started up. A loud =CRACK= had almost everyone’s head
whipping around to see what had happened.
 Draco Malfoy stood, squared off Daphne Greengrass, rubbing his cheek.
 “Stay away from my sister, Malfoy,” the Greengrass heiress growled, glaring at
the former Malfoy heir.
 “If this is the thanks I can expect to receive for saving her life and keeping
her safe, you may be assured,” the seventh year male prefect returned, offering
a perfunctory bow before turning away and leaving the hall.
 “What was that all about?” Hermione wondered aloud.
 “Our fair Ice Queen does not approve of her baby sister’s affections towards
Draco,” a voice spoke up quietly from behind them. “Nor of his affections in
return.”
 The group turned as a whole, to spy the dark-haired Italian poster-boy of
Slytherin.  
 “Zabini,” Harry greeted, taking note of the white bandage slung around his arm
and shoulder. “You all right?”
 “Ehn. Merely a dislocated shoulder,” the Slytherin replied. “A mediwitch was…
kind… enough to help reset it. However, pain drafts are being reserved for the
more seriously injured. So I shall make do. I wished to once again express my
gratitude and inquire after your friends’ health?”
 Hannah didn’t quite stifle a giggle. “Why do all Slytherins talk like they’re
still stuck in the Founders’ Era?”
 “Don’t be silly,” Luna chided. “It’s clearly the Salmarian Era.”
 “Luna,” Hermione started before sighing in defeat.
 “Hmm?”
 “Nothing.”
 “Thanks, Zabini,” Harry started before the girls could continue.
 “Blaise.”
 “Wha?”
 “My name,” the Slytherin answered with a grin, “is Blaise. I’d be honored if
you would use it.”
 “Ah, yeah. All right. Blaise,” Harry nodded. “But I meant it before. You don’t
have to, uh, ‘express your gratitude’ or anything. We’re good. I would have
helped out anyone.”
“Yes, I know. You’re too generous sometimes.”
“Mmm,” Hannah hummed. “Harry can be very generous.”
 “Ignore her,” Harry mumbled. “She’s dosed on skelo-grow and the pain’s making
her a bit loopy.”
 “Nothing wrong with a little loopiness,” Luna teased, continuing to pet
Neville. “And she is right. You can be… quite… generous.”
 Blaise looked from one girl to the other, as if taking in the positioning of
the five friends, before returning his attention to the only awake male. “Your
friends will both be all right then? Abbott and Longbottom?”
 “Hannah will be right as rain in the morning,” Hermione interjected, “And
we’re hopeful Neville will wake up then, too.”
 “That is good. Then I will… leave you to your friends,” he added, sparing
another analyzing glance at them all before departing. “Good night… Harry,
ladies.”
 “I don’t think Zabini’s said as much in the seven years he’s been sharing
classes with us,” Hermione mused, watching him leave.
 “Mmm, and such a dreamy voice he has,” Hannah purred. “Could probably make
reading a first year spell book sexy.”
 Harry snorted. “You should try and get some sleep. Seriously.”
 “Can’t. Brain won’t turn off.”
 “Well, maybe you could tell us what happened?” Hermione asked. “We’ve been
getting bits and pieces of stories from everyone as they come in, but mostly,
we’ve been focused on just treating people. What happened, Hannah?”
 “Death eaters.”
 “I know that,” the head girl responded exasperatedly. “I mean, how? When?
Why?”
 “Well, why do any of those terrorists do things? I don’t know, Hermione. They
were just grabbing people and disappearing with them. Neville stopped one from
disappearing with me and then we were running, trying to get to the other
students.”
 “I don’t understand,” Hermione groused. “What did they want? Why attack
Hogsmeade and then take people? What are they planning?”
 No one had an answer to that. At least not one they wanted to voice.
 
 
===============================================================================
 
The week following the Hogsmeade Raid was like a shallow dream. Neville did
wake up the next morning—a little sore and achy, but overall all right. He and
Hannah were both released to their common rooms, but they ended up retreating
to the head boy and girl’s suite instead. Although classes continued once
Monday came, no one seemed to be able to really focus on anything, not even the
teachers. Not one class third year and above was untouched, whether by injury,
disappearance, or death. By the end of the day, almost all of the student body
had started sporting black memorial bands with the names of the eight students
who had died from the attack. On Tuesday evening, a combined service was held.
By Wednesday, white ribbons with names of the missing began appearing.
The seventh year Gryffindors banded around Ron--the youngest Weasley male was a
pale shadow of himself since finding out his baby sister was among the missing.
He was even off his eating, which left the others seriously worried about their
classmate. Harry and Hermione made an extra effort to check in with their long-
time friend, but it was more than obvious Lavender was keeping a close eye on
her boyfriend. She made sure he ate. She made sure he slept. She even made sure
he showered.
 Every morning, the Daily Prophet was searched, friends and family members of
the missing thirty-seven students anxiously looking to find word of a ransom
note sent. They were waiting for letters from home with hopeful news.
 None came.
 Harry knew there wouldn't be a ransom sent. He knew there wouldn’t be any
hopeful news for the families, because he knew exactly what the Death Eaters
planned to do with their captives. After all, he was forced to watch almost
every single night in his 'dreams'.  He wasn’t sure if Voldemort knew he was
watching or not. He knew the Death Eaters had no intention of ever returning
any of the 81 people taken from Hogsmeade. Just as he knew the chances of
anyone other than a Death Eater seeing any of them alive again was next to
nill.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
  The culling began immediately, before night had fallen even. He did not
begrudge them their fun and celebrations. After all, they had done well. Not as
many as he would have liked, but still more than he thought them capable of.
Eighty-one new guests, and all of magical blood.
 He had ordered the masses knocked out—didn’t care to listen to the whining and
sniveling as they pleaded for their lives. Some of his most loyal death eaters
he allowed to pick out a captive of their own to attend to their private
chambers. These pets were under the sole care of their new master. It would
fall unto his death eaters to ensure their pets received their potions while
they were required to service only their new master—in whatever capacity was
commanded of them. 
 A carefully selected number were taken away, set aside and hidden from the
rest. Another handful were gifted in payment to the wolves loyalty. He cared
not for how the beasts would use the women.
Of the remaining stock—generally, the more seasoned bodies—the females were
divvied up amongst the houses immediately. Once there, their standard regiment
of potions would be administered daily with their meals. The males were
separated from the females and sent immediately into the tender care of the
healers. There, they would begin their potion regime which would, out of
necessity, need to be more extensive than that of the females. As such, it was
a day or two before the male captives began joining their female companions in
the public chambers.
 Their guests were cycled through the public chambers--fancier than the
dungeons, but only just.  There they were obliged to service anyone who took a
fancy to them.  And his Death Eaters were not shy or embarrassed. In fact, they
delighted in cheering their compatriots on, even offering advice before
passing a girl or boy on to the next waiting in line. 
Night after night, he visited the houses, silently observing his death eaters
while they never knew of his presence. Some, he admired their creativity. Some,
he questioned their depravity. None, he interfered with. No, indeed, he merely
watched, observed, while his death eaters took their pleasure. It mattered
little to him if the captive was face up, flat on their back, or face down,
smooshed into the floor; whether they were strapped up in buckles or chains,
dangling helplessly while being used, or strapped down to a post or bench,
forcibly held open. He didn’t care if some of their guests were bloodied or
bruised, if they were pinched, prodded, or poked.
Only a few were still attempting to cry out protests days later. Most of them
were too beaten, too bruised, hurting and numb to do more than whimper
at renewed attentions.  And with his slowly growing number of followers, there
was always new and renewed attentions.  Their guests were kept occupied.
And as the calendar marched forward towards the end of the year, October 31,
Samhain, his anticipation grew.
 
===============================================================================
 
 Harry came out of his sleep with a wrenching gasp, and would have flung
himself off the bed if not for the arms banded around him, pulling him back,
holding him down.
 “Just breathe,” a soothing voice commanded, rough hands smoothing down his
arms and chest. “Just breathe and relax. Let it all go. You’re here. You’re
safe.”
 “But they’re not,” Harry bit out bitterly.
 Behind him, he felt Neville stiffen, freezing in his gentling touches, before
he felt the heavy exhale against his back. Instantly, Harry felt guilty. Since
waking up Sunday morning, Neville had been blaming himself for not having done
more to protect their fellow classmates. Harry had argued that at least he had
been there to help, and they’d started to get into an argument before Hannah
had smacked them both upside the head and called them stupid idiots.
Hermione had seemed equally upset, upsetting Harry further, and he’d tried to
apologize, but his words had only seemed to make her more upset. Luna had
finally stepped in, taking both girls in hand and informing anyone who cared to
listen that they were going to go take a nice long soak in the prefects bath.
Harry and Neville had shared a look after the departing girls, shaking their
heads and muttering unanimously, “Girls.”
 Still, things weren’t… well, they were never really perfect before, but…
things didn’t seem to be going along as easily as before, either. Not that they
really had a chance to settle into much of a routine, per say, but… Everything
was just tense, stressed, and it was affecting him and the pard. His family.
His pack.
 It was messed up, and he wasn’t sure how to make it better. Things had
changed, and he wasn’t sure how to smooth it all out again. One thing was the
sleeping arrangements. Since Sunday, Neville, Luna, and Hannah were sleeping
with him and Hermione in the head suite…which was a lot more harmless and
innocent than it would have been before Hogsmeade. Other than some snuggling,
he hadn’t done much of anything with his pard, choosing to simply hold them
close and breathe in their scents.
 The girls retired to Hermione’s room at night, and Neville went with Harry to
his bed. And they slept. Often times, they’d sleep until another nightmarish
vision woke Harry up, and then Neville would soothe him until they both could
fall back asleep. They’d discussed some more of Harry’s special abilities and
transformations, but there really wasn’t more research to study about what he
was. They would just have to discover it for themselves as time passed. Neville
shared more about his own abilities and what he knew of the different magical
beings that had supposedly intermixed with the pureblooded families. Mostly, he
would just talk about anything and everything that came to mind until Harry was
lulled back to sleep. Harry had always enjoyed listening to the stories Neville
would tell—stories of growing up in the wizarding world, wizarding children’s
stories, and other simple odds and ends he’d been denied the opportunity of
experiencing.
 But sometimes… sometimes he just wasn’t able to shut his mind off and listen
to Neville. Sometimes the images he saw screamed through his skull, pressing at
the back of his eyes. Times like tonight, when the faces he was forced to watch
being tortured and abused were faces he knew—classmates and shop clerks from
Hogsmeade.
The only thing that comforted Harry even a little was the fact that Ginny
wasn't among them again tonight.  He wasn't sure if that was really better, but
he could at least pretend.  He didn’t know what he would do if he finally saw
his best friend’s baby sister in one of those rooms, tied down and being used
by those monsters.
 “I’m sorry, Neville.”
 “Me, too,” the nymph sighed. “I keep thinking I should have been able to do
something more—“
 “You were able to do something,” Harry reminded him, turning around in his
arms to stare intently at the other teen. “That’s more than me. At least you
were there. You helped protect people, Neville. You did something, which is
more than any of the aurors or most of the others who just ran away.”
He pressed their foreheads together. “But it doesn’t feel like enough. I get
it,” Harry confessed. “Now you understand how I feel most of the time. I’m
sorry.”
 “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. You’re always doing so much for us
all, it’s about time more of us step forward and took on the weight.”
 “I wish you didn’t have to.”
 “Me, too. I mean, I wish you didn’t have to, either, but…”
 “Yeah, but…” Harry sighed. “You know they’re… they’re raping them, right?”
Neville grunted. “He’s making them keep drugged up. Hannah once said that our
magic wouldn’t allow us to be raped, but… that’s what’s happening. He’s… he’s
breeding an army, is what he’s doing.”
 “It shouldn’t be possible,” Neville mumbled. “Everyone knows that a person’s
magic will protect them or else turn on them. It’s why you won’t usually hear
anything about it or what have you. The instigator is almost always assigned a
one-way ticket to Azkaban.”
“What about love potions?”
 “What about them?”
 “Well, couldn’t love potions be considered something like… like a rape drug?”
Harry asked. “I mean, if they make you believe you’re really in love with a
person and you go and do those things…. But then afterwards, after you’re off
the drug…?”
 “I don’t know. Potions aren’t my forte,” Neville pointed out wryly.
 “I’d ask Hermione, but I don’t really want her thinking about what’s happening
to others.”
 “You could always ask Snape. I mean, he is a potions master.”
 Harry snorted. “I don’t think I want to go there just yet.” He sighed. “Still,
maybe.”   He closed his eyes and leaned into Neville’s chest, allowing their
legs to tangle naturally. It was a bit annoying that even with his recent
growth spurt Neville was still taller and broader than him, but whatever. At
least he wasn’t as scrawny as he used to be. Then again, neither was Neville,
he thought bemusedly as he stroked along the well-defined muscles of the other
boy’s arms… and thighs. Mustn’t forget about those thighs. All that time
squatting over plants in the green houses, no doubt. Carrying soil and pots and
wrangling wayward plants and…
 Neville shifted, shoving his rear purposefully into Harry’s lazily stroking
palm. He contorted enough to nip lightly at Harry’s shoulder before whispering
near his ear, “If that’s a question, the answer’s a most definite yes.”
 “Hmm?”
 “You haven’t really fed all week,” Neville murmured, rolling Harry back and
climbing on top. “It’s not fair, you know, to any of us. We need your
affections as much as you need us.”
 “Are you saying I’ve been a bad Vanteerian, ignoring you?” Harry teased,
reaching down to pull at Neville’s awakened cock as it pointed out towards his
belly. His own semi-hard penis swelled rapidly in interest. It had been nearly
a week since he’d been with one of his lovers sexually. It just hadn’t seemed
right.
 “Mmm, very bed, I mean, bad,” Neville mused, luxuriating in the feel of the
hand on his cock, stroking it with delicious pressure, squeezing just right.
 “You wanna come like this or you want me to fill you up?” Harry asked, already
guessing how the other would respond and eagerly looking forward to it.
 “Oh, gods, fill me,” Neville panted. “Fuck me and come in me.”
 “You really like that, don’t you?” Harry asked, his breathing already
quickening with excitement as he reached out blindly with one hand for the
lubricant he now kept in strategic spots throughout the head boy’s suite.
Conjured lube was good in a pinch, but blessed be to Hermione who had actually
located a sex magic manual that included a very nice recipe for personal
lubricant. The girls actually went through more of the stuff than Harry would
have thought, considering they were girls and all and were supposedly able to
make their own slick, but, hey! He wasn’t going to complain!
 The little bottle smacked into his open palm while Neville continued to writhe
against him, begging to be filled and fucked. The seemingly shy and sweet
Gryffindor boy had a real nasty streak when you got him horny, he mused,
slicking up his fingers and reaching around to get at his hole, reveling in the
way Neville practically came undone above him.
 “Ngh, so good, Harry. Fuck, stretch me, more, don’t tease. Uh, good, so good,
Harry, gods, yeah, open me up for you. Not too much, Harry. I wanna feel it
when you fuck me open. Wanna feel you push your cock inside of me, fuck me open
around your cock. Yeah, gods, that sounds so good. Can’t wait anymore, Harry.
Need you inside me. Please, please, fuck me? I need to feel your cock filling
me up, Harry.”
“Fuck,” Harry hissed, pushing Neville onto his back and yanking his legs up
over his shoulders.
 “Yes, yes, please, gods, please, fill me, Harry. Fuck me open around your
cock.”
 “Shit, Neville, I swear to gods, if you keep saying shit like that I’m gonna
come.”
 “Want you to come. Want you to fill me up with your cum.”
 “Oh, I’m gonna alright,” he promised, lining himself up before sinking in
deeply, as far as he could into that tight hot grip that squeezed his dick,
swallowing him whole, all the way to his balls.
 Their groans melded together in a chorus of staccato breaths and gasps, small
whimpers and pleas that swelled around them into a final crescendo.   Hot and
sticky, they panted into each other’s bodies, holding on tightly for several
minutes. Harry finally pulled back, lethargically rolling onto his back and
watching lazily as Neville ran a hand over his cum-smeared belly.
“January.”
 “Hmm?”
 “I should go into my next fertile time sometime in January,” Neville
whispered. “It seems pretty far away, but I suppose it’s for the best. I mean,
I’d be showing, but at least I’d be able to take most of my NEWTS.”
 “Showing? You mean…” Harry asked, sitting up again in the bed, staring down at
Neville wonderingly.
 “Well, I mean, you would have to, you know, participate, of course,” he said,
somewhat shyly. “Only thing is, as a male, I wouldn’t be able to spell a
postponement like the girls. So, I mean, if you do knock me up in January, I’ll
be delivering in the summer sometime.”
Harry groaned, falling back against the pillows. “I can’t decide if that’s
really hot or really creepy.”
 “Err…”
 “Oh, pooh,” a third voice interrupted them both. “You’ve both already had your
fun.”
 “Luna!” Harry startled, sitting back up. “What are you doing here?”
 “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” the blonde announced. “I suspected
you’d be breaking your fast sometime today, so I thought I’d come check if it
was time, yet, but apparently I missed out,” she continued, climbing up into
bed, crawling over Harry to snuggle in between them. Then she noticed Neville’s
hand. “Oh, goodie! You left some for me!”
 Neville groaned as she took his hand to her lips and deftly cleaned his
fingers of lingering cum. Then, as if that wasn’t enough for her, she scooted
down so she could lap up the remnants along his belly, snuggling in close when
she was done.
 “Uh, Luna, you staying?” Harry asked, half amused, half bemused as he watched
Neville’s breath shallow out.
 “Mm, yes, please. If you don’t mind.”
 “No, no minding,” Neville murmured, causing to Harry to grin. He reached down
and pulled the girl up so she could lay sandwiched between them properly.
 “Besides, there’s always morning sex,” she reminded them sleepily, snuggling
between them happily.
Neville and Harry shared a look over her head. Morning wasn’t that far off.
 
===============================================================================
 
Luna got her morning sex, and she and both boys were very happy for it,
although Hannah seemed a bit perturbed to have missed out. Hermione had called
them all crazed nymphos before Harry dragged her off into the shower with him
and gave her a good morning wake-up call. She was much more relaxed the rest of
the day. In fact, the entire pard was more relaxed for their sexual escapades,
although the rest of the school was still caught under a cloud of depression.
But there wasn’t anything anyone could really do. No one knew where the
kidnapped wizards and witches had been taken—at least no one who was talking.
Although Harry knew they were spread out amongst several houses, he didn’t know
where those houses were, so it wasn’t like he could help. It was all very
frustrating.
 Frustration that ran like an itch right under his skin that he just couldn’t
seem to scratch. That irritation followed him all morning, throughout his
classes. Thankfully, it was Friday again, and he had the rest of the afternoon
free from classes after lunch. There wasn’t all that much homework to take care
of, either, and so after the noon meal, they retreated to the head chambers
while Hermione took off to her remaining classes of the week.
“Do it again,” Hannah demanded once they were safely ensconced behind closed
doors.
 “Why?” Harry protested, dropping his bag off in a corner of the room near the
study table.
 “Because I asked you to?” Hannah replied, batting her eyelashes outrageously.
 “I feel funny doing it,” he protested.
 “But you’re so cute with your tail and ears! Please, Harry? I promise not to
conjure any toy mice again.”
 He huffed and puffed, but after shrugging out of his robes, he agreeably
pulled his magic up and out of his skin, allowing his body to change shape. He
was still humanoid, but definitely feline, too. “Satisfied?” he growled.
 “What about the wings?”
 He shot her an exasperated looked, but after a moment, dutifully called forth
his wings. Hannah murmured appreciatively, coming up and caressing one large
black wing.
 “And you said they carried you?” she asked, for about the hundredth time this
week. “All the way to Hogsmeade?”   He didn’t bother to answer—whether because
he already had several times before or because he was caught up in just how
nice it felt to have her soft fingers caressing over this new body part of
his... Mmm, very nice indeed.
 “My, how strong you must be,” Hannah murmured, pressing herself flush against
his front while still touching his wings. “I have to confess, it’s rather hot,”
she breathed against his lips.
 How could he resist?   He couldn’t. Soon enough he was kissing her, mapping
out her mouth with his tongue, scraping sharp canine teeth against her lip
before nibbling down along her jaw and towards her throat.
 “Mmm, really kinda hot,” she murmured, surging against him.
 “You’re the hot one, rubbing yourself against me so wantonly. Making me hard
for you.”
 “Mmm, good. We can put that to use,” she confessed grabbing his hand and
shoving it under her skirt against her panties so he could feel how wet she
was.
 “Are you two seriously going to have sex right now” Neville spoke up, breaking
into their moment. “Because, I mean, if you want us to leave…”
 “Speak for yourself,” Luna shushed him. “This I want to see.”
 Hannah blushed, biting her lip before admitting, “I don’t mind. I mean, it’s
not like we haven’t all done stuff together in the same room before, right?”
 “Right!” Luna chirped encouragingly. “Besides, I’m curious as to how much like
a real feline he is in this form.”
 “What do you mean?” Neville whispered while Hannah redirected Harry’s focus
back on her.
 “Most felines have barbs on their penis that help stimulate a female’s
ovulation. I know Hermione said she remembered a lot of pain from their first
transformed coupling, but she really wasn't very forthcoming with much more. If
we could watch this time, then we could check and see for ourselves.”
 “It sounds painful.”
 “Mmm,” Luna barely responded, paying more attention to the couple that was
getting hot and heavy directly in front of them. “Besides, I really don’t think
I could have waited till tonight for another go. Could you?”
 Hannah’s skirt was bunched around her waist as Harry’s hand worked furiously
between her legs. Somehow he’d managed to undo her blouse without loosening her
tie, and his face was buried against her chest, sucking on one of her breasts
through the material of her bra. Hannah was happily coming undone.
 With a growl, Harry tore away from her, reaching down to shred the scrap of
material covering her sex. Another growl saw her blouse being ripped off before
he pushed her down over the arm of the sofa. Leaning down low, he buried his
face against her nether lips and licked, lapping up the creamy juices she was
leaking profusely. Ignoring her crying moans, he withdrew, far enough to shed
his trousers and pants as he continued at his task, cleaning her sopping pussy.
 And then he stepped up right behind her, aligning his cock with her still
glistening opening before shoving himself in. She cried out, sharp and
piercing, body arching—although to get away or to get nearer, it wasn’t
immediately discernable. It took only a handful of thrusts until he was
growling low and menacingly before finally satisfied. Hannah seemed able to do
little more than lie there, face smashed into the cushion, whimpering as he
continued to thrust, deeper and deeper.
 And then she wailed.
"Oh my gods,” Luna breathed, grasping for Neville. “He’s breeding her.”
 “What?”
 “He’s breeding her. Look at him!” “
 As if Neville could look at anything else.
 Harry had yanked Hannah back up against his chest, one hand wrapped securely
around her chest and arms as she clung to him, the other pressed possessively
over her stomach as he continued to rock into her. Neville wasn’t sure if he
really saw it or imagined it, but it certainly looked like Harry’s hand was
moving every time he thrusted into her—as if he was pushing at his hand from
the inside.   Neville moaned, his own balls tightening at idea of it.
Was Harry really, truly breeding her? Right there, in front of them? Fucking
her so deeply, he was going to knock her up? He almost whimpered in jealousy at
the thought. .
“Mmm,” Luna moaned beside him, and he spared a glance to realize her hand was
buried under her own skirt and moving rapidly.
Meanwhile, Harry was lost. Already the penial spine had descended, firmly
opening up her cervix to properly receive his seed. The telltale tingling along
his shaft instinctively alerted him to the fact he would be coming soon. As if
the boiling in his balls wasn’t enough of a warning. He pushed her down onto
the sofa and held her there while his balls emptied.
 His world narrowed, unaware of everything except the female in front of him,
breathing heavily and with satisfaction as she lie pliant, receiving his seed.
 Off to the side, he heard more heavy breathing, but a quick look reassured him
that it was only other mates, recovering from their own spendings. They were
not to be worried about now. Now, in this moment, his focus was meant solely
for the female before him. His mate. His second mate, he thought languidly. He
frowned at the various red marks covering her pale skin, not sure how exactly
she had gotten some of the would-be bruises. With gentle hands, he stroked
along her reddened skin, calling his magic up to sooth away the hurts, and only
when he was satisfied, did he lift her up and cradle her to him, cupping her
mons and feed his magic up into her womb even while he still remained locked
inside of her passage.
 She stirred against him, moaning and whimpering with tiny hurts. “Oh, gods,
that was intense,” Hannah breathed. “Almost too intense. Almost.”
 “Stunning,” Luna gasped. “Absolutely breathtaking.”
 “Bit painful, too,” Hannah admitted, blinking around at the her surroundings.
“How did the sofa cushion get all the way other there?” she asked.
 “You threw it,” Neville supplied. “Right after Harry grabbed your hair and
shoved your face into the sofa.”
 “Oh.” She blinked. “We should probably clean up before Hermione gets back,
huh?”
 Harry growled. “Not finish.” Pulling her hair and forcing her head back, he
took her mouth with his, shoving his tongue down her throat until she almost
choked.
 “Wha—Harry!”
 “I do believe you’re dealing with the Vanteerian now,” Luna helpfully
supplied. “And he seems to be in a breeding mood.”
 “Wha—really?” Hannah gasped. “Now?”
 “Yes, now.”
Harry's hips began gyrating against hers, his cock sliding back and forth
inside her already abused pussy. Her legs scrambled about the sofa, seeking
purchase as his arm latched around her waist once more.  The sound of skin
slapping harshly against skin filled the common room.
 “Oh, hell,” Neville breathed, whimpering as his poor cock attempted to fill
once again.  Luna reached over and gave him a hand… before plopping herself
right in his lap, and he discovered that at some point, she too had discarded
her pants. He moaned, letting her bounce agitatedly in his lap while they
continued to watch transfixed the pair on the sofa.
 Hannah, normally a wildcat in bed, was laying there almost placidly as Harry
continued to pound into her, her body arched beautifully in acceptance. It
seemed like a small eternity before Harry growled out another completion,
holding himself firmly against her core as he released.
 It was easily the hottest thing Neville had ever seen, and with Luna riding
his cock like a mad woman determined to come, there was no way he wasn’t
finding his own release.
And to think, Hermione wasn’t due back until right before dinner time.
 
===============================================================================
 
 Hermione was more than just a little disgusted with the four of them. She had
returned to the head suite to see if they wanted to head down to dinner
together… to discover the lot of them shagging like rabbits. And she did mean
the four of them.
 She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about all that. She had been coming to
terms with the reality of Harry and Neville together, like that, although she’d
yet to actually witness them in the act… but she’d never even considered Luna
and Hannah like that, together.
 Now, it was all she could seem to think about thanks to walking in on the
scene of debauchery earlier. She had left almost immediately after her brain
had processed what it was she was seeing. She had high-tailed it down to dinner
without them—and none of them had bothered to show up, not that she was overly
surprised. And then she had taken herself to the library. She wasn’t sure she
was ready to go back to her rooms. Wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to go
back to her rooms.
 She wasn’t… naïve. She knew that men had sex together and that women, too, had
sex together. She had just never expected to see a living example of such.
Never expected to be so closely involved. And she was involved. Or at least,
she suspected she would be. But she wasn’t too sure she wanted to be. It was
nothing against Luna or Hannah or Neville, or even Harry. It was just… this was
never anything she had ever considered for herself. But then again, when she
was little, neither had being a witch. But she was, and she’d adapted,
zealously so. But sex…
Sex wasn’t like academia. She just wasn’t sure, and she felt poorly for being
the odd man out. Once again, Hermione was the one who didn’t fit in.
 She wasn’t gay—had never had thoughts of touching another girl sexually. She’d
barely had thoughts of a sexual nature about boys. Whenever she
masturbated—because, yes, she did masturbate, thank you very much—she’d always
had faceless partners, non-gendered, sexless. Sure, she’d had some school girl
fantasies about Ron before. And there had been Viktor. And Cedric. And Anthony.
And… a few others, she admitted to herself. But they had all be minor, passing
crushes. Really, most had more to do with her admiring their intellect rather
than anything sexual.
 She didn’t think there was anything wrong with her. After all, she was able to
respond to Harry, quite often and willingly. But could she extend that response
to Neville? Or Hannah? Or Luna? She wasn’t sure.
 Closing the book she’d been pretending to read for the last half hour,
Hermione took a deep fortifying breath and determined to stop hiding.
 Everything they had discovered about Vanteerians said that not only were they
intensely sexual beings, but they were also deeply devoted to their
family—their pard—which meant the others weren’t going anywhere for a long,
long time. Hopefully. And neither would she, so she’d just have to grasp the
lion by the tail and deal with her fears of intimacy. She could do this. She
could.
 She never noticed liquid dark eyes following her departure.
  
===============================================================================
 
Still to come....
*Samhain
***** Turning of the Wheel - Halloween *****
Chapter Summary
     Hermione pushes at her personal comfort boundaries and the students
     celebrate Halloween.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
~THEN~
She didn’t think there was anything wrong with her. After all, she was able to
respond to Harry, quite often and willingly. But could she extend that response
to Neville? Or Hannah? Or Luna? She wasn’t sure.
Closing the book she’d been pretending to read for the last half hour, Hermione
took a deep fortifying breath and determined to stop hiding.
Everything they had discovered about Vanteerians said that not only were they
intensely sexual beings, but they were also deeply devoted to their
family—their pard—which meant the others weren’t going anywhere for a long,
long time. Hopefully. And neither would she, so she’d just have to grasp the
lion by the tail and deal with her fears of intimacy. She could do this. She
could.
~NOW~
-Friday, October 24, Head Suite -
It was still several hours before curfew—hours earlier than she would normally
leave the library, but still later than she had honestly intended. She only
hesitated briefly outside the portrait guarding the Head boy and girls’
suite—taking a moment to converse with the young couple—a former head boy and
girl from centuries ago, Illiona Briarwood and her future husband, Percival
Pritchard. It was a long standing rumor that head boys and head girls were
destined to marry one another. Not that it happened all the time, but obviously
often enough. Harry’s parents were head boy and girl of their year, she
remembered. And now she and Harry were their class’s heads.
Not that that meant they were going to get married. Just because they were in a
relationship of sorts…
“Vanteerian pardum domum,” Hermione told the pair resolutely, determined not to
waste any more time. The portrait swung open easily, and Hermione stepped into
the common area beyond.
She wasn’t sure what exactly she had expected, but the room was in quite a
disarray. Pillows from the couch were thrown about; the afghans from the sofa
and chair were on the floor. One of the dining chairs was listing to one side,
and the table looked ready to collapse under the combined weight of Neville and
Harry… or maybe it was the enthusiastic actions of the pair that threatened to
topple the table. Behind her, the portrait closed with a soft snitch, but
Hermione was rooted to the spot, unable to turn away from the sight of the two
boys she’d practically grown up with.
She’d known, of course, for several weeks now, that Harry and Neville were
intimate. It wasn’t a secret among any of them. Just as she knew Neville was
also intimate with Luna and Hannah. But knowing and seeing…
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a gentle voice broke her from their ensnaring visage.
Looking back over towards the sofa, it took her a moment before Hermione
realized the afghans weren’t just haphazardly tossed to the floor, but rather
were balled over and around Luna, who, from what Hermione could see was quite
probably still naked.
“Where’s Hannah?” Hermione asked, braving to step further into the room, not
quite able to keep her eyes from flitting glances back at the furiously rocking
table.
Luna stretched and purred—pale limbs poking out from under the thick blanket
before tucking back away. “Harry took her into the bedroom some time ago.
Didn’t much like Neville or me giving her any attention right now, I suppose.”
“What? But why? You’re always very—well, what I mean to say is—“
Luna smiled up at the seventh year girl. “I’m fairly sure Harry’s cat is
actively breeding her.”
“Actively breeding her?” Hermione repeated dubiously. “As opposed to
passively?”
“No,” Luna smiled serenely, almost lazily. “I believe Hannah’s in her fertile
time right now, unlike Neville or me. He’s been rather more aggressive when
with her then when he’s coupling with Neville or me. I think we have more proof
of Harry’s creature inheritance.”
“I don’t think we really need much more proof, do you?” Hermione huffed, eyes
flickering back over to the pair across the way. “We’ve all seen him turn into
a big black panther with wings. Multiple times now.”
“When he changed, the first time, you were having sex. Did you notice anything
strange?”
Hermione colored a bright scarlet. “You mean, strange, other than my boyfriend
growing fur and wings?” she asked incredulously.
“Mmm. Male cats have barbs on their penis,” Luna explained. “It’s to help
stimulate the female’s reproductive system. The several times Harry was with
Hannah, before he took her into the bedroom, he didn’t withdraw from her right
away. It was like he couldn’t. But I think it must only happen when he’s
actively breeding, because it didn’t happen when he was with me or Neville.”
“But if he’s breeding Hannah, why are he and Neville—“’ she glanced back at the
table, once again stunned by the image of the two boys moving against one
another, Harry more savagely so as Neville scrabbled at the table beneath him
but no less enthusiastic.
“She needs rest breaks, too,” Luna interrupted. “I think it’s a chance for
Harry’s magic to work. I’ve noticed after each coupling, he cradles her close
and released almost visual wisps of magic that seem to sink into her,
especially around her fanny.”
Hermione looked back at her, not sure if she was more stunned, shocked, or
surprised by this information. Where to start? “Almost visual?” she decided,
skipping over how strange it was to hear Luna use the term “fanny”.
“Mmhmm. Neville sensed it, too. He was definitely using magic. I think it’s
because of the barbs, but I’m not sure if there’s something else”
“Barbs?” Hermione repeated, aghast.
“Yes, just like a cat. I’d wondered, of course. After all, vanteerians are
winged cats, so it would make sense. And you did say your coupling with Harry
last week was rather painful.”
“Yes. So much so, I actually blacked out. But when I woke up, I was better.
Like it had never happened. Well, I mean, besides the obvious after effects.”
“Yes, so, I thought, what if that’s Harry’s magic healing us, just like the
first time he had sex with you and Hannah. You were both hurt, and so he healed
you afterwards. I’m thinking that might be a natural ability for a vanteerian,
to be able to heal their mates. Regular cats have barbs on their penis, so I
wondered if Harry might, too, when he’s in his half form or full on cat. You
said he changed when you were together that night, and then it hurt.”
“Yes,” Hermione agreed, blushing furiously. “Worse than anything I can
remember.”
“I think that might have been because of the spines, but I’m not sure if they
only come out when he’s coupling in Halfling form or only when he’s breeding,”
Luna concluded with a moue. “Hannah asked Harry to transform again before they
got started on their sexy times—“
“Wait, she asked him to change? Again?” Hermione asked exasperatedly. How many
ties was the Hufflepuff girl going to ask Harry to do that? It had been nearly
twice every day this week!
“Yes, and of course, he did,” Luna confirmed, “But then, well, you know how it
is. One thing led to another, and then next thing you know, Hannah’s face down
over the arm of the chair with Harry’s penis filling her.”
Hermione took a deep, calming breath. She didn’t understand how Luna could say
such things so… calmly and nonchalantly. Instead of focusing on the enigma that
was Luna Lovegood—an activity that was sure to give her a headache—she turned
her attention to the mystery Luna had presented her with, instead. And once
again, it had to do with Harry.
Dropping her school bag to the floor near the door, Hermione continued into the
room, steadfastly ignoring the pair still enthusiastically going at it on the
kitchenette table—would she ever be able to eat at that table again?—and
settled onto the sofa closer to Luna. The blonde girl reached out a hand,
brushing her fingers along Hermione’s calf, before retreating back under her
blankets. She was somewhat surprised at the caress—after all, Hermione still
wasn’t used to all the casual touches the others seemed content to share—but
she was also saddened that Luna had retreated so quickly. Was she scared that
Hermione might yell at her? She didn’t want that. Yes, she was still
uncomfortable with all the casual intimacy of the others—still flummoxed by how
quickly Harry seemed to take to it all. She could still remember how surprised
and shy he used to be when she would spontaneously hug him when they were
younger, but hugging and… and… caressing… those were two different actions!—but
she had returned here tonight determined to at least try.
“Hermione?” Luna called gently.
“I—“
A guttural groan emanating from the boys distracted her, and she looked over
once again, watching transfixed. Harry’s soft, furry wings were arched up and
back, his head thrown back as his body tensed, his long black tail whipping
behind him, but other than those very obvious signs, he was still they Harry
she knew and loved, still human looking. One hand possessively griped Neville’s
hip, the other pressed firmly down on his shoulder blades, keeping him in
place. As she watched, he stepped back, his hand running up over Neville’s neck
and into his hair, gripping and pulling the nymph up into a vertical position.
Harry drew his head back until he could reach Neville’s mouth.
He pulled back a moment later, with the promise of “Soon,” ghosting over
Neville’s lips before he stepped back again, withdrawing completely, releasing
Neville’s body and turning back to the head boy’s chambers. He spared a look
towards Hermione and Luna, nodding at the two, but not stopping until the bed
chamber’s door was shut resolutely behind him. Hermione could feel a flare of
magic go up a moment later.
The heat of the look, the wash of magic, the sheer electricity charging the
air, left Hermione shivering. She wasn’t scared. Far from it. No, this was the
promise of anticipation sweetening on her tongue. Once again, fingers ghosted
along her calf, up and down, drawing her attention back to the girl on the
floor.
“Would you like to cuddle?” Luna offered.
Hermione hesitated, torn. “I’m still not comfortable.”
“It’s always scary to try new things, to think in new ways, but we will never
force you to do anything, Hermione.”
“I know. I—thank you, yes. I think I would like to cuddle little bit.”
Luna, smiling, held up the end of the blanket for Hermione, who resolutely
tried to ignore the fact that the other girl was completely naked. Which was
annoying, she thought, as she remembered the many times she'd been naked with
the other girl in the prefect's bath. She slipped to the ground, kicking off
her sandals, but otherwise remaining dressed. She slid up under the blanket,
shifting and rearranging herself until she lay, ramrod stiff, facing away from
the other girl. Luna lowered the blanket over them both. And snuggled up behind
her.
It only took a few, tense minutes for the warmth of the fire and blanket to
start getting to her, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably.
“Would you like to take your blazer off?” Luna asked solicitously.
“I—yes, please.” She sat up and quickly unfastened her school blazer, slipping
out of the heavy winter material and tossing it onto the sofa. She laid back
down in her skirt, blouse and stockings, much more comfortable. One again, Luna
cuddled up behind her, and Hermione focused on relaxing, accepting the
closeness and comfort of the other girl. There was nothing sexual or
threatening about this. She was safe. She was welcomed. She belonged.
“Have room for one more?” a raspy voice cut into her internal thoughts. She
started, blinking up to see a very naked Neville, looking back at them from
where he was still sprawled across the table. He shifted and winced, slowly
pushing himself up off the table and stretching.
“Of course,” Luna replied swiftly, burrowing closer to Hermione’s back.
The muscular—and did she mention naked?—boy—no, young man. Neville was
definitely not a boy anymore. Hermione blushed and averted her eyes-- stood up
and then stumbled over to where the two girls were, near the sofa, before the
fireplace. He dropped to the floor before them, shuffling closer, as if unsure
of his welcome. He searched Hermione’s face, even as Luna held up the blanket
in invitation once more. Hermione wasn’t sure if Neville found whatever it was
he was looking for, but a he must have, because a moment later, he had plopped
down and shuffled up in front of her, effectively sandwiching her in.
Hermione stared at the stretch of flesh before her nose—a slice of shoulders
and neck that definitely didn’t belong to a boy. There was no denying Neville
was growing up into a fine specimen. Although she frowned, noting the redness
of fresh bruises littering his skin. He hadn’t complained, but Hermione worried
that Harry had hurt him during their… shared time—she wasn’t really ready to
use the silly term Hannah and Luna seemed to enjoy using. “Sexy time”, indeed.
She wiggled a hand free and reached up, smoothing her fingers over the angry
red splotches liberally covering Neville’s skin. Neville shivered, full body
tingles as small flickers of electricity seemed to spark from where Hermione’s
fingers soothed over his skin. He wiggled closer, firmly pressing his bum up
against her pelvis, effectively distracting her. ‘’M okay,” he murmured
sleepily. “Harry won’t hurt us more than we can handle. His creature won’t let
him. We’re safe. It’s good.”
“Just relax,” Luna added, cajoling from her other side. “Sleep.”
And amazingly enough, Hermione did just that.
*****
The next day saw Harry out on the quidditch pitch to help monitor the six new
would-be junior teams’ try-outs and practice. The three other house quidditch
team captains were also there to lend their support (and check out the would-be
competition and/or potential reserve players for their teams). Much to Harry’s
approval, most of the team captains had come to him, willing to take on players
from different houses. Of course, some of the players weren’t as willing, or
they rather play with just their friends and house mates as opposed to
potentially making new friends. This is why Harry and the other captains were
here today, monitoring things.
Really, his mind was back in his chambers with his pard. He hated having to
leave them this morning. Hannah had been absolutely exhausted and refused to
leave bed. Luna, Neville, and Hermione, Harry had found still on the floor
where he vaguely remembered seeing them last night. He struggled with the mixed
feelings that tore at him even now, remembering the sight of them.
He had been annoyed—annoyed that they were on the cold floor, even if they were
near the fire, and not in a warm, cozy bed. And then he’d been semi-annoyed at
the thought of Neville being in Hermione’s bed, because obviously they couldn’t
be in his bed. That’s where Hannah was currently. But that was ridiculous.
And he’d felt pleased, yes, very pleased, upon seeing the three of them curled
up together. Pleased at seeing his family, his pard, together. Pleased at
seeing Neville and Luna curled protectively around Hermione. Pleased at seeing
Hermione reaching out to the other two, even if only in sleep.
He’d felt longing, to join them; annoyance at the reminder of needing to leave
them. He’d felt peace, the knowledge that his family was safe and here with
him. He’d felt protective, wanting to do everything and anything possible to
ensure that they always remained so.
He had used his magic to scoop up the still sleeping trio and levitate them
into Hermione’s bedchambers. She might not be overly pleased at the invasion—he
still felt a niggling of annoyance thinking of anyone other than him in her
bed, but the desire to see them all together and comfortable won out. Sleeping
on the floor was definitely not comfortable. He unfortunately knew from
experience. He tucked them in under the thick comforter, used more magic to
start the fire up—it was October and it got bitterly chilly in the stone
castle—and then he left them to the rest of their lay-in.
Harry had checked once more on Hannah—debating only a minute before moving her
to also join the others. Hermione was likely to be sorely annoyed with him when
he returned, having so many persons invading her personal chambers, but it was
simply easier to move Hannah now as opposed to move Hermione, Luna, and
Neville. Better to beg for forgiveness, right?
He had left the four pard members, curled on up in each other, and then headed
down to the kitchens to grab a quick bite to eat. Then he’d come out here to
the quidditch pitch, using his free time before any others arrived to fly his
heart out, with his broom. He desperately wanted to try out his wings some, see
what they could do, but he didn’t dare risk it when he knew he wouldn’t be
alone for long. And he was right. He was only out on the pitch for maybe ten-
fifteen minutes before others started straggling in.
It had been a good turnout. A lot of the kids—first through fourth years—were
excited at the chance to play quidditch, of course. Some of them were truly
awful, if enthusiastic, but others had the potential to be decent players, with
a bit of practice. All of them had been excited, and that was the real point of
this endeavor—to include more of the school, to promote more unity throughout
the school, not just the houses, to build up more social and fun activities for
the entire student body.
Harry was glad the teachers were being so supportive of his and Hermione’s
plans—some of the elective teachers had even offered to sponsor the extra
quidditch teams—and he was super excited for their plans for Halloween.
Halloween was a time of very mixed emotions for him, but with he honestly
believed that with all the planning and help Hermione and he had put in to this
year’s celebration, no matter what Voldemort did, it was going to be a good
year’s turning.
****
Spirits rose once more over the course of the next week as the student body
knew their head boy and girl, along with their prefects were planning something
special for All Hallow’s Eve. Even the professors seems to sparking and twinkle
with inner amusement. The only pallor and dimmer to the upcoming event were the
glimpses of black and yellow arm bands that were still being supported. Sadly,
even the absences of their friends and family became familiar.
Harry himself was quite excited for the coming weekend celebrations, and he
kept pestering Hermione about this and that—little details that she had, of
course, already ensured someone was handling. Harry thought Hermione and her
check lists were brilliant, and told her so many times throughout the week,
even forcibly stopping her once or twice to plant a kiss on her lips.
Hogwarts, as a whole, were now firmly convinced—as if they weren’t before—that
their head boy and girl was a solid couple.
Thursday night, as the dinner hour wound down, Dumbledore stood and signaled
for attention, raising his hand and clearing his throat, looking out amongst
the throng of excitable teens and preteens. Conversations around the hall
quickly puttered into silence as all faces turned towards the front.
“Yes, thank you,” the headmaster started graciously, smiling out at all the
curious faces. “As many of you know, your head boy and head girl, Harry Potter
and Hermione Granger, along with your prefects and several members of staff,”
he turned his smile towards the professors sitting to either side of him before
looking back out over the students, “have been working very hard to assemble a
Halloween festival that all might enjoy. Our celebrations will start tomorrow,
shortly before sundown and continue throughout the weekend. A list of
activities has been posted in each of your common rooms. If you have any
clarifying questions, please seek out a prefect. Thank you.”
Dumbledore hadn’t even sat yet before the Great Hall came alive with excited
chatter. Harry shared a rather mischievous grin with his friends, bumping
shoulders with Ron as the redhead reached for another pudding.
“Well, there’s no denying there’s a little something for everyone, is it?” Ron
asked before promptly shoving the piece of bread pudding into his mouth.
“I do hope we’ve covered everything,” Hermione fretted.
“I’m sure we have,” Harry soothed, still grinning. “There’s enough for everyone
to do something, and we pulled ideas from just about everyone.”
“I don’t know. Some of the activities were a little, well, kiddish, don’t you
think?” Ron mumbled.
“All the more fun,” Harry insisted before turning back to Hermione. “Come on,
dinner’s over. You wanted to head up to the library and check out a book for
charms, right?” And with that, he had successfully distracted her from her
fretting. Shooting a questioning glance towards Hannah and Luna saw Neville
standing to collect their two non-house mates while Harry continued to follow
Hermione’s lead up to the library, dragging Ron along with him—once again
oblivious to the eyes that followed him.
****
Friday morning, the Great Hall was alive with more than just the normal
Halloween excitement. Everyone had flooded the post board in the common rooms
the night before, looking over the promised list of activities. This morning,
there was more excited talk as the children inspected the alter that had been
set up outside the Great Hall and the multiple piles of pumpkins. After
breakfast was over, house elves would be on hand to help anyone without a first
period who wanted to try their hand at carving faces or designs into the large
orange squash. By lunchtime, there was a mini-challenge of who could carve the
scariest or funniest pumpkin. The house elves were happily collecting pumpkin
guts and seeds, leaving cleaned out gourds for the students to work with.
As planned, once the tables had been cleared of lunch, the house elves went to
work again, helping to monitor several different stations of confectionary
mayhem. There were apples being coated in caramel, colored sugar being spun
into different shapes and designs, shaped cookies and plain graham houses being
decorated with globs of icing and candy pieces. At other areas, students were
carefully mixing melted marshmallows into puffed rice and popcorn to make more
goodies.
By half past four, night was beginning to fall and the remaining stranglers had
left their classrooms and made their way down to the Great Hall for the early
dinner. Normally, the Halloween Feast wouldn’t be held until six, normal dinner
hour, but Harry and Hermione had requested for the dinner service to be served
earlier today, with a more simple fare that would allow them to start their
celebrations sooner. For the muggle born, they had never heard of, let alone
celebrated, a Samhain ritual before. For the more traditional families, they
were anxious to see how such rituals would be handled. For everyone else, they
were simply excited for something new and fun.
Once everyone was in their seats and waiting impatiently for the food to
appear, Professor Dumbledore stood and spoke out. “Our ancestors believed the
year was divided into two parts, the lighter half in the summer and the darker
half in the winter. Samhain was the division between these halves – the end of
the Harvest, and the time when the veil between our world of the living and the
world of the dead was at its thinnest. Today is Halloween and tomorrow is the
Day of the Dead, or All Saints Day, when those who have passed away are
remembered. I trust you have enjoyed the activities your head boy and head
girl, along with your prefects, helped to organize for you today, and will
continue to respectfully participate in the rituals and festivities still to
come. Professor Sprout, if you please?”
He sat, and the freshly scrubbed Herbology professor stood, beaming out at all
of them. “Blessed Be! loved ones and friends,” she called out strongly, her
voice reaching to the farthest ends of the hall. “Another year's upon us as the
wheel has turned again. We invite the ancestors one by one to join us at our
meal. We raise our cups in honor and share memories with zeal. We share a
harvest's bounty and know deep in our hearts the past must be cleansed away for
the future to start. The veil is at its thinnest. We walk between the worlds.
Diviners bring their instruments, and mysteries become unfurled, and now the
witching hour is upon us once again. We share a blessed circle with our loved
ones and our friends. Blessed Be to Guardians, to deities and more still;
Blessed Be To You, Let The Harvest Your Heart Fill.”
She sat and great platters of chicken and pheasants and pork chops popped up in
between the sugary treats the students had spent hours making that afternoon.
Bowls of buttery squash and boiled Brussel sprouts and other dishes filled in
the space between. Above them, their carved pumpkins danced merrily through the
air. Several empty pails also arrived with dinner, and several of the students
studied them, bewildered at their presence, until the word “Bones” scrawled
across them. Soon enough, the pails were filled with the bones of their meal,
and Dumbledore rose before them.
“For those of you who would like to participate in our little ritual to
celebrate this special day, we shall be continuing our festivities outside. If
you would, please bring the pails and follow me?”
The students moved in mass, surging forth from the Great Hall to find a trail
of more lit pumpkins leading the way out of the castle and out onto the
grounds. They chatted excitedly, commenting on the different pumpkins they
passed, speculating on why they would need the bones, lamenting a ‘pathetic
feast’, rehashing the different activities they’d done that day and were
planning to participate in the next day. It was a rather loud crowd that
spilled onto the grounds and into a large circled off area. In the center was
an enormous pyre of wood and brush.
Once again, Dumbledore snared their attention, commanding their silence as he
began. “We gather here tonight to celebrate the passing of the Old Year and to
welcome in the new. We are here to celebrate Samhain, the final harvest, that
time when the veil between the world’s is at its thinnest and those that have
departed this world may return to it once more. Tonight we honor those who have
gone before and may now return to us, tonight we honor our Mighty Dead.”
“This is the night when the gateway between our world and the spirit world is
thinnest,” McGonagall began, her strident voice ringing out over the gathering.
“Tonight is a night to call out those who came before. Tonight I honor my
ancestors.” She lit her wand with a nonverbal lumos and raised it above her.
“Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you, and welcome you to join me
for this night. You watch over me always, protecting and guiding me, and
tonight I thank you. Your blood runs in my veins, your spirit is in my heart,
your memories are in my soul. With the gift of remembrance, I remember all of
you. You are dead but never forgotten, and you live on within me, and within
those who are yet to come.”
By the end of her prayer, most others had lit and raised their wands, too. Some
openly crying, others stoic.
 
“Let us light the fire,” Dumbledore called, raising his wand and waiting for
others to join him. He looked towards Snape, nodding solemnly.
“Hail to the hordes that ride the sky,” the dark-haired professor recited,
letting his voice fill the circle without shouting. “This Halloween night when
the winds do cry / Dressed in a cloak with horns on his head / The wild king is
here and he’s waking the dead / Within the blackness shrouded by clouds / The
dark goddess stands surrounded by hounds / For she is the wisdom this pitch
night / Looking deep into our souls for she has the sight / The blast of the
horn calls forth the dead / The stag lord rides on with eyes glowing red / For
to look into his eyes this most dread of nights / He will take our souls with
the wild hunt in flight / So avoid his gaze mere mortals in fear / Stay indoors
while the witches dance and cheer / For this is a night when all chaos rules /
When the world in-between has not time for fools / Our magic we dance and raise
the power / To bring healing and light in this most enchanted hour / Our words
have meaning our hearts sing a song / Let us sit in the circle and feel the
power strong / Let consciousness change with the smell of the smoke / Let us
dance the round like the old country folk / Halloweens here the dark lord rules
the land / Walking the forest with the goddess in hand / We welcome our dead
with the lanterns we light / We sing our songs for the departed this Halloween
night.”
The fire, a glowing ember at first, grew into a flaming beast.
“Fire, fire, glowing bright, in the darkness of this night,” Flitwick chirped,
waving his wand towards the crackling flames. “Lay your protection over these
lands, spread your power to those at hand. Fire, fire, growing strong, lend us
your might to right the wrong. By flesh, by bone, by timber, by tone, as we
will, so mote it be!”
With a cheer, several of the students tossed their pail of bones into the fire.
Startled, the rest followed suite—one lad letting fly bones and pail both, much
to the amusement and snickering of those around him.
“Another year has passed us,” Dumbledore called out, “and another year full of
promise and hope stands before us. With the blessings of the Lord and Lady, the
love of those around us, and the memories of those who have left us, we go from
this sacred place knowing of the bounty yet to come in our lives.”
Another cheer went up as, on cue, small round tables from the Divination
classroom winked into existence around them, tiny jars with candles light the
table tops. A wave of a wand conjured up simple instruments that were enchanted
to play. Off to the side more tables, larger tables laden with baskets of
apples and nuts, appeared. Only a few steps away from that, a large trough
filled with water and bobbing apples popped up. The gathering laughed and
shouted with glee, taking off to different areas to explore.
Harry dragged Hermione closer to the fire, laughingly pulling her into a wild
dance around the flames, whirling her this way and that until she was laughing
and dizzy, begging to stop. Other couples and singles joined them, shouting and
cheering as they danced and twirled around the bonfire. Harry couldn’t help but
laugh harder at the look on Neville’s face as Hannah dragged him about,
spinning wildly around and around until they both tumbled over.
Off to the side, he caught sight of Luna who was apparently showing some
younger years how to peel an apple skin in one long slice. He knew from an
earlier discussion that she planned to teach them a little spell that would
spell out the initial of your love’s first name when tossed over the shoulder.
It was no surprise to him, then, that she was surrounded by several young
girls.
Some boys, Dean, Seamus, and Rom among them, had made a sport out of hitting
targets with thrown apples, while others were attempting to bowl with some of
the left over pumpkins. Others still were getting soaked as they plunged their
heads into the water, chasing after elusive apples. Another prefect stood
nearby, casting drying charms on request.
Over at another table, students were weaving wreaths from drying herbs and
stems and other odds and ends that Hargrid and Sprout had generously donated.
Tomorrow, if they desired, they could add bits and pieces they collected during
a nature walk or create a whole new wreath. Some were overheard planning to
send the decorations home to family even.
More students still were touring the divination tables, dabbling with the
different fortune telling tools offered. There was more laughter and shouts of
denial as the students tried their hand at tea leaf reading, cards, stones,
spheres, and even drousing goblets. He certainly hoped all the tools survived
the night and made it safely back to the divination tower without Professor
Trelawny any wiser.
It was well past ten and approaching upon eleven when the professors finally
rounded up the last of the students and herded them back inside and off to
their dorms, promising them more festivities on the morrow. The students still
out and about were reluctant to leave, but the promise of more fun the next day
finally saw them on their way.
Harry, however, would not be so light of heart to enjoy the next day. Sunday’s
newspaper would report only partially why.
Chapter End Notes
     lightly revised 1/16/16
***** The Dark Lord’s Celebration *****
Chapter Summary
     Dark revels and sacrificial rites - the Dark Lord celebrates.
Chapter Notes
     trigger warnings - graphic and detailed blood, murder, rape/NCS
 
 
 
~THEN~
 
It was well past ten and approaching upon eleven when the professors finally
rounded up the last of the students and herded them back inside and off to
their dorms, promising them more festivities on the morrow. The students still
out and about were reluctant to leave, but the promise of more fun the next day
finally saw them on their way.
 
Harry, however, would not be so light of heart to enjoy the next day. Sunday’s
newspaper would report only partially why.
 
 ~NOW~
The Dark Lord’s Celebration
-Friday, October 31, Bryn Mwars House, Wales-
 The bonfires were lit, the revel begun. Those already gathered drank
copiously, laughed raucously, and danced riotously. He observed from his
conjured throne—mockingly made from bone in honor of the holiday and heavily
layered with cushioning charms. It was Halloween, after all. The night of the
dead. It was only fitting that his death eaters celebrate. Not everyone had
arrived yet. Some of his more visible followers had other obligations to see to
first, public appearances and all that. But soon they would join him here. His
loyal followers would once more avow their dedication to him and their cause,
and then the true revelry would begin.  He smiled in anticipation.
 The hour continued to march closer to midnight. Soon they would begin. His
anticipation grew until he could wait no more.
He stood, suddenly, and around him, his followers fell swiftly to attention.
“We shall begin,” he announced, and as one, his death eaters bowed and
apparated away.
 His most loyal, his inner circle, the children of his once upon a time school
mates, were allotted thirty minutes to retrieve their offering and return here.
Once they were finished here, they would then split off to regroup with the
others, to lead the rest through their rituals. He would visit some, of course,
to check on them, but he had his own special event planned for this night. By
morning, however, all of his properties would have witnessed power being
raised. He would have to trust his inner circle—something he did not do
lightly—but it was a necessary step if his plans were to be properly protected
for the forth coming year.
 Idly, he wondered who would bring the best offering while, with a flick of his
wand, he cleared away the remnants of their earlier festivities and began
engraving the runes he would need. Throughout the years he had learned for
himself that age effected the sacrifice’s power. Young children provided an
extra boost, supposedly because of their innocence and potential. Teens and
young adults, however, especially if they were still virgin, were powerful. 
Adults were acceptable, but lacked that extra surge of power. Not as much
potential, he supposed. Soon enough, they started returning, tossing their
stunned and bound offerings to the ground as they took up their place in the
circle.  Over the next twenty minutes, his death eaters returned, until finally
only two gaps were left in his ranks.
 “My lord,” Lestrange dared to speak up. “Will Severus not be joining us?”
Voldemort lazily flicked is wand, sending the wizards a painful jolt. “Severus
has his own duties this night, Rodopus. They do don’t require his presence here
when he is meant to continue spying on Dumbledore. Now, let us begin”
 He turned away from the throng, strode back to his throne of bones—with magic
the monstrosity was not only intimidating but actually comfortable—and then
whirled back around, eyeing each of his top lieutenants.
 “Tonight, on this night when the moon is dark and the veil between the two
worlds is thin, on this most magical night of All Hallow's Eve, we celebrate
our magic and renew our vows. You may begin.”
Bellatrix, unsurprisingly, surged forward first. “My lord, to your cause I
pledge my life and my magic.”
And with that, the dam was burst, the others flowing forward, joining her in
their pledges of fidelity to him, kneeling before him, dedicating their lives
and their magic. To him.
 “Rise, my loyal friends, my family." He didn't even hesitate on the words,
knowing exactly which ones to say to make them all feel... special.  "On this
night, let us share power as we make the sacrifice. Of blood, of bone, of
flesh.”
 “So mote it be,” they chanted, and he grinned. 
“Prepare the sacrifices!” he ordered, and they rushed to obey.
The thirteen bodies were ceremoniously laid out along the edge of the circle.
Voldemort watched, idly approving of the offerings. They were muggles--mostly
young teens grabbed off the streets. He knew this first step wouldn’t take very
long. Raising power through blood sacrifice was messy, but effective, and it
didn't require magical blood split. A practical use for muggles after all.
Before the end of the hour, his most loyal would rejoin with thirteen other
groups of death eaters—the masses who were not yet privileged to be counted
among his inner circle. Then they would continue to raise more power as each
group proceeded with different sacrificial rituals. He hoped to have protective
blessings placed on each of his special houses. After all, a little bit of
blessing magic couldn’t hurt.
 His attention was drawn back to the ritual at hand as his loyal took up
position behind each sacrifice. Someone had let their stunners wear off. Some
of the sacrifices were opening crying, snot and tears running down their face,
dampening the cloth gag they all sported. Others were glaring defiantly at the
masked captors. Their bodies, however, would not respond to any command other
than his own now that they were part of this circle. 
He flicked his wand, quickly casting a purity check spell, pleased when it
returned back positive results. Age mattered as much as magical ability for
this part of their ritual--which is to say, none at all.  All that mattered was
the chaste blood pumping through their veins… pumping now, but not for long. 
He gave the signal, and as one, his loyal withdrew their ceremonial daggers,
holding them up to the center of the circle.
At his next signal, those wickedly sharpened daggers sliced across
the thirteen captives' throats, spilling their blood onto the ground and the
runes he had carved there earlier.  The runes glowed, activating with the
presence of offered blood. Soon the entire circle was awash in the glow of
power. He could hear Bellatrix cackling. 
Life energy. There was something so sweet and intoxicating about it.
It took several long minutes for the raised magical power settled back down,
settling into the ground and seeping back up into their magical cores. A little
boost. It wouldn’t last indefinitely, unfortunately, but it would last long
enough. “You will dispose of the bodies,” he commanded, turning away from the
circle.  “Make it public. Be as creative as you like.  Then join your assigned
groups.  Do not fail me,” he told them, knowing some of them would be too
punchy on the power rush to move anywhere for a while yet. Others would be just
fine, well accustomed to the blood ritual of the sacrificial goat.
Still, they had others to lead on this night, especially if he hoped to have
all his property and projects blessed and still have time for his own special
ritual before the sun rose. Seven hours seemed so far away, but he knew it
would go quickly. He turned on the spot, apperating away to his personal house
project.  Upon his arrival, the rabble he'd specifically chosen to help him
perform this next sacrifice fell to their knees in homage.
“We are to make sacrifice,” he told them. “Quickly, go and retrieve your
offerings.”
In mass, they bowed and apparated away, given him the time he needed to quickly
carve the runes for a new sacrificial circle--this one encompassing an alter.
This ritual would not call for the life force of the sacrificial goat, but
blood would still be spilt. As he finished carving his last rune, his death
eaters began returning.  They did not know this house was the one he choice to
live in.  They would not remember its location before the end of the night. But
he was generous, and would only take the memories of the location--not their
lives.
Once again, he lifted his wand to cast the chastity charm; satisfied when the
thirteen bodies presented proved to be virginal.  It seemed not all of his
death eaters were incompetent, thankfully. Then again, there was a reason he
had chosen these thirteen death eaters to help fuel the ritual to protect his
personal home.  They were all decently powerful, fairly reliable, reasonable
dedicated followers.
"We shall begin," he announced, gesturing for the others to take their places
in the circle, their sacrifices forced to kneel at their feet.  Once everyone
was in place, he began to chant. It was in Croatian, which he was fairly sure
none of his followers knew. The very elements seemed to rise up and encircle
them, and he knew he was successful, thus far. 
The next step was trickier, but not impossible.  He would need to collect the
spilt virginal blood. It would be messy, but very much worth it.  And even
better, when he was done with these lambs tonight, they would be taken to the
houses and serve further purpose.  Smiling benevolently down at a young child,
perhaps barely Hogwarts age, he held out his hand--as if he would help the
pitiful thing. And then, with a flick of his wrist, the girl was sent flying
like a ragdoll tossed, landing on the stone slab alter. Another wave saw ropes
coming alive to snake up around her wrists and ankles.
There was a special dip in the alter, strategically place to capture any
leakage.
Conjuring his dagger, he knew he would ensure each of the participates would
provide plentiful offerings.
 *****
 
It was well past midnight and into the early hours of morn when Voldemort
returned to his study, his body tingling pleasantly with the remnants of the
raised power from the seven successful sacrifices he'd either witnessed or
personally participated in. He sunk gratefully into his armchair behind the
desk. He would never admit to how many charms he had placed on the chair to
make it the second most comfortable piece of furniture in his home. He sat
back, eyes closed, and took a moment to just breathe, allowing the magic to
coarse through him as it would, feeling energized and powerful, and yet also
exhausted.
 It had been a successful night thus far. His plans were progressing well, and
with tonight’s rituals, the sacrificial blessings, he felt even more assured
that his goals would be achieved. After years, no, decades, he felt he was
finally gaining ground once more. His goals in life were fairly simple, he
thought. 1. Repopulation of the British wizarding world, 2. Control of the
ministry and therefore the government, 3. Control of Hogwarts and therefore the
future. 4. Control over the British Isles and therefore his home.  Not
necessarily in that order.
 He already had people working on various areas of his goals, but none were
looking as promising as his plans for repopulation. Springbrooke House, where
expectant mothers were taken, was up and running. They were expecting the first
deliveries to be arriving soon. The infants would stay there for the first year
or two of their life before being sent on. Work had already begun on a group
home—not an orphanage, he refused to call it that—where the children would be
raised as proper witches and wizards, if his death eaters decided they wanted
little to no part in the child’s life.
 His snatcher teams had been drilled extensively on what he considered
appropriate breeding material. One team canvassed university campuses and
private schools solely, looking for young adults of pleasing features as well
as brains; another team focused on tracking down magical creatures.  He knew
fundamentally, many of his followers like to pretend they despised muggles or
creatures, but the truth was, put a fetching face or comely body before them,
and they fell like ravenous beasts to slack their lust or soothe their sense of
superiority.  It mattered little to him. His goal, after all was to raise up an
entirely new generation of followers, and to do that, he needed his current
death eaters to impregnate as many men, women, and magical creatures as
possible. 
 If anything, Voldemort was interested to see if his secret theory would be
proven correct: would a little bit of muggle blood or creature blood empower
the old family lines? It had certainly shown true for his own family’s magic,
loathe though he was to admit to any need of gratitude to his parents. Severus,
too, he remembered, had a muggle father and was quite powerful. More powerful
than Eileen, his mother, had been. There were a handful of other examples to
support his theory, but it wasn’t enough. No, the best way to see if his theory
was correct would be to observe the children as they grew.
 A house was already designated strictly towards that purpose. He was pleased
to have such generous followers.  Not only did he now have four houses
dedicated to breeding—though his death eaters would not think of it as such. To
them, the houses were merely play rooms where they could enact their deviant
desires—he had Springbrooke for the expectant mothers and infants and now
Oakleigh for the children as they grew.
 His elite or a well-distinguished death eater were gifted with a personal
bitch for a two month period. If they managed to impregnate the bitch, they
could choose to keep her and/or have another bitch. The public rooms were self-
service, anyone can have a go at the bitches there.  All of their special
guests were doused with copious potions—nutritional potions, prenatal potions,
fertility potions, aphrodisiac and love potions.  All substances to keep them
pliable and willing and eager. 
Yes, his goal to repopulate the wizarding world was progressing well. If only
all his other goals were so successful. Obviously, he would need to revise his
plans. Hogwarts was difficult with Dumbledore still at head. The old fool,
though powerful, was weak-willed and was actually diluting the power of the
wizarding world. His attempts to make everything light and rainbows was a
travesty. Voldemort was not responsible for the decline of the wizarding world,
no. He placed the blame for that solely at Dumbledore’s feet.
 Dumbledore, who was headmaster. Dumbledore, who was Supreme Mugwamp.
Dumbledore, who supposedly had the power and influence enough to truly affect
their world had allowed it to deteriorate, crumble. The wizarding world was
actively dying, and Voldemort blamed Dumbledore. It was his job—his
responsibility as headmaster to ensure Hogwarts remained strong, remained
challenging and a true institute of superior learning. It was his job and
responsibility as leader of the wizengamot to ensure that beneficial laws that
protected and supported the magical way of life were enacted and upheld.  But
no. Dumbledore had failed them all spectacularly, just like he knew he would.
After all, Dumbledore had failed him time after time when he was a child. 
Voldemort sighed wearily, forcibly pushing these maudlin thoughts aside.
Tonight was a night for celebration of power, celebration of a year behind
them, the year ahead. It was a time to recommit himself to his goals, just as
his death eaters had recommitted themselves to him. He would see his goals
achieved. He would make the wizarding world great again, a true power to be
contended with. And he would start in his own home.
With that little pep talk, Voldemort pushed himself back up and took off to the
upper levels of the house. This home was his personal abode. Rarely were death
eaters allowed to visit here other than his personal healers and or some of his
elite. The home was not pretentiously large—some might find that odd—but it was
spacious enough. After all, it was just himself and a few house elves who lived
here year round. Although, that might soon change.  
 Lord Voldemort swept into the corridor with strong, steady clip of a powerful
man who knew he was supreme. A door near the end snicked open and shut again as
a dark figure emerged.
 “Everything is made ready for you, my lord,” the death eater groveled with a
nodding bow of subservience.
 Lord Voldemort seethed with pleasure. “The proper potions have been
administered as instructed?”
 “They have, my lord.”
 “Very good, very good,” he hissed. “Find Bella for your next assignment,” he
instructed, and he waited until the man had completely disappeared around the
corner before he continued to the end door.  Inside a young woman lay, naked,
on the bed.  She was not restrained. The potions swimming along her bloodstream
would ensure she would be most receptacle.
 With a simple wave of his hand he was cloaked once more in the visage of his
youth-that of a younger Tom Riddle, still on the cusp of childhood, but most
definitely an adult. He approached the bed and examined her body. She was a
fetching young thing—pale of skin, but healthy, toned, a natural ginger, he
noted with a small, amused smile.
 He had chosen her specifically to be his from the first moment he saw her,
realized who she was. She had been delegated to one of his personal chambers,
here in his home, attended to personally by one of the Dark Lord’s medical
servants.  Given a stringent potions regime for a solid fourteen days before
this night. This was, in fact, the first night he had visited her personally
since sending her here. 
 Voldemort couldn’t help but be curious about this girl, the child who had held
his diary, interacted with his horocrux, and almost fueled its corporeal
return.  That she was a pureblood delighted him.  That his horocrux had marked
her intrigued him. That she was magically strong excited him. 
 He reached out and skimmed a hand down her body, from shoulder to thigh,
taking delight in the offering before him. Her nipples tightened as he watched;
he didn’t bother to resist the urge to tweak first one and then the other,
pinching the pink flesh into hardened nubs.  Then he reached lower and shoved
two fingers into the damp heat of her cunt, flicking over her clitoris.  He
knew from his healer’s report that she was a virgin.  As was only befitting, he
thought, as he had claimed her as his own years ago.
 He divested himself of his outer robe—the only article of clothing he’d chosen
to wear to this evening in anticipation to these events—and then climbed onto
the bed, bending closer to inhale her scent.   He smiled in wicked delight as
he ghosted his lips down the column of her neck to the shallow valley of her
chest.  Two petite breasts, with their blushing nipples, teased his cheeks.  He
rubbed his face against them before turning and sucking one into his mouth. 
The body beneath him didn’t respond, but that wasn’t unexpected.  She wouldn’t
awaken from her stasis until he spoke the counter-spell.
 Still suckling, he settled his body more firmly over hers, pushing her legs
apart so he could thrust against her core and take delight in the tease of her
pubis hair rubbing against his swelling cock. It was such a wicked feeling, and
he smeared precum over her belly profusely. He relished it.  But finally he
reached down and aligned his cockhead properly before pushing forward.  Just a
tease of a bit before withdrawing and preparing to deliver a solid stroke and
claim her completely. 
He leaned over her, sealed his mouth over hers and thrust his tongue between
her lips as he cast the counter spell to the stasis charm wandlessly and
nonverbally, and she awoke with a scream as he took her virginity. He laughed
as magic swept over him, filled him, empowered him.  And he knew it was only
just the beginning. 
Yes, this Weasley child was strong magically—the seventh child of the clan—she
was fertile. And she was completely his.
 
**
 
Harry woke gagging, jostling the others in his attempt to free himself from the
bedding. There were shouts and cries of protest before he finally made it free,
panting heavily as he fought to control his gorge.
 “Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, pushing sleep tousled hair away from her
face. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve got him,” Neville told her, sliding out of bed much easier than Harry had
achieved. “Go back to sleep, all of you. I’ll take care of Harry.”
“Are you sure?” Hermione questioned, halfway to crawling out of the warm, cozy
bed herself.
 “Yes, I’m sure. Go ahead, go back to sleep,” Neville assured her, scooping
Harry up with an arm around his waist and helping the other teen out of the
bedroom. “Come on, mate, let’s check out the bathroom, yeah?”
 Harry groaned, but agreeably allowed Neville to lead him into the ensuite
bathroom. It wasn’t as impressive at the prefects’ bathroom, with a bathing
pool, but it did have a generous sized tub that Neville started up after
sitting Harry down on the toilet. “Must have been a pretty bad one,” he
commented idly.
 “I saw Ginny,” Harry admitted shallowly. “I can’t tell them. Can’t tell Ron.
Oh, gods…”
 “She’s still alive then?” Neville asked grimly. “There’s hope for her.”
 “It’s awful, Nev. He killed so many tonight.  All that blood. Just… wasteful.
All those lives, snuffed out.  Had their throats sliced and they just bleed
right out. Must have been at least thirty? Forty of them. He just had them
killed. One group after another. And the ones he didn't outright slaughter
and kill? It was worse, Nev. What he did to those poor children? Their
innocence torn from them. Literally, he ripped from them. Took this great big
dagger and just--"
Harry gagged again, but Neville was quick to position him over the porcelain
bowl.
"Just breathe," Neville tried to soothe.  "There's nothing you can do for any
of them if you're all worked up like this."
"And then he went to his house, his home," Harry continued to babble on, as if
in a rush to get all the words out. "Gods, there’s a place he actually thinks
of as home. Isn’t that creepy?  And then he just sat there thinking for the
longest time, murmuring and nodding to himself. And I think, okay, that’s the
end of it, right? I’ll be free of him. But it wasn’t. I wasn’t. He went
upstairs, went into a room, and there was Ginny. Laid ou,t naked on the bed,
and he raped her, Neville. Over and over again. And she kept screaming and
screaming. I know you and Luna and Hannah keep saying it can’t be done in the
magical world, but he is, they are. They’re forcing those men and woman to do
atrocious things, and they’re not all muggles or magical creatures, either.
Some of them are witches or wizards, Neville, so how is that possible? You tell
me? How is he still getting away with this?”
“I don’t know, Harry. I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.” Neville
finished with running the bath, and turned back to him. “Here, why don’t you
try getting in the bath for a bit, let the water sooth you.”
 “Join me?” Harry entreated.
 “Of course. Should I ask for a cuppa while we soak?”
 “Maybe after,” Harry allowed, mechanically slipping out of his pajamas before
stepping into the hot water. He turned and waited for Neville to join him
before sitting down, sitting back against the other boy. It was slightly
strange, but also comforting. Normally when they were naked, it was because
they were fooling around and Harry was always firmly the chaser, but tonight,
he just wanted comfort.
 “He wants to repopulate the wizarding world,” Harry mused aloud after several
minutes of quietly chasing his thoughts around his own head.
 “It’s not a bad goal,” Neville answered calmly.
 “He’s kidnapping innocents and having his death eaters drug and impregnate
them,” he growled.
 “Definitely not the way to go about it.”
 “I wish I knew where those damn houses were.”
 “If you did, then you could send the aurors there to help free them, but you
don’t, so you can’t,” Neville pointed out reasonably.
 “I know that!”
 “What I’m saying, Harry, is that it’s not up to you to do everything. You’re
doing what you can, right here at Hogwarts. And with Hermione and Hannah, well,
that’s going to have to be enough.”
Harry’s blood quickened. “It’s not for sure yet,” he whispered, still
marginally disappointed that the girls had decided not to go to Madame Pomphrey
to be checked over and possibly spelled until next week. Hermione had insisted
that whether they were or they weren’t pregnant, she wanted to focus on getting
through the Halloween celebrations first. Hannah had decided to support her
decision and wait to go see Madame Pomphrey with Hermione. As a result, Harry
found himself more stressed out and on tether hooks, more than normal. The
possibility of the two girls being pregnant was…. Well, if Luna was to be
believed—and she was—nigh on certainty.
 It was exciting and terrifying and holy fuck, he was only seventeen! He knew
the girls planned on pausing the pregnancy, but that still wouldn’t change the
fact that there were two girls who he cared about very much who were carrying
his babies. There was way too much shit going on in his life right now to be
adding babies in to it. He wouldn’t even know how to be a dad. Hell, he wasn’t
even a very good boyfriend yet! And everything was so fucked up.
There was Voldemort to worry about, NEWTs were this year—something no one was
willing to let him forget, it seemed—he still didn’t know for sure what he was
going to be doing with his life. Remus had mentioned again taking some time
over the holidays to go over his portfolios and inheritance from his dad and
Sirius, but… he just… couldn’t. Didn’t want to. He’d grown up with nothing;
finding out he had so much was… intimidating, and he didn’t care if that made
him sound like he was scared.
 And there was this whole Vanteerian business. Just his luck he would turn out
to inherited some special extinct creature and turn into a bloody cat with
wings. Thankfully Dumbledore hadn’t made too big of a fuss about it, but Harry
certainly didn’t want the ministry to find out. Who knows what craziness would
ensue then. No, if he had his way, he would take his newly formed family and go
hide out someplace mostly secluded. Have a sizable garden for Neville, a
laboratory and library for Hermione to study and research to her hearts
content, an entertainment room to amuse Hannah, a woods nearby populated with
several safe magical creatures for Luna, maybe a quidditch pitch for himself
but definitely a sizable kitchen he could play in. Far away from anyone who
would try to hurt or bother them. Yes, that’s what he wanted.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Neville murmured. “Hopefully good thoughts?”
“I want to find a place hidden away, where we all could stay and be safe and
happy.”
 “Sounds nice I think between us, we should be able to find something, if not
already in our estates, I’m sure we could pool enough resources to purchase a
place.”
 “I haven’t looked through my folders yet,” Harry admitted sheepishly.
 “You need to do that.”
 “I know. Remus has already gotten on me about it several times this year.”
 “It’s important to know what you have and what you’re worth,” Neville
reinforced. “If for no other reason than to know what your children are
entitled to.”
 “Our children,” Harry corrected.
 Neville paused… and then resumed calmly cupping the warm silky water up over
Harry’s chest and arms. “Our children,” he repeated.
 
**
 
 
Still more to come…
 
 
***** November - A Rush Towards the Holidays *****
Chapter Summary
     In the aftermath of October's bloodiness, life continues on at
     Hogwarts.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
22-November and a Rush Towards the Holidays-
 
~THEN~
 
“What I’m saying, Harry, is that it’s not up to you to do everything.” Neville
pressed his cheek against Harry’s and gave him a quick kiss. “You’re doing what
you can, right here at Hogwarts. And we all know that. Everyone who matters
knows it. And with Hermione and Hannah, well, that’s going to have to be
enough.”
 
“I want to find a place hidden away, where we all could stay and be safe and
happy,” he admitted, casually running his fingers along Neville’s thigh under
the water.
 
“Sounds nice,” Neville hummed. “I think between the two of us, we should be
able to find something, if not already in our estates, I’m sure we could pool
enough resources to purchase a place…Let’s see about getting back to the
girls,” Neville suggested, pushing to stand up and snatch a towel. “Tomorrow’s
going to start soon enough and the school needs to see their head boy setting
an example, not looking like hell warmed over because he didn’t get enough
sleep.”
 
“Too right you are, Neville. What would I do without you?”
 
“Suffer insomnia,” the other boy responded without pause, tossing Harry his
pajamas.
 
 
~NOW~
The Dark Lord’s Celebration
-Sunday, November 2, Great Hall-
 
 
Bloodied Results of Sacrificial Rituals Found by Muggles
In what could be called no less than horrific, muggle authorities reported a
spree of human sacrificial murders preformed Halloween night. While children
and adults alike were out celebrating the holiday, some deviant villain went
about slaughtering innocent folks. The muggle aurors, called policemen, have
discovered over thirty bodies of the brutally murdered victims, all with their
throats sliced open and drained of blood. If this news isn’t enough to terrify
you, my dear readers, than perhaps what I tell you next, the most terrifying of
all, will.  Although these murders were perpetuated upon muggles and found by
the muggle aurors, the news of these crimes reached our own ministry of magic
for a very good reason. Found carved on the bellies of these poor unfortunate
souls was the inscription of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. 
That’s right, dear readers. The Dark Mark was found carved into the very flesh
of these sacrifices. It could only lead one to wonder, what would You-Know-Who
need with such carnage. We here at the Daily Prophet will continue to
investigate and keep you informed. 
 
Dark Magic detectors go on a new high alert throughout the ministry Halloween
Night. Aurors fail to investigate.
 
Three Weeks after the Raid on Hogsmeade. Where are Our Children?
 
Hermione huffed with annoyance and tossed the paper aside. “It wouldn’t be so
awful if they would actually do their job and report the news honestly,” she
growled. “This is nothing more than a gossip mongering rag.”
 
“I don’t know why you’re so indignant,” Neville mused, sopping up his beans on
toast. “You’ve been reading it for nearly seven years now. It’s not like it’s
changed any.”
 
“It’s ridiculous. I don’t know how the people of the wizarding world can stand
to put up with such a lack of good, decent, reliable news reporting!”
 
“Most wouldn’t know reliable news if it bit them in the arse,” Ron spoke up,
reaching across Hermione to grab the platter of eggs.
 
“It’s disgusting,” Hermione insisted, pointedly ignoring Ron as he deposited a
large pile of golden scrambled eggs onto his own plate. “You should do
something about it,” she determined resolutely, turning to Harry.
 
Harry choked, coughed, and sputtered over his tomato. “Me?” he finally managed
to gasp.
 
“Yes, you.”
 
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
 
“I don’t know,” Hermione grumbled. “Buy them out or something.”
 
Neville laughed at her. “I don’t think he could really do that, Hermione. You’d
be better set turning the Quibbler into a reliable news source.”
 
“We could do that, I suppose. After all, we have Luna on our side.”
 
“I was kidding.”
 
“Mmm, doesn’t mean the idea doesn’t have merit. Or else we could just start our
own newspaper.”
 
“Too much work,” Ron pointed out. “You’d have to get people to work the press,
and write the stories, and then there’s the deliveries. Not worth it.”
 
“It would be if they actually did a good, reliable job.”
 
“Let it go, Hermione. The Prophet is as British as Witch Weekly and Quidditch
Quarterly. It’s not going anywhere.”
 
***
-Monday, November 10, Library-
 
Hermione was sitting at her favorite table in the library when she overheard
the sneering voice of a pureblooded bully from the other side of the stacks.
 
“Why they bother to waste perfectly good magical education on a no-good muggle-
born like you, I just can’t understand.”
 
“I have as much right to study and learn magic as you do, Muldoon,” a high
pitched voice piped up. “I got a letter just the same as you.”
 
Hermione was already up and moving, but not quick enough to stop the first boy,
Muldoon, from continuing.
 
“Just because you managed by some fluke, to be born with magic, doesn’t
automatically give you the right to learn how to use it.”
 
“Actually,” Hermione spoke up, “According to the Hogwarts’ Charter, it does.
That is, after all, the purpose of Hogwarts—to teach every and anyone with
magic how to use that magic respectfully and responsibly. Being a Ravenclaw,
I’m saddened to discover that you’re not already familiar with the charter upon
which our school is founded on. It was, after all, the Founders’ dearest wish
that all children be taught how to wield their magic.”
 
“Of course you would say that,” the first year Ravenclaw boy retorted. “You’re
one of them, just like him.”
 
“If you mean ‘muggle born’, then, yes. I am,” Hermione returned, folding her
arms and staring down at him. “As are nearly two-sevenths of the students
currently attending Hogwarts.”
 
“You don’t belong,” the boy stated stubbornly.
 
“Setting aside the fact that the school charter explicitly states differently,
do you have anything to support that claim?” she challenged.
 
“Careful, young raven,” an amused voice spoke up from behind Hermione. “It’s
not wise to rile a lioness. Especially not our head girl.”
 
“Zabini,” Hermione greeted suspiciously, seeing the other teen sitting not far
away, lazily sprawled in an arm chair, a book dangling from his hand as he
watched them.
 
“Granger,” he returned with a little smile for her before turning those liquid
dark eyes back to the little firstie. “Well, raven? I believe she asked you a
question? What reasons have you for saying muggle born do not belong in
Hogwarts?”
 
“You’re a Slytherin!” the boy shouted, almost sounding betrayed.
 
Blaise smoothed his tie between two fingers. “Why, so I am, but that hardly
answers the question.”
 
“Why are you sticking up for them?” the boy demanded childishly. “They’re
nothing but a bunch of filthy muggle born!”
 
“Ah, I see. You think simply because I am a Slytherin that I should care little
to nothing for muggle born. But what you fail to take into consideration is
that blood status has no bearing on house. Even Slytherin is home to some
muggle born. Did you not know? Not surprising. After all, it wouldn’t be very
cunning of us to go around announcing such a thing, now would it?”
 
The boy gaped at him before realizing he was at a complete loss for words and
turning tail.
 
“Five points from Ravenclaw,” Blaise called languidly after him. “For sheer
failure to support your claim.”
 
“You don’t have the authority to take points,” Hermione reminded him amusedly.
 
“Ah, well, I suppose I shall have to rely on you to see it done then, won’t I?”
 
Hermione shook her head but did remove the points—for bullying.
 
“Are there really?” a small voice asked, snaring their attention.
 
“Excuse me?”
 
“Are there really some muggle born in Slytherin House?” the small Ravenclaw boy
remaining asked.
 
“I have no reason to lie,” Blaise stated calmly, “and certainly not about
something so innocuous. There are at least two muggle born I can think of
without hesitancy, and at least another dozen more who call themselves half-
blood.”
 
“The Houses weren’t meant to distinguish us by blood or anything so
prejudicial. They were meant to sort us with other personalities similar to our
own values,” Hermione added. “And even then, as we grow and mature, our
personalities change and we begin to encompass traits from all of the houses.
After all, what good is being smart if you’re not cunning or loyal enough to
know when to use those smarts, or brave enough to follow through? It’s not
enough to be just one thing.”
 
“Muldoon’s been on my case since the first night, saying about how I don’t
belong here at Hogwarts, how I’m always asking stupid questions. But they’re
not stupid if I don’t know the answer to them yet, are they? How else am I
supposed to learn if I don’t ask questions? It’s not my fault I didn’t get to
grow up in the wizarding world, learning all the same things as he and the
others did!”
 
“No, it’s not your fault,” Hermione reassured him. “And you keep asking your
questions, because I promise you, you’re not the only one who doesn’t know the
answers, and if you don’t ask the questions, who will?”
 
The boy nodded, seemingly determined. He took the books he must have been
studying from before the incident started and made his way to the circulation
desk. Hermione watched him, a bit wistful.
 
“As I seem to remember, you were the one answering most of those questions, not
just asking,” Blaise spoke up, recapturing her attention.
 
Hermione smiled wryly back at him. “Yes, well, I was determined to make up from
not being raised in the wizarding world. I tried to learn absolutely everything
I could, as quickly as I could. Of course, it was never enough.”
 
“It never is. There will always be something new to learn.”
 
“That’s the beauty of living, isn’t it?”
 
“I suppose. I meant to ask, are you and your friends all right?”
 
“Yes, why?”
 
“I thought I overheard you discussing an appointment with our mediwitch. I must
have been mistaken. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take this book back
to the common room with me.”
 
He got up and strolled off towards the circulation desk now that the little
Ravenclaw was gone. Hermione stood there watching him for several moments,
confused. Was he… spying on them? She wondered absurdly. Whatever for?
 
Shaking her head, she went back to her table to continue with her studies. She
wanted to get a bit more of her potions’ assignment done before her afternoon
classes, especially since she suspected none of the pard would be in the mood
to do homework tonight. After all, she and Hannah had an appointment with
Madame Pomphrey after their last class today. She wasn’t sure how she would be
able to focus in Transfiguration and Herbology until then.
 
****
 
Luna was in the entrance hall wait for them as they trooped up from the green
houses. “I don’t think I’ve ever disliked being so much younger than you all
before,” the blonde Ravenclaw practically pouted as they joined up. “It’s just
no fun being by myself in class. We should really see about adding another
person to the pard.”
 
“I don’t think it works that way,” Hannah smiled ruefully at the other girl.
 
“No, I know it doesn’t,” Luna signed, snuggling up to Neville, “but I still
think we should make plans for how to incorporate new members.”
 
“Don’t you think we have enough to do with?” Harry asked.
 
“I would think so,” Hermione agreed. “Let’s just take this next step and see
what Madame Pomphrey says. Then we can go back to our quarters and discuss
things at length. All right?”
 
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
 
“I’m not nervous,” Hermione snapped.
 
“Well, that’s good, because as I said, there’s nothing to be nervous about. I
think, if anything, I might be a little bit jealous.”
 
“Why ever for!” Harry gaped.
 
“It probably won’t be so easy for me when it’s finally my turn, but I have
faith and trust in you, Harry,” the blonde chirped
 
“Uh, thanks?”
 
“Okay, well, do you want us to come in with you?” Neville asked, hesitating
outside the doors to the Hospital wing. “Or we could wait out here, or back in
the rooms…?”
 
Hannah squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Neville. I don’t know, do you want to come
in? I don’t mind. You, Hermione?”
 
“Maybe we should wait, just a little bit longer,” the head girl hedged, chewing
her lip nervously.
 
“Better to know for sure than be unsure and worrying about it, don’t you
think?” Hannah encouraged.
 
Harry reached over for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Come on. Let’s
go find out for sure. One way or another.”
 
“For Queen and country,” Hermione murmured weakly, squeezing Harry’s hand back
and then following him in to the infirmary.
 
“Good afternoon, ladies,” the mediwitch greeted. “Right on time, I see. And
you’ve brought your partners as well. Very well. Let us go into the back rooms
for more privacy and then we can do the scan. Gentlemen, if you would wait out
here.”
 
“If you don’t mind, Madame,” Hermione interrupted, hand still clenching around
Harry’s, “I would really prefer if we could all do this together. The outcome
will affect all of us, after all.”
 
The medi-witch pursed her lips in a frown before agreeing. “Very well, and you,
Miss Abbot? Do you feel the same?”
 
“Oh, yes. I’m completely fine with Harry and Neville coming through and
watching,” Hannah agreed. “Luna, too, if she wants.”
 
“This is highly…irregular,” the matron frowned but nonetheless agreeably led
them all to the back.
 
“I looked in the library for the diagnostic charm to detect pregnancy, but I
was unable to find any,” Hermione spoke up once they were safely behind the
privacy screens.
 
“No, I should think not,” Madame Pomfrey mused. “Even if this is a boarding
school, the governors still hope to avoid such things while children are at
school. Aside from the fact it is simply not done for the witch to diagnose
herself. The pregnancy detection charm should always be cast by another
person.”
 
“But I could have casted it to check Hannah, and she could have casted it on
me,” Hermione pointed out.
 
“It is still always preferable that one see a medical practitioner for such
things.”
 
Hermione sulked and pouted, but said no more. Instead, she choose to watch
intently as Madame Pomphrey waved her wand over Hannah and then stepped away to
observe the results.
 
They all watched her with baited breath. Only Hermione had been there the last
time, and so she picked up on the change almost as quickly as the mediwitch who
frowned and pursed her lips. “Well, there’s nothing to be done for it,” the
woman muttered.  “I will have the conception interruptus potion brewed so that
we may put the pregnancy into status. That way you will be able to finish your
NEWTs at the very least. And since we’ve caught it early enough, you should not
suffer any adverse symptoms of the pregnancy.”
 
“She’s pregnant? Really? That’s—that’s amazing. That’s great,” Harry choked
out, staring at Hannah in awe. Neville clapped his shoulder and grinned back at
her. “Congratulations.”
 
“Thank you,” Hannah responded, beaming at him encouragingly. “Don’t worry.
You’ll get your chance soon, too.”
 
“And me,” Hermione requested, stepping towards Madame Pomphrey once more and
capturing her attention before she could question the other’s interactions. She
waited with baited breath, heart crawling up out of her chest and into her
throat.  She couldn’t see the colors of the spell the medi-witch cast, so she
quickly averted her gaze to the others with her.
 
It was there, in Harry’s face, that she saw the answer before Madame Pomphrey
said anything. The awe and amazement and wonder written plainly across his face
was answer enough.  She placed a hand over her mostly flat belly—thank you very
much. It was quite unbelievable to her that a tiny life form was growing there,
a new human being. A little future witch or wizard. She was really going to be
a mum.
 
“You’re a little further along, dear. I would say conception took place shortly
after our last meeting?” Hermione didn’t bother answering, too caught up in her
own thoughts.  “Well, again, it’s not anything that should cause a problem. 
Now, if you’re still serious about preforming the interruptus spell that will
allow you to place your pregnancy into status until such time as you release
the spell—“
 
“Yes. Definitely.” Hermione nodded, reaching out to take the hand Harry held
out to her.
 
“I must caution you to read all the literature available on the subject,”
Madame Pomfrey continued, making notes in each students’ file.
 
“There’s not much about it in the library.”
 
“No, there wouldn’t be,” Madame Pomphrey frowned some more, lips pursing in
disapproval. “But I have requested some books from a friend of mine which
covers the topic. I’m sure I can trust you to treat them with care and
consideration.”
 
“With Hermione, it’s most assured,” Neville promised, taking the books the
medi-witch offered.
 
“Yes, well. If that’s all,” she asked, throwing an observant eye over the other
three.
 
“We’re well, thank you, Madame Pomphrey,” Harry said, quick to make an escape.
 
“See that you keep that way.”
 
They followed a bubbly Hannah, who was linked arm-in-arm with Luna, practically
skipping out of the Hospital Wing, Neville and Harry to either side of
Hermione. The Head girl seemed… shocked. Lost in thought and in a daze, and
Harry shot several worried glances her way.
 
“Hermione?” he asked, hesitant to break into her thoughts but also worried.
“Are you okay?”
 
“I’m pregnant,” she responded, reaching out again to grip his hand, as if to
ground herself in the reality of it all. “I’m really, truly pregnant.”
 
Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Was she happy? Upset? Did she blame him? Was she
angry at him? After all, it was really kind of sort of his fault, and he
couldn’t help all the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling, either. Yes, he was
scared—he was only seventeen, and he didn’t have the best role models growing
up on how to raise a child, let alone take care of a baby. But it was Hermione,
who he always cared strongly for, who he loved as much as he was capable of,
who he adored and admired and… was really his best friend turned lover, err,
girlfriend. She was his partner in crime, his conscious. And now she was
pregnant. She had a little person growing inside her—which, okay, was pretty
creepy, but also pretty miraculous. He always knew she was amazing, but now,
she seemed ten times more so.
 
He squeezed her hand back, otherwise keeping silent.
 
Because as confused and in awe of the situation as he was, there was also
another part of him, a part he was trying to stifle, a part he suspected and
knew was his vanteerian. His cat was pleased, practically purring with
satisfaction. Knowing he had successfully mated his two girls was a thrilling
accomplishment that actually turned him on a little. Not a predicament he
wanted to be in while still out in the corridors of the castle. Still, his cat
was pleased and jumping at the opportunity to show the girls just how pleased
he was.
 
No, it was definitely better to put a lid on his cat until he knew better how
Hermione was. Or, at least until they were all safely tucked away behind the
closed doors of the head boy and girl chambers. He couldn’t get them back to
their rooms soon enough.
 
*****
 
Luna and Hannah twirled into the room, giggling madly as they fell onto the
sofa. Neville followed after, carefully placing the books Madame Pomphrey had
lent them on the desk in the corner. Harry was last in the room, closing the
door firmly behind them and feeling the wards he’d been practicing flare up.
Now no one should be able to get in, even if they knew the password, without a
direct invitation from someone inside the room.
 
“Hermione?” he called softly, not wanting to startle her. “Are you okay?”
 
“I’m fine, really. I’m just…” Hannah and Luna made space for her on the sofa
and she sunk gratefully in between them.
 
“In shock at the reality of it?” Hannah suggested, grinning. “It is a little
strange, isn’t it? I mean, there’s a little witch or wizard inside of me, but I
don’t really feel any different.”
 
“Well, right now, it really isn’t even a baby,” Hermione went into her
scientific explaining mode. “Just a mass of cells that are quickly
multiplying.”
 
The others stared back at her, blank and confused, even Harry, and she huffed
in annoyance. “Really, the wizarding world needs to study more than just magic.
It’s ridiculous.”
 
“Well, we’re working on it, right?” Harry told her, trying to interrupt a rant
before it could take off. “In the meantime, though, back to you. Are you all
right?”
 
“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “It’s just… a little overwhelming is all. I mean,
we knew, or suspected at least, that your cat was trying to breed us. And now
it’s confirmed, Hannah and I are pregnant. Really, we should be asking you. Are
you okay, Harry?”
 
“Me? I’m fine. I’m not the one who’s pregnant.”
 
“Well, in a way, you are, too,” Hannah teased. “Daddy.”
 
He couldn’t help the shocked grin that pulled at his face.
 
Hermione had to rain on his joy. “I think, though, we should wait to tell my
parents, at least until the Christmas holidays.”
 
“Uh, yeah, definitely want to wait on that,” Harry agreed, causing the others
to chuckle. “What about you, Hannah? What are you going to tell your guardian?”
 
“Nothing,” the girl responded staunchly. “There’s no need. It’s not like I’ll
be showing or even actively pregnant when we go home. I mean, the baby will be
in a stasis spell, so, for all intents and purposes, we might as well not even
be pregnant.”
 
Harry frowned, feeling a fissure of displeasure at the thought of his girls not
being pregnant, but he quickly stuffed it down, reminding himself that they
were pregnant, Hermione and Hannah were growing his children—and soon, so would
Luna and Neville, he thought with a tiny thrill—but protecting the pregnancies,
putting them into status until the girls were safely away. After all, this is
what they had discussed.
 
*****
 
-Tuesday, November 12, Great Hall-
 
Mail arrived in a flurry of owl wings. Harry wasn’t as surprised as he might
have been in years past when several owls arrived for him. He snatched up
several rashers from the silver platters set out on the table and crumbled them
onto his plate, offering it out to the bobbing owls as he retrieved his
letters. One he recognized right away as the Tonks’s owl, and he wasn’t
surprised to find it carrying a parcel as well. Another, he discovered, was his
requested mail order catalog from Diagon. The last was Hedwig, who perched
regally on his shoulder, waiting for the rabble to depart.
 
“Hey, girl,” he greeted his familiar, reaching up to give her a scratch before
selecting a piece of bacon for her. She accepted it before hopping over to
Hermione’s shoulder and holding her leg out.
 
“For me?” the head girl asked, surprised, carefully retrieving the letter. “Oh,
it’s from my parents! Thank you, Hedwig!”
 
“I wonder how Hedwig knew your parents had a letter for you,” Ron asked,
leaning forward.
 
“She’s just that good,” Harry said, smirking proudly.
 
“Yeah, but usually only family owls or familiar can sense when there’s mail for
their witch or wizard,” Ron protested. “I mean, I could see if it was for
Harry, but it’s kind of funny is all, Hedwig collecting mail for you,
Hermione.”
 
Harry, Neville, and Hermione all shared a quick look, but not quick enough for
Ron to miss it. “Unless there’s something going on that you haven’t told me,”
the redhead stared suspiciously at his two best friends before studying
Hermione’s hand. “I don’t see a ring.”
 
Hermione gaped, while Neville had to choke down a laugh. “It’s not that funny,
mate,” Ron groused, shooting Neville an unhappy look. “You know as well as I
that they’re, well…”
 
“Well, what,” Hermione demanded.
 
“Well, I mean, you two are officially together now, right?” Ron explained. “No
more pussyfooting around each other or any of that.”
 
“Now, wait a minute,” Harry protested. “What do you mean by officially and
pussyfooting?”
 
“Well, I mean, it was pretty clear to almost anyone that you two would make a
good pairing if you ever hooked up, right? And you’ve always cared about
Hermione more than any other girl, and she’s always worrying about you and all,
before anyone else. So, I mean, it was kind of inevitable, wasn’t it?”
 
“He might not like girls at all, that way,” Neville put forth, causing Ron to
snort. “You said it yourself, Hermione’s the only girl he’s ever really cared
about.”
 
“Yeah, but he still tried dating Cho and,” Ron stumbled a moment before pushing
on. “And my sister,” he pointed out. “Besides, I would know. I would know if my
best mate played for the same team,” he insisted.
 
“Why are we even talking about this?” Harry asked, more than a little
embarrassed by the topic of his sexuality being discussed so openly over
breakfast in the great hall where anyone could just listen in. It was begging
for rumors.
 
“Because Hedwig is bringing mail for Hermione,” Ron grumbled. “That’s not
normal, no matter how smart she is,” he added when the owl in question
screeched at him. “Not unless you’ve gotten engaged or something. Have you?”
 
“No, Ronald, we haven’t,” Hermione snapped, showing off just exactly how
annoyed she was with the ginger. “Hedwig has delivered mail for both you and I
before. Why are you making such a stink about it now?”
 
“Sure, she’s delivered, but she’s never brought a letter without being sent
before,” Ron insisted. “I mean, you didn’t send a letter to your parents, did
you? It’s not like they’re just replying to you.”
 
“As a matter of fact, they are,” Hermione huffed, standing up to leave before
he could question her anymore. He was right, though. She hadn’t sent Hedwig
with a letter to her parents, but she had been thinking she needed to before
very much later. In fact, she had been planning to write a letter home this
evening. It was unexpectant for Hedwig to bring her a letter from home without
first being sent there.
 
In fact, the lack of ability for her parents to reach her without Hermione
first sending them a letter had been discussed this summer, with her parents
considering purchasing an owl for the house, so they could keep in contact with
their daughter when they wanted. Hermione had explained to them how she
couldn’t have both a cat and an owl while at Hogwarts, and her mother wasn’t
too thrilled with Crookshanks’s panache for catching birds and rodents and then
leaving them on her doorstep, so the cat was definitely going to Hogwarts with
Hermione—not that she would have allowed it any other way.
 
Once she was away from the great hall, she ducked into one of the first floor
study rooms that was thankfully empty and opened the letter.  She skimmed the
letter, noticing how it had been started nearly two weeks ago and added to
until it could be sent.  Her mother and father both added to the letter, which
was nearly ten pages long.  Mostly it was all minor gossip about the family,
some amusing little tales from the practice, reminders that they loved her and
missed her and hoped she was doing well, taking care of herself. Two points
stood out, however.  One, her mother wanted to know if she wanted to invite
Harry over for the Christmas holidays, surprising her, actually.  The second,
was the acknowledgement of Hedwig just showing up the afternoon before, without
a letter.
 
“We were wondering if you were planning to come home for the holidays this
year. I know it’s your last year at school, and your friend Harry, usually
stays over, but if you’d like, you may invite him over the holidays, too. You
dad and I would love to spend some time with you this Christmas, and it would
be nice to get some time to formally meet and get to know Harry. We know how
much you care about him, and we’d like the opportunity to know and care about
him, too.  Just let me know, and we can have the guest room spruced up and made
ready.”
 
And a few paragraphs later, “Harry’s owl just popped up out of nowhere. She
didn’t have a letter with her, though. It was quite strange, but your dad and I
are hoping you’re all right? Write us back soon, please, and let us know for
sure. Thank Harry for sending his owl! Love you, dear. All our best, Mum &
Dad.”
 
*******
 
-Wednesday, November 13, first block-
 
Harry walked into one of the study rooms Hermione and he had initiated. There
were several previously unused classrooms that they had taken over and turned
into study rooms for all students to use. The idea was, if different forms and
houses had an assignment or needed help, they could go to a particular study
room and potential find the help they needed in others. It was a little slow to
get off. A lot of the older students confessed that they got distracted by
helping the younger students, but then, the younger students all seemed to be
prospering.
 
This study room happened to be for potions, and it was just as popular at the
others. Not surprising, really. Potions was a difficult subject, and not having
Snape teaching it didn’t change that fact, much to many of the older students’
disgust. Harry hadn’t come here looking for help, per say, although he did have
an essay he needed to finish up, which was his excuse to come.  He saw the one
he was looking for over at one of the study tables to the left, a third year
Hufflepuff listening attentively to what the seventh year was saying.
 
He walked up and set his things down, calmly setting up.
 
“What do you think you are doing?” Draco drawled, shooting him a half-
incredulous, half-disgusted look, fully managing to scare off the Hufflepuff
girl into skittering away. Good thing he’d finished answering her question, the
annoying little twitch.
 
Harry looked around the room before looking back down at his potions textbook
and notes. “Studying for Potions, I thought that was obvious. We have a test
today.”
 
“Yes, well, I was at this table first. Go find your own, Potter.”
 
Harry rolled his eyes. “Go suck on a lemon drop,” he told the other seventh
year, settling in and pulling his books and notes toward him. He pointedly
ignored the other boy’s affronted look.
 
After a moment, Draco went back to his own studying.
 
“You know what I don’t like about these rooms,” Draco said after a solid ten
minutes of silence between them.
 
“No, but I figure you’re going to tell me?”
 
“Well, here I am, finished with my potions review, and now I want to work on my
runes, but I don’t feel like traipsing all the way up to the Runes Study Room.
I’m here, and I’m already set up, so I want to study my runes here. I don’t
want to pack everything up to move into another room just to unpack everything
so I can study.”
 
Harry rolled his eyes. “So study your runes here,” he told him. It wasn’t the
first time someone had tried to make this argument, afterall.
 
“But this is the Potions study room,” the blond stressed. “Why would I study
Runes in a Potions study room?”
 
“Because you’re here and you want to study runes. Or else, go ahead and pack up
your stuff and head on up to the runes room.”
 
“But I don’t want to move.”
 
“Then don’t.”
 
“I mean, to have to pack up all my things…”
 
“You’re a wizard aren’t you? You have your wand. Use the packing charm if
you’re that lazy.”
 
Draco scowled.
 
“It’s not lazy to use a charm to get tasks done quickly. It’s efficient.”
 
“Call it what you will,” Harry shrugged. “But, seriously, it’s like wizards
have come up with a way to avoid doing most any work.”
 
“Why shouldn’t we? We have magic.”
 
“Like that’s a right to be lazy.”
 
“We’re not lazy!”
 
“With a wave of your wand, poof! You summon things instead of just getting up
to go get it. You conjure water instead of getting up to pour some from the
jug. It’s lazy.”
 
“We have magic. Why shouldn’t we use it!” Draco protested, giving the head boy
and incredulous look.
 
“I’m not saying not to use it; I’m saying you take it for granted,” Harry
stressed. “You don’t really honor and respect you magic.”
 
“I’m a wizard. I respect my magic.”
 
“Really?” Harry drawled. “When was the last time you even thought to be
grateful for having magic?”
 
“Every time I’m forced to think about how horrible it would be to have been
born a squib, or worse, a muggle.”
 
Harry couldn’t prevent himself from rolling his eyes. “See, you just take it
for granted. You don’t get how wonderful it is because you’ve never had to do
without. I don’t know why I’m even talking about this with you anyway. Here,”
he groused, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a letter.
 
“What is it?”
 
“Take it and find out for yourself.”
 
Draco eyed it suspiciously, but didn’t reach for it before Harry lost his
patience and huffed. “It’s a letter from your aunt—the non-crazy one. She’s
inviting you over for the Christmas holidays.”
 
Draco hesitantly took the letter and flicked it open. “How would you know?”
 
“Because it came with my letter, and Andromeda basically told me she was going
to invite you for the holidays. I’d go, just to get away from here for a
while—not that Christmas at Hogwarts isn’t nice and all, but it gets a little
dreary if you’re all by yourself, and I don’t think any of the other Slytherins
are planning on sticking around, are they?”
 
“Why would—“ the blond stopped himself. “Of course, as head of the family, she
would have to ask your permission to invite me,” Draco remembered sourly. 
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need your charity.”
 
“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry growled back sourly. “You lost your mother, but she
also lost any chance of reconciling with her sister, something I know she
always hoped for. You are that last living link she has to her sister; you’re
family, whether you want to admit it or not. Besides, it would probably do you
some good to meet your cousin and experience a little bit of muggle life.”
 
“But she’s a witch!” Draco protested.
 
“Yes, and she married a wizard, but they living in a muggle area and enjoy
muggle conveniences. You could learn some things, and maybe be a better wizard
for it.”
 
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
 
“Well, you know how to prove me wrong, don’t you?”
 
They stared at one another, weighing what the other would do or say next. Draco
finally looked away, tucking the letter in between his books. “I’ll think about
it,” he allowed, packing up the rest of his things.
 
“Where are you going?” Harry asked without thinking.
 
“I told you, I want to study runes. This is the potions study room.”
 
He rolled his eyes but let the other boy go without further comment. Draco
wasn’t even gone out the door for a full minute before a frazzled looking
fourth year sidled up to him with his book out and a desperate look in his
eye.  Harry sighed, but smiled, and gestured the boy over.
 
*****  
 
-Friday, November 22, evening-
 
 
“It’s all a bit ridiculous if you ask me,” Luna mused, acquiring the attention
of the gathered students.
 
“Well, no one asked you, did they Loony,” one of the Ravenclaws snapped.
 
“Really, Georgie, there’s no need for that,” another girl hissed. “And she’s
right, it is ridiculous.”
 
“It’s not,” growled the younger boy. “They have no business being here! I don’t
care if the school charter says they have the right to learn magic, too. They
should get their own school, and stop holding the rest of us back with all
their dumb questions!”
 
“They’re not dumb questions!” another boy growled. “No question is dumb.
Professor Flitwick even said so!”
 
“No,” agreed an older student. “There are only dumb people too stupid to ask
their questions and listen to the answers,” he went on, glaring at the younger
years who had started this argument in the middle of their common room,
distracting all of them from their studies.
 
“Besides, if you actually looked at the test scores, you would see that,
outside of our own house, muggle born and half-blood students actually tend to
perform better than most pureblooded students,” Luna dared to tell them.
 
“That’s a lie!”
 
“You can check for yourself,” she mused, hardly perturbed by others’ disbelief.
“Of course, you’ll have to go back and look at the scores from before the
kidnappings. It’s not the muggle-borns and half-bloods who are dumbing down our
education. It’s the purebloods. So, to that logic, if we were to have a
separate school from that of the muggle-borns and half-bloods, it would
actually out-perform Hogwarts, which is probably why one has never been built
before.”
 
“Everyone knows muggle born have less magic and are just weaker.”
 
“Really? I didn’t,” Luna mused. “Can you prove it?”
 
“That’s a good idea,” Terry Boot said, the argument having successfully drawn
in the prefects and other students now. “If you’re so sure, show us the
research and data to support your claim. Who has more magic – muggle born,
purebloods, or halfblood? Who’s stronger and more powerful in general magic?
Who generally performs better on school tests, on OWLS and NEWTS.  We should
also look at the old family magics, too. Not with the muggle-borns, of course,
since they have no family magic, but we can compare purebloods with half-
bloods, surely.
 
“Why couldn’t a muggle-born have any family magic?” a second year piped up.
 
“Don’t be stupid,” another girl hissed. “They have no family, so how would they
have family magic?”
 
“Magic shouldn’t just come out of thin air!” the girl protested. “Isn’t there a
way to see, to test and find out if we have any links to wizarding families?”
 
Terry frowned. “Good point. We’ll need someone to explore that, too. Might as
well throw in our own search for where and why muggle-borns happen. It’s a lot
to research, though, so we’ll need to split it up.”
 
“I can organize it,” Padma offered, stepping forward. “I personally think it
will be a fascinating study and could quite possibly be used for future
experiments and endeavors.”
 
Terry grinned at her. “Good, thanks, Padma. We’ll put a list up on the notice
board. If you’re interested in participating in the study, let us know. Until
then, let’s get back to our own work, shall we?” he added with a pointed look
to the arguing first year who started it all. Muldoon was trouble, but every
house has at least one trouble maker.
 
Luna, meanwhile, smiled to herself and slipped away from the common room, eager
to share the news with Hermione. She was sure the head girl would be interested
in the newest research project coming from the Raven’s tower, and since it was
so close to curfew, she could just stay over. It was so very good to be alive.
 
*****
 
 
-Sunday, November 24, mid-morning-
 
Hermione sat at her preferred study table in the library, but she wasn’t
getting much studying done. Her mind was caught up thinking about her parents’
invitation to Harry. She hadn’t told him, yet, that her parents had invited him
over for the holidays. She wasn’t even sure what his plans were for this
holiday. Then again, she hadn’t told her parents that her relationship with
Harry wasn’t simply platonic any longer.
 
It wasn’t that she was actively trying to hide her relationship with Harry from
her parents. It was more, she didn’t know how to really explain things. She
understood that most of Hogwarts saw her and Harry as a couple, but they were
so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend. And those terms didn’t even begin
to explain Hannah and Luna and Neville.  She just knew if she tried to explain
even just her relationship with Hannah or Luna, let alone both, her parents
would be horrified. It wasn’t like polyamourous relationships were ever normal
at any point in Britain’s history.
 
Her parents had taken the news and reality of their only daughter being a witch
with superb British decorum. Stiff upper lip, nary a batting of the eye, and
“I’ll go make us some tea, shall I?” Hermione smiled, fondly remembering the
first time she’d met Professor McGonagall. Her mother had been more than a
little put out at the professor’s calm, “Allow me,” before conjuring up a full
tea tray. 
 
But her parents had always known or suspected that their daughter was…
different. It wasn’t normal, after all, a nine month old throwing a tantrum and
the nursery curtains catching on fire. Not that her parents had ever shared any
of those stories of what they later learned were incidents of accidental magic
until she was much older and had already started attending Hogwarts. Knowing
now what she had put them through when she was younger… could she really ask
them to deal with even more weirdness?
 
The only possible answer was she had to, of course. She couldn’t just take the
decision away from them by hiding. She couldn’t just leave them behind. She
hadn’t been ready to do that when she started Hogwarts, and she wasn’t ready to
do that now. It would be different, if she had to stay away to protect them.
She would even send them away if she thought it would protect them better. But
she couldn’t protect them from the mess-up weird turn of events her life had
taken.
 
“What has such a frown on your face?” Hannah ask, popping up out of seemingly
nowhere.
 
“Thinking.”
 
“Aren’t you always,” the blonde teased, trying to coax a smile out of the other
girl and frowning when she failed. “Really, Hermione, what’s wrong?”
 
“My parents sent a letter last week. It arrived with Hedwig.”
 
“I remember. We agreed that it was probably because she recognizes and
acknowledges your bond with Harry.”
 
“Mmm,” Hermione agreed, remember the rather engaging theoretical conversation
she, Luna, Neville, and Hannah had had about the affair that same day. “They
asked to invite Harry over for the holidays.”
 
“Really? That was nice of them. What did Harry say? Do they know about…”
 
“No, I haven’t told them anything about what’s been happening this year,
really. Especially nothing…pard related. I wouldn’t know what to say to them,
and really, that’s not something one should be told in letter, don’t you
think?” Hermione sighed. “I haven’t asked Harry his plans yet this year.
Normally he stays over for the holidays, but this year,  he’s come into his
inheritance and there are several properties he’s mentioned that he could stay
at.”
 
“But he would be staying all alone,” Hannah frowned. “I was going to go home
with Susan. We really haven’t had a lot of girl time together, and, well, I’d
like to share with her more about what’s going on.”
 
“Do you think that’s wise?”
 
“It would be away from Hogwarts, and Susan and I never keep secrets from each
other for so long. She’s been distracted this year, but I still feel pretty bad
for not being completely truthful with her.”
 
“It’s your decision, of course. As long as you’re safe.”
 
“I will be; we will be,” Hannah promised. “I know Luna plans to go home to her
father, and Neville spends the holidays with his gran. It’ll be strange being
so far away from you all for so long.”
 
“It will,” Hermione mused. “Harry’s not been without one of us for so long. Not
since school started.”
 
“All the more reason for him to go home with you,” Hannah pointed out. “I mean,
he could try and go with Neville, but his gran’s a bit imposing, and Luna,
while I love her dearly, her father is… he has just never been the same since
her mother was killed in a home accident.”
 
“I didn’t know that,” Hermione murmured. “How did you know her mother was
killed?”
 
“Raised in the wizarding world,” Hannah reminded her. “It was a big thing
because Selena Lovegood was supposedly a really good enchantress. She enchanted
my parents’ wedding rings,” she added, pulling out a thin chain from around her
neck and the two simple gold bands dangling from it.
 
“I’ve never noticed them before.”
 
“I don’t wear them all the time.” Hannah smiled sadly and tucked them back
away. “Anyway, I think you should go ask Harry now. Even if he was planning at
staying at one of his other properties, he should still go home with you for
the holidays. It would be good for your parents to get to meet him, too; get
used to him a bit before announcing they’re going to be grandparents.”
 
Hannah grinned and Hermione groaned. “I think I might take your advice and
postpone telling them until it’s more relevant. After all, I’m not going to be
showing, the baby won’t be growing, so…”
 
“Do you really think you could keep something like that from your mum and dad?”
Hannah wondered curiously.
 
Hermione slumped with a sigh. “No, I don’t know. Maybe, but I’d feel pretty
terrible about it.”
 
“Yeah, I kind of figured you would. So don’t. Bring Harry home with you, let
them get to know him, and then before you leave, let them know you’re pregnant
but you won’t be having the baby until after NEWTS. Then they’ll have until
Easter hols to adjust to the idea.”
 
“Sneaky,” Hermione teased.
 
“Bah, not at all. Just good at trying to mitigate punishments and reprisals,”
the blonde retorted with a wink. “Come on, if you’re not doing any real
studying up here, let’s go check in on the boys and see what they’re up to.”
 
“I believe Harry was going to be spending some time with the Defense group this
morning.”
 
“Well, then, you know where he is, no point in waiting any longer to ask him to
go home with you for the holidays. Come on,” Hannah bossed, helping the head
girl pack up her books and materials with a flick of her wand and then tugging
her out of the library.
 
It wasn’t that far from the library entrance to the Defense study room. It
wasn’t the Room of Requirement, which was still used for DA meetings. Instead,
this room was on the third floor, just down from the Defense classroom. There
were a few chairs and tables, but primarily there were target boxes marked up
on the wall.
 
“There you go,” Harry was saying when they walked in. “Keep your body relaxed,
ready to move in any direction, but keep your wand movements short and concise.
Avoid any foolishly big wand waving. It’ll save time and energy, not to
mention, you won’t be forecasting your spells to your opponents.  It’s why you
start learning nonverbal casting once you pass your OWLS.”
 
“Thanks, Harry.”
 
“No probably, Jameel. Keep practicing, and next time you’ll win your duel for
sure.”
 
The second year Slytherin all but beamed at him before Harry turned away,
finally noticing Hannah and Hermione just inside the doorway. “Hey,” he greeted
as he approached them.  “Everything okay?”
 
“Everything’s fine,” Hannah replied quickly, knowing how Harry could worry
about them. “But Hermione here has a question for you, so I’ll let her ask
while I fill in for you.”
 
Harry wasn’t given the chance to question or even thank the other girl as she
ducked around him and intercepted another second year who was aiming to get
Harry’s attention.
 
“What is it?” Harry asked, turning away from the room to give his full
attention to Hermione. They had just had breakfast together not even an hour
ago, and she hadn’t said anything to him them, which would have been a fine
time to ask him whatever it was she wanted to ask him. Not to mention before
that, while they were still in their chambers, or at any time in the last
forty-eight hours. And for the life of him, he couldn’t think what could have
happened within the last hour that would cause Hermione to come seeking him out
with a question. It wasn’t like Hermione was shy about asking questions.
 
“Well, as you know, my parents wrote me last week,” she began. He nodded
without saying anything, waiting for her to continue. “My mum wanted me to
invite you over for the holidays, if you didn’t have anything else planned that
is, and I know you have several properties you inherited that you wanted to
check out, but Hannah did point out that it would be kind of a good idea for
you to meet and get to know my parents before anything more progresses. I mean,
we’ll have to decide what to tell them, obviously not the whole truth, not at
first. It’s a bit much to accept. But we could work them up to it, and I’d
really like them to be there when I’m ready to have children, so i—“
 
Hermione’s senses seemed to freeze…until she heard someone whistle and catcall
from within the room. Snapping out of her shock, she stepped away from Harry
and mock-glared at him, biting her kissed-bruised lips. “What was that for?”
 
Harry grinned at her unrepentantly. “Someone told me the quickest way to get a
person to stop talking was to simply kiss them quiet. Glad to see it works. 
Besides, you were working yourself up into a tizzy. Couldn’t even understand
half the words coming out of your mouth at the end there.”
 
“Holidays,” Hermione repeated. “My parents are inviting you over for the
holidays.”
 
“Oh. Wow.” Harry took another step back. “Okay.  Um…”  He looked back at her,
more than a little panicked.  “I’ve only ever really met and stayed over with
Ron before, and, well, I mean, it’s not like we ever, you know, slept together,
or anything. I mean, we shared a dorm, but—“
 
“I know what you mean, Harry.” Hermione sighed. “That’s not the issue.”
 
“Yeah, well, it kind of is. I mean, you’re asking me to meet your parents, and,
well, I mean, that’s, uh, yeah.”
 
“They don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “About us, I mean. Me and you. They don’t
know yet, but I’d like to tell them, but the end of the holidays at the very
latest. Not about anything else yet, but I think they should at least know I’m
involved in a serious, long-term relationship now.”
 
“Yeah, I can see how that might be important to them.”
 
“And it would be nice if you were there.”
 
“Okay, well, just to be safe, your dad wasn’t ever in the service or own any
hunting rifles, right?”
 
“He’s a dentist.”
 
“Yeah, that’s pretty terrifying, too,” Harry admitted, grinning a bit wryly.
“You know, we could probably scare off all the purebloods by telling them about
what your parents do for a living. Imaging, making a living out of torturing
people—drilling holes in their teeth, pulling teeth out…” Harry shivered.
“Voldemort might actually try to recruit them.”
 
“Don’t even joke about that,” Hermione hissed, smacking his arm none-too-
lightly. “So you’ll come home with me? I’ll let my mum know?”
 
“If that’s what you want, then of course I will. I’ll need to stop in and visit
Andromeda and Remus, and I wanted to tour some of the Black estates, but we
should have enough time to do all that, right?”
 
“We? You want me to come with you?” Hermione asked, surprised and also
gratified.
 
“Well, of course,” Harry replied with a teasing grin. “Don’t you want a say in
picking out the pard’s new home? I’m hoping one of the Black Estates will do,
because the Potters don’t have that many properties. But if none of them meet
our needs, well, then Neville’s offered us to look through the Longbottom
holdings, and if we still can’t find anything, then we’ll just pull our
resources and buy something or have it built.” “You’ve given this some
thought,” Hermione said, impressed.
 
“Some,” Harry admitted. “Neville and I have had more than a few late nights.”
 
A small smile pulled at her lips as she leaned casually into him. “I’m glad
he’s there for you.”
 
“He’s there for you, too,” Harry told her, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.
“He wants to be there for you, too.”
 
“I know, and one day I’ll be ready for that, but just not yet,” Hermione
admitted, pulling away just a bit. “You and Ron were my very first friends,
Harry, and although I’m friendly with others, there’s not really many I
actually consider my friends. Hannah, now, and even Luna. And Neville, to some
extent, too. Just give me a little time, please? I trust you; it’s not that I
don’t. I just need a little bit more time to adjust.  I’m going to go and write
that letter now. Do you mind if I use Hedwig to deliver it?”
 
“No, that’s fine. See you at lunch?”
 
“Definitely,” Hermione agreed with a smile, and daringly, she darted forward
and pressed a quick peck to his check with a whispered, “Thanks,” before
darting back out the door.
 
“Nicely done, Potter,” Hannah told him as she past him, breezing out the door
after the head girl. A bemused Harry turned back to the room at large to see
the eight occupants all blatantly watching him.
 
“As you were,” he called, snapping them back to their practice.
 
 
 
 
Still more to come…
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     As always, comments, questions, and constructive criticism are
     welcome. This story is a SLOW work in progress and subject to editing
     and revision upon the author's discretion. Thanks for reading!
***** -A Slytherin Approach- *****
~THEN~
“Holidays,” Hermione said. “My parents are inviting you over for the holidays.
They don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “About us, I mean. Me and you. They don’t
know yet, but I’d like to tell them, by the end of the holidays at the very
latest. Not about anything else yet, but I think they should at least know I’m
involved in a serious, long-term relationship now.”
“Yeah, I can see how that might be important to them.”
“And it would be nice if you were there.”
“Okay, well, just to be safe, your dad wasn’t every in the service or own any
hunting rifles, right?”
“He’s a dentist.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty terrifying, too,” Harry admitted, grinning a bit wryly.
“If it’s what you want, then of course I will. I’ll need to stop in and visit
Andromeda and Remus, and I wanted to tour some of the Black estates, but we
should have enough time to do all that, right?”
 
~NOW~
- November Hogwarts-
It was Monday again. Only two more weeks until term end. He’d spent a good
portion of these past weeks observing his new interest rather than attending to
his classes. His grades had suffered slightly, but nothing he couldn’t make up
the slack for with a bit of cramming, he hoped. Besides, it wasn’t as if Fall
term grades mattered all that much. It was the NEWT scores most employers
looked at. Not that he needed to worry overly much about employers.
No, his future had most assuredly been to be taking over the conglomerate his
mother had acquired throughout her lifetime. But, even then, that was not
likely to happen anymore, not since they had discovered he had inherited his
mother’s curse. He knew there was very little hope of beating it. His mother
had tried, when she was young—had almost succeeded, but then his father had
been murdered. There was no point in him even trying to beat his curse. At
least, that’s what he had believed until the new school year started and he
sensed it.
It was… intoxicating. Alluring, and for the first time he was able to
experience what he thought his mother’s victims must…. That burning desire to
be closer to a person, to have their attention on you, to have them feast of
your body and flesh. It hadn’t started all at once. No, that was the most
annoying aspect of it---the scent slowly teased him, sometimes there, sometimes
not, and he wasn’t sure who was emitting the pheromones. He knew, of course, it
wasn’t anyone in his own house. By the end of September, he’d eliminated anyone
from Ravenclaw and was working his way through the sixth and seventh year
Hufflepuffs. The scent had grown steadily stronger as the days passed,
tormenting him, until finally-finally—he discovered who was sending it off.
Potter.
And it was almost too bloody obvious that the boy in question had absolutely no
fucking clue he was doing it, either. It nearly drove him spare.
At first, he really did think Potter was like him, suffering from the touch of
the levifold, an incubus or succubus, depending on which form they took. His
mother was only able to assume the one form. Blaise wasn’t sure why he could
assume both. It had been rather a shock to wake up one morning in the body of a
female. It had taken him nearly three months of practice to be able to control
his body’s shifting from male to female by direction rather than whim. It had
taken far longer for him to be able to control his allure, and he’d claimed the
virginity of many a Hogwarts students—of either sex.
He was a bit disappointed to determine that Potter wasn’t also of lethifold
descent, although it was nice not to have to share a feeding ground, he had
been hoping to potentially use the boy-wonder to slate his own hunger and
potentially slack his own curse. But, no. Potter didn’t go around, leaving a
string of satisfied over-sexed teenagers in his wake like Blaise had the
previous year. Instead, he seemed to attach himself to only four others.
Granger, he understood. And it was reported that Potter and Lovegood had an
interesting friendship, so even that wasn’t surprising to him. The inclusion of
Abbot and Longbottom, however, did confuse him.
At first, he believed as the rest of the school was led to believe, that it was
Abbott and Longbottom who were the couple, but Blaise’s senses wouldn’t steer
him wrong. Both teens smelt too much of Potter to be anything other than his.
He could smell the sex and sweat, and more importantly, the semen on them, in
them. Both of them. Which told him Neville Longbottom was on more than just
friendly terms with the head boy. He wasn’t just a dorm mate. Oh, no. In fact,
if Blaise’s senses were to be trusted—and they were—he would estimate the
Longbottom heir giving up to Potter at least three nights out of four.
Longbottom fairly reeked of Potter’s scent. But it was curious—so did the
girls. So, was Potter attracted to both sexes, then? It would certainly make
his campaign easier—a welcome thing now that it had suddenly seemed to get more
difficult.
Since the attack on Hogsmeade and finally finding the source of his attracting
distraction, Blaise had been studying the group, watching their interactions
and movements. He could sense the different power fluctuations amongst
them—knew who their weakest member was, so to speak. He also could sense that
two of the girls were currently with child, a very new and recent event that
surprised him greatly. Normally, Hogwarts went to great lengths to ensure the
students did not become embroiled in unwanted pregnancies during the school
year. Bad for business and all that.
He engaged briefly with each member of Potter’s circle, individually. It was
more interaction and work than he’d ever put into a conquest, but if he played
his cards right, it would potentially be his last conquest. It looked as if
Potter was building himself a circle, which meant there were only a limited
number of spots available, and if he were able to get himself one… that much
sexual energy would keep him well satiated without having to track down
victims. And even better, his one-on-one interactions and observations of the
group led him to believe he could be fairly content with them.
He needed only to execute his plans with the utmost care and delicacy and then
he should see success. He wasn’t a Slytherin for anything, after all. Ambition
and cunning. He would certainly need both in spades to pull this off.
He started with his queen, purposefully making himself available in the library
on several occasions. Anyone who visited the library regularly knew Granger had
a preferred location. It was easy to incorporate himself into her notice simply
by speaking up where previously he would have remained silent. Some of his
housemates, of course, noticed his new interest, and weren’t so quick to
dismiss it. He dealt with them as he always had—either with chilling silence or
breathless seduction that left them dazed and confused.
Let it not be said he didn’t know how to get his own amusement out of any
situation, and, after all, he did need to keep his energies up. Food only
satisfied the palate. It did nothing for the soul. The more he interacted with
the head girl, the more he found himself coming to be honestly amused by her.
It was unexpected, but welcomed. And she did tend to be ensnarled in the most
fascinating debates.
Take the most recent Ravenclaw study.
He was in the library when the Ravenclaw Patil approached Granger, and he
unabashedly listened in on their conversation.
“Hermione, I was wondering if you could help me?”
“Of course.”
“Only, I know you organized the DA, and you were brilliant at it, and then all
the scheduling this year—I’m finding it difficult to just get started.”
“Is this about the muggle-born study?”
“You know about it already?”
“Luna told us,” she explained.
“Of course. Well, let me show you what we have so far.”
Blaise was intrigued, to say the least. The Ravenclaws always had some study or
another going on. It wasn’t that unusual. But this was the first he’d heard of
them actually studying muggle born. He wondered what it was about.
“Mm, yes, but test scores really isn’t an indication of magical power or
ability,” Hermione said. “It only makes sense that muggle born and half bloods
raised in the muggle world would perform better at tests and writing papers.
Many have been doing so in their primary schools since they were six or seven.
My understanding is that many purebloods don’t send their children to school
until Hogwarts.”
“That’s true, but it’s still something we wanted to show.”
“Well, if anything, it might prove the need for a wizarding primary school,”
Hermione allowed. “And what else were you looking into?”
“Well, as you said, we need a way to test for magical ability and power. We
also wanted to try and find out if any muggle born actually have ties to the
magical world.”
“You would need an inheritance or genealogy test for that. I’m sure there must
be a charm or potion we could use.”
“The goblins have a ritual they’ll do for a fee.”
“Which is not very reasonable for students who are stuck here at Hogwarts.”
“True.”
“What about a way to test for magical ability or power? Is there something like
that in the wizarding world?”
“Again, a test the goblins could do upon request,” Blaise spoke up. “A few
blood tests will tell you not only what wizarding families are in your
ancestral tree but also what abilities you are potentially capable of. A power
test, for that you would want a focal stone.”
“A focal stone? What’s that?”
“It was used long ago to help families determine if their children had magic.
You would touch the stone, focusing on it, and the stone would resonate with
the intensity of your magic. Those with little or no magic would produce a
faint, tinny sound. Those with strong magic would produce a deep, rumbling
sound. Or so I’m told.”
“And what happened to the children who produced no sound?” Hermione asked
shrewdly.
“They were disposed of,” Blaise told her calmly, seeing no reason to sugar-coat
the atrocities of their world’s history. “Some were left in the muggle world,
to fend for themselves. A chance at survival in a world where they wouldn’t be
surrounded by magic they could never wield. Others were simply put to sleep
eternally.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Depending on who you talked to, it was considered the more humane of the
choices—to know magic existed and never be able to use it… or to be moved on to
the next adventure and hopefully be reborn with magic.” Since he’d already
gained their attention, he stood and crossed over to the table where the two
girls sat, blatantly looking over the papers Patil had laid out. “You might
also want to take a look at the number of children produced. I know a recent
complaint is that there are more muggle born and half-bloods now than ever, but
what I’ve not heard anyone say is that there’s really just less pure bloods,
not more of the others.”
“War will do that,” Hermione pointed out.
“Yes, but isn’t it odd that a war that was supposedly about blood supremacy
resulted in less pure blooded children being born?” he posed.
“Perhaps,” the head girl allowed. “I think it would be interesting to see if
there’s a trend in population. Especially knowing what’s been happening in the
muggle world in the last two hundred years or so.”
“We have enough to look at,” Padma agreed. “But we still need people to
actually do the research and answer our questions.”
“Yes, well, if you have these categories set up, and you have a suggested plan
for how to go about collecting the data, that it shouldn’t be too difficult.
Ask for volunteers, remind them to collected the data requested. Have another
group analyze the data collected and report their findings at a scheduled
debrief. Also, leave space for anyone to be able to tweak the assessment
process.”
“What is it you’re hoping to find?” Blaise couldn’t help but ask.
“Hopefully, the truth,” Padma huffed. She rolled her eyes towards Hermione.
Hermione shrugged.
**
Granger was, by far, the easiest to approach. Ironic almost, that the other
three were all from the magical world, like him. Still, he shared the most
classes with the head girl, and her predictability allowed him assured access.
He tried for Longbottom next.
It was the logical choice, he felt, although they only shared three classes
together: charms, transfiguration, and DADA. Blaise believed that once he
gained Granger’s and Longbottom’s acceptance, the other two would be more
likely to fall in place. It was faulty, but he wasn’t to know that right away.
In the immediate time frame, he knew that Granger and Longbottom were the more
powerful, magically speaking. Yes, he could sense that thanks to his in
heritance. It was important to know who one could afford to skim a little
energy from without out-right killing.
Generally, the more magically gifted tended to hold up better to repeated
exposure. Blaise wasn’t so far go in his inheritance to actually actively seek
out to destroy other’s lives, crippling them as he drained them of all energy
and will to live. He frankly thought such a state was disgusting, such lack of
contract detestable, and he hoped never to sink so low. He knew his mother had
turned her insatiable appetite onto men who she deemed unworthy to continue
living. Many of her ex-husbands were very bad men who used their money and
influence to get away with their crimes. They never managed to escape his
mother, though. It was how she lived with her curse.
Blaise still hoped for better for himself.
He avoided approaching either Abbott or Longbottom in the Defense study hall.
Everyone knew that was Harry’s domain, where he was more likely to be found
while inside the castle. It just worked out that the same three classes he
shared with Longbottom, he also shared with Abbott. So when he wasn’t actively
pursuing the head girl, he took turns in the Charms or Transfiguration study
rooms. Both subjects he was more than passably good at, and his presence in the
study rooms saw his attention and skills sought out more than he would have
liked. Unless he was actively pursuing a conquest, he did generally prefer to
be left alone.
He certainly hoped all this effort and sacrifice paid off for him. Several
times already he’d found himself lost in day dreams, anticipating what it might
be like to be with one or all of the circle. It made for some uncomfortably
tight situations at awkward points in the day. Like right now.
He had chosen to sit up in the charms study room, knowing that there was a
paper due this week in preparation for the upcoming exams. He had finished his
paper already, but he was hopeful to have an encounter with Longbottom or
Abbott. He didn’t mind which one. In fact, his mind was happily supplying him
with a scenario of both of them.
He imagined Abbott laid out before him, her skirt bunched around her waist, her
panties around her knees, his face buried in her sex, licking and sucking her
while Longbottom bottomed out behind him, filling him up with every deep, hard
thrust, forcing him to moan and grunt as he continued to feast from Abbott.
“You okay, Zabini?” a voice broke into his fantasy, causing him to shiver and
gasp.
“Fine, thank you,” he answered, more than a little breathless, looking up in
the concerned face of the boy he was just fantasizing about. “You?”
“Yeah, fine. Hey, Hannah and I were going to practice some of our charms in
preparation for next week’s test. You want to join us?”
“I would love to,” he purred, wondering how soon was too soon to show them the
restraining charm that would hold someone in place so you could have your
wicked way with them. Or the slew of other charms he knew and learned to assist
him in his sexual pursuits.
Not yet, but soon, he thought, smiling charmingly at Abbott as he followed
Longbottom over to the table where they’d set up.
**
The one he anticipated the most trouble tracking down was the sixth year
Ravenclaw. Not only were they in different years but they were in different
houses. Added to that minor complication was the very real challenge of the
girl’s eccentric schedule. A little bit of snooping and digging had confirmed
she was in several of the same NEWT subjects as him, but he never saw her in
any of the study rooms. Nor was she in the library when he looked. In fact, the
only place he was ever assured of spying her was in the great hall for
breakfast and dinner.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do to approach her and gain her
trust. He supposed he could try ingratiating himself to her in front of the
others during DA meetings. The others were already somewhat used to him. He was
nearly ready to approach Potter. He was sure he could seduce the head boy into
allowing him to join their circle, but he just knew it would be easier if he
had the support of those already there.
“You’re going about it backwards.”
Blaise froze, not having realized anyone else was in this corridor. There was
no one ahead of him, so he slowly turned around, looking back at the stretch he
had just passed. It, too, was empty. He was hard pressed to repress a frown. He
had clearly heard the child-like soft voice. He was fairly sure he recognized
it as the Lovegood girl’s, although she didn’t often speak very much that he’d
observed.
A giggle sounded, and this time he was able to track it to a tapestry on his
left. He pulled the material aside, only slightly surprised to find a hidden
room behind it. Seven years wasn’t enough time to lean all of the secrets of
Hogwarts, but it was still surprising to come across a hidden room.
“Hello, Blaise Zabini,” the blonde girl greeted. “You’ve been looking for me.”
He nodded, but didn’t move to join her. “You said I’m going about it
backwards?” he questioned instead.
She smiled at him, and it looked like she was ready to giggle again. He hoped
not, he was not overly fond of giggling girls. Moaning and groaning,
occasionally screaming girls, yes.
“You’ve been following us,” she announced. “The others are beginning to notice.
It will go one of two possible ways,” she continued. “They will either feel
threatened, or your position will be considered. If it is decided you are a
threat, that threat will be eliminated.”
Blaise actually felt a fissure of fear slide down his spine at that
announcement. “I do not mean to be a threat to you.”
“It is not us you must first convince,” Luna informed him. “It is Harry.”
He frowned. “What is he? He is neither night fury nor fawn, but he did have a
magical creature inheritance. I can sense it.”
She nodded at him again, smiling still. “You should go talk to Harry. It is he
who will decide.”
“And will he think me a threat?” Blaise wanted to know. Many would, he knew,
simply for what he was, what he had become. After all, he was a creature that
fed off of sex. He could literally kill someone by loving them too much. A
circle that was already involved, however, had a strong likelihood of
sustaining him without too much detrimental side effects to the others.
“Are you a threat to us?” Luna returned.
“I don’t mean to be,” he answered honestly.
“And can you give of yourself freely? Support those when they need your
assistance? Sustain those when they need succor. Accept assistance when it is
offered? Love freely and without resistance?”
Blaise stared at her, mind screeching to a halt before rushing forward, trying
to take in all that she was implying. No, not implying. Flat out stating.
Her head tilted to the side, her long silvery blonde hair falling down her
chest and into her lap. “When you have decided, seek out Harry. Then you can
stop these games you’re playing with the others. Until then, Blaise Zabini.
Good bye.”
He realized he was dismissed, and he stepped back, allowing the tapestry to
fall back in place. Obviously he had some more thinking to do, but he was
fairly sure what his answer would be. This was his chance at possible future
happiness—or if not right out happiness, at least contentedness. He
couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that pass without making some attempt to seize it for
himself.
Could he give of himself freely? Yes, he could offer assistance to those who
needed it. He could accept assistance when it was offered. He wasn’t sure what
she meant by sustaining others. It was he who needed help there, that he could
see. Could he love? Freely and without resistance, she had said, and he
suspected she did mean love as in the emotion and not just the act.
Could he love? It wasn’t impossible, that much he knew. His mother had loved
his father, though he had been a regular wizard with no creature in heritance.
In fact, he had been a muggle-born, something not many, if any, of his house
mates knew. But she had loved him, fiercely, passionately. And he had loved
her; loved her enough to accept what her nature was and required of her. She
went out and slacked her need and lust by feeding off those in the seedier
portions of the city, drinking in their passions as she passed by. And then she
had returned home to her husband and relieved those passions with him. When
they had discovered she was going into heat, they had ensured they had
everything that would allow Alejandro to see to his wife’s needs, and shortly
thereafter, they had discovered the news that they had conceived.
Blaise had never met his father. The man had been murdered before he was born.
But he knew his mother had loved him desperately. Still, even to this day,
whenever she spoke of his father it was plain to see how much she had adored
him, and her stories of him relayed that same adoration. So he knew they were
capable of loving. He loved his mother, and his mother loved him, but she never
loved anyone else. The numerous husbands she had taken over the years were
never for love. It had saddened him, growing up.
Now he had an opportunity, a chance for the happiness his mother had known with
his father. He didn’t love Potter or any of his circle, but that wasn’t to say
he couldn’t love them, didn’t want to possibly love them. He already knew he
was attracted to them. He could tolerate being around them. That was a start.
Could he love? Yes, he could. Freely and without resistance? Giving all of
himself? That was a whole other issue.
Lovegood had given him much to think about, and think he would. He would have
to. Exams were fast approaching, and afterwards were the holidays. Blaise hoped
to approach Harry before they left. That didn’t give him very much time, but he
would have to make it do.
***
It was December already. They had but four weeks left of the calendar year. As
the students geared up for the first exams of the school year, talk of holiday
plans were rampant. Since Hogsmeade trips were currently canceled, many
students had requested catalogs from the different shops and stores. They were
passed around with more fever than an issue of the Quibbler during Harry’s
fifth year. More owls were sent off every day with requests, and every day more
and more owls returned with wrapped parcels and gifts.
Even though they were planning to head to some muggle shops when they got off
on holidays, Harry and Hermione had also ordered plenty of items from the
catalogs.
“Here, Luna,” Hermione called, holding out one of the packages that had arrive
for her this morning. “I picked this up with you in mind.”
“Really?” the Ravenclaw asked delightedly. “And it’s not even my birthday!”
“You should make her wait till Christmas,” Hannah teased, laughing when Luna
stuck her tongue out at her.
“It’s not really a Christmas gift,” Hermione replied. “Besides, I thought we
would wait to exchange Christmas gifts until we were all back together again.”
“Boxing day,” Luna interjected. “We should get together for Boxing Day.”
“You know Neville won’t be able to,” Hannah frowned, wondering if there was a
way she could manage to join Neville at the hospital this year.
Hermione frowned as well. “Neville shouldn’t have to go visit his parents
alone.”
“Which is why we should all get together,” Luna pointed out.
“Okay, fair point. I’ll mention it to Harry and my parents.”
“Good. Oh! Sugar quills,” the blonde called out delightedly. “Thank you,
Hermione.”
“As I said, not really a Christmas gift, but a gift none the less.”
“I think I could get used to being spoiled.”
“Speaking of getting used to things, has anyone else noticed Zabini’s backed
off recently?” Hannah asked, looking at the other two girls.
“He’s still there,” Hermione corrected, “But you’re right, he hasn’t been as
forward as he was. Barely said five words to me in the last three days.”
“I might have said something to him,” Luna admitted. Both girls tried to get
her to continue with their looks, but it didn’t work.
“Well?” Hermione finally broke. “What did you say to him?”
“Only that we’d noticed him sniffing around and he was going about it the wrong
way.”
“So, you really think he’s serious?” Hannah asked, more than a little bemused.
After all, Zabini had quite the reputation amongst the upper classmen. It’s
what had worried them when they realized he was starting to pay them all more
attention than usual.
“I told him he needed to go to Harry, not us.”
“Was that wise?” worried Hermione.
“Do you think he’ll actually do it?” Hannah wanted to know. “Some of the
stories I’ve heard about him, they’re pretty fantastic.”
“He is his mother’s child,” Luna told them with a negligent shrug. “He seeks
what we all do: happiness, or at least a chance at it.”
“Will he really approach Harry, then, do you think?” Hermione wondered,
worrying her lip. She’d known eventually they would be welcoming more new
people into their pard, but she wasn’t sure how ready she was just yet.
Everything was made more complicated by the fact they were supposed to go in to
see Madame Pomphrey tomorrow and have the conception status spell cast. The
potion necessary wouldn’t be ready until too late tonight, so tomorrow it had
to be.
“Fairly sure,” Luna confirmed. “But if not, well, I might have suggested to
Harry he speak with him. I’m not sure if Harry’s cat will accept him or not.”
“Really?” Hannah asked surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. I can only sense possibilities where Zabini is concerned. We’ll
just have to wait and see, I suppose.”
“Pooh,” Hannah pouted. “Sometimes I wish I had super magical powers like you
guys.”
“No, you don’t,” Hermione countered. “You wouldn’t be you if you did, and we
like you just the way you are!”
“Auh, you’re so sweet,” the Hufflepuff teased. “Did you happen to get me a
present, too?”
The head girl tossed several chocolate frogs at her. “Don’t eat them all at
once. I have good suspicions that Harry plans on getting us all a selection of
Honeydukes’ chocolate for Christmas.”
“Really? However do you figure?” Hannah asked, already tearing into her magical
frog. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”
“I may or may not have mentioned how a woman’s body goes through impressive
fluctuations during pregnancy, even more severe than while she’s experiencing
her time of month, and how chocolate has been known to have curative
properties, especially in helping to regulate a woman’s hormones, which is why
so many women are chocoholics.”
“Hermione Granger!” Hannah practically scolded before busting out into a huge
grin. “I think I love you!” she cried, diving across the sofa and glomping the
other girl.
*****
He didn’t have much time left if he was going to succeed with his original
timeline. The students would be boarding the Hogwarts Express bound for London
and the start of their holidays next Thursday. It wasn’t enough time. How was
he supposed to convince Harry he wasn’t a threat to his circle, when he knew,
potentially, he was. Except he didn’t mean to be. He wasn’t naive as some of
the others. He knew Potter wasn’t all sweet and innocent, the blind golden
hero. He didn’t look down on the boy for his seeming ignorance of the customs
and ways of the wizarding world. He knew ignorance wasn’t always a sign of
weakness. And that was definitely the case with Potter. Potter was not weak,
not by any means.
Nor was he stupid, he thought, his chest tightening as he turned into a new
corridor and saw what was waiting up ahead for him. It was likely no
coincidence, the way Potter and Longbottom were oh, so casually leaning up
against the wall quietly talking in the corridor Blaise just happened to be
walking down. And he didn’t think anyone else was around. This could be good,
or very, very bad, Blaise decided, stopping several feet away, watching warily
as Potter folded up a bit of parchment and stuffed it away.
“Luna seems to think we need to speak.”
“Oh?”
“Mmn. Thing about Luna is, she’s usually right,” Potter continued, turning to
face Blaise proper. “So, what do you need?”
Blaise was honestly tongue-tied, standing there, faced off with the two
Gryffindors. Physically, Longbottom was entirely more intimidating—broad
shouldered and fit. Magically, there was no denying Potter was the more
intimidating of the two. He could try and treat this as a normal seduction, but
there was nothing normal about Potter. There never could be. Besides which,
Blaise was hoping to have something more than just a normal encounter with the
head boy.
He was hoping to be invited in to join Potter’s circle, or coven if that is
what they were building, and it seemed more and more certain that they were. He
just had to convince them he wasn’t a threat.
“Zabini? You okay?” Potter asked, taking a step closer, and the same wave of
pheromones that had been driving him crazy all school year swam up over him and
swallowed him in their intoxicating allure. His eyes fluttered, a wanton moan
pulled from his throat, as he felt his tightly held control waver, as shaky as
his knees suddenly were.
“I want in,” he managed to gasp, suddenly panting as if he had run up all seven
flights of stairs. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, but please accept me,”
the Slytherin actually humbled himself, knowing of no other way to show his
sincerity to the other two.
 
*****
 
Still to come…
***** A New Member? *****
Chapter Summary
     Blaise appeals to the pard.
Chapter Notes
     Story warnings heavily apply to this chapter, implied and specified.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
A New Member?
~THEN~
 
Blaise was honestly tongue-tied, standing there, faced off with the two
Gryffindors. Physically, Longbottom was entirely more intimidating—broad
shouldered and fit. Magically, there was no denying Potter was the more
intimidating of the two. He could try and treat this as a normal seduction, but
there was nothing normal about Potter. There never could be. Besides which,
Blaise was hoping to have something more than just a normal encounter with the
head boy.
He was hoping to be invited in to join Potter’s circle, or coven if that is
what they were building, and it seemed more and more certain that they were. He
just had to convince them he wasn’t a threat.
“Zabini? You okay?” Potter asked, taking a step closer, and the same wave of
pheromones that had been driving him crazy all school year swam up over him and
swallowed him in their intoxicating allure. His eyes fluttered, a wanton moan
pulled from his throat, as he felt his tightly held control waver, as shaky as
his knees suddenly were.
“I want in,” he managed to gasp, suddenly panting as if he had run up all seven
flights of stairs. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, but please accept me,”
the Slytherin actually humbled himself, knowing of no other way to show his
sincerity to the other two.
 
~NOW~
- Monday, December 1, Hogwarts-
Things had been going… well enough, considering, Harry supposed.
Sure, he was still having regular nightmares, mental field trips to Death Eater
revels, and that sucked sour dragon eggs, for sure. Being forced to watch
helplessly as young men and women were tortured and raped repeatedly was not an
enjoyable pastime by any means. And the utter depravity of some of those beasts
made him sick. The fact that he actually experienced Voldemort’s amusement and
approval during these night visions left him waking up feeling dirtied to his
very soul. Many of the images still continued to haunt him, as if they had been
burnt into his mind and left to scar—Images like those from the other night
when two of the death eaters had brought their dogs with them to one of the
houses and set them on two tied down victims.
Those were the details he couldn’t even begin to force himself to repeat to
anyone. Not Neville. Not the headmaster. No one.
And the Daily Prophet was, as always, a ray of sunshine with its near-daily
reports of attacks and raids and horrors abound. Another muggle township
experiencing a series of tragedies. Another family attacked, the dark mark
hanging in the air over the burnt out remains of a house. Reports of missing
persons began to take up an entire page before the end of November. Right
across from the obituaries. But that was all outside of Hogwarts.
As far as many of the students were considered, by the time December had
started, everything was pretty much back to the same-old, same-old really. Even
family members and friends of the missing and lost students had begun to settle
back into the day-in day-out routine life of a Hogwarts student, and that was
good. Things had seemed to be going good.
For his pard, as well, things seemed to be going well. The girls were rather
happy and agreeable. Neville was as dependable as always. He was coming along
in his classes, his workload being handled. He still stopped in once or twice a
week to chat with the headmaster, just as he knew Hermione occasionally did
with McGonagall. They had brushed briefly on his… rather unusual inheritance,
but mostly Dumbledore had been rather calm and accepting. Of course, the man
had other important things on his mind to worry about, Harry knew, other than
his love life and daily drama.
No, things were good. So what if he was a little unsettled about visiting the
hospital wing tomorrow so Madame Pomphrey could give Hermione and Hannah the
potion and perform the stasis spell that would suspend and protect their
pregnancies? So what if he was more than just a little nervous to be heading
home with Hermione for the holidays and essentially meeting his future in-laws,
even if they might not know it yet. And, yeah, nervous didn’t even begin to
describe it when he thought about having to tell her parents that she was
currently pregnant. No, not good. Not good at all.
But otherwise, things were pretty damn near great in Harry Potter’s world.
Seriously. He was looking forward to finishing up his exams and enjoying the
holiday break away from Hogwarts for once.
So when Luna had mentioned that he should talk with Blaise Zabini—although, not
as plainly as all that. When was Luna ever really plainly spoken?—he’d become
immediately nervous. Nothing good lasted, at least not in Harry’s experience.
So he didn’t waste much time in snagging Neville and tracking down the
mysterious Slytherin that same evening.
With the map, it wasn’t difficult at all. A few subtle redirecting and
repelling wards down one corridor or another, and Zabini came straight to them.
He stuffed the map away as Zabini got closer, and waited for him to stop before
speaking.
“Luna seems to think we need to speak,” he opened, hoping to let him know he
wasn’t here to cause trouble. Quite the opposite actually. He’d had several
kids approach him after his address to the houses, kids whose families were
caught in Voldemort’s trap and wanted protection. He’d been waiting and
expecting and hoping for a few more kids from Slytherin to come find him, but
he knew many would try and find their own way. Too proud. He was surprised to
see Zabini, though. As far as he knew, Zabini was pretty neutral in the
conflict.
“Oh?”
Harry resisted rolling his eyes—Andromeda had spent too many hours last summer
attempting to smack that ‘horribly plebian habit’ from him. At least when
dealing with Slytherins—or any pompous folks, he’d discovered—it helped to
pretend like Andromeda was standing right there, ready with a stinging hex.
“Thing about Luna is, she’s usually right,” Harry continued, turning to face
Zabini properly. “So, what do you need?”
The olive-skinned Slytherin was quiet, seemingly blank, but Harry knew that was
just a mask to hide his thoughts. He wondered what the other boy would say.
Would he ask him for help, or was it something else he wanted, needed from him?
He wouldn’t deny the boy right out—not unless it was something completely out
of his control or ability—but he would hear him out and try to help him.
“Zabini? You okay?” Harry asked, taking a step closer, when the other boy
continued to remain silent. He shot a concerned look towards Neville when
Zabini seemed to falter in front of them, shutting his eyes and actually
groaning. Harry wondered if he’d been hexed or something and was bout ready to
rush forward to grab and steady him, when those dark eyes snapped open and he
finally spoke.
“I want in,” Zabini gasped, suddenly panting as if he had run up all seven
flights of stairs. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, but please accept me,”
the Slytherin actually begged, shocking the breath from Harry.
He stepped back, stepped into Neville’s stolid support, felt his warmth radiate
behind him and bolster his own composure. Zabini took a faltering step forward,
as if to make up for the measly distance Harry had created.
“Please,” Zabini said again, licking his lips.
“I don’t understand,” Harry fumbled. “What is it you want in on?”
They weren’t running any special projects or activities within Hogwarts that
weren’t already open to the general student body. Harry had overheard Hermione
and Luna talking about some muggle born project the Ravens were apparently
undertaking, but he didn’t have any real say in that. The DA was his, sure, but
he’d already opened that up to everybody. Harry didn’t think this was about the
war, and if it was, well, Zabini would be better off talking to Dumbledore
rather than him, so…
Zabini groaned… or growled. Harry wasn’t sure which, but it did send his
hackles rising. It was only Neville’s hand, smoothing in from behind to rest
against his stomach that stopped him from responding angrily. He didn’t take
well to feeling threatened, but Neville’s calmness seemed to melt into him,
calming him.
“You’re doing it again,” Neville practically whispered against his ear, his
breath warm and moist, teasing past his collar.
“I’m doing nothing,” Harry protested mildly, quite comfortable and relaxed
considering he was standing in the middle of an open hallway, faced off with a
Slytherin, and one of his mates was there, practically embracing him. He
wondered idly if this was another aspect of Neville’s magic—to make one feel
calm and grounded. He’d need to remember to talk to him about that. Later.
Neville buried his face against Harry’s neck, nuzzling in before pulling away
to respond. “You’re releasing pheromones again.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too,” Neville told him, and if he chose to ignore the minor amusement he
could hear in the other’s voice, well, that was his prerogative.
“I only do that when I want one of you,” Harry argued, not caring if he was
sounding petulant or like a child.
“Or when your cat is actively courting,” Neville reminded him.
“Cat?” Zabini questioned, taking another daring step closer. “That’s not
Potter. Or Black,” he added after a moment, eyeing them suddenly suspicious.
“What exactly are you? It’s not night fury or faun or fae, I know that. Your
magic tastes too much like mine, and yet nothing at all alike.”
“And what are you?” Harry returned, not quite willing to just spill his secrets
to every or any one.
It was Neville who answered without hesitation. “Incubus.”
Zabini shot him an almost annoyed look, but nodded in acknowledgement.
“Vanteeria,” Harry responded after another moment’s thought. It was only fair.
“Impossible,” Zabini breathed, staring at him in wonder.
“Hi, I’m Harry Potter,” he said sarcastically. “I do the impossible.”
Behind him, Neville snorted and pulled away. “Let’s head back to the head
suite, yeah? The girls should all be there still.”
“Yeah, all right,” Harry agreed turned back down the corridor with Neville. He
was only a handful of steps away when he realized Zabini wasn’t also following.
“You coming?”
“Am I?” the other boy questioned faintly.
“You’re choice, but we really can’t discuss anything out here, can we?” Harry
replied, turning back and allowing Zabini to make his own choice. He wasn’t
going to discuss pard business out in the open, that’s for sure. It wasn’t like
he was saying yes to Zabini, but at least now he understood what the other boy
wanted from him. And if Neville was to be believed, and he was, it seemed like
his cat was more than okay with potentially taking the Slytherin as a new mate.
Truth be told, he didn’t quite mind that so much himself. Zabini was a fine
looking specimen of a young, healthy and fit male.
And an incubus, his treacherous libido reminded him. He would probably fit in
perfectly with Neville and Luna and Hannah. Although, he remembered from his
recent research that incubi fed off of sexual pleasure, like he did. Would that
cause trouble, he wondered. He hoped not.
Then again, he hadn’t officially decided to accept Zabini, had he? It wasn’t
like he could just keep bringing random people home with him and expecting the
others to just deal with it. They all had to live with this situation, and with
Hannah and Hermione already pregnant, the situation was even more delicate—not
that he would ever say anything to that affect in front of either girl. They
could be quite… scary, sometimes.
His thoughts paced him all the way back to the head boy and girl suite, neither
Neville nor Zabini saying anything to distract him. He peeked his head in
first—experience having taught him well to check before bringing company in.
“Company coming,” he called out, seeing only the two girls sitting on the sofa,
snuggling under a blanket with a shared book between them.
“All right,” Hannah responded looking up and smiling. “Hermione’s just in the
loo. She’ll be back in a mo’.”
Harry nodded and stepped clear of the door, allowing the other two
entrance—Neville coming in behind Zabini and securing the door. Harry frowned.
He should probably start thinking of him as Blaise now more than Zabini,
especially if he stayed around.
“Hannah, Luna, you both know Blaise Zabini.”
The two girls shared a knowing look between them before turned back to face the
boys. “Hello, Blaise,” they chirped, smiling pleasantly.
His lips twitched in return. “Hello, ladies.”
“Would you care to join us?” Luna asked. “This is the comfiest blanket in all
of Hogwarts,” she entreated, petting the woolen looking blanket with affection.
“Thank you,” the Slytherin boy responded, darting a look towards both Harry and
Neville, “but I think, perhaps it would be better if I take the chair for right
now?” He slid into the open seat next to the sofa, idly looking around the
room. “These are fairly decent chambers. I suppose that’s to be expected with
it being the Head boy and girl’s rooms, though. I’m actually a little surprised
not to see more red and gold, what with you both being from the lion’s den.”
“You might think,” Harry grinned back, willing to allow the talk to be of small
and unassuming topics for the moment, but all too well aware of the reason why
the other boy was currently sitting in his chambers. “But actually, neither
Hermione nor I are very big fans of red and gold, other than for house spirit.
Always made me think of condiments, actually. I was home one summer, and my
cousin was being his normal charming self, stuffing his face with food, and
some ketchup and mustard got onto his shirt. It was an absolute pain to get the
stains out, and I have to say, I’ve never been quite fond of red and yellow
paired together since. But, for the sake of house spirit, I persevere.”
“I didn’t know you didn’t like red and gold,” Hannah mused, staring at him with
some surprise. “I guess we all tend to get into the habit of associating others
with their house colors all the time, we can forget it’s not always their
favorite color.”
“What color is your favorite then?” Luna asked, turning to the girl beside her.
“Oh, I like yellow,” Hannah responded, grinning. “Maybe not the bold yellow of
Hufflepuff, but a light, lemony yellow, like summer sunshine. And blush pinks,
and baby blues, and Easter greens.”
“Pastels, then,” Luna affirmed. “Okay, good to know.”
“What about you, Harry,” Hannah asked, turning back to the boy who was still
standing. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Green mostly,” Hermione replied, coming from the back chambers where a toilet
was tucked away. “Sometimes some blues, although he also leans towards browns,
but I wouldn’t say it’s a favorite color. More like it’s a comfort color for
him.” She walked into the room fully, approaching Harry with a welcoming smile
as she stepped up beside him. “Did you get accomplished what you wanted?” she
asked, turning into him to accept the press of his cheek against her as he
leaned in to breath in her scent before dropping a kiss against her throat.
“In the process of it,” he admitted, pulling back and allowing her to realize
they had a guest.
“Hello, Zabini,” she greeted pleasantly, slightly embarrassed for him to have
witnessed her forward and familiar greeting with Harry just now. She’d been
working on pushing her comfort level while in front of the others, but that
didn’t mean she was ready for outsides to witness her attempts.
“I would hope we could all be much more familiar with each other,” the
Slytherin entreated. “Please, call me Blaise. Your friends already do,” he
added with an amused side-glance towards the two girls cuddling on the sofa.
“Yes, well, Luna and Hannah are quite informal at times. Still, I must say, I’m
a little surprised to see you here, Za-Blaise,” she caught herself with a
sheepish smile. “Is there something you need? Something we can help you with?”
“I want in,” he repeated bluntly, looking from one girl to another, back to the
boys, before settling once again on Hermione. “As I told Harry a little while
ago. I’m willing to prove my worth to you, to demonstrate that I can be a
valuable member.”
“And just what is it that you think we are doing?” Hermione asked, slightly
bemused by the other boy’s blunt but impassioned request, mostly confused, but
also a smidgeon afraid. If he had noticed something strange and off about them,
who else had? Would they cause trouble for their little pard? That wouldn’t be
good. She and Hannah were at a delicate stage right now, especially since they
hadn’t yet preformed the embryonic stasis charm. They were supposed to be going
to do that tomorrow in the Hospital Wing, but still, Hermione was nervous as
anything.
“You’re building a circle,” Blaise stated with way more conviction that he
really had. “A coven of some sort. I want in.”
The five pard members shared a look amongst themselves, as if asking if the
Slytherin could be trusted with the truth. And if they did tell him what was
really going on, what then?
“We are a circle,” Luna answered, not pussyfooting around for the others to get
their stories straight. “But we’re not a coven—neither of witches and wizards
nor of magical creatures. No, we call ourselves a pard, derived from leopard.
It’s rather funny, actually, when you consider that a leopard is usually a
solitary creature that lives within a larger familial network. Maybe we should
consider a different name.”
The others groaned. “We’re not getting into this again, Luna,” Harry entreated.
“We understand that leopards are generally unsocial creatures, solitary
wanders,, and you’re right, that doesn’t fit us, but nothing premade ever will
fit us. We are a group unto ourselves.” He turned to Blaise. “We chose to call
ourselves a pard because my animagis form is a leopard.”
“That sounds fascinating. May I see?” Blaise asked, sitting up and leaning
forward, watching avidly.
Harry seemed surprised at first, but he quickly recovered himself and stood up.
It took him merely a thought to start the transformation, his body bending and
reconfiguring right there into that of a larger predator cat.
“Magnificent,” Blaise breathed, staring in fascination at the sleek beast not
even twenty feet away. And then he gasped in awe as the creature shivered and
shook, stretching long as two magnificent wings unfolded from its back. As
sleek as the rest of him, a dark inky black that glistened in the light from
the fireplace. It was a creature made of shadows, and idly, Blaise mused if it
might not disappear back into them.
A squeal from beside him startled him from his musings, and he watched with
amused surprise and some confusion as Hannah scurried out from under the
blanket she was sharing with the other blonde girl, and scuttled up to the
large cat, rubbing her face and hands all over the creature. The cat purred,
allowing the attention for a moment before nudging her away. When she refused
to desist, he growled, low and warning. She whined in protest, not wanting to
stop petting him, and he finally had to physically subdue her, nudging her onto
the floor until she was prone and pressing his sharp teeth to her delicate
neck.
Blaise was vibrating in his seat, slightly breathless, and he was so captivated
by the scene before him that it took him a moment to realize he was feeding off
of sexual tension that was pumping into the room, filling the air with an
invisible scent of lust. One grew rather accustomed to the presence of sexual
tension in a boarding school, but what surprised Blaise was the fact his own
arousal was pumping into the air, as equally as anyone else’s in the room.
As he watched the cat standing over her, those teeth pressed into her skin,
heard her whimper and moan, he witnessed Hermione huff and go over to the desk
along the wall and retrieve a book and notebook; Luna cuddle in deeper to the
blankets, as if to recapture the warmth of the other girl, and Neville, who had
been standing by the door, was now taking up a seat on the floor next to the
sofa, stealing a bit of the blanket for himself. No one jumped to the girl’s
aid, even when she grunted from the cat laying on top of her, chasing the air
from her lungs.
“Beautiful,” Blaise breathed. Large green eyes flicked to him, a whip like tail
swished as the cat continued to lay on top of and physically subject the blonde
Hufflepuff.
“Harry,” Hermione called, looking up from the notes she’d continued. “You
should probably let her up now. Besides, didn’t you want to talk with Blaise?”
The cat nodded, looking up and over towards the boy in the arm chair. He got up
off Hannah and approached the boy.
Reverently, Blaise slide to his knees, off of the chair, onto the carpet
covered stone floor, staring at the very large feline. It was bigger than him,
he realized. He’d known the cat was big, especially after having seen it up
against Hannah, but still! He wanted to reach up and touch it, confirm the cat
was really real, really there in front of him. Nostrils flared as the feline
exhaled, hot air rushing past Blaise’s face. And then the cat was there, its
big boxy head pressing up against his, pressing his to the side, and a hot
raspy tongue came out to scratch along his throat and neck, and Blaise felt
himself submit all to the beast before him. Fear, doubt, worry, anxiety, all of
it melted away as he offered himself up to the creature that was Harry Potter.
“Would you take him like this?” Neville asked Harry intentionally wondering if
the vanteeria remembered he had an audience, but it was Blaise who answered.
“Yes,” he breathed, falling down onto his hands and knees, bending over lower
so his bottom higher than his head. “I’m not a stranger to bottoming, and I am
comfortable with all styles and positions. Really. I’m not fussy.”
“We can be,” Neville answered, realizing Luna wouldn’t, Hannah couldn’t, and
Hermione wasn’t.
“I will fulfil whatever need you have of me,” the Slytherin promised.
A thrill shot through Neville. He didn’t know how long Harry would hold off on
taking the boy—he obviously wanted him. He also didn’t know if he would allow
his feline form to recede before he bothered taking the incubus. They had all
learned that Harry’s cat saw no qualms mating them from any form, which made
sense from a vanteeria’s point of view—after all, whether he was a cat, a cat-
human hybrid, or a human, it was still him—but for them, it was a little bit
trickier to deal with. Well, especially for Hermione. Hannah didn’t seem to
mind one bit. Neither did him nor Luna. He wasn’t sure, but with a creature
inheritance as well, it was quite likely Blaise wouldn’t care, either. Still,
it was something Hermione wasn’t comfortable with yet, so he would try and give
Harry a little extra time to regain control of his cat enough to hopefully
transform back into a human before possessing the Slytherin.
And there was no doubt in Neville’s mind that Harry would be fucking the other
boy, mating him. He was slightly perturbed by the knowledge their pard was
growing again, and with another male. A Slytherin male at that. Not that he
considered himself prejudice or anything… just that, it was a little difficult
to trust most Slytherins, and really, how much did any of them really know
about Blaise Zabini. Yes, he knew, or at least he had suspected the boy was an
incubus. His pursuits around the school were hardly a secret, and well, the
gossip and rumors surrounding the boy’s mother were a little hard to ignore.
Harry’s cat was a lot like an incubus, drawn to sex, feeding off of it,
creating situations to feast upon. But Neville knew Harry. They’d shared a room
for six years, he’d had a crush on the boy nearly as long. And now he would
have to share him with another boy, again.
Then there was the issue with the girls. Rationally, he knew Harry’s cat
wouldn’t ever play around with anyone who wasn’t good for the group, but with
Hermione and Hannah pregnant, Neville was even more concerned. They couldn’t
always be with either Hannah or Hermione. Sometimes they had different classes,
often times Hannah had to traipse back down into the dungeons, since, after
all, her common room was down there. His inner nymph was hyper aware of the
spark of life growing within the two girls, and yes, he was more than just a
niggle of jealous. He was still at least a month away from his fertile time,
and even then, it was much more difficult for a male to conceive. But he wanted
it; he wanted it badly. He knew it wasn’t a good idea. Not with Harry involved
in the war, and a mad man out there trying to kill them all. Not with half a
year of Hogwarts still ahead of them. Not for a thought of little and not-so-
little reasons. But he didn’t care.
Blaise was already presenting, and Neville wondered if it was instinctual for
the boy. Body braced against the floor, legs spread and ass high, waving in
invitation to the feline vanteria. Really, even Neville was finding himself
tempted at the sight.
Of course, he was still fully clothed, and Harry probably would be too he if
bothered to rematerialize.
“Harry, what do you want to do?” he asked again, having to clear his throat and
adjust himself. In passing, he noticed Hermione’s grip on her quill—the quill
in danger of snapping with the furiousness of the girl’s attempt to ignore
them. Hannah was still laying obediently where Harry had left her, but for how
long. Well, Neville knew she wouldn’t be there very much longer. He would have
to intervene before she tried again, and really, he wanted to try something
himself with the two sexual creatures preparing to mate.
Not for the first time, Neville marveled at Harry’s luck in scoring such sex-
crazed mates for his pard, and he couldn’t fathom how Hermione must be feeling
with all this, trying to cope as the lone proper one in a group of would-be
nymphs. He smiled again, remembering telling Hannah that she should have been
the nymph with how sex-crazed she was. Way more than Neville, and he was the
actual nymph in the group. He wondered if there was some hidden nymph or maybe
succubus in her family history that no one was aware of. It would certainly
explain a few things.
If anything, it would be better to have an extra pair of eyes on the girls and
a pair of hands ready to help.
“Take me, please,” Blaise begged, his body and mind swamped with the sea of
hormones and desires pumping into the room. Rationally, he knew it was unsafe
to have such a loose grip on his influence. Unfortunately, Blaise was as far
away from the land of rationality as one could get while still being lucid. The
cat was standing over him now, nuzzling along from his neck to his raised rear.
Unfortunately, he was still dressed.
He keened, wanted to feel the sleek fur against his naked skin. Wanted to feel
that raspy tongue like sandpaper as it raked its way over him. He wanted to
feel the weight of the beast as it covered him. He wanted—no, needed to feel
the other creature’s lust to dominate and possess him. His mind was too far
blown, his control non-existent. If he had been thinking, he might have
attempted to transform himself into a receptacle form. He’d done it before,
over the summer while he was experimenting. He wasn’t lying when he’d told them
he done most everything one can do. At least, he wasn’t lying intentionally,
and he’d most certainly done more than they probably knew was even possible.
Still, that didn’t help him now when all he could think about was the being
above him, teasing him, but not fucking him like he wanted so desperately.
Magic raced over him with a tingle, leaving a draft in its wake, and Blaise
gave out a grateful cry when he realized he was naked. He arched his back,
crying out again and again as the cat’s tongue scrapped along his bare skin.
Thanks to his nature, his body produced natural lubricant, but even still he
was most grateful for the additional spell that produced additional slick, the
copious substance dripping profusely from his raised rump. He practically
screamed when that tongue rasped over his exposed anus, thrusting his hips back
in a futile attempt to receive more stimulation, more pressure.
And then, finally, it happened. The cat shifted above him, wrapping its strong
furry paws around his waist as it pulled him back onto his cock. He cried out
is satisfaction, a cry that quickly turned pained as the cat continued to use
his body, a body that was never meant to copulate with a feline. He lay there,
accepting every punishing thrust and jab delivered, salivating for the next. He
screamed again as wicked sharp claws pricked him, as if the leopard had to hold
him in place. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He wouldn’t be going anywhere. He felt the warm gush of semen filling him and
moaned in satisfaction. That, right there, was what made anything and
everything worth it, he thought pleasantly, settling down along the carpet as
the leopard withdrew.
“Look at you,” a raspy voice growled at him, tingling along his already
sensitive nerves, eliciting shivers up and down his spine. “Such a wanton
thing, laying there naked on the ground. You don’t even care that you let a
fucking animal fuck you, do you?
“ No,” Blaise murmured, still pleasantly buzzed. “I don’t mind at all.” He
stretched languidly before rolling over and daring to look at the vanteeria—he
was no longer a panther, but he was still definitely feline. “I’m an incubus,
Harry. My body is made for giving and receiving pleasure. It doesn’t matter
what form you take, and neither do I. What matters is that you use my body to
give and receive pleasure and that you allow me to give and receive in return.”
“And how do you proposed to do that? You can’t just bend over all the time and
wait for me to warm my dick in your bum.”
“Pity. I think I would like it very much if you used my ass as your personal
dick warmer. Harry, ‘m an incubus. One of my key ambitions in life is to get
well and truly fucked, as many times as possible. Then, turn around, and fuck
lots of other people. For example,” he said, turning his attention back on the
others in the room.
Neville, Luna, and Hannah, he noticed were all caught up with each other. He
was pretty sure that was Hannah sucking on the Gryffindor’s dick while he paid
homage to Luna’s now naked chest. He wouldn’t mind joining them, but before he
did, he remembered the other person in the room.
Hermione was staring at her book unseeing, breathing rather shallowly.
Frowning, Blaise approached her cautiously. “Hermione?” he called, trying to
see if he could win her attention without any drastic measures. “Hermione, are
you okay?”
“I.. you…” the head girl stammered, wide eyes darting towards him before
darting away again. He shot a questioning look back towards Harry—did he have
permission to approach this girl?
The vanteeria consented with a sharp nod.
“Hermioine?” he called again, stepping closer now that he had permission to
approach—he had learned a most difficult way to always wait for permission
before approaching any mates and potential mates. That’s what he was now, he
knew—only a potential mate. He crawled over towards where the girl was sitting
at a table, her back mostly to the room. “Hermione?” he called again now that
he was closer. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she responded hollowly. “How are you?”
“I’m very good, thank you, but I could be better.”
“What? Oh, yes, I suppose you’ll need a healing draught, won’t you?” she asked,
still sounding funny.
“No, I’m fine, thank you. Save your healing draughts.”
“What?” she asked startled. “But you just—mean—“
He grinned, now that she was finally looking at him. “Mmm, yes, I’m perfectly
fine,” he practically purred, daring to lay his head on her lap. “It’s you
we’re concerned about.”
“Me! I’m not the one who copulated with a leopard,” she protested. “Surely you
must need to go visit Madame Pomphrey. But how we’re going to explain this, I
haven’t a clue,” she said, staring at the group and trying to force her mind to
process.
Blaise nuzzled his face into her lap, rubbing his cheek against her thigh as he
dared to reach up and wrap his hand around her calf. He could feel the
quivering tenseness of her muscles, the explosive potential. “I am perfectly
fine,” he told her. “My body has already healed from any damage a normal human
would have been suffering from. You’ve studied incubi, yes? I saw you with the
books earlier this year. You checked numerous creature and magical being books
out from the library. Now I know, you were trying to discover more about
Potter, but at the time, well, I was suspicious.” He tilted forward a bit and
grazed his teeth against the material of her pants. “Tell me, what did you
learn about incubi?”
A familiar task, question and answer. Her mind seized on it, and Hermione began
rattling off all the information they’d accumulated about incubi while they
were still uncertain as to what Harry’s inheritance had been.
“An incubus, or incubi in the plural, is the male aspect of a sexually
possessed demon. Female incurrence being succubus. They feed of sex and sexual
energy, inciting lust in others around them, lower the inhibitions.” She caught
her breath, still panting shallowly, before forcing herself to go on. “They
were considered the culprits for any sexually taboo behaviors--incestuous
behavior, sexual abuse, be-bestiality, and unwed pregnancies.” She licked her
lips nervously. “Some reports say that the incubus and succubus are actually
the same creature. That the succubus seduces a man and then changes shape into
the male incubus, and using the semen from their first conquest, impregnates a
woman. They are also the scapegoat for sexual dreams, fantasies, and
spontaneous orgasms,” she answered dutifully.
He could taste it on her, thick like clotted cream. She was so juicy and ripe,
just waiting to be plucked and set free from the tree still grounding her. He
wondered why he’d never picked up on it before. Magical power licked at his
senses, flaring like a fire, just waiting to escape. He wanted to see her burn,
and didn’t mind the very real possibility of burning with her.
“And do you believe it? Are we just a scapegoat for others’ sexual deviancies?”
“Mostly,” she agreed. “That’s not to say that incubi and succubi don’t exist,
because, of course, they do. But their population can’t be nearly as many as
demanded by such behaviors. Maybe one or two, which is how the stories got out
in the first place. You know, even the muggles have tales of them, although
they now believe them to be completely fictional. But there’s simply too many
people out there committing deviant acts to try and blame incubi for it all.”
“True. They’re probably not even responsible for a fifth of the acts
perpetuated. But what of the real incubi. We are out there, you know. And we
are as real and deviant as the stories would have you believe.” He scooted
under the table so he could wrap both arms around her legs now, spreading them
so he could slide between them, his head still pillowed on her thigh. “We love
to fuck and be fucked, hearing a woman scream as she orgasms or a man grunt and
groan as he thrusts away. Love the feeling of a cock as it splits me open,
forcing its way into my body, forcing me open around it again and again as he
fucks me. And when he grips my hips, and pulls me back onto him, holds me there
as he pumps his cum into me… “ Blaise moaned. “It’s almost as good as when I
have a woman laid out before me, wanton and needy, just begging to be
pleasured, delicious,” he breathed before pressing his face against her crotch.
Hermione muffled a cry, hands fluttering between the table and Blaise’s head
before setting in the soft curls covering his head, gripping with enough
pressure to cause a normal person to wince. Blaise was not normal. He growled
appreciatively, opening his mouth against the fabric of her skirt and dragging
his teeth against the pleats, thankful it was a school day and that she was
still in her school uniform. A skirt provided much better access.
“You cannot hurt me,” he told her. “You can only excite me further.”
She groaned, head thrown back, writhing in her seat.
“Let go, Hermione. Let it all go and just experience the moment. Let me
pleasure you.”
“Oh, god,” she gasped, eyes screw shut tight, squirming in her seat. Her
rational brain tried to step forward—tried to argue that she was in the middle
of her common area, that her boyfriend and friends, mates, were all there
watching her, that Zabini was for all intents and purposes a stranger to them,
for all that they’ve attended the same school and same classes for the last
seven years. What did they really know about him? Another wave of lust rushed
through her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was really her responding
or something he was doing. Her body was tingling, as if magic was gathering in
her very skin, prickling to get out. His hot breath sunk through the material
over her pants, chilling the lips of her sex, and still she felt another wave
of electric like energy race over her.
“Do you want to burn?” Blaise asked against her sex, his words horribly
muffled. “Do you want to lay back and spread your legs for me? Do you want me
to use my tongue to lick you clean? You’re so wet, I can smell it, almost taste
it. I’d use my tongue on you, lick you clean, play with your pretty little clit
before thrusting my tongue up inside you, chasing down any of your secret
juices. Are you a rainmaker, Hermione? Do you gush when you orgasm? I think you
might be, your pants are already so wet, they smell so good. Don’t you want to
take them off?”
She did. They were uncomfortable, way too tight. And she was hot, burning up.
He dragged the pads of his fingers down along her calves, and with a suddenness
that shocked them all, she stood up, wobbling slightly on her feet, needing to
reach out and grip the table for balance as her chair went scattering away.
“Wait,” she gasped.
“Why? Why wait? I’m ready, eager to please you, pleasure you. Look at me
Hermione. Look at me Hermione, here, ready to please you. Use me however you
want?” he entreated, rolling over so he was on his back, looking up at the head
girl. She wavered. He reached down and stroked his dick lazily, watching her
with hooded eyes.
She was flushed, and he could sense victory within his grasp. He was aware of
Longbottom and the two blondes back over by the sofa; could sense that he was
frigging one and eating out the other. Absently, he wondered if he wasn’t
permitted to actually penetrate the girls. He didn’t, after all, know the rules
or expectations of a vanteerian’s circle—pard. Then again, was there anyone who
really did? The creatures were supposed to be extinct! Leave it to Potter.
He spread his legs a bit, pulling up his ball sack so the girl could see his
leaking hole. He was sure a puddle would be forming under him; Harry had shot a
decent load of cum and that combined with his own natural slick. Her eyes
stared, transfixed, and he contracted his muscles, kissing the air with his
anus, aware of more cum leaking from him. She gasped, flushed, and he knew he
almost had her—man, but she was obstinate, refusing him for so long. She wasn’t
even a virgin. “You wanna feel for yourself? Slide your fingers on in up inside
me. Feel how stretched and used I am.”
“Shut up,” Hermione whispered weakly, flushing brighter than ever.
So close.
“His dick was pretty thick and long. I can’t wait to have him fuck me again.
Maybe next time Longbottom will join in?” he dared, watching for a reaction.
“Use my mouth while Harry fucks me. Mms, skewering me between them, both of
them using me, filling me up with their cum.” Not enough, not yet, but so very
very close. “Tell me, does he prefer you on your hands and knees, fucking you
behind like a bitch in heat, or does he like to switch it up, maybe let you
ride him, bouncing on his cock as it fills you up. Does he suck your tits while
he fucks you? Or maybe they both take turns with you. Can you imagine being so
full, both of them filling you up, your pussy all creamy with cum, your ass
stretched wide, so full?”
Hermione gave a gargled little scream before launching at him. Harry was
already edging closer, not sure if he needed to intervene or not.
Not as it turned out.
Hermione landed on the naked boy below her, but before she could inflict any
damage, his hands had encircled her wrists and pulled her down onto him
completely. His mouth latched onto hers before she could articulate and refuse,
tongue pushing in past her lips, invading her mouth with brutal intensity. She
struggled against him a moment longer, wiggling and squirming. And then she
stopped, melted, and his touch gentled like a banked fire, glowing warmly. “You
will use me,” he repeated after pulling back a bit. “And you will not fear
hurting me.”
“Yes,” Hermione agreed. And just like that, the fire sprang back to life, a
ferocious Beast. Quite literally, as it turned out.
It started as a smoldering, trails of smoke rising up from Hermione’s clothes
before they suddenly caught fire, falling to ash around them. He laughed
delightedly, rolling them further away from the table or any other furniture
that could combust. If her clothing hadn’t been protected, he highly doubted
anything else in the room was, either. His skin singed and tingled where they
touched and she burned ever more brightly. He spared half a thought of
gratitude for his natural healing abilities that prevented him from incurring
serious burns or fire damage before her mouth was on his again, stealing the
oxygen from his very lungs. He grappled for her waist, her shapely hips, and
tried to encourage her to take him, possess him fully. It took only a little
encouragement.
He cried out in blissful agony as she slid over his dick, settling so perfectly
above him, her back arched, breasts bouncing, tits tight and tempting, hair
cascading behind her like a silk curtain as tiny flames and wisps of smoke
continued to dance around her. She was equally as hot from the inside, if not
more so, he thought, reaching out once again to clutch at her hips and waist,
to guide her as she moved above him, over him, used him, just like he’d asked.
“Fuck, Hermione,” he growled. “You’re so hot, feels so good, the way your pussy
is sucking on my dick. Mmm, is it good enough, Hermione, am I filling you up?
Can you feel me bottoming out?” He grunted, her actions becoming more erratic
and forceful. “Do you want to come? Can you come from using me like a
disposable toy? Or is it that you want me to come? That’s it, isn’t it? It’s
not a successful copulation unless the male comes? You need to feel that jizz
coating your insides, know that your partner’s sperm is spewing against your
womb. Do you want me to come, Hermione, unload all my cum inside your pussy
until my balls are drained dry? Or is that not enough for you? Do you need
Harry to come over here? He can push you down and slick his cock right in next
to mine. The both of us, filling you up, fucking you, and coming deep inside of
you, filling you up with both our cum.”
She cried out above him, the tiny flames igniting into a large burst of fire
that reminded him of the bonfire they had lit and danced around Halloween
night, and then the flames melted away as she collapsed against him.
There was a scrambling and then the others were pressing in against them,
crowding them. “What was that?” Hannah demanded?
“Are you okay?” Neville was asking.
“Here, let me take her,” Harry was saying, reaching out to gently cradle
Hermione. “She’s passed out.”
“She would be. Is that the first time she’s lit up in front of you all?” Blaise
asked, languid and relaxed, despite being laid out naked before them all.
Fingers reached out and traced along the slightly darker patches of skin from
where Hermione had been pressed up against him. He looked and saw first the
Lovegood girl and then Abbott running their fingers over him in a feather-light
caress. He shivered, suddenly cold.
“Yes,” Luna answered.
“Figuratively and literally,” Neville added. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“A little sleepy,” he admitted, fighting to keep his eyes open.
“I’ve never seen Hermione like that,” Hannah mused. “What was that?”
“She’s a fire elemental,” Blaise murmured, fighting to stay awake.
Neville blanched. “You mean a fully fledge elemental?” he gaped. “I knew she
had some qualities, but…” he trailed off. “And you helped her tap into it,
didn’t you?”
“Mmm. Should make sure to fireproof all the rooms,” Blaise warned, curling up
to cuddle into the nearest body to him, uncaring of who it was.
Hannah grinned back up at Harry, carding her fingers through the Slytherin’s
hair. “You do manage to collect the most interesting people, Harry.”
“It’s not intentional.”
“I don’t know,” Neville teased. “An elementalist, a fae, a nymph, and now an
incubus? Makes me wonder if you’re going to try and collect all those who
inherited creature blood.”
“No,” Luna replied mildly, still petting the now sleeping incubus. “There are
only two others in your year who have inherited, and I don’t think either one
is an ideal fit. My year should see six or seven creature inheritances, and
again, I don’t really see any of them appealing to Harry.”
“But there will be more,” Neville confirmed.
“Oh, yes.”
“Even if I don’t want more,” Harry asked irritably. “I mean, not that I’m
complaining or anything. Zabini looks like he can be useful to us, although it
might look a little strange if he’s suddenly hanging out with us all the time.”
“You will,” Luna promised with a serene smile.
“Harry!” Hannah suddenly shouted.
“What?”
“I just noticed. You’re you again.”
“I’ve always been me.”
“Yes, but you’re human. You’re not a cat anymore.”
“Oh, yeah. I think I switched sometime while the fire show was going on. Why?”
“Nothing, just surprised, is all.”
“Okay.”
“And how do you feel about that show?” Neville asked, eyes darting down towards
where Hermione was cuddled peacefully in Harry’s arms. “You didn’t try to stop
them.”
Harry frowned. “No, I didn’t. That’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Not too much,” Luna comforted him. “A lot will depend on what happens tomorrow
when they wake up. Should we take them to bed?”
“I’m surprised they’re passed out,” Hannah mused, looking between the two.
“Really? And did you not sleep a lot after your first mating with Harry?” Luna
questioned as Neville reached over to lift Blaise up.
“Shall I take him to your room?” he asked Harry while the other made his way to
Hermione’s room with his precious cargo.
“That’s fine,” Harry agreed. “I’ll be through in a mo. Luna, Hannah, are you
going to stay tonight or head back down to your dorms?”
“Someone should probably stay with Hermione,” Hannah hedged. “But I can’t miss
two nights in a row.”
“I’ll stay,” Luna offered. “I’m never missed in the tower, so it’s fine. And
I’d much rather stay here anyway. It’s much comfier.”
“I’d rather stay here, too,” Hannah admitted, “But it’s not really possible.”
She sighed. “Okay, so Luna will stay with Hermione, and I’ll head back down to
Hufflepuff.”
“Wait for Neville or I to walk you down,” Harry instructed, and Hannah huffed,
rolling her eyes at Luna. “Such a mother hen sometimes.”
“He has reason to be protective,” Luna reminded her. “Are we still meeting
tomorrow for lunch?”
“Of course! I’ll see you then,” she added, seeing Neville stop out of Harry’s
bedroom. “Come on, Neville. Come walk me back to my dorms.”
“Okay,” the steady Gryffindor boy responded, heading for the door. It was a
common act for the two, making a production of Neville walking Hannah back to
the dorms and being affectionate in their goodbyes. There was no doubt in
anyone’s mind that Hannah and Neville were a couple, which is just the way they
wanted to keep it. When Harry returned from Hermione’s room, and saw the two
gone already, he retrieved his map to watch them descend into the castle. It
was only when another prefect happened upon the pair around the corner to the
entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, that the two parted ways—Hannah
slipping safely into the Hufflepuff common rooms and Neville heading back up.
“I find it a bit interesting,” he said upon returning, “I mean, you seemed to
fight my entrance into the pard, and now you’re just welcoming another person
in.”
Harry heaved a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t you, Nev. It was me. No, really, hear me
out,” he rushed out when it looked like the other Gryffindor was about to say
something. “When you joined things were all still very new. Luna had given us
our first real solid information on what I was. We were—I was still processing
through a lot of unknowns, it was just the girls and then you came along saying
I was releasing pheromones that you could smell but the others couldn’t. You
were also the first guy I’d ever tried to do things with, and you were all hot
and begging me. I couldn’t just say no to that, could I?”
Harry approached the other boy who looked a might put out. He was grateful for
Luna having already retreated to the bedroom. “Are you upset that it’s Blaise,
or that there’s another person?”
“Neither nor, really,” Neville huffed. “I mean, all to be said, I’m kind of
glad there’s another one of us to watch out for the girls, and—“
“Another guy, you mean?” Harry clarified, more than a little amused. “You
realize those girls could probably take us out without even trying, right?
“It’s the principle of it all, Harry. It’s not right for a girl to even have to
protect herself. And with Hannah being in the dungeons, well, it’s kind of
opportune that Blaise is a Slytherin, right? Although another Hufflepuff would
have been better, just saying.”
Harry shook his head. “You know very well it wasn’t planned on my part,
although maybe one of you could talk to Luna and maybe get her to spill some of
her secrets? A little more forewarning would be good.”
“I think the girls already suspected something,” Neville confided, frowning
wryly back at Harry while the other boy just shook his head.
“So, you’re okay with Blaise being here?”
“Not much point in not being, is there?” Neville returned, casually
straightening up the room before the elves could pop in and do so.
“There is,” Harry insisted.
“Harry.” Neville stopped what he was doing and took a calming breath. “I told
you before, your cat isn’t going to allow anyone it perceives as a danger to us
near, especially not with the girls. I knew the minute you allowed him to come
back here with us that Blaise would be joining us for the long term. I’m not
upset there’s another mate, Harry. Having another person to help protect us,
making us stronger, can only be a good thing.”
“It’s also another person to protect,” Harry pointed out.
“If anything,” Neville continued, ignoring Harry’s interjection, “I’m…
jealous,” he admitted after another moment.
“What? Why?” Harry asked, frowning.
Neville sidled up to Harry, leaning his forehead against the other boy’s.
“Well, I was the first boy you brought home, and now there’s another. And he’s
prettier and more experienced than me. What if you like him better?”
Harry pulled away and tried to study him. “Seriously? That’s something I’d
expect from the girls, not from you.”
“Maybe I just need a reconfirmation that you still want me,” Neville told him,
causing Harry to grin and shake his head.
“Reconfirmation, eh? And what kind of reconfirmation would help assure you that
I still want you?” Harry asked, leaning up against him, pressing his lips
against Neville’s ear. “Because I want you, and I don’t ever want you to doubt
that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How much?” Neville teased, nibbling along Harry’s cheek. “Enough to lay back
and let me ride your cock like Hermione and Blaise just did?”
“Gods, that was hot,” Harry muttered, falling back onto the sofa.
“Literally,” Neville snorted, following him down. “Did you know she could do
that?”
“You’re the one who told me she was an elementalist,” Harry reminded him. “But
she’s never done anything so… I mean, damn. She was on fire, Nev.”
“I know, I saw.” Neville sighed. “I knew, I mean, I suspected she had some
elemental abilities, but I didn’t realize shew as a full elementalis.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Well, it means she’s even more powerful than anyone realized, and if she
hasn’t already, she’s going to need training in how to handle her abilities.
You know, it might explain why she’s always so… so uptight.”
“Hey!”
“You know what I mean,” Neville deflected. “She’s always holding herself so in
control. If she’s been worried about letting go, losing control over her
abilities, well, then that makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not going to hurt the baby, is it?”
“What? No. Don’t worry, Harry. The girls’ bodies were made for conceiving,
right? It’s natural. They’ll be just fine, and after tomorrow, they’ll be even
more protected.”
“I don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right about it,” Harry mumbled.
“About what?” Neville asked. “Hermione being a fire elementist? Blaise joining
the pard?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know, all of it, maybe?” Harry huffed. “I’m not sure what to
think about Blaise. Really had no opinion of the guy before. I’m not against
him, and… Gods, Nev. He felt… it was really good, the way he just submitted
like that…”
“Knew you would like that,” Neville murmured, grinning helplessly.
“Know what else I liked,” Harry returned, pulling Neville into his lap and
being to nibble along his neck. “The way he talked so easily about the both of
us using him. We should try that, soon. I really want to see that mouth of his
stretched around your dick.”
“I think you just want to get another piece of his arse,” Neville teased,
shifting so he was properly settled over Harry’s lap, a knee to either side of
his hips as he rubbed his groin against Harry’s.
“I want a piece of your arse right now,” Harry replied, nipping lightly.
“It’s convenient that I’m right in your lap,” Neville grinned. “Such easy
access to my arse.”
“Mmm, you know what. You’re right,” Harry growled, groping the other boy’s
rear. “I do want to see you ride my cock, just like Hermione did Blaise. Think
you’re up for that?”
“Gods, yes,” Neville moaned. “I love how deep your cock feels me up.”
“Mmm, me too.” He smacked Neville’s hip. “Let me up.”
It took little maneuvering—soon enough the blanket was folded and spread on the
floor in front of the fire and both boys were stripped naked. With a little
flick of his wrist, Harry provided the only preparation he was set to give to
his nymph, and then Neville was sinking down onto Harry’s cock, and both boys
let out grateful moans.
“Gods, so deep,” Neville panted, eyes fluttering and he rocked back and forth.
Harry murmured nonsensical sounds of encouragement back to him, hands rubbing
along Neville’s side and thighs, pushing his knees wider and encouraging the
nymph to sink deeper.
“Do I need to talk dirty to you, too?” Harry growled. “Tell you how good you
feel, slick on my dick? Maybe I should tell you how I’ll never get tired of
fucking you. How you fit around my cock just perfectly, like you were made to
be fucked by me. Should I keep talking?” Harry asked as Neville’s pace faltered
sporadically above him.
“Yes!” the nymph shouted, scrabling for purchase, toes digging into the blanket
beneath them, knees and thighs burning, hands at loose ends, reaching out for
Harry before sliding back up over his own skin. His entire focus centered onto
the thick cock that was currently stretching him wide and full and deep. So, so
deep…
“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” a sleep-hoarse voice asked from
the head boy’s doorway.
Impassions green eyes flicked over, taking in the sight of the naked incubus,
draped lazily in a bedsheet as he leaned up against the doorframe, watching
them. But he didn’t respond, looking back up at Neville. Neville, whose head
was thrown back as he continued to pant and whine above him, pleading.
“Harry, please!”
“So good, Nev,” he encouraged, uncontrollably thrusting up into the pliant
body. “You feel so good, the way you take my cock.”
“More, Harry, please. More!”
He was lost.
“You like it, don’t you?” Harry huffed, reaching around and pulling Neville’s
cheeks apart, showing off how well Neville’s hole swallowed him up… just like
Blaise had little more than an hour ago. The incubus fell to his knees, eyes
never leaving the couple by the fire, and slowly began crawling over to them.
“You like being filled up by a cock,” Harry continued, “being used as my cum
dump. You like it even more than fucking one of the girls, don’t you, Nev? You
love it, drool over the thought of me filling you up, fucking you, coming
inside you.
“But I wonder, is it just me, Nev? Is it just my cock that you’ll drool for?
Beg for? Or would anyone’s cock do? Huh, Nev? Would you be so cock-hungry if it
was Blaise’s cock fucking you right now? Stretching you open and fucking you
deep? You got a good look at his cock, didn’t you?” Harry asked, staring at it
right now.
“Nice and long, maybe not as thick as you or me. I’m sure he’d be willing to
slide it up right on inside your greedy little ass and give you a good hard
fucking if you asked.
“Or would you rather fuck him?” Harry wondered. “Would you like that better,
Nev? I bet he’d roll right over for you, right this second, and present you
with his arse, still loose and dripping cum, fresh from my cock. You could just
crawl right up and slide right inside him, Nev. Fuck away to your little
heart’s content.”
“Or would you rather stay right where you are, fucking yourself on my cock?”
“Yes, please, fuck, Harry,” Neville gasped, not even noticing Blaise, who had
stopped only a few feet away, hungry eyes watching them. “Keep fucking me. Want
you to come in me. Please, fuck, Harry, come in me.”
“Yes,” Harry hissed, surging forward and rolling the boy under him. He shifted
for better purchase, yanking Neville’s legs up before pistoning in and out of
the boy’s body, chasing after his own orgasm—his second for the night.
“I will, Neville,” he promised. “I’m going to fill you up, shoot all my cum up
inside you. And one day, I’m going to knock you up, just like you want.”
Neville went wild under him, just like he did whenever talk turned to getting
pregnant. It was a little weird to Harry’s mind. He just didn’t see the appeal
of being a bloke and getting knocked up. That’s what girls did, and they did a
mighty fine job of it, too, thank you very much. But he realized that was the
two sides of him reacting—his human brain was still very flummoxed by the idea
of a man—wizard or not—being able to conceive and carry a baby within his body.
It just wasn’t natural. His vanteeria brain, while not confused by the idea of
a man getting pregnant, was very much against the idea of him being the one
pregnant. His cat was very on board with the idea of impregnating every one of
his mates, multiple times, but even think about getting pregnant himself? Yeah,
no. No way, not happening.
Neville was a nymph, though, and the girls’ research, along with many frank
conversations with his male mate, had helped him understand Neville’s wants and
needs. He was a creature of nature. Plants and flowers were all about
pollination and germination, growing the next generation. Hermaphroditic, Harry
remembered the others telling him at one point, male and female wrapped
together in one package. Neville was male, he was a boy, but he could get
pregnant. More than that, he wanted to get pregnant. And Harry wanted that for
him, too, although maybe not so right away. At least, he hoped not. They
wouldn’t be able to use a stasis spell on Neville if he got pregnant right away
like they could do with the girls. Neville’s body would misinterpret the magic
of the spell and abort any pregnancy the male was able to conceive.
Below him, Neville gave a loud shout, body constricting around Harry, and he
grinned in satisfaction, following shortly thereafter. They slumped onto the
floor in a sweaty pile, breathing and gasping hard, but utterly satisfied.
“Bravo,” Blaise murmured, slinking closer to the pair in satisfied lethargy.
“And I would gladly let you use me any which way you would like… Later though,
after we’ve slept.”
Neville breathed out a tired laugh. “Sure, Zabini. Later.”
Harry grinned and allowed sleep to close up around him. He was most certainly
looking forward to later.
 
*****
 
Still to come… End of Term.
December 1979
Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
1 2 3 4 5 6
8 9 10 11 12 13
15 16 17 18 19 20
22 23 24 25 26 27 28
30 31
Chapter End Notes
     As a reminder, this story is a work in progress and is in active
     revision. Characterization is a reflection of not only my own
     opinions of characters, but also a reflection of characterization
     from the stories that I've read. Influential authors, if you haven't
     picked them out yet: StarLight_Massacre, DebsTheSlytherinSnapeFan,
     The_Fictionist, and lilyseyes.
     Group response: I'm grateful for the positive response to Blaise...
     and surprised there wasn't more of an outcry at Blaise and his mother
     being incubi... More will be explored about Harry's and Blaise's
     creatures' interactions.
     As with most of my earlier stories, I have a general idea of how this
     story will progress, but it's the characters themselves who will
     drive the narrative. Some pieces (yes, guys, Severus *will* be a mate
     unless something seriously changes in the plot development) are
     rather fixed. How many mates there will be, who they will be from
     this point out, how exactly Harry's going to deal with Voldie...
     those are still very much flexible elements.
     There are two more chapters written that need heavy revision. No
     promise as to when they'll be updated.
***** Term Ends *****
Chapter Summary
     Picking up the morning after, Blaise feels out his place in the pard,
     the girls visit Madam Pomphrey, and the pard leaves for Winter
     Holidays...
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
25-Term Ends-
 
~THEN~   
 
Harry and Neville slumped onto the floor in a sweaty pile, breathing and
gasping hard, but utterly satisfied.
 
“Bravo,” Blaise murmured, slinking closer to the pair in satisfied lethargy. 
“And I would gladly let you use me any which way you would like… Later though,
after we’ve slept.”
 
Neville breathed out a tired laugh.  “Sure, Zabini. Later.”
 
Harry grinned and allowed sleep to close up around him.  He was most certainly
looking forward to later.
 
 
 
~NOW~
- Tuesday, December 2, Hogwarts-
 
 
Harry woke up most pleasantly the next morning.  Reaching out, he dug his
fingers into soft, silky curls buried in his lap, purring happily.  “Nice,” he
complimented before pulling the other farther up the bed so he could reach
those wicked lips.  Yep, he definitely enjoyed kissing, he thought, suckling at
the other boy’s mouth for several minutes before pulling away.
 
“Good morning” he rumbled, voice still rough with sleep.
 
“You didn’t let me finish,” Blaise practically pouted, lazy eyes half-lidded as
he slid his limbs back and forth against Harry—a full body caress.
 
“I wanted something else,” he returned, nuzzling along Blaise’s jaw line.  
 
“Anything,” the incubus offered.
 
“You’re being quite cooperative,” Harry pointed out, more than a little
suspicious.
 
“I told you last night,” Blaise returned.  “I want in to your little party,
your pard, and I’m willing to do whatever you want to be allowed to stay.”
 
“It doesn’t quite work like that,” Neville murmured from behind Harry, rolling
over to meet Harry’s eyes.
 
“I will prove my worth and value to you,” Blaise insisted.
 
“And in return,” Harry asked, unable to resist trailing his fingers along the
side of that dark creamy skin, so much darker than his own but not as dark as,
say, Dean’s or even Pavarti’s skin color.
 
“For what?” Blaise wondered, eyes fluttering at the other boy’s touch, and that
was without Longbottom sliding up closer behind him, spooning up behind him and
adding his own hands to the wandering.
 
“You prove your worth and value to us,” Harry explained, “And you join our
pard—our little party, as you called it—and then what?  What do you get?”
 
“I get you,” the Slytherin answered bluntly.  “You’re already a sexual circle;
you share energy unconditionally, freely, and because you’re a circle, instead
of losing any energy or draining one person near to death, you cycle it out
amongst yourselves, making you all stronger. Instead of going from lover to
lover, never making a real connection with any one person for fear of loving
them to death, I get to be with you, be a part of…something, like a family. 
And potential,” the dark-skinned boy added, shooting hesitant looks between the
other two boys. “Potentially, I’ll be able to have a family of my own…?”
 
Behind him, Neville sucked in a sharp breath, pressing in closer to the lithe
boy.  Harry, however, was frowning.
 
“Why couldn’t you have a family if you wanted one?”
 
“My very nature makes it difficult for me to return to the same person for
sexual gratification, Potter,” Blaise responded, feeling more than a little
defensive. Surely he knew all this already? “I risk addicting them and worse,
killing them.”
 
“You’re a fully-fledged incubus,” Neville whispered incredulously. “You didn’t
just inherit some of the powers.”
 
“No, I didn’t,” he confirmed, stiffening in expected rejection.
 
“What does that mean?” Harry demanded, green eyes flickering from one boy’s
face to the other expectantly.
 
Neville’s arms wrapped around Blaise’s waist from behind, pulling him back that
little distance away from Harry’s body.  “Do it,” he commanded.  “Switch.”  He
nuzzled against the incubus’s throat.  “Harry’s more of a hands-on learner.
Even if you explain it to him, it doesn’t really click unless he sees and
touches it.”
 
“Hey!” the vanteeria protested, but he didn’t get to say anything else because
right before his eyes, he witnessed Blaise Zabini change. It was still Zabini,
but then again, it wasn’t. He scrambled to sit up.
 
“Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out to touch the form, barely registering
Neville’s grinning face, still pressed up against Zabini’s neck, or the greedy
hands that were cupping and squeezing two breasts that definitely hadn’t been
there a second ago.  Harry snatched back the sheets and confirmed it.  He
reached out and slide his fingers inside the very real female pussy Blaise
bared for him with two wide spread, open-invitation thighs.
 
The girl—for it was most definitely a girl in his bed suddenly—cried out,
arching her back and throwing her head  back, almost cracking Neville in the
nose.
 
“Please!” she gasped.
 
“What do you want?” Neville asked, eyes all for Harry who was still staring in
wonder.
 
“Where the fuck did you penis go?” Harry wondered aloud, still frigging
Zabini—yep, definitely girl bits.
 
Neville snorted. “Is that all you can think about when you’ve got a hot
succubus in your bed, begging you to fuck her?”
 
Harry blinked back at him.  “I change, I’m still a guy.  Luna goes all
glowy—she’s still a girl.  Hermione turns into a living torch—she’s still a
girl.  You get all nymphed-out—you’re still a guy.  Blaise is a guy who’s now a
girl. It’s a bit much to process, yeah?”
 
Neville shook his head. “Told you,” he mumbled to Zabini. “Needs to see and
touch to believe it. Very much a tactile and physical learning, our Harry.”
 
“Please,” Blaise repeated, attempted to wrap one of her legs back around
Neville’s and pull him harder against her. Her slim hands reached up and
covered his own larger hands which were covering her breasts.
 
“Blaise is an incubus, right?” Neville said to Harry now.
 
“Yes, a male sex demon. Male.”
 
“A fully-fledge incubus, meaning he’s got it all,” Neville continued. “Just as
if he’d been naturally born an incubus and it wasn’t just an inheritance.  It
means he can switch, literally swap sexes.  He can be a male or a female,
whenever and whatever the mood takes him. Isn’t that right?”
 
“Mostly,” Blaise gasped.
 
“What do you mean, mostly?” Harry demanded, still fascinated by this entirely
new and yet somewhat familiar body for him to explore.
 
“I was born male, was raised male, think like a male—male is my preferred
form,” Blaise explained.  “But I can switch into a female, especially if there
is a hetrosexual male nearby who refuses to be tempted by my male form.
Usually, even a mostly hetro male can be persuaded to fuck me, but not always.
Also, many females can be more receptive to another female, especially in the
dorms, where the girls fear an unwanted pregnancy and don’t want to deal with
Madame Pomphrey or worse—Snape.”
 
Harry growled.  “How many have you let fuck you?”
 
Indigo eyes flashed—not really blue, not really brown, but fascinating. Or they
would have been if Harry wasn’t experiencing a sudden insane rush of
rage—jealousy and possessiveness. 
 
“You will tell me, and I will kill them for touching you,” Harry continued,
rolling both Blaise and Neville onto their backs.
 
Neville groaned.  “Maybe shouldn’t have mentioned that part right now,” the
nymph wheezed as Harry fell onto them both.
 
“You are mine. No one but mine may touch you,” Harry commanded.  “You will
spread your legs for no one else!”
 
“May Neville fuck me?” Blaise gasped. “He’s so very hard; his cock’s weeping. I
can feel it. He’s smearing cum all over my arse.”
 
Harry growled again.  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
 
“Mmn, yes,” Blaise agreed.  “I’d love to feel Neville’s cock filling me up.”
 
“I wouldn’t mind it myself,” Neville put in, adding a little pelvic thrust,
sliding said cock along the slippery crease.
 
“Maybe we should both fill you up,” Harry mused, still angry and possessive.
“Stretch your little hole around both of our cocks, make sure you know you’re
never to go to anyone else.”  He pulled his fingers from her gaping hole and
reached under her for Neville’s penis. Neville yelped as Harry jerked on his
privates before shoving him up inside the girl’s hot and squishy hole.
 
“Fuck,” Neville groaned as the girl atop him squirmed and moaned. 
 
“Please!” Blaise shouted again.
 
Harry teased the angry looking clit with his cockhead. Definitely the body of a
girl. As if having his fingers shoved up her pussy before replacing them with
Neville’s cock wasn’t enough of a confirmation. He pressed his cock up
alongside Neville’s and pressed. Beneath him, the girl shouted and Neville
groaned as his cock slipped out, making room for Harry.  Harry growled. He
wanted them both to take her, both fuck her.
 
Harry pulled and tugged her up, forcing her to turn over, straddling Neville
now.  The nymph helped, settling her over him and then pulling her in close. 
“We’ve got you now,” Neville whispered.
 
“You’re ours,” Harry stressed, lining himself up once again, and this time he
was successful in holding her down onto Neville while he thrust up.
 
“Ours,” Neville agreed, fighting against the temptation to move.
 
“Yours,” Blaise agreed allowing hir body the freedom to be and do what it was
bred to do—fuck and be fucked.
 
*****  
 
They missed breakfast… and first period, which for Harry and Neville, wasn’t a
big deal, since they didn’t have a class first period and both knew where the
kitchens were located, but Blaise had been expected in Runes and was slightly
perturbed when he realized he’d been too busy fooling around to remember to go
to class.
 
“Come on,” Harry cajoled. “It’s too late to head to class now. Let’s all take a
shower, and then we can stop by the kitchens before making our way to Defense.”
 
Blaise groaned.  “Do you think Granger will lend me her notes?”
 
“I think Hermione,” Harry stressed the name, “can be persuaded.”
 
“Unless she’s peeved with us,” Neville helpfully supplied.  “Then, good luck.”
 
Harry shot him an annoyed look. Neville just smiled and shrugged and helped
Blaise up out of bed.
 
“Why would she be peeved with you?” the Slytherin asked, agreeably following
Neville’s lead. Runes really was a lost cause at this part. He’d swing by the
classroom still to give his excuses and apologies, but there was little point
in rushing to get there now.
 
“Well, more you, than us, but probably us, too,” Neville sighed. 
 
“What did I do?” Blaise wondered, frowning in puzzlement.
 
“You mean, besides light a fire up our head girl’s arse and turn her into a
raging sex inferno?” the other boy quipped, shooting the Slytherin a rather
sardonic look.  “Let me put it this way—Hermione’s not gotten frisky with any
of us other than Harry.  And now you.”
 
“But, you’ve all been together for a while now,” the incubus stuttered,
incredulous. “I’ve smelled your scents all over one another.”
 
“Hugging and holding, sharing blankets, or even sharing Harry,” Neville
supplied. “It’s not nearly the same as being intimate. Hermione’s constantly
held herself apart from the rest of us, and we respected that.”
 
“You will respect that,” Harry grumbled, padding into the wash room behind
them.
 
“I have never forced myself on any person,” Blaise retorted heatedly.
 
“Probably because you’ve never needed to,” Neville returned, shooting a spray
of water at the other boy.  “And we’re not saying you forced Hermione or
anything like that, but, well…”
 
He and Harry shared a look—a grimace of pity. 
 
“You’re going to have to work things out with Hermione on your own,” Harry
declared.
 
“Yeah, you’re on your own, there, mate. Don’t think any of us could help you
even if we wanted to, so… good luck.”  
 
Blaise continued to frown at the pair started washing themselves clean. What
possibly could be the trouble with Hermione? It was obvious to him that she was
a very passionate person—he had suspected as much even before their evening
adventures. That she withheld that part of herself from her circle was
troubling. That the others anticipated there being trouble with the head girl
was worrying. If what they were suggesting was true, then he wasn’t sure
whether he should wait to meet up with her again or seek her out at his
earliest convenience…
 
“So,” Neville started up as they continued to wash. “How are we going to do
this?” Seeing their confused looks, he explained. “I mean, no one really thinks
too much about seeing me hanging around Harry, and Hannah’s managed to convince
most that she was spending so much time with Hermione and Harry because she was
interested in me and not because she was busy screwing Harry’s daylights out—“
 
“Hey! I think I was the one doing the screwing at least half of the time,”
Harry protested.
 
“Right. And Luna always gets away with being herself because she’s so
wonderful,” Neville continued, unperturbed by the interruption. “Really, Hannah
was our most difficult one because she was not only in a different house, but
also in the basement. Not to mention the Hufflepuffs are always looking out for
each other. It’s really annoying sometimes,” Neville grumbled.
 
“Ah, I see,” Blaise murmured.  “Well, obviously, I won’t be able to be seen so
openly and amiable with you all,” the incubus mused as he stepped into the
shower spray.  “Luckily, Slytherin House mostly minds its own business, so
while I might miss a night in the dorms here or there, and it may be noticed,
no one goes telling tales. Less so this year as there are many more aware of
my… more amorous pursuits, shall we say?”
 
Harry growled again, and Blaise turned and smiled up at him, lightly clasping
his arms around the vanteeria’s neck. “No more, mio amante,” he promised,
thrilled to know he meant it truthfully.  He dropped a quick kiss on Harry’s
lips and then reached for the soap cloth. “Otherwise, I have cultivated a
character of neutrality. My housemates know I am not one to concern myself with
politics or philosophical principals. I am a creature of simple pleasures and
needs.”
 
“I think you and Luna will get along swimmingly,” Harry proposed, grinning in
expectation.
 
***** 
 
“So good of you to make it,” Hermione groused as they met up outside the
Defense classroom, eyeing the three boys critically. Hannah popped up moments
later and immediately slid in between Blaise and Neville.
 
“Hi!” the Hufflepuff chirped. “Missed you at breakfast. There was a letter for
you, wasn’t there, Hermione?” the blonde reminded the head girl, hoping to take
off some of the tense edge she could feel burning off of her.
 
“Yes,” Hermione started, having forgotten about the letter delivered for Harry
that morning. She had been rather surprised that the owl had allowed her to
take the missive, let alone that it had come to her in the Great Hall and not
Harry when it was clearly addressed to him.  She reached into her bag, pulling
out a copy of the Rune’s notes she’d copied and passing them off to Blaise
while finding the envelope marked for Harry and handing that to him.
 
“Thanks,” Blaise whispered, tucking the notes into his bag to look over later.
 
“You’re welcome,” Hermione answered succinctly.  “I really am a bit surprised
to even see you here. I thought you would stay away until at least lunch.”
 
“And miss Defense?” Harry asked incredulously.  “Snape would kill us.”
 
“Indeed, Mr. Potter,” came the sarcastic drawl from behind.  “If it hasn’t yet
occurred, I lament in the possibility of it ever happening.  Now, if you would
kindly cease your dawdling and get inside.”
 
Harry forced a grin onto his face as he turned around to greet his most
churlish professor.  “Gladly, sir. You know I always look forward to your
class.”
 
They all filed inside and took their seats. Like all of their seventh year
classes, they were a blend of all four houses, but at only thirty-two students
in their entire form, it wasn’t all that much a hardship. Of course, not
everyone in their year had elected to take Defense, but there were actually
more than had signed up for Charms or Transfiguration Newts.  Harry couldn’t
help a sense of pride that almost all of the seventh year Defense students were
first generation DA members.
 
They still had a few minutes until class was set to begin. Harry set up his
desk for notes and then slide open the envelope Hermione had collected for him.
There was only one line written.  He checked the front and back, tried to
decipher if the handwriting was familiar at all, but it wasn’t.
 
“Did you recognize the owl that delivered this?” Harry demanded softly, leaning
into Hermione as Ron slid into the seat on his other side.
 
“Hey mate,” his longtime friend greeted with forced cheefulness.  “Missed you
at breakfast this morning.  Late night?” he asked teasingly.  “Hermione was
looking a little under the weather herself this morning, but she wouldn’t say
anything.”
 
“Ron!” Hermione hissed, leaning around Harry and looking ready to spit nails.
 
Harry just shook his head.  “Yeah, it was. Had some issues pop up with another
student that we were trying to sort out. Hermione actually got to sleep before
me. I stayed up a bit later to work on some other things.”
 
“Yeah, right,” the ginger drawled, grinning. “Whatever you say, mate.” But the
smile quickly dropped as he turned to gather his materials for class. Everyone
tended to take Defense seriously—partly because Snape was teaching, but even
more of a motivator was the reminder of the Hogsmeade Raid.
 
“No, Harry, I didn’t,” Hermione answered, pointedly ignoring Ron now.  “Why?
What did it say?”
 
He passed her the note. She had just enough time to read it before Snape
started the class.
 
Better watch out for your girlfriend.  
 
 
***** 
 
Normally, the pard liked to spend their Tuesday afternoon free block together.
Today, however, Harry was off to meet with the Headmaster, Neville and Hannah
had decided to take a stroll through the greenhouses, and Luna was off to parts
unknown.  They would reconvene after last class today to descend upon Madame
Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing. Just the reminder of her supposed state was
enough to gear Hermione into motion. It was more than a little unbelievable to
think that she, Hermione Granger, might actually be pregnant at only eighteen
years old.  Sighing, Hermione gathered up her bag and debated whether to head
to the library and commandeer her favorite table in the library or if she’d
rather just return to the quiet, safe confinements of her room. 
 
She still hadn’t decided even as she left the Great Hall when a voice called
out to her.
 
“Granger, a moment if you would?”
 
She stiffened immediately before forcibly relaxing and turning to face the
other seventh year.  “Zabini,” she greeted neutrally. “Can I help you?”
 
“I was hoping to talk to you about a personal matter,” the dark-skinned boy
entreated—not pushy or demanding.
 
He would be so much easier to rebuke if he had been, Hermione groused
mentally.  No, the stupid Slytherin had to be all seductive and smooth. But
then, he was an incubus, she reminded herself, and he wasn’t stupid. Quite the
opposite, she amended.  And he was waiting patiently for her reply, she
reminded herself.
 
“I was just heading back to the heads’ suite,” she informed him.  “We can talk
there, if you’d like?” she offered, half hoping he’d decline, even though she
logically knew it was the safest place in the castle to hold a conversation
about pard business, and she had little doubt they would be talking pard
business.  It seemed like so much of her life now was made up of pard business,
but then, Harry had always been a major part of her life since entering
Hogwarts.  Was it really only seven years ago?
 
Like a perfect gentleman, he nodded with a little bow and held out his hand to
escort her.  Neville sometimes would do something like that, she thought, and
she wondered if it was that manners and etiquette were still taught to the
pureblood society. It would make sense. Much of the wizarding world was still
stuck at least a century behind the muggle world. Somethings, though, like
courtesy and chivalry, should never go out of style.
 
“You’re not concerned what your housemates might say if they see you walking
with me?” she asked as they made their way to the staircases.
 
“They will wonder,” Blaise responded negligently, “and they will make their own
assumptions. But to ask outright would be…. Uncouth… and an admission that they
were not cunning enough to deduce my motives.” He shot her a little grin. 
“Slytherin’s are seldom as confrontational as you may have been lead to believe
due to the actions of some of my housemates.”
 
“I have often thought it strange,” Hermione chatted amiably as they continued
their way, “how a magical artifact can be given so much power as to box
someone’s personality in at the tender age of eleven. There is a dramatic
amount of growth and maturing one does as an adolescent that the sorting hat
can’t possibly be expected to know will happen.”
 
“You disapprove of the sorting system?” he queried, someone surprised and yet,
somehow…not.  It did reinforce much of the talk about muggleborns—coming into
their world and wanting to change everything, tear apart their traditions. It…
niggled. But then, it countermanded man of the activities and steps this year’s
headboy and headgirl had put in place as almost a return and celebration of the
old ways. It was…confusing.
 
“No,” Hermione answered immediately. “The sorting system provides an immediate
sense of belonging, or it should,” she explained.  “But for many, I think it
must be constricting. We are more than just our house traits, and beyond that,
as we experience more, our personality traits often change. No, if anything, I
think it would benefit Hogwarts to have more sortings, multiple sortings. Not
just for first years.”
 
“That is…” Blaise trailed off.  “You think people would actually change houses
if they were resorted?”
 
“Not everyone, no,” she admitted. “But I think there are some who would.”
 
“I disagree,” he said mildly.  “I believe we are sorted into a house based not
upon who we are at eleven, but rather who we want to be. The scared child who
wants to be brave and popular. The lost child who wants to be found and
sheltered. The insecure child who wants to be powerful. The confused child who
wants to be knowledgeable.”
 
Hermione looked startled.
 
“After all, if it was simply a matter of intelligence, you most certainly would
have found yourself in the Raven’s Tower and not the lion’s den.”
 
“That is…” Hermione searched for the word.  “Most profound,” she finally
settled on saying.  “I have never thought or heard of the sorting spoken of as
such.”
 
“But it makes ever so much sense rather than believing all the children sorted
into Slytherin are already cunning, or all the children sorted into Gryffindor
are already brave, doesn’t it? No, it is not who we are at eleven the
determines our sorting. It’s who we aspire to be, deep in our most secretive
hearts.  The sorting hat hears the whispers we don’t dare to give words to,
even in our heads.”
 
They had arrived at the head suite, and Hermione held open the door to usher
Blaise through, still absentmindedly lost in the new avenue of thought Blaise
had presented to her. She wandered through the room on autopilot, setting her
bag on the table/desk and emptying her books so that she could work from later,
sliding in her Charms book in for her afternoon class. After Charms, they would
go to Madam Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing to have the status spell cast.
 
Remembering what was yet to happen that day was enough to slide Hermione out of
her musings about the sorting and instead focus them on the very real state of
her being pregnant. Eighteen years old, still in school, and pregnant.  Her
parents would flip if they found out…when they found out.  She wanted to flip
out, just a little bit.
 
It wasn’t that she didn’t want children.  She did. Eventually. Some when down
the road—after she had graduated Hogwarts and maybe have even gone to Uni. 
After she was married, certainly, maybe even a little established already in
her chosen career—whatever that may be, she wasn’t quite certain yet.
 
“You are worried about something,” Blaise’s voice sliced right through her
circular thoughts, dragging her back out of her head and into the world.
 
And then she remembered where she was and what had happened just the night
before—her, and Zabini… right there on the floor with the others just…
watching…
 
“Now you’re angry,” Zabini mused, watching her like she was some strange
specimen to be observed.  “The others suggested that you would be…peeved. I do
not understand why, but I see they are correct.”
 
He hadn’t moved to make himself comfortable—no more than to take the few steps
necessary to close the door behind him. So he stood there, bag over his
shoulder, hands casually in his pockets, watching her.
 
“You’re not going to sit down?” she asked, more irritable than was called for
really.
 
“I wasn’t invited to,” he responded, still watching her.
 
“These rooms are pard rooms,” Hermione told him.  “That means, as a member of
the pard, they are your rooms, too. You’re allowed to make yourself
comfortable.”
 
“Am I?” he asked, still watching her.
 
“Are you what?”
 
“A member of your pard?”  He did honestly want to know.  Sure last night and
this morning had been delightful, but it wasn’t like anything was guaranteed,
was it? Yes, he wanted it, wanted to join them more than just about anything he
could ever remember wanting… but that didn’t mean he would get it. Even still
feeling the slight tingle of Harry’s and Neville’s cum still inside him, he
still had his doubts about whether they would allow him to join.
 
Hermione could have growled, but she restrained herself. “There hasn’t been
someone yet who Harry has… been intimate with who isn’t a member, so, yes, I
think it’s safe to say your in.”
 
“But you’re not happy about that,” he sensed, still confused over why she
seemed so angry. “Did I not please you?”
 
Hermione sputtered and choked. “I have nothing to do with—”
 
“Quite the contrary,” Blaise interrupted.  “If Harry is your king, then you
most certainly are his queen. The others look to you for direction and approval
almost as assuredly they do to Harry. Without your approval, my place in your
circle is not guaranteed, will never be secure. And here you are, angry at me,
and I don’t know why.  I cannot fix this, mia bella leonessa, if I do not know
what is wrong.”
 
“Don’t do that,” Hermione groused, red cheek.
 
“Don’t do what?” Blaise asked simply, not trying to provoke the beautiful
lioness in front of him but needing answers, needing reassurance that he would
not be used and discarded completely.  Make no mistake—he had no qualms about
being used; it was the discarding he was hoping against having to experience.
Especially with Harry being an Vanteerian… his own allure would not be able to
overpower Harry’s. He would not be able to seduce the pard into keeping him.
 
“I am not beautiful, and I don’t appreciate it when others say such things.”
 
He frowned. He couldn’t help it.  Surely the young woman in front of him knew
of her attractiveness?  “But you are,” he assured her. “You have grown into a
most beautiful woman; a sexy, attractive woman who demands the attention and
respect of all others who lay eyes upon her.”  He dared to approach, just a few
steps.  “Your beauty burns from within and radiates outwards, shining from your
eyes, gleaming from your hair, flashing from your smile, and it warms all those
who are lucky enough to be in your presence.”
 
“You should be a poet, Blaise, with how you wax on,” Hermione huffed. “What is
it you wanted to talk about?”
 
“I wish to know why you are…peeved at me?” he informed her, standing behind the
chair he had sat in last night, before… “Did my body not please you?”
 
Hermione groaned. “Why does everything have to be about sex?” she half-shouted,
half growled. “Every time I turn around!”
 
“You are uncomfortable with sex,” Blaise guessed.  “The physical intimacy of
the act?”
 
“I was not raised to treat sex so… so blasé. Yes, the human boy is a perfectly
natural thing, but sex…”
 
“Is perfectly natural, too,” Blaise interjected, coming around the chair to
stand closer to the head girl.  He took her hands in his. “Our bodies were made
for the purpose of physical communion,” he continued, pressing their palms
together and then threading his fingers through hers. “The joining of two
bodies is a glorious rite which should be celebrated, which is why we are
blessed to receive pleasure and not pain from act. But it is so much more than
that.”
 
He allowed his fingertips to trail from her hands, up her arms, and begin
wondering, gently, almost tickling, over her body. “As magicals, we are blessed
to be further in tune with the essence of our life force, our magic, which
allows all living things to grow and be. When we come together and join our
bodies, it is not simply a physical act for us, but a metaphysical one as well.
Because we are more in tune with our magic, we can feel when our essence and
being slips and slides against another’s, oftentimes intermingling. It is
completely natural, and like most things in nature, it is wondrous, is it not,
Hermione?”
 
She was trembling, and he was doing nothing.  Well, nothing overtly. It was a
subtle seduction, especially for him. One that should not lead to them being
late for their afternoon Charms class, at the very least. He was using his
allure to skim over her skin even as his fingers lightly brushed along over her
uniform. They were standing close, but not indecently so.
 
“And you, you who are brilliant and blazing,” he whispered against the shell of
her ear. “You must feel that energy like heat crackling against your skin, just
waiting to burst.”
 
She suddenly pushed him away, panting. “No,” she stated firmly.  “I will not be
used like some toy doll.”
 
“You are mistaken,” Blaise soothed. “It is not you who are the toy, Hermione.”
 
“Blaise, just stop,” she ordered, and like that, he did, stepping back and
frowning at her again.
 
“You are angry again,” he noted.
 
“I don’t like feeling pressured into having sex,” she snapped. “or anything
else for that matter.”
 
“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” he sighed, stepping back even
further. “I wanted you to use me for your pleasure.”
 
“You made that offer perfectly clear last night, thank you very much,” she
huffed. “Listen, what happened last night—I’m not going to say it was a
mistake, but that’s not me, that’s not who I am.”
 
“I think you’re wrong,” Blaise countered. “The woman who used my body last
night for her own gratification, she was exactly who you are when you stop
forcing herself to contour to other’s expectations of you. When you allow
yourself to be free, allow your magic to be unrestrained, that is exactly who
you are.”
 
“That shouldn’t have even been possible,” Hermione murmured, turning away and
frowning over the puzzle.  “I mean, I’ve always known I had a way with fire and
flames, but… I’m not some human torch.”
 
“More like a human bonfire,” he teased lightly, hoping to tempt her into a
lighter mood. She shot him an unamused look, so he figured he was unsuccessful.
“Well, I agree, it was unusually and highly unlikely, especially for a
muggleborn.”
 
She rounded on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
 
“It means that as a witch with no magical background, it should be impossible
for you to have inherited any special magical inheritance, but what happened
last night… That was the burning of an elementalist. Fire, specifically, of
course. You wouldn’t happen to have been adopted, would you have?”
 
“No. I know how it must seem for you, being a pureblood and seeing me as a
muggle born with no magical history in her bloodline, inheriting a magical
inheritance. There’s no family magic to bestow a great gift upon me. I’ve read
up about inheritances last year, and then again this year after, well, things
with Harry, and then talking with Neville, and Luna, and Hannah. I am most
definitely my parent’s daughter. I have pictures of my mum pregnant with me and
then a ton of pictures of myself as a baby with my mum and dad. I was not
adopted.”
 
“Well, I would still suggest visiting Gringotts over the break and doing a
blood inheritance test. Your parents might not be normal muggles after all,”
Blaise mused. “And meanwhile, you can’t just keep ignoring yourself.”
 
“I’m not, thank you very much.”
 
“Before last night, when was the last time you let yourself burn?”  Hermione
was silent. “You’ve never burned before, have you? How long have you know you
had inherited the gifts of a fire elemental?”
 
“I noticed almost immediately during first term last year that my fire spells
were more powerful. I’ve always been rather good with fire and flame spells.
Last year it was simply…more so.  I learned to be more cautious, more
controlled when casting spells and charms using flames or fires. I’ve been
doing well enough.”
 
“You’re not,” Blaise rebuffed.  “We should go through and make sure everything
in here is fire proof.”
 
“I don’t just spontaneously burst into fire,” she protested.
 
“Before,” he added, “but you did last night—not that I minded or anything, but…
is it ever too early to be prepared?”
 
“It won’t happen again,” Hermione vowed.
 
“Why not?” Blaise wondered, confused and slightly disappointed that the head
girl thought it would really be a one-time thing.
 
“Listen, Blaise.  I’m not like Luna and Hannah. I care about them deeply, I do,
but I’m not one to go off chasing after imaginary creatures or gossiping about
makeup and things or chase after boys for sex.”
 
“I didn’t think you were, Hermione, but you can’t keep hiding away from the
truth, and the truth is, you are a member of your pard, and your pard is a
sexual based circle. By withholding yourself from your circle mates you are
weakening the strength of the circle. I’m not saying you have to have sex with
each person, but you do have to allow yourself to be intimate with them. Not
sex, but there’s hugging and holding and other intimacies. And a part of that
is being able to be who you truly are.”
 
“I’ll think on it.”
 
“You’ll do more than think on it,” he told her.  “You do a disservice to
everyone when you hide who you are.”
 
***** 
 
- Hospital Wing, before dinner-
 
Blaise’s words were still ringing in Hermione’s head later that afternoon after
class.  Neville and Hannah had met up with her and Harry outside the Charms
classroom, after Blaise had slipped away to join his housemates.  Now she and
Hannah were perched up on two bleached white sheet beds, tucked away behind
privacy curtains and wards, waiting for the Hospital matron to return.
 
And Harry was… glowering. There really wasn’t any other word for it. 
 
“Stop it,” Hermione leaned over and whispered.  “Madame Pomphrey assured us
that this is perfectly safe, and really, it’s only sensible.  Hannah and I are
too young to be going through with a pregnancy right now. It’s not safe while
we’re still in school.”
 
Madame Pomphrey bustled back into the spelled private area, tray in hand. 
“Here we are, ladies. Now, this potion with suspend your cycles right where
they are, which means you won’t be experiencing your menses until after you’ve
safely delivered.  The charm that coincides with the potion will place a
protective bubble around your womb to help stabilize and support the embryo
until the counter potion is ingested.  Are you ready? I will need to cast the
charm as soon as you’ve finished drinking the potion, so we’ll go one at a
time. Then you’ll need to lie there for at least twenty minutes to allow the
potion and charm to settle.”
 
“And you’re sure this is safe?” Harry couldn’t help but ask again.
 
“Perfectly, Mr. Potter,” the medi-witch assured him. Once again, she noted to
their positioning—Harry was sitting in between the two beds, Hermione to his
left and Hannah to his right.  Neville was on the other side of Hannah’s bed
sitting next to Luna.  They certainly seemed to have formed a strong
friendship, she thought, and although she was saddened to see two young and
promising witches come to her with such a request, it most certainly wasn’t the
first time. She only hoped the two young heirs had pressured their girlfriends
into conceiving a child.  It didn’t look like it, but… one could never tell.
 
“We’ll start with you first, Ms. Granger,” the medi-witch continued, handing
one of the potion vials to Hermione. She held her wand at the ready, and when
the last drop of the potion was swallowed down, she began the enchantment. It
wasn’t a very difficult spell—most of the work was done through the potion. She
watched as the last of the soft yellow light faded into the young woman’s
abdomen before casting a diagnostic spell that would tell her if the
enchantment was taking.
 
“Looks good. Now you just lie there and rest a bit,” she nodded, self-satisfied
and the protective magic taking so readily. She turned to the blonde Hufflepuff
and began a repeat of the process. Once more, she checked to see if the
enchantment had taken and then stepped back, pursing her lips.  “Now, ladies, I
hope you understand just how important an undertaking you’ve begun. Motherhood
is not a state to be entered into lightly, or alone,” she added, giving both
boys a hard look.
 
“Thank you for your assistance, Madame Pomphrey,” Hannah spoke up from the
other bed, one hand resting over her abdomen, the other tucked inside one of
Neville’s. “We understand, and it is our hope that we will all survive the war
and be able to raise our children safely and happily.”
 
The matron nodded before removing herself, allowing the privacy curtains to
fall back into place.
 
“Well, that’s done,” Neville sighed, smoothing his thumb along Hannah’s hand. 
Hannah squeeze his hand and smiled at him.  “Now to get through winter break.”
 
 
 
***** 
 
- Wednesday, December 10, Hogmeade-
 
Hermione smacked Harry’s hand away as they approached the train, not for the
first time that morning or for the last week for that matter. Harry was already
irritable as Blaise had chosen to maintain pretenses and take a different
carriage to the train station.  He would stop by and visit with them briefly on
the ride back to London, but it never seemed like enough time with the
Slytherin boy. Neville was escorting Luna and Hannah, a most common sight, and
no one looked twice at any of them.
 
“Will you stop it? I’m fine,” Hermione growled, snatching her handbag. “Go
throw some more warming charms on those first years over there if you need to
do something,” she told him, giving him a mission away from her.  Not that a
little attention and courtesy wasn’t nice, but Harry had been damned near
impossible for the last week, and Zabini had not been a calming influence. Not
by any means. If anything, their new Slytherin mate had caused more tension and
stress all around.
 
The vanteeria seemed to worry more now that there was a mate member in what
many of them considered enemy territory. Although Blaise had laughed at them
and reassured them all that he was perfectly safe in Slytherin, that he trusted
most of his housemates with his life, nothing had really settle the big cat’s
worries. There was Hermione’s own embarrassment to her brazen response to the
incubus’s taunts and teasing from that first night to contend with, though he
was good to his word and had backed off. She was both shocked and appalled at
herself, and she wished to completely forget about the entire experience—and,
of course, it seemed like neither Blaise nor Harry were going to allow it to
pass.  If anything, Harry was trying to mimic some of Blaise’s techniques, and
it was driving her near barmy. 
 
Both boys were neigh on insatiable, though, as if they were feeding off of each
other. Even bouncing back and forth through the mateship, a day hadn’t gone by
where Harry and Blaise hadn’t gotten up to something or another—often multiple
times.  Not that she had heard any of the others complain, despite it being
term end and there being final exams to study for.  She would need more fingers
and toes to count the number of times she’d walked in on one or another
canoodling around instead of studying.  And now they were heading home, all of
them, off for a three-week vacation. It was certainly going to be an
adjustment, that was for sure.
 
And that wasn’t even taking into account the warning letter Harry had received
last Tuesday.  They were all fairly sure it was referring to Hermione, since to
the school at large, she was Harry’s only girlfriend.  It had succeeded in
making not only Harry act more protective and possessive of her, but Neville
and Blaise, as well.  She suspected even Hannah and Luna were more alert to
their surroundings than before, although they were more sophisticated in their
surveillance.
 
She was glad to be heading home for the break. Not only could she use the
respite away from Hogwarts, but there were several protection wards she was
hoping to put up around her parents’ house now that she was of legal age in
both worlds to use her magic freely. Luna and Hannah had helped her research,
and Blaise and Neville had offered suggestions as well.  Harry had agreed to
help her power and cast the wards. Short of convincing her parents to leave the
country—or, in an extreme situation, obliviating them and sending them away—it
was the best she could think of to protect them.
 
Neville and Blaise would be staying at their family estates. Hannah was staying
with her best friend at the Bones’ family estate. Neville had agreed to check
on Luna and the wards around her family home. That left her and Harry as the
most exposed, away from the protections offered by being in a wizarding home,
and that sat well with no one.
 
Still, they had a fair bit on their plate for the holidays.  This weekend was
the full moon. Next week, she and Harry were to visit several different estates
belonging to the Potters or Blacks looking for a future home for the pard. They
all had created a list of makes and breaks to use while house hunting. If they
couldn’t find anything acceptable within the Potter and Black holdings, they
would look towards the Longbottom or Zabini properties. As Blaise had told
them, his mother’s serial marriages had resulted in quite the number of
properties in his family’s holdings, which his mother had blithe-fully signed
over the majority of to him upon his 17th year.
 
The week after that was Christmas, and for boxing day they had agreed to all
get together—if they hadn’t already. Hannah had teased them all into make a
secret bet. They had each written on a slip of paper the date they thought they
would make it till until seeking out the others. The slips were tucked away
inside an envelope, hidden under one of Hermione’s cauldrons. They would pull
them out and look at each other’s predictions when they returned to Hogwarts.
The person who guessed the closest would get a boon from all the others.
 
It was a silly thing, but it had perked their spirits for a few moments while
they all wrestled with the fact they would be away from each other for nearly
three solid weeks.  They wouldn’t return to Hogwarts until the second.  It
seemed so far away now, but Hermione knew the time would fly. But first, they
had to get on the train and make it through the ride home.
 
She was hopeful for a mostly peaceful ride back to London. The prefects had met
briefly last night to review supervision rotation schedules for today and the
return trip, there by maximizing everyone’s time with their friends. Still, she
was not entirely looking forward to a six-hour train ride, plus another hour
and a half car ride on the A23 and M23.  She had tried to tell her parents that
she and Harry could just apperate home, but apparently that would rob them of
one of the last few experiences they had of picking their daughter up from
school.
 
She didn’t even pretend to understand.
 
She helped herd the stragglers onto the train before getting on herself and
began looking for Neville and company somewhere along the third car. Blaise
wouldn’t be sitting with them, for obvious reasons. He would be sitting in the
other car along with the other Slytherin students. Hannah would most likely
float between her friends in Hufflepuff and their carriage. Luna would stay
with them the entire ride. She expected at least Ron, as well.
 
Indeed, she could hear the ginger before she even looking into the compartment.
 
“I’m not really looking forward to this Christmas,” Ron was saying glumly.
“Thought about possibly staying over at Hogwarts this year, but I couldn’t do
it. The only going for it is Mum’s probably already busy cooking up a storm.”
 
“Ron, you’d be looking forward to any opportunity to eat,” Neville teased
gently. “Are your brothers all returned, then?”
 
“Yeah. Bill had already put in for a transfer last year so he could be closer
to home and help out with the war and all,” Ron confided. “I didn’t really
think Charlie would’ve left his dragons in Romania for anything, but he’d up
and requested a transfer to the Welsh Reserve before Halloween. Told them he’d
up and quit if they didn’t approve it.  Charlie loves Romania, but he came home
to help search. Got back a couple of weeks ago, I think.
 
“The twins and Percy have been helping a lot, too, but they won’t really tell
me what all,” he sighed.  “It’s pretty crappy that it took something like this
to get Percy to come back to the family.  I heard he’s even acknowledging Dad
again at the Ministry. I know mum’s been taking it poorly. I must’ve gained a
stone at least from all the pies and tarts she’s been sending. Mum always cooks
and cleans when she’s stressed.”
 
“It’s understandable,” Neville tried to console. “Not knowing is sometimes more
difficult than a definite knowing.” He looked up at Hermione, a little
desperate for her to intervene.
 
“It’s important not to give up hope,” the head girl said, stepping into the
carriage.  “Ginny’s alive, and they’re going to find her, Ron.”
 
“It feels like second year all over again, except, she’s not hidden somewhere
in the castle. I’ve been studying maps, trying to pick out a pattern to all the
attacks. Problem is, I don’t think the paper’s reporting all of them.”
 
“They aren’t,” Harry agreed, stepping in behind Hermione, both of their trunks
in tow.
 
“Have you seen more?” Ron questioned painfully.
 
Harry grimaced. He couldn’t tell his friend what he did know—he couldn’t
stomach to tell anyone that, not even his mates.  And the truth of the matter
was, he’d been having less vision dreams about the Dark Lord and his death
eaters in the last month. He wasn’t sure, but he wondered if it might have had
something to do with the mateship.  In the last week, he’d actually not had one
vision dream, and he knew the Death Eaters were still active. The paper was
still full of news of raids and attacks, kidnappings and murders. 
 
Still…“I don’t know where they are, Ron. I’m sorry.”
 
“’s not your fault,” the redhead sighed, slumping.
 
Harry looked over helplessly towards Hermione, wondering what they could do for
their oldest friend. They might have been spending their time a bit differently
this year, school and responsibility pulling them in slightly different
directions, but Ron was still his first friend, even before Hermione. There
were some things, though, that he just couldn’t share with the redhead. Things
like his creature inheritance, the fact that he was actively sleeping with five
other people, one of whom was a Slytherin—sure to send the Gryffindor on a
tear—that the last time he had vision-seen Ginny, she was drugged out of her
mind and happily being raped by the Dark Lord himself.
 
Nope. Not happening. He was definitely not ready to tell Ron any of those
things.
 
“Exploding snap, anyone?” Neville offered.
 
Hermione pulled out the book she planned to read on the ride.  Luna shifted and
settled against her, continuing to read her own book. It promised to be a long
ride.
 
 
Still to come…
    * Harry meets the Granger parents
    * Holidays & House hunting
    * More Death Eater Drama
    * Maybe a Voldie and Harry meeting? 
Chapter End Notes
     Hermione has been giving me more trouble than Blaise. Have a little
     bit of a holiday break myself right now, so I'm going to see if I
     can't take care of another chapter before I get sucked into something
     else.
     Thanks for keeping with this, guys. Your comments actually succeed in
     making me feel guilty for not updating more often, so then I pull it
     up on my processor and type out a bit more. Yes, this story is not
     abandoned, it just has a lazy author who'd rather be reading at this
     point in her life.
***** Meet the Parents *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry is formally introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and well...
     they find out a little bit more about what their daughter has been up
     to while at school.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
26 – Meet the Parents –
~THEN~
“Holidays,” Hermione said. “My parents are inviting you over for the holidays.
They don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “About us, I mean. Me and you. They don’t
know yet, but I’d like to tell them, by the end of the holidays at the very
latest. Not about anything else yet, but I think they should at least know I’m
involved in a serious, long-term relationship now.”
“Yeah, I can see how that might be important to them.”
 
~NOW~
- Wednesday, December 10, London-
 
George Edward Granger waited somewhat impatiently between platforms 9 and 10.
His wife, Patricia, was still at work, covering for him while he picked up
their only daughter and her friend from the train station for the holidays.
Despite it being the middle of the week, the station was alive and bustling
with commuter and holiday traffic. Although, maybe that wasn’t so unusual, he
mused, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, clapping his hands to help keep
them warm. The colder months might still be ahead, but that didn’t mean it
wasn’t still bloody cold out.
He saw others also queuing up, waiting nearby, and he thought they must be like
him and his wife, non-magical parents to magical children. Miraculous children.
Goodness knows, his Hermione was amazing and wondrous. She had finally been
able to give them a small practical and—more importantly--controlled
demonstration of all the various things she had been learning for the past six
years. It was nice to be able to finally see where their tuition was going
towards, but even more than that, it was amazing to see their wonderful,
brilliant daughter so assured and confident.
He suspected a good bit of that confidence and self-assuredness was a result of
finally having people around her who could understand and relate to her on a
level her elementary school mates couldn’t. Friends. Trish and he knew how
important friends were—they’d been friends before they became involved. They
both relied heavily on their good friends throughout the years since neither of
their families were really in the picture much anymore. George’s birth father
had disappeared in the war, before he was even born; his mother had remarried
before he was six. Felix Kite had been a decent man to both George’s mother and
himself, but he wasn’t really father material. In fact, George remained an only
child despite his parents’ nearly fifteen years of marriage. Felix and his
mother had been killed in an auto accident when he was away at Uni.
Patricia had a similar sad family history—as many did from his generation. The
war had had devastating effects. Her entire family, save for a brother, had
perished during the blitz. The two siblings had been homed in an orphanage
before being adopted out to separate families and never saw each other again.
He knew she had tried some years ago to look her brother up, the same as he had
tried to find any information he could on his birth father. After all, both
being students of science, they firmly believed that Hermione’s talents must
have come from somewhere. Unfortunately, they had both been unsuccessful.
Not that it really mattered, he supposed. What was, was. You dealt with what
life handed you, and you carried on. It’s just what you did.
And why was he thinking such dreary thoughts when his daughter was about to
step through the gateways between her wondrous magical world and his everyday
world, coming home to them once again. It wasn’t always a guarantee. When she
had been younger, Hermione had been very close to both her parents, but as was
natural, as she got older—or, rather, after she went away to school—she seemed
to pull more and more away from them, preferring to spend holidays with her
friends as opposed to her parents. Trish and he had been torn between
exhilaration at knowing their girl was making friends and longing…. Wishing to
see their baby and spend time with her again. Trish and he had only been bless
with one child, Hermione, and not for lack of trying—unlike with his own
parents. And Hermione had been such a beautiful, good baby, an adorable
toddler, and a precocious child.
They weren’t sure what she would do after she graduated from school. Sure, she
had talked to them about several career options, but they still worried about
where they would fit into their daughter’s life now that she was considered an
adult in the magical world. In a preemptive strike, they had discussed inviting
some of her friends over for the holidays. Did it unsettle him that the people
she seemed to mention most were boys? Hell, yes. He was a father of a very
lovely and brilliant daughter. But needs must, and sometimes drastic measures
needed to be taken.
Of course, this wasn’t really a drastic measure. They had the space for guest.
And he was more than a little curious to really get an opportunity to get to
know the boy. He knew one of Hermione’s friends came from a large family, but
the other one, Harry, he was an orphan, like Trish, living with extended
family. Harry was the one Trish and he had invited to spend the holidays with
them. Trish suspected something going on between their daughter and the boy,
which made him even more nervous and impatient for them to arrive.
Children began filling the platform, pushing trollies full of trunks and
cages—cats and owls a-plenty. Parents began peeling off and collecting their
children, leading them away. Hermione, he knew, would probably be one of the
last ones through. She was head girl this year, and George knew how diligently
his little girl treated her responsibilities. The rush of children quickly
trickled down into a doddering of ones and twos until it seemed like no one
else would be emerging. The other parents who had been waiting nearby were all
gone as well by the time Hermione appeared, leading a young man who was pushing
a trolley with two trunks, an empty bird cage, and the demon cat.
“Daddy!” She called, rushing to him and throwing her arms around him. He
wrapped her up, equally as enthusiastic, picking her up off her feet—much to
the protest of his back. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, nor was he a younger
man.
“There’s my girl,” he greeted, giving an extra squeeze before releasing her.
“Daddy, I’d like you to meet Harry Potter,” Hermione introduced, stepping back
and gesturing to the young man who was standing by patiently watching the
father and daughter reunion. “Harry,” she continued, turning to the waiting
teen, “this is my father, George Granger. Is mum still at work?” she asked,
turning back to her father.
“Yes,” George confirmed. “We figured one of us should stay and cover the
office. Gives us a little bit more room in the car. Harry, it’s good to see you
again.”
“Good to see you again, too, sir,” the boy returned, hastily stepping forward
with his hand extended. Good, firm grip, George thought as they shook. “Thank
you for having me for the holidays. I know it must be an inconvenience.”
“No inconvenience,” George waved away the boy’s words. “If anything, you’ve
ensured our girl comes home. Now, come along. I’ve brought the estate car so we
should have no trouble fitting both your trunks in the boot.”
The two teens shared a look, but George decided to ignore it and lead the way
to the public car park. “So, how was the school term?” he asked. “It went well,
I think,” Hermione answered immediately. “We won’t know how we did on our exams
until after holiday, of course, but all things considered, I think I passed.”
“I know you did,” Harry interrupted. “You’ve never failed at a single class
before, even when you were taking all of them.”
“Yes, well, this year has been challenging, what with being head girl and it
being an exam year,” Hermione continued on as if Harry hadn’t said anything.
“Did I tell you and mum that Harry’s the head boy, as well?”
“Yes, I believe I remember reading that.”
“Well, he’s had loads of great ideas for things to do to raise school spirit
and spread house unity—“
“You had some ideas, yourself,” Harry reminded her, but once again, she
continued on.
“And the school’s really been responding. There are a lot of things I wish I’d
have had when I was a younger student.”
“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” George responded as he popped the boot open,
darting a look between the two teens. Yep, there was definitely something going
on between the two, whether official or not. Hermione was babbling on like she
did whenever she was nervous or excited about something. Since he highly
doubted she was that excited to be coming home for the holidays….Trish had been
right, again. Damn.
Harry stepped forward and hefted one trunk after the other into the boot,
swinging them easily without any effort. George gave the boy another look
over—he hadn’t looked that strong, but he knew from experience just how heavy
Hermione’s trunk could get. Seeing his look, Harry smiled and gave him a wink.
“Feather-lite charm,” he explained. “Makes them a lot easier to manage.”
“Harry, do you want to sit up front?” Hermione asked, settling Crookshanks into
the backseat.
“Nah, that’s all right. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take the back. That
way you and your dad can talk.”
Hermione shot him a look but didn’t fuss. They chatted about odds and ends,
topics spanning the practice, the house upkeep, news about the extended
family—Trish’s adopted sisters and brothers, although they didn’t get together
very often, still occasionally checked in with each other. Hermione talked
about the different happenings at her school, the clubs and programs she had
been helping put together, and some of the research projects that had taken her
fancy.
They were just gone half way back to the house when he, “So, how long have you
two been together?”
Hermione blinked. “Daddy,” she said, sounding confused, “Harry and I met on the
first train ride to Hogwarts, don’t you remember me telling you? We’re in the
same year and same house. Been friends since our first year.”
He spared his daughter a look—a quick glance to tell him his normally astute
daughter was not being purposefully obtuse. Well, that was somewhat of a
relief. He would have hated to think his baby girl was purposefully hiding a
relationship or her feelings from him—before using the mirror to look at the
boy in the backseat. Harry was looking directly back at him, and there was a
hardness to the boy’s face that unsettled him.
The boy nodded at him before adding, “Yes, Hermione and I have been friends
since our first year, but to answer your question, we only got together this
year. Although, to hear some of our friends talk, we’ve been together for years
and just didn’t know it.”
“Oh!” Hermione blushed. “Well, yes, that is, I mean to say, I had wanted to
tell you and mum in person, but, yes, Harry and I got together just this year,
if you mean in a romantic sense.”
“I see.”
There wasn’t much said the rest of the journey home.
---
Hermione’s mother was already home when they pulled up the drive to the garage.
She emerged from the kitchen, dishtowel in hand, beaming a wide smile as they
piled out of the car.
“Mum!” Hermione cried, rushing forward to envelope the woman, while Harry
helped her father unload the trunks from the boot, all the way shooting
surreptitious glances at their surroundings.
He’d always suspected Hermione came from a well-to-do family; the type the
Dursleys always tried to portray themselves as but somehow always fell short.
It was subtler, less flashy. It wasn’t that they lived in a big house, or that
their yard looked immaculately landscaped. In fact, their home was modest,
Harry thought, maybe even a little smaller than the Dursley’s; and the yard was
a mess of potted plants and bushes (most looking dead or dormant). Even the
patch of lawn looked to have seen better days, Harry mused.
As Mr. Granger and he brought the trunks forward, Mrs. Granger finally released
Hermione, and Harry got a good look at the older woman. She looked a lot like
Hermione, or Hermione looked a lot like her, he supposed: wild, curly hair that
was cut short and pinned back, warm brown eyes, and a wide, beaming smile.
“Harry,” she practically gushed, and he felt more than a little unconformable
and nervous that she might glomp at his as she did her daughter. “It’s so good
to see you again. I’m so pleased that you could stay with us for the holiday.
Won’t you come in? I have a kettle all set to boil. Was the traffic very awful,
dear?” she asked her husband as she shepherded Harry and Hermione into the
house. “Oh, do you want to take the trunks right on upstairs, George? That way
they won’t be in the way down here.”
“I can do it,” Harry rushed to offer, but Mrs. Granger actually batted his arm
at the suggestion.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him. “It’ll do him good to do a bit of extra
work.”
“Not to worry,” Mr. Granger pronounced. “With those spells you put on them,
they’re easy enough to manage. Sit down, and I won’t be but a mo’.”
Harry looked over towards Hermione, questioning, but she just smiled. “It’s
okay, Harry. Let Dad take the trunks while I introduce you proper to my mum.
Mum, as you already know, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my mum, Patricia
Granger.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mrs. Granger,” he responded automatically.
He sketched a quick bow, like Andromedea had drilled into him over the summer,
and the other woman laughed lightly.
“Oh, aren’t you a charmer,” she proclaimed, brown eyes twinkling mischeiveously
as she shot a look at her daughter. “Be careful, Hermione. You must be beating
away the other girls with those broomsticks you mentioned.”
“Err,” Harry startled. “No, we fly on the broomsticks. We use the beater bats
to knock the bludgers away.”
“My mum doesn’t really know about quidditch, Harry,” Hermione laughed, patting
his shoulder as she directed him to a seat at the table. “It’s just a saying,
to beat something away with a stick.”
“Quidditch? What a weird word,” Mrs. Granger responded. “What is it?”
“It’s a sport, mum,” Hermione explained. “Seven players to a team. Harry’s
actually on the Gryffindor team back at school.”
“Oh, you play sports,” Mr. Granger asked, returned red-faced and slightly short
of breath.
“Just quidditch, sir,” Harry answered modestly.
“Harry was the youngest person to join the team in over a century,” Hermione
proclaimed proudly. “He’s been on the team since our first year. Normally first
years aren’t even allowed to try out for the team, but Harry is a natural at
flying. He really is amazing to watch.”
“I believe Hermione mentioned something about another club you and she
started?” her mother broke in through Hermione’s gushing. “Something about
defense, wasn’t it?”
“Ah, yeah, the DA—well, originally we jokingly called it ‘Dumbledore’s Army’
because we were angry with our Defense teacher at the time. She was sent by the
ministry to spy on us because they were afraid Professor Dumbledore was raising
an army to rise against the ministry,” Harry explained, shaking his head in
disgust. “Now, we call it the ‘Defense Association’. It’s basically a study
group for anyone who wants to practice a little more defense.”
“We’ve branched out now, too,” Hermione went on. “Harry came to school this
year with a lot of great ideas on how to improve student relations and even
academics. It’s been a lot of work, but completely worth it.”
“I might have had some ideas,” Harry protested, “But you had a lot of good
ones, too. Plus, you did almost all of the organizing and scheduling.”
“Maybe, but you’re the one who thought to delegate out and let the other
prefects handle a lot of the detail work,” Hermione countered.
“Sounds like you two make a good team,” Mrs. Granger broke in, setting the tea
service on the table, shooting a smirking glance towards her husband who sighed
wearily as he accepted his cup of tea.
“Yes, you were right,” he announced, sounding rather grumbly.
Mrs. Granger continued to smile as she took up her teacup. “I rather thought
so.”
“Oh, erm, yes,” Hermione piped up, remember what her father had said in the
car. “Harry and I are also together, romantically now. I would say we are
dating, except, we don’t really go anyway.”
“Well, there’s always Hogsmeade,” Harry pointed out.
“That’s not really a date, though,” Hermione protested.
“We could always do something while we’re on holiday,” he suggested. “I mean,
if there’s someplace you wanted to go.
“I don’t think typical dating works like that, Harry,” Hermione sighed.
He shrugged, trying not to let the remark niggle. “I wouldn’t know. I gave up
dating anyone after the disaster with Cho.”
“We’ve talked about that, Harry. You should have never have mentioned your
plans to meet up with me while you were on a date with another girl. It’s just
not right.”
Laughter broke into their would-be argument, and Mrs. Granger had to wipe at
her eyes. “Oh, you two have been together a while, haven’t you. George, why
don’t you and Harry go settle into the living room while Hermione and I finish
getting dinner ready?” she suggested.
“I could help,” Harry offered immediately, but Mrs. Granger just shooed him
away. “Go, relax a bit. Leave me some mother-daughter time. I’m sure her father
will be wanted more time with her, too. They’ll be going on about the books
they’ve read before the meal is over, trust me.”
And so it was, only a handful of minutes later, Harry found himself sitting on
the sofa across from George Granger, who sat in his favorite sitting chair,
silently sipping at the remains of his tea. In silence. Sipping. In silence.
Trying another to stare at anything.
“You understand, Harry, that Hermione is very dear to her mother and I,” Mr.
Granger finally started. “And as such, we want only the best for our girl.”
“Sir, you’re Hermione’s father, and I respect you for that,” Harry responded.
“Your daughter is amazing. She’s… she’s brilliant and stunning, and she’s my
best friend. I can’t even tell you how many times she’s saved my life or helped
me in some way, shape, or form, because it’s too many to count. And if I didn’t
already love her for all those reasons and more, I’d be an idiot. Maybe I am an
idiot, because it took me so long to realize how I really felt about her, but I
think you should know, there’s not a thing I wouldn’t do to protect and keep
her safe. Hermione is not just a girlfriend, she’s my best friend first. It is
never my intention to hurt her, and I would hurt anyone who even thought about
hurting her.”
George Granger frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the young man, but… this
was his only child they were talking about. For years, he and Trisha had tried
for a child, and there had been many miscarriages before they had been blessed
with their daughter. She was their pride and joy—even with her special
abilities.
“And if she decides she wants to date someone else?” he asked, before pointing
out what he felt was only reasonable. “After all, you’re both young still.
Haven’t even finished school. Have you even thought about what you’re going to
do after this year?”
Hermione dating someone else wasn’t really an option Harry had to worry about,
but Hermione had decided not to bombard her parents with all the details of
their relationship this trip. Hermione had felt that just informing her parents
that she was in a relationship with someone was enough for her parents to
adjust to. If things went well, she’d argued, then the next step might be
informing them that some magical people had special inheritances and Harry was
one of them. Hermione wanted to wait until at least Hogwarts was over before
even breaching the topic of a multi-amorous relationship with her mum and dad.
It was… quite a foreign idea for most English folks.
However, Hermione wasn’t here right now. Harry was, and even the idea of
Hermione possibly ‘dating’ someone else was enough to raise his hackles.
Hermione was his, his queen, and no one would threaten that. “Hermione is
mine,” Harry stated, unflinchingly. “Mine to protect and mine to cherish. We’re
young, yes, but our magic is strong and highly compatible. In that, we’re
already bonded.”
“Wait a minute there,” George broke in before Harry could continue, warning
bells and flags and whistles going off in his head. “Hermione is her own
person, she’s not a possession! And just what the hell do you mean, you’ve
already bonded?”
“She is mine, and I am hers. There is no going back. I will see that she is
provided for, what she wants, she will have, whether it be material things like
books or houses, or immaterial things, like safety, security. She is mine,”
Harry repeated. “And in return, I am hers. She will be the mother of my
children, my wife, my queen.”
“You sound demented,” her father growled. “And just what has Hermione said to
all of this?”
“She has agreed.”
“What!”
“We are bonded, and have been for several months,” Harry went on. “Magic itself
bonded us.”
“So you’re what, married?”
Harry frowned. “In a sense, yes, you could say we are.”
 
***
“He seems like a very nice boy,” Patricia Granger told her daughter as they
worked together to prepare dinner. Harry had offered, but they had shooed him
away. She hoped George was being kind to the boy—not that George was a mean man
by any lengths. No, but he could be a bit protective, especially of their
daughter.
Hermione smiled. “I knew you would like him if you got a chance to really meet
him.”
“He always seemed so sad and reserved the few times we saw him while picking
you up before.”
“Yes, well, Harry’s home life wasn’t very good,” Hermione confided, frowning.
“Not that he ever said very much of anything, but, well, there were signs. I
wish I had realized them sooner,” Hermione sighed. “By the time I started
figuring out just how not good things were for him, well, it was too late to
make much of a difference for him.”
“Was he abused?” Trish whispered.
Hermione’s frown twitched. “I’m fairly sure it was more a case of neglect that
actual physical abuse. I know he sometimes got hit, and I’m almost positive
there was mental abuse going on, but… I was so blind. Why couldn’t I have seen
it sooner?”
“Hermione, you were a child. It’s not your job to see those types of things in
others. The adults in his life should have recognized the signs and done
something. His teachers and doctors, and your professors at school. They failed
him, sweetie, not you.”
“harry was good at hiding it. It’s not surprising they didn’t know.”
“Abused children often are, but that doesn’t excuse the adults in his life
failing him. I’m glad he had you for a friend, though. Friends are important.”
“Yes, they are, and he is my best friend. I’m so glad he agreed to come for the
holidays. Thank you for inviting him.”
“Well, it wasn’t for completely altruistic reasons, I’ll admit. I know your
other friend comes from a big family, but you always tend to mention Harry, and
if I recall, every year he stays over for the holidays.”
“Yes, that’s true. Except for—“
“For the one year, when you went stayed over someplace in London. Yes, I
remember,” her mother smiled sadly. “You were gone for most of the summer,
too.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione responded, feeling suddenly guiltier than she had in a
while in regards to her parents. “I haven’t really been including you much in
anything going on in the magical world. It’s not because I’m ashamed of you.”
“No, I didn’t think it was,” her mother assured her. “But I have eyes,
Hermione. I can tell things have been happening, bad things.”
“There’s a bit of a war,” she confessed. “It’s, well, it’s not going very
well.” Hermione collapsed into a seat at the table, her mother joining her. “In
fact, it’s pretty bad.”
“Can you tell me what’s happening?” Trish asked, reaching out to clasp her
daughter’s hands. “Is it safe? Are you safe? No, of course, not, what a silly
question. You just said there was a war going on,” she grumbled.
“I’m… I being as safe as I can be, but, well, these terrorists are awful and
cruel and, mum, the leader is after Harry.”
“What? Why?”
“When he was a baby, his parents fought against this group, and they died
protecting Harry. Their leader was incapacitated, but he returned several years
ago, and he’s been making things worse again. There have been attacks all over
the country. No one is safe—not magicals or non-magicals. I haven’t told you or
dad anything because I didn’t want you to worry, because there’s nothing you
can really do.”
“We still deserve the right to know,” her mother told her, frowning.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“And it’s not true. Surely there has to be something we can do.”
“Short of selling the practice and moving to Australia?” Hermione quipped.
“Believe me, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”
“I’m sure you have, but your Dad and I have a bit more experience than you,
young lady. You should have told us.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated, feeling miserable.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Trish said. “Best to deal with it and carry on.”
Hermione’s lips twitched in a weak smile at her mum’s favorite saying.
“Speaking of which, we’d best carry on with dinner before your dad scares your
boyfriend.”
“Harry doesn’t scare that easily,” Hermione laughed, getting to her feet as
well. “And dad just isn’t that scary.”
“Maybe not when compared some of the escapades you’ve been up to over the years
at that school of yours, but I’ll ask you this—has he ever had to deal with the
father of his girlfriend?”
“Mum!” Hermione protested before pausing. “I might just go check on them,” she
announced, heading for the door.
***
“So you’re what, married?” she could hear her father’s voice, even from down
the hall, and her steps quickened enough for her to hear Harry’s calm reply.
“In a sense, yes, you could say we are.”
She nearly choked, pushing open the door fully to stare at them, horrified.
“What is going on in here?” she demanded, looking from one to the other.
“Hermione, I think it was a mistake to—“ her father began before being cut off
by her turning towards Harry and talking around him.
“What did you say to him,” she growled, stepping into the room and smacking his
arm. “I told you I didn’t want to tell them everything.”
“They’re your parents, Hermione,” Harry argued. “You can’t just keep keeping
important things from them, and I won’t stand here and listen to anyone saying
you might leave me for someone else.”
Hermione groaned and turned to her father. “You didn’t?”
“I only pointed out that you’re both young. People change.”
She sighed and turned away. “Harry, you know better than that. My dad just
found out we’re together. We’ve talked about this.”
“Hermione?” her mother called, having followed her daughter out of the kitchen
after hearing raised voices. “Maybe we should hold dinner for a bit and all sit
down. It sounds like there’s a lot you haven’t told us that maybe you should
have?”
She presented it as a suggestion, but Hermione was familiar enough with her
mother’s mannerisms to know a demand when she heard it. Taking Harry’s arm, she
escorted him over to a sofa and sat down, tugging him down beside her. Her dad
was still standing, but her mum had walked in and taken a seat in her favorite
armchair, smoothing her pants down her thighs and crossing her legs neatly at
the ankle, looking at the two teens expectantly. “Where shall we start first?
This war that’s taking place? Your relationship with Harry? Or is there another
place?”
“Well, really,” Harry spoke up first, shooting Hermione a look. “They’re all
connected. The war has been going on a long time in the wizarding world, before
we were even born. Really, I think it goes back to even World War II,” he went
on, looking to Hermione again for confirmation.
“You could say the roots of the conflict go back even further. It’s prejudism,
simply put. Some magicals believe they are better than others, not because of
their skin color but because of how long they can trace their magical family
history. They call themselves purebloods because all of their known family
members are magicals. Someone who has a non-magical in their family history is
called a half-blood. Harry is considered a half-blood because two of his
grandparents are non-magical. Because I am the first person in my known family
to be magic, they call me a muggle-born.”
“Or a first generation,” Harry quickly offered.
“Not many use that term,” Hermione scoffed.
“Give it time,” Harry encouraged, grinning. “We’re just getting started.” He
turned back to look at her parents. “My mum was also a first generation.”
“There was a magical war that coincided with World War II. And then again,
twenty years later. It ended when the new ringleader attacked Harry’s parents.”
“Well, it was temporarily postponed. Everyone thought he died, but he didn’t.
He was…”
“Hurt,” Hermione supplied.
Harry nodded. “He was hurt, and he hid away, so many thought he was dead, but
he wasn’t. It wasn’t until about a year ago that people realized he was back.”
“But we knew,” Hermione cut in. “We’ve known he was back since our first year
at Hogwarts. Harry fought him, beat him.”
“In your first year?” Patricia gaped, trying to picture a little eleven or
twelve year old boy fighting against a terrorist.
“We didn’t know it was him. Didn’t find out it was him until the very end of
the year.”
“And then Harry battled with an incarnation of the same terrorist during our
second year.”
“It was at the end of our fourth year that others really became aware that he
was back. He reached out to his old followers and they started to regroup. The
last two years have been pretty bad and only getting worse.”
“The thing is, he keeps coming after me. He wants to finish was he started
sixteen years ago when he murdered my parents.”
“So you’re a target?” George Granger asked woodenly, staring in disbelief at
his daughter’s boyfriend.
“We all are,” Hermione tried to explain.
“But yes, I’m a high risk target, and so is your daughter. Because of me.”
“It’s not your fault, Harry. I was already a target because of my supposed
blood-status,” Hermione huffed. “If anything, I’m actually safer because we’re
together.”
Harry shook his head. “They already know how important you were to me, but
now…” he shook his head again.
“Now we’ve been practicing more protective magic,” she reminded him. “We’re
getting better and stronger every day. Now we have friends who will stand with
us, fight with us.”
“You shouldn’t be fighting at all!” her father shouted.
“I’m not going to just run away and hide!” Hermione shouted back. “These people
want to kill you just because you don’t have magic. They want to kill me
because they think I’m unworthy to use magic. Not fighting is not an option,
dad, and you need to understand that.”
“So,” her mother drawled, gathering her thoughts. “There’s a war going on in
the magical world in which the leader of these terrorists want you dead,” she
summed up, looking towards Harry. “And my daughter is involved, not only
because she fits the standards for these terrorists, but also because of her
relationship with you.”
“Yes.”
“No!” Hermione shouted again. “I mean, yes, but no!”
“But you’re also saying,” she continued, looking at her daughter, “That being
near Harry is actually safer for you because his protection is extended to
you?”
“Yes,” Hermione sighed.
“No,” Harry denied.
“Not that that isn’t a lot to take in, but I suspect there’s still more?”
Patricia hedged.
“More! I think that’s ruddy well more than enough!” George shouted.
“George, be quiet and sit down,” his wife ordered before turning back to her
daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend.
Harry and Hermione shared another look, this one along the lines of ‘how much
should we tell them now?’ Harry was the one to turn back first.
“Apparently the magical world has some dirty little secrets in its history,”
Harry told them. “One of those secrets is that somewhere along the line,
magical beings crossed with humans and witches and wizards were born.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s an origin of magic story,” Hermione explained. “And it seems likely
because every so often, a magical child will be born and when they go through
their inheritance when they’re seventeen, well, usually they get a little
magical boost, but sometimes they inherit a bit more than just some extra
power.”
“We get a creature inheritance.”
“And you, you’re one of these creatures now?”
“Well, yes and no,” Harry responded, but he was unsure of how to go about
explaining something he wasn’t all one hundred percent sure about either. He
looked back towards Hermione, willing her to take over the explanation again.
“Harry received a shape-shifting ability. He can transform into a black
panther.”
“But your professor, the one who visited us—“
“Professor McGonagall.”
“Yes, she transformed into a cat for us. Is she also one of these magical
creatures?”
“Well, she’s a witch, so it’s possible, but, um, actually, I don’t know,”
Hermione hemmed.
“It’s actually a bit of a personal thing,” Harry supplied. “Most people don’t
go around announcing that their family genetics have popped out wings or
scales.”
“Is that possible?” George asked agahst.
“Well, I can grow wings.” Harry frowned. “I don’t actually know about the
scales.”
“Probably,” Hermione answered. “Not you,” she rushed to assure Harry. “But
someone else, yes, I think it might be possible. Anyway, back to what we were
saying before. Pretty much most of the mythical and fantastical creatures that
exist in stories can be found somewhere in the magical world, and I guess that
makes sense, right, because, I mean, the magical and non-magical worlds weren’t
always separate, so there must have been more cross-over, which would explain—“
“Hermione,” her mother called sing-song-like. “You were going to tell us
something?”
“Yes. Yes, I was.”
“And that was…?”
“Well, Harry, you see, he had his inheritance this summer, and he’s been
experiencing some changes, even before we discovered he could shape-shift, and
well, it’s one of the reasons we ended up getting together this year.”
“Our magic bonded,” Harry said again, looking pointedly at Mr. Granger.
“What does that mean, exactly?” mrs. Granger wanted to know.
“Well, for all intents and purposes, it is rather like being married,” Hermione
told her. “There wasn’t an official ceremony or anything, so it isn’t really a
marriage in that sense, but magically… Well, it would stand up in a court of
magical law.”
“It would?”
“Yes, it would,” Hermioine reassured him. “Hannah and I looked it up, but it
was Luna who really pointed us in the right direction.”
“Who are Hannah and Luna?”
“They’re friends. Hannah’s in our year, a Hufflepuff, but we share many classes
together. She’s dating our other very good friend, Neville. Luna’s a year
behind us, but we are all in defense club together, and well, Luna’s
practically family,” she concluded, stroking and petting Harry’s leg to
hopefully keep his inner cat calm. “We all hang out a lot before and after
classes.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention these other people.”
“Well, it wasn’t until this year, really, that we all became such good friends.
I mean, we were all friends before, but this year, we became closer.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad to hear you’re making more friends.”
“I am. I’m happy, mum, really. I know it sounds a bit strange, but so does
owning a magic wand and brewing potions.”
“And flying broomsticks,” Harry added. “It’s strange, it’s different. It’s
magical. Sometimes you just…”
“Deal with it and carry on,” Hermione mused, repeating back her mum’s favorite
saying. Neither of her parents looked too amused, though.
“So there’s a war going on, you’re both high targets in this war, you’re for
all intents and purposes, magically married,” her mum recapped. “Is there
anything else we should know before we all sit down to dinner?”
“We’re pregnant.”
“Harry!” Hermione practically screeched, whipping around and smacking his arm
again.
“Might as well get it all out,” he defended. “Like a plaster, tear it off
quickly.” He turned back to the two elder Grangers who looked mottled—flushed
and pale. “I’m the last Potter heir. My family has quite a bit of holdings.
Hermione offered, and I accepted, for her to be the mother of my children. So
you see, Mr. Granger, I wasn’t being domineering or making decisions for your
daughter when I said Hermione is mine to protect and love and cherish. My
creature will allow for nothing less. She is not a possession, or, if you must
think of it as possession, think of it as being equally possessive. She is
mine, and I am hers. I will do everything in my power to see that she is taken
care of, that she wants for nothing, that she is protected and safe.”
“And in return, I will do the same,” Hermione promised. “For I will allow for
nothing less. You are mine. Mine to protect, mine to love, mine to cherish.”
Harry raised their clasped hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
“Oh, my god, Hermione. Just what has been going on at that school of yours?
It’s like you’ve been brainwashed!”
“It’s not mind control, dad. Really.”
“Hermione, you’re so young—only eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of
you.”
“Yes, I do. That hasn’t changed, Mum.”
“But a baby…”
“It’s not even an embryo yet,” Hermione interrupted. “And we’ve cast a spell
that will interrupt the normal gestation period. Essentially, my reproductive
organs are in a state of stasis until the spell is removed, and then the
pregnancy will continue as normal. I’ve promised, if something does happen to
Harry, I will go into hiding at least until the baby is safely born. This gives
us both the opportunity to complete our last year and still guarantees Harry
that his family’s name and magic will live on.”
“This all sound incredible.”
“Incredibly crazy! Really, Trish!”
“George, don’t shout,” Patricia ordered, shooting a glare at the man who was
still standing, refusing to sit.
“I don’t like it.”
“That’s obvious. Unfortunately, whether we like it or not will not change the
facts. How safe is this spell, this stasis spell you called it? Will it have
any other effects? Will you still be able to have children in the future?”
“It’s fairly safe. It’s an older spell, not really used much anymore, and it
should have no lasting effects once it is removed. I should be able to have
more children if I wish.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to the spell if I thought for a minute it would harm
her or the baby.”
“You say that, but you’re the reason she needed that spell.”
“Actually,” Hermione winced. “That’s not exactly true, either.”
“What?”
“What?”
“Well, remember when we first talked about children, and I said I would have
yours?”
“Vividly.”
“Hannah, Luna, and I were discussing things… and, well, I realized I’d
basically made a vow and started a ritual. There was no other outcome but for
me to get pregnant. If I hadn’t of done that, I could probably have used a
regular contraceptive and not have had to worry about it.”
Harry blinked, trying to process that. “So you mean…” he said, thinking of the
others. Hermione and Hannah were pregnant. Sure, it had only been a couple of
months, but they had gotten pregnant pretty quickly. They had made the choice
not to use any contraceptives—any of them. Which meant Luna could have gotten
pregnant at any time, but she hadn’t. Neville had to go into his
‘season’—something Harry still wasn’t completely sure about; and he didn’t know
much of anything about Blaise other than he was very, very talented at sex.
Could it have been possible that the only reason Hermione and Hannah had gotten
pregnant so quickly was because of their magic?
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to say, Hermione. This is a lot to take in.”
“I know, mum. I didn’t want to drop this all on your lap at once, but I also
didn’t want to just tell you in a post.”
“No, I can see that. Your father and I were going to remind you of our
expectations. Harry has the guest bedroom set up for him. Despite this new
information, I expect him to sleep in his room.”
Hermione’s lips pressed together as she fought a frown. It took her a moment
before she was able to respectful reply to her mother’s expected look. “Yes,
mum.”
“Good. Now, Harry, as you are a guest in our home, you should understand that
there is to be no hanky-panky going on. I know you might think it’s a little
late for that, after all, what’s done is done, and the consequences have
already been dealt, but—“
“Mrs. Granger, I can understand where you’re coming from, but I would like to
ask you to reconsider, sleeping arrangements, in the very least. Quite
honestly, I suffer from horrible nightmares, and sleeping next to someone,
having a living comfy actually helps a great deal.”
“I’m sorry for your suffering, Harry, but I cannot condone allowing you to stay
in Hermione’s room.”
Hermione pinched Harry in a bid to stop him talking. Thankfully it worked.
“Understood,” she said. “Now, if that’s all, perhaps we could eat? I’m feeling
a bit peckish,” Hermione continued, standing up, knowing Harry would follow.
“Is that all?” her mother asked, watching her closely.
“I believe so, yes,” Hermione answered before summarizing. “There’s a war going
on in the magical world, Harry and I are actively involved in the war and
permanently involved with each other, and at some point in the future, we will
be having children. Quite a bit, a know. I’m sorry to have dumped this all on
you at once.”
“Very well.” Patricia’s lips pressed together before she nodded. “Go on ahead,
Hermione. Give your father and I a moment.”
Hermione gratefully clutched at Harry’s hand and swiftly left the room, closing
the door behind them. Even from down the hall, she could hear her father’s
angry voice if not the words, at least until Harry threw up a silencing charm
at the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked, rubbing at her arm and shoulder.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she answered weakly, breathy, fighting back
tears. “I told you, Harry, I didn’t want to tell them everything all at once.
It was too much!”
“They’re your parents, Hermione. They should know. And if they love you,
they’ll support you, no matter what.”
“They love me,” she defended. “That’s not it. My parents have always been
supportive of me and my choices, and this will be no different. That wasn’t why
I wanted to stretch out telling them. It’s quite a bit to take, Harry,
especially if you didn’t live through it and have to make the decisions as you
went. They should have been eased into it all.”
“I still think it’s better to have just told them everything and let them
adjust.”
Hermione shook her head and sighed. “Forget it. Come on, let’s get dinner on
the table. I wasn’t lying. We haven’t eaten anything really substantial since
leaving Hogwarts.”
They went through to the kitchen and with a few flicks of the wands, finished
dinner, reheating what had gone cool. They were already seated, plates dished
up when Mr. and Mrs. Granger came through. Harry stood immediately, dabbing
hastily at his mouth with his napkin.
“Sit down, Harry,” Patricia told him, heading to the sink to wash her hands,
her husband right behind her. “We don’t stand on such ceremony here.”
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he retook his seat. “I had it
drilled into me quite intensely this last summer when my cousin was preparing
me to take over my family duties.”
“Yet, it was mentioned you were the last in your family,” George jumped,
finishing drying his hands and joining his family at the table.
“Yes, I’m the last of the Potters living. My godfather was a Black, and he’s
also left me the responsibility of his family. Right now, there are only two
viable male heirs, and I’m first.”
“Draco?” Hermione confirmed, and Harry nodded.
“He’s the one who bullied you quite fiercely, isn’t he?” her mother asked. “I
remember his strange name.”
Hermione nearly choked and gave her mother an incredulous look. There had been
years growing up when she had hated how uncommon her name was. She got over it,
obviously, and now she quite liked her name, thank you very much, but still, to
call someone else’s name strange…!
“The Blacks like naming their children after stars and constellations. It’s a
family practice, and Draco’s mother was a Black from the cadet line. My
grandmother was a Black from the main line, and my godfather was the last Lord
Black, which is why my claim to the family is stronger than his. Of course, a
lot depends on who survives the war.”
“Draco’s family is old blood,” Hermione explained. “And his family supports the
biased side of the war.”
“Yes, but his mother was killed this summer, and his father supposedly
disinherited him,” Harry continued. “Currently, he’s heir apparent to the Black
Family, but we’re still not very friendly. I know he’s disenchanted by the
other side, but I don’t know what he plans to do about it. This summer, I think
he was just in survival mode.”
“I feel a bit bad for him,” Hermione confessed before adding, “But he’s still a
toe rag.”
“Sir,” harry spoke up some way into the meal. “It’s common knowledge that
Hermione’s family are non-magicals, although, I don’t believe they know yet for
sure where your home is located, there are some resourceful Death Eaters who
could suss out the information.”
“Death Eaters?”
“What the other side of the war calls themselves,” Hermione explain. “Their
leader is considered a Dark Lord, because the magic he uses is for negative
purposes. He likes to hurt and kill people for fun, and he wants to subjugate
the entire population. His loyal followers, those who he’s marked at his own
are called Death Eaters, and they’re branded like common criminals.”
“The thing is, many of them are actually high society lords in the magical
world, which is making things so difficult,” Harry continued. “Even though
half-bloods and muggle-borns—first generations,” he hastily corrected himself,
“make up more of the magical population than high society, they’re still in
control of much of our government.”
“It sounds quite antiquated.”
“It is,” Hermione confirmed, more than a little exasperate. “It’s like the
magical world is stuck in the 1800’s. It can be quite annoying.”
“You think these death eaters are a danger to us,” Patricia asked.
“Specifically to us, because we’re Hermione’s parents.”
“Yes. If you would allow it, Hermione and I could put up some wards that could
provide for some small measure of protection.”
“Such as?”
“Yes, what exactly are we talking about here?” George wanted to know, still not
pleased at all with much of what he’d learned tonight. He’d been set to like
the boy, but learning that he was a high target in a magical war, that his baby
girl was also a target, that his baby girl was pregnant—it was a lot to adjust
to.
Harry and Hermione had talked about this before leaving Hogwarts. They’d had
every intentions of setting up wards and protection measures for her parents
before they left, but they’d both agreed it would be easier to do if her
parents were aware of the situation and what was being done to protect them.
“At the very least, we’d like to put up a detection and proximity ward. It will
alert you whenever someone magical comes within a certain radius of your house
or office. We can tie the ward to a paper or other item, color code it, too.”
“I’d also like to ward the shed out back,” Hermione told them. “If you’re home,
and someone comes by with intentions to hurt you, you and mum can go out to the
shed and hide until they leave.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“I would rather it not be necessary and you have it available then you needing
it and not having it,” Hermione told them bluntly. “It’s not a lot, but it’s
better than nothing.”
“It’s nothing invasive,” Harry promised. “Really, you shouldn’t even notice a
difference in your everyday lives. It will only go off if someone magical, not
approved by the wards, comes by, and really, that shouldn’t be happening often
if at all. As for the shed, Hermione and I can throw up some extra protection
charms on it.”
“I don’t want to do too much, because that, too, could draw extra attention to
you. It’ll seem strange if any one house in a non-magical neighborhood is
radiating magic.”
“But we could always go around and add a few more protection wards around the
neighborhood,” Harry pointed out. “Spread it out some. Maybe some fire-
repelling wards? Anti-pest control charms?”
“Not too much, though. We have a lot of technology to contend with.”
“Not to mention the ministry might get a bit peeved at us if they think we’re
using magic against non-magicals.”
“But if it’s helpful magic,” Mrs. Granger protested.
“It doesn’t matter, mum,” Hermione sighed. “There’s a whole division of the
ministry set to not just protect non-magicals from magic, but to keep magic
hidden. We could potentially get into a lot of trouble if anyone found out.”
“So, we just make sure we’re not found out,” Harry claimed. Hermione nodded.
“If you’ll excuse us, with your permission, I’d like to get started on some of
those wards right away,” Hermione stated, standing.
“Of course. What do you need from us?”
“Nothing, really. Harry and I will take care of everything. It might take us a
while to get it all up, but don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave
for work. Good night,” she added, giving her mum and dad a quick kiss to the
cheek.
“Good night, Hermione. Be careful. We love you,” her mum told her, earning
another smile from the young woman before she left.
Harry nodded at them both before following Hermione out of the kitchen and to
the front hall cloak closet. “Here,” she said, handing him a thick jacket and
some snow boots. “We’ll walk around the outside first. I grew up here, but
you’ve never been, so I want you to get a feel for the property.”
He dutifully put on the garments and followed her outside. It was a nice house,
he thought again. Decent looking neighborhood, clean, well kept. Wasn’t as cold
feeling as Privet Drive, either. Detached garages housed cars. A few of the
lawns were decked out with decorations. Candles flickered in many of the
downstairs windows. Wreaths hung from doors. One of the houses, a few door
down, had a mock-up fence made from gigantic candy canes.
There was a little pathway that led between the house and the garage to the
back yard. A nice patio area provided a space he thought would be perfect for
summer morning coffee or barbeque dinners. He could easily see Hermione curled
up on the lounger with a book during her summer holidays. There was a patch of
grass to one side with a few beds of flowers and a bird bath. Behind the garage
was the shed Hermione had mentioned. It was cozy and comfortable, not
pretentious or snobby—the same impression Harry had gotten from both Grangers.
“Do you want me to start on the proximity ward and you can start on the shed?”
Harry offered, already sending his out, casting about them, seeping into their
surroundings.
“Yes, if you would, thank you, Harry,” Hermione responded, somewhat
distractedly as she had already turned her focus towards the shed that would
provide her parents with some measure of protection if the death eaters did
come after them here at their house. She had spent a good portion of her free
time over the years researching protection charms and spells. This was the
first summer home where she could actually try some of them out—and she had. A
fire protection ward was surrounding the house proper, with extra booster
charms cast in several rooms—the kitchen, the library/study, her parents’
bedroom, and her own bedroom. That had taken quite a bit out of her, having
never really tried her hand at casting wards before. Then she had tried some of
the other typical household wards--the anti-pest ward should detract rodents or
insects from the house proper, and an anti-theft ward was supposed to make her
house less desirable to would-be crooks. Neither of those, though, would work
on Death Eaters, no matter how poorly she thought of them. The trick of it was
to give the house protection without creating a magical beacon announcing to
anyone sensitive that this house was protected by magic.
Harry’s original plan to cast several wards around the neighborhood was good,
except for, as Neville had pointed out, the possibility of being caught and
fined by the Ministry. Harry had argued that the magic was protective and
harmful to no one, so he should be allowed to do with what he liked with his
own magic. Unfortunately, they all knew that was too logical and sensical for
their Ministry. The more she learned about the wizarding world and its politics
and policies, the more she was disgusted by it. It was all very disillusioning.
Focusing on the shed before her once again, Hermione brought up her mental
lists of spells and charms she had decided she wanted to cast on the metal.
First was a notice-me-not spell cued to anyone not of her blood. She used a
potions knife she’d brought home with her expressly for this purpose. It had
been cleaned and sanitized, and it was wicked sharp. With barely any pressure
at all, she’d nicked her finger and added her blood into the spell casting. The
ministry would accuse her of practicing dark magic if they knew—the idiots.
Then she threw up another fire protection ward—she was getting much better at
those. Next were climate and weather charms—those would help keep the shed
comfortable and dry no matter what the season. With that done, she turned back
to Harry to find him glowing.
Harry’s magic continued to cast out, encasing the house and then its neighbors.
It traveled down the streets and through the parks, tasting and sensing it all
before rushing back towards him. With a mental sense of the neighborhood, he
then began manipulating his magic to do want he wanted. He started building
ward rings, the closest one surrounding the house proper, all doors and
windows. The next stepped ten feet away; the next twenty; so on and so forth,
he continued until the final ring went up to nearly the length of a the
quidditch pitch, which should give the Grangers enough time to get to the shed,
he hoped.
With the markers for the ward rings in place, he began the tedious task of
incorporating the purpose and function of the wards. They had decided to use
only some simple detecting wards—first to identify if someone magical came
within radius of the house, second to divine the intention of the magical user.
The first functioned similar to an anti-muggle charm. It detected a magical
core and would ping on a signifying device, which, for the moment, they were
using one of Hermione’s dad’s business cards. It would vibrate when a witch or
wizard crossed the ward, and the closer to the house they got, the quicker it
would vibrate.
Although a bit tricky to cast and connect, it was still easier than the second.
Neither was something they’d had to create, thank goodness, but they’d had to
do plenty of tweaking to get them to work. After all, most wards were cast on
magical dwellings, which usually had access to a ward or key stone. Hermione’s
parents’ house had neither, which means that the spells would eventually fade,
sooner than they would in a true magical home, but they should hopefully serve
their purpose for the next several years. Long enough to keep the Grangers
safe.
He weaved his magic back through each ward ring, threading in the charm to
detect a person’s intent and tying it to the magical detection charm. They
fought him, but he was able to wrestling them into place and then tie them both
back to the business card he was holding. He’d tweaked the spell results, just
a little. In addition to vibrating, the card would change colors depending on
the intruding magical’s intention. The more negative the encroacher’s
intention, the dark the card would become. Or at least, he hoped that’s what
would happen. Unfortunately, there was no way to really test it out.
With an exhausted breath, Harry opened his eyes and refocused on the world
around him.
“Harry?” Hermione called gently, seeing his eyes open. “Are you finished?”
“Yes,” he answered, feeling extremely tired and idly debating whether he would
bother to take a shower tonight before bed or just crash into his bed and deal
with showering in the morning. “You?”
“I finished nearly an hour ago,’ Hermione admitted. “Did you have any
troubles?”
“No, not really. Are you cold? You should have gone in instead of staying out
here.”
“I’m fine. I used warming charms on the both of us. Would you like to go in and
maybe have some biscuits and cocoa?”
“Hermione Granger, offering sweets?” he teased.
“I don’t much care for them, but my dad really likes his digestives, and mum
has a bit of a sweet tooth, too.”
“Really? I’d always thought that the reason you didn’t like sweets was because
of them.”
“No, I just don’t care for many sweet things. I honestly prefer my sweets to
come from fruits, sometimes some sweet breads,” she explained as she led the
way in to the kitchen. “Harry, have you set wards before?”
“You know I haven’t, that’s why we planned so much for this trip. I wanted to
make sure I got it right,” he reminded her before collapsing into a chair at
the table. He really was tired.
“You were glowing,” Hermione said softly, not looking at him as she collected
some biscuits from one cupboard and mugs and cocoa mix from another.
“Come again?”
“Your body, you were physically illuminating this glowing light,” Hermione
explained, pulling down a little plate and setting it and the cookies before
Harry. “It encased you and didn’t leave until right before you opened your
eyes.”
“Um, okay, well that’s strange,” he admitted, picking out a cookie and biting
into it. He wasn’t a very big fan of digestives himself, but he wasn’t about to
it turn down.
“Yes, just a bit,” Hermione agreed. “I’ve never heard of this happening
before.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever glowed with magic before. At least not knowingly,” he
mused, taking another biscuit. “Have you got any suggestions, then?”
“No,” admitted Hermione, setting about making them cocoa. “I wish I could talk
to Hannah and Luna, see what they have to say.”
“Neville and Blaise might have some ideas, too,” he reminded her. He wished
they were with the others, too. He really didn’t like not knowing where his
mates were and that they were all okay. Realistically, he knew they were all
with family, and that they should be well… Neville and Blaise, at least, were
at their family manors, which should be protected by several wards, similar and
better than the ones he had just finished putting up around the Grangers.
“Yes,” Hermione sighed. “How do you think the others are getting on?”
“Hopefully, well,” he answered, fighting off a growl. “I don’t like being so
far apart from everyone.”
“Neville was going to check in on Luna and help her make sure her house is
properly warded,” Hermione reminded him. “And Hannah’s staying with another
friend, behind family wards. They’ll be safe.”
“If he judges them not good enough, he might just take her back to the manor
with him,” Harry informed her. They had discussed it before everyone had left,
and Harry had exacted the promise from Neville.
“She was really looking forward to spending the holiday with her dad.”
“I don’t know,” Harry hedge. “I think there’s more there than any of us are
aware of.”
“I’ll be glad once we’re able to get permission for her to sit her Newts with
us this year. Then we don’t have to wait another year for her to join us,”
Hermione mused. Luna had mentioned it in passing, almost wistfully. Neville was
the one who’d informed them it was possible, and Hannah was working with her
contacts to try and pull some strings. Although, it was more than likely,
Neville would be more successful if he could convince his grandmother to
advocate for the Ravenclaw girl.
“What are you thinking about so intensely,” Hermione asked after several
minutes had passed and the cocoa was ready. She settled the two mugs and
herself at the table and looked at him expectantly.
“It’s a picture,” he confessed. “It a picture of a man and a woman out on
little lake. It’s a pretty day, nice weather, and they’re just drifting in the
water. Then the water turns bad, and he’s struggling to hold to the oars of
their little boat, and… I don’t know what happens next.”
Hermione frowned, sipping at her cocoa, urging him to take his mug as well.
“That’s a rather strange thought.”
“I know. I don’t think it’s from any movie or telly, and I’ve never been in a
real row boat. Well, once, twice if you count our first year and crossing the
lake,” he amended. “I don’t know where it came from.”
“I think maybe you’re just tired.”
Harry nodded. “Should probably go to bed. I’m feeling pretty beat up.”
“You did a lot of magic out there,” Hermione reminded him, reaching over and
clasping his hand. “Harry, thank you.”
He brought her hand back to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Of course. Of
course, if you really wanted to thank me, you’d let me sleep with you tonight.”
“You heard my mother,” Hermione huffed, pulling her hand free. “No hanky-panky
under her roof.”
“I can sleep with someone and not have sex with them,” Harry huffed in return.
Hermione just shot him a disbelieving look. “Really! I can!”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing my mother only said you couldn’t sleep in my
room, isn’t it,” she said, getting up and collecting their mugs and dish. “She
didn’t say anything about me not sleeping in your room.”
Harry grinned and coughed out a little laugh. “Ms. Granger, have I told you how
much I love you?”
“Mm, not today, no, I don’t think.”
“How remiss of me,” Harry chastised, standing up and stepping into her. “I love
you. You are brilliant and amazing,” he added, trailing several kisses along
her cheeks before dropping a last kiss against her lips. “And if I wasn’t
utterly knackered and in your parents’ home, I’d probably be tempted to show
you just how much.”
“Well, then, it’s probably a good thing you’re so tired, then,” she quipped,
tugging him along. “Come on, let’s get to bed and get some sleep.”
****
They’d been asleep for an undetermined amount of time, Harry wrapped around
Hermione like a living blanket as they snuggled and slept in the guest bedroom,
when a strange sound roused them.
“Waizit,” Hermione mumbled, shifting sleepily against Harry.
“Mmndt,” Harry responded, reluctant to actually wake up.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, the strange sound became more insistent,
succeeding in waking them up fully.
“What is that?” Hermione repeated, after yawning.
“I don’t—“ Harry began before sitting straight up in the bed and looking over
at the night stand where the card he’d charmed and planned to give to the
Grangers in the morning was.
It was vibrating quickly.
And it was black.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for everyone who's been keeping on with this story. I know
     it's dragging between updates. Unfortunately, these were the last
     scenes I had prewritten that were not either DE-torture scenes or
     lost. And spring break is over, so extra hours to sit and ponder are
     lost. Translation: no this story is not abandoned; it's just an
     incredibly long period between updates.
***** Homesick *****
Chapter Summary
     The Pard goes their separate ways for Winter Break. Explicit scenes.
     No Harry/Hermione in this chapter.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
27 – Homesick –
~THEN~
Even bouncing back and forth through the mateship, a day hadn’t gone by where
Harry and Blaise hadn’t gotten up to something or another—often multiple times.
Not that she had heard any of the others complain, despite it being term end
and there being final exams to study for. Hermione would need more fingers and
toes to count the number of times she’d walked in on one or another of the pard
canoodling around instead of studying for their exams. And now they were
heading home. They all wrestled with the fact they would be away from each
other for nearly three solid weeks. They wouldn’t return to Hogwarts until the
second. It seemed so far away now, it was certainly going to be an adjustment,
that was for sure, but Hermione knew the time would fly.
 
~NOW~
- Wednesday, December 10, Kings Cross Station-
She stepped clear of the train and smiled gratefully to Neville who had brought
both hers and Hannah’s bags. Hannah hugged first her and then Neville, before
taking her bag.
“Be safe,” she entreated them both. “And I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll floo you
soon with my address, promise,” she said before rushing forward to give first
Neville and then her another hug.
“Go,” Neville told her with a sad little smile. “We’ll be fine. Enjoy your
holiday with Susan.”
Said Hufflepuff girl was standing a few feet away, smiling indulgently at her
best friend. “Thank you, Neville. I hope you have a lovely holiday, and don’t
worry about this one. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Neville nodded his thanks and then turned back to Luna. She didn’t know what he
would have said for she had silently cast disillusion on herself and stepped
away, out of the path of traffic, where she could stand and watch everyone else
while she waited. Neville looked this way and that before puffing out a sigh
and picking up his own bag once more. She watched him head over to the
apparition point where his grandmother was waiting for him. Their greeting
wasn’t even a quarter as warm or friendly as Hannah’s goodbye. With a nod and a
few words, both then turned on the spot and disapperated away.
Luna watched as both Hannah and Susan Bones were whisked away via portkey to an
as-of-yet undisclosed location. Susan had promised that Hannah could tell
Neville where she was once they were both safely ensconced behind the wards of
their holiday location. No one could quite blame the young Lady Bones for her
precautions after the violent attack on her family manor that had resulted in
the death of her last living family member, her aunt who had raised her.
A body sidled up next to her spot along the wall.
“I find myself somewhat loathed to leave,” Blaise mused, leaning slightly into
her. She leaned back into him.
“It is only one holiday,” Luna hummed. “It is good to go back to our homes and
renew our connection with our childhood one last time before we leave. And
we’ll see each other soon.”
“One last time?” Blaise queried. “You don’t think you’ll go back after this?”
“Childhood is over. Harry and Hermione will have found us our new home before
we return to school. Even Neville is looking forward to a new home that is his,
ours. You will have to explain to your mother.”
“She doesn’t really care,” Blaise scoffed.
“You are her only child.”
“Through nature, not nurture.”
Luna frowned. “What is wrong?”
“We will be parted from one another for nearly three weeks and you ask me what
is wrong?” he asked incredulously.
“You have only been with us for a short time,” Luna reminded him.
“That doesn’t make me any less attached to any of you.”
“No, but it’s more than that. You don’t want to go home.”
“My mother is coming up on a heat period,” he finally confessed. “Now that I am
of age, I will most likely be expected to… attend. Especially as I am the only
surviving child of my father’s.”
“How often are her heat periods, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Once every ten to twelve years,” Blaise sighed.
“And yet, you are her only child? I did not think your mother so young.”
“She’s not. Middle-aged, really, but let her know I said so.”
“Will you also have heats, then? Similar to Neville?”
“Supposedly, though everyone has a different cycle according to my mother. It’s
why there’s not a lot written about our reproductive cycles—everyone’s a little
bit different so it’s difficult to find much commonality.”
“That’s Harry and Hermione through the gate,” the blonde sighed, watching the
head couple leave the platform. Beside her, Blaise seemed to slump that little
bit more. “Cheer up,” she told the Slytherin. “It’s not that long of a break.
We’ll see everyone again soon.”
“Not soon enough. Is your father not here to pick you up?”
“Is your mother not here?”
“I’m flooing through to several family homes before joining with my mother.”
Luna nodded. “I will be flooing home in a moment.”
“Why not leave directly?”
She smiled and turned to him on the empty platform. “Like you, I wanted to see
everyone else safely off. Now it is time for us to go, too.”
“Luna…”
She leaned up to him even as he leaned down into her. They met in a clash of
lips and tongue. He pushed her back, turning her towards the wall. She used the
support to brace herself, hooking her legs around his as he helped hitch her
up.
“Once more before we go?”
“You’re on.”
It took a little fumbling, pushing cloth out of the way and lining up for a
smooth stroke of penetration, but within minutes they were moving against each
other, clinging to one another, as Blaise grunted and Luna let loose little
cries that spurred him on.
“You know what I need.”
“Almost there,” she puffed against his ear, clinging to him. “So close, Blaise.
So close.”
With a small growl, Blaise turned and sunk his teeth in against her throat. Not
enough to break skin, but just enough to leave a small bruise. Luna came
undone, and he fed.
Slowly, their breathing became less ragged. Luna’s legs—and her woolen
dress—slid back down although Blaise made no move to step back and refasten his
pants. Not until a few minutes later when the conductor and the trolley lady
came their way.
“Oiy, you two. What are you two still doing here?” the elder man barked.
“Best be heading home, dears,” the trolley lady told them. “Your families are
most likely worried sick wondering where you are. Especially in these times.
Off you go, dears. Be safe, and have a good holiday!”
She shooed them along all the way towards the public fireplace. Blaise and Luna
shared one last look before first Luna and then Blaise tossed their powder into
the fire, called out their destination, and whirled away.
****&&****
Luna stepped out into the main space of the Rookery. Her family had lived on
this plot of land for generations. Now, she was the last, and she would be
leaving. She knew this would be the last time she visited her birth home, the
home where she grew up as a child. Part of her was sad to be saying goodbye.
Another part of her, however, was happy to be leaving.
This home held happiness, yes, but it also held sadness. Mostly surrounding her
mother’s death and her father’s decline.
Biting her lip, she trailed through the main room, noting the dust and general
lack of up-keep. Up the rickety stairs in need of bolstering charms. Into the
room that was hers. She stared at the room around her—the bed, the walls, her
art. Then she turned around and went back downstairs, not even bothering to
drop off her bag in her room.
Her father wasn’t on the main floor, nor was he in the print shop. With a weary
sigh, she left the house and wandered out into the wilderness of their gardens
and land. There was a stream that trickled by the corner of the garden, but
beyond was often marsh as opposed to solid, dry land. The garden itself was
overrun and unattended. A chaotic mess.
Her mother had often smiled and laughed as she tended the garden. Luna could
still hear her light laughter floating on the breeze in the spring and
summertime. Often times, the memory was drowned out by the sound of the
explosion that had demolished the side shed, her mother’s workshop. The ruined
wrecked was still there, like a scar that refused to heal away. Her father had
refused to remove the broken bones of her mother’s workshop, always saying he
would need to fix it back up so Luna could use it.
Luna had no intention of ever using it.
She left the garden behind and stepped instead into the copse of trees that led
into a small woods proper. There was a small path that led to a bench. Despite
the chill in the air, that was where she found her father, sitting out amongst
the trees, talking to himself.
“You’re right, of course you’re right, my treasure box. I should wait until at
least May to plant the kabucha and melon. I was thinking of traveling to
Shqipërisë next. Or maybe Estland. What do you think? Then again, perhaps
someplace further away would be a better idea. No, not indefinitely. I wouldn’t
keep our moonbeam away from her homeland. I know better than that, but…”
“Daddy,” Luna calls gently. “Won’t you come inside?”
“Just for a little while, perhaps. A small extended vacation. Just until things
settle down a little.”
“Daddy, I’m home from Hogwarts. Would you like to share a cup of tea with me?”
“I know she’s supposedly safe at Hogwarts, but I can’t help thinking we’d all
be safer still further away. Maybe India or China?”
Luna spied the tipped goblet at her father’s feet and sighed heavily. If he had
taken what she highly suspected he had, she knew he would be out of touch with
reality for a while. Why he would have taken Gift of the Fae on the same day
she was coming home, though, she didn’t understand. She knew her father had a
weakness for the illicit potion, which supposedly granted the victim certain
fairy gifts. And the injestor was a victim. The potion was highly corruptive
and addicting. Taken too often, too many times, in too high a dose… it could
render permanent madness, especially to one who did not have a hint of fairy
blood in them.
Luna had never needed the potion. She was already quite mad—out of step with
reality some may say. Sometimes the visions she saw or the voices she heard
taunted and haunted her. Although, as her maturity approached, she’d noticed a
steadier control over her powers, for which she was grateful.
Leaving her father to his visions, Luna returned to the house and looked
around. Slipping her wand free from her hair knot, she quickly began swishing
and flicking it about the place, clearing the counters and cabinets of dust and
webs, slacking a layer of polish across the woods, flinging the carpets and
rugs out to the lawn to flap free of dirt and dust. In the kitchen, the dishes
piled in the sink began washing and drying themselves before floating back to
their proper place in the cupboards. A broom and mop began waltzing across the
floors, an oil rag swooping along behind them. Another spell shot off towards
the staircase, tightening screws and reinforcing support beams. More still saw
a watering can pay a visit to many of the dying potted plants, dry and starved.
Idly, she wondered if she should ask Neville to rescue the poor things.
As if hearing her thoughts of him, the floo flared with an incoming call, and
there was Neville’s head, hovering in the fire. “Hello, Luna! You disappeared
before I could properly say goodbye. You mind if I come on through?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just doing a spot of cleaning.” She cleared the space for
him to walk through unhindered by the automated cleaning happening. “Hello,
Neville.”
“Luna,” he greeted with a wry little smile, opening his arms invitingly. She
readily stepped into his embrace, allowing the warmth that was their pard bond
settle back over her. She hadn’t even realized she’d been chilled. He gave her
a brief little squeeze before looking around, frowning slightly. “Where’s your
father? I thought he was supposed to be here.”
“He’s outside, communing. He does that sometimes. I’m surprised to see you so
soon. I thought you might like to spend more time with your grandmother.”
Neville flushed somewhat guilty and embarrassed. “No, not really. After seeing
me safely home, Gram took off to one of her social meetings. Not sure why they
scheduled something the same day the train got back in, but there you have it.
Besides, I promised Harry that I would stop by and check on your wards here. He
was concerned you wouldn’t be safe enough by yourself.”
“I’ve lived my whole life on these lands,” Luna mused. “Never been in much
danger before.”
He dropped a kiss against her temple. “Things are different now. We belong to
Harry now, and he considers our safety of high importance.”
“Luna smiled gently. “Of course he does. Come, have a cup of tea with me, then
you can look your fill of our properties wards and reassure Harry that I am
safe.”
Neville returned her smile and followed her to a seating area. “I’m not sure
this is what I envisioned your home to be like or not,” he mused as she started
the tea.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a cottage in the woods?”
“We had one of those once. It’s long since crumbled and returned to the forest.
One of my foremothers had this rookery built, nearly three hundred years ago.
It was bigger at one point, but other parts were removed or discontinued. Now,
there is only this one small tower left. The lands were much more, once upon a
time, but even that has been part and parceled, sold off to other hands. We’ve
kept possession of the woods, though.”
She smiled sadly at him. He smiled back. “I’d like to see, if you’d be willing
to show me them.”
“Of course. But first, I was wondering if you might help these poor fellows,”
she asked, directing him towards the neglected plants in various pots.
“It would be my pleasure,” he returned, happily going from pot to pot, working
his special brand of magic to coax each specimen back to health and vitality
while Luna fixed their tea. “You know you are more than welcomed to come back
with me to Longbottom manor for the holidays.”
“I know. Thank you... But if this it to be the last holiday with my father, I
think I should try and appreciate it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Neville sighed disappointedly. “I just hate the idea of you alone out
here, by yourself so much.”
“Being away from Harry is already starting to affect you, isn’t it?”
“Like it’s not you?” Neville practically snapped. Luna raised an eyebrow and
looked at him. He flushed. “Sorry.”
“I understand. Have you heard from Hannah yet?”
“No,” he practically moped, returning from his last patient with sagging
shoulders. He took the cup she offered him and sipped gently. “I left an elf in
charge, waiting for her call, just in case.”
“I’m sure she will contact you soon,” Luna tried to reassure him, but she also
felt a fissure of concern as she stared down at the dredges of her own cup.
After he finished his own cup, she led him down the stone steps and out onto
the lands. Neville looked around him, taking in the drawings on the stone walls
and the different plants and trees that filled the dormant garden. He followed
her out into the fields proper, looking back at the stone building that looked
much like a parapet sliced off of a castle and randomly deposited out in the
middle of a field. He could see the smattering of a woods to the other side,
and a part of him yearned to go there and visit with those trees. He knew
better how to manage those impulses now, though, and so resisted the urge.
“Here’s our family’s ward stone,” Luna suddenly announced, drawing his
attention aware from the land and back to her. “As you can see, it’s in working
condition. Would you like to test the wards?”
“Luna,” he entreated, trying to erase some of the bitterness he sensed in her
voice. “You should come back with me. Stay with me for the holiday. You can
meet my gran and together we can work on getting her to talk to the right
people to get permission for you to take your NEWTS early, with us. Plus, I
would like her to get to know the people in my family, our pard. Neither one of
us needs to be alone.”
“You could stay here,” Luna returned.
Neville studied her face. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”
She looked startled. “You would do that?”
“Stay here as opposed to Longbottom Manor? If it meant being with you and
neither of us being alone? Yes.”
She studied him a moment longer, and then seeming to make up her mind, she
began to undress.
“Wai-what are you doing?” Neville asked, staring somewhat stupidly as Luna
stripped naked in the middle of the field, laying her dress and stockings to
the side, over her boots.
“If I’m to be leaving, I would like to add my magick to the wards one last
time,” Luna said matter-of-factly as she hopped up onto the block of stone.
“You will assist me, won’t you?”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Strip,” she answered. “And then come here. Join with me.”
“You’re talking about using sex magic,” Neville caught on. “To fuel the wards?”
“Yes. Mummy and Daddy used to, before Mummy died. And now you can help me do
the same.”
“Okay, but I don’t actually know the right words, do you?”
“Of course. I’ve read my family grimoire multiple times, haven’t you?”
Neville finished divesting himself of his casual robes and winter cloak, and
shivering slightly, stepped up to the ward stone. “Gram wouldn’t allow me
before, and I actually didn’t even think to ask this past summer. I guess she
couldn’t deny me now, could she.”
“She could try, but I doubt the family magick would allow it. If you’d like,
this evening we could look through your family’s grimoire and see if the ritual
is the same. If it is, we could do it again, over your family’s ward stone,”
she offered.
Neville grinned and leaned into her. “You just want more sex.”
“It’s true, I do enjoy sex with you and the others, but it was a sincere offer.
After all, we would be having sex with or without the ritual, wouldn’t we?”
“Most definitely,” Neville agreed, leaning into her, pressing his mouth over
hers even as he pressed his warm and ready cock against her soft belly. “Say
the words, Luna. Say them quick ‘cause I want inside you now.”
“Semen magicae tueri familiae terrae,” Luna whispered, wrapping her legs around
his waist and drawing him to her.
Neville thrust forward, filling her readily. “‘Protect your family lands,’” he
rumbled, pulling back only to thrust again, “‘with sex magic.’ That’s it?”
“Well, we both have to cum,” Luna gasped, feeling her back scrap against the
stone beneath her with every thrust. “Shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish.”
“Gods, no,” Neville agreed, nuzzling down her neck and chest, contorting
himself so he could suckle at one dark, rosy nipple. She reached up and wrapped
an arm around his head, holding him close as he continued to chase his orgasm.
Teeth grazed along her skin, shooting miniature bolts of lightning down her
nerve endings. Their magics were already colliding, swirling up around their
bodies and being slurped up greedily by the stone they were coupling against,
feeding the house magic that had been starved of this mostly affectionate type
of replenishing for nearly a decade.
One copulation would not be enough to fully replenish the ward stone, Luna
fundamentally knew, but it didn’t matter. It would be enough to protect her
father for the time being. Maybe even enough to outlast this cursed war if it
didn’t drag out for too long. It would give him some time to decide what it was
he would do next—whether that be to travel to Albania or Estonia or some other
country like he had mentioned or something else. All this she knew without
having to think about.
Which left her free to think about the feel of Neville’s body, pressing against
hers. His mouth drawing her small breast tight, teeth sinking into the nipple
with each draw. His belly muscles constricting and rippling with every stroke
and flex of his hips, sliding his thick cock in and out in the same dance she
and Blaise had played at not even a full hour gone past. She threw her head
back, cracking her skull painfully against the stone and cried out. The thought
of Neville sliding through Blaise’s cum, readying to release his own flow was
what helped push her over the edge, legs squeezing Neville’s hips as she rode
out her own orgasm.
Neville wasn’t far behind, pulling back to quickly chase after his own
completion. Even he felt the magic swirl around them through his lust haze.
Swirl and then snap, and he came suddenly, flooding Luna’s passage with his own
seed. He stumbled back, watching fascinated as the last heroic efforts of his
penis spilled out onto the stone and seemed to disappear, soaked into the
stone. He watched, staring transfixed as Luna did…something. Whatever it was,
it caused his seed to slowly dribble out of her channel and slip slop down onto
the stone, where it too was absorbed. She sat up, straddling the stone, and
stretched languidly.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of having sex,” she mused, looking up at him
with a dreamy, contented little smile.
“No? I suppose that’s lucky for me, then,” he grinned reaching over to help her
up off the stone. “Is that it, then? Are we done here?”
“For now, yes.”
Neville nodded. “Would you like to wait for your father before leaving or head
over to Longbottom Manor now?”
“Daddy’s here.”
“What? Where?” Neville whirled around, expected the Lovegood father to be
standing there behind him. Luna giggled.
“He’s off in the trees. I’ll go say goodbye and then leave him a note. Then we
can go. Do you think I could use a washroom when we arrive?”
“I’ll make sure your rooms are prepared and ready for you before we arrive,”
Neville promised. “Do you, ah, want me to wait inside while you speak to your
father? Or, well, maybe I should speak to him? Although, I suppose it’s really
Harry’s right to— “
“Shh,” Luna pressed a finger to Neville’s lips to silence the random ramblings
that had begun to spill forth. “Wait inside. I’ll only be a moment,” she told
him, shooing him off up the stone steps and back inside the Rookery. Then she
traced her steps back to the woods where she’d last seen her father. He was
still on the bench, lounging now, twirling a dead leaf between his fingers,
still talking rambled that made little sense, even to her.
“Daddy,” she called. “It’s me, Luna. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be
going over to a friend’s house for the rest of the holiday. His name is Neville
Longbottom. We’ve helped bolster the family ward stone, so the wards should be
a little stronger. I’ve also done a spot of cleaning around the house, so don’t
be surprised, okay? Please remember to eat something while I’m gone. I’ll leave
a message for you, so you can read and remember where I’m at. I don’t want you
to worry, but I know you won’t remember much when you come off the fae’s
Blessing. Remember not to take too much of it. It’s really a curse. Goodbye,
Daddy. Take care. I love you.”
“Love you, too, moonbeam,” Luna thought she distinctly heard amounts all the
other mumbling. She sighed and turned back towards the Rookery.
She came. She saw. She had said her goodbyes. Now it was time to leave again,
she thought. Good thing she hadn’t even unpacked. Neville was waiting for her
inside, hand extended out towards her. She took it with a smile and allowed him
to usher her through the floo to his childhood home.
 
***&&&***
Blaise put off the final trip to his mother’s until he could no longer do so.
He had paid proper short visits to his various aunts and uncles, staying for a
cup of tea or a glass of wine and some idle gossip at each home until finally
his uncle Enzo gave him the knowing eye, and he had made his exit.
Although his paternal grandparents were both muggles, three of his father’s six
siblings had been magical. The family had been mostly close, and even after his
father’s murder, Blaise had always felt welcomed by his father’s family. No
matter what they may have thought about his mother and her multitude of
remarriages, there was no doubting she had loved Alejandro Zabini.
He said his final goodbyes and took the floo to Villa de la Mare, the home he
had grown up in as a child, located in the city of Portofino along the Italian
Riviera. It was by no means the largest or fanciest house in his mother’s
portfolio, but it was the one Blaise felt the most at home in. Located right on
the water, nestled into a potent of cliff and sea, the steps of the back patio
led right into the warm Mediterranean waters. Blaise stepped out of the floo
and immediately stretched his senses, looking for his mother.
The villa was empty. With a quiet pop, an elf appeared before him, offering up
a silver tray and a letter. “Master Blaise, it’s so good to see you home,
master, and looking well. Mistress Marianna has charged Tullis with giving
Master Blaise this letter from his mother. Is there anything Tullis can be
doing for Master Blaise?”
“No, Tullis, thank you. I’ll see to my own belongs in just a moment. Has my
mother been staying here recently?”
“No, Master Blaise. mistress has been away for the last two weeks. We are
unsure of when she will return.”
“I see. Thank you,” Blaise murmured, dismissing the elf and looking to the
letter he now held. He could smell his mother’s perfume on the parchment. He
had been somewhat hoping that his mother would be home…and then somewhat hoping
she would not. He wasn’t sure how to feel now. On the one hand, he wanted to
tell her about his unique opportunity to bond with a vanteerian and his circle…
pard, he reminded himself with smile. On the other… well, Harry’s pard was
still a very new occurrence, and although he felt he was mostly well-liked and
accepted by all the current members, he couldn’t help but be a little frightful
that he would still be told to leave, that he was too dangerous for them to
take on. He snorted a laugh and shook his head ruefully. A nymph, a fae, and a
vanteerian. A living, breathing vanteerian… He could grow fat—if that was even
possible—feasting on their sexual energies alone without ever touching one of
them. There was no way he would willingly give them up without a fight.
With another sigh, he broke open the seal to the letter his mother had left
him, already suspecting what it would say. He skimmed the letter for certain
key words—yes. His mother had found a new interest with… undesirable ties and
panaches. They were already engaged to be married. He was, of course, more than
welcomed to join them at some estate in Greece for the holiday. She would like
to see him, but knew, as he had come into his inheritance, he was often
uncomfortable around his mother’s would-be-victims, especially after the last
one had made advances to have Blaise join them in their marital bed. He had
been a muggle and hadn’t survived the encounter, much to his mother’s slight
amusement. After all, she had been planning to make the man last just a little
bit longer, but Blaise was young and new to his powers. The man hadn’t stood a
chance. Which was fine as the man was a pedophile and a human trafficker, but
Blaise had found the encounter less than satisfying. His mother had understood
and promised not to expose him to any such opportunities knowingly in the
future.
So it was his choice. He could join his mother and her newest conquest in
Greece for the winter holiday or he could stay in the villa alone, perhaps
visiting with his aunts and uncles and grandparents. Or…
He didn’t have to spend the holiday alone. He knew of at least one
place—possibly two—he could visit, perhaps stay for the entirety of the
holiday. He didn’t have to be alone… Purposefully, he stepped back towards the
floo and gathered up some powder, and then paused. No, he couldn’t just try to
floo over to Longbottom. More than likely their floo connection was blocked,
especially from such long distance as those from the continent. However, he
could floo his way to his Cousins’ in Northern France and then take a public
floo back to Kings Cross. From there he should be able to get to Longbottom.
Decision and plan made, mind going a mile a minute to try and counter any
disruptions to his plan, Blaise tossed the powder into the fire and stepped
through. If all went well, he could be at the Longbottom manor before the hour
was out. If that failed or for some reason he couldn’t stay with Longbottom, he
would reach out to Luna and encourage her to return Italy with him. Or, maybe
he could encourage both her and Longbottom to return with him. That would be a
nice little holiday. The only thing better would be if Harry and Hermione and
Hannah could join them, too.
**&&&&**
Neville sat comfortably in the armchair before a crackling fire, reading
through a back issue of a herbology journal when an elf came to inform him
someone was in the entry chamber. Surprised, having felt the wards twinge but
believing them to be his grandmother returning from her social, Neville got up
and briskly crossed to the entry chamber where the floo connectioni waited.
Blaise!” he called, surprised at seeing the other man there. “I thought you
were in Italy with your mother.”
He walked up and easily embraced the other, smacking a kiss to his cheek.
“I was, in Italy, that is,” the dark-skinned man responded. “But unfortunately,
my mother will not be available this season. I was hoping, if your earlier
offer was still open…?”
“Of course, you are more than welcome to stay here. I welcome you to Longbottom
Manor, Blaise Zabini. Come in and find peace and succor.” Neville formally
greeted and welcomed his guest, stepping back and motioning him through into
the house proper. “Luna’s here, too. I stopped by her place earlier and, well,
let’s just say I wasn’t willing to take no for an answer.”
Blaise smiled back at him “She was to be my next stop if you had turned me
away,” he confessed.
“Never,” Neville growled, turning the incubus back to face him fully. A hand
slid around Blaise’s neck, callouses scraping and teasing before Neville’s grip
firmed and squeezed, chasing a tiny gasp from Blaise’s lips. “Nervier will I
turn you away,” Neville practically growled before jerking the lithe man
against him and crushing their mouths together.
Blaise responded eagerly, pressing up against Neville’s thicker body, tilting
his head to get better access.
“Gods, so good.”
“Yes, you are. I could take you right here,” Neville growled, squeezing
Blaise’s ass in a punishing grip that had the other man moaning and thrusting
against him.
“Yes,” Blaise hissed. “Do it. Take me, fill me up, Longbottom.”
Neville nipped sharply at his jaw. “You know, you call everyone else by their
first name’s now except me. Why is that I wonder?”
“Because, every time I say your name, I’m imagining you bottoming out inside
me,” Blaise panted, “With long, deep strokes, filling me up, stuffing your
thick cock inside me, forcing me open around your dick, and then filling me up
with your cum.”
“Gods, I love the way you think,” Neville moaned, pushing Blaise down onto the
carpet before the fire. “Love the way all those filthy images spill off your
tongue,” he murmured following Blaise down and covering him with his own body.
“Can’t decide if I want you face down with your pretty ass in the air for me,
or if I want you just like this, flat on your back with your legs spared wide
and your mouth in easy reach,” Neville gasped, thrusting against the writhing
body beneath him.
“Need clothes off first,” Blaise gasped. “Wand…”
Neville leaned back enough, give him just enough wiggle room to release his
wand and flick the wood over both of them, neatly divesting them both of their
every stitch of clothing. Another flick at the door saw locking and silencing
charms go up.
“Good thinking,” Neville approved before squashing the body beneath him once
more. Hands gripped thighs, fingers digging in forcibly as he maneuvered Blaise
into a spread-eagle position and frotting against him insistently. “Tell me,”
Neville demanded. “Tell me how badly you want to feel my cock inside you
again.”
“Oh, gods, yes,” Blaise whined. “Your cock is so thick and full. Wanna feel you
forcing your way into my body, Longbottom. Make me stretch for you, make me
open up around your dick, Longbottom, come on. Force me to take every single
inch of your cock.”
Neville growled, wrenching one of Blaise’s legs up higher, up over his
shoulder, splitting him open even as he grasped for his dick and ran the tip
along Blaise’s balls and down towards his opening before trailing it back up
again, repeating the pattern. He knew, if he looked, he’d see Blaise’s greedy
opening winking, kissing the air, begging to be filled even as the slick the
incubus naturally produced began to flow and drool, sliding down the crease of
his ass. He pressed his cockhead to the other boy’s opening, felt the ring of
muscles constrict and contract, as if trying to suck him inside the incubus’s
body.
“Damn it, Neville! Please, fuck me already!” Blaise shouted, throwing his head
back and writhing against the other man’s larger body.
‘With my seed and my sex, my family lands I protect,’ Neville thought before
thrusting forward, forcing his dick into the other man’s tight passage. Moans
and groans melded as with tiny jerks and thrusts, Neville continued to force
his way completely into the other man’s body, until he bottomed out, as
promised. Blaise lay trembling and gasping in his arms, eyes squeezed shut
tight. “You okay?” Neville asked
He nearly screamed when Blaise’s body constricted around him, squeezing him
almost painfully before loosening. “Fuck me,” the incubus hissed. “Use me. Fuck
me and then fill me. Make me feel your cock in me for days.”
Neville didn’t need to be told another time. Bracing himself against the floor,
he began a punishing rhythm that saw him never really pulling far from the
other man, but continuously pistoning forward, pushing Blaise forcibly into
Neville’s arms, braced right above his shoulders. Split wide open for the
nymph, one leg trapped under Neville’s, the other held wide, trapped between
Neville’s arm and Blaise’s own body as Neville continued to thrust and fill
him, practically bouncing on him, in him.
“You love this, don’t you,” Neville gasped. “Being filled, being fucked. You
love the feel of a cock opening you up, being used for our pleasure. There’s
nothing you like more, is there, than knowing we’re using you and going to fill
you up with our cum.”
“Mmm, yes, Neville, fill me, use me,” he gasped in between thrusts. “Spill your
seed in me, plant yourself so deep inside me. Let me feel you take root and
consume me.”
Neville lost his controlled rhythm. It never failed. Blaise seemed to know
instinctually what to say at any given moment to make his lovers go wild and
plunge to their release. He moaned happily as he felt those first spurts of cum
fill him. Magic washed over him, not his own. He blinked blurrily around him.
“What was that?’
“The manor wards,” Neville mumbled. “We’re good, it’s safe,” he continued
nuzzling against Blaise’s shoulder. “So good, Blaise.” He reached down and
caressed the place where he was still filling the other man. “Amazing. You’re
so amazing. Never get tired of fucking you.” He sighed. “We should probably go
get cleaned up. you need a room, and we should probably check on Luna, too.”
“I don’t need my own room,” Blaise protested. “I could just sleep with you.”
Neville grinned, thrusting against the dark skinned man as he sat up. “I don’t
think we’d get a whole lot of sleeping done, do you?”
Blaise stretched and purred, practically writhing against Neville. “I wouldn’t
mind.”
Neville laughed and rolled free of Blaise’s body. Blaise mewed in protest,
watching Neville roll up into a stand. Still feeling satisfied and somewhat
content, he lay there spread legs and reach down to play with his messy hole,
fingers squishing about the combination of slick and cum, he smeared it into
his balls and up his spent dick, hooded eyes watching Neville for any sign the
other man would be willing to go again.
“Come on. My gram is out at the moment, but she could return at any time. I’d
rather continue this behind bedroom doors,” Neville offered, reaching down to
haul Blaise up. The lift was more powerful than Blaise had expected, and he
ended up stumbling to find his footing. Neville was right there behind him,
steadying him, fingers pressed into his hips bones hard enough to potentially
leave bruises on someone less delicate than himself, broad chest pressed to his
back, and that warm mouth pressed to his throat. “Besides, I want to see you
laid out in my bed, looking all sinful and well-fucked, covered in my cum.”
“Yes,” Blaise breathed. Definitely the right choice to come here for his
alternate holiday plans, he thought, allowing Neville to swish and flick them
both clean and dressed. He followed Neville from the room and up the main stair
case to the family wing, a satisfied smile stretching his lips.
**&&&&**
Hannah was surprised at first when the portkey she and Susan had taken from
Kings Cross station deposited them in a completely unfamiliar garden in front
of an equally unfamiliar manor house, but seeing her friends at ease with the
surroundings, she dutifully followed the other ginger girl into the up the lane
and into the house. The three story structure easily rivaled from the front
view the Bones Manor Hannah was more familiar with.
“We’re in Megchelen,” Susan finally said as they approached the great front
door and she placed her palm on the solid looking wood. The door glowed briefly
before parting before them. “Hannah Abbott, be welcomed to Kasteeltje van
Beenderen”
Hannah blinked. “Megchelen?”
“Netherlands,” Susan confirmed with a little smile. “One of my great-
grandfathers had it built for his bride as a summer home back in the 1820’s. Of
course, it’s been abandoned for most of this century, but it’s one of the
properties I absolutely fell in love with when I was going through everything
this summer.”
She sighed as she continued to lead her best friend into the structure. “Ten
bedrooms, six baths, another six water closets. A formal sitting and dining
room, a family room and breakfast room, a separate library and study. The
cellar boasts a potions lab in addition to all the regular trappings. There’s a
conservatory out back with an indoor and outdoor pool. Upstairs there’s an
owlery and a perfect balcony for stargazing. It’s quite perfect for me.”
Hannah felt a fissure of fear. “You sound like you don’t plan to stay in
England after Hogwarts.”
“I don’t,” the dark haired ginger confessed. “That’s not to say I won’t help
out with the war, but… afterwards, if I survive…” She offered another sad smile
before turning and calling out. “Calley?”
“Yes, Mistress Bones,” a young house elf popped into appearance before them.
“Welcome back, Mistress Bones.”
“Thank you, Calley. This is my very good friend, Hannah Abbott. Would you take
our bags up to our rooms? Hannah can have the daffodil room, please. And then
will you bring some tea out to the conservatory?”
“Of course, Mistress. Calley will be seeing that done right away,” the little
elf agreed, disappearing with a snap.
“Come on,” Susan said to Hannah. “I think you’ll like the conservatory, too.
You might even want to invite Neville to visit,” she added with a little smirk.
Hannah forced a laugh and shoulder bumped her best friend. “You just want some
free advice for your garden.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Susan agreed, taking her friend’s hand and giving it a
little squeeze. “Is he as good with humans as he is with plants?” she teased,
wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Even better,” Hannah confessed. “What he can do with those hands of his, not
to mention his tongue…” Her eyes fluttered in remembrance and Susan laughed
delightedly.
“I might just need to borrow him for more than just my garden,” the Bones
heiress joked.
“Not a chance!”
“So mean!” Susan poohed. “You won’t even share with your best friend!”
They stepped through the door at the end of the corridor and into a seemingly
tropical jungle. The warm, humid air was a striking difference to the winter
chill of the outside, reminding Hannah of some of the greenhouses back at
Hogwarts. Looking around at the different plants and flowers growing in
unbridled riot, Hannah knew Susan was right that Neville would enjoy this
place. They traipsed through the foliage along a paved path, following the
sound of splashing water until they came to the pool patio, complete with a
small waterfall in the corner that churned the water, spilling some into a
stream-like channel that she suddenly realized trailed off into the indoor
jungle.
“Pretty neat, huh?” Susan asked, grinning. “I imagine there must be parts in
Africa or South America that look like this.”
She took a seat at the white cast iron table and motioned for Hannah to do the
same, already reaching out to pour tea for the both of them from the tea
service that appeared when she sat. Hannah made up two plates of biscuits and
sandwiches while Susan doctored their tea to taste. Both girls smiled at the
simple gestures they had participated in a million times over the years.
“So, things are going well between you and Neville, then?” Susan asked. “Should
I be expecting to hear of a betrothal contract or intent to bond before the end
of the school year?”
Hannah blushed, but couldn’t quite meet her friend’s teasing smile. How could
she explain to her best friend that there would probably never be anything so
concrete binding her and Neville because, despite what everyone in the school
believed, she and Neville weren’t really a couple. They weren’t even a triad.
They weren’t even the main foci of their pard, she thought, more than a little
melancholy. Not that she regretted her inclusion or begrudged Harry and
Hermione their positions of importance… But it was a little off-putting to know
you were replaceable in the whole scheme of things.
“Hannah, what is it?” Susan asked, leaning over and touching her trembling
hand.
She hadn’t even realized her hand was trembling. Fighting back sudden tears and
a gut-wrenching longing to be with her pard mates, Hannah forced a smile onto
her normally cheerful face. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being silly.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t think so. There’s something going on. I
know there is. I know you haven’t told me nearly everything. Is it Neville? Has
he been… he hasn’t hurt your or forced you into anything has he?” she demanded,
spitting angry and ready to key back to London and hunt down the Gryffindor.
“No!” Hannah gasped. “It’s nothing like that! Goodness, Susan, how could you
think such a thing, of Neville of all people! I mean, you’ve known him even
longer than I have!”
“Just because your families run in the same circles doesn’t mean you really
know a person,” Susan denied, still unconvinced something wasn’t wrong. “So
he’s not hurting you?”
“No, not at all. Neville is a gentle soul.”
“And he hasn’t forced you into anything?”
“Neville doesn’t need to force his will on anyone,” Hannah argued. “He is a
steady soul. Really, sometimes I think he should have been sorted into
Hufflepuff more than Gryffindor. He works hard and is up most loyal to his
friends.”
Susan nodded in agreement, still frowning. “Has he not made any mentions of a
formal commitment?”
Hannah sighed. “No, but nor have I,” she admitted. “I don’t think there will be
any formal commitment, either.”
“What? But why not?”
Hannah bit her lip, wondering how she should proceed. It wasn’t like she could
come right out and tell her friend she was in a polyamorous relationship, could
she? Or that she was the only one in their pard who was simply a plain old
witch, without any other special inheritance… Other than the fact Harry had
accepted her, she really had no real place in the pard, did she.
“Hannah?” Susan whispered brokenly, watching her best friend slip into silent
tears. “What is it? You can tell me anything. You know I will keep your
confidences as my own.”
“Do you swear it?” Hannah asked before she even realized it. She did
desperately want to unload her worries and fears, and it wasn’t like anyone
else in the pard could really understand, could they?
Susan blinked, surprised. They had been fast friends ever since their first
night in Hogwarts. They had shared numerous secrets and confidences, but never
had they sworn to uphold those secrets. That hadn’t needed to as children, but
now… Now they were adults in the eyes of magic and society. Now their secrets
had the potential to be so much more dangerous than girlhood crushes and
gossip.
Susan sat back and withdrew her wand. “I, Susan Amelia Bones, so swear to keep
Hannah Elizabeth Abbott’s confidences as my own.”
The magic swirled around both girls before settling, and Hannah took a deep
breath before launching into the tale of the past four months, in true best
friend fashion, leaving no little detail out.
**&&&&&**
Neville led Blaise up to the family wing, showing him which rooms had been
assigned to Luna and which were to be for his use before leading him into the
heir suite. The door hadn’t even closed behind them before Neville was feeding
from Blaise’s mouth once again.
“So glad you changed your mind and decided to come,” he murmured feverently,
tugging at Blaise’s robes.
“Do so enjoy coming,” the incubus replied, nipping at Neville’s lips and doing
a bit of tugging of his own.
“I do hope you’ll be willing to invite one more into your play?” Luna mused
from her perch upon Neville’s bed. “Although, I suppose it can be entertaining
enough to watch the two of you.”
“Luna,” Neville gasped, whirling to find the girl, naked and reclined against
his bedsheets. “I thought you were still bathing…”
She smiled at them and stretched, her tiny breasts lifting high and calling for
attention. “It was a lovely bath, thank you, although, I’ll confess, it was a
tad bit lonely without anyone there to wash my back,” the blonde mewed.
“Perhaps next time.”
“Do you mean to tell me our green man did not satisfactorily see to your
needs?” Blaise mockingly teased, stepping away from Neville to join Luna on the
bed. She reached up for him even as he crawled over to her.
“You are too dressed for bed.”
“You are, of course, correct, once again, mia bella incantatrice,” Blaise
purred even as he pressed kissed to her sternum. “However shall we rectify this
horrible happenstance?”
Luna actually giggled. “Well, the logical answer is you should undress, of
course,” she told him. “But slowly, I think. By hand, piece by piece.”
Grinning, Neville crossed the room and took a seat at the head of the bed.
“Yes, Blaise. You should strip for us, slowly.”
Blaise looked at them and then laughed delightedly, excited for the game. He
used the foot pole to pull himself back up and turned his back on the pair,
looking over his shoulder to coyly watch them as he deftly released the
fastenings on his outer robe. He let the material slide down off his shoulders,
down his arms, revealing his vested back and finally slack encased legs.
He tossed the robe onto a nearby chair and then turned back to the bed, calmly
unfastening the buttons down his waistcoat, leaving the materials to hang
loosely. He used the other foot pole to stretch his arms high enough to mostly
pull his shirt free of his belt. Then he tackled the buttons of his shirt,
again unfastening but not stripping off the garment. He casually toed off his
shoes, kicking them under the foot of the bed so they’d be out of the way,
before reaching for his belt.
Hooded-eye, he watched the pair on the bed eagerly watching him, feeding on the
lust that poured from the freely. Lust for him, because of him. He turned away,
slipping off his waistcoat first and then his shirt, laying both over the same
chair he’d chosen for his robes.
He heard a whimpered moan, and a quick glance back confirmed what he had
suspected would happen. Neville had pulled a naked Luna into his lap and was
happily playing with her nabs while the girl frigged herself, both still avidly
watching him. He smirked—couldn’t help himself even if he wanted to, and why
would he want to? He was in the same room as two highly sexual creatures—nearly
as much so as himself—and their want, their desire, was him.
He quickly unfastened his slacks and shoved both slacks and pants off his hips
before stepping free of them. bending from the waist, he made sure his arsehole
was on plain display, knowing it should still be glistening and red from its
earlier use. Using the chair, he slid each sock off, before turning around once
more, fully naked and bare to the pair still on the bed.
Neville was humping Luna’s bum, but as he was still clothed, it wasn’t exactly
effectively. Luna was writhing, squirming between Neville’s trapped cock and
her own scrabbling fingers, even as she continued to watch him, hooded eyed and
opened mouth. Slowly, he prowled back to the foot of the bed and climbed on.
Watching them, watch him, he crawled up the bed slowly. He crawled up until he
reached Luna’s foot first, nuzzling his face against her slightly chilled skin,
fragrant from whatever oils were in her recent bath. He slid his face up along
her calf, her knee… her thigh… until finally—finally! —he nuzzled her sex,
chasing her fingers away to replace them with his lips and mouth and tongue,
happily lapping up her juices and coaxing her to come undone between Neville’s
continued stimulation of her budding breasts and his own oral talents.
Luna came undone with a tiny shout, thighs squeezing close around Blaise’s
head, one tiny hand buried in Blaise’s dark locks, the other curled around
Neville’s neck, holding them both to her as Neville continued to suck on her
throat and shoulder. Blaise id not let up until she started tugging at him,
begging for mercy and gasping, twitching uncontrollably. Only then did he kneel
back, his face shining in the low light the filtered through the room from a
night globe on the bed stand table.
He met Neville’s eyes over the gasping girl’s shoulders, shining brightly with
lust and hunger.
“We’re not done yet.”
“No, not nearly,” he agreed, launching himself up and across Luna to reach
Neville’s mouth and share the decadent taste that was Luna.
Neville rolled, forcing them to twist and turn as a whole unit until Blaise was
below, back to the mattress, a squirming Luna still sandwiched between himself
and Neville who was still humping Luna’s ass, but now that action transferred
to Blaise’s pelvis and not his face, which was being happily consumed by said
man.
Blaise was more than willing to respond, moaning up into Neville’s mouth even
as his hips twitched and twerked. Luna squirmed between the two, and Blaise was
distracted from Neville’s mouth for but a moment as her small hand slipped
around him, and on the very next gyration, his cock slid between the slippery
folds of her sex, and he groaned into Neville’s mouth.
“So wet,” he murmured. “So hot.”
“So empty,” she responded, jerking against him, tempting him to adjust his
angle just so…and with the next thrust of Neville’s pelvis crushing down into
her, smooshing her down into Blaise, his cock easily popped inside her puffy
pink lips and split her open. She cried out, trembling as another orgasm washed
over her. Neville sped up, more than a little excited by the fact he was
setting the tempo for the other two. Blaise held own, easily and readily
relinquishing control as Luna’s body danced over him, coaxing him towards his
own release.
“Do it,” Luna whispered harshly against his cheek. “Come.”
He needed no other encouragement, as with a muffled shout he let go. He wasn’t
sure how long he was unaware—it couldn’t have been that long, but when he was
next alert, it was to the realization that Neville’s cock was shoving in beside
his own and effectively squeezing him free of Luna’s body. Luna’s breath
caught… and then Neville was grunting, thrusting away with abandon as he chased
after his own completion.
Blaise lay satiated beneath the two, lazily absorbing small bits of sexual
magic that continued to radiate, once again thinking how lucky he was that he
couldn’t get fat from such a smorgasbord as the pard offered him… and how
grateful he was to be a part of it all.
Neville released with a shout before collapsing atop them. Luna squirmed and
wiggled, before finally telling him, “At least finish taking off the rest of
your clothes.”
Grumpily, he did, kicking off his slacks and pants that had been previously
pushed down to his knees and losing more than one button as he fumbled with his
shirt. But finally, equally as naked as the other two, Neville curled up in bed
behind Luna, reaching over and curling a possessive grip onto Blaise’s thigh.
The trio slept until Mrs. Longbottom found them like that.
 
**********
Still to come…
-Attack!
-Augusta Longbottom Responds
-The Pard Reunited
Chapter End Notes
     Author is still singing "School's out for summer..." :) We'll see if
     we can get more than two chapters updated this season, eh?
     Thanks for sticking with this. As always, this is a mostly raw and
     un-beta-ed work-in-progress. Mistakes in mechanics and continuity are
     all my own.
***** 28 – The Unimaginable *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry and Hermione fight; Neville, Luna, Blaise have an uncomfortable
     wake-up; Hannah has a difficult talk with her best friend.
Chapter Notes
     Un-beta-ed, mostly unedited, but... the next chapter exists!
     Special warning for violence and descriptions of sexual torture and
     bestiality.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
28 – The Unimaginable –
~THEN~
Harry and Hermione had every intention of setting up wards and protection
measures for her parents. “At the very least, we’d like to put up a detection
and proximity ward,” Harry told them. “It will alert you whenever someone
magical comes within a certain radius of your house or office. We can tie the
ward to a paper or other item, color code it, too.”
“I’d also like to ward the shed out back,” Hermione told her parents. “If
you’re home, and someone comes by with intentions to hurt you, you and mum can
go out to the shed and hide until they leave.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“I would rather it not be necessary and you have it available then you needing
it and not having it,” Hermione told them bluntly. “It’s not a lot, but it’s
better than nothing.”
Later that very same night, a strange sound roused Harry and Hermione from
where they slept, snuggled together in the guest bedroom.
“What is that?” Hermione yawned.
“I don’t—” Harry began before sitting straight. There, on the night stand was
the card he’d charmed earlier in the evening.
It was vibrating quickly.
And it was black.
 
~NOW~
 
- Thursday, December 11, Early hours, Grangers’ Home near London-
Harry and Hermione rolled and fumbled out of bed, racing to the window to look
outside. “Go, get your parents,” he whispered urgently, without taking his eyes
from the scene out on the street below. “Hide them in the shed and stay there
with them.”
“Like hell,” Hermione growled, pushing up beside him, trying to catch a peek at
whatever it was he saw—She saw nothing at first, until she did. The small tell-
tale ripple of a disillusionment, and not a very powerful one. “I’m not going
to leave you alone.”
“We don’t even know how many,” Harry protested. “It could just be one—“
That sentiment was negated a moment later when six fireballs originating from
seemingly empty air were hurtled at the Granger House.
“Go!” Harry shouted, ducking even as one of the fireballs came directly towards
them. The flames smashed against the glass, continued to burn for another
moment, and then fizzled away under the fire protection wards. He shoved at
Hermione, but she was already moving, scrabbling away to get to her parents’
bedroom.
Harry risked another peek out the window. The disillusion spells must have
fallen because he could see them now. Six black-robed figures, all wearing the
skeleton bone white masks of Death Eaters. They seemed to be arguing when one
stepped away and raised his wand towards the house again. Harry wasn’t sure
what the spell was or what it did, but he heard a sucking noise. Frowning, he
watched to see what they would do next, hoping Hermione was using her time to
get herself and her parents to safety.
***
Hermione scooted down the hall and knocked hastily at her parents’ closed
bedroom door. Even in an emergency, habits of decorum were ingrained. “Mum!
Dad!” she whisper-shouted through the door. “Wake up!”
“Hermione?” her father’s groggy voice answered.
“Hermione? What’s wrong?” her mother asked, sounding much more awake as she
came to the door.
“We have to go, to the shed, hide,” she gasped. “House, under attack!”
“What—Hermione, it’s the middle of the night. Are you sure you didn’t just have
a bad dream?”
“It’s a nightmare all right,” Hermione huffed. “Come on, we can’t dawdle—we—”
Whatever she would have said next was swallowed up in a thundering concussion
that rattled the entire house. Both her mother and father cried out in shock
and fear-filled surprise.
“What the hell was that?” her father demanded grabbing hold of the trim for
support.
“Death eaters,” Harry huffed, scuttling down the hallway. “Six of them. When
fire didn’t work at first they started throwing bombarding curses. We need to
get out of here. It’s not safe!”
“But—why?” Mrs. Granger gasped.
“They’re terrorists,” Harry breathed, snatching at her wrist and tugging her
towards the stairs. “They want to hurt me and Hermione—”
“Hermione and me,” Mrs. Granger corrected automatically.
“They might not even know we’re here,” Harry pressed on. “In fact, I think they
were surprised by the fact there were already some wards on the house. But that
doesn’t mean they’ll give up that easily.”
“I’ve put up extra wards around the shed,” Hermione hissed from behind as she
herded her father into following her mother and Harry downstairs and into the
kitchen. “Once you’re inside, it should hide and protect you from anyone who
wants to hurt you.”
“Wait! What about you?” her mother demanded, reaching for her only child.
“We have to try and stop them,” Hermione tried to explain, but the house was
rocked again. This time, it felt like the very foundations had been attacked,
and Mrs. Granger screamed. It must have been loud enough to be heard from
outside because there was laughter before the house rocked again.
They scrambled to the back door and yanked it open.
Only it didn’t open. Harry fiddled with the locks a moment before Mr. Granger
pushed him out of the way to try the locks himself. Still, the door held fast.
“What the—this door never jammed before.”
“They must have sealed it,” Hermione reasoned, jabbing her wand at the door to
try and counter the seal. When that didn’t work, Harry tried to bust the door
down, earning a bruised shoulder in reward and a still sealed door.
“Damn it.”
Hermione turned her wand towards a nearby window and attempted to break the
glass, but it, too, held.
“We can’t get out…” Hermione turned to Harry. “We can’t get out. We’ll all die
in here.”
The house shook again. They could hear the smattering of glass as lamps fell
over. Dust began to fill the air as the very framework of the house began to
shift, plaster cracking, floors buckling.
“Gotta get out of here,” Harry muttered, looking between Hermione and her
parents. squeezing his wand, he shot his own bombarda at the door and watched
it bow outwards but still hold. Growling, he whirled towards one of the windows
and tried again, to much of the same effect. Frustrated, he aimed for the space
between window and door and watched as the wall splintered apart in a shower of
plaster and wood. The Granger family all screamed as the wood splinters went
flying—thankfully outwards and not directly at them.
“Harry!” Hermione shouted.
“GO!” he returned “Get in the shed!”
If she thought to argue, she thankfully resisted in an effort to hustle her
mother and father out of the house and into the shed.
“Around back!” someone shouted before black smoke convalesced in the patio area
and spell fire started flashed.
Harry wasted no time in jumping out of the gaping hole after the Grangers and
returning the spell fire. He blocked as many of the spells aimed towards the
group just clearing the shed as possible, either with shield spells or various
items he could throw in a spell’s path. Until the door shut, and the
Deatheaters seemed to forget about the Grangers.
Harry found himself under attack from six different foes, all aiming for him.
He jumped out of the way of one spell, only to have another slice through his
calf. Hissing, he redoubled his own attack spells. Surely with all this magic
being thrown around someone would come to investigate. He just had to hold out
until then…
“Harry!” Hermione shouted, darted back towards him from the dark. His chest
lurched in panic at the sight of her running back into danger.
“It’s Potter, boys!” one of the Death Eaters called.
“That means we’re in luck! Two for one!”
The six death eaters all laughed as they continued to throw deadly spell fire
at the two teens.
Harry caught another cutter to his upper arm, but he was able to knocked the
offender out with a stupefy. Not that it did much good when one of the other
death eaters just revived him. Hermione cried out, and Harry whirled around to
catch her, shooting another stupefy at the death eater wielding the fire whip.
“Stunning’s not enough!” she panted, looking Harry in the eyes. “We need to
take them down permanently.”
Instinctively, he wanted to balk at the concept, but he understood it, too. It
was fruitless to continue stunning and disarming their attackers. If even
Hermione saw it that way, how was he to continue denying what he already knew
had to happen. Hermione, who was bleeding against him…
With a shout, Harry turned his own wand back towards the nearest attacker and
shouted out the expelling curse.
Hermione and he danced out of the way of an angry fizzling purple curse before
whirling back to back, firing off curses as fast has their wands can move
through the movements. There were only six death eaters, but they weren’t
holding back, and they had the two teens surrounded.
The fighting was intense and frenzied—a ferociousness that their previous
muggle baiting lacked. Hermione caught one in the leg, and the death eater
toppled over screaming as he clutched at the ruined missing limb. Harry’s
expelling curse caught another in the side, slicing the figure open and sending
him scrambling to hold his guts.
Hermione muffled another scream of pain. “I’m fine,” she insists when Harry
tried to turn to her again. “Watch out!” she shouted, slashing her own wand and
sending several blades of air towards another death eater. She was too late as
the bone crusher curse smashed into Harry’s right leg, and he went down in
shock.
The distraction was long enough. Harry was hit again, this time with a
cruciartus that sent fire racing down along his nerve endings. He heard
Hermione’s voice overlapping his mother’s, screaming his name, but before he
can finish clawing himself free of the cloud of pain, blackness had taken him.
And then nothing.
****&&****
It was later than she’d intended when Augusta Longbottom returned to her home
at Longbottom Manor. It had been her home for nearly fifty years now, ever
since her dear George brought her here as his young bride. The lovable fool…how
she missed him. Their Frank had really been the best of both of them. And now
her Neville… Well, he really wasn’t much of anything like his father or
grandfather.
That wasn’t to say she didn’t care for the boy. She did, although she knew she
was never an overly affectionate person and to be honest, she had never really
cared for children as a whole. But her Neville was a good child. Quiet,
obedient, a bit of a mess and ragamuffin, it was true. The boy would rather be
digging through the dirt than attending to his book work, and if he really had
come into the Longbottom family inheritance…
Her George had often lamented not having received the full family inheritance,
although he had seemed quite satisfied with his “green thumb” as he called it.
He had designed a special garden just for her to sit in and enjoy whenever she
wanted. She barely visited anymore. Perhaps she should do that. Take Neville
with her. She was sure the boy could work his magic and revive the poor garden.
Their Frank hadn’t even inherited his father’s green thumb, let alone the
family magics. She had lamented—railed and flailed against him marrying a
commoner, a Flume. Barely a pureblooded family. Frank had been stubborn though.
Truly a Gryffindor. He’d married the silly girl and then not even five years
later they’d been incapacitated. Not that that was their fault. No, Frank and
Alice had fought bravely to defend their home and protect their little boy.
And their little boy had grown up, she thought somewhat nostalgically. Neville
was already of age. If he had been the last Longbottom alive he could have
claimed his head of Family status already. As it was, she continued to hold it
in proxy for him. She could have transferred the rights and responsibilities
over to him already, but she wanted him to focus on his last year of schooling
and his NEWTS. Afterwards, if he decided to attain his Mastery, she didn’t want
him to have to worry about family duties, too. She was more than capable of
managing the family—had been for fifteen years now. What was another five or
eight years? By twenty-five Neville would be quite ready to take up the mantle,
and truthfully, she thought she would be ready to relinquish it by then.
And maybe, just maybe, there would be a new Heir Longbottom at that point in
time, as well. If the gossiping of the old busybodies she’d just left were to
be believed that is. She wondered if it was true—did her Neville really have a
girlfriend tucked away at Hogwarts? The Abbotts were an old, respectable
family. Mostly Hufflepuffs, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that—loyalty
and hardworking were good traits to have in a spouse. She wondered as she
wandered up to her grandson’s rooms if she shouldn’t contact the Abbott and
seek to draw up initial engagements. Nothing binding—after all, they were still
just children and could quite easily change their minds.
It was with thoughts of engagements and potential bonding ties with the Abbotts
in mind that Augustus peeked in on her grandson. It was still a somewhat decent
hour of evening, and so she expected him to be reading in front of the fire,
not already in bed. Then again, she never expected to see so much of her grown
grandson, let alone two other naked bodies in the bed with him.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanding.
The trio on the bed came awake with a start, once again flashing her more flesh
than she cared to see. She pointedly set her sights at a point above the
headboard and glared.
“Gran! What are you doing in here?” Neville sputtered, sitting up.
“I was late in returning home,” she explained succinctly. “I merely wished to
check in on you and ensure you had eaten and bathed before retiring for the
night. I most certainly did not expect to find you already abed, let alone not
alone! I’m disappointed, Neville. Now, quickly clothe yourself appropriately,
say goodbye to your… companions, and then meet me in the family room,” she
directed before turning to head there herself.
“No.”
She froze, half turned back towards the bed. “Excuse me.”
“No,” Neville repeated. “I’ve extended right of hospitality to Luna and Blaise.
They are here as my welcomed guests, and you will not send them away. And as we
have already turned in for bed, unless it is an emergency, anything you have to
say can either be said here and now or it can wait until morning.”
“Neville, this is highly improper,” Augusta scolded. “Your…friends can go to
their own room if they must spend the night, but I insist we talk privately.
Now.”
“No,” Neville repeated for the third time. “Luna and Blaise will stay right
where they are. It is you who is being inappropriate right now. You had no
right entering my rooms without warning or invitation and so you have only
yourself to blame for your embarrassment.”
“Neville,” Luna hedged.
“Perhaps it would be better,” Blaise agreed, warily eying the older witch
acutely aware that his wand was out of reach.
“You will stay,” Neville barked, brooking no disagreement from the other two
who quickly relaxed back against the soft cushions of the bed, all tension
magically withdrawn from their limbs. “My Gram is just leaving.”
“You overstep yourself, Neville,” Augusta stated angrily.
“I think you will find it is you who have overstepped themselves, Gram. Good
night.”
Augusta’s wand was in her hand in a snap, a stinging hex flying at Neville
before the three could comprehend what was happening. “You may be older now,
but you will never be too old to be punished for disrespect young man. Now, say
goodbye to your friends. They may spend the night—in their own rooms—as you’ve
already offered them hospitality, but they will be leaving in the morning. And
you, sir, are grounded for the remainder of the holidays.”
“You can’t do that!” Neville protested.
“I am the matriarch of this family. While you live in my house, under my roof,
you’ll find, I can.”
“This is my house, my family!” Neville argued.
“And until you’re twenty-five, I’m still in charge!” Augusta shouted back.
Neville couldn’t have looked more shocked and stunned if she had physically
struck him. “You would keep me from my inheritance?” he whispered before
growling, “My birthright?”
“It is my duty to this family,” August responded firmly, “If I think you are
not yet ready or mature enough for the responsibility…? Yes.”
“Bello amante verde,” Blaise entreated, reaching out to capture Neville’s
attention while still cradling Luna to him. “We can go. My villa, it is mine.
No one will chase us away. A few quick hops, and we’ll be there.”
“I don’t mind,” Luna mused. “Although we should leave word for the others.
They’re most likely to stop here to look for us.”
Neville looked beyond angry, but he finally nodded. “Fine.”
Smiling beatifically, Luna leaned up and dropped a quick kiss on Neville’s
lips, uncaring that his grandmother was still standing there, glowering and
simmering. She crawled over Blaise to get out of the bed and practically
pranced around the room as she redressed. With a sigh and a kiss for Neville as
well—this one involving more tongue than Luna’s simple kiss—Blaise also slid
from the bed and began to redress.
Seeing the two finally leave her grandson’s bed, Augusta nodded and turned
away, repeated her directive, “I will see you in the family room. Five minutes,
Neville.”
Neville didn’t respond as he watched her leave. Only once the door was shut
behind her did he growl and get up. “Fagus!” he shouted, startling the other
two. A quiet pop signaled a house elf’s arrival.
“Yes, Master Neville?” the tiny creature queried.
“I will be leaving Longbottom Manor for the foreseeable future,” Neville calmly
told the elf. “I’m expecting to hear from some of my friends and mates,
though.”
“Oh, of course, Master Neville. Fagus can be collecting any mail you receive
and deliver it to you, iffen you like?”
“I would, thank you,” Neville breathed, grateful for the little elf’s loyalty.
“If Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Hannah Abbott arrive looking for us,
please let them know we’ve all relocated to Blaise’s villa in Italy for the
remainder of the holiday.”
“Fagus can be doing that, certainly Master Neville. Would you be liking Fagus
to be giving Mistress Augusta a message from young master after he’s gone?”
“Not tonight, Fagus. I’m still too mad at her. Maybe tomorrow,” Neville sighed,
gratefully accepting Luna’s comforting rubbing of his shoulders before turning
to Blaise. “Are you sure we’re okay at your place?”
“Most definitely,” the dark skinned incubus assured his lovers. “The villa is
both mine and heavily warded. Plus, who would ever expect Gryffindor Neville
Longbottom or the Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood to holiday in Italy?” He smiled
mischievously. “Mayhap perchance I even allow you out of bed long enough to
explore the city.”
Luna laughed. “Is that a challenge to try and exhaust you, Blaise?”
“Let me make up a bag then,” Neville sighed. “Luna, do you need to swing back
by your place and pack something more suitable for the Mediterranean?”
“I don’t think I have anything at home that would suit,” the blonde mewed.
“Then I shall simply have to keep you naked,” Blaise purred, scrapping his
teeth along her throat. “Or take you shopping,” he added pulling back and
grinning toothily. “I think I would love to see you both dressed out in some of
the finest Italian fashions. You would look even more enchanting!”
“Ah, well, that’s settled then,” Luna concluded. “What’s the best way to get
there? You don’t happen to have an international portkey, do you?”
“Ah, no. Nothing so fine unfortunately. I usually just use the floo network. We
can go to the Leaky Cauldron first, and then you can follow me the rest of the
way there. Not as quick and convenient as a portkey, but we should be in our
new beds within the hour.”
“Then we’d best get started,” Neville affirmed. “My grandmother will be looking
for me to attend her.”
“Won’t she be angry you’ve left?” Luna mused sadly.
“I don’t care right now,” Neville responded, still angry himself. “Let’s go.
The sooner, the better.”
“Hopefully the others’ evening is less eventful,” Blaise sighed, following the
other two to the main entrance hall and the floo connection there. It wasn’t
his favorite way to travel, but nor was it his least favorite, either, he
thought, stepping first into the fireplace and whisking away from Longbottom
Manor.
 
***&&&***
The outpour of words suddenly dried up, and Hannah took a delicate sip of her
tea, waiting for her dearest and bestest friend to say something. For another
full minute, Susan said nothing, sitting in her white-washed iron chair across
from her, staring back at her, face blank.
Finally, Susan blinked. Opened her mouth. And then shut it again. Nervous
fingers reached for her own tea cup, and with a forced calmness, she sipped at
the cooled brew—wincing slightly at the tepid liquid and reaching for her wand
to reheat both their cups. She cleared her throat, and then tried again.
“So, you mean to say, that is, you have been sleeping with Harry Potter, the
Harry Potter, since the first month of the school year, and you never breathed
a word of it.” Hannah looked down at her teacup and nodded. “And not only Harry
Potter, but in fact, you have been participating in an entire group. You’ve
been engaging in group sex, with Harry Potter—who everyone believes to be
dating Hermione—and Neville—who everyone believes you to be dating. And Luna
Lovegood and Hermione are also participating. And now you’ve added another
member—a Slytherin, no less—Blaise Zabini.”
Hannah cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s right.”
“You’ve been disappearing regularly to go off had have wild group sex, for the
last three months,” Susan summed up, sounding rather disappointed and angry
with her friend. “And you never even thought to invite me?”
Hannah’s shoulders slumped and her blue eyes teared up. “Oh, Suz, it’s not like
that! I mean, it’s not just… not just anyone can just, join! It’s, it’s way
more complicated than that.”
“I don’t see how,” the ginger playfully pouted, and Hannah mentally sighed with
relief, understanding she wasn’t about to lose her friend over this—as strange
as ‘this’ was. Her best friend was in a relationship, with multiple people, had
been having sex, with multiple people, for several months, and Hannah hadn’t
told her.
Hannah huffed, searching her mind for the best way to explain. “Do you remember
how, on your birthday, you were a bit put out that you didn’t get some great
big powerful family inheritance?”
“Not that the Bones’ family magics are all that great to boast about in these
days and times,” Susan sighed, but she’d remembered the sting of
disappointment. “You didn’t, either,” Susan pointed out a moment later, eyes
narrowing in on the other girl, searching her as if to see if she could
physically see some type of change.
“No,” Hannah readily agreed. “I didn’t,” she stressed herself.
“You’re saying one of the others did,” Susan surmised. “And from the order, it
would have been… Harry?” Susan’s eyes blew wide with the juicy piece of gossip.
“Harry Potter had a family inheritance,” she half-spoke, half-questioned. “Who
am I kidding, of course he did. He’s bloody Harry Potter. He never seems to get
a break, does he? But… a power boost could only be a good thing for him, right?
I mean, with the way You-Know-Who keeps coming after him…”
“It was a bit more than just a power boost,” Hannah confessed.
“You’re saying—are you saying—“ Susan floundered. “The Potters haven’t had an
actually creature inheritance in… at least three hundred years, isn’t it?”
“Something like that, but even then, Harry’s Harry. He has to be special, you
know that,” Hannah pointed out, and Susan huffed out a little laugh.
“True. So, you’re saying his creature is more than a little amorous, I take
it?” Susan pressed on. “Is that why you’re sleeping with so many people now
when I know for a fact you were still a virgin when we left for Hogwarts this
year?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Hannah agreed. “His creature has been
building a small group. Blaise called it a circle, but we just refer to
ourselves as a pard.”
“Strange name.”
Hannah shrugged. “We like it.”
“So, is Harry the one who hurt Zachary when he was going around saying those
mean things about you back in September? He was, wasn’t he? I thought it might
have been Neville since Ernie and Justin wouldn’t fess up to it being one of
them, but knowing Harry’s a creature now, and you’re his… well, girlfriend
doesn’t quite work, does it? How do you refer to each other? I mean, since
there’s so many of you?”
“Mates,” Hannah answered. “We’re all Harry’s mates. It’s a little less awkward
that referring to each other as girlfriends and boyfriends. It’s actually
rather… comfortable,” she confessed after a moment’s hesitancy. “I mean,
sometimes I feel a little strange about it all, but that’s more like this
little voice trying to tell me it’s not proper for there to be more than two
people in a romantic relationship with each other, you know?”
“Well, it certainly isn’t done very often, it’s true,” Susan agreed. “Even
triads are not very common now and days. But it’s not like it all that
uncommon, either. And the six of you could easily just pair off and present
yourselves as three couples if you wanted. I mean, if you didn’t want the rest
of the world knowing right away—not that it’s really any of their business, but
it’s Harry Potter. Hell, even if it wasn’t Harry, those greedy gossip-mongrels
would be all over the idea of a poly-amorous relationship. And did you say
circle?”
Hannah nodded. “When Blaise first started sniffing around us, he’d thought we
were building a circle. I can see why when I look at it from his point of view,
outside of the pard.”
“Oh my goodness, Hannah, if the media thought you were making a circle with
Harry Potter…” Susan breathed.
“I know. One hasn’t been formed in nearly five hundred years—Hermione looked it
up. We’re not. At least, I don’t think we are. Luna says there will be more
mates, but I can’t honestly see our pard expanding to a full circle size.”
“You are already six. What’s five more?” Susan scoffed.
“It would be six, with Harry as the focus,” Hannah immediately correct, eyes
widening when she realized what she’d done.
A large smirk spread across Susan’s face. “So you’ve thought about it!”
“Of course we have,” Hannah sighed. “Once Blaise brought it up, it wasn’t
something Hermione would allow to pass without fully researching the
possibilities. But even Luna was rather skeptical about our pard forming a true
magical circle.”
“Why not? You’re already half-way there, I say. Even if you go with the
traditionally more powerful pattern of one, five, and seven. And I really don’t
understand how Luna Lovegood managed to—I mean, I realize she and Harry had
been friendly before, what with what happened in fifth year and all, but, I
don’t know. I guess I didn’t realize they were that friendly.”
“It’s a bit complicated,” Hannah sighed again, slumping back in her chair,
which really wasn’t comfortable, so she sat back up again. “I told you, Harry
had an inheritance? Well, in reality, they all have. I’m the only plain, old,
normal witch amongst them,” she pouted.
“Wait, you mean to say that they’ve all had an inheritance?” Susan clarified,
shocked once more by the information she was learning from her best friend.
“All of them? Hermione, too? But she’s not a pureblood… Hell, she’s not even a
half-blood!”
“Susan!” Hannah reprimanded.
“Well, she’s not,” the ginger defended herself. “How can she inherited
something she’s never been a part of! It doesn’t make sense, Hannah!”
“Actually, the Ravenclaws have a project they’re researching along those
lines,” Hannah shared. “They’re looking into the muggleborn phenomenon to test
if they’re really less powerful than purebloods, like some would have us
believe, and if they really aren’t the children of squib lines somehow.”
“Really?”
Hannah nodded.
“That would certainly turn a lot of pureblooded thinking on its side,” Susan
mused. “But how are they really going to find out? I mean, it’s not like the
muggleborns can all just go to Gringotts and request a blood ancestry test, can
they?”
“Why can’t they?” Hannah demanded.
“Well, for one, I don’t think they all have enough money to afford such a
frivolous test, do you?”
“It’s only frivolous because you think you already know your blood ancestry,”
Hannah pointed out. “But a lot of the muggleborns actually don’t know their
blooded history. Hermione was telling us that muggle record keepers weren’t
always that precise and that with several wars and what not, much information
had been lost.”
“It’s still a bit of an expense when you don’t have a solidly filled vault
already, and anyway, we weren’t talking about muggleborns, we were talking
about inheritances.”
“But that’s just it,” Hannah insisted. “Hermione also came into an inheritance
last year. And Blaise. And Neville this summer, along with Harry. And even
though Luna’s birthday isn’t until February, her inheritance has been evident
since she was much younger. She’s hoping to gain more control over her
abilities as her birthday comes and passes, not gain more powers.”
“They’re all—I mean, are they all creature inheritances, like Harry?” Susan
asked agoggled. Hannah nodded. “Damn…”
“I know, right?” Hannah sulked. “Sometimes I feel just so plain next to them
all.” She folded her arms under her breasts.”
“But they chose you,” Susan reminded her. “Well, Harry chose you, right? And no
one’s complained about you being a part of the, the ‘pard’,” she stumbled over
the word. “So, I would say that means you belong. And you are not plain, Hannah
Abbott. You are a gorgeous young witch with a generous…spirit,” she teased
lightly, eyes raking over the other girl’s body.
Hannah rolled her eyes but still blushed at the gentle teasing her friend had
given her since their very first year at Hogwarts when she had been one of the
few girls in their entire year whose body had already started blossoming.
Generous, indeed. And then she had another thought, of what else she had yet to
tell her best friend. Her arms dropped, hands falling to rest over her still
flat belly.
“That’s not all I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“There’s more?” Susan scoffed. “I can hardly wait to hear what you can tell me
next.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Susan blinked, waiting several moments for the other girl to call out fools or…
or something. “You’re not joking.”
Hannah shook her head slowly, minutely.
“You’re really serious. You’re honest to goodness pregnant.”
Hannah nodded silently, pinching her lips together, waiting.
“Oh my goodness. What—I mean, how—I mean, not how. Obviously I know how, but,
oh my goodness, Hannah, what were you thinking? Do you even know who’s it is?
How long are you? What are you going to do about NEWTs?”
“Of course I know who’s it is,” she huffed. “It’s Harry’s. Both Hermione and I
are currently pregnant, but we’ve used the stasis spell, which we won’t release
until after we’ve finished with our NEWTs, so that won’t be a problem. I highly
suspect Luna and Neville will also be pregnant before the end of the school
year, too.”
“Oh, but Neville—“ Susan blinked. “Obviously his creature is something that
will allow him to get pregnant easier than a normal wizard, but if he does, he
wouldn’t be able to use the stasis spell, will he? And I’m surprised you even
found someone who would cast that for you both! That spell hasn’t always been
the most reliable.”
“It has a bit of a bad reputation,” Hannah allowed, “But it’s not a bad spell.
We had Madame Pomphrey perform it for us before the holidays. There should be
no problems safely postponing the pregnancy until after NEWTs for Hermione and
me, but, no, I don’t think it would work for Neville, you’re right there. I’m
not sure what he’ll do, what we’ll do.”
“You’re pregnant,” Susan repeated. “You’re really, really pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“That is… it’s such a huge thing,” Susan breathed. “Life changing.”
“And being in a mateship with five other people isn’t?” Hannah asked, more than
a little disbelieving.
“Well, I mean, you could have always changed your mind and left,” Susan argued.
“But a baby… that’s a permanent commitment, Hannah. Once you have a baby,
you’re going to always be responsible for that baby.”
“Susan,” the blonde started somewhat stunned. “I would never have left Harry
and the pard. There could never be a changing of minds. We’re bonded, and
married as any couple that pledges before others. We’re already permanently
committed to one another, to Harry. There is no going back from that. A baby
won’t change that. In fact, I made the choice to carry Harry’s child before we
realized we were forming a pard. It is an honor to carry Harry’s child, to know
that I won’t be the last Abbott, and Harry won’t be the last Potter because
we’re having a child to carry our names and family magics forward.”
“I just can’t—I can’t believe you would have agreed to something so seemingly
reckless, Hannah. You’re not even out of Hogwarts and you’re already planning
for babies! What about a career? Weren’t you going to see about healer
training?”
“I can still study healing magics without going through with healer or medi-
witch training,” she pointed out. “It’s not as if I’m giving up any dreams to
be with Harry and the others, but being with them does change things. Until the
snake-faced bastard and his minions are taken care of, defense and protection
of our pard will take precedence, especially with the babies coming. After
that’s taken care of, we’ll all be able to reassess what it is we want and need
for ourselves and each other.”
Susan stared at her long-time friend. “I feel like I don’t even know you
anymore,” she whispered sadly, feeling a little lost.
“I’m still me,” Hannah entreated before patting her belly. “There’s just a
little more to me now, that’s all.”
The ginger huffed out a broken laugh. “I don’t know what to say right now. I
mean, the orgy parties was a little bit much—a spicy surprise, sure, but,
this…” She shook her head.
“And you?” Hannah countered, waving her hand and looking about the room. “Your
plans to retire from Britain? What happened to your plans to go into the
ministry and become an auror?”
“Auntie died,” Susan replied, hollowly. “And with you disappearing quite a bit
this semester, it’s left me more than a little time to think and consider
things.”
“You’re the last Bones of the main branch.”
“I know.” Susan sat back, eyes closed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready or even
willing to contemplate running off to marry some wizard and conceive a child to
carrying on my family name.”
“What does it mean then, for you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Until you do, you can’t really be settled,” Hannah warned. Susan glared at her
wordlessly. Sighing, Hannah stood. “If you’ll accuse me, I think I’d like to
lie down a bit and rest before dinner.”
Without a protest, her childhood friend and hostess called for an elf to escort
her to her rooms for the holiday. All the way, Hannah felt the tightness in her
chest increase, wishing at least one of her mates had been able to join her for
the holidays. Three weeks never seemed so long a time.
 
***&&&***
It was cold. That registered first.
He was cold and hurting. Nothing horribly new or unusual about that. He tried
to categorize where he was hurt, but the darkness swam up and swallowed him.
* *
Still cold. Still pain. And words. Someone was talking, but the words didn’t
make sense. A reward? A reward for what? What kind of reward?
It didn’t matter. He was unconscious again.
**
It was the cold that woke her first, followed shortly by the uncomfortableness.
Her head ached horribly, her side stung bitingly, and from the tacky feel of
her clothes, she knew she’d been blooded. Blinking around at the dirty room,
she thought it might be a cellar of some sort. The floor was packed with dirt,
hardly forgiving. Heavy manacles weighed down her arms and prevented her from
wandering more than a couple of feet away from the wall.
Almost immediately, she realized Harry was there, too, but she ignored him for
the moment to focus on their surroundings. Other than the wall they were
attached to, she couldn’t see any of the other walls. Boxes and shelves blocked
much of her view. She tugged absently at her wrists—it wasn’t like she expected
the metal to just magically slide off her hands. More a compulsory habit than
anything.
Not seeing anything immediately dangerous or helpful, she turned her attention
to Harry. His leg was bent out at a wrong angle, and she suspected that a
simple bone-mending spell and dose of skelo-grow wasn’t going to be enough to
fix it. He also looked fairly well banged up. Several cuts were still
sluggishly bleeding, but the most worrying was the giant knot she could see
swelling the side of his head.
He stirred. “Harry?” she hissed, but he didn’t respond. She sighed and shook
her wrists again, trying to force her brain to think of a way out of this. No
one knew she and Harry were missing. Wasn’t there a department at the ministry
for potential misuse of magic? Maybe the use of magic where muggles could see
would have alerted someone and they were send others out to investigate? Would
they find her family’s home, her parents? Her parents would tell the ministry
that she and Harry had been taken. Surely they would send someone out searching
for them….
Of course, it didn’t matter. If no one knew where they were, they couldn’t be
rescued.
Hermione had never really been in a captured situation before. Sure, there had
been that one time during the Triwizard, but she hadn’t been awake for any of
that, and really, it was the champions’ duty to see to the needs of their
hostages. This was so different.
No one knew where they were, if they were alright or not. No one was
potentially coming for them. They were on their own, with a bunch of death
eaters who were planning to turn them over to the dark lord. She couldn’t even
be sure her parents made it out all right. Even if they did, what could they
really do?
Hermione despaired. They were on their own, both injured and unarmed.
Somewhere from within the room, a door opened. “Ya mudblooded bitch,” growled a
rough voice. “Don’t think I don’t know that it was your curse that caught me.
If I didn’t already know your fate, I’d use you myself.”
“You despise me,” she scoffed, struggling to her feet to be on a somewhat even
footing with the wretch that limped into view.
“Well then, the feeling’s mutual, then, isn’t it?” the man spat. “You stinking
filth, coming in a polluting our way of life with your oh so delicate
sensibilities. No respect for your betters!”
“Respect is earned through actions, not blood,” Hermione scoffed. “Blood does
not make one better than another anymore than skin color or the sex we were
born. It is nothing more than a physiological happenstance. It is our
character—our choices—that define who we are.”
“See,” he growled, as if she had proven his point for him. “No respect!”
“No, I have no respect for you,” she agreed. “You are nothing more than a
bully, a terrorist who flaunts laws in order to spread fear and terror. There
is nothing respectable about that.”
“Ah, but you’ll learn,” the man cooed. “The Notts will be rewarded greatly, yes
we shall. When we present the Dark Lord with his most hated enemy, the famous
Boy-Who-Lived, oh! Then he’ll reward the Notts most generously. He will raise
us up and honor and praise our faithful service!”
“Faithful service? You call attacking a muggle household faithful service?”
“We bring him Harry Potter!”
“You are fools.”
“Quiet girl!” the griseled looking man shouted, wrenching a hand up as if to
backhand her. Then he seemed to think better of it, lowering the hand once
again. “I can well guess your fate. You’ll be destined for the wolves, you
will,” the creepy man practically giggled in mad delight. “The Dark Lord and
his pet wolf have been experimenting. Don’t worry. You’ll most likely live.
Probably,” the man—if he could even be called a man—laughed again.
“They’ve gotten better with practice,” he told her. “The first batch didn’t
make it… poor shame. Those wolves ate their chattel even as they fucked them.
Those monsterous pricks of theirs tearing those girls inside out while they
chewed up their necks and backs. Not much left come morning.
“Had better luck with the second set,” he continued, sneering at her. “They’d
learned, you see, to lock the bitches up proper like in a breeding frame—they
couldn’t run around, screaming and tempting the wolves to chase them, then.
Plus, the breeding frames were covered up in thick hides. The wolves could
still bite at them while they fucked, but it wouldn’t bleed them. Several of
the chosen bitches even survived the knotting and are supposedly breeding now.
“The Dark Lord and Fenrir were pretty pleased with the last results. What with
the full moon in another two days, there’s a place just waiting for you—spread
out and locked in place for the wolves to mount and breed like a true bitch. I
bet a mudblood like you would even enjoy it.”
Hermione tried her damnedest not to show any fear or recoil from the disgusting
man taunting her. She tried to focus on finding a way out of their predicament.
They had to get out of here. But how? They were quite literally chained to a
wall. Who the hell used chains in the twentieth century, she wanted to shout
but didn’t. There was a torch higher up on the wall—it cast flicker shadows in
the already dim light—but even with her small abilities with fire, she wasn’t
sure how she could use it.
The Death eater before her continued to ramble on, something more about raping
her out to others, but she couldn’t focus on that now. If she focused on what
the foul, loathsome beast was saying she wouldn’t be able to think about
getting out of here, and that had to be the priority. Somehow, someway, she and
Harry had to get free, they had to get out of here.
Beside her, she heard the chains rattle. She had a moment to gasp – the sight
of Harry, transforming into his hybrid form, canines elongated, eyes glowing,
black fur spurting out to cover him from sole to crown as his clothes stretched
and ripped to accommodate his larger frame.
Hybrid Harry leapt away from the wall, nearly yanking the chains completely
free from the wall, claws extended and likely aimed from the death eater’s
throat before he was brought up short. He screamed in unsatisfied rage.
The death eater shouted, stumbled back, and dropped his torch before
remembering his prisoners were chained—or realizing that the chain would hold.
He laughed again, leaning over to pick up the dropped torch and waving it
closer to get a good look at Harry in his in-between form. “Looks like you’re
already putting out for the beasties, ain’t ya girlie?” he cackled before
lifting the think stick club style and bashing it into the side of Harry’s
skull, right over the already sizable forming knot.
Harry released a pitiful little cry as he crumbled back to the floor, knocked
out again before he even had a chance to recover.
Hermione saw red. Quite literally.
**
 
Harry wasn’t sure how he was able to crawl his way back out of the darkness.
His head and body hurt. Hurt so badly. And it was not eased at all by the
shrill screaming. What did help was remembering he was not safe; what’s more,
Hermione was nearby, and she wasn’t safe, either. He had to wake up. He had to
protect Hermione and himself. Hermione.
He forced his eyes open, squinting against the screaming—and saw a world of
red.
No, not really red. Orange. Bright and searing.
At first, he couldn’t make sense of what it was. But then the world began to
slide into focus, and he realized he was seeing Hermione standing in front of
him, over him. His Hermione and the death eater before her, who was screaming
in pained terror, who was rolling back and forth on the floor, on fire.
Another death eater ran into the room—at least, Harry believed it to be a death
eater, even though he wasn’t wearing the black robes and skull mask of one.
Harry thought he heard him shout something at Hermione. In any case, he jabbed
his wand at her most threateningly.
A low, angry growl rumbled up from his throat, completely ignoring how unhappy
his head was— and with a shrill screech of tearing his vocal cords, Harry
wrenched his wrists free of the heavy metal encasing them, imprisoning him.
bloody and dripping, He launched himself at the death eater holding Hermione at
wand point, biting the arm as his hand grapples the wooden stick and snaps it
like a twig.
There’s shouting, fumbling. Harry’s teeth sunk into tender flesh and without a
thought, he rips out the death eater’s throat. The other death eater is on the
floor, moaning and writhing in his burnt skin—red and black and cracking.
Hermione thrashes in her own shackles. “Harry! Help me! I can’t—“
He whirled around, expecting another attack—spots dance in front of him and
before he understands what’s happening, he’s throwing up at her feet.
**
Hermione scuttled back from the pool of sick, doing her best not to add to it.
Resolutely, she avoided looking at the two death eaters on the ground behind
Harry. Yanking again at the chains and manacles, she growled as tears of
frustration and fear blurred her vision. Dark, clawed hands reached for and
gripped her wrists. For a moment, she panicked, jerking back and away before
realizing it was Harry.
“I can’t get them off,” she gasped, her breath short and shaking as she fought
to breathe through her mouth and not her nose. Her nose was stuffing up anyway,
but that didn’t make the taste of burnt flesh any more pleasant against the
back of her tongue. “Does one of them have a wand.”
“No,” Harry panted. “Mine’s broke. The other… don’t think it survived the fire.
Just… hold on, a sec,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t feel good.”
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Know,” he muttered, forcing another breath into his pained chest and he fought
to find his magic. But pain and vertigo swam up over him and washed his
concentration away. “I can’t. Can’t focus. Need to focus. Need to… Open,” he
growled again, yanking at the manacle.
Hermione yelped as she lost her balance for a moment and stumbled to re-center
herself. “What are you trying to do?”
“Need to open,” he repeated, shaking her wrist.
“I know, but they didn’t melt, and without a wand…” she pointed out a little
desperate. There was no key slot or bolt latch like on a muggle manacle. These
were strictly magical, which meant you needed magic to release them.
Growling, Harry wrapped the chain around his hand before hugging onto Hermione
and yanking. The chain rattled against the wall. Seeing what he was trying to
do, Hermione squirmed against him. “Hold on,” she ordered, reaching out to
touch the chain a foot or two away from where he was grasping it. A few seconds
later, the metal started to glow, slowly getting brighter with each passing
second.
“Now!” Hermione shouted, yanking her hands away just before Harry yanked again.
They went tumbling over as the super-heated metal gave away under the pressure.
The death eater they landed on cried out in renewed pain as they scrambled back
to their feet. Harry managing to drag his claws into the man’s neck as they got
up, promising the man’s death for certain.
“Are you good to walk?” Hermione asked as they stumbled away from the wall that
had held them.
“No, but lead on, I’ll follow,” Harry promised, forcing one leg in front of the
other.
“I don’t know where we are,” she continued in a whisper as she led them forward
towards where the two men had come from. There had to be a door somewhere. “But
the one mentioned the Notts.”
“The Notts are a death eater family,” Harry confirmed.
“That’s what I thought.” She found the door the others must have come through.
Leaning against the wall, she looked back at Harry, visually scanning him. In
his hybrid form it was difficult to say how wounded he might be, but she
remembered how he’d looked before he’d transformed and knew he couldn’t be
anywhere near well enough to battle their way out.
“If we can find a working floo, we might be able to escape faster than if we
look for an exit and then try to apperate away,” she suggested.
Glowing green eyes slit opened. “You know how to determine if a fireplace is
connected to the floo or not?”
“It was just a suggestion,” she responded furiously, determined to look up the
answer once they were out of here and back at Hogwarts.
“Need powder,” he reminded her, leaning back against the cool wall, resting his
aching head against the cold stone. “Let’s try. Check as we try and get out.
Kitchen, you think?”
“As opposed to a parlor or foyer?”
“Should have a kitchen garden. Door to the outside,” he pointed out.
“Grimauld had its kitchen fire connected to the floo,” she allowed.
“Floo to headquarters,” Harry agreed. “Or Three Broomsticks.”
“Not the Leaky Cauldron or Ministry?”
“Closer to Hogwarts,” Harry explained. “Madame Pomphrey.”
That made sense, Hermione thought. Harry would trust Madame Pomphrey over
anyone Saint Mungo’s had to offer, even if they were certified Healers. “Same
if we make it outside. Grimauld or Three Broomsticks,” she told him, searching
his face to see if he was up to this.
He wasn’t. Neither really was she, but they didn’t have a choice. He reached
out and took her hand, gave it a little squeeze. “Love you.”
Her chest constricted, and she had to swallow, but she offered him a little
smiling twitch of the lips—all she could muster—before saying it back. “Love
you, too. Get safe.”
“You, too. Both of you,” Harry told her, staring at her as intently as his
concussed hybrid self could.
Which was actually pretty intense, all things considered.
She reached for the door, as ready as she could be to fight her way towards
freedom.
**
It seemed the house was empty. Empty or asleep. Either way, luck seemed to be
on their side as the door they went through led into a cold cellar before
leading into a dry pantry. She paused, looking back at Harry to make sure he
was still with her, before cracking open the next door and peeking into the
room beyond.
The kitchen, she thought, though it lacked any of the modern day conventions
she’d grown up expecting to see in a kitchen. Opening the door wider for her to
see more into the room, she started to slip through when she saw them.
Too late to duck back, she froze, staring wide-eyed.
“Gemma,” the young man at the table said gently, giving good eye contact to the
young girl at the table with him. “Do you think you might be able to get back
to sleep now?”
“I think so, Teddy,” the girl answered, making to stand up. “I’ll just—“ she
started, reaching for the two mugs.
“I’ll take care of it,” he told her. “It’s fine. You should go and try and get
some more sleep. You, Olivia, and mamere have a big day shopping tomorrow. You
don’t want to be tired before you even begin, do you?”
The girl leapt forward, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and squeezing.
He hugged her back, eyes trained on the pantry door. “I love you Teddy. I wish
daddy wasn’t so mean to you.”
“It’ll be all right, I’ve told you,” he murmured. “Do not worry about me.”
“But he shouldn’t hurt you!” the little girl continued to protest. “You should
tell Harry Potter. He’d save you, just like he’ll save us all from the Dark
Lord!”
“Hush, Gemma,” he said more sharply. “Don’t ever say such things where our
father and uncles might hear you. Ever.” She looked down, chastised but still
angry. “And I have told you not to believe in your story books. Harry Potter is
merely a person, like you and I.”
“But you’ve met him,” the girl continued.
“You know I have. I’ve told you before he’s in the same year as I at Hogwarts,
and so I can tell you as my own witness.”
The girl sighed. “I wish I were at Hogwarts this year instead of next. Then I
might have met him, too, and I could ask him to help us.”
“Enough, Gemma,” he told her firmly. “It’s better to be able to help yourself
then be helpless and need rely on someone else. That is why you must study hard
when you get to Hogwarts and learn everything you can. So that you will not
need anyone to save you, ever. So that you can be brave and strong and save
yourself if and when it’s necessary. Now, enough of this talk. It’s past late,
and we’ve finished our cups of warm milk, so to bed with you.”
He lightly swatted her backside to scoot her on her way, though she would
protest. He remained at the table for several minutes more until he was mostly
sure she had had enough time to make it to her room and back into bed.
“It should be clear now,” he spoke finally to the empty room.
Hermione waited another moment before cautiously reopening the pantry door.
“Nott.”
“Granger,” he returned, eyes flittering behind her and widening. His hand
tightened against the wand held in clear view on the table. “I would ask what
you are doing in my family’s home, but I fear I can surmise the answer on my
own. The wards extend for some distance outside. There’s floo powder in the jar
on the mantel,” he nodded towards the kitchen hearth. There was another floo
connection—the main one for the house—upstairs, but he didn’t think they needed
to know that. Honestly, the sooner they were out of his own, the better for his
step-mother and sisters. “It shouldn’t be locked from out-going travel, but if
it is, the password is ‘Canutus’.”
“Like the Danish king,” Hermione murmured.
Theodore’s lips twitched. Leave it to the witch to make such a connection. “If
that will be all…” he moved to stand, faltering when the creature behind her
shifted as well. He forced himself to remain stoic as he collected the mugs his
sister and he had used, moving them to the sink for their elf to take care of
in the morning.
“Actually, our wands,” Hermione started, hesitantly.
Brown eyes swept over her before moving back towards her face for proprieties’
sake. The young woman was most definitely in her night dress, and by no means
could one even begin to misconstrue the nature of her being brought here. He
forced himself to look at the creature behind her. A large, sleek, feline
creature. If it wasn’t so terrifying with bloodied fangs, he might have said
the creature was something of beauty and majesty…
Before his eyes, there was a rippling of magic, and the creature began to
shrink. Those bright green eyes became less feline, more human, and in an
instant, Theodore knew who his uncle and cousins had captured and brought into
his home. “Accio Hermione Granger’s wand. Accio Harry Potter’s wand,” he
summoned.
There was a clattering from the other room, and then a carry case came floating
over to him. He directed the case over to the table, and then using his wand
tip, he flicked the case open and tipped it over. Several wands tumbled out. He
stepped away again, allow the other two clear access to their wands.
Hermione rushed forward first. Harry was slower to follow and, Theo realized,
hurt rather badly.
“Potter,” he called as the two reclaimed their wands and began making their way
towards the hearth. “Understand, my father will not protect me like Draco’s.
After Hogwarts, I will not have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not while my sisters are still underage,” Theodore said sadly. “There is no
choice for me. No go. Get out of here before someone wakes up and discovers you
still here.” He turned smartly and left the room, not waiting around to see if
they would heed his advice or not.
Hermione and Harry wasted another moment to watch him leave, and then she
darted towards the fireplace and the mantel with its jar of precious floo
powder. “You first,” she insisted, shoving some powder into his shaking hands.
“I’m no good with flooing. You should go first,” Harry tried, but Hermione was
having none of it.
“We’ll leave together,” she determined, grabbing him and dragging him into the
fire with her before throwing down the powder and shouting, “Headquarters!”
Upon reflection, flooing with a concussed person was probably not the best
idea. But they made it home, safe if not sound.
 
*********
Still to more to come… Chapter 29 – Holiday Reunion
Chapter End Notes
     So... Yea. Not sure what happened to the summer. And now it's already
     a month into the new school year. Good news is Nanowrimo's next
     month... right?
***** Reunion at Grimauld Place *****
 
29 – Reunion at Grimauld Place–
 
~THEN~  
 
Hermione rushed toward the table with its pile of wands first. Harry was slower
to follow and, Theo realized, hurt rather badly.
 
“Potter,” he called as the two reclaimed their wands and began making their way
towards the hearth.  “Understand, my father will not protect me like Draco’s. 
After Hogwarts, I will not have a choice.”
 
“There’s always a choice.”
 
“Not while my sisters are still underage,” Theodore said sadly. “There is no
choice for me. Now go. Get out of here before someone wakes up and discovers
you still here.” He turned smartly and left the room, not waiting around to see
if they would heed his advice or not. Not wanting to be caught aiding those his
family deemed enemy.
 
Hermione and Harry wasted another moment to watch him leave, and then she
darted towards the fireplace and the mantel with its jar of precious floo
powder. “You first,” she insisted, shoving some powder into his shaking hands.
 
“I’m no good with flooing. You should go first,” Harry tried, but Hermione was
having none of it.
 
“We’ll leave together,” she determined, grabbing him and dragging him into the
fire with her before throwing down the powder and shouting, “Headquarters!”
 
Upon reflection, flooing with a concussed person was probably not the best
idea. But they made it home, safe if not sound.
 
 
 
~NOW~
 
 
- Friday, December 12, Grimauld Place-
 
 
Hermione and Harry tumbled out of the floo and onto the floor in a bloody mess.
Literally.
 
“Help!” Hermione shouted, scrambling to turn Harry back over and lay him out
flat on the floor. He was unconscious again, covered in sick and blood. His
face had lost all color, save for the blood stains, and he looked dead. Tears
and snot streaming down her face, Hermione screamed for help again.
 
Two pops sounded almost simultaneously as both Kreacher and Dobby heard her
calls.  The older elf glared at the pair of them, watching distastefully as the
younger elf bounced and pranced around them.
 
“Oh, Master Harry and Mistress Hermione!” Dobby squeaked. “You’s is not being
in good health! You’s being hurt, badly hurt!”
 
“We need help, Dobby,” Hermione panted. “Please!”
 
Wringing his hands, Dobby looked nigh on inconsolable. “Dobby wants to help,
but Dobby is not knowing how! Dobby’s magic is no good with healing, Mistress!
But Dobby is knowing of someone who may help! Dobby be right back!”
 
With a snap, Dobby had latched onto Kreacher’s skinny wrist and disappeared
again, leaving Hermione alone in Grimauld’s kitchen with Harry’s motionless
body.  Frantic, she shoved her fingers into his throat, searching for a pulse.
 
There—his chest was rising, just minutely, but rising and falling. And, yes,
the big vein was still pumping, slowly, sluggishly. She scanned up and down his
form, wondering where she should even start. Despite the scrapes having two
boys for best friends had provided, Hermione wasn’t all that interested in
healing. She knew enough to seal up a cut, ice a bruise, wrap a sprain, numb an
area… sure. Basic first aid treatment. She’d learned how to do those things
even before she’d left for Hogwarts.  But this… the reality in front of her, it
was so much more than what she knew to do.
 
Dobby and Kreacher reappeared a moment later with a third elf Hermione
recognized.
 
“Winky!” Hermione gasped, snapping the little creature out of her stupor. “Can
you help us? Harry’s hurt badly!”
 
Large, tennis-ball-like eyes blinked at her, as if taking in the scene before
her, and then Winky turned and repeatedly smacked Dobby.  “This is why you
taking Winky from her bed? You’s be needing a people healer, not an elf!”  She
turned back to the witch and wizard, frowning.
 
“You’s be needing to be off the floor. Not right, not proper.” She turned
towards Kreacher. “Put Harry Potter to bed. Then we’s be needing lots of hot
water and clean towels.” She cast a gamely eye towards their surroundings.
“This being your home? There be clean linens?”
 
Kreacher seemed to swell under her scrutiny. “There being clean things.”
 
“Good,” Winky nodded and turned away from him towards Dobby.
 
“Dobby can be getting water and clean things!” the elf said excitedly, but
Winky denied him.
 
“Dobby be going to get a proper healer. A wizard healer,” she told him sternly.
 
“Madame Pompfrey, if you can,” Hermione interjected before the elf could
vanish. “She’s the only one Harry really trusts.”
 
Dobby nodded his understanding. “Needs bring Kreacher along. He’s the only one
who could bring someone through the wards without Master Harry Potter sir’s
permission.”
 
“Firsts to bed,” Winky dictated. “Then with you to Hogwarts. Needs be quick.
Why Harry Potter not in bed yet?” she demanded of the older elf.
 
Slouching, Kreacher shuffled over to Harry, reaching out a hand, he touched him
with no more than a finger before popping away.
 
“Where did they go?” Hermione demanded, scrambling to her feet.
 
“They being in the master’s chambers,” Winky explained as another figure
wandered into the kitchen.
 
“What all is going on?” Remus Lupin asked, still a bit muddle-headed from his
earlier dose of pre-moon Wolfsbane. He was yawning when the thick scent of
blood rolled across his tongue, sharpening his muddied senses.  He saw the
cooling puddle of blood on the floor before one of the elves vanished it with a
snap, saw the sorry state of Hermione—her bloody and tear-streaked face, the
stained and ripped night dress, her wild and matted mane—and knew Harry had to
be worse.
 
“Where’s Harry? Are you all right? How did you get here? Where are you
parents?” he demanded in a rush all before Kreacher had returned.  Dobby
grabbed Kreacher and popped back out before Remus could demand more answers.
 
“Harry Potter being in the master’s chambers,” Winky repeated.  “Dobby and
Kreacher be getting the school healer now. We’s be getting things ready and
helping. You be helping, too. Up, upstairs, to master’s chambers,” the little
elf directed just like a little general.
 
Remus, now awake and alert, turned to head back upstairs to the master bedroom
on the second floor. Kreacher had been slowly aiding in continuing to clean up
the old townhouse, but Remus hadn’t been in the Master bedroom since he had
released Buckbeak nearly a year and a half ago now. He hoped it was cleaned and
clear, especially if a hurt Harry was in there now.
 
Taking the three flights of stairs from basement to the second floor at a run
winded them all, although he had a slight advantage over Hermione as he wasn’t
injured yet—that would come with the moon this weekend, for sure.  Winky popped
ahead of them, waiting impatiently at each landing for the humans to join her.
On the second floor, Remus went for the door of the master bedroom, not even
knocking, propriety thrown to the wind in concern for his pup.
 
Inside, the room was clean and Spartan, all furniture removed after the
hippogriff had been relocated; it was bare but for a large bed that had been
replaced at some point, but at least it was clean.  Hermione pushed past him to
get to the bed’s occupant.  Remus knew a new, special relationship had budded
between the head boy and head girl, of course.  There had been some strange
happenings going on with Harry these past months since he’d been in Hogwarts,
and although he didn’t know the full extent of the situation, both teens had
seen fit to write him and seek out his opinions—but knowing something special
had sprung up between the two and seeing it was a bit of a difference.
 
A possible romantic relationship between any potential female and Harry had
been something Sirius would joke and tease about during late nights and boring
afternoons, trapped in this house with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Remus
hadn’t wanted to encourage the old dog, but even he could privately admit to
himself, he’d hoped for something to happen between two of his favorite
students.  If Harry wasn’t so obviously hurt, he might have said something.
 
Two pops sounded behind him, and Remus whirled around to see Kreacher and the
other elf.
 
“Hogwartsy’s medi-witch be coming here. Headmaster, too, be on his way,” the
younger elf said, bouncing forward. “You’s wanting water and towels now?”
 
“And a table,” Winky demanded. “Why’s there being no proper fixings?” She
asked, glaring at Kreacher again. “This being the Black Family’s master
chambers, be it not?”
 
“It is,” Kreacher grumbled. “There’s being my noble family’s new head of
house.”
 
“Then you’s best be fitting this room up proper-like!” the diminutive elf
snapped before turning to Dobby. “Where’s water? Towels? Table?”
 
Both elves popped away again. There was a shout from downstairs. Remus went
back to the door to call down.
 
“Up here! We’re on the second floor!”  Turning back towards the bed, he saw
Hermione and the little elf talking softly and working to clean the dirt and
blood from Harry’s body. At some point one or the other must have vanished
Harry’s ruined night clothes because he was now naked, save for a towel thrown
over his pelvis for modesty.
 
“You seem to know a lot of what needs to be done, Winky,” Hermione was saying.
 
“Winky’s mistress was often sickly,” the elf shared. “Winky was often charged
with helping the healers who visited. Winky is no healer, but Winky can help.”
 
“Thank you for help, Winky. I really appreciate it, and I know Harry does,
too.” She returned her cloth to the bowl of water and continued cleaning off a
patch of raw looking skin along Harry’s torso. “I’m glad to see you looking
much healthier and happier.”
 
“Winky is still missing her family,” the elf confessed. “But Harry Potter has
been helping. He gives Winky special chores to do. It keeps Winky busy.”
 
“Harry really appreciates your help, and I do, too. We couldn’t have done
nearly half as much these past months without your organizational skills. You
really helped us get things done.”
 
“What’s happened now?” Madame Pomphrey demanded as soon as she cleared the
door, red-cheeked with a slight sheen to her brow.  Dumbledore was not far
behind her.
 
“Death eaters,” Hermione answered. “They attacked my parents’ house. My
parents!” she shouted, turning panicked eyes towards Dumbledore and Remus.
 
“I’ll have someone from the order stop by there now and collect them,” the
headmaster placated.
 
“I’ll grab Tonks and go myself,” Remus promised. “We’ll be back with you
parents as soon as possible.”
 
As he turned and disappeared out of the room without even a by-your-leave from
the headmaster, the medi-witch had pushed right up to the bed and begun her
scans, waving her wand like a world-class maestro conducting a symphony of
healing spells. “I’ll need potions. Best contact Severus, Albus. I’m going to
need some of these fresh.”
 
“Of course,” he agreed, summoning his phoenix patronus to send the request
off.  “Now, you say death eaters attacked your family’s home?” he asked
Hermione. “How many? Did you recognize any names or faces?”
 
“Nott,” she replied. “There were about six that I counted. One of them had to
be Nott Sr, because that’s where they took us.” She bit her lip, wondering if
she should share the details of their escape. “We woke up in the cellars,
fought two more off, and escaped out the floo. We came here and called for
help.”
 
“You did good, my dear,” the headmaster praised.  “Remus will be back with your
parents, and even now Professor Snape is on his way to help, as well.  This is
important, Ms. Granger—did Harry use his other form, his Vanteerian form, at
all?”
 
Madame Pomphrey looked back at him, wide-eyed, before turning back to her main
patient, grumbling under her breath of troublesome people who didn’t bother to
tell her important details. A rap on the door distracted all but the medi-
witch, who continued right on smearing creams and globs of goop over Harry.
 
“Severus, come in, come in,” the headmaster entreated.
 
“You summoned?” the sallow man drawled.
 
“I need some potions, Severus,” Madame Pomphrey called out, garnering his
attention, which had already swept through the near empty room and the
occupants there-in.  “Specially tailored to Mr. Potter’s needs. I’m assuming
you know what those are?”
 
“Of course,” the man soured. “Whatever Mr. Potter needs.”  Dark eyes flitted
over Hermione’s form as well.  “Shall I assume Ms. Granger is in need of no
healing potions?”
 
That caught Madame Pomphrey’s attention away from her main patient.
 
“I’m fine,” Hermione snapped, more worried about Harry as the medi-witch turned
her wand onto the young woman. 
 
“Some bumps and bruises,” she confirmed.
 
“Really,” Hermione insisted, “I can wait. Please, take care of Harry. He’s the
one with a broken leg and bad knock to his head.”
 
“If only it would do to knock some sense into his skull,” Severus muttered,
earning a reproachful look from the headmaster and a glare from the young
woman. The medi-witch was long use to his sarcasm and didn’t mind him in the
least. Unless he was trying to turn it on her when she was treating him. Then
he was likely to get quite an earful in return. 
 
“He’ll need a skelo-grow to properly fix his leg—it’s a compound fracture, so
I’ve gone ahead and removed the bones and fragments,” Madame Pomphrey
expounded. “He also fractured his arm and several of his ribs. Those I’ve
reset, but a bit of skelo-grow would help those heal along faster. There’s a
bit of internal bruising—he took quite some hard knocks from what I can
tell—and he’s managed to crack his skull again.  Not even a professional
quidditch player gets into as much trouble as this young man!”
 
The medi-witch recorked two jars and set them, with a sharp clink of glass, on
the little side table that had appeared at some point. “I’ve applied some burn
paste and bruise salve, but he’s showing an adverse reaction. He’ll need a
modified formula, apparently.  You are aware of his special circumstances?” she
inquired, shooting a questioning eye towards Severus.
 
“I am,” the potions master confirmed.
 
The medi-witch pursed her lips—another person who knew more about her patient’s
needs than she did. “Then if you would, Severus?”
 
He nodded his understanding, looking towards Dumbledore, a questioning flicker
of a glance between Hermione and Harry, as if wandering if the headmaster would
share the details of what had happened. The headmaster deemed to ignore his
silent inquiry, and with little disgruntlement, Severus took his leave.  He
would use the potions station set up downstairs. It was decent enough for the
current needs.
 
“You were telling us if Mr. Potter’s other form was seen by the death eaters?”
Dumbledore reminded Hermione.
 
Hermione leaned against the mattress as Madame Pomphrey approached her. “None
that survived, sir.”
 
“You’re sure?” he asked intently.
 
She nodded, holding her arms out for the medi-witch to tend.  “Harry didn’t
transform until after we were captured,” Hermione detailed. “Both the death
eaters who saw us then are dead.”
 
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” the headmaster expressed frowning soulfully. There was
a commotion from downstairs, followed shortly by a loud wailing and screaming.
Winky looked up from her fussing with the bed linens around Harry, looked up
towards the medi-witch who was finishing up wrapping Hermione’s arms with
bandages, covering the burns and scrapes she’d smeared with her healing
creams. 
 
Hermione pulled away from the healer and rushed for the door, nearly tripping
her way down the stairs and down to the ground floor.  Even from a floor above,
Hermione could make out the words of the screaming portrait.
 
“Filth! Scum! Riffraff from the streets! Here! In my home! The home great and
noble Black Family, besmirched by filthy muggles! That I should live to see the
day—“
 
“But you aren’t alive,” Tonks’s voice ripped through the portrait’s
caterwauling. “You’re dead. Just like all the rest of your elk.  All your going
on about blood purity, and where’s it gotten you and yours? Dead! All dead! You
despicable curmudgeon.”
 
“How dare you! You’re not even worthy to be in this home! I demand you leave at
once! Kreacher! Kreacher! Where are you, you lousy elf! Show yourself and once
and remove this vermin!”
 
“It’s not your house anymore,” Hermione growled, turning out of the stairwell.
“And Kreacher is no longer your elf to command.”
 
“The mudblood whore,” Walburga Black sneered.  “Are you here to service the
beast the same as that half-blood scum?”
 
“No. I’m here because my mate is here,” Hermione snapped back before pausing.
“Although, come to think of it… Remus, if Harry’s now Lord Black thanks to
Sirius, does that make me Lady Black?”
 
“Well, once you’ve bonded,” Remus supposed. “Yes, it would.”
 
“Ha!” Tonks laughed at the portrait. “Looks like the new Lady Black is a
muggle-born!”
 
The portrait wailed and screamed all manner of curses and profanities at them.
Cowering near the door, Mr. and Mrs. Granger covered their ears, wincing. Remus
wasn’t doing much better with his pre-moon heightened senses.  Tonks,
meanwhile, was attempting to out-shout her dead great-aunt, adding to the
cacophony.
 
Hermione surpassed her boiling point.
 
The gas lamps illuminating the hallway burst, fire leaping up the walls,
crackling and singing the ancient wallpaper as it homed in on the portrait,
peeling and melting the gilt of the frame before reaching the oil saturated
canvas.  The portrait’s screams turned from angry banshee to terror-induced
panic as the paint bubbling and dripped away before the canvas darkened and
then turned to ash.
 
Tonks stopped shouting, staring in shock.  Remus stepped up beside her,
watching in fascination as the portrait burned away. Mr. and Mrs. Granger
remained huddled in the corner, not sure at all as to what was happening, where
they were, what was happening.
 
The portrait had resorted to begging and pleading with intermingled curses and
shouts. It stopped moving completely once half the head was destroyed. 
Dumbledore and Madame Pomphrey rounded the corner as the last eighth of the
canvas burned to ash and the flames wisped away into smoke.
 
“What is the meaning of this?” the mediwitch demanded. “Ms. Granger! You should
be resting right now, not traipsing up and down stairs! You’ve just been
through an attack, used up quite a bit of magic, and now you’re wasting more!
Look at you!” she scolded, waving her wand over the young woman and frowning
over the results.  “it’s a wonder you’re even still standing! You should be in
bed, resting! Not to mention it’s the middle of the night! You all should be in
bed!  And who are you?”
 
She turned her wand towards the two people she didn’t know, eyeing them warily.
 
“My parents, Madame Pomphrey,” Hermione rushed in. “Mom, Dad, this is our
school nurse, Madame Pomphrey. Are you hurt at all?”
 
“Are we hurt?” her mother parroted. “Are we hurt? Hermione Jean Granger!  Our
home and family was attacked tonight.  You shoved us in a shed—locked us
in!—and took off to fight our attackers! You were kidnapped, right from our
home! What the hell is going on!”
 
A flash of spell fire smashed into the muggle woman’s chest and all the tension
in her seemed to melt away. The others turned to see Tonks slipping her wand
back away.  “Had to cast several calming charms on your dad to get him to come
with us once we got them free of the shed—nice bit of protective work there, by
the way,” the auror was saying. “But your mum was holding up pretty well till
now. It’s probably best if they get some sleep before carrying on this
conversation, don’t you think?”
 
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed, stepping up, calmly repairing the lamps along the
hallway. “It is late, and I’m sure our mediwitch would agree that we should all
be in our beds, resting.”
 
“Quite right,” the witch nodded. “Especially you, Ms. Granger. You’ve exerted
quite a bit of magic this evening. I’m sure there are some rooms made up for
you—Winky?” she called.
 
“Yes, Madame Poppy,” the little elf appeared with a curtsy.
 
“Will you—“ she started before frowning, casting her eye at those around her. 
“Where are we, exactly? Whose house is this?”
 
Several voices spoke at once, overlapping answers.  After a pause, folks
looking back and forth at each other, Remus continued.  “It’s Harry’s, now,”
Remus said. “It used to be belong to Sirius, before he died. Although, I tend
to be the one who stays here the most often, and it is used by… others, from
time to time.”
 
“I see, well then, Remus, Ms. Granger, with your leave, may I have Winky
prepare some rooms for your parents and you?”
 
“Oh, of course!” Hermione blinked.  “Um, yes. Uh, Remus, are you still in the
middle bedroom on the third floor?” At his nod, she continued, “Then perhaps
the third floor front bedroom would be best, Winky, if you would?”
 
The little elf bobbled and disappeared in a wink.
 
“Tonks, are you staying?”
 
“If it’s not a bother?” the bubblegum haired woman responded, cutting a look
towards Remus.
 
Hermione didn’t spare her much of another glance, turning on to the next member
of the little group. “Headmaster, thank you for your concern.  I’m sure Harry
will want to talk to you tomorrow when he’s awake and better.”
 
The old man’s beard seemed to twitch as he settled his clasped hands above it.
“Ah, of course. The lady of the house has spoken,” he said turning towards the
mediwitch, “and I believe we should all be making our ways back to our beds…”
 
“Madame Pomphrey,” Hermione called as the witch turned away as the headmaster
began to lead her off.  “You are more than welcomed to stay?”
 
“I’d best be sticking close to the hospital wing. There are still some students
in the school after all,” she reminded the head girl. “You’ll both be fine with
a bit of rest and the medicines Professor Snape is mixing up for you. You’re
both very lucky, and he is the best.”
 
“Yes, a man of many talents,” the headmaster praised.
 
A shadow moved, catching both Hermione’s and Remus’s hyper-aware attention. 
“Yes,” she concurred, “and we are grateful to benefit from his talents.  If
that is all, Headmaster, I would like to see my parents to bed and then check
on Harry again.”
 
“And get some rest of your own,” Pomphrey admonished.
 
“Of course, of course, my dear. Until tomorrow, rest well,” the headmaster
entreated, moving to continuing guiding the medi-witch back down to the kitchen
floo. He came flush abreast the potion’s master.  “Ah, Severus! Already
finished?”
 
“With the salve—it was an easy adjustment,” the dour man informed him.
 
“Fine work, fine work indeed,” Dumbledore beamed happily at him. “Poppy and I
were just returning to Hogwarts. Will you be joining us, then?”
 
If anything, Severus frowned deeper. “Unlikely, Headmaster. The skelo-grow
still needs tending before it will be ready to administer.”
 
“Ah, well, of course. We shan’t keep you any longer then, Severus. Goodnight,”
he called before he and Pomphrey disappeared. An awkward silence of everyone
waiting for someone else to do or say something descended, broken only when
Mrs. Granger yawned.
 
“I’ll just help get your parents settled upstairs,” Tonks said, reaching out to
take the older woman’s arm and guide her through. “Remus? You coming?”
 
The werewolf cleared his throat and quickly followed suit, murmuring his own
goodnights and see you in the mornings.  And suddenly the potions master and
head girl were the only ones left in the entry hallway, the acrid smell of
burnt oil and canvas still permeating the air.
 
Dark eyes flitted to the now empty wall, flickering with a measure of –
surprise? Amusement? –she wasn’t sure what, before he turned that dark, boding
attention back to her.  “Your handy work, I presume?” he drawled. 
 
She also glanced towards the wall, frowning. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.
I’m usually much better contained.”
 
“The Order has been trying for nearly three years to remove that portrait, and
you mean to stand there and tell me you did so in a fit of accident magic?”  He
sounded crossed somewhere between incredulous and sneering disbelief.
 
Hermione’s pride pricked, she bristled. “Not just some ‘fit’,” she challenged,
raising a palm and calling forth her own special brand of magic.  No, it wasn’t
so much calling forth… it was more like relaxing a tightly clenched muscle…
Just relax, exhale, and the flames flickered to life, dancing merrily in her
palm, around her fingers.  She’d been practicing her control of the fire with
Neville, who’s affinity for plants was quite similar to her own newly
discovered talents.  She was much better controlled, especially compared to
last year, but she still wasn’t great. It really was more impulsive than any
premeditated control, especially on a larger scale.
 
She frowned, thinking of the Death Eater in the Nott’s cellar.  “It was Nott,”
she told him.  “Nott and five others came to my house and attacked.”
 
If he was surprised at the information, he didn’t show it.
 
“Harry and I had just put up some protective wards this evening,” she
continued, woodenly, practically numb. “If we had even waited a day, we might
all be dead right now. The alarm woke us up. We got my parents. The doors and
windows were all locked. We couldn’t get out. Harry made a hole in the wall,
and we got out that way. I hid my parents in the shed, and then joined Harry
fighting them off. We were surrounded.  They took us. Woke up in a cellar. One
of the death eaters was there, taunting us. Harry was hurt so badly, and I… I
lost my temper.  He burned. Harry managed to break free of his chains, and then
we got me loose. Another death eater came. Harry—killed him. We followed the
way out of the cellar. Wound up in the kitchen. Nott was there. Our Nott, the
one in Slytherin, Theo? He and his sister were in the kitchen. She didn’t see
us, but he did. Sent his sister to bed and then he helped us escape. Said… he
said, his father wouldn’t protect him like Malfoy’s, that he didn’t have a
choice because of his sisters.” She looked up at him.  “We came here and called
for help.”
 
Severus’s lips had narrowed into a thin pressed line. “Which you should have
done from the very get go,” he admonished, although there was very little bite
to it.  “Two children had no business facing off against six death eaters.
You’re lucky to be alive and in as healthy a condition as you are.”
 
“Harry was hurt so badly.”
 
“And yet he will survive, yet again. He excels at surviving.”
 
“He shouldn’t have to just survive,” Hermione snapped back.
 
Severus bit down on his immediate reaction—to snap back at the girl. “You have
had a difficult night. This cream needs be applied to Mr. Potter’s wounds, and
before that, I need check his compress.”
 
“I killed a man tonight,” Hermione confessed. “At least one man, many more. I’m
not sure, but definitely one.”
 
“He would have happily returned the favor, or worse.”
 
“I know. He told me they were going to give me to the wolves.” She studied his
face intently.  “Is it true, what he said? Have they been experimenting
breeding lycanthropes during the full moon?”
 
Severus grimaced.  “Yes. It is one of many experiments the Dark Lord is
exploring.”
 
“He said, the man I killed, he said the first—batch—didn’t survive, that the
wolves ate them, but the second group survived.”
 
 “Yes.”
 
“Why isn’t the Order or Ministry doing something about this?”
 
“The Ministry is still operating on denial of a great many things,” Severus
sneered. “As for the Order, knowing something is occurring does not mean you
can just wave your wand and prevent it. The Dark Lord has taken note of his
enemies’ tactics. He’s covered several of his homes of ill portend with
fidelius charms. The Order has been unsuccessful in breaking or circumventing
the charm, due in large part to the fact the secret keepers are often
imprisoned and never to be seen again. It is entirely too likely that would
have been your fate if you had not escaped on your own.”
 
“Harry still has nightmares, visions,” she shared. “He tries to hide it, but I
can tell.  Neville has been helping him, I think since as early as last year
even.  I know he’s talked to Professor Dumbledore about them. Why hasn’t he
been able to do something?”
 
“If Potter had learned how to properly close his mind—“
 
“He can’t!” she defended. “You know that now! You know what he is, I know you
do.” Hermione glared at him.  “Vanteerians are naturally empathic. It’s part of
their charm. He would have never been able to completely close off his mind,
and especially not like how you tried to teach him. It’s what makes these
nightmares and visions of his even worse.”
 
Severus continued to frown. It was as she said—as a naturally empathic
creature, it would be even harder for Potter to completely close off his
mind…but not impossible. It was also true that the boy was still having his
vision dreams. He had been present on several occasions when Potter had shared
tale of his latest nighttime foray with the headmaster. Dumbledore, however,
had demanded Harry’s promise and vow that he would not attempt to go off on his
own—or with only his friends—to try and rescue anyone.
 
The truth was, even Harry didn’t have any concrete clues of where the houses
were.  The visions, which he insisted were so real and detailed while he
experienced them, were little more than flimsy dreams when he awoke and tried
to retell them.  Some details were horrifyingly clear, but now that Severus
reflected, those details were ones more closely associated with emotions. That
would make sense. Pain and fear, lust and pleasure… they were powerful emotions
and would leave an impression on an empath, even after waking.
 
He was tired—awoken in the middle of the night by Dumbledore’s patroneus,
called away to headquarters, only to discover Potter had been in another
tangle. And the skelo-grow would need tending in another half-hour. He’d lost
his chance to even grab a quick nap beforehand, and here he was wasting more
time with the annoying chit of a head girl. A perpetual thorn in his side since
her first year, along with Potter. 
 
He marveled at his own forthcoming and candidness with the girl. Why was he
even squandering his time here in this unappealing hallway responding to
Hermione?  He owed her no answers, no supplitudes. They were at war. People
were injured and killed all the time. Prisoners were tortured in despicable
manners. And he had the pleasure of being the spy who sat the Spanish donkey. 
He shivered, uncomforted by the image of being severed up the middle by the
real medieval device.
 
Remembering the jar in his pocket, and his purpose for leaving the potions labs
downstairs, he turned towards the stairs, not really caring if she followed or
not. After a moment, she did. Not that he was surprised. They traipsed up the
two flights of stairs in blessed silence. He knocked briefly for proprieties
sake on the master chamber’s door, and he was only momentarily surprised when
it opened.
 
“I was just checking on him,” Remus murmured as he held the door for them. “The
vinegar rinse on the compresses is almost dry,” he added as Severus waved his
wand to release the bandages.
 
“That’s fine. I’m ready to apply the salve now,” he murmured, inspecting the
various spell burns and bruise sites. Some were already beginning to color
spectacularly. “Mister Potter has developed a sodium allergy that renders the
normal formula more of a hindrance than aid. This formula leaves the salt out
and so shouldn’t irritate his skin so much as it heals.”
 
Severus finished unwrapping the various bandages and unscrewed the jar’s lid.
Scooping up a generous portion of the goo, he smeared the jelly-like substance
over the worse looking burn along his ribcage. Hermione stepped up to the bed,
reached over Harry and scooped up some gel as well, turning to smear it over
the larger bruise beginning to spread along his shoulder and upper arm.  They
worked in silent tandem, covering all of the various burns and bruises. By the
time they’d reached the last ones, the first ones they’d worked on already
looked days better.
 
At some point, Remus had left them. Neither was sure when.
 
The jar in Severus’s hands was more than half-empty. He would need to make more
salve before morning—not that it was a difficult ointment to concoct. He
watched as the girl summoned the bandages back over Potter’s open wounds and
fractured bones. Skelo-grow would help the later, soon enough, but first…
 
He cleared his throat, gendering the girl’s attention once again. “Do you have
any bruises you are incapable of handling on your own?”
 
She stared at him, incomprehensibly at first. He fought of his own discomfort
as one long accustomed while he waited.  Then her cheeks suffused with color.
 
“Oh, no. Thank you, professor,” she murmured, almost meekly. “I will be fine.”
 
He nodded, setting the jar down on the night table next to the bed. “This can
be reapplied in six hours. I will have more made so that you will have it on
hand in case of any future need. It should not spoil if used within a year or
two, and knowing Potter’s propensity for trouble, I would predict you needing
more before the change of the season.”
 
“Most likely,” Hermione agreed, a sardonic little smile teasing her lips. 
“Thank you, professor. Sincerely, thank you for helping us.”
 
Severus shifted uncomfortably.  “It is an easy enough mixture. One anyone could
make.” He paused. “I would suggest perhaps yourself or Miss Lovegood, and not
Mr. Longbottom.”
 
Hermione’s laugh was more a huff of breath.  “Plants interact differently with
Neville. He really can’t help it, but yes.  Luna and I will handle any potions
we need. Blaise and Hannah don’t care much for the subtler art of potion
makes,” she teased back, smiling, but obviously exhausted.
 
Severus didn’t let his surprise show. He would have had to been completely
blind—not to mention worthless as a spy—not to have realized that Longbottom
and Abbott were more intimately involved with Potter than what the rest of the
school was led to believe. But Zabini’s involvement was beyond unexpected. 
When had the notorious slut of Slytherin—yes, he knew of the name though he
didn’t approve or condone it—joined Potter’s little harem? It couldn’t have
been very long ago.
 
"Professor," she called before he could escape out the door with his wandering
thoughts. "Will you help Nott?"
 
Severus could feel his muscles tightened—that helplessness. He hated admitting
to it even more.  "There is little I can do for him. He told you-His father
will not protect him or his younger sisters. "
 
"There is nothing you can do?” she asked. “That doesn't seem fair."
 
"War is not fair, Miss Granger,” he told her. “Many are made its victims. The
Notts are no different. He and his sisters will be lucky to survive this war
intake, especially if it becomes known he helped you. I trust you are
intelligent enough not to share that bit of information with anyone. Anyone,
Miss Granger, not even the headmaster.”
 
Hermione frowned but nodded. And with that, he was gone.
 
****&****
 
 
The next morning Hermione awoke sore and achy. Her head was muddled, and her
brain was mush. As she moved to sit up she realized she had fallen asleep
slumped over the bed and not actually lying down. It appeared Harry hadn’t
moved at all during the night, but he looked worlds better than he had when
they’d arrived at Grimauld Place.
 
She stretched out her stiff joints and muscles, eyed the bruise cream Snape had
left longingly, and then turned her attention back to Harry.  She checked under
his various bandages, noting how most of the bumps and bruises seemed to have
melted away—all save the more grievous—his shoulder, his ribs, and his leg,
which was still supported in a splint. The leg would need the support of a
splint even after the skelo-grow was administered, she remembered reading, to
support the deflated limb sans bone as it regrew.  
 
She was slightly worried that he didn’t wake up at all during her inspection
and reapplication of the bruise cream. She hesitated to rub what little
remained of the cream into her own sore spots—which were more numerous this
morning than she remembered them being. She was still in her dirty night
gown—ripped and torn from the eventful night before. 
 
Grimacing, she was about to cast a refreshening charm on the garment when she
noticed a familiar travel case tucked beside the dresser—had there been a
dresser in the room the night before? She didn’t remember.  Checking her case,
she found it empty, so she checked inside the dresser next. There she found the
clothes Harry had packed for the holidays as well as a majority of her own
clothes. How had they got there?
 
Deciding not to worry about it at the moment, Hermione selected a change of
clothes and hastily slipped into the bathroom. Grimauld had no attached
bathrooms, although there was one actual bathing room and toilet on each floor
save the basement and attic. It made some sense, although she wondered why the
Blacks didn’t expand the townhouse more using wizarding space.  She didn’t let
the thoughts distract her long. Especially not once she settled into the warm
bath water.
 
She could have happily stayed in the warm water for the remainder of the
day…until her stomach made its protests known. Groaning, regretfully, she
applied the bruise cream and dressed to face the world. She wasn’t sure what
time it was yet, but that didn’t matter. Food was the next point of order, she
thought, making her way down to the kitchen.
 
They would need to send word to the others, she thought. One, to make sure they
were all safe; two, to warn them all; and three, to reassure them that both
harry and she were safe.  Hedwig could have been sent to Neville and Luna, but
she had remained at the castle. No one had an exact location for Hannah—she was
supposed to contact them—and Blaise was on the continent with his mother.  She
supposed she could send a letter internationally, if she rented an owl from
Diagon Ally. She could probably just floo Neville or Luna and talk to them.
 
Scents met her nose before she’d even cleared the first floor, and she was
salivating by the time she turned onto the ground floor to make her way down to
the kitchen.  Inside Remus and Tonks were at the kitchen table; he reading the
paper and nursing a cup of tea, studiously ignoring her; she quite happily
devouring a piled plateful of kippers swimming in butter with a side helping of
black pudding and toast.   Also on the table were platters of rashers, eggs,
more kippers and black pudding, what looked like crumpets, a basket of muffins
and sweet buns, and grapefruit, of all things. 
 
Slightly stunned at the spread, Hermione slide into a seat at the table with a
murmur of good morning.
 
“Morning, Hermione!” Tonks chirped back.  “I’d ask if you’d been in to see
Harry yet, but as I understand it, you never left,” the older woman tried to
tease.
 
“He’s still asleep,” Hermione confirmed. “Professor Snape was working on some
skelo-grow, but I don’t know if he finished it yet.”
 
“Not yet,” Remus answered. “I checked in on him a little while ago. He
suggested that it will be ready in another hour.”
 
“What time is it, anyway?” she asked, setting herself up a plate. “I didn’t
even check.”
 
“It’s early yet. Just going on half seven.”
 
Tonks made a frantic noise, shoveling more of the kippers in her mouth and
snatching up her toast and pudding. “I’ve got to go,” she sputtered, leaning
over and dropping a kiss on Remus’s cheek before clambering out of her seat.
“Catch you later, Hermione. Give my best to Harry!” she called before throwing
some floo powder into the fire place and whisking away to the Ministry.
 
Hermione shot Remus a questioning look.  “She’s scheduled to be on duty today,”
he explained, reaching over to begin cleaning up her dishes.
 
Before he could, though, the dishes disappeared, right out of his hands. From
across the kitchen, movement as the dishes began to clean themselves caught
Hermione’s attention, and she realized Winky was still at Grimauld Place.
 
“Winky!” she exclaimed, surprised to actually see the elf looking better than
ever.
 
The elf cowered back instinctively but turned to face their direction, even if
she didn’t look up at either Hermione or Remus.  “Yes, Miss Hermione? Is you be
wanting something different for your breakfast? Winky can be making near
anything you want?”
 
“Winky was kind enough to make breakfast for us this morning,” Remus informed
Hermione.  “I told her she didn’t have to, but she wanted to. And it was all
quite good, best breakfast I’ve had in months,” he praised, causing the little
elf’s cheeks to darken.
 
“Winky, thank you for your help last night,” Hermione started. “And for
breakfast this morning. I’m quite hungry and it was a welcomed surprised to
find breakfast ready when I came down, but—“
 
“Winky also be getting Kreacher to tend proper care,” the little elf cut in.
“Be outfitting noble house of Black as befitting a house of the twenty-eight.
And be sending Dobby off to fetch Mister Harry’s and Miss Hermione’s things,
she did.  Dobby be fetching Miss Hermione’s mother’s and father’s things now.
Next, we be properly cleaning Mister Harry Potter’s house! Meals be served
properly in dining room, not kitchen.”
 
Hermione shot a pleading questioning look towards Remus. What was she supposed
to say to the elf? The Order had stopped using Grimauld Place as headquarters
last year, but it was still used as an occasional stop over or safe place, so
it wasn’t like Winky was a security threat—especially with the Crouches, her
old family, being dead and her belonging to Hogwarts now.  But there was that.
Winky was a Hogwarts’ elf.  Still, there was no denying it was useful to have
help—but not slave help!
 
She had learned more about the nature of house elves, but the idea of slave
labor soured her stomach.  
 
“Let it be for now,” Remus suggests. “There are other things to worry about.”
 
Hermione blinked and then refocused. “Yes, there is,” she agreed before
grinning. “But first, what exactly is happening between you and Tonks?”
 
Remus coughed into his tea.
 
“I only ask because of Harry, you understand,” Hermione put forth. “Well, and
because I’m curious, too. But we, that is to say, Ginny and I, had suspected
something might have been brewing between the two of you years ago, but then
nothing seemed to come of it. And, well, based on some things Harry said this
year, I know he was kind of hoping the two of you might try and make a go of
it. He might never say anything to you about it, but I know he thinks of you as
part of his family, and he only wants you to be happy. And, well…”
 
Hermione trailed off, having realized she’d been rambling, and looked
expectantly at her former professor, well aware that he could easily tell her
to mind her own business, but still rather helpful for a fun piece of
lighthearted and happy news.  
 
Remus was torn between embarrassment of having his personal life brought to the
discussion with a girl who had once been his student—one of his best and
brightest, but still a student—and more than a little bemusement. After all, it
wasn’t often one saw Hermione Granger initiate what really could be construed
as gossip.  He took a sip of his tea and decided to answer as obliquely as
allowed. 
 
“Yes, well, Tonks can be… quite persuasive and forceful in her opinions,” he
explained. “Let’s leave it at we are currently content with our current
arrangement.  But what of you and Harry?” he countered, a gentle smile teasing
his lips.  “It seems there have been some changes in your relationship as
well.”
 
Hermione blinked, so used to her wizarding life knowing and accepting that she
and Harry were an item that it was surprising to realize she’d never really
said anything to Remus in her letters to him about her relationship with Harry
having changed, and now she wondered if Harry hadn’t said anything, either. But
then again, their relationship was prompted because of Harry’s inheritance, so
that was as good a place to start.
 
“Yes, there has, hasn’t there?  Well, it’s really sort of complicated, and yet
not really at all.” She took a bit of her plated breakfast before continuing.
“You remember how we were asking all those questions about the different
inheritances of the Potters and Blacks?” she started.
 
“Yes, back towards the beginning of the school year,” Remus nodded
thoughtfully.  “I figured one of your classmates had experienced a more unusual
inheritance and you, and thus Harry, became curious as to what might have
popped up in his own bloodline. But, Hermione, unusual inheritances are just
that now and days—unusual.  Tonks has one of the more common Black Family
powers with her metamophmagi abilities, but… those types of talents and
abilities are just not common anymore, and Harry didn’t seem to display any
special talents after his birthday this summer, so...”
 
Remus shrugged.  “It did make me curious, though, as to who it was.”
 
“Harry.”
 
“Excuse me?”
 
Hermione set her fork and knife down, only half finished with her breakfast. 
“You see, Harry did come into an inheritance over the summer, only it wasn’t an
instantaneous transformation of any form. In fact, he didn’t even really
suspect anything until after school had started. We realized it had to be
something like a creature inheritance, but of course, we didn’t know really
anything of the Potter Family’s traits and secrets, which is why we asked you.
 
“Neville was the one who really explained to us that each of the older families
have their secrets—but that it’s not really a secret because all of the
families are so intertwined, and in fact, most of the secrets are considered
more legends now and treated more like children’s fairy tales than part of our
cultural history. But it was actually Luna who helped us identify what Harry
is.”
 
Remus waited still, surprised that his cub had inherited a special family
ability on his birthday and he hadn’t known about it.  He hadn’t sensed
anything really different about his cub this summer, had he? Wouldn’t he have
noticed if Harry’s magic had changed to incorporate a creature inheritance?
 
“How much do you know about vanteerians?” she asked after another moment.
 
“Vanteeraans,” Remus repeated. “As in a vanteera?”
 
“Yes,” she confirmed, picking her fork and knife back up to resume eating. 
“Everything we’ve discovered thus far seems to fit pretty well closely.”
 
“Except for the fact that a true vanteera has been considered extinct by most
all magi-cryptozoologists for over two thousand years,” Remus countered.
 
“And yet, it’s Harry,” Hermione returned, finishing her breakfast and pushing
the plate away. “Everything we’ve found out about them fits near perfectly with
what we’re experiencing with Harry now.”
 
Remus frowned, studying her closely before asking, “You keep saying ‘we’, but
you don’t mean just you and Harry, do you?”
 
Hermione’s cheeks suffused with color.  “No, not just Harry and me.  As I said,
Neville and Luna helped, but so did Hannah, and now there’s Blaise, too.”
 
“Hannah Abbott?” Remus searched his memory for the correct student’s face.
Hufflepuff girl, he remembered. Friend with Amelia Bone’s girl, well, niece. 
And…Blaise… There was a Ravenclaw sixth year, but she would have graduated
during Harry’s fourth year. The only other Blaise he remembered was a quiet
Slytherin boy in their year. The famous Black Widow’s only child… “And Blaise
Zabini?”
 
“Yes, well, it appears that a vanteera is a pack creature and keeps a circle of
companions, like a… a harem,” she whispered the last, looking steadfastly at
the plates and platters still sitting in the center of the table.
 
Remus blinked, taking in that bit of news. Randomly, he wondered what James or
Sirius might have had to say to the idea of Harry having a harem… “I don’t
remember a whole lot about Vanteerians, but I do recall coming across a book up
in the library.  I had thought it odd,” he recalled. “You don’t usually find an
entire book dedicated to just one thought-to-be-extinct being, but of course,
the Vanteerians were always one of the special beings. Shall we go try to find
it?”
 
“Please,” Hermione replied eagerly, already standing up.  Grinning, Remus led
the way.
 
“Vanteerians are often credited with being the precursor to most of our modern
day magical beings, including witches and wizards,” Remus went on, slipping
easily into his professor voice.  “Although some would argue that they are
merely a branch of magical felines, usually a panther, I believe.”
 
“Leopard,” Hermione gently corrected. “They’re not easy to see, especially in
low light, but there’s a definite rosette patterning of spots.”
 
“Really? Fascinating. And the wings? Are they feathered? I’d wondered, but
never found an answer in anything I’d read. I remember something about them
being likened to fallen celestial beings, fallen angels, so I imagined the
wings to be great big feathered wings, almost like a hippogriff’s.”
 
“No, definitely not angel wings,” Hermione smiled. “If anything, they’re more
like a demon’s wings. No, they’re more bat-like, I think. Like a skin membrane
stretched over a delicate skeleton frame. Black and covered with black fur, not
completely, though. It’s more like a dusting of fur, if you catch my meaning?”
 
“Hn, so no feathers,” Remus grunted, facing the various titles in front of
them, searching for a likely-looking tome that contained the information they
were looking for. He pulled several off the shelf, studying their covers for a
moment before replacing them.  “So what else is it that has you convinced
Harry’s a vanteera and not just a shadow cat or some other?”
 
“Well, for one, he’s empathic,” Hermione began in her own clinically
professional voice, “and highly protective of those he’s claimed as members of
his pard—that’s what we call his family circle. While he can eat regular food,
it doesn’t really sustain him as well as a good orgasm.  In fact, he can often
get sick from eating certain food. It took us a bit to figure out it was the
sodium used to season some of the foods, which is why Professor Snape has to
make Harry’s potions specially.  We haven’t tested it yet, but it’s been
theorized he could potentially survive off of sexual intercourse alone.
 
“There’s the winged feline transformation—it’s not a controllable
transformation for him. Not completely anyway, although he’s getting better at
it, it’s still mostly instinctual. I also suspect there’s been some changes to
his magic. It… it feels different, sometimes. His eye-sight has been giving him
trouble. He doesn’t want the others to know, but I’ve noticed him rubbing at
his eyes or staring intently at things that aren’t there.
 
“One of the books we found suggested that he would have the lifespan of an elf,
but there’s no way to really test that.  And while I find him attractive, I
don’t know if I would say he has the beauty of a Veela.”
 
“That’s okay. You can be beautiful enough for both of us,” Harry rasped from
the doorway.
 
“Harry!” Hermione and Remus both shouted, but it was Hermione who raced to his
side and helped support his weight as he settled onto the settee.  “What are
you doing out of bed? You shouldn’t even be standing, or haven’t you realized
you don’t have a bone in your leg right now!”
 
“It’s all right,” he mumbled, grapping at her hand and pulling her back down
with him when she would have stepped away. “Splinted stiff. Didn’t put much
weight on it. Didn’t come back. Missed you,” he finished, pushing his face into
her side.
 
Hermione huffed but resettled herself with his head in her lap as she finger-
combed his hair. “You really shouldn’t be up. You were hurt really badly,
Harry. You need to let your body rest.”
 
“Rest just fine here.” A blurry eye peered open and focused on the room’s other
occupant.  “Sorry to crash in on you like this, Remus.”
 
“It’s your house,” the older man reminded him.
 
“But it’s your home,” Harry countered. “It’ll never be mine. My needs are a bit
more than this old house can handle.”
 
“So it seems.” Remus watched bemused as Harry seemed to nuzzle against
Hermione’s thigh. And was that… purring? He thought he heard as she continued
to stroke his hair. “Not so much a pup anymore, I suppose. Sirius would be
laughing up a storm right now at James’s expense.”
 
“Hmm?”
 
“You’re a leopard, and predator,” Remus tried to expain. “Sirius often teased
your father about being a stag, a prey animal…right up until your dad would
threaten to shikabob him on one of his antlers.”  
 
“Sirius was a canine, but he wasn’t a very good predator,” Harry mused. At
seeing Remus’s sad and hurt look, he explained. “We’re survivors, you and I.
We’re still here. It’s not about being predator or prey. It’s about surviving
to live another day.”
 
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Remus allowed, offering out the slim
bound book he’d found. “This is a narrative written by Ibt al-Jauzā, an
ancestor of the Black family. You know the translation spell?”
 
“One better,” Hermione countered, eagerly taking up the book. Withdrawing her
wand, she traced the tip over each cover. “Librum scriptum,” she chanted,
naming the item as a book of written words. “Replicare vinctum.”
 
The slim little book seemed to divide in half, pulling away from itself until
two exact copies existed where one once was.  Hermione repeated the process two
more times before returning the original back to Remus with a murmur of thanks.
 
“I hadn’t heard of that spell before,” he admitted, returning the book to its
place on the shelf.  “We’d always been told you couldn’t copy bound books.”
 
“Only books printed after a certain time period,” Hermione shared.  “There’s a
counter copying charm within most of the inks used today, not to mention runes
embossed on certain pages and covers. Most of the older books,
though—especially if they were hand written—can be copied.”
 
“Luna taught you that,” Harry smiled, still sounding mostly out of it.
 
“Yes, she did.” Hermione shot an amused look towards Remus. “Not before I tried
to argue her the impossibility of it.  She’s always turned the impossible on
its ear.”
 
“That’s Luna for you. She should be here. Don’t like her or the others being so
far away.”
 
“I know. I’m not actually happy with it, either. But Hedwig isn’t here to send
a post, and I don’t know her’s or Neville’s floo off the top of my head. I have
it written down in my bag, but that’s back at the house.”
 
“Winky be sending Dobby to collect Miss Hermione’s and Mister Harry’s things,”
said elf announced as she popped in with a service try filled with tea fixings
and crumpets. “Anything Miss Hermione be needing, we be getting. Meanwhile,
both Miss Hermione and Mr. Harry needs be eating something.”
 
“Thank you, Winky, I’ve already had breakfast, but I’ll make sure Harry eats
something.”
 
“Not before Mr. Potter has taken his medicine, I hope,” a sour voice drawled
from the doorway. “I would hate for my hard work to end up on the floor because
your lack of control.”
 
“No lacking control, Snape,” Harry purred drowsily, green eyes glittering.
“Merely sharing. I can do that. Sometimes. Do you know Luna’s or Neville’s floo
address?”
 
“As neither student is in Slytherin house, it is not my concern to know where
they hole themselves off to during school holidays. And even if I did, that
information is private and personal, so I would not be sharing it with the
likes of you.”
 
“Blaise’s address then.”
 
“My answer remains the same, Potter. Why are you even out of bed?”
 
“Thank you!” Hermione crowed.
 
“Don’t like sleeping alone. The dreams come, can’t block them. Don’t like what
I see. Feel. He’s pissed. Someone said they had me, but they don’t. There’s
going to be hell to pay.”
 
“If you had learnt occlumancy you wouldn’t have those dreams.”
 
“If you had actually bothered to teach me how,” Harry mumbled with a sleepy
glare, “I might have learned. Then again, I mightn’t’ve. Too late to know now.”
 
Severus bit back his retort, hand clenched around the vial he had spent hours
concocting for the brat laid out before him, tempted to through the vial in the
fireplace and make the boy go without. As if anticipating the potion master’s
thoughts, Remus spoke up.
 
“Is that the skelo-grow you’ve been working on all night?”
 
“Obviously it’s not wit-sharpening potion, not that it would do any good on
present company.”
 
“Mmn, Hermione any smarter is just plain scary thought,” Harry slurred. “Is
that for me?”
 
“Is there someone else present who is currently missing part of their skeleton
of whom I’m unaware?”
 
“Talk too much,” the young man complained. “Simple yes would’ve been good. Gah,
hate skelo-grow. Don’t know why couldn’t’ve just reset the bone. It would’ve
healed.”
 
“Harry, you had a serious compound fracture,” Hermione admonished. “Even magic
would’ve taken a lot to completely heal all the damage. Madame Pomphrey removed
all the bone fragments so she could heal the tissue in your leg. After the bone
has grown back, she’ll no doubt have to reattach all the tendons and ligaments.
Everything will probably be tight and stiff for a while.”
 
Harry grimaced. “Will have to restart training all over from the beginning.”
 
“Better than having no leg at all,” she snapped at him.  “Sit up and drink your
potion. Then you can have some of the breakfast Winky made for us.”
 
“Not hungry, really,” he sulked, obediently sitting up with help and reaching
out for the potion Snape was still clenching.
 
“That is a full dose,” the dour man told him, finally relinquishing the vial.
“You must drink all of it.”
 
“What happens if I miss a drop?” he asked cheekily.
 
“Don’t.”
 
With a mocking cheer, Harry threw back the entire contents with a bitter-faced
rictus, gasping when the last of it cleared the vial and was swallowed back. 
“Water,” he gasped.
 
“How ‘bout some tea?” Remus offered sympathetically. “And maybe a bit of
toast.”
 
“Why can’t you ever make any good tasting potions, or at least something half-
way decent that doesn’t leave me wanting to scrape my tongue off?”
 
“Have you seen what goes into most potions, Potter? Besides, stop encumbering
yourself in precarious situations that require the medicinal remedy of such
potions, and you would not be inconvenienced by their unappealing taste.”
 
But the potion had already begun to work. It would take more than a full day
for the leg bone to properly regrow and fortify—all things considered, it was
not a fast acting potion, nor was it painless, and Severus did not envy the boy
his day ahead. While it might not be quite as torturous as the cruciartis, it
was its own flavor of torture.  Severus retrieved the vial before Potter could
drop it—the quality ones weren’t necessarily cheap, after all. 
 
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he began, making his retreat.
 
“Stay.”
 
The simple but forceful command steeled his movement as effectively as a leg
locker or petrificus curse. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, blood
pumping, heart rate racing, as he fought to break his body’s reaction, fought
to regain control of his legs and leave as swiftly as humanly possible.
 
“Potter,” he growled lowly, immensely grateful that his voice sounded normal
and didn’t hint at all to the panic he was truly experiencing. “I have been up
most the night, no thanks to you. I would like to return to Hogwarts now, and
perhaps rest.”  Return, and rest, and down another dose of his inhibitor
potion. If Potter was affecting him now… He didn’t want to know what it would
be like come March or April.  He would need to increase his dosage.
 
“Eat something before you go,” Harry entreated, and though his eyes were glazed
with sleep and pain, his voice sounded clearer and controlled. “You were, after
all, up all night because of me. The least I can do is feed you.”
 
His knees quivered, but thankfully his long robes hid their unsteadiness; his
gut clenched, but no one could see; his eyes started to flutter, but he quickly
squeezed them shut, hands curled into balled fists at his sides. It was unfair.
It wasn’t right. It had been years since a student had come into an inheritance
that affected him—let alone affect him so strongly.  That it was Potter now was
just another lash of the whip to his already frayed skin.
 
“A cup of tea, professor?” Hermione entreated. “Winky made some crumpets if
nothing else sounds appealing.”
 
Internally, he struggled to say no, to call her a foolish, meddlesome child, to
turn away and leave. That’s what he wanted to do. But when he opened his mouth
to say just that, he found himself acquiescing instead. And just like that, his
movement was freed. Growling under his breath, Severus settled into the other
armchair, away from Potter and his cohort.
 
Sleep would be hours away, he knew. Once he was safely away and back in his
dungeons he would begin looking into how to enhance his own inhibitor potion.
There was no way he was going to allow himself to become the plaything and pawn
of some seventeen-year-old brat. Let alone the spawn of James Potter. He
refused.
 
 
 
 
*********
Still to come…
 
 
 
 
***** Picking Up the Pieces *****
Chapter Summary
     The pard slowly adjusts--or not--to being separated: Hannah in the
     Netherlands; Blaise, Luna, and Neville in Italy; Harry and Hermione
     in England.
Chapter Notes
     Attempting hover text html coding for the Italian translations. Not
     that I don't think you're intelligent folks who could figure out
     Blaise's endearments (or use Google translate, like I tend to do) but
     mostly because it's something new I heard about and want to give it a
     try myself. ;) "Try" being the pivotal word there...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
30 – Picking Up the Pieces–
~THEN~
“How much do you know about vanteerians?” Hermione asked after another moment.
“Vanteeraans,” Remus repeated. “As in a vanteera?”
 
A blurry eye peered open and focused on the room’s other occupant. “Sorry to
crash in on you like this, Remus.”
“It’s your house,” the older man reminded him.
“But it’s your home,” Harry countered. “It’ll never be mine. My needs are a bit
more than this old house can handle.”
 
“Harry still has nightmares, visions,” Hermione shared. “He tries to hide it,
but I can tell. Neville has been helping him, I think since as early as last
year even. I know he’s talked to Professor Dumbledore about them. Why hasn’t he
been able to do something?”
Snape scowled. “If Potter had learned how to properly close his mind—“
“He can’t!” she defended. “You know that now! You know what he is, I know you
do.” Hermione glared at him. “Vanteerians are naturally empathic. It’s part of
their charm. He would have never been able to completely close off his mind,
and especially not like how you tried to teach him. It’s what makes these
nightmares and visions of his even worse.”
 
“It was Nott… Nott was there. Our Nott, the one in Slytherin, Theo? He and his
sister were in the kitchen. She didn’t see us, but he did. Sent his sister to
bed and then he helped us escape. Said… he said, his father wouldn’t protect
him like Malfoy’s, that he didn’t have a choice because of his sisters.” She
looked up at him. “We came here and called for help.”
Severus’s lips had narrowed into a thin pressed line. “Which you should have
done from the very get go,” he admonished.
"Will you help Nott?"
Severus could feel his muscles tightened—that helplessness. He hated admitting
to it even more. "There is little I can do for him. He told you-His father will
not protect him or his younger sisters. "
"There is nothing you can do?” she asked. “That doesn't seem fair."
"War is not fair, Miss Granger,” he told her. “Many are made its victims. The
Notts are no different. He and his sisters will be lucky to survive this war
intake, especially if it becomes known he helped you.”
~NOW~
 
- Friday, December 12, Bones Manor, Netherlands-
 
Hannah sighed, putting her quill down and sealing the envelop. Three other
missives lay set aside, waiting for her to collect them and take them out to
the owlery. Susan had two owls that roosted here. She’d agreed to allow Hannah
to borrow both. One would make its way to the Mediterranean and Blaise’s home.
The other would take Luna’s, Neville’s, and Hermione and Harry’s letters back
to Brittan. She had spent the evening and a good part of this morning writing
to her pard mates, assuring them she was safely tucked behind manor wards, and
that she was fine despite missing them.
And she missed them, quite dreadfully. Almost embarrassingly so. Surely she was
a strong enough independent witch to be able to spend more than a few hours
apart from her mates. They were all off having a lovely holiday, enjoying
themselves with their families. She should be doing the same, enjoying spending
the holiday with her best friend.
Only…
She hurried off to the owlery, sending the letters on their way before she
could talk herself into adding a postscript, begging one or the others to allow
her to join them. It was so hard… difficult… being so lonely.
Of course, there was Susan, but Susan was still angry with her this morning—not
that she had any right to be angry with her. It was her life, damn it! Her
body! If she wanted to start a family with her mates right out of Hogwarts,
that was their choice! Susan would just have to get over whatever her problem
was, and Hannah knew she would, eventually. She hoped.
Still…
She missed the pard. She missed cuddling with Luna, snuggling with Neville.
Curling up on the pretty settee in her chambers, cocooned in the thick blanket,
staring at the fire crackling away in the fireplace wasn’t as fun or relaxing
without one or more of the others. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet,
and she missed them with a hollow-chested ache. Were the others feeling the
lack? The achy pull of being apart? Or were they all off having so much fun
they didn’t even stop to think about her?
She was tempted to spend the rest of the morning and all afternoon moping. She
very well might have, too, if Susan didn’t knock on the chamber door.
“Can I come in?” the redhead asked tentatively.
“It’s your manor,” Hannah replied negligently.
“Don’t be like that,” Susan entreated, stepping into the room. “I don’t want us
to fight, really I don’t. You’re my best friend, Hannah, and I don’t want to
think I’ll lose you, too.”
“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here, aren’t?”
“But you don’t want to be here,” the redhead perceived, hesitating an extra
moment—as if gauging her welcome on the sofa—before sinking into the other
corner, tugging a corner of the blanket free so she could wiggle underneath.
“It’s not that I’m jealous,” she went on, looking off into the fire herself. It
was easier sometimes to talk to a person without looking at them; easier to
bare yourself. Even between best friends. “At least, I don’t think I am. Sure,
I was a little hurt and put out that you seemed to disappear all the time this
year, but I thought I understood. I mean, how many years had we talked about
how sweet and cute and misunderstood Harry was? The tragic hero, dark and
mysterious? And how we’d like to one day take away that hurt, lost look in his
eyes? I got it. I really thought I did.
“And then it went around that you were dating Neville. I had to hear from
rumor, mind you. You didn’t even tell me what was happening—but I got that,
too. More even, because really, who didn’t expect Harry to match up with
Hermione or Ginny at some point? And we’ve both talked about how sweet and cute
and hardworking Neville is…Why wasn’t he sorted into Hufflepuff when he’s
clearly ‘Puff material? And how well he’s grown up? And more, Neville’s always
seemed more approachable and attainable than Harry. Really, I got you going
with Neville.
“But even if it was turning into something serious, something lifetime…” Susan
broke off and shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t get being willing
to commit yourself to a lifetime of something just yet, being trapped into a
choice you made… And a baby… That’s a lifetime commitment. You’re going to
always be someone’s mum. And frankly, the idea of that for myself, scares me.
That I don’t get right now.”
“You don’t have to get it,” Hannah responded evenly. “It’s my choice, not
yours.”
“I know.” Susan exhaled. “I don’t want to lose you over this, Neh-neh,” she
continued, using an old nickname. “I don’t get it, but it’s your choice, and I
guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ll support you and your choice.”
“I love you, Susan,” the blonde whispered, crawling through the blankets to
curl up between and around her friend.
“Love you, too, Neh-neh.” She dropped a sweet little kiss onto the other girl’s
forehead and cuddled her close. “Love you, too.”
***
It took a bit of convincing and babying, but eventually Hermione got Harry back
into his freshly made bed with some judicious assistance from Remus. Returning
to the family parlor, they discovered the potions professor had made good of
their absence to escape and Winky had already been and gone, cleaning up their
tea. Hermione picked up the book Remus had found for her before their earlier
disruption.
“So,” Remus started before Hermione could do more than pick up the book.
“Harry’s a vanteera.”
“Yes.”
“Who all knows?”
“Well, we, the pard members, of course---myself, Hannah, Luna, Neville, and
Blaise. I believe Harry has discussed parts of it with Professor Dumbledore,
and now Madame Pomphrey and Professor Snape. There might be a professor or two
who have also figured it out, but that should be all. It’s not like we wanted
the whole wizarding world knowing our business, and if there’s any way
something can be used against Harry— “
“No, no, that’s good. It’s good to keep things like this quiet. There are
always some who would try to use a creature inheritance as a crux against you,”
Remus said sadly. “And you, Hermione? How have you been holding up in all of
this?”
“I’m doing what I can. Right now, everything’s a little—well, things are
uncomfortable now. I’d really feel better if everyone was all together, but
it’s the holidays, and everyone wanted to spend time with their families, too,
but… Hannah’s off somewhere with Susan Bones, and we don’t know where. She’s
supposed to contact us, or at least Neville, since he has a floo and we don’t.
I mean, my parents don’t, so of course she couldn’t have contacted Harry and
myself before, to let us know she arrived safely and is all right. But then
there’s Luna, who is visiting her father, and Neville is with his grandmother,
and Blaise is with his mother at his family home in Italy. And I know they
should all be safe, but… I don’t know. Seeing is believing?”
“Then we should make those floo calls now,” Remus suggested, always willing to
help problem solve. “You said you had the addresses in your bags? Why wait?
It’s a decent enough time of morning to make calls, and if the house is not
awake yet, you can always just leave a message.”
“Do you really think it’s not too early?”
“It’s almost gone eight. Plenty of time.”
And with that, Hermione rushed back up the stairs. At first, she went to the
bedroom she had occupied years ago with Ginny, but of course it was empty of
all save the bare fixings. “Where are my things?” she huffed, looking around
her at the empty room.
But then she remembered even before the little elf had popped in to answer.
“They’s be putting Miss Hermione’s things in with Mr. Harry’s, in the Master’s
suite,” Winky answered. “Is yous be needing something? Winky can get it.”
“Thank you, Winky,” Hermione called, already darting back out of the room and
up the next flight of stairs. She rounded the landing and swung back into the
master bedroom. Harry was snoring softly, blessedly asleep while his body
continued to heal itself. She called herself all kinds of foolish for not
having remembered to retrieve the parchment with the other’s floo addresses
written on it earlier when she had put Harry back to bed. It would have saved
her a trip, but what’s done was done, she reminded herself. She skimmed the
paper to make sure it was what she thought it was, and once satisficed, she
left the room to go back downstairs again, this time at a slightly less
reckless pace.
Remus was waiting for her down in the kitchen with the floo powder ready. “We
never bothered to hook up the floo in the parlor,” he apologized, but she
wasn’t bothered.
Taking a pinch, she tossed the fine glittery powder into the dancing flames,
watching them turn shades of green. “The Rookery,” she called out clearly,
waiting an extra moment just to be sure the connection was made, and then she
stuck her head into the green flames. She wasn’t sure what she expected—she
experienced the dizzying spin of the floo as it stretched between two
locations, but she was also highly aware of her body and presence in the
kitchen of Number 12.
“Hello?” she called out. “Good morning! Luna? Are you awake yet?”
She waited, listening, but no one responded. Worryingly, Hermione wondered if
she had done something wrong. She pulled back her head after several moments of
calling out and waiting for a response. She looked at Remus. “I guess no one
was home.”
She bit her lip.
“You can always try back later. Maybe they’re out for a morning stroll,” he
suggested. But it wasn’t very believable.
She tried Longbottom Manor next, with mixed results. This time when she stuck
her head into the green flames, she was met with a house elf’s greeting.
“Hello,” Hermione greeted. “I’m looking for Neville, please.”
“Master Neville’s not here,” the little elf whispered confidentially. “Left
last night with Master’s guests.”
“Neville had guests? Who? Was it Luna? Or maybe Blaise?” she asked before
clarifying, “Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini?”
The elf nodded. “Is you being Miss Hannah or Miss Hermaniny?”
“I’m Hermione,” she corrected gently, well used to people mispronouncing her
name correctly at first (and sometimes even second or third). “Do you mean to
say that Hannah hasn’t checked in yet?”
“No, I’s to be taking Miss Hannah’s or Miss Hermynee’s call or Mr Harry
Potter’s call and letting them know Master Neville has gone with his guests.”
“Do you know where they went if they’re not here?”
“They’s be going to Master Neville’s guest’s house.”
“Not the Rookery,” Hermione countered. “I just flooed there and no one
answered. So, did they go with Blaise to Italy, then?”
The elf nodded sadly. “Master Neville is very far from home.”
“And Blaise is too far away to call by floo,” Hermione thought aloud. “Darn.
Thank you—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”
“Fagus, miss.”
“Thank you, Fagus. If Neville calls or returns before I reach him, will you
please give him a message for me?”
“Of course!”
“Please let him know that Harry and I are at the old place for a bit. My
parents’ home was attacked and we couldn’t stay there. Harry and I are both
safe, though we were hurt a bit. We’re recovering, and hope to see everyone
again soon.”
“Fagus will be delivering you message just as soon as Master Neville returns.”
“Thank you again, Fagus. Have a good day,” Hermione called, pulling back once
more from the floo flames.
“Neville’s with Luna and Blaise,” she announced brushing floo dust from her
hair and hands. “They were all together at Longbottom manor last night, but
they left. According to the elf I talked to, they went to Blaise’s home, which
is in Italy. I can’t just make a floo call to Italy, can I?” she asked, finally
looking up at her former professor.
“No, no you can’t,” Remus agreed. “For one, we don’t have the right floo powder
to make an international call; and for another, it would be one hell of a
distance for your head to travel. I wouldn’t recommend it for even experienced
floo travelers.”
Hermione huffed. “I’ll need to send a letter then.” She pushed herself up off
the floor and dusted her slacks off. By the time she’d turned around, there was
parchment, an ink well, and a quill ready and waiting on the table. She looked
questioningly at Remus, but he looked equally as surprised. “How did these get
here?”
“Winky be getting Miss Hermione’s writing things ready for her,” the elf in
question replied from across the room. “Unless you’s be wanting them in the
upstairs parlor?”
“No, this is fine,” Hermione answered, bemused and a bit bewildered. “Winky?
Not that I’m not grateful for your assistance, especially last night, and
breakfast was a nice surprise to have ready this morning, too, but… why are you
still here?” she tried to ask delicately. She didn’t want to hurt the elf’s
feelings, and she really was grateful for the assistance, but…. “Shouldn’t you
be back at Hogwarts with Dobby? In fact, now that I think about it, how did
Dobby even know to come here last night when I called for help?”
“You being in Mister Harry Potter sir’s home, so Dobby can be hearing you,”
Winky answered the last question first. “He be going to where Mister Harry
Potter sir being needing him.”
“I didn’t realize Harry had more than Kreacher bonded to him,” Remus mused.
“When did that happen?”
“Dobby being bonded to Mister Harry Potter sir for many years now,” Winky
informed them. “But Mister Harry Potter sir be making Dobby promise not to help
him, so Dobby can only help how Mister Harry Potter sir directs,” she added
sadly before turning angry. “Kreacher be not having the same problem. He be
knowing what a good house elf should do and he be willfully not doing it! He’s
been a bad house elf, but now that Winky’s here, she be fixing things and
seeing to them proper like!”
“But why are you here?” Hermione asked again.
“Miss Hermione be needing Winky’s help,” the elf informed them. “Miss Hermione
and Mister Harry Potter sir being here, not at Hogwarts, so Winky being here
now, too.” Her big bat ears dropped and she seemed to wilt before their eyes.
“Winky couldn’t come before. First you’s being in a house with muggles, and
it’s not good for house elves to be seen by good, magic folks. And then, Winky
not be knowing you’s and Mister Harry Potter sir being capture by bad wizards!”
She alternated between wringing her hands and her large ears as big, fat tears
formed in her tennis ball-like eyes. “Winky is sorry! And then, you’s be being
behind protection wards that Winky couldn’t pass through without Kreacher’s
help, but Winky be here now,” she said, seeming to regain control of herself as
she straightened, “and she be fixing things right. Just you see! Winky is a
good elf. She knows how to take care of a house and her family proper like!”
Hermione turned to face Remus.
“It looks like you’ve been adopted by a house elf,” he told her, with an amused
little smile. “Congratulations.”
“But I don’t want a slave,” she practically wailed. “It’s wrong on so many
levels!”
“You’re looking at it from the wrong perspective,” Remus coached. “You’re
thinking about this from a human perspective, but Hermione, house elves aren’t
human.”
“That doesn’t make it right to own them!”
“Do you own Crookshanks? Does Harry own Hedwig?”
“They’re animals, pets,” Hermione retorted. “They’re not satiate beings.”
“Aren’t they though?” Remus returned. “Just because most humans can’t
communicate with cats or owls doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking beings with
their own unique personalities. They live with us, keep us company, help us in
our daily lives, and in return we give them safety and companionship, we feed
them and give them a place to live.”
“So you’re saying a house elf is the same as a pet?”
“Not exactly the same, but there are similarities, yes.” Remus searched for
another analogy. “They’re like a companion race that live alongside wizards,
but they have their own unique culture, like goblins, or vela, or vampires.”
“Or werewolves?”
“Yes, or werewolves,” Remus allowed with a bit of a self-depreciating smile.
“There are cultural differences between your thinking of the house elves as
slaves and how the house elves actually see themselves. To many elves, I highly
suspect that they see us as the pets, and that it is their duty to take care of
us—make sure we have a clean home, food to eat, are happy. Most things good pet
owners do, wouldn’t you agree?”
“But that’s not how most wizards treat their elves.”
“You’re basing your opinions on a few bad examples,” Remus reprimanded. “Would
you condemn owning a dog or cat because some people are horrible to animals? Or
would you condemn a whole breed of animals because some are trained to be
vicious and mean?”
“I don’t like it,” Hermione groused, just barely resisting the urge to cross
her arms like a petulant toddler.
“You don’t have to like it,” he told her. “Whether you like it or not, it
appears you have been adopted. Unless you want to break that little elf’s heart
and ruin her spirit—and quite possibly condemn her to death by forcibly
removing her from your family.”
“Winky has survived on her own before,” she countered.
“She’s the former Crouch elf, isn’t she? The one Dumbledore took into Hogwarts?
Oh, yes, I’ve heard of her story,” Remus nodded sadly. “She was very well near
on her way to fading, I was told, until earlier this year. Isn’t she the elf
you and Harry used to help organize some of the festivities you put on this
year? I’m sure you gave her plenty of chores to do.”
“I didn’t think it was too much…” Hermione trailed off into thought, giving in
to the urge to cross her arms and nibble at her thumb. “You don’t think we were
over-working her by asking for her help, do you?”
“Quite the contrary. I think you gave her purpose. And I wouldn’t be a bit
surprised if she didn’t bound to you sometime shortly after that.”
“Is that true, Winky?” Hermione asked, turning to look at the elf who was
determinedly not looking back at her. “Did you bound to me and Harry because we
asked for your help organizing the Samhain festivities and the other activities
these past few months?”
“Not exactly, Miss Hermione,” the elf answered tentatively, suddenly worried
she might be dismissed for not pleasing the young witch. “Winky be knowing Miss
Hermione being in a delicate way and be needing help. Winky be knowing Miss
Hannah also being needing help. And Mister Harry Potter sir being making a
circle, there being powerful magic, and Winky being thinking she can be helping
and allowed to be part of Miss Hermione’s family. Winky being good with babies,
and she be mighty good at watching little ones. Winky be good for Miss Hermione
and her new family, and since Miss Hermione being asking for Winky’s help…
Winky be making it so.”
Hermione’s hand went instinctively to her stomach, still mostly flat as it had
always been. Sure, she had a little pouch, but it wasn’t like she was fat or
anything of the sort! And it definitely wasn’t noticeable that she was
pregnant. Not least of all because her pregnancy was put in stasis at only a
few weeks in. She wouldn’t look pregnant for a very many months yet—until after
they released the stasis and then she was in her second trimester. But still,
it was disconcerting that the little elf even knew that shew as pregnant. Would
all the house elves know? That could be troublesome.
Remus was no slouch, and he was quickly putting dots together for himself as he
took in Hermione’s stance and surprised look. Still, he should be sure… it was
never safe to just assume something. “Hermione,” he began trying to come up
with a delicate way to ask the girl if what he thought the elf was saying was
true. “Are you… that is to say, I understand that yours and Harry’s
relationship has changed rather dramatically these last few months, but is it
possible that you…”
He ran out of words. Yep. His brain failed him. There really was no delicate
way to ask a woman if she was pregnant. Not for the first time, he sincerely
wished one of the other marauders were still here so they could be the one
blundering through.
Hermione faltered for a moment. It wasn’t that she was attempting to hide her
pregnancy from the other man—Remus was family, through Harry, and she knew he
would be one of the people they would be telling anyway, but she really hadn’t
been prepared to tell anyone this soon. The unofficial plan had been to
announce her pregnancy after they left Hogwarts this summer. But Harry had
already changed that. So, no. She wasn’t upset about Remus finding out—
“Technically,” Hermione started, “Yes. Hannah and I are both pregnant. But we
asked Madame Pomphrey to perform the stasis charm for us. Neither of us thought
it would be a good idea to finish the school year while actively pregnant,
although that won’t really be an option for the others. If they go into heat,
they go into heat. But Hannah and I are plain old regular witches. We don’t
have any creature inheritance to interfere with.
“But Winky,” she said, returning her attention to the female elf. “You knew.
You know I’m pregnant? Can any house elf tell?” she asked, worried about who
else might find out such sensitive information that could be used against their
family, Harry especially.
“No, Miss Hermione. Other house elves not being noticing Miss Hermione’s
differing magic unless they be around and see for themselves. Miss Hermione be
a powerful witch, and her baby be equally as powerful as it grows.”
“But the baby isn’t growing right now,” Hermione protested. “There’s a stasis
spell on it, protecting it.”
Winky stayed silent, not wanting to contradict her young witch.
Unfortunately, that didn’t reassure Hermione at all. “Winky,” she started
slowly. “Madame Pomphrey put a spell on the baby before we left Hogwarts, so
the baby won’t grow until we take the spell off.”
The elf wrung her hands together in nervous indecision, and then finally she
spoke up. “Winky can’t be speaking to what Missy Poppy be doing or not doing,
but she can be speaking for surely when she says Miss Hermione’s baby be
growing like a proper baby, not stunted like Miss Hannah’s.”
Two tiny hands clapped over her mouth as a look of horror filled those large
tennis-ball eyes. “That’s not to be saying anything be wrong or bad with Miss
Hannah’s baby,” the elf babbled. “Just that it not be growing like a proper
baby should be. And that being right if, as Miss Hermione says, Missy Poppy be
putting a spell on the baby to make it not grow—Oh! Bad Winky! Shouldn’t be
saying anything to upset Miss Hermione so!”
Hermione rushed forward to stop the elf from bashing herself with a rolling pin
she had picked up off the counter. “Don’t!” she shouted, causing the elf to
freeze. “Please, don’t. I wouldn’t be happy if I thought you were hurting
yourself, Winky, especially not if it was because of me. In fact, that would
just make it worse. Please don’t hurt yourself.”
Once it looked like the elf wouldn’t begin beating herself, Hermione turned
back to the table—and caught sight of Remus who was merely standing back and
watching everything, as if lost in his own thoughts.
“This doesn’t change the fact we need to get in contact with the others,”
Hermione groused, striding over to the table to write her first letter for
Neville, Blaise, and Luna and then a second for Hannah. She hoped they were
safe—for whatever reason Neville and Luna had decided to leave Britain and join
Blaise in Italy, she was almost wishing she and Harry had done the same. At
least she knew Hannah was safely outside of the country, but she would have
been better content to know their blonde mate was also with the rest of the
pard.
And then she remembered she still had to contend with her parents.
***
Neville woke to a warmer breeze than expected drifted over his naked skin.
There was a hint of salt on the air and extra moisture that weighted the air
ever so noticeably. Not uncomfortably. He stretched languidly and yawned
loudly, not quite managing but nearly succeeding in knocking his fellow bed
partners out of the bed. An elbow to the ribs was his punishment and had his
eyes popping open right quickly.
“What’s that for?” he asked sullenly.
“I don’t much appreciate waking up by being pushed and kicked,” Blaise groused.
“Not nice indeed,” Luna mused. “He should kiss it and make it better,” she
purred, rolling back over and curling up, more than willing to go back to
sleep.
Then Neville sat up, remembering where he was, or… rather, where he wasn’t.
“We’re in Italy,” he said, slightly stunned by the idea.
“Yes,” Blaise murmured. “I know. I grew up here.”
“No, but, I mean, we’re in a whole other country,” he said, turning in the bed
to looking at Blaise and Luna who’d decided to cuddle up together. “We’re not
in Britain. I don’t think I’ve ever not been somewhere in Britain before.”
That caught the other’s attention. “Really?” Blaise asked, more than a little
surprised. “But surely you’ve gone on family holidays. I thought all purebloods
went on holidays to the continent.”
“My gran was never really big on traveling too far. Said it wasn’t safe and…
and that I was too clumsy to trust to foreign healers,” Neville finished with a
flush.
Luna curled around him and gave him a hug. “So, now that you’re free from your
grandmother’s thumb and we have two weeks of holiday, what would you like to
do? I’m sure we could go just about any place from here. Where is here,
exactly?”
“Portofino,” Blaise announced proudly. “My father’s from this village. his
entire family were all fishermen for generations before magic turned up in my
father and some of his brothers and sisters. He purchased this villa for my
mother when they were married, and she, in turned, deeded it to me last year.”
“So, this is actually your own house, that you own?” Neville asked, somewhat
surprised.
“Villa, yes,” Blaise answered. “It’s not like you don’t have your own house.”
“The manor is more my grandmother’s house than mine, even if I’m set to inherit
it. And besides, did you hear her last night? She’s not likely going to release
my inheritance anytime soon,” Neville mumbled dejectedly. “I should probably
make an appointment with Gringotts before we head back to Hogwarts and make
sure she doesn’t try to interfere with any of my investment portfolios that she
graciously allowed me access to last year.” He huffed.
“Wait,” Luna interjected. “Your father was a muggleborn?”
Blaise and Neville blinked.
“Not that it should matter,” the dark skinned young man preluded, “but, yes.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?” he demanded defensively. “Because I’m a half-blood? Because I’m a
Slytherin? I assure I’m not the first or only one.”
“What?” Luna responded, confused by his train of thought, let alone his seeming
hostility. “Because you inherited your mother’s creature blood, and you’re
relatively strong, magically speaking. I wonder, have you ever had an
inheritance test preformed at Gringotts? Or a full family history record? You
said your father’s family had been living here for decades, but I wonder, has
anyone looked into your grandmother’s family?”
Neville’s head dropped onto Blaise’s shoulder. “It’s the Ravenclaw project.
You’ve got her started now. Might not be able to distract her.
“Of course you can distract me, Neville. I’m very easy to distract. In fact,
I’m distracted right now by the lovely picture you and Blaise make as you lay
naked in each other’s arms. I’m also distracted by the thought of what it might
look like and feel like to be laying equally naked between you two. Then there
is the thought of what the three of us, lying naked against each other might
get up to, so you see—“
Blaise didn’t give her more time to continue; instead dragging the blonde in
between himself and Neville and proceeding to kiss her into silence. Neville
quickly caught own and joined the two in a delightful morning romp.
**
A few hours later, Luna emerged from the sparkling green waters of the
Mediterranean and climbed up the descending stone steps that led directly into
the waters from the patio. Neville was still paddling through the clear waters
with childish delight, but Luna had decided it was time for some refreshments.
She joined Blaise at the patio table set up under a shaded screen, gratefully
accepting the cup of cappuccino he set before her. A plate of hard rusks sat
out beside a bread basket. Inquisitive as always, Luna reached for the bread
stick looking rusk and nibbled on it, surprised to find it sweet like a
biscuit.
Blaise winked at her and dipped his own biscotti into his coffee before taking
a bit. “Did you enjoy your swim?”
“I did. The water is very invigorating. You should have joined us.”
“Ah, I find that I am still too much a local child to find swimming in the
waters in December comfortable. Maybe, if we return in the summer, I shall take
you down to the mermaids’ cove,” he teased.
“That might be nice,” Luna allowed. “Especially if we could have some
gillyweed.”
“Of course,” Blaise scoffed. “It’s the only way to explore the Mediterranean! I
wouldn’t be surprised, though, if that is what is captivating our nymph so,” he
added with a wink.
Luna smiled. “He was rather fascinated with the different sea plants.”
“I’m sure he’s already found a patch of gillyweed. It grows wild. How do you
like your coffee?”
“Mmm, it’s very good, thank you. Sweet and light, not over powering like some.”
“I often times miss my cappuccino’s when I’m at Hogwarts, although the elves do
provide carafes of coffee, it is just not the same.”
“I especially like this frothy stuff on top,” Luna added, dipping her lips into
said froth.
Blaise smiled at the picture she made, leaning over to lick the frothy mustache
clean. “Would you like to spend the rest of the afternoon here, or would you
like to do a bit of site seeing?” he asked, still grinning at her.
“I think we should probably send a letter to Harry and Hermione first, and let
them know where we are. We don’t want them to worry if they try to reach us.”
“Good point. I wish they could join us here.”
“That would be nice. We should vacation here often.”
“But it is not a good home for us,” Blaise said sadly.
Luna reached over and pat his knee. “It is a lovely home, but it will not be
suitable for our pard. Don’t worry. We shall visit often. This villa will see
life and love and laughter yet. Do you think we could visit Pompeii while we’re
here?”
“If that is what you wish,  mia bella luna ,” Blaise allowed. “We can visit
where ever you and Neville decide. Italy, France. Although, I would prefer to
stay this side of the Adriatic Sea.”
“So no Greece or Albania or Croatia?” Luna teased.
“Maybe another time,” Blaise teased back. “I think you will find Italy has
enough to entertain you for two whole weeks.”
“Italy has you.”
“No,” Blaise correct lightly, taking Luna’s hand a dropping a kiss upon her
knuckles. “You have me.  sempre, fino a quando si avrà me.”
“What are you two on about?” Neville asked, puffing lightly as he jogged up the
stone stairs, towel hanging about his shoulders. He was still grinning as he
dropped into a third chair at the table. Almost immediately, a cup of
cappuccino appeared before him. “Is this some kind of coffee?”
“Cappuccino,” Blaise corrected. “Sweetened milk coffee. Try it. If you don’t
like it, we can always ask the elves to make you a pot of tea instead.”
“Never had a coffee before,” Neville braved, blowing on the hot liquid before
gingerly taking a sip. His eyebrows rose. “Not bad. So, what were you two
talking about?”
“We were wondering if we’d be able to tear you away from the water long enough
to go sightseeing,” Luna teased. “Blaise has said he would take us anywhere in
Italy or France we’d like to go.”
“That’s very generous of him.” Neville continued grinning as he sipped more of
his morning coffee. “But I do need to check back in at the manor and make sure
Hannah hasn’t tried to reach us yet.”
“Yes, and we need to send word to Harry and Hermione that we are all safely
tucked away here in my villa,” Blaise put in. “As Luna pointed out earlier, it
would be remiss of us to allow them to worry.”
“Good idea. Would it be too much of a hassle to floo back through the way we
came?” Neville asked, worrying his lip as he tried to think how to send word to
everyone.
“Not if you’re willing to visit with each and every relative of mine up and
down the French floo network,” Blaise warned lightly.
“Ah, I’d wondered who’s floo we were using last night.”
“My father’s family is very social,” Blaise allowed, smile big and warm with
affection. “You can expect at least a half hour at each stop, if we’re lucky.
If not, maybe two hours before we’re allowed to move on. They will all want to
know everything about you, and because they know about my mother, they know
about me, and they will automatically assume that we are lovers.”
“We are,” Luna pointed out.
“We are,” Blaise agreed. “So they will want to know that I am treating you
right and being attentive to your needs.”
Neville snorted. “Quite attentive.”
“And then they will want to know how serious our relationship is and if we will
be bonding as my father and mother were wedded.”
“Already bonded, I should say,” Luna smiled dreamily.
“Yeah, mate, sorry to say, but I don’t think you’ll be getting rid of us
anytime soon,” Neville added.
“And then will come the inevitable talk of babies.”
They all paused there.
“Well, that’s rather easy.” Both boys looked at Luna. “Hermione and Hannah are
already pregnant, so that’s two babies on the way. Neville should be going into
his first heat before the end of spring, so there’s another one right there.
Really, the only uncertainty is you and me,” she said looking at Blaise. “We’re
not sure of either one of our heat cycles yet. And really, that’s assuming no
one else joins the pard before the end of the school year, otherwise, there
could quite possibly be even more babies on the way.”
Neville and Blaise shared a look of understanding—each experiencing a moment of
uncomfortable realization. “I don’t think I’d really considered what it would
mean for the three of us to be on heat cycles,” Neville shared. “I mean, I
knew, of course, that I could only conceive once or twice a year, but… I could
really honestly get pregnant in a couple of months.” He looked up at Blaise
with a mix of wonder and dread. “It’s a rather crazy thought. A part of me
really wants it…but it’s also completely terrifying.”
Blaise smiled in commiseration. “You have a better chance than me,” he
confided. “Incubi have a naturally difficult time conceiving and their heat
periods could be spread literally decades apart. My mother’s is rather short,
merely eight to nine years apart. I might not even go into my first heat for
another two to three years, and even then, there’s no guarantee I’ll conceive.
I’ve a better chance fathering a child than I ever will of mothering one.”
“What will be, will be,” Luna proclaimed, “But I wouldn’t give up all hope just
yet. And don’t worry, Neville. You won’t be the first mother of our pard,
either.”
“If you say so,” Neville sighed. “So, are we writing a letter to Harry and
Hermione, then? Do you have an owl here who can handle a flight back to
England?”
“There’s an owlery with at least three capable flyers. Worry not how the letter
will get there. Worry more about what you will tell Harry for why you have
decided to run away to Italy with me, leaving he and Hermione in the cold
English winter while we luxuriate along the Grande Riviera.”
Neville paused, considering that. “You’re right. We should include an invite
along with that explanation.”
Luna clapped and laughed gaily. “The more the merrier!”
**
Hermione was just finishing up her second letter when she heard the squawking.
“What is that?” she demanded, started to stand.
“Owlsies for Miss Hermione,” Winky panted, struggling to support both owls as
she carried them into the kitchen.
“Hedwig!” Hermione cried, immediately recognizing the large snowy owl. “Oh, you
smart girl! Did you know I have a letter to send out or did you just want to
check on Harry? He’s resting upstairs, but he’ll be all right.”
The owl in question transferred over to the back of Hermione’s chair, looked
soul-searchingly into her eyes, and then bobbed her head. Meanwhile, Winky was
still struggling with the other owl, trying to coax it into both relinquishing
its letters and settling down on one of the kitchen chairs like the snowy owl
had.
“This owlsie not be giving over its letters,” Winky huffed.
“They’re probably not all for us,” Hermione mused, reaching over to take the
envelop with hers and Harry’s name. “They’re from Hannah, and look. The other
is for Neville and Luna. She doesn’t know they’re in Italy with Blaise.”
She looked down at her own finished letters. “One of these is going back to
Hannah. The other is going to Italy.” She looked at the two owls. “Who wants
which one?”
The owls took a minute to look at each other before shuffling onto the table
and pecking at their chosen courier. Hermione smiled. “Will it be all right to
send your letter off with Hedwig, then?” she asked the owl that had arrived
with Hannah’s letters. “I’ll just add a postscript for Hannah to let her know.”
Once that was done and the owl on its way back to the Netherlands—of all
places! —Hermione turned to Hedwig. “Are you sure you don’t want to check on
Harry first?” The owl held her leg out imperiously. “All right, but please be
careful. It’s a long trip, and Harry and I would be very upset if something
were to happen to you. Please be safe.”
The owl clucked her beak and then bobbed her head. And then she was off.
Remus had returned upstairs at some point, and now Hermione was left alone in
the kitchen with her thoughts and the brief missive from Hannah—she was at the
Bones Family Manor in Netherlands, safely tucked away behind some pretty
powerful wards, so don’t worry about her. She missed everyone, and hoped they
were doing well. She looked forward to seeing everyone again soon.
It was short and functional and Hermione couldn’t help but think it didn’t
sound much like the bubbly Hufflepuff she was used to spending time with.
Picking up the letter to take with her, she began heading upstairs, surprised
when she heard voices coming from the parlor. At first, she thought Tonks must
have returned, but then she realized it was two male voices. Remus and…
Her father, she realized as she got closer. Her parents were finally awake.
Taking a solidifying breath, Hermione determinedly strode into the parlor.
 
**
“When will we be able to go home?” George Granger demanded gruffly.
“Will we be able to go home?” Patricia countered at a seemingly more controlled
level.
And that seemed to take a good bit of the gruff out of the other man as his
arms uncrossed and he nodded. “Right you are, Tish,” he sighed, turning back to
the only other person in the room. “Will we even be able to go home after
this?”
Remus studied the couple, Hermione’s parents. Last night they had been dirty
and terrified. This morning, they were more put together. He thought that,
perhaps under other circumstances, he would have liked the couple.
“The truth of the matter is, I wouldn’t suggest it, no,” he told them as
delicately as possible while still staying honest. “Not all of the death eaters
who attacked your home were killed. That means some of them are out there and
they know where you live, where Hermione lives. They’ll try again.”
George glowered. “Because they’re after Harry.”
“Yes, and no,” Remus countered. “Yes, Harry is a high target, but even if
Hermione wasn’t involved with Harry, she herself is a target. She is an
intelligent, powerful muggle born, and the people who attacked you hate that
about her, and hate her as a result. She’s living proof that the bigoted
beliefs they cling to are false. And so, they would have targeted her even if
she was never friends with Harry.”
“Which is all a moot point anyway,” Hermione entered the room and conversation.
“Because anyone who bothers to know anything about me or Harry knows we’ve been
good friends since our first year of Hogwarts, even if they don’t know we’re
involved more intimately now. I received a letter from Hannah,” she continued
towards Remus. “She’s in the Netherlands of all places, but at least she’s
safe.”
She sighed before turning back to her parents, squaring her shoulders. “Mom,
Dad, I’m sorry the house was attacked last night, but I’m relieved your both
safe. I was worried,” she started before her mother rushed her, tackling her
into a crushing embrace.
“I was so scared,” her mother whispered against her shoulder, not relinquishing
her hold. “Everything was shaking, and you rushed us out of the house and into
the shed, and then you left us! And I didn’t know if you were alive or dead!
You could have been hurt, or worse, killed! Don’t ever do that again! You are
my only baby. I couldn’t stand to lose you.”
Hermione resisted only a second before she melted against her mother. “I’m so
sorry, mum, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t ever want you to be caught up in any of
this. It might… it might be better if you and dad sold the house and practice,
moved away for a little bit, until things settle here.”
“Move where?” her mother scoffed, finally releasing her enough to stand back
and look her over, as if searching for any injuries. “We might have talked
about moving to Australia, settling down there when we were older, but that’s
all it ever was. Talk. This is our home, Hermione. We are English. And we will
not be chased away.”
Remus, watching mother and daughter interact, thought that the small family
needed this time to really talk and reconnect. He remembered the struggles Lily
had had with her family—trying to decide how much to share and how much to
shield her parents and sister from the wizarding world and the civil unrest. He
was seeing it replay out in front of his eyes, he thought sadly. The more
things change….
Quietly, unobtrusively, he left the room. This was a moment for Hermione and
her parents
**
Remus was making some notes on a parchment at the kitchen table when the floo
flared. He’d been there for most of the morning and afternoon—Winky having been
kind enough to keep him supplied with plenty of tea and even a light luncheon.
Madame Pomphrey came through with her perfunctory manner, bag in hand.
“Remus,” she greeted. “It’s good to see you looking well.”
“Thank you, Madame. I’m feeling quite well. But I believe you’re here to check
up on Harry.”
“Yes. Mr. Potter tends to require a good deal of attention over the years, much
like yourself,” she added, casting a scrutinizing eye over him.
“We’re the better for your care and attention,” Remus responded, ushering her
up the stairs. “He was awake earlier this morning. Right about when Severus
finished his potions.”
“Yes, Severus told me he’d administered the skelo-grow this morning, so I
thought I would give it the opportunity to do some work before I stopped back
in to check on our Mr. Potter. It’s a good thing Severus was available and knew
the modified recipes Mr. Potter requires.”
“Yes, I’m grateful Severus was willing to brew them.”
“I have found Severus is almost always willing to brew a potion, especially if
it will help others. He’s actually a very kind soul, for all of his prickly
nature.”
“I know,” Remus confessed. “The world has been very cruel to him, myself
included. Yet, he still makes me the wolf’s bane potion every month.”
“As I recall, it wasn’t you who was the cruelest,” Poppy pointed out.
“No,” Remus allowed. “But I didn’t try and stop the others, either, which makes
me just as guilty for his torment. We bullied him horribly, and without even
the slightest of a good reason.”
“Is there ever a good reason to bully another person?” she retorted.
“No, you’re right, of course. There’s not. There’s ne—Harry! What are you doing
up?” Remus started, having come up the stairs to find Harry tottering in the
hallway.
“Mr. Potter! You get right back into bed at once, young man!” Poppy ordered,
coming around Remus to see what he saw.
“Had to use the loo,” Harry answered, flushing at being caught. “Just on my way
back there now, lost my balance, though.”
“I should say so. That leg bone isn’t anywhere near to being done growing back!
You’ll be lucky if you didn’t set its healing back by several days!”
“It’s almost finished,” Harry panted, “but still weak. Another couple of hours,
it should be fine,” he insisted.
“You’ll let me be the judge of that!” Poppy barked. “Remus, help him back into
bed, will you? And keep pressure off that leg!”
She followed to two into the room, huffing and puffing about as Remus gave
Harry a hand. At first, he made to just pick up and carry the boy, but Harry
was having none of that. “Just help me in,” he insisted.
It took a bit longer, but finally Harry was back in bed, leg up and resting
while he laid back, sweating and panting. Madame Pomphrey already had her wand
out and diagnostic spells were casting. The more vigorously she cast, the more
fearsome her scowl became until finally she stepped away from him.
“I’m a going to live?” Harry teased.
“I don’t understand it,” the patron confessed. “It’s like your wounds have had
days to heal, not just hours.”
“So I’m good,” Harry pronounced, starting to get back up.
“Stay right where you are!” the mediwitch ordered, pointing her wand back at
him.
Harry threw his hands up in surrender and laid back down. “Not going anywhere.
See? Look, laying back down, honest, Madame Pomphrey.”
“Oh, you!” she growled. “You don’t fool me for a minute, Mr. Potter. The minute
my back is turned, I know you’ll be up out of that bed, high-tailing it off on
some adventure or another.”
“No adventures, ma’am,” he corrected. “I’m still aiming to have a quiet holiday
with family. Didn’t start off to such a good start, but, hey! I figure we’ve
still got a few weeks left, right?”
“Hope runs eternal.”
“Poppy,” Remus called her attention away from their playful bantering. “Are you
saying that Harry’s healing faster than expected?”
“Faster than you expected,” Harry quipped. “I’ve always healed faster, Remus.”
“While that’s true,” Madame Pomphrey confirmed, “You’re still healing faster
than should be reasonably expected, Mr. Potter. A typical witch or wizard would
be laid up for several days as their bones regrew, and I would argue they
should be on bedrest for a full week to give the bones a chance to strengthen.
As you may recall, from the last time we had to regrow some of your bones, you
were in and out over the course of one evening, and even then, I only released
you on the assurance that you would rest that arm! Even today, knowing that you
had taken the potion this morning, I expected to see your leg bones mostly
completed in their regrowth and all of the connective tissues starting to
rejoin.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Harry asked. He explored his leg earlier when
testing his weight on it. It was a bit weak, not as flexible as he was used
to—like Hermione had said, he’d need to do some extra stretches. It was a bit
tender, but it held steady. Well, mostly steady. He’d probably pushed it a
little bit trying to make it to the toilet instead of calling for a chamber
pot. But, hey! He made it.
“You’re healing even faster than expected, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomphrey
frowned.
“I still don’t see what the problem is?”
“Your body should be burning through a tremendous amount of magic to speed your
recovery,” the mediwitch went on, waving her wand over him again.
“But it’s not,” Harry pointed out calmly. “I’ve been healing scarily fast since
this summer. I mean, faster than even before.”
“Your inheritance,” Remus realized suddenly.
“Yeah, probably,” Harry agreed, shooting the older man a somewhat sheepish
look, wondering just how much the man knew. It wasn’t like he’d purposefully
kept the information from him… It was just… complicated. Yeah, that was it. His
relationship with Remus was… complicated. Sort of like his with Sirius: an
adult he should have known his entire life, who should have been a pseudo-uncle
to him, but was, in reality, near enough a complete stranger. And yet he cared
about the man. Cared about his feelings and his well-being… It was, true
enough, complicated.
“You’ll need some muscle relaxant cream, I expect,” Madame Pomphrey continued
on, seemingly oblivious to the moment suspended between two of her most
troublesome patients. “Don’t be too surprised if you have a few cramps in that
leg, but, otherwise... You’re fine, Mr. Potter. Practically in perfect health,”
she announced, seeming almost offended by such a diagnosis.
“Practically,” Remus picked up on, alert and worried.
She shot a cursory look towards the werewolf before turning her attention back
to her primary patient. “I wonder, Mr. Potter, if you’d be willing to show me
your magical inheritance?”
“You mean my cat?” he asked, surprised, shooting a quick look towards Remus.
“Uh, I suppose so. Um, which, ah, which form did you want to see?”
“You have more than one?” Pomphrey asked, trying to rein in her eagerness.
“Well, I mean, I suppose Hermione told you last night?” he questioned, not
really trying to hide what he was, but also not sure what the other two adults
knew about his circumstances. Remus, he was pretty sure, knew most if not all.
At least, he thought that’s what he walked into this morning when he and
Hermione were talking.
“I know about your inheritance, yes,” Poppy answered, not willing to admit it
was through the Headmaster’s own words and actions that she had learned the
information.
“Alright, well, there’s the two forms that we’ve discovered so far,” Harry
explained, somewhat sheepishly looking between the two adults. “The one’s sort
of a hybrid, an in-between of a cat and a human, right? And the other is all
cat. I’m not very good at just transforming from one to the other yet, so, ah,
give me a moment, yeah?”
The two adults nodded eagerly and watched as Harry slide off the bed, him
watching Madame Pomphrey carefully to make sure she wasn’t going to yell at him
again. He held onto the back of a chair that had been placed next the bed at
one point and then closed his eyes and thought about what he wanted.
He wanted to be in his hybrid form. He was taller, stronger in that form. His
claws could tear into his enemies, or anyone who would threaten his mates. His
wings could come out and protect his mates—shield them or help carrying them
away from harm. His arms were strong and could pick them up, hold them. His
tail whipped angrily at the thought of anyone even thinking of harm to his
mates, and his teeth and jaw ached to crush their throats.
A sharp intake of breath—not really a gasp—was his reminder that he—and his
mates—were safe right now. He blinked his eyes open, slightly disorientated by
the blurred focus the world around him took on when in this form. Colors bled
away, but lines sharpened in the dark. He didn’t notice his balance shift, not
normally, but tonight, there was a slight twinge in his leg when he shifted.
That made sense, he guessed, when he thought about it.
Madame Pomphrey was already waving her wand at him. “Interesting,” she
murmured.
“What?” Remus asked, still staring at Harry in fascinating.
“Mr. Potter, if you would like, I can have a copy of these medical scans
written out for you to look over on your own. I think you might be interested
in the biological changes your body has taken on in this form. Your magical
signature is still yours, of course. That is to be expected. But your body has
physically changed completely. Similar to an animagus transformation. Is your
thought pattern any different?”
Harry looked at her. Did he think differently in this form? He supposed, maybe
a little. Things seemed less complicated. But then again, he’d only been in
this form a handful of times, and almost all of those times had been while he
was with pard, either mating for pleasure or actively breeding. The only
exception was last night. He’d transformed into his hybrid self when he’d
escaped his shackles and attacked the death eater.
The fluffy black tail began whipping back and forth as a low growl started to
rumble deep in the vanteera’s throat.
“You said you had another form?” Remus asked, hoping to redirect whatever
thoughts—and he thought he had a good idea what Harry was thinking about,
considering how he had come to be at Grimauld Place when he was supposed to be
spending the holidays with Hermione.
The large hybrid’s head tilted, as if in thought, and then slowly the large
body slunk closer to the ground. It didn’t necessarily shrink, though, Remus
realized as he studied the large cat now on all fours in the space between the
bed and the far wall. It looked like a black panther, but he remembered
Hermione telling him Harry was a leopard—that if you looked closely enough, you
could see the spots, but he didn’t think he was ready to get that close to his
honorary godson just yet. Not until they knew for certain that it was Harry in
there, thinking clearly.
The leopard leapt up onto the bed and laid down, looking back at Madame
Pomphrey and Remus indifferently.
“Do you notice your leg hurting at all?” the mediwitch asked, waving her wand
once again.
The cat shook its large head, ears flapping. The head shake turned into a full
body stretch and a very toothy yawn. Remus wished heartily that there was a
second chair in the room he could sit in. Big green eyes turned on him, cat
eyes, but they were green. Just like Harry’s; just like Lily’s.
“You could probably register this as your animagus form,” Remus supposed. “No
one needs to know it’s a true form for you. It is a true form, isn’t it?” he
asked, turning to look at the matron.
“It is,” she confirmed. “It’s quite remarkable. I’ll have these reports copied
out for you, Mr. Potter. If you’ll kindly transform back into a form which can
more easily communicate?”
The leopard crossed its paws and put its head down on them.
“Well, if you don’t want to join us for dinner,” Remus began leadingly before
looking at the matron. “That is, if it’s okay with Madame Pomphrey that you
leave your room any time soon.”
“He is remarkable well and in good health all around considering he had no leg
bone this morning,” the mediwitch confirmed. “I would still suggest taking it
easy with that leg. The bone has just been regrown, after all. No matter how
fully repaired it appears, it’s still very new. Not too much standing or
walking, Mr. Potter. Use the muscle relaxant. Well, I’d say my business here is
done.”
“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Remus offered.
“Thank you, Remus, but I don’t dare. There’s still a few students at the school
after all despite the holidays, and you may recall, they can get up to the
darnedest things when they think no one is watching.”
“Too true.”
“Thank you,” Harry said from the bed, where a now very human boy sat cross
legged on the covers. “You didn’t have to come out here last night or today,
but you did. Thank you.”
“You may not be on campus, Mr. Potter, but you are still a Hogwarts student,
and Hogwarts’s students will always receive help if they but ask.”
Harry nodded and stood. “One more thing, please, before you go?”
She paused on her way out the door.
“Hermione,” Harry began. “I was a bit out of it last night, but did you have a
chance to check her over, too?”
Madame Pomphrey frowned. “She said she was fine.”
“If you would, before you leave, just a quick check over?” he entreated.
“If she is agreeable,” the mediwitch nodded. “Of course.”
“I left her talking to her parents in the main family room earlier,” Remus
shared. “I haven’t seen or heard them since, so they might still be in there.”
Remus lead the way back downstairs to the family parlor. Surprising or not, the
family was still there. Hermione and her mother were chatting quietly while her
father was reading a book one of the elves had brought over that morning. The
family looked up as one as Remus entered with Harry and the mediwitch.
“Harry! What are you doing standing?” Hermione started, standing up herself and
rushing over to him. “You should be resting still!”
“Madame Pomphrey just gave me a clean bill of health,” he told her, taking her
by the arms to stop her from herding him back upstairs. “Now it’s your turn.”
“What? My turn? I’m not the one who broke their leg and had to have it vanished
and regrown,” she squawked.
“No, but you are pregnant, and you just went through an intense attack where
you ended up dragging my sorry arse out of a dungeon and through the floo, and
I’m pretty sure I landed on top of you when we fell through,” he countered.
“Please, Hermione, just let her do a quick check and make sure you’re okay,
okay? Did you use that bruise paste like you said you would?”
“Yes, or didn’t you notice that the jar was near empty?”
“I didn’t, but then, I had other things on my mind when I woke up.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well, the first time, I was wondering where you were at, and this second time,
it was an urgent need of the loo, so… No, haven’t really gone looking around at
things since we got here.”
“Ms. Granger, if you would?” Madame Pomphrey offered, holding her wand out at
the ready.
“Oh, very well.” She stepped away from Harry so as not to have her vitals
confused with his and waited patiently.
“What’s going on?” her mother asked, standing now as well. Her father was also
paying attention, having lowered his book to watch.
“I’m conducting a simple diagnostic spell that will tell me your daughter’s
vitals,” Poppy explained to the nervous parents as she waved her wand through
said spell. “Then I will cast a second charm that will alert me to any recent
changes to the body—these changes are usually what we are looking for when
someone has been in an accident as they will tell us if there is bruising or
internal injuries that we cannot see. Such as a nasty bruise forming on your
hip, dear. I’ll be sure to send you over some more bruise paste. And you’ll
need to apply more to your wrists and arms, as well. You’ve managed to surface
bruises well enough, but if you don’t use the creams, you’ll be quite colorful
in a few days’ time.”
“But other than that, she’s okay?” Harry asked.
“Other than that?” her father repeated. “I think that more than enough!”
“Yes, she’s—oh, that’s strange.” The mediwitch frowned and repeated her
casting.
“What?” “What’s strange?” several voices overlapped asking.
“Ms. Granger, have you been to see any other healer? Had any other spells cast
on you, medical or otherwise since last you came to see me?” the mediwitch
asked seriously.
“No, ma’am. Not even so much as a cheering charm,” Hermione replied. “Why?
What’s wrong?”
“Well,” Pomphrey flustered. “Knowing what I do of your condition, I went ahead
and ran another scan spell, just to make sure everything was okay, you
understand.”
“Is there something wrong with the baby?” Hermione asked nervously, hands
automatically rushing to cover her lower belly. And then, thinking back on what
Winky had said early that day, she asked, “Is it the stasis spell?”
“That’s just it,” Madame Pomphrey huffed. “The stasis spell is not registering
there at all. It’s like it was never cast. The baby is fine—in perfect, health
even. For a seventh week gestation.”
Hermione frowned. Seven weeks wasn’t too far along, but it was still a little
bit further than she should be if the stasis spell was in place. “Can you
recast it?”
“I could, but there’s a chance—“ The medical witch hesitated, before giving her
a somewhat sympathetic look. “If it failed once, it might very well fail again,
Ms. Granger. Some witches never took well to the stasis spell, and their own
magic worked to break down the spell. You might be one of those witches.”
“Please try again,” Hermione requested.
“You don’t think the spell’s failure has anything to do with me, do you?” Harry
asked. “I mean, with my cat and all?”
“I sincerely doubt it, Mr. Potter, although I suppose it could be possible and
therefore should not be ruled out entirely. No one really knows all that much
about vanteerians, and what they do know is really just supposition at any
rate. However, it really is more likely that Ms. Granger’s own magical core is
responsible for the deterioration of the spell. There are some magicals who
never accept another person’s magic laying cast upon them.”
“Hannah should probably be checked over as well, then, too, when we all return
to Hogwarts,” Harry said, thinking out loud, not catching the surprised look of
sudden comprehension on the mediwitch’s face. But Hermione did.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Hermione responded. “Winky said
something about it this morning,” she confessed. “I think Hannah’s going to be
just fine with the stasis spell. And we already suspected that the stasis charm
would not be possible for the others due to their natures.” She sighed,
shoulders slumping slightly. She’d never considered that she would have any
issues with the spell, though.
Harry looked at her… and then nodded, acceptingly, siddling over to pull her
back against his chest and rub her shoulders comfortingly—for her or for
himself, it didn’t matter. “But other than the stasis spell not sticking, she’s
okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Potter.”
“Thank you, Madame Pomphrey.”
“Of course. Shall we try again before I leave,” she asked Hermione.
“Yes, please,” the head girl responded stepping forward. “And then Hannah and I
will both visit you when we return to Hogwarts. Better to know for sure. Thank
you, Madame Pomphrey.”
The mediwitch waved her wand once more and recast the stasis spell that would
interrupt a normal germination, and then she made her escape back to her domain
and her files to be updated.
**
“Will someone care to explain what that was all about?”
Hermione turned back to the room, just baring resisting the urge to wince.
“Dad, Madame Pomphrey is the mediwitch at Hogwarts. She’s like a school nurse.”
“That I understood. And I understood her to say there was something wrong with
that spell you said you had her do, the one that stopped you from being
pregnant even though you were already pregnant. Oh, yes, I picked up on that,”
her father continued. “And the fact that there’s another girl at your school
who’s also pregnant. What is this? One of those pregnancy pact thingies you
hear about on the telly? Girlfriends vowing to have babies together?”
“What? No! It’s not like that at all!” Hermione sputtered, horrified at the
thought.
“This other girl, Hannah. She’s the one you started hanging around with this
year. Did she put you up to this? Convince you it was a good idea to go and get
preggers for graduation?”
“Oh, my gods,” Hermione groaned, aghast. “Are you serious right now? You know
nothing about Hannah—she is one of the sweetest persons I have ever met!”
“I don’t know anything about her because you’ve never mentioned her before!” he
argued. “But I know this is not the daughter I knew. My daughter wouldn’t have
gone around and gotten pregnant before she even graduated with her A’s.”
“They’re NEWT’s, dad,” Hermione practically growled with frustration. “They’re
called NEWT’s in the wizarding world, and guess what, your daughter is
pregnant, whether you like it or not! I can’t deal with this right now,” she
decided, turning and striding out of the room.
Harry hovered, staring dumbfounded at his future in-laws, before turning to
follow Hermione out with a muttered, “Excuse me.”
“Well, that went over rather nicely,” Trish huffed, walking back to her seat.
“Lovely job, dear.”
“You can’t tell me you’re okay with all this, Trish,” her husband growled.
“I don’t see as how I’ve a choice,” she answered calmly. “I refuse to be
estranged from my only child. No matter how strange or uncomfortable this other
world may be, it is the world to which Hermione belongs to. She’s never been
normal, George. You used to tell her normal was too boring for someone as
extraordinary as she, so why should you be surprised now that she’s not meeting
your normal expectations of what a daughter should be?”
“Dear god, Trish, she’s only eighteen!”
“And she’s convinced she’s found the love of her life and they’re going to get
married and have a happy little family together, yes, I know. We both know how
difficult that really is, but Hermione has to make her own decisions in life,
George. She’s always been self-reliant and determine. And if you want to be a
part of your daughter’s life, your grandchildren’s lives, then you need to deal
with it.”
“Ah, excuse me,” Remus spoke up. “But I feel I should point out to you now in
case hasn’t been made plain to you before.”
“What now?” George Granger practically cried, staring up at the ceiling.
“Hermione is a witch.”
“Yes, I believe we’re aware of that, thank you very much!”
Remus was undeterred, however. “She is also of age, which means, legally, she
no longer requires your permission to live her life how she sees fit.” Oh, that
didn’t sit too well with the muggle, but at least he held his tongue this time.
“Additioinally, she is in a relationship with Harry.”
“Oh, believe me, we know that well enough,” George Granger growled.
“Whom I consider the nearest thing to a son to me,” Remus continued. “The only
child of my best friends, a child of my pack. And, I’m not sure if the others
mentioned that Harry came into a rather remarkable inheritance on his
birthday?”
“Yes, something about a magical being,” Patricia Granger recalled. “And that
being the reason Hermione and Harry got together this year. That they’re for
all intents and purposes magically married.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure Harry intends to make there be no doubt in anyone’s minds
that Hermione is his wife and primary mate,” Remus acknowledge. “In fact, I
would be highly surprised if she didn’t return to Hogwarts with a formal ring
on her finger signifying their bond. Whether they ever choose to have a wedding
ceremony is really up to them.”
“He better damn well marry her! You don’t go knocking a girl up and then not
doing the right thing by her and the baby!” her father sputtered.
“I hate to be the barer of unwelcome news, as it were, but Hermione and Harry
might not choose to have a formal wedding such as you might expect. You see, it
stands that Harry’s creature is one that lives in a more communal-like family
structure with multiple mates.”
And wasn’t that just a dung-bomb to drop on the unsuspecting muggles.
**
Harry didn’t find her far away. Hermione had automatically gone to the bedroom
she had shared with Ginny in previous years. She was standing just inside the
room, staring at her old bed. The room, like the other bedrooms in the house,
had been emptied and scrubbed clean at some point in the last year, but it was
still in desperate need of at the very least a coat of paint. It was dark and
dreary like most of the house.
“Hey,” he called out gently, coming up behind her. He rubbed at her arms for
comfort. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she sniffled.
“That’s normally my line,” he teased.
She gave a little sobbed laugh, and then she turned in his arm, glomping onto
him, burying her face against his shoulder and throat as her whole body shook
and shivered against him. If he had any doubts about her crying, they were
washed away, and he held her tightly against him, nuzzling against her wild
riot of silky curls. His wings came out and enfolded around her, encasing her
in a cocoon of warmth. He wasn’t sure what else to do to comfort her, how to
protect her from her demons, but he wanted to.
He ran his hands up and down her back, rubbing at the tense muscles. He dropped
little kisses against her hair. “Tell me how to make this better,” he begged.
“Tell me how to make you happy again.”
She burrowed deeper against him. “I love you, Harry, I really do, but sometimes
I wish things didn’t have to be so complicated around you.”
He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against her stomach, arms
wrapped around her waist. “I’m sorry, Hermione. So sorry.”
She dug her hand into his hair, holding his head against her. Still sniffling,
she fought to regain her control. “Silly, you’re supposed to say you love me
back and you’d do anything for me.”
He looked up at her, green eyes bright and shining as they looked up into her
own warm chocolate depths. “But you already know that. I’ve always adored you,
Hermione. Your mind,” he said, dropping a kiss against her belly. “Your
spirit,” he continued, kissing a little higher up near her rib cage. “Your
heart,” he added, placing another kiss between her breasts. “Your body,” he
finished, sliding a final kiss against the bare skin of her throat. “But I have
never loved you more than I do in this moment.”
She exhaled, pulling him up completely to hold against her. “Why can’t things
ever be easy?”
“Because then they would be normal,” Harry replied. “And you could never be
anything as ordinary as normal.”
“You mean you can’t,” Hermione huffed, amusement finally tinging her voice.
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. We’re safe.”
“For now. For this moment, yes, but they attacked my family, my home. I killed
a man last night. It was in self-defense, I know that, but I still took another
human being’s life.”
“So did I.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but then you were hurt so badly.”
“You saved us; you rescued us.”
“I did no such thing. If anything, we saved ourselves.”
Harry shook his head. “I was in no state to really think last night. I followed
your directions because I trusted you to get us out.”
“You’d quite the bashing,” she said gently, running her fingers along his
scalp. “Even knowing how wonderful magic is, I’m still surprised not to see or
feel a bump still.”
“One of the first things Madame Pomphrey took care of, I’m sure. She’s rather
concerned when it’s a head injury, even if there are broken bones sticking out
of the body.”
“That’s because your brain is your body’s most important organ,” Hermione
lectured. “Without it, your body couldn’t function.”
“Without you, I couldn’t function. Does that make you my brain?”
“Someone needs to think for you,” she teased back, bumping against him.
“Just don’t leave me.” Harry squeezed her. “I was so scared when I saw you come
back last night. You should have been safely hidden away with your parents in
the shed, and instead, you came back and fought. You could have been hurt so
much worse.”
“Like you, you mean?” Hermione snapped. “Harry, when are you going to learn
it’s not okay to do everything yourself. We need you too much for you to throw
your life away.”
“I wasn’t throwing my life away,” he protested. “I was trying to give you time
and space to get you and your parents to safety.”
“And you did. I did. But don’t ask me to hide away when you’re fighting to
protect us. That I won’t do. So if you want me to keep safe and hidden away,
you better be willing to do the same.”
“My fiery lioness,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek.
“Don’t try and distract me with sex,” she murmured back, turning into his
nuzzling, lips finding his in a series of breathy kisses.
“Who said anything about distracting,” he growled, hands sliding down her back
to grip her bottom and squeeze and mold.
“Sex isn’t always the answer,” she breathed, neck arching, back bowing as she
held onto his arms.
“Isn’t it?” he returned, hands sliding up under her jumper, pushing it up, up,
up, and off. He dropped his face into the smooth fabric of her bra, nuzzling
the valley between her breasts as his hands went back to caressing her now bare
back. She shivered—whether from chill or excitement, he didn’t know. Fingers
fumbled over the clasp of her bra—even with months of practice at this now, he
wasn’t very good, but the girls had argued about him just rolling the piece of
under clothing off like any other top, so he worked to unclasp the tiny hooks.
Worked so he could bare her pretty breasts and take a nipple into his mouth.
Hermione’s hands were back in his hair, massaging his scalp as he suckled at
her breast, his other hand molding and massaging her other breast. It was like
a direct line of fire connected her breasts to her groin, and each tug of
suction, each pinch of his lips or scrape of his teeth caused a tug of pained
need to throb between her legs. She hated that he was still dressed, still
fully clothed when she stood half naked in front of him. How unfair was that?
She wanted him naked, wanted his naked body pressed up against hers, wanted him
inside her.
She reached out to grab a fistful of his jumper and tug it up, reminding him
that he was too overdressed. There was only a moment of resistance, and then he
pulled off her breast, rearing back to look up at her. He grabbed at his own
hem and yanked the sweater and undershirt off, tossing it away before falling
on her again. This time his mouth latched onto her other breast, sucking
heartily, as if he could inhale the entire breast into his mouth. The press of
his teeth against her delicate flesh was slightly painful, and she cried out.
Green eyes rolled up to look at her… and then he slowly started to bit down.
Hermione gasped in surprise, watched him as he slowly sunk his teeth into the
delicate flesh of her breast. The sharp pain shot lightning bolts of pleasure
racing like liquid fire through her veins, her sex blazing like molten rock,
flowing, greedy, needy. She cried out, tapping her palm against his arm, and he
pulled back immediately, eyes dropping from her face to the perfect indent of
his teeth in her breast. She looked as well, surprised not to see blood.
“I want you to ride me,” he said hoarsely. “I want to watch your tits bounce as
you fuck yourself.”
“You and your fascination with breasts,” Hermione huffed, panting lightly
before demanding, “Not on the floor.”
He looked at the two beds in the tiny room, before looking back at her and
quirking an eyebrow. Hermione huffed and drew her wand. “Put up a silencing
charm, please,” she requested as she turned her attention towards the two tiny
single cot beds, weaving them together into one respectably sized bed that
would suit their needs. Neither one considered the option of leaving the room
to go find a different room with a decent sized bed, not even with the master
bedroom only one floor up.
Hermione was just lowering her wand when Harry came up behind her, one hand
possessively at her hip, the other fiddling with the fastenings of her jeans,
pushing them out of the way so he could cup a hand over the small swell of her
belly. She relaxed back against him, staring down at where his hand
rested—right over where a baby was growing inside her. It was too small yet to
be noticeable—her tummy pouch was all her for the moment… but for how much
longer?
Was she really one of the few women who threw off the stasis charm? Had the
charm already failed a second time? But surely she would know, right? She would
recognize the signs of pregnancy—the fatigue, the nausea? Those were the first
symptoms of pregnancy, right? But she hadn’t had any of that. She’d been
perfectly fine.
She could be nearing three months pregnant by Christmas.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Harry whispered against her ear.
“There’s a baby growing in there,” she answered automatically.
His hand pressed harder against her belly. “Yes,” he purred, nuzzling against
her ear and then nipping the lob. “I remember how he was conceived, do you?”
“’He’?” Hermione questioned.
“Or she,” Harry allowed, grazing his teeth along the column of her throat, down
to her shoulder. “Do you remember that night, Hermione, when I took you on the
balcony?” His hips rocked against her bottom, and she thought she could feel
the hard, solid heat of his penis even through the fabric of their jeans.
“The night you first transformed?”
“Yes,” he purred.
“That was back in October, Harry.”
“I know.” His hand trailed up from her belly to slide over her breast. “I can’t
wait to see you nursing our baby.”
“You really do have a thing for breasts,” she teased.
“Can’t help it. Yours are all so pretty, and they taste divine.”
“Mmm, but I thought you said you wanted to watch them bounce while I rode your
cock.”
“Yes, I still do.”
“Well, you’re a bit over dressed still,” she pointed out, turning in his arms
and backing up into the bed. He watched her with hungry eyes. She slid onto the
bed, sliding her jeans off as she went. Grinning toothily, he released his own
jeans as he stepped over to join her, kicking off his shoes and the stubborn
denim before he crawled up onto the bed over her. Deliberately, he lowered
himself over her, pressing her into the mattress. With no prompting at all, her
legs fell open to him, thighs sliding up his thighs and hips, opening her core
heat to his exploration. Save for a gentle gyration of his pelvis rocking
against hers, he ignored the source of her need, choosing instead to focus on
feeding from her mouth as massaging her breasts.
Moments, minutes later, Hermione tore her mouth free from his, gasping. “Harry,
please.”
“What?” he breathed. “What do you want Hermione? You’ve only to ask and I will
give it to you. Do you want me to tease your nipples some more? Pinch them and
roll them between my fingers? Do you want me to bite you some more? Leave my
teeth’s impressions all over your body? Or do you want me to fill you up with
my cock, fill you, fuck you? Or better yet, let you fuck yourself? You like
that, Hermione, don’t you? You like riding a cock, controlling just how deeply
it fills you, how fast or slow it fills you up until we explode beneath you and
fill you up with our come instead. Is that it, Hermione? Do you want me to roll
over on my back and let you slide down around my cock so you could ride me?”
“Dammit, Harry,” Hermione panted, shivering.
“You like it,” he panted back. “You like the idea of feeling a cock slide in
and out of your pretty little pussy.” He reached a hand down low, and she cried
out with the first real touch as his fingers slide between her wet folds. “So
hot, Hermione,” he murmured. “So needy. So wet and ready,” he added, playing
his fingers between the soupy slick, teasingly flicking against the button-like
clit before sliding back and pressing against her opening. Again, just teasing,
hinting at the promise of something more.
“Do you want me to use my fingers, Hermione? I could, just slide my fingers
right inside your wet little hole,” he matched actions to words, curling his
fingers just inside of her opening. She bucked against him. “So hot, Hermione.
But it’s not enough, is it. Are my fingers good enough to get off on, Hermione,
or do you need something bigger, longer? What do you want, Hermione? Tell me.”
“Want you, inside me,” she gasped. “Want to feel.”
“You feel so good, Hermione,” he cooed, his fingers speeding up, pressing
harder and faster against that special spot. He could feel the walls of her sex
contracting around his fingers, and he grinned. “Come for me, Hermione. Let me
see you come undone.” He slid his thumb over her clit, smashing it and playing
with the tiny nub until she cried out, arching against him.
Grinning with his victory, Harry rolled over, pulling Hermione atop of him,
maneuvering her legs to either side of his hips, he reached between them and
manhandled his own sex until he could smear the evidence of their arousal. With
one hand holding steady his eager cock and the other manipulating Hermione’s
pelvis, he managed to slide his cockhead along her pussy until he found her
opening, still greedily contracting in the aftermath of her orgasm. A shift of
her hips—her doing—had his cock sliding past her entrance, and he hissed as her
heat engulfed him.
Hermione shifted above him again, and suddenly more of his cock was sliding
into the radiating, all-consuming heat. He cried out, writhing beneath her.
Those liquid chocolate eyes opened and fastened on his face, and they seemed to
be glowing, as if lit by an inner flame. Hermione sat up, wedging his cock even
deeper into her heat. The very air around her wavered, as if he was seeing her
through a haze of heat, the sound of fire crackling filled his ears over the
sound of gasping breaths and squeaking bed springs, and he thought he could
smell a faint trace of smoke.
“Hermione,” he warned, grabbing hold of her forearms, wincing as the skin of
his palms began to burn.
She threw her head back, body arching impossibly as another orgasm washed over
her, her hips crashing into his, grinding down as if to shove more of his cock
deeper inside of her. But in this form, he’d already given her all he had to
give. Her need pressed at him, and he rushed to deliver.
Fur slipped over his skin as his limbs stretched and gained several inches.
With a sharp cry, Hermione fell onto him again, this time receiving the deeper
penetration she seemed to be seeking. Harry growled, planting his feet against
the mattress to get better purchase to thrust up, filling his beautiful mate
with every last inch of his penis. Hermione cried out again, but when she would
have moved to pull off his organ, clawed fingers gripped at her waist and held
her down. A series of shallow thrusts had her screaming out another orgasm, and
Harry growled out his satisfaction at pleasing his mate.
She fell against him, exhausted, the flame finally extinguished, but he was far
from finished. Still gripping her hips, he continued to bounce and rock her
over his penis, taking pleasure in not only the slip slide of her hot sex
engulfing his, but also in the squelching sound of their juices mixed together
and the slap of their skin smacking together. The togetherness, as she lay
cuddled against his chest, nuzzling sleepily against him, as he held her, one
arm wrapped around her back, the other maintaining tempo as his maneuvered her
hips and ass. He felt like he could keep this up all night long.
But of course it couldn’t last. The body had a limit, after all, and he reached
his at long last, shouting out as he released his seed into his mate’s fertile
womb—already filled with life of their creating. He purred and nuzzled into
her, but she was already dozing. He soon joined her.
**
*********
Still to come…
Chapter End Notes
     With November's nanowrimo completed, I have an additional 50K of this
     story written. However, the scenes aren't necessarily in order as
     quite a bit of skipping was done in the writing marathon AND there
     are a ton of key scenes missing. Yeah. A lot of exposition, fluff
     between the pard/aka smutty times among the pard... One or two death
     eater scenes... Neville's heat... Bit of a confrontation between
     Snape and Harry that I'm not too happy about--but that's not until
     spring. Still a ways off. Need to finish off the Christmas Hols
     before we get there, and I estimate another two chapters for that.
     Translation: Slow updates continue, but hey! It's not abandoned!
     Prediction: I think there's maybe 10-20 more chapters before this
     story wraps up.
     Tomorrow, I catch a flight home and back to the "real world". As
     always, thank you for reading.
***** Nightmares and Reality *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry and Hermione escaped capture but others are not so lucky.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter begins with a Death Eater Revel. Warnings of rape,
     torture, and horribleness apply.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
31 – Nightmares and Reality –
~THEN~
“What are you two on about?” Neville asked, puffing lightly as he jogged up the
stone stairs, towel hanging about his shoulders. He was still grinning as he
dropped into a third chair at the table.
“We were wondering if we’d be able to tear you away from the water long enough
to go sightseeing,” Luna teased. “Blaise has said he would take us anywhere in
Italy or France we’d like to go.”
“That’s very generous of him.” Neville responded, grinning as he sipped more of
his morning coffee. “But I do need to check back in at the manor and make sure
Hannah hasn’t tried to reach us yet.”
“Yes, and we need to send word to Harry and Hermione that we are all safely
tucked away here in my villa,” Blaise put in.
Neville sighed. “So, are we writing a letter to Harry and Hermione, then?”
“What you will tell Harry for why you have decided to run away to Italy with
me, leaving he and Hermione in the cold English winter while we luxuriate along
the Grande Riviera?”
Neville paused, considering that. “You’re right. We should include an invite
along with that explanation.”
Luna clapped and laughed gaily. “The more the merrier!”
~NOW~
 
- Friday, December 12, Madnora Manor-
 
He watched the shifting rabble as one by one, his followers stepped forward to
share their reports. All striving to attempt to highlight their successes while
shadowing their failures, he knew. Some were more skilled at this minor deceit,
but none could ever truly hide from him. Not when they bore his mark, burnt
into their very flesh, weaved tightly through their own magical core. The
compulsion to always tell their lord and master the truth was spelled into the
very ink that coursed through his extraordinary dark mark.
Voldemort smiled down at his gathering, privately amused and delighted at how
they shifted nervously.
“You have done well,” he announced, knowing that a little praise would continue
to motivate the masses. “Our plans for the Ministry progress. Key players for
our future ventures shall continue to be acquired and put into place. Soon, We
will control the Ministry, and with it, Britain.”
They cheered while he smiled at them benevolently.
“Yes, yes,” he calmed them after another minute. They quieted instantly.
“Meanwhile, we continue our private gambit to control the public. It is true,
this is a long endeavor. It may take us years, decades, to see the true fruits
of our labours, but make no mistake, we shall prevail!”
Once again the hall erupted into cheers. Once again he waited but a minute
before quieting them.
“Many of you have worked hard,” he leered at them. “You’ve donated your time
and seed to the Houses, and soon, your efforts will bear fruit.”
There were snickers and chortles and jeers amongst the masses. He graciously
allowed it
“Those of you who wish to stake a personal claim upon your investments, may do
so,” he continued. “Be sure to let Gambol know of your interest so that you may
be informed.” He gestured to the healer in question, who turned and nodded
towards the others.
“For those of you who do not wish to take a personal interest… that is fine.
Already preparations are being put in place, and before the summer we should
have two appropriate homes to rear the assets. Volunteers, of course, will be
needed to work the homes. Those interested should consult with Smethwyck or
Pike, who are heading up this particular project.
“In the meantime, we must turn our attention to matters even closer to home. We
have struggled for far too long. There have been setbacks; there have been
triumphs. What you must ask yourselves is, are you doing everything possible to
support the Dark? It is not enough to smile and nod and then sit back and carry
on life as if before. We are at war, a very insidious war, a quiet war for our
very survival. The right to live our lives as we were always meant to,
worshiping and honoring the power and might of magic.
“Though we suffered a brutal setback nearly fifteen years ago, yes, it is true,
we have once again made gains. Still, there is far yet we must go. When I
returned to you, two years ago, I asked you if you were still committed to our
goals. You told me yes. When I told you what must be done, you acquiesced. You
once again submitted and consented yourselves to my vision, and we marched
forthward with purpose and determination once more. We have gathered others,
likeminded, and banded together, for there is strength in numbers, yes, there
is. But there is also strength in power, and we, my friends, have both!”
They cheered upon rioting—how easily they were manipulated.
“Yes, it is true. We have the strength of many pure and noble blooded amongst
us. Some of the oldest families in the British Isles make up our numbers. And
even as we stand here this evening, our numbers begin to swell. But—“
And just as suddenly, they stilled. Even the quiet jeering and whispering
silenced.
“I must confess myself…disappointed.”
He frowned, and allowed his magic to weigh heavily in the air. The masses
shifted, nervous once again, uneasy.
“Rumours have made their way back to my ear,” he told them dolefully. “Surely
these rumours could not be true. After how much work and effort we have all put
forth, sacrificed… surely not.
“Nott! Step forward,” he commanded, and towards the left of his gathering there
was a shifting as those nearest the called out death eater stepped away.
Thaddeus Nott was not a handsome man. With watery eyes and washed out hair, he
looked much like a sick-starved rodent, much older than his near seventy years
of age. Weedy, practically emaciated, he didn’t look strong enough to stand,
let alone hold a wand. He was one of the few of his contemporaries still left
alive… which spoke more of his worthlessness than any skill.
Still, nearly two decades ago, the man had followed the mandates left in his
father’s will. He had taken a wife and managed to beget the young woman with
child. And when she died in childbirth, he had somehow managed to convince
another family to marry their daughter off to him to beget the three total
required children his late father had stipulated which had then allowed him
access to the Nott family vaults. Vaults the wastrel and his two equally as
worthless brothers had quickly drunk, gambled, and whored away. Voldemort
sneered at the male as he shuffled forward.
“Milord?”
“Where are your brothers,” Voldemort asked, sounding very mild indeed, for all
that he knew the answer and was, in actuality, furious. “I do not see them
here.”
“No, milord,” Thaddeus groveled like some cowering vermin. “They are no longer
with us.”
“Something has happened to them?” he continued to play the game, enjoying the
way the other man began to sweat and fumble. He had never cared for Thaddeus
Nott, even when they were both students of Slytherin House, Nott several years
below himself. He was thankfully saved from every having to share a dormitory
with the foul excuse for a wizard.
“I am sorry, milord. I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” Nott stumbled over himself,
falling to his knees. “Not until after the deed was done. I would’ve have told
them to check with you first, but they sought to gift you with the girl, and I
only found out about it afterwards.”
“Am I to understand that Titus and Thorstien are dead?” Voldemort hissed,
playing with his prey—he had already had the rest of this evening planned out
before he’d even called his death eaters to gather. To see others playing their
part so well filled him with satisfaction.
“They only sought to gift you the girl, milord,” Thaddeus mumbled. “And they
died for it.”
“They died because they underestimated Potter’s mudblood and overestimated
their own capabilities,” Voldemort hissed, finally allowing some of his anger
to leak through his words. “Tell me, Thaddeus, how many of your family members
survived your brothers’ fumble?”
“Milord?”
“How many males are left to carry your line, Thaddeus? Come now, it’s not a
difficult question.”
“Ju-just the two,” the man near-whispered. “My boy and my one nephew, but he’s
in a bad way.”
“Just the two,” Voldemort repeated, lacing his words with sadness and
disappointment. “Your family has been more than halved. Tell me, Thaddeus,
where is your lady wife, and why is she not here with you?”
“She’s—she’s minding the little ones, at home, Milord.”
“Have you more children now than just the three, Thaddeus?” He already knew the
answer. After all, it was practically an open joke that the pathetic wizard had
needed the aid of potions to beget each of his three children. There was some
talk amongst his followers, that the children weren’t even Thaddeus, but that
he had paid one of his brothers to sleep with his wife and beget the children,
which is why he willingly allowed his brothers to share in his inheritance.
“No, milord. It’s still just the three,” the death eater confirmed.
“You still possess an elf, don’t you?”
“Yes, Milord. Came with my wife, it did.”
“Call it.”
He did. The gathered throng watched in eager anticipation—unsure of where this
evening would go, but hoping for a good show. Voldemort was sure many of them
would be pleased. And if not, it didn’t really matter. They would all do as he
commanded.
“How can Siskey be being of service?” the little elf asked tremulously.
“Siskey, you will retrieve your mistress and the three Nott children. You will
bring them here, immediately. Do you understand?”
The little elf looked between the scary snake man and her mistress’s husband,
who jerkingly nodded at her.
“Siskey be bringing family,” the elf agreed sorrowfully before popping out.
The masses rustled.
“Milord, might I, uh, ask, uh, why—“
“You may not.”
That shut the old fool up long enough for the elf to return with the four
immediate Nott family members.
“What is the meaning of this?” Cecilia Nott demanded, glaring at her weak
husband.
“Ah, Lady Nott, finally,” Voldemort cut into what looked to be a somewhat
amusing tirade aimed at an uninspiring husband. He took note of the
children—the son who, by all rights, should have already been at his father’s
side at this meeting, hovered slightly to the side of his step-mother, helping
shield the two daughters; the girls in their nightdresses, barely old enough
for Hogwarts, cowering behind their mother and brother.
“My Lord,” the young woman murmured with a hasty curtsy.
“Yes, I was just congratulating our cohorts on all their hard work and
dedication to our cause. We’ve all been working very hard, dedicating our time,
sweat, and tears to ensuring the future of the wizarding world is what we want
it to be. Why, even your husband has donated to the cause.
“But then I discover that your brothers-in-law have made hasty actions. Yes, I
am very saddened by this news that the Nott family has been so devastated.
Surely, even yourself must be deeply aggrieved at the loss to your family.”
“My lord,” the woman murmured again, still not raising from her curtsy. Truly,
she had been well taught by her birth family.
“But that is not all. No indeed, there have been rumours, Lady Nott; nasty
rumours that say you’ve refused to do your part. I thought surely this isn’t
true. A well-bred, pureblooded witch such as yourself, the daughter of the
well-thought of Peckerings, married into another pureblooded family… No, surely
not. Not you, Lady Nott,” he said with a grin. “You would not deny yourself
towards aiding the cause of the Dark, especially in light of your family’s most
recent losses.”
“Of course not, my Lord,” the rather young and almost pretty woman responded.
“Ah, very good. So you did not deny your husband the right of access to your
bed to beget further heirs,” he sneered, mockingly, toying with his prey as the
masses shifted excitedly, scenting blood. “You understand I had to be sure. Our
notable families have become so diminished as of late. Your own family is quite
small, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yes, my lord. I mean, no, my lord! I mean—” the woman stammered, cheeks
furiously red and her eyes nervously darted to those surrounding her.
“There, you see, Thaddeus,” Voldemort said almost jovially. “I knew the rumours
must have been mistaken. And as a sign of good faith towards our cause, we
shall hold a special conception ritual right here!” he announced, grinning
toothily.
Before anyone could protest or react, he had flicked and swished his wand. The
two daughters were banished to the wall where chains and manacles slithered
around to encase their delicate wrists. The boy and sire were temporarily
frozen, while wife and mother was striped sky clad before the masses.
Another twirled of his wand conjured one of the breeding benches that furnished
some of his other more popular houses. The masses were already pressing in,
eagerly close, and ribbing each other excitedly before the Lady Nott had been
strapped facedown firmly to the bench.
“Pike?” he called out mildly. “I trust you have the appropriate potions on you
for a successful breeding, do you not?”
“Of course, my lord,” the death eater responded, half-stepping forward.
“Very good. You may administer them now.”
The healer rushed forward, practically tripping over himself, and Voldemort
nearly sighed, half-wishing his potions master was here instead. Severus never
stumbled or fawned. He was always precise and exacting. It was a shame there
had yet to be another rising star to replace the man. He would have so enjoyed
seeing the man add to his pool of future supporters. Alas, the most delicate
nature of his profession currently prevented it, and Severus was as of yet, far
more valuable to him as a potions master than a breeding sire.
The woman attempted to struggle, refusing to cooperatively swallow the potions
pressed upon her. Voldemort merely continued to watch, absently noting the
jiggle of her flesh as she squirmed and writhed, her dark hair escaping its bun
and floating down around her flushed face.
“No need to administer the second set,” he informed the healer before he could
break the seal of the stamina potion. “It will not be needed.” He looked out at
his eager followers, their flashing eyes and gleaming grins. “Now, as Lady Nott
has no protest with lending aid to our cause, let us all celebrate and rejoice
in this gift of sacrifice. Thaddeus, you first, of course.”
The gaunt man stumbled a step forward, looking stunned and baffled all at once.
Disgraceful.
“Milord?”
“See to your wife,” he commanded amongst the jeers and catcalls of the others.
He faltered and lurched towards where the prostate woman was secured to the
padded bench, looking around him at the gawkers. “Come now, Thaddeus, your lady
wife awaits. Would you leave her thus? Some other fellow might just swoop in
and take your place!”
Thaddeus continued to stumble forward, looking around him at all the others who
stared and leered and shifted eagerly closer. He looked up at his lord, who
continued to smile benevolently down at him. He looked down at the witch who
was his wife, chosen not for love but for convenience of tying two pureblooded
families together. He swallowed and seemed to give himself a shake, rucking up
his robes and shuffling forward.
Around the hall, other death eaters continued to jeer and call out
encouragements. Lord Voldemort was not the only one present who knew Thaddeus
Nott sought out the young boys when visiting the play houses. All around, they
continued to watch on as the old man fumbled and jerked, unable to hide the
rictus of distaste from his face until finally, with a grunt, he stumbled back,
shoving his robes back down his scrawny legs.
Lord Voldemort nodded, a fissure of excitement racing up his spine in
anticipation for what he knew was to come. This was the first example from his
followers, and possibly the last. Or maybe not, depending on how many of his
death eaters took this warning to them all. Nott had merely been chosen by
chance circumstance. Up until the point he learned of Titus’s and Thorstein’s
blunder.
“Finished so soon?” he called out, lacing just the right amount of mocking
sadness in his voice to have the rest of the masses amused. “Ah, well, I
suppose it is just to allow the others their chance. Your son is next—yes, yes.
After all, she was given to the Notts, it’s only right that the Notts receive
the first opportunity to breed her. Come young Theodore, step forward. There’s
a good lad. Have you ever bred a witch before?”
Around the room the masses cheered and jeered and practically erupted into a
riot when it was finally determined the son would have to be imperio-ed to
follow through on the breeding. Voldemort watched with feign interest as he
casually had the boy mount the strapped woman. Despite the encouraging calls
from the crowd and due more to his own imperious curse, the teen outlasted his
father at the deed, hips pumping mechanically until at last, Voldemort told him
to come. The boy was discarded in a heap once the deed was done, and Thaddeus’s
bruised nephew followed by the Lady Nott’s two brothers were called up next
before opening the queue to the general assemble.
“Now, then, Thaddeus, it is mostly assured that your young lady wife will be
successfully bred before morning,” Lord Voldemort began, once again turning to
the decrepit wizened wizard. “We will have to wait, of course, until the child
is born to determine who’s seed was most successful, but until that time, I’m
sure you’ll be most gracious to help see to Cecilia’s needs as she helps
promote our future, isn’t that right, Thaddeus?”
“Of course, my lord. It is as you say,” the wizard mumbled.
“Very good.” Voldemort nodded, face not revealing any real emotion. “I must
confess, Thaddeus, I’m disappointed. You’ve had plenty of time to breed your
wife since my mandate went out, yet you haven’t. Nor have you requested the aid
of our potions to help ease the way. I thought I had made it clear that all
available members were to be contributing. If this endeavor is to succeed, we
must rebuild and surplus our numbers.”
“My lord, I’m sorry. I—“
“I do not care for excuses, Nott. I care for results. It is not enough if only
you successfully impregnated our stock. Your wife’s blood must also be passed
on.” He pretended to think for a moment, staring off at the wall where the two
girls had been deposited. They were red faced and snotty from crying, but
still, they could have been considered pretty by some. Then again, prettiness
rarely mattered in these situations. “Your daughters are of an age, aren’t
they? Almost ready to Hogwarts?”
“My lord, I…. yes. The eldest is already eleven, the youngest will turn eleven
in August. Old enough to both start Hogwarts next year.”
“Very good. Old enough then. Your daughters will not be going to Hogwarts next
year, Thaddeus. Instead they will be sacrificed to the breeding program to help
supplement the loss of their uncles.”
If the man had thought to say something in protest, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Voldemort had already turned away from him, summoning the two girls from their
shackles and rebinding them to the two newly conjured breeding chairs
positioned to either side of the mother’s, easily within her sight. The masses
cheered and rushed towards the two bound little girls, but Voldemort quickly
stopped them.
“There is a process,” he reminded them. “Pike will administer the appropriate
potions. Then Lord Nott will be first, followed by the young heir, and then any
present remaining family members. After that, you may then all have your
chance.”
And then the process began again, repeating with the two girls, ten and eleven,
strapped into two breeding benches and force fed fertility potions as first
their father, and then their brother, and then their nephew and uncles were
forced upon them before the throng of strangers descended.
The Notts stood as a warning to the other families, and Voldemort was more than
pleased to see many of his more reluctant followers approach Pike to procure
several vials of potion before slinking away, back to their homes and families,
their wives and young daughters.
Voldemort smiled, pleased, and then went off to find his own young mate,
satisfied that his warning had been well received. It was unlikely that he
would have to sit through another one of these such spectacles, but his death
eaters now knew it was possible.
 
****&&****
 
The nightmares still came. Harry wasn’t sure why he sometimes could see into
the world of his enemies, why he could sometimes spy on Voldemort from time to
time. Most of the time he didn’t much care for the reasons. He either wished it
would stop so he could just rest peacefully for once, or he wished the images
would be clearer, that he could actually focus on the faces or details, hear
what they were saying and not just the skewed impressions of what was
occurring.
Because that was the rub of his nightmares. With Voldemort aware of their
connection, no image or sound was clear to him unless Voldemort wished it so or
wasn’t paying attention. Harry had no control over his nightmares. It was
frustrating. As frustrating as the nightmares themselves.
Because they weren’t just nightmares. No, Harry knew that they were flashes of
images of real things. The torture and abuse of real people. People he didn’t
know, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t have to know them to care about them.
They were human beings, and they didn’t deserve the trauma Voldemort and his
goons were putting them through.
Throughout his sixth year, when Dumbledore and he had started their bi-monthly
tea-chats, Harry had shared every scrap of detail he could remember from his
nightmares. The problem was, there wasn’t much in the way of details.
Dumbledore had assured him they had people—both members of the order and
ministry aurors—investigating the whereabouts and doings of the death eaters.
They took Harry’s account of there being houses set up for the prisoners as a
solid tip… but nothing had come from it, as far as Harry was aware.
Harry had wanted to rant and rave at Dumbledore and the ministry—why weren’t
they doing more? Why hadn’t they found those houses yet? It was his summer
talks with Andromeda and Edward Tonks that helped him understand the scope of
helplessness they were faced with. Most of the older families had at least one
home which was known to the public, and another more private home. Some of the
families kept winter and summer homes. Others had cottages and lodges tucked
away. Some had castles or keeps, relics of their ancient history. And not just
anyone could access another person’s estate records. Those were guarded
zealously by the goblins of Gringotts. Added to that was magic. There were
family wards to deal with and privacy wards, and a slew of other magics and
spells one could have layered over a residence to make it impossible for others
to find. He knew that from experience—Grimauld Place was still covered in the
fidelius charm after all.
But knowing why it was taking so longer didn’t help him feel any better when he
knew there were men and women being hurt. Innocent people being hurt because of
Voldemort.
When he woke up fresh from a nightmare, the images were clearest. He’d tried
going to Dumbledore then, but the words never came out clearly, and really, by
the time he was explaining, the images had reduced to impressions. He’d tried
writing it down, but the same thing happened. As he tried to write about what
he saw… the images seemed to fade away, leaving him with mixed impressions and
a raw soul.
Harry had wanted to search every inch of the country, but Ron had pointed out
that would take too long. Hermione had suggested scrying for better results,
but that had turned up no results, either.
Frustrated, with seemingly no way to solve the problem, Harry had turned his
energies to the Astronomy Tower to vent his angry helplessness in long, loud
screams and yells into the night air. It was how Neville had found him. In
Neville, he’d found a sympathetic ear, a person who would let him rant and rave
all he needed at the sheer inability to do something, to help the people he
knew were hurting and needing help. Neville had become his rock. Solid, steady,
dependable. And now he had become more—his lover, his mate, a member of his
pard.
Other people might underestimate Neville Longbottom, but he never would.
Neville was solid, surefast. His even-steady voice could talk Harry back from
some of his most ferocious rages—the ones where he just wanted to go out and
slaughter all the death eaters and their families and basically reboot the
world. Neville was his consciousness. But Neville wasn’t here.
He was still in his nightclothes, the impression if not the images from his
nightmare still beating through his mind as he raced down the stairs and tried
to floo to the last place he’d known Nott and his family to be… but the Nott
floo was closed against visitors.
Harry fell to his knees in the kitchen of Grimauld Place, panting and heaving,
beating his fists against the stone floor. He hadn’t seen everything, but he’d
seen enough. He knew what those monsters were doing to people—doing to Nott and
his family. He had to do something to stop it, but what?
Not that it mattered in this moment.  Harry fell asleep on the kitchen floor.
When he awoke the next morning, he would find himself back in his bed courtesy
of Remus, who had wakened early himself.  Harry would remember only that
something horrible had happened over the course of the night, that more
innocent people had been hurt. But he wouldn't remember falling asleep before
the floo or trying desperately to reach the Notts.  The faces and names of the
people he had seen tortured will have been blurred from his memory once again. 
~~~*****~~~
- Saturday, December 12, Portofino, Italy-
By the time they were ready to leave, more than half the day had passed, so
they agreed to stick closer to home. As a result, Blaise took his two mates
into the downtown portion of Portofino where they poked around a few shops and
had a lite tea before returning to his villa.
“It’s actually a quiet town,” Blaise apologized.
“It’s lovely,” Luna proclaimed.
“Looks like you’ve got some mail while we were out,” Neville noted, spying
several envelopes on the table as they entered the kitchen.
Blaise picked them up. “Here, this one is from Hannah,” he said, handing it off
to Neville. “These all look to be from family and friends,” he noted, flipping
through the rest of the pile. “What does she have to say?”
Neville looked at the letter he was holding. “It’s addressed to you. Don’t you
want to read it?” he asked, slightly embarrassed to be holding someone else’s
mail.
Blaise shot a look towards Luna, who was smiling pleasantly. Then, shaking his
head, he took the letter back from Neville, trading it for a quick little kiss.
“You are sweet, bello, but what is mine, is yours, and don’t forget that to the
world at large, Hannah is your girlfriend. Some curiosity over what she might
be writing to another guy is expected.”
Neville shrugged. “She’ll probably write all of us when she can’t reach us
through the floo,” he pointed out. “As long as she’s safe.”
“She is,” Blaise answered, skimming through the letter. “Apparently she’s in
the Netherlands. Quite a good distance from death eater activity. She sounds
sad, though,” he added, offering the letter once again. “We should invite her
and her friend to join us.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Luna approved. “Would you like to respond now? The
invitation really should come from you as this is your family’s villa.”
Blaise laughed. “All right, all right. I think you’re feeling outnumbered with
just Neville and I for company,” he teased with a wink as he went to retrieve
his writing things.
“Not out-numbered,” Luna corrected lightly, “Though maybe a little spoiled with
you all to myself.”
As he was writing out the invitation for Hannah and her friend to join them in
Italy, another owl arrived. “We’re quite popular today,” he said, surprised.
Even with such a large family as his, they didn’t write very often—preferring
to simply pop in on one another.
Luna greeted the snowy owl while he finished up his letter. “Hello, Hedwig,”
she cooed, holding out her arm for the owl to land.
Neville looked up from where he’d been lightly dozing on the sofa. “Hedwig? I
thought she stayed at Hogwarts.”
Blaise looked up from his own letter. “She has multiple letters,” he noted.
“Who all from?”
“Hermione, it looks like. And Hannah,” she answered, handing over a letter
addressed to Neville in Hannah’s hand, keeping her own letter and opening the
one from Hermione first. “OH!”
“What?” Neville asked, sitting up now. “Is everyone all right?”
“Death eaters attacked Hermione’s parents’ home last night,” she informed them,
reading through the letter quickly. “They were captured but escaped. She says
Theodore Nott helped them,” she added shooting a worried look towards Blaise.
After all, that was his dorm mate. Blaise frowned but didn’t say anything.
“They’re safe now in an order safe house with Professor Lupin.”
“Professor Lupin?” Blaise questioned. “But isn’t he a werewolf?”
“Yeah, but he’s also an old time friend of Harry’s dad,” Neville explained.
“He’s like an honorary uncle to Harry.”
“Oh-kay,” Blaise accepted before turning his attention back to Luna. “They’re
safe, but were they hurt?”
“A bit,” Luna murmured. “It seems Harry had to have his leg regrown, but other
than that, just a few bumps and bruises. Hermione says they’re fine and Madame
Pomphrey has already seen to them.”
“What about her parents?” Neville asked.
“They managed to get out unharmed,” Luna confirmed. “They’re with Harry and
Hermione. She’s asking if we’re all okay. Apparently, she tried flooing
Neville’s and learned that we’d all taken off to Italy with Blaise.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about meeting the in-laws per say,” Blaise hedged,
“And it might be bit of a squeeze with Hannah’s friend, too, but I’m sure we
could make it work, if Hermione wanted to bring her parents here…?”
“They would have to floo in the way we did, right?” Neville replied. “Not sure
how a muggle would take with all those floo connections.”
“It should probably be Hermione and her parents’ choice, though,” Luna pointed
out. “Shall we write them a response?”
“Err, I suppose we can’t just write a group message?” Neville asked.
“I’ve already written Hannah and invited her and her friend down,” Blaise
returned. “Someone else can do the writing.”
“You’re so silly sometimes,” Luna mused, taking her wand from her hair and
tapping Blaise’s quill. A quick charm later, the quill was ready to record.
 
“Dear Hermione and Harry,
We’re very well. It’s lovely in Italy. Blaise has extended an invitation to
Hannah and Susan Bones to join us. And now he would like to extend the same
invitation to you. Isn’t that right, Blaise.
Yes, yes, of course. As I said, the more the merrier. Although, too many, and
we might get a bit tight. But she and Harry are very welcomed indeed to join
us.
Is that just recording for you—oh! Is there any way to erase that? I mean… ah…
Neville says hello, too.
Hi!
I was staying with him when Blaise popped in. One thing led to another—
--as it so often does—
--and we ended up spending the night. Or rather we would have, but it appears
Neville’s grandmother wasn’t too pleased with the situation.
Right pissed off her rocker, I should say. Still a bit peeved at her myself.
Yes, well, Blaise offered his accommodations, and we relocated sometime in the
early morning, I think. Italy is lovely. You really should join us.
Yes, you should.
Blaise’s place is right on the water. Like, literally, you step outside and
take the stairs right into the Mediterranean. It’s unbelievable.
We spent the morning swimming, and then Blaise showed us around town this
afternoon. He’s promised to take us anywhere in Italy or France we want to go.
I was thinking of visiting Pompeii. Should we wait for you to join us?
Love,
Luna, Neville, and Blaise”
**
- Later that Saturday, Grimauld Place, London-
Harry huffed, tossing another folder to the side of the desk.
“Hey, how are you doing?” Remus asked gently from the doorway.
“Hey, Remus,” Harry greeted. “Just trying to make sense of these portfolios.
Really, they don’t look any easier to decipher than they did this summer.”
“Have you worked on them at all while at school?”
“No,” Harry admitted. “I had other things to focus on.”
“Are you looking for something in particular, or are you just trying to get
them organized?”
“A little of both?” Harry hedged. “I mean, yeah, they need to get organized,
but I’m also looking for a suitable house to set up for home. I don’t want
Grimauld Place,” he hurried to put in before the other man could offer to
leave, “It doesn’t suit our needs.”
“What are your needs?” Remus asked, finally entering the room even though he
wasn’t invited.
Harry motioned him towards the sofa, getting up as well to take a break from
the folders, and calling Winky for some tea. “I know it needs to be big enough
for all of us,” he began explaining, “and that’s just the house. There’s six of
us now. Luna seems to think they’ll be more—I don’t know how soon. Hannah
thinks we might be forming a circle or something, and I think Hermione thinks
she’s right, although she denies it when I ask her.”
“A circle?” Remus picked up on, surprised. “You mean a— “
“Yes, a real magical circle, coven, group of witches and wizards who share
magic together,” Harry confirmed grimly. “Not that I’m necessarily against the
idea, especially if it means more power to help destroy Voldemort and still
protect everyone else, then, yeah, I’m totally up for the idea of building a
circle, but that’s not all this is,” Harry huffed. “I mean, this is about me.
My future. My family. I didn’t even think I’d have those things growing up.”
Remus shot him a questioning look.
“Look, Remus, it’s no surprise my life with the muggles wasn’t great, but the
truth is… it really wasn’t great. They didn’t love me, they didn’t even like
me. Sometimes I’m not even sure why they tolerated me living in their home.
Uncle Vernon talked on and on about how they should have taken me to an
orphanage, and you know what… I wish they had,” Harry quietly confessed. “I
know Voldemort grew up in an orphanage, but that doesn’t mean I would’ve made
the same choices he did, right? And I wouldn’t have had to listen to my aunt
and uncle go on about how horrible it was having to spend money to feed and
clothe me. Well, they barely fed me, and all my clothes were Dudley’s old cast
offs, so they didn’t really clothe me properly, either. I’ve seen things at the
Burrow—everyone talks about how the Weasleys have no money, but they all have
their own clothes and they all eat. Maybe they don’t have a lot of fancy
things, but they have what they need. I’ve been to Hermione’s house, too, now.
That’s decent folks. Just because they don’t like you doesn’t mean they treat
you like you’re rubbish.
“So, I know. I get it now. But back then, when I was a little kid, I didn’t. I
didn’t get why my aunt and uncle who loved Dudley so much, hated me. You know,
I really believed that I wasn’t lovable, that I didn’t deserve it or something.
And I know now that isn’t true. I didn’t deserve their treatment then, and I
don’t have to put up with it anymore. I’m an adult now. Well, mostly. And I
have a pard—a family, people who are counting on me to take care of them. And I
don’t know if I can honestly say that I love them, each and every one of them,
but I’m fond of them all. I care about them—what happens to them and that
they’re safe and happy. I know they care about me, too. And sure, it might have
been because of the whole Vanteeria thing at first, but I honestly believe that
we all genuinely care for one another now. And we’re building a future
together. A life after Hogwarts, after Voldemort, where we’ll be all together
for the rest of our days. And there’s going to be children, hopefully lots of
children. So, sure, there’s six of us now, but in another two years, that
number will be half as many more. And after that… well, who knows what exactly
the future holds, so, yeah.”
Harry stopped, just as suddenly as the flood gates had opened and he’d poured
all of that out onto Remus, he just stopped. And waited.
Remus shifted, as if to get up from the sofa. And then he paused, gesturing
incomprehensibly to Harry. “May I?” he requested, gruffly.
Still puzzled by what the older man wanted, Harry nodded… and watched in
confusion as Remus did push up off the sofa and then pulled Harry up out of his
chair, enveloping the younger man in a fierce, tight, strong-armed embrace.
After several moments of not being sure what exactly to do, Harry patted
Remus’s side and back.
Still not letting go, Remus finally began to speak. “I know you never asked,
but I want you to know that not a day goes by that I don’t regret not chasing
after you. I wasn’t here, when your parents… I was away on Order business,
trying to sway some of the other werewolves… I didn’t even find out until a few
days later… and when I returned… it was all over. Everything was gone—you,
Sirius, Peter, your parents… you were all gone. I did ask after where you were,
but of course, no one but Dumbledore knew. There were plenty of rumors, but
nothing of the truth. I was in a horrible depression, having lost my entire
pack, and the full moons were even worse. I would have little fantasies
sometimes, where I found you and took you away to raise by myself. Sometimes in
my family’s cottage, sometimes in a flat in the muggle world. I’d work myself
up to believing it was something actually possible, that I was going to go to
Dumbledore and demand he tell me where you were…. But then the full moon would
come, and I would remember why it was impossible. You were the pack’s pup, the
only other surviving member of my pack… but I knew I was also a danger to you,
and so each and every time, I convinced myself, you were better where you were
at, wherever that was.
“Werewolves aren’t allowed to marry. They’re not allowed to have children. And
if they already have children, they’re not allowed legal access to those
children. Without Dumbledore’s support, there was no legal way I would have
ever been allowed to keep you, even if I did find you. But I thought about it.
I dreamed about it. And there’s not a day since I’ve seen you again that I
didn’t still wish I had found you sooner. But at thirteen, you were nearly full
grown, you didn’t need me, but I was so excited to see you, so proud of the
person you had become, this gangly young man. And each and every year, every
chance I get to hear more or see more of you, I’m undeniably proud and humbled
by the person you’re becoming, because you are simply that wonderful, and I
hurt. I ache for the missed opportunities, for myself, for your parents, for
Sirius… because they don’t get to see how wonderful you are, to see what a good
person their son grew to be… because I know how intensely proud of you your
parents were, and I wish you could know it, too. Because they loved you so
very, very much, Harry. You were and are loved, so very, very much.”
Remus pulled back, gripping Harry by the arms, staring him in the face with
tear-red eyes and damp face. He reached up and cupped Harry’s equally damp
face. “There is no one I know more deserving of being surrounded by the
unconditional love of a circle.” He laughed suddenly. “Even if it is a bit
unconventional even for today’s modern standards!”
Remus released him, turning around to take a moment and clear his voice and
regain his composure. He settled himself back onto the sofa. “So, you need a
home large enough for your current pard—pard, right? —and potentially a full
circle—are you thinking twelve, thirteen adults then? —not to mention all the
future children six couples can produce.”
“Off the top of my head, I can’t recall any properties that would really fit
what you’ll probably need. I mean, I remember James going through something
very similar to you right now when he was about your age. Actually, yes,” Remus
recalled thoughtfully. “He was almost exactly the same age when his parents,
your grandparents, took ill and finally succumbed to their illness. It was
awful. We all adored Mr. and Mrs. Potter—they were like grandparents, if not
extended parents to the group of us. Your father was already on the road to
maturing, as you know, when your mother agreed to start dating him that year,
but it was when his parents passed in the spring of, oh… ’78, that’s when James
really grew up.
“I remember nights of him sitting up in the common room after all of us had
finished our NEWTs revision, and he’d still be at the table with his papers and
paperwork, going through the Potter estate portfolios…” Remus trailed off. “He
started talking about stocks and investments, like any of us had a clue what he
was talking about. It was your mother who convinced him to invest some small
amounts in different muggle products.”
“Yes, I saw those,” Harry piped up. “I’d wondered at them, because, well, they
were muggle, but then I saw the dates on the original transactions, and I
figured it must have had something to do with my mum’s influence. Not all of
them panned out,” he confessed, “but some of them made a pretty good payout.
Did you know I have shares of both IBM and Apple? I mean, those are two major
computer companies in the muggle world.”
Remus smiled and nodded. “I’m not surprised. Your mum was an advocate of a
well-rounded experience. You know she even insisted we all learn how to drive
an automobile and ride a bicycle? She said if she was going to learn how to
ride a broomstick, we could be bothered to ride a bicycle. Of course, Sirius
had to take it a step further with his motorcycle. Lily wasn’t best pleased
with that. Told him not to come around to her if he cracked his skull open.”
Harry smiled sadly. “I know the idea of how to ride a bike, but I’ve actually
never been on one, even though I grew up in the muggle world. Hermione, though,
wants to get her motor’s license, and I was thinking of going for one myself. I
should probably see if the others want to learn, too. Take us all someplace
this summer where we can learn together. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would,” Remus agreed, but his thoughts were still on the idea that
Harry had never ridden a bicycle.
“Any way, it won’t matter much if we don’t all have a safe place to go. Right
now the others are in Italy, well, except for Hannah, and we’re going to go
join them tomorrow.
“Will you be missing Christmas then?” Remus asked, startled.
Harry grimaced. “Andromeda would kill me if I tried to miss out on Christmas
dinner.”
“She’s apparently making a traditional Black Family Feast, according to Dora,”
Remus chuckled.
“Don’t laugh,” Harry warned. “You have to show up, too. Yes, we’ll be there,
all of us. I’ve even told Hannah to bring Susan along—no one should be alone
for Christmas dinner. No, we’ll make it to dinner, but we’re going to spend
Christmas morning in Italy and then work our way through Blaise’s family. Not
necessarily looking forward to that. Susan’s invited us back to her family’s
ancestral estate for Boxing Day, and we’re also going to be paying a visit to
Neville’s parents at Saint Mungo’s. After that… well, really, I’m still hoping
to have found us a place to live.”
“You know Grimauld Place will always be available to you.”
“It’s yours, Remus. I don’t care that the deed can’t have your name on it
because of some asinine law,” Harry groused. “And while I’m grateful for the
offer, and I appreciate knowing I’ll always have a safe haven in a pinch, this
place will never be a home to me. Maybe, if Sirius was still here, but… well,
he isn’t.”
“I understand, and thank you. I appreciate having a place to stay.”
“You’re family, Remus. No matter what blood or time may say. Pack stays
together,” he said, firmly clasping Remus’s arms. “And I’m going to need a baby
sitter and tutor for all these kids I’m supposedly going to be having.”
Remus huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know how good of a baby sitter I’d be, an
old wolf like me.”
“Bah! You’re barely into your prime. And you’re certainly not too old to keep
up with the likes of Tonks,” Harry teased. “You should really think about
making a somewhat respectable woman out of her.”
“About that…”
“Oh? Have you decided to pop the question then?” Harry asked excitedly
“Well, you know that legally, in the wizarding world, we can’t marry…”
“Muggle world would have nothing against it.”
“True, and well I know I need to speak to her head of house and her father to
ask for permission…”
“Have you already a ring?” Harry grinned toothily. “If not, I’m sure there are
some in the Potter or better yet, the Black vaults somewhere.”
“So I take it you would be agreeable to my asking Dora to marry?”
“I think it’s great, but it’s not like you need my permission to marry her.”
“Well, actually, technically, you’re her head of family, since Edward is
muggleborn and has no family ties to the magical world. Magically abiding, you
would need to give your approval.”
“Hn. Well, consider it given then, I guess. So, rings?”
“I have one, yes. It was my grandmother’s ring. Dora’s not a real fancy jewelry
type, so I think she’ll appreciate the simplicity of it.”
“I look forward to seeing it on her finger—by Christmas dinner?”
“If she says yes,” Remus allowed.
“She’s crazy about you. She’d be even more crazy to say anything other than
yes!”
***
- later Saturday night-
By that evening, Harry had finished skimming through his portfolios, looking
specifically for residential properties. He hadn’t had the chance to actually
look at what those properties entailed, but at least that first step was done.
Between the Potter and Black dossiers, it looked like he had seven different
potential properties. He set them aside to peruse later.
He left the ground floor dining room—the only place with enough surface area
for him to spread out and go through his portfolios—and debated: downstairs
kitchen or upstairs family room. Knowing Hermione, she was probably upstairs
with a book or three. Which reminded him—he still had holiday homework to
contend with, too.
Only a student for half a year more, and then… Well, wasn’t that a scary
thought? He’d been a student for most of his known life. What was he going to
do once school was over? Sure, he could go out for being an Auror, but… did he
really want to spend the rest of his life hunting down bad wizards? No, not
really. But, he couldn’t just do nothing, either.
Hermione and her parents were talking, again. Really, to Harry it sounded a lot
more like polite arguing. True to her prediction, they hadn’t taken the fact
that she was in a polyamorous relationship very well. It was just as well she
and he were leaving tomorrow morning to join Blaise and the others in Italy—he
was actually quite excited for his first trip out of the UK. Not so excited to
interrupt the conversation going on. Hermione’s parents like him even less now
than they did last night. Not only had he managed to knock up their only
daughter, he’d made her a larger target for terrorists, assisted in wrecking
their home and locking them in a shed, gotten their daughter hurt in the fight,
gotten their daughter kidnapped… oh, and involved her with multiple lovers, one
of which was also pregnant with his child. Yep, not exactly a favorite person
of the Grangers.
Ah, well. Onward Gryffindor, he thought, entering the room. “Hey,” he greeted,
drawing attention to himself.
“Harry,” Hermione greeted gratefully. “Done going through your files finally?”
“Well, not all the way, no, but I’ve pulled out a list of possible
properties—all residential. I’ll take them with us tomorrow and look at them
later.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“I can’t say I approve,” George Granger grumbled.
“Dad, we talked about this,” Hermione huffed, more than a little exasperated at
the whole situation now. She loved her parents, but she really wished they’d
accept the decisions she’d made for herself. She leaned just a little bit
against Harry, as if to soak up his warmth and support.
“If you want to head down stairs,” Harry interrupted, eager to avoid the pair
launching into another uncomfortable argument. “I think Winky’s about ready to
put dinner on the table.”
“Oh, is it that late already?” Patricia Granger asked, surprised. “Everything
just seems so surreal today.”
“Mum, are you sure you want to go back tomorrow?”
“It’s our home, Hermione,” her mother responded. “We will not be forced out of
it by some terrorists. We’ll do as you suggested, and hire someone to add those
protective shields around the house— “
“Wards.”
“Yes, and we’ll look at having some erected around the practice,” the elder
Granger continued. “We’ll have a phone line extended to the shed so we can call
for help if something like this should happen again. And we will continue to
live our lives.”
“I could probably hire some goblins to do the ward work,” Harry offered.
“Those strange fellows who run the Gringotts bank?”
“Yes, well, they do more than just manage finance,” Hermione supplied.
“They actually have a really good reputation for property warding,” Harry told
them, before adding in an aside to Hermione, “Probably because they’ve got some
of the best curse-breakers on staff.”
She grinned and bumped into him.
“Remus should be back soon,” Hermione went on.
“It was very good of him to offer to inspect the house and clean up a bit,”
Trish murmured.
“Remus is good people,” Harry agreed. “He also said he’d check in on you two
periodically, just to make sure you’re still doing okay.”
“We’ve been fine,” George gruffed, reaching over to place a hand on his wife’s
back. “We’ll be fine.”
“What will be, will be,” Trish agreed. “We’ll make do and carry on.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Italy with us,” Hermione asked,
hesitantly.
“We aren’t prepared for an extended holiday this year, Hermione. As it is,
we’ve both patients waiting for us back at the practice tomorrow. And quite
frankly, I don’t think your father or I are ready to see you around these other
people yet.”
Hermione let the matter go. If she was truthful with herself—and she did try to
be—she was sure she wasn’t ready for her parents to see her around the rest of
the pard.
***&&&***
 
Kingsley arrived with Tonks early the next morning. Giving Hermione and Harry a
searching look, he handed over the unassuming pocket watch.
“I imposed upon a coworker in the transportations office,” the dark skinned
auror informed them. “I said it was for a friend who was courting an Italian
witch near Genoa. The key phrase is ‘the Italian job’—apparently, it’s the
title of an old movie.”
Harry smiled widely. “Thank you, Kingsley.”
The man nodded, still searching their faces carefully. “It’s a multi-use
portkey,” he told them, watching the surprise suffuse their faces. “Tonks
seemed to imply it might be a repeated journey.”
“What?” the other auror squawked, streaks of purple intermixing with her
preferred pink-hued hair. “I never said that!”
Hermione’s smile, if anything, brightened, and she threw her arms around the
broader man. “Thank you, Kingsley, that’s perfect! Thank you so much!”
“Where does it go between, exactly?” Harry wanted to know, looking at the
pocket watch more closely.
“It will take you and whoever is touching it to the entrance to Via Garibaldi,
an equivalent to Diagon Alley,” Kinglsey shared. “Upon return, you will arrive
near the Leakey Cauldron. That seemed the safest generic coordinates without
giving away your exact locations.”
Harry nodded. “That really is perfect. Thank you, Kingsley.”
“If I may, will you be visiting Italy often?”
Harry grinned. “Quite possibly.”
“Your excuse for acquiring it isn’t that far off,” Hermione supplied.
If anything, the older man looked more curious. Remus laughed and stepped
forward, clapping a hand on the bigger man’s shoulder. “If I may?” he asked,
looking towards Harry for permission to share the boy’s personal information.
Receiving a nod, Remus looked back towards his girlfriend’s partner.
“Harry is in a mate ship with several others,” the old wolf explained, watching
with amusement as someone else learned of this truth for the first time. He was
impressed to see only the smallest indications of shock as surprise from
Shacklebolt, but then, the wizard was extremely good. “One of them actually
does live near Genoa, and they learned just the other day that two more of
their mate ship traveled there unexpectantly to be with him now. They’ve been
rather antsy ever since they showed up here, really, so I asked Tonks to see if
she couldn’t scrounge up a portkey that would get them closer to their
destination. I really didn’t want Harry flooing across Europe, you understand.
And I somehow rather doubt Hermione would be willing to fly there.”
“Hey!” both teens chimed in stereo, mock offense coloring their faces.
“I never expected a multi-use portkey, though,” Remus mused.
“This really is quite generous,” Hermione agreed. “Thank you, Auror
Shacklebolt.”
“Yes, thank you, sir,” Harry added, holding his hand out towards the auror.
“You didn’t have to do this at all, but we really do appreciate your
assistance.”
He looked down at the young man, calculatingly, and then a large, wide smile
broke out across his face. “A mate ship, eh? Congratulations, Mr. Potter. In
this case, I will consider it well worth the favor. Especially as it will allow
you some level of safety for you and your mates.”
“Thank you,” Hermione replied demurely.
“Yes, thank you,” Harry agreed, grinning widely. “We’ll be back in time for
Christmas dinner—Andy might skin and fillet us, if we weren’t. Will you be
joining us? At least five of the six of us will be there—maybe all six?” He
shot a questioning look towards Hermione.
“I haven’t heard back from Hannah, yet,” she reminded him. “We’ll find out if
she and Susan join us in Italy or not. If they do, then they’ll join us for
dinner, too.”
Harry nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“This is their first extended time apart,” Remus supplied. “They lasted about a
day from what I can tell before they started pining.”
“Less,” Hermione snapped. “But who’s counting.”
Tonks snorted. “Not you, right?”
Hermione looked away, but then looked back. “Thank you for your help, Tonks.
We’ll see you again for Christmas?”
“Of course! I’d have to be dead or stuck at work to missed one of my mother’s
holiday meals. You two have fun on the Riviera.”
“Oh, we will, don’t worry,” Hermione returned, grinning, before adding,
“Harry’s never seen me in a bathing suit before.”
Harry shot her a grin. “No, but I’ve seen you in a lot less.”
“Harry!” Hermione shouted, scandalized while the others laughed a bit.
Harry frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “This is safe for you?”
“I’m be perfectly fine,” Hermione scoffed, waving off his worry. “Especially if
you can manage not to land on me.”
He nodded and grinned, accepting her answer at face value. “Then let’s get
going. The sooner we’re there, the sooner we can meet up with everyone.”
“Oh, but I want to look around the Via Garibaldi while we’re there,” Hermione
put in. “Just a bit.”
“It’s never just a bit with you, Hermione,” Harry huffed, noting the other’s
amused miens. “But all the more reason to get going now. Remus, Kingsley,
Tonks, thanks again for your assistance.”
“We really do appreciate it,” Hermione added, stepping up into Harry’s side and
reaching for the portkey.
“No problem,” Tonks scoffed before turning a knowing eye towards them. “Harry,
you just keep a look out for yourself and try and stay out of trouble, you
hear?”
“I try, but trouble seems to find me anyway.”
“Take care of yourself, pup,” Remus added, resisting the urge to rush the teen
and pull him into another crushing hug. Instead, he quietly reached over for
Tonks’s hand. “I’m happy you’ve found people to be happy with.”
“You, too, Remus. Don’t be such a stranger, huh? You’ve got a couple of great-
nieces or nephews on the way. I want them to know their uncle Remus.”
Remus practically beamed. “I would be honored.”
Both Tonks’s and Shacklebolt’s eyes went wide as they turned to look assessing
at the younger witch. “Wait,” Tonks spluttered. “What? Is Hermione--?”
“Bye, everyone,” Hermione called. “See you in a week!”
And then she and Harry were being whisked away not even a second later. It was
everything Harry had come to expect from a portkey—the gut-wrenching hook, the
dizzying spinning, the jarring landing—but he managed to maintain his balance
by half-running, half-jogging the last few steps. He nearly took Hermione off
her feet as he outpaced her, and she dropped her hand quickly, leaning up to a
nearby wall to catch her breath and calm her stomach.
“You all right?” he asked, jogging back towards her.
“I’m fine. Just… a bit… disconcerting, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, big
brown eyes—and then her focus looked past him, her eyes widening and
brightening with delight. A delight that spread across the rest of her face as
she stood up fully and looked around their surroundings. “We’re really in
Italy,” she said in awe.
“That was the plan,” he said, looking around himself curiously. “You know, I’ve
never been out of Brittan before. Until Hogwarts, I’d never been outside
England.”
“We’ll travel all over the world,” she promised. “I’ll take you to some of my
favorite places, and we’ll visit new places together.”
“What about the others?”
“They can come, too, of course. If they want to. And if they don’t, think of it
as free baby sisters,” she told him before spontaneously hugging him. “Come on,
let’s get off this street and find an owl post shop. We can send a letter to
Blaise and then spend some time looking around.”
“I guess we probably should have planned this trip a bit better, huh? What if
Blaise and the others are out? They won’t get our post until later. We might be
stuck here a while.”
“All the better to poke around and check things out. Come on. Let’s get
started,” Hermione practically pleaded, tugging on his hand and quite possibly
bouncing on her toes. It was a good thing their trunks were safely packed,
shrunk, and tucked away inside Hermione’s clutch.
There was a special light and enthusiasm to Hermione’s mien that Harry was used
to seeing only when a trip to the library was proposed or a new book was
released. He found it more than mildly amusing that she showed such passion for
visiting a new place, but then again, he supposed that made sense. Hermione
loved learning new things, and what better way to learn new things than to
visit a new country or location and discover those facts for yourself?
He followed her down the street until they found a posted placard pointing to
the magical district. They followed the signs that lead them down an alley and
to a rather nondescript door. Unsure, Hermione knocked and then pushed the door
open. The door actually led into another alley, surprisingly. They followed
that down until they arrived at an archway. On the other side, the street was
alive and bustling with magical folk out shopping or trading their goods.
 
*********
Still to come…
Chapter End Notes
     Happy birthday to me: here's another chapter. I actually had started
     revising this last weekend when someone dropped a line asking about
     an update, but it took me until today to actually get back and finish
     it up. I'm sure there are at least half a dozen typos and mistakes.
     Oh well. Hopefully, I'll pick up on them on the next read through.
     Additional Note: There are approximately 40K more words written for
     this story, although key scenes are missing, so it will be at least
     three weeks before I post again but hopefully not another three
     months...
***** Pard Reunited *****
Chapter Summary
     How lovely does a vacation on the Italian Riviera sound...? The pard
     interacts outside of Hogwarts.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
32 – Pard Reunited –
~THEN~
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Italy with us,” Hermione asked her
parents hesitantly.
“We aren’t prepared for an extended holiday this year, Hermione,” her mother
reminded her. “As it is, we’ve both patients waiting for us back at the
practice tomorrow. And quite frankly, I don’t think your father or I are ready
to see you around these other people yet.”
Hermione let the matter go. If she was truthful with herself—and she did try to
be—she was sure she wasn’t ready for her parents to see her around the rest of
the pard, either.
Kingsley arrived with Tonks early the next morning. Giving Hermione and Harry a
searching look, he handed over the unassuming pocket watch.
“I imposed upon a coworker in the transportations office,” the dark skinned
auror informed them. “It’s a multi-use portkey. I said it was for a friend who
was courting an Italian witch near Genoa. The key phrase is ‘the Italian
job’—apparently, it’s the title of an old movie. It will take you and whoever
is touching it to the entrance to Via Garibaldi, an equivalent to Diagon
Alley,” Kinglsey shared. “Upon return, you will arrive near the Leakey
Cauldron.”
Harry smiled widely. “Thank you, Kingsley.”
“Bye, everyone,” Hermione called. “See you in a week!”
And then she and Harry were being whisked away not even a second later. It was
everything Harry had come to expect from a portkey—the gut-wrenching hook, the
dizzying spinning, the jarring landing—but he managed to maintain his balance
by half-running, half-jogging the last few steps. He nearly took Hermione off
her feet as he outpaced her, and she dropped her hand quickly, leaning up to a
nearby wall to catch her breath and calm her stomach.
“You all right?” he asked, jogging back towards her.
“I’m fine. Just… a bit… disconcerting, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, big
brown eyes—and then her focus looked past him, her eyes widening and
brightening with delight. A delight that spread across the rest of her face as
she stood up fully and looked around their surroundings. “We’re really in
Italy,” she said in awe.
“That was the plan,” he said, looking around himself curiously. “You know, I’ve
never been out of Brittan before. Until Hogwarts, I’d never been outside
England.”
“We’ll travel all over the world,” she promised. “I’ll take you to some of my
favorite places, and we’ll visit new places together.”
There was a special light and enthusiasm to Hermione’s mien that Harry was used
to seeing only when a trip to the library was proposed or a new book was
released. He found it more than mildly amusing that she showed such passion for
visiting a new place, but then again, he supposed that made sense. Hermione
loved learning new things, and what better way to learn new things than to
visit a new country or location and discover those facts for yourself?
 
~NOW~
 
- Sunday, December 17, Italy-
 
Harry and Hermione were sitting outside a little café, having just sat down for
lunch. Between them, they had quite a few packages—not all books. Hermione was
still talking a mile a minute as she savored each bite of her farfalle tossed
with chunks of snapper and stewed eggplant. She’d insisted he try a bit of it,
and he’d admitted it was pretty good, but he was quite okay sticking with his
creamy rice dish that had shrimp in it. Hermione had told him it was called a
risotta, but he really didn’t care what it was called as long as it tasted
good. And it did, so he was happy.
They were sitting outside because, for one, the weather was very nice,
especially when compared to the London weather they had left that morning, and
two, they were still hoping to see or be seen by their mates. In the three
hours they’d been traipsing through the magical shopping district of Genoa,
they had yet to run into Blaise, Luna, or Neville. Their first priority had
been to send off a letter to the three, telling them they were in Genoa. It was
as close as they knew how to get at the moment.
If they hadn’t run into the others before too much longer, Hermione had agreed
to rent a room for the night and then tomorrow they would hire a cab to take
them into Portofino, which was a smaller subset of the greater Genoa and closer
still to where Blaise lived, but they still didn’t know his exact location, and
they couldn’t very well just go wandering around asking after him.
They were so close, and yet still so separated from their mates, and neither
Harry nor Hermione were very happy about it.
“I would like to visit the museum at some point—not today, obviously—and
there’s several castles in the area that might be nice to check out.”
“Hopefully you’ll make time to swim during all your planned adventures?”
Hermione and Harry whipped around, large grins splitting their faces. “Blaise!”
the young woman shouted, earning the attention of several others sitting on the
patio outside the small restaurant. She was oblivious to them all as she
launched herself at the other man, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly.
Surprised for only a minute, Blaise quickly caught her and returned her
embrace. “Welcome to Italy,  mia bella regina del fuoco,” he whispered against
the shell of her ear.
Harry was standing now, too, seeing Neville and Luna next to Blaise, he reached
for the two, pulling them both in for a hug at the same time. “It’s good to see
you both safe and happy,” he said, kissing each one on the cheek nearest him.
“We could say the same to you,” Neville replied, squeezing him tightly, once,
and then letting go just in time to catch Hermione. “Hello, Hermione. Missed
you, too.”
“When your house elf said you had left, I was so worried,” she scolded,
squeezing him as tightly as she had squeezed Blaise.
“Not as worried as we were,” Blaise countered, pulling Harry towards him in
greeting, “When we heard what had befallen you two. Welcome to Italy,  re del
mio cuore.”
Harry didn’t know what the Italian man said, but he accepted it as warmly as he
accepted Blaise’s embrace. Blaise was always saying something—it had led to
them all being bolder, more vocal with each other, especially during sexy
times. The results were quite enjoyable, no matter how silly it sometimes
seemed to talk so much during such an intimate time. Harry turned and caught
the corner of Blaise’s lips in a kiss.
“We missed you,” he whispered, and he could tell he surprised the other man by
the slow blink Blaise responded with. “All of you,” Harry continued, pulling
back a bit to catch Hermione and Luna greeting each other with little pecks to
each cheek. “We just ordered some food, but we can cancel it if you’ve
someplace for us to be?”
“No place that can’t wait for good food,” Blaise countered, motioning for the
attendant and requesting three more chairs be brought to the table and two
menus in English if they had them.
“So, is everyone really all right?” Neville asked once they were all sitting.
“Hermione said you were hurt.”
“All better,” Harry reassured him, squeezing his knee under the table. Neville
reached for his hand and held it against him, and Harry gave him a little
smile. “Madame Pomphrey saw fit to vanish my leg bone and regrow it, but as you
can see, it’s all better now.”
“It’s not all better,” Hermione snapped. “He healed too quickly, and as a
result his leg muscles and tendons are all contracted and tight.”
“So I have to stretch several times a day,” he brushed off negligently. “The
leg works, that’s the main focus.”
“Yes, see if you’re saying that when you wake up again in the middle of the
night from another Charlie horse,” she huffed, earning a sympathetic wince from
the other members.
“Like I said, I have to stretch better. Maybe I can convince someone to help
rub it and make it feel better,” he added wagging his eyebrows.
“I don’t think it’s your leg any of us want to rub,” Luna replied, sipping on
the drink the waiter brought them.
“What happened?” Neville asked, tentatively testing his own drink. The little
restaurant had not had an English menu, so once again Blaise had taken over
ordering something for them. Neville didn’t mind too much—so far nothing the
Slytherin had chosen for them had been unpleasant, although he and Luna had
ended up exchanging plates the previous night, but not because either item had
been unpleasant.
“Death eaters,” Harry answered glumly. “What else?”
“Several of them attacked my parents’ house the evening we got back,” Hermione
added. “We’re just extremely lucky Harry and I had already started putting up
the wards. If we had waited…” She looked nervously over at Harry.
“We were outnumbered as it was,” Harry huffed. “We managed to get out of the
house, and get Hermione’s folks hidden, but they came around back and found us.
We weren’t so lucky and ended up getting caught.”
“What?” Neville asked sharply, and even Luna and Blaise looked extra alarmed.
“You were caught?”
“Yeah. They managed to knock me and Hermione out. We woke up somewhere else.”
“They had us chained up in the basement, wine cellar, really. We managed to get
free, take out two more of the death eaters, and then made our escape.”
“Not without help,” Harry reminded her.
“No, not without help,” she agreed, looking over towards Blaise. “Apparently we
were being held in Nott’s house. He helped us get to the floo and get out of
there.”
Blaise started. “Did anyone see his helping you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, why?”
“Theo’s father is an old-time supporter of the dark lord. He’s pretty
devoted—so much so, he apparently raised Theo believing that the Dark Lord
would go and come back one day, and that they must be ready to serve him when
he did. It has been a sore point within the dorms,” he said sadly, “Especially
now that Draco is no longer supporting the Dark Lord.”
“Does Nott support Voldemort then?” Harry wondered aloud, confused.
“Not in his heart,” Blaise answered. “But he has two little sisters, and while
they are still underage, his father can use the girls’ safety as a control over
what Theo will do. If it means protecting his sisters, he will serve the dark
lord. It’s one thing to do what you want when no one else will be effected and
your father somewhat protects you from the fall out of your actions, but it is
quite another when your father is insistent upon your obeying his expectations.
We were all surprised when we learned Draco’s father had allowed him to avoid
the dark lord’s service without killing him.”
“Lucius did publicly disinherit Draco, though,” Harry pointed out.
“Yeah,” Neville agreed. “Everyone knows Draco’s no longer the Malfoy heir. In
fact, Harry, didn’t you make a bit of a show of inviting the ferret back into
the Black Family?”
“It wasn’t a big show,” he countered, “But, yeah, I did formally offer him
succor within the family of his mother’s bloodline. It at least provided him
with some backup on a public front.”
Blaise nodded. “Then you understand what is really occurring?”
“Draco and I have had a few talks over the last couple of months,” Harry
supplied. “We’ve come to a bit of an understanding between the two of us. Yeah,
I know his father hasn’t completely cut him off. Say anything you will about
the man, but I won’t doubt his loves his son and was fond of his wife.”
Hermione reached across Blaise to touch Harry.
“Would Nott’s father really have him killed?” Neville asked, a bit nervous and
very uncomfortable at the thought of any parent purposefully harming their
child.
“Theo’s father would,” Blaise confirmed sadly. “Or, if he couldn’t reach Theo,
he would hurt one of his daughters.”
“A father would really do that, to his own daughters?” Hermione asked aghast.
“Without a second thought,” he confirmed. “He is not a good man. He cares
little for his family, his children. Not even his lady wife. Theo’s mother died
in childbirth. The only reason his father remarried is because his grandfather
demanded it of him. I am told they were contracted for two children, and when
both children were daughters and not sons, Nott Sr threatened to beat and drown
the babes, but the contract did not specify the children had to survive, only
they had to be birthed, so Lady Nott’s duty to her husband had been fulfilled
and she swore never to lie with the man again. Theo spent much of his years
trying to protect his sisters from their father’s violent tempers, but no one
has ever been there to shield him. More than once, he has returned from a visit
home covered in bruises.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is. We’d been after Theo for years to get help, or to at least try and
spend the holidays with one of us. He has always refused, so there was very
little we could do for him.”
“We’ll have to keep an eye on him when we get back, then,” Harry suggested, but
not really. “He helped us, so if there’s some why we can help him back we’ll do
it.”
“There is not much to do when one does not want to be helped.”
“We’ll try anyway. What about you guys?” he asked, redirecting the
conversation. “How’d you all wind up here?”
The three exchanged looks, as if to say: Do you want to go first? No? You go
first.
Luna went first. “Well, as you know, we each went our separate ways from Kings
Cross. I went home but discovered Daddy was engrossed in his studies. Neville
came to visit, as you knew he would. We strengthened my family’s ward stone and
then I returned to Neville’s home with him.”
“I arrived home and learned my mother would be out of town for the entire
holiday. She invited me to join her, but I had no desire to visit Greece again,
and decided I’d much rather be with one of you than alone, so I flooed back to
England and then called Neville up. He invited me through, and I learned Luna
was also there.”
“My gran wasn’t home when everyone arrived, so she didn’t know, I don’t think.
Still not sure what she came into my room for, but what have you. She did, and
she saw the three of us sleeping together, and she just sort of… lost it, I
guess. Said some things I didn’t like, I said some things she didn’t like. One
thing led to another, and before you know it, we were hopping through the floo
network to reach Blaise’s home here in Italy. I guess, maybe, we could have
gone to Luna’s,” he said thoughtfully. “Stayed in England.”
“But Italy is so much better this time of year,” Luna concluded. “And Blaise
has a lovely little villa, right on the water.”
“I look forward to seeing it,” Hermione replied.
“Maybe I can actually take some time and learn how to swim,” Harry muttered.
“Well, if you need or want it, there’s plenty of gillyweed,” Neville supplied.
“It grows naturally in these waters.”
“Yeah, no thanks,” Harry smiled weakly. “Tried it before. Not too anxious to
try it again.”
“Neville, have you spoken to your grandmother since you got here?” Hermione
asked.
“No. I can’t say I’m ready to, either,” the larger boy grumbled. “I’ll talk to
her closer to Christmas, maybe. Probably. How’d your parents react to Harry?”
he asked, trying to deflect any more attention from himself.
“It probably could have been better,” the vanteera admitted, pointedly not
looking at Hermione as he scooped bit of his risotto onto a smaller plate and
handed it to Luna.
“I’m sure if someone didn’t just announce to my father that I was both bonded
and pregnant already it would have gone better,” Hermione groused, intercepting
the plate and adding some of her butterfly pasta before handing it over to
Luna. “Would anyone else like some?” she asked, eyeing Neville who was already
helping himself directly to Harry’s plate.
“Grazie, mia bella,” Blaise responded, holding his mouth open. Bemusedly,
Hermione scooped up a bit of her farfalle and offered him her fork.
As if by magic, a minute later, a waitress swooped in with more plates for
everyone and a platter of focaccia and assorted cheeses. Another waiter was
right behind her with two more platters—one with a variety of shell fish, the
other cured meats, fruits and vegetables.
“Please enjoy,” the waitress told them in a heavy accent.
“I think you might have ordered a bit much,” Hermione mused.
“You’re in Italy,” Blaise countered. “You will eat well and often while you are
here.”
“I think he just wants to fatten us up,” Luna surmised, happily filling her
plate with the different offerings. “So have your parents returned to their
home, since I don’t see them here with you?”
Hermione slumped. “They were insistent, yes,” she answered, somewhat
melancholy. “They said they had to get back to work.”
“That’s pretty brave of them,” Neville mused. “Not sure if I could handle going
back to the place where I was attacked.”
“Life must carry on,” Blaise reminded him. “Despite other’s actions upon us, we
must continue to move forward.”
“True that,” Harry agreed. “And along those lines, I took some time while we
were stuck at the old place, to go through my portfolios. I’ve found a couple
of pieces of real estate that I thought we might want to take a look at when we
all get back.”
“June does seem so far away, but I guess it’ll be here before we know it, huh?”
Neville mused.
“Not before NEWTs, though,” Hermione fussed. “I guess, if you got into it with
your grandmother, you didn’t have a chance to talk to her about moving Luna’s
testing schedule up, did you?”
“Sorry, Hermione.”
“Not your fault, Neville. I wasn’t meaning to sound so… I mean, what is, is.
I’m not angry or disappointed in you or anything. Just thinking we’ll need to
come up with another way if we can’t hope to use your grandmother’s influence.”
“Maybe when we get back to Hogwarts we could ask McGonagall or Flitwick,” Harry
suggested. “I’m sure there must have been other students before who have taken
their NEWTs early, right?”
“Yes, but I’ve never found where it says how to do it,” Hermione huffed.
“And you never thought to just ask one of the teachers before?” Luna asked,
amused.
“No, quite honestly, there’s always something else on my mind until I remember
again, and then I’m never near enough to a teacher to ask. I’m sorry, Luna. I
should have made it more of a priority this year because of you.”
“You have other more pressing things on your mind this year,” Luna countered.
“Speaking of more pressing,” Harry interrupted, frowning a bit. “We learned
Hermione’s stasis charm wore off. Madame Pomphrey was by to check my leg, and I
asked her to check over Hermione, too.”
“I’m fine,” she reiterated before anyone could ask again.
“She cast it again, but when we get back to Hogwarts, both Hermione and Hannah
have an appointment to meet with Madame Pomphrey and get checked over.”
“Madame Pomphrey thinks I may be one of the few witches who are naturally
repellent towards the stasis charm,” Hermione informed them. “My magic and my
body might just naturally keep countering the spell.”
“Oh, my,” Neville mumbled. “That won’t be good.”
But Blaise’s eyes were alight in anticipation. “Speak for yourself,  mio nimfo
,” he practically purred, lifting Hermione’s hand to his lips. “I very much
look forward to making love with  nostra regina  when her body has grown to
accommodate our child.”
“Our child?” Harry queried lightly.
“Forgive me,  mio re ,” Blaise replied hastily, dropping Hermione’s hand and
looking down at his plate.
Harry reached out and slid his hand around the other man’s upper thigh, earning
a quick glance from the Slytherin. “I like it,” he said, nodding and grinning
before leaning over closer to whisper, “I like your suggestion even more.”
Blaise smiled and dipped his head in a bob of acquiescence.
“As much as I like the idea, too,” Neville spoke up, “It will complicate
matters if both Hermione and Hannah are immune to the stasis spell.”
“Let’s not invite trouble,” Luna responded, holding a piece of meat rolled
around a slice of fruit up to Neville’s mouth. “We will deal with the situation
as it arises. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the Italian Riviera, yes?”
“Do you ‘know’ something, Luna?” Hermione asked, slightly suspicious, slightly
worried.
“I know a lot of things,” the Ravenclaw replied. “So do you. Why borrow trouble
when it will surely find us soon enough.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Harry muttered, doing just that.
Blaise and Neville laughed, grabbing their drinks as well. Hermione shook her
head but reached for her own glass. “To enjoying good food and family?”
“Good food, good friends, and even better lovers,” Blaise responded.
“Good food, good friends, and excellent lovers,” Harry agreed.
***
Hannah’s letter arrived that evening stating that she and Susan would be
arriving the following day at Genoa Brignole station at 9:32 in the morning via
portkey, and did Blaise know where that was because she really didn’t, but if
they didn’t find one another right away, she and Susan would find a little café
to sit and enjoy a cup of tea, and Susan was really looking forward to meeting
everyone, officially as Hannah’s partners, and Hannah was really looking
forward to seeing everyone again, and had they heard from Hermione and Harry,
yet?
“I don’t think she used one period,” Hermione mused, looking over the letter
before handing it over to the others and returning to her travel book on Italy.
“Well, at least one,” Neville teased, skimming the letter for himself and then
passing it along. “There at the very end.”
“Do we all want to go back into Genoa?” Harry asked, looking at everyone but
mostly Blaise. Since it was his hometown he expected the other young man to
have a stronger opinion one way or the other.
“It will be early enough,” Blaise mused, “that if the girls are well and
everyone is agreeable, we could visit Basilica di Santa Maria di Castello or
Museo di Palazzo Reale.”
“What’s that?” Neville asked before Harry could.
“The first is a very beautiful church that also serves as a museum,” Blaise
explained. “The other is quite literally the Royal Palace Museum.”
“Ah, well, I think Hermione would definitely enjoy that,” Harry mused, looking
over to where the young woman in question was busily marking off things to do
when one visited Italy. “Luna as well, come to think of it.”
“She would,” the girl in question responded from where she sat, cuddled up to
Blaise on the little couch. “But I think Luna would enjoy the parks even more.”
“There are many beautiful parks I could take you both to,” Blaise promised,
playing with her hand and arm, leaning in to nuzzle her cheek. “I shall take
you wherever you would like to go.”
It turned out all the girls were quite well and agreeable to visiting a couple
of museums the next day. Blaise had inquired of a family member where was
more’s likely an international portkey from the Netherlands might set someone
within the populous train station, and that’s where the five of them waited at
a nearby café for the two fair ladies to arrive.
Hannah had spotted them first and ran up to hug them all. “It’s so good to see
you again!” she cried, squeezing the life from first Blaise and then Luna, and
then Hermione and Neville, and finally Harry, as that’s the order in which she
was able to reach each person.
And just like that, a tension Harry hadn’t even been aware of, eased off and
bleed away. He didn’t notice the same tension easing away from the others as
well. It just suddenly felt like things in the world were better again.
“Hello,” a second voice greeted from behind Hannah.
“Hi, Susan,” Hermione spoke up first. “How have your holidays been so far?”
“Not as adventurous as yours, I believe,” the redhead replied. “I’m glad both
you, Harry, and your parents are all right.”
“Thanks. Me, too,” Hermione responded. “We were really lucky.”
“We’re safe now, and that’s what matters most,” Harry added. “Would you ladies
like something to drink?”
“Do you have your bags?” Blaise added, and Hannah patted her pocket.
“We were thinking of visiting some of the local museums,” Hermione interjected.
“Oh, that might be nice,” Susan responded, grinning as her friend had plopped
down in Neville’s lap and taken up Luna’s hand to play with like it was the
most natural thing in the world.
“But if you’re tired,” Harry put in, “We could always just go back to the house
and relax for a bit.”
“They took a portkey, Harry,” Hermione chided. “They didn’t actually ride the
train in.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You just don’t want to have to go to a museum,” Neville teased.
“You do realize there’s like forty-five different museums in this one city
alone, right?” Harry countered.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to go to all of them,” Hermione huffed. Harry
shot her a look. “I’m not! Besides, Blaise lives here. And we’ve a reusable
portkey. I can come back whenever I want and visit the other museums. We’re
only asking you to go to two today.”
“Two?” Hannah asked, surprised.
“Not overly large,” Blaise promised. “One is actually a church. The other is
the Royal Palace Museum. We will be home before cena.”
“That’s dinner, right?” Neville clarified. Blaise beamed at him, nodding, and
Neville preened just a bit, earning a kiss from both Hannah and Luna. “I’m
starting to pick up on a few words,” he informed Susan. “It helps to be
surrounded by it.”
“I’m sure it does,” she responded, amused. “So we’re going to get to see some
of the local sites? That will be nice.”
“Not as nice as the ocean right outside Blaise’s backdoor,” Neville returned.
“Maybe if it’s not too chilly, we could go for a swim when we get back
tonight.”
Blaise shivered. “It is much too cold for me.”
“You’ve never been in the Black Lake,” Harry scoffed.
“No, I would like to think I have much more sense than that.”
“It’s quite brisk,” Luna added. “If Hannah and Susan don’t want something to
drink, shall we be on our way?”
**
~the following day~
“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked, stepping out onto the patio with
a cup of tea in hand, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Susan looked up from where she was watching Neville, Hannah, Luna, and Harry
play in the waters. “I’m not sure,” she answered finally.
“Hannah said she was going to explain everything to you.”
“She did,” Susan agreed, taking a hasty sip of her sweet coffee. It was quite
different from the typical English tea, but still tasty. “At least, I think she
did. Are you—I mean, it’s not really any of my business. Never mind.”
“You are important to Hannah,” Hermione countered. “She thinks of you as part
of her family. That makes you a part of our family.”
“Do you really believe that?” Susan asked hesitantly.
“That you’re a part of our family?” the head girl tried to clarify. “Yes. It’s
much like any in-law situation, I should think. I mean, I know we’ll have to
meet Blaise’s mother at some point. And Luna’s father, come to think of it. I’m
not sure how I feel about meeting Neville’s grandmother properly after all
these years of hearing some of the stories about her. And eventually, the
others will have to meet my parents. I’m hoping we can do the initial
introduction during Christmas. Harry’s invited them to Christmas Dinner with
the Black Family, same as you. I’m not sure if Luna’s father will be there. She
never really said. And we’ll have to confront Neville’s grandmother at some
point, but I’m not sure any of us really want to do that until after Christmas,
but that’s not really right, is it? I mean, she raised him after what happened
to his parents. She must be at the very least worried about what he’s up to
right now, but he’s refused to try and contact her yet. Harry might end up
pressing the point. He’s actually a bit big about family. Which, I guess,
brings us back around to the part where you’re family now.”
Susan blinked. “Um, okay.”
“Sorry,” Hermione said, slightly embarrassed by her rambling tirade. “Things
have been a bit stressed. My parents didn’t necessarily take my chosen lot in
life too well. Of course, I had intended to tell them only that Harry and I
were dating and rather serious about it, but then Harry had to go and tell my
father that we were practically married and I was pregnant already. Didn’t
necessarily go over too well, as you can image.”
“No, I don’t think that would,” Susan responded, bemusedly, shaking her head.
“What on earth possessed him to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. “My father said something about my possibly
changing my mind about Harry.” She huffed as Susan snorted. “I know, right?
Well, needless to say, it didn’t sit very well with Harry’s new possessive
side. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, my parents were learning
just about everything.”
“It is something of an adjustment to wrap your head around, from the outside
looking in,” Susan admitted. “Even I had a bit of a—well, I didn’t handle the
news that Hannah’s pregnant, too well.”
Hermione looked surprised. “I didn’t think that would bother you.”
“And why not?” the redhead returned, heatedly. “We’re not even out of school
yet, and Hannah had wanted to go into Healer training. She can’t do that with a
baby.”
“Most of the healers I remember seeing at Saint Mungo’s were rather older,”
Hermione mused.
“Because it’s too difficult to go through the training and raise a family. Most
dedicated healers will get their medical training before they start a family,
and then they work as medi-witches or wizards in the different units and
clinics. But if you’re really serious about becoming a healer, it takes a lot
more training, which is why most healers are much older.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Hermione agreed. “Even muggles go through
something like ten extra years of school to learn about medicine and the body.”
“Yes, so, while it was a bit strange to think of my best friend in a
relationship with multiple people, that didn’t weird me out as much as
realizing she was already pregnant and would be a mother within the next two
years.”
“It’s certainly not something I saw for myself,” Hermione confessed. “I mean,
I’d always thought I’d have children. Eventually. Maybe some time in my late
twenties or even thirties.” She sighed. “I’m not… upset, per say. But I’d never
expected or planned for it. I wasn’t the type of girl you hear about who falls
pregnant before she’s graduated school… except, now I am.”
“Well, at least you and Hannah were able to get Madame Pomphrey to apply the
stasis charm,” Susan tried to comfort her, but Hermione didn’t look much
comforted.
“Yes, there is that.”
“Have you given much thought to what you will do now after Hogwarts?”
“You mean besides help Harry rid the world of megalomaniac and have a baby?”
Hermione grinned.
Susan grinned back at her. “Yes, besides that.”
“I’d thought I might go into the ministry,” she confessed. “Maybe the
department of magical creatures, because I do feel rather strongly about how
magicals look upon and treat others in our world. Or maybe wizarding law. But
really, I wish there was a course or seminar about what real jobs there are in
the wizarding world. It seems like all the jobs are out of the ministry, or
Saint Mungo’s, or entrepreneurship, if you want to deal with running your own
business. What about you?”
“I had thought to join the ministry, too, but that was mostly because of my
auntie,” Susan shared. “Now, I’ve been trying to rebuild the Bones Estate. We
used to be one of the larger supplies of fresh produce and home goods. Our
farmlands were rich and prosperous. We had several flocks of sheep and even a
mill that produced high quality wool that was then sent to different countries.
Auntie did what was required to keep the family farms up and running, but she
wasn’t very interested in seeing them prosper and grow.” Susan sighed. “I think
I will take some years, after we’re finished with Hogwarts, of course, and see
if I can improve our goods.”
Hermione hummed. “I know Harry’s been looking over his family’s portfolios. It
was more than he’d expected, but luckily there was some people to help him make
some sense of it all last summer. I know he’d mentioned wanting to be an auror,
but I’m not sure if he was really for serious about that, or if he was just
saying that to say something. And Neville wants to work his magic with
botanicals, which makes sense. I actually don’t know what Luna or Blaise wanted
to do after Hogwarts.” She frowned. “That’s something I should know, isn’t it?”
“I think, I hope,” Susan corrected herself, “That we’re all young enough that
we can still change our minds about things. Explore a little bit more about who
we are as individuals, who we want to be.”
“Not too much time,” Hermione sighed. “With the war going on the way it is, the
ministry really does need all the help it can get. Even if we weren’t at war,
they still need a lot of help.”
“Will Harry and Neville be taking up their seats on the Wizengomat?”
“I don’t know, maybe?”
“That would definitely be a way to contribute to the Ministry that doesn’t
necessarily involve you working there daily.”
“True. I guess we all have more to talk about than I’d even realized. A part of
me just assumed… I don’t know what. We’d finish school, graduate, move in
together, and set up home? But I don’t think I would be very happy staying home
with nothing to do but take care of babies.”
“No, you don’t strike me as the type to be very happy doing that, either.”
“What has two such beautiful ladies as your selves looking so glum on such a
fine morning?” Blaise asked, stepping onto the patio.
Hermione smiled and turned her cheek up for a kiss. “Good morning, Blaise. We
were just discussing futures and our plans for it. I realized I don’t think I
ever asked you want you wanted to do after you graduated Hogwarts.”
“Before I found you, Harry, and our pard, I probably would have gone on much
like my mother,” the young man responded, slipping easily into one of the
chairs and picking at the biscotti on his plate. “I would have helped manage
the estate my mother has acquired over the years, traveling about, picking out
potential lovers. I might have become a serial spouse, again, like my mother.
Marrying various people and then loving them to death before moving on.”
He shrugged negligently. “Now that that no longer is my fate, I shall still
probably help manage my mother’s acquired estates.”
“Is estate management something you’re actually interested in?”
“Not the day-to-day running of different households,” Blaise corrected. “I have
no desire to micromanage such things. But the financials, different
investments… yes,” he mused. “I think that might be interesting.”
“Maybe you could help Harry and Neville with their estates as well,” she
suggested.
“And you?” Blaise asked. “Will you be joining the ministry after graduation and
blaze trailing straight towards the minister’s position?”
Hermione smiled, sharing a look with Susan. “Not right away,” she answered. “We
need to take care of Harry’s dark lord problem first, I think.”
Both Susan and Blaise snorted, and she shared their amusement. “Unfortunately,
Voldemort’s proven time and time again, he’s not willing to leave Harry alone.
Even if he was, I don’t think Harry’s willing to leave him alone, which makes
defeating him our major hurdle between us and a chance at a normal life.”
“I somehow doubt life with Harry Potter will ever be normal,” Susan countered.
“True,” Hermione conceded. “Well, life as normal as life with Harry can be,
then.” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure how much good I’m going to be in the next
couple of months.”
“You’re pregnant, mia bella di fuoco, not invalid.”
Susan frowned. “Flaming beauty, right?” she tried to translate.
Hermione blushed. “Let’s just say, I have a talent with fire magic?”
“Okay,” the redhead replied, but it was plain she was still curious.
“Neville has his greenhouses, but if he doesn’t patch things up with his
grandmother, we might need to rebuild them someplace else once we get settled,”
Hermione continued, suddenly worrying about the future now that Susan had
brought the subject up. “Do you have any idea what Luna wants to do?”
Blaise frowned. “No, I don’t.” He smiled then. “But I’m sure whatever it is, it
will suit her perfectly.” He reached out across the table for her hand, cupping
it lovingly. “Do not invite worry. Enjoy what bountiful pleasures life has
bestowed upon us and let the troubles come as they may. We will be enough to
handle them when they do. There is no need for you to sit here and fret like
some old maid.”
“Old maid?” Hermione bristled, but Blaise merely quirked an eyebrow and crooked
smile at her and the steam of her ire fizzled.
“Now that I know,” Susan murmured bemused, “I’m finding it hard to believe no
one else has figure you all out before. There’s just no way you could have hid
all this chemistry between you all,” she added, eyes flickering from where
Blaise still held Hermione’s hand to the waters down below where Harry,
Neville, and Hannah had become a lot friskier than minutes ago.
“We’re on vacation,” Hermione reminded her. “I would hope we’re all a lot more
circumspect while at school. The hardest part of it all is sneaking time with
Blaise.”
“It is a challenge, yes,” the Slytherin agreed. “But it is thankfully not
impossible. My housemates are well accustomed to my goings and comings. Other
than wonderings on who my newest conquest might be, none have dared to
challenge or question me. It is fine, Hermione. We are fine. Many would find it
a great laugh if they were to think I was seducing the head girl right under
the head boy’s nose, or vice versa.” He grinned at her and raised her hand up
to press against his lips.
“They are your friends, though,” Hermione fussed. “You should be able to tell
your friends the truth.”
“And have you told Ronald the whole truth yet?” Blaise countered, knowing full
well that the red-headed Gryffindor wasn’t in the full know. Oh, he certainly
knew that his two best friends were in a relationship, but he didn’t know the
full extent.
“That’s different,” Hermione insisted.
“I think that’s his point,” Susan put in gently, slightly uncomfortable to be
witness to what could be considered a spat. “I’m Hannah’s best friend, and
she’s mine, but we’ve been best friends for years. And we’re both girls. I
really do think that makes a difference, Hermione. Boys… I don’t know. Boys
always seemed a bit weirder with how their friendships work.”
“We never intended to purposefully hide things from Ron,” Hermione wimbled.
“It’s just… first it was one thing, and then another… and Ron was pretty busy
on his own, and then it was Hogsmeade, and… it was just never the right time.”
“Not to mention he’s not the most discreet,” Blaise murmured, looking away as a
loud shriek sounded from below, shortly followed by uproarious laughter. “Harry
values his privacy, and he would not be happy with so many others, strangers
especially, hounding him and his family for details of his private life. And
that is what will happen when word finally gets out. Hopefully our circle will
be nearly complete before any outsiders learn of it.”
“I think it’s fascinating that you’re trying to build a circle in these modern
days,” Susan commented.
“I’m not sure I would go so far as to say we’re intentionally trying,” Hermione
corrected. “It’s just… that’s the way things tend to be going towards, so we
wanted to prepare Harry for that idea as gently as possible.”
“Most wizards would be thrilled at the possibility of being the center of a
magical circle,” Susan pointed out.
“Ah, but there you see,” Blaise chastised her teasingly. “Harry is not like any
of the wizards you or I know, is he? He is a unique specimen all unto himself,
and I think that, perhaps, is why he was chosen by magic.”
“That’s a fanciful thought.”
Hermione frowned. “I just wish he could get a break for once. It’s unfair how
it always seems like the bad things happen to him.”
“There is a lot of drama that surrounds him,” Susan agreed.
“Then maybe that’s why he has us now,” Blaise supposed. “So that we can be his
good and bring him happiness to counterbalance all the unhappiness he has had
in his life.”
Hermione shot him a fond smile. “You really are a romantic, aren’t you?” she
teased, turning her hand over in his and threading their fingers together.
“But of course,” Blaise responded easily, big white-toothed smile. “I am
Italian.”
***&&&&***
Blaise was escorting the girls into another museum-type building. Harry wasn’t
even sure which one this was or where exactly in Italy they were. He was fairly
sure they were still in Italy, although one of the girls had mentioned
something about Spain earlier this morning… No, he was almost certain he was
hearing the people around him speak Italian, not Spanish. Maybe.
“Where are we again?” he nonchalantly attempted to ask Neville, who was sitting
on the park bench next to him, under a large tree, and seemed to just be
soaking up the ambiance around him.
The nymph shot him an amused grin. “Forgot already?”
“I just didn’t pay attention to where all everyone finally decided to go,”
Harry admitted. “Doesn’t really matter, does it, as long as we’re all together,
we could be anywhere in the world, and that would be fine.”
“You say that now, but you’ll want to be back home soon enough,” Neville
countered.
“The villa isn’t home,” Harry groused suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, and
earning a frown from the other boy.
“It’s a lovely home, it’s Blaise’s home,” Neville reminded him. “And he’s been
generous enough to open it to all of us and host us this last week.”
“Yes, it’s his home,” Harry grumbled. “But it’s not ours,” he stressed. “I want
us to have a home that is truly ours.”
Neville sighed. “You finally finished looking through those folders you brought
with you, didn’t you?” he asked, following his suspicions for the source of
Harry’s less that agreeable mood this morning. Not that he would rather be
inside with the others looking at a bunch of stuff he wasn’t allowed to
touch—it he wanted to experience that, he could just floo back home to his
grandmother. No, thank you very much. He was more than content to tackle one of
Harry’s occasionally foul moods.
Harry huffed. “I thought I had at least seven potentials when we left London,”
he shared doomily. “Seven! Between everything of the Potters and Blacks
combined, seven potential places we could have looked at. But then I went a had
a closer look last night.”
“And you discovered they weren’t so potential after all,” Neville concluded.
“The Black properties turned out to be real estate, actual real estate,” Harry
shared. “I mean, like rented out rooms and buildings all over the place—I would
have to kick multiple families out, in some cases, to reclaim the buildings,
and even then, they’re in the middle of the city. Somehow, I don’t think any of
us would be especially comfortable living right dab smack in the middle of
London.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Neville agreed. “Maybe someplace a little more closer
to nature?”
“That’s what I was hoping for. I mean, with you and Luna, at the very least,”
Harry went on. “So, then I took a look at the Potter properties I’d thought
looked promising… There were only three that I pulled.”
“Nothing?”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and just focused on breathing for a moment. “It
was in the fine print at the end. Two of them sounded great—a nearby woods,
plenty of rooms, space for us to grow, while at the same time not sounding too
big, you know?”
Neville nodded but didn’t interrupt.
“But then, at the very bottom of each dossier, it had an attached note that
buildings had been demolished, or at least been deemed so compromised that
they’re unfit for habitation. We’d have to rebuilt or rehabilitate from the
very foundation up. So basically, I’m right back where I was again, with no
stable home for us to go to in June. I’ve got nothing.”
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Neville corrected gently. “You’ve looked
through your portfolios, and yeah, it’s a bit upsetting that there wasn’t just
something waiting and ready for us to walk into, but you said the one property
sounded promising, right? What’s to stop us for commissioning someone to
rebuild the buildings?”
“That takes time, Neville,” Harry protested. “It would never be ready by the
time school lets out.”
Neville frowned. “I don’t think it would take all that much time, really. I
mean, if we got started right away, before January ended, at the latest, I
would think it should be ready by the end of June. And, really, that’s just if
you really wanted to use Potter lands. I’ve still my family’s portfolio to look
though, which I should probably do before we head back to school, come to think
about it, and Blaise has a ton of stuff from his mother’s estate, as well, that
he’s inherited over the years. It’s not like we’re coming to this circle
completely empty-handed, you know.”
He reached out and clasped a hand over Harry’s knee, squeezing encouragingly.
Harry placed his own hand over Neville’s and returned the squeeze.
“No, I know you’re not, but…”
“But there’s a part of you that feels like you should be the one providing
everything?” Neville hazard a guess.
Harry slumped a little, relieved to have someone else seem to understand.
“Yeah.”
Neville nodded. “It’s probably a lot of things, not least of how we were
raised, thinking that because we’re blokes, it’s our responsibility to provide
for our families—the gent works and brings the income, his lady tends the home.
It’s kind of instilled in us, isn’t it? But I’ve been around Hermione enough to
know it’s not always like that, not now and days. My gran has some pretty
antiquated ideas, but even she worked when she was younger, before she went and
had my dad. Most witches have a career before they have a family, and some even
after when they have no more children at home, so, I mean, it’s not like
they’re banned from ever working. But there’s still that little piece, the
niggle in the back of your head, that says you should be providing… Of course,
my signals are a little bit mixed-up, but, yeah, I feel it, too, sometimes.
But, I also feel the urge to take care of everyone, make sure everyone is happy
and well. You know, nature-nurture type of thing.”
“What do you do, when you get to feeling like that?”
“I turn to you, or the others,” Neville added on, grinning. “I make sure Luna
has eaten more than just pudding and that she’s wearing her shoes. I make sure
Hermione isn’t overstressing herself with studying and has taken at least a
small break. I make sure Hannah isn’t feeling lonely or isolated from her other
friends because she’s been spending too much time with us. I make sure you’re
not stressing over something that has a much easier solution that you’re making
things out to be. Making sure as much of the smaller stuff is taken care of so
you can worry about the bigger things when they come. And making sure you
remember that you’re not alone, that we’re all here for you.”
“You do a lot.”
Neville shrugged, slightly embarrassed.
“Do we do anything for you?”
“You give me a place to belong,” he answered readily. “A family, a home. People
to care for and who care for me. You give me purpose and acceptance, listen to
my suggestions and honestly consider them. For example, if you decide not to
rebuild on one of the Potter properties you liked to so much, then there’s
always Longbottom Manor we can retreat to until something that better suits our
needs arises. There, now you don’t have to worry about not having someplace to
go come June.”
“But your grandmother—“
“I’ll deal with my Gran when we get back to England,” Neville promised. “And
I’ll swing by Gringotts proper and pick up my own portfolio. I’m pretty sure
there’s at least one or two properties in our estate that could adequately
house us. Then, we can take a look at the different properties and see if
anything better suits your fancy. You could also speak with a few contractors
about seeing how much it would cost to build a manor house.”
“Do you think it’s okay to wait that long before talking to your grandmother?”
Harry wondered. “I mean, I don’t want her to hate us or anything.”
“You mean like how you just sort of dumped everything onto Hermione’s parents
and now you’re not their favorite person and they kind of sort of don’t like
us, either, even though they haven’t even met us yet?” Neville mused. “Don’t
worry about it. Gran is a born and raised witch. She’ll get over her upset over
lack of decorum soon enough. Really, she’s probably more upset that she found
me in bed with someone other than Hannah, when she knows—well, thinks she
knows—Hannah and I are in a supposedly committed relationship. Not that she
wouldn’t have been upset to have found me in bed with Hannah—completely
indecent you know, sleeping with a person who is not your spouse.” Neville
grinned, bordering on a leer.
“Yes, well, I guess we’re just the disreputable type. Indecent sort, you know,
up to all sorts of unseemly things.”
They shared a laugh, but the moment quickly died into a comfortable silence.
“Do you really think it’s that okay to wait to talk to her?” Harry finally
asked.
Neville considered. “We’ll be back in England for Christmas Eve, right? I know
we originally said we’d go back Christmas Day, but then we all agreed to head
back a day early so we could really visit with some of Blaise’s family. And
that’s fine, but, I mean, we’ll be back in two days’ time, and… I guess I kind
of think Christmas is a good enough time to deal with my gran, and if she comes
to the Black Family dinner, than all the better for me because she’ll be less
willing to make a scene in someone else’s home.”
“So you’ve actually thought this out,” Harry realized.
“Yeah, well, at first, no,” Neville admitted. “At first, I was just really
pissed at her, but then I got to thinking, more and more, and I guess I was
able to see some of it from her perspective, too, finally. Maybe I just needed
space as much as she did. Anyway, I’m pretty much calm about it all now, but I
still thinking waiting until Christmas is the better timing.”
“Well, you know her best,” Harry allowed. “But I do want to know you’ve cleared
the air with her and all things are good. I mean, for all intents and purposes,
she’s been your only family.”
“I’ve had my great-aunts and uncles, too,” Neville corrected. “But, yes. For
most all my life, it’s just mainly been Gran and me. I would like her to be
happy for me, for us… for the life we’re trying to build. I would like her
support and blessing, I suppose, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t
really need it.”
“Then we’ll wait till Christmas,” Harry agreed, “and you’ll let us know if you
want any of us in with you or just nearby.”
“You’ve got it,” Neville agreed. “But I think I’ll be fine on my own, really.
At least for this.
“Are you two all finished with your chat yet,” Blaise asked, slipping up beside
them. “Only, the girls are in the gift shop now and debating where they would
like to go to next, so if you’re not, might I suggest putting it on pause?”
“We’re finished,” Harry answered. “Neville’s going to talk to his gran on
Christmas day, and then we’re both going to take a trip to Gringotts to pick up
the Longbottom estate portfolio to check if there are any suitable properties
in his family’s possession, and I’m going to try and meet with a few
contractors to see what it would cost to simply build us a new manor home. The
Potter estate has a couple of properties that looks promising, but the
buildings were destroyed.”
“It sounds like the solid formation of a strong plan,” Blaise praised. “I would
offer up my own estate properties, but I know for a fact none of them properly
suit our long-term needs,” he added regretfully. “Although, they would make
fabulous use as recreation and holiday get-aways.”
“I’m sure we’ll need them,” Harry grinned, spying Hannah casually dragging
Hermione away from the gift shop with a laughing Susan and smiling Luna in tow.
“Where to next?” he called out, standing up before the quartet of girls could
bombard them.
 
*********
Still more to come…
Chapter End Notes
     Why is spring break almost over? Ah, well. I have several more scenes
     typed out... unfortunately, none of them are for the next chapter.
     Out of curiosity (and the understanding that I'll probably do
     whatever I want anyway), how many people who are still reading this
     are actually interested in seeing any of the family interactions?
     Blaise's family, Neville's confrontation with his Gran, the Grangers
     at a Black Christmas dinner put on by Andromedea, the fall out of
     Remus proposing to Nymphadora...? Or are you ready to jump back into
     Hogwarts and deal with all those scenes and blackflashes and
     references?
***** The Return to London *****
Chapter Summary
     The Pard says 'addio' to Italy.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter was supposed to use hover text and google translate for
     Blaise's dialogue, but it's not working for me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
33 –The Return to London–
 
~THEN~
 
“As we’re all together, we could be anywhere in the world, and that would be
fine,” Harry admitted. “But the villa isn’t home. It’s Blaise’s home, but it’s
not ours,” he stressed. “I want us to have a home that is truly ours.”
 
“It’s a bit upsetting that there wasn’t just something waiting and ready for us
to walk into,” Neville agreed, “but you said there was at least one property
sounded promising, right? What’s to stop us for commissioning someone to
rebuild the buildings?”
 
“That takes time, Neville,” Harry protested. “It would never be ready by the
time school lets out.”
 
Neville frowned. “I’ve still my family’s portfolio to look through, which I
should probably do before we head back to school, come to think about it, and
Blaise has a ton of stuff from his mother’s estate, as well, that he’s
inherited over the years. It’s not like we’re coming to this circle completely
empty-handed, you know.”
 
He reached out and clasped a hand over Harry’s knee, squeezing encouragingly.
Harry placed his own hand over Neville’s and returned the squeeze.
 
“No, I know you’re not, but…”
 
“But there’s a part of you that feels like you should be the one providing
everything?” Neville hazard a guess.
 
Harry slumped a little, relieved to have someone else seem to understand.
“Yeah.”
 
“I’ll deal with my Gran when we get back to England,” Neville promised.
 
“Do you think it’s okay to wait that long before talking to your grandmother?”
Harry wondered.
 
Neville considered. “We’ll be back in two days’ time, and… I guess I kind of
think Christmas is a good enough time to deal with my gran.”
 
“Then we’ll wait till Christmas,” Harry agreed.
 
“Are you two all finished with your chat yet,” Blaise asked, slipping up beside
them. “Only, the girls are in the gift shop now and debating where they would
like to go to next, so if you’re not, might I suggest putting it on pause?”
 
“We’re finished,” Harry answered. “Neville’s going to talk to his gran on
Christmas day. We’re both going to take a trip to Gringotts when we get back to
London, and I’m going to try and meet with a few contractors to see what it
would cost to simply build us a new manor home.”
 
“It sounds like the solid formation of a strong plan,” Blaise praised. “I would
offer up my own estate properties, but I know for a fact none of them properly
suit our long-term needs,” he added regretfully. “Although, they would make
fabulous use as recreation and holiday get-aways.”
 
“I’m sure we’ll need them,” Harry grinned, spying Hannah casually dragging
Hermione away from the gift shop with a laughing Susan and smiling Luna in tow.
“Where to next?” he called out, standing up before the quartet of girls could
bombard them.
 
 
~NOW~
 
 
- Wednesday, December 24, Portifino, Italy -
 
Hermione was double checking her clutch, ensuring she had everything and hadn’t
left anything behind while the others flitted back and forth. All except Blaise
who lounged sprawled along the sattee with a book in hand.
 
“You do realize we could just send a house elf back if we left anything, don’t
you?” he teased lightly as his mates continued to practically buzz from room to
room with nervous energy.
 
Luna came in from the patio, stringing a sea shell into her hair. “It seems a
shame to be leaving so soon,” she sighed, slipping onto the sofa despite
Blaise’s legs. “It feels like we’ve only just got here and now it’s time to
leave.”
 
“We can always come back to visit,  mia fiore della luna del mare.This summer,
perhaps? We can all go swimming when the waters are warm and inviting and not
so chilly.”
 
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry scoffed, dropping a tote next to
the sofa. “The water was plenty warm. You want to talk about cold, you should
try taking a dip in the Black Lake. In February.”
 
“I think that’s everything,” Susan huffed, lugging a bulging bag out from her
assigned room.
 
“Did the shrinking charms not work?” Hermione asked, confused.
 
“Oh, no. They did. This is after the shrinking charms,” the girl confessed.
 
“Susan’s never been a very good packer,” Hannah teased, coming out from the
kitchen with a tray of biscotti and cappacinos. “How many stops are we supposed
to be making again?” she asked as she carefully set the tray down on the small
table.
 
“If we’re lucky? We’ll make out with only four or five stops,” Blaise repeated
for the umpteenth time.
 
“Just how many aunts and uncles do you have?” Hermione asked, realizing she
didn’t know.
 
“Just the nine, from my father’s side,” Blaise answered, snatching up a biscuit
and coffee. “We’ll stop through at my grandparents first in Avigliana before
traveling on.”
 
“It seems a shame that we’ll actually be stopping in Lyon and Versailles but
not actually get to sightsee,” Hermione sighed once again, for the umpteenth
time.
 
“We can always come back and visit,” Blaise reminded her. “My aunts and uncles
would be more than overjoyed for the company, really. You don’t believe me now,
but you will once you’ve met them.”
 
“And they’ll really be okay?” Harry asked again. “I mean, with us? With you,
and us, and all of this?”
 
“Yes,  mio bello compagno, re del mio cuore , I promise you—they will be very
okay with all of this, with us, and our circle. They will be overjoyed with
happiness, for you all make me so very happy, and they will be happy for me and
for you. I’ve told you, they know and understand about my mother’s inheritance.
They know I am my mother’s son in all aspects, and they worried for me before.
But now there is no need for worry, so they will rejoice and celebrate our
union. Stop worrying, Harry, please. They will love you. You don’t need to do
or say anything to make that happen. They will simply love you because I love
you.”
 
“I don’t think that’s how it always works, but okay,” Harry agreed. “I’ll try
to stop bugging you about it.”
 
“You are never a bother,  amante . I’m sorry if I snapped at you.”
 
“No, it’s fine, really. I know we must be driving you nuts with all our
questions and everything.”
 
“Has anyone seen Neville?” Hermione asked, realizing the other boy was still
missing.
 
“He’s collecting a few more cuttings,” Luna supplied. “He should be back in
just a little—“
 
“I’m here,” the ruddy faced teen huffed. “Whew! I tell you, I thought climbing
all those stairs at Hogwarts was a feat, but these stairs are just wicked.”
 
“It’s the humidity,” Blaise shared. “Even though it is not seemingly that warm,
this close to the water, the very air breathes moisture.”
 
“You certainly do have a way with words, Blaise Zabini,” Susan commented. “Not
that I’m criticizing or anything. Just that it’s really poetic-like.”
 
He gave her a slow blink and languid smile to which she just laughed. “Well, if
that’s everything,” she continued, turning her attention towards Hermione and
Harry. “Should we be going?”
 
“Yes, I suppose we should,” Hermione huffed out before sucking in another
fortifying breath.
 
“Just think,” Harry tried to console her with a shoulder squeeze and a quick
kiss to her hair. “It can’t be any worse than my meeting your parents, right?”
 
“Definitely not!” Blaise agreed, grinning widely as he stood. “Not least
because they are already familiar with my secondary species, but also because
once they find out you are already with our child, they will be even more
ecstatic. My family loves babies,” he added with a wink.
 
“We are not telling them I’m pregnant!” Hermione hissed.
 
“It might not be a bad idea,” Hannah hummed. “To build our extended family
ties.”
 
Blaise slipped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing
his face into her neck.  “La mia famiglia è tua, perché tu sei la mia famiglia.
Sempre e per sempre.”
 
Hannah smiled and sighed. “We’re going to have to learn Italian to keep up with
even half of what you’re saying sometimes, aren’t we?”
 
“My family, your family. Always and forever,” Hermione translated garnering
everyone’s attention.
 
“You can speak Italian?” Neville managed to squeeze out past his surprise.
 
“Of course she can,” Harry responded, bemusedly shaking his head and grinning.
“She’s Hermione. She knows everything.”
 
“True,” Neville conceded.
 
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed. “Italian is one of the Latin languages and
shares the basic roots, like Spanish and French. It’s not that difficult to
learn. Even English shares many of the basic roots of Latin, and since the
majority of our spells are cast in Latin it was just sensical to do some
studying of the language. Besides, my parents always enjoyed holidaying along
the French Riveria, so I had many opportunities as a child to hear, speak, and
read French. Now, shall we get this over with?”
 
“Don’t sound too excited to meet my family,” Blaise groused.
 
Hermione reached out to catch his arm as he passed her on his way towards the
entry floo. “It’s not that I’m not wanting to meet your family, Blaise,” she
tried to soothe the ruffled feathers her words had unintentionally caused. “If
anything, I’m anxious to be back in England and to see my parents again. It’s
not you, Blaise.”
 
“I know,  mia bella leonessa.  Now that everyone is here, let us be on our way
so that we can arrive back in England that much sooner.”
 
He reached for the decorative floo powder bowl before turning back to the
assembled group. “Capanna di Pesca, that is where we are going,” Blaise told
them all. And then, receiving a pointed look from Hermione, he turned to Harry.
“Will you come through with me first?” he asked Harry.
 
“Uh, sure. Is it okay for two people to travel together, though? I mean at the
same time?”
 
“Perfectly safe,” he reassured, reaching out to pull the other teen to him.
“Parents often travel with their children this way.” Leaning in closer when
Harry would have pulled away, he whispered against Harry’s ear, “And lovers who
wish not to be parted for even a floo’s distance long.”
 
In a flash of green flames, the pair was gone from Portifino, the others soon
to follow. Their Italian holiday was over. For now.
 
 
***&&&&***
 
- Wednesday, December 24, Avigliana, Italy (~200km north of Genoa)-
 
Capanna di Pesca – for all that it was called a ‘fishing hut’ – was really more
of a large farm house. Blaise’s grandparents, Dorotea and Arturo, even kept
chickens and goats. The home boasted six bedrooms and two toilets—enough,
Dorotea said, for when all the family was over. As had just so happened on that
particular Christmas Eve.
 
Dorotea and her daughters were laughing raucously from within the kitchen,
sweet and savory scents filling the air as Blaise stepped out of the floo
easily, bringing a stumbling Harry with him. His grandfather and uncles were
gathered in the family room around the television set, arguing over something
or another. The six men all paused and turned to stare as the floo turned
green. And then there was another wave of uproarious greeting as the men drew
Blaise to them with strong, back-slapping embraces and kisses.
 
“Nipote! È passato troppo tempo! Guarda quanto ti sei cresciuto! Eppure, così
piccolo! È tutto quel libro di apprendimento: c'è appena un muscolo su queste
ossa! Nessun problema! La tua nonna ti ingrasserà! Quanto tempo sei qui per
questa volta? Non solo pizzicare di nuovo, spero. Dopo tutto è Natale. E chi è
questo? Un ragazzo, eh?”
 
 
“Nonno,”  Blaise greeted before continuing on in purposefully slow English.
“I’d promised I would come visit today. And I’ve brought my mates with me,” he
added, gesturing towards Harry as the floo flared again.
 
“Pleasure to meet you, sure,” Harry dutifully greeted, reaching out a hand
towards the elderly man, only to be surprised when he was pulled into one of
those backbreaking hugs Blaise had received from his family members.
 
“My grandson is good to you?” the old man asked in heavily accented English.
“Make you happy? Keep you happy?”
 
“Yes, sir,” Harry responded automatically, desperately trying to shake loose of
the man’s grip.
 
“Good, good. Blaise isa good boy. You good boy, yes?”
 
“Arturo!” a voice scolded from the hallway as a rather large set woman waddled
out of the kitchen area.  “Hai lasciato quel ragazzo andare! Fa respirare!”
 
Harry felt a rap against his skull and turned to see Hermione putting her wand
away. “Translation spell,” she answered his unspoken question. “Should have
done it before you left. Blaise told us his grandparents don’t speak any
English really well, but I forgot until Luna reminded me.” She shot a wry look
at the blonde who stepped serenely from the floo—Susan, shortly followed by
Neville and Hannah, right behind her.
 
“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said with a grin, turning back into the noise of the
room, he realized he could actually understand most what everyone was saying as
the room filled with older people—Blaise’s aunts as well as his uncles and
grandparents.
 
“So you are the boy who has captured my dear nephew’s heart,” a woman purred
from beside him, startling Harry.
 
Harry turned, surprised. Although much older—old enough to show visible signs
of age—she was very beautiful. Her olive skin was fair, her hair still a deep,
dark brown, and her eyes… mesmerizing. She laughed, startling him again,
realizing he’d been staring.
 
“Forgive me, but it’s plain to see that Blaise comes by his good looks quite
naturally,” Harry tried for a smooth recovery, periphery aware of Neville’s
squawk as he got smushed in a great familial hug by grandad Zabini.
 
“You obviously have not met his mother, Marianna, then,” the woman responded
ruefully. “She is truly her son’s mother. She captured my baby brother’s heart
without even trying. Sophia Zabini,” she greeted, forcefully pushing the
memories of her brother aside. “And you,” she added with a flicker towards
Harry’s forehead, “are Harry Potter.”
 
He nodded and accepted her hand.
 
“I must say—I was surprised when my sister shared Blaise’s news of having found
a partner. I am even more surprised that it is one such as yourself. And I will
confess, worried as well.”
 
“Worried?”
 
“You are a dangerous person, Harry Potter. Not because of yourself, but because
of those that hunt you. Yes, I am aware of the going ons in Britain,” she
shared when he shot her a surprised look. “Just as I know that Dark Lord of
yours is a danger to everyone.”
 
“I wasn’t aware anyone outside of Britain cared.”
 
“Not many do, it’s true.” She nodded. “But those of us who know, who remember,
who made it our career to watch and be ready…” She turned towards one of the
windows.
 
“You’re an auror?” he asked, surprised, following her naturally away from the
louder family reunion taking place behind them.
 
She smiled wickedly back at him. “An equivalent to your British aurors, yes.
Close enough. I wasn’t any older than you when Grindlewald rose to power. I
hope to never see the such again. So, yes, we have been watching your dark lord
and his campaign.”
 
“I don’t suppose any of you want to step in and help us take care of him?”
Harry groused.
 
“That is not our responsibility. Great Britain is a sovereign nation. The other
countries of the IWC cannot interfere unless the British formally request aid
or your dark lord is deemed an immediate threat to the security of other
nations.” She frowned darkly. “In which case, it is just as likely for a clean-
up team to be sent in to completely eradicate the threat. It would not be
pretty, Harry. There would be many casualties and collateral damage if that
were to happen. So, you see, it is best for those of us outside of Britain to
wait as long as possible before stepping in.”
 
Harry’s frown was one more of confusion that annoyance now. “What do you mean,
collateral damage? What would the ICW do?”
 
“There are many possibilities.” A shoulder rose and dipped in an almost
languid, negligent shrug. “Some are calling for a  irritanda destinauit  bomb
to be dropped over the whole of Britain.”
 
“A what?” Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. He’d had only a smattering of
history lessons in grammar school, but he knew bomb-anything wasn’t good.
 
“A nullification bomb, basically,” Sophia explained. “It has never been used
before, but one does exist. It has the potential to completely eradicate magic
within a certain range. But since no one is absolutely sure what that range is,
you can understand the hesitance to use it. But still, there are some who are
calling for its use in Britain to deal with the uprising dark lord. Mostly,
those who remember best what it was like to live under Grindlewauld’s rule.
Other’s are calling for a special task force to be put together and sent in to
take out the dark lord. More are suggesting a special barrier be put up that
would trap the dark lord—and consequently everyone else, too—inside the British
borders. Mostly, people are just scared that once he is finished with you, he
will come after us.”
 
“That’s a reasonable fear,” Harry agreed. “I can’t see Voldemort ever being
satisfied with what he has. He’ll always want more. But I think killing all
magic is pretty extreme.”
 
“I agree. But, you understand my concern now is the danger my nephew will be in
for consorting with you and your friends.”
 
“It’s a worry I constantly have, despite everyone’s reassurances that they
wouldn’t have it otherwise,” Harry agreed, looking out over the room where his
mates were caught up in small talk with various people. “I worry that I won’t
be enough to keep them all safe.”
 
Her eyes flicked back towards the rest of the house, and Harry’s followed.
Several women were exclaiming over the girls, patting their heads and
shoulders. Blaise’s grandmother was calling for one of them women to help put
food and snacks on the table and demanding the girls eat something. Neville was
holding a conversation with one of Blaise’s uncles while the other men returned
to their own.
 
“You are all of you together? That is quite unusual.”
 
“Well, Susan’s actually not a part of our pard, the ginger,” he added, nodding.
“But everyone else is. We’re a small circle right now, but Luna has assured us
that we will grow.”
 
A dark brow rose. “You are actively building circle?”
 
“I wouldn’t say ‘actively’, really,” Harry fought the urge to shrug as he drew
out the explanation. “It’s more like it’s just happening, without much of any
say on my part.”
 
Sophia laughed darkly. “Oh, but you are an interesting one, Harry Potter. I can
definitely see why my nephew is so entranced with you. You shine brightly on
your own, but then, when reflected in the light of your lovers, you all shine
ten times as bright. Ah, but I only count six if the redhead is not also
involved. You’re a bit short for a full circle.”
 
“Thirteen,” Harry agreed, “If we end up with the old traditional number. The
girls looked into it a while back. Seven female, five males, and one to lead
them all.” He sighed. “I’m hoping we can work just as well on a half circle.
Three and two seems just fine to me.”
 
“Oh, but no. It must be done properly,” Sophia insisted. “And your current
members are quite powerful and talented in their own right.”
 
“You’ve just met us,” Harry responded with a bit of incredulous in his voice.
“How can you know what talents any of us have?”
 
She smiled back at him, tapping her left eye, drawing his attention to the tiny
shimmer that covered the area. The shimmer dropped for a second only, and in
that brief moment, Harry caught sight of a spinning brown orb—the same shade of
brown as her other eye, but unmistakable. He stared at her agape, even as the
glamour replaced itself and her smiled face stared back at him, unmarred by any
scar or deformity.
 
“Life is not always kind, but if you can make your own fortune from misfortune,
you will never be without hope,” she told him solemnly. “And so, because of a
mistake early in my career, I have been blessed with a talent for seeing that
which remains hidden to many others. I repeat, you have surrounded yourself
with impressive talents, not least of all my nephew.”
 
She paused to look back at said boy, although with his inheritance full upon
him, it seemed somehow wrong to still refer to as still a boy. “If you are
truly building a circle, and you haven’t found your other members yet, it
simply means you are fishing in the wrong spot,” she added with a wink. “My
father would take us out on his boat when we were all younger, before we went
away to Beauxbatons. We would have to travel to different parts of the sea
because the fish moved. I’ve always remembered that lesson—you cannot fish in
the same spot hour after hour, day after day, for you will consume all the fish
and then there will be none left to gather.”
 
“But what if I don’t want to fish anymore?” Harry huffed.
 
“Everyone must eat” she answered blithely. “It is a daily ritual. If you do not
have enough to consume and content you then you will die. I am not a true aura
reader like some of my compatriots, but I have some small skill. I can see, and
I can tell, Harry. Your energy is very much similar to Blaise’s—it consumes. It
hungers. You must continually feed it. You are no mere ordinary wizard, any
more than your companions are.”
 
Harry practically scowled at that. “I don’t want to be special. I just want to
be an ordinary normal person.”
 
“Too damn bad. You’re not. Get over it,” Sophia snapped at him, seeming rather
harsh after her previously coaxing words. “You are not, nor have you ever been
ordinary. You are magic. You are a wizard, a creature of magic, and there will
never be anything ordinary about that, and as soon as you come to accept that,
you can move on to building your own normal. Normal is not ordinary, nor is it
the same for everyone. As soon as you stop trying to compare yourself to
others, you will free yourself to truly be normal. Embrace what this life has
offered you, Harry, and enjoy it to its fullest. If that means you shall have
half a dozen lovers or twice as many, who cares? As long as everyone is healthy
and happy, life is good.”
 
“You know, it’s a little strange to go from talking about dropping a magic
nullifying bomb on the entirety of a country to having a dozen lovers?”
 
“Embrace it,” Sophia told him with a bright wide smile and a wink. She reached
out and affectionately tapped his cheek. “Now, mama is putting food out on the
table early to feed you all, and she will need help if supper is to be ready.
If you’ll excuse me.” And then she slipped away, calling back out something to
one of the men as she passed.
 
Hands slipped around Harry’s waist a moment later as Blaise pressed up behind
him. “My Aunt Fia is a very smart woman. Hopefully, she told you something
useful?”
 
“She works for the ICW?” Harry queried, leaning back welcomingly into the other
boy’s embrace.
 
“Yes, the peace keeping forces, although they are more like a united military
group really. A continental auror group who are sent out to handle matters when
an individual country is deemed incapable of handling the situation
independently.”
 
“She told me they’re watching ‘our dark lord situation.’”
 
Blaise hummed. “They would be.”
 
“Did you know they apparently possess a weapon that would completely destroy
all magic within a certain area?”
 
“No… really?” He couldn’t quite repress the shiver that took him at even the
thought of anything being able to destroy magic. Would it just repress the
magic of an area or would it really destroy the magic? Most wizards and witches
could survive having their magic bound, but for those with creature blood… It
would be a death sentence. His arms tightened around Harry’s waist. “That’s not
necessarily reassuring. Is it just a magical repression or would it truly kill
magic? Would there be any way to return the magic afterward?”
 
“I don’t know,” Harry confessed. “I was too surprised to even know such a thing
existed.”
 
“Let us hope we will never be in a situation to have to try and find out,
then,” Blaise said, dropping a kiss onto Harry’s shoulder.
 
“What would happen, if our magic was nullified? I mean to you or me or Neville
or Luna or Hermione? We’re all more than just wizards and witches, we’re
magical creatures. Would losing our magic kill us? What about other creatures?”
 
“I don’t know,” Blaise confessed, squeezing Harry tighter. “Possibly. I don’t
think any of us would be able to survive without our magic. Not now. Maybe
before our inheritances kicked in, but not now.”
 
“Then we definitely have to make sure the ICW is never tempted to use that
weapon against us.”
 
“Definitely. Try not to invite worries this day,  mio principe oscuro.
Voldemort and his vileness will still be there tomorrow and the day after. I
dare say, he will still be there when we graduate Hogwarts, which is soon
enough for us to prepare to confront him.”
 
“I don’t want any of you to confront him.”
 
“Nor do we really want to,” Blaise reassured, “But you are delusional,  if you
think we would ever let you face him alone without us. Where you go, we will
follow, for you are our heart and soul, so please be careful where you lead.”
 
“I’m not going to have this out with you now.”
 
“Good idea. My grandmama is setting food out, and she will want us to eat. The
good news is, since all my aunts and uncles are already here, we won’t be
stopped as we pass through on our way back to London. When we leave here, we
can go straight your townhome without stopping.”
 
“That is good.”
 
 
***&&&&***
 
Somehow, two hours rolled into three, rolled into four, and before they
realized it, late afternoon light was pouring through the windows. Blaise’s
family was loud, boisterous and often argumentative, but none-the-less loving.
‘Nonna Tia’, as she insisted they all call her, continued to pile food trays
and platters before them throughout the day, encouraging them to ‘eat, eat,
eat!’. Meanwhile, stories and conversations poured over and through each other,
and it was not uncommon to watch the family engage in more than one
conversation at once.
 
At one point, Harry caught sight of Hermione talking with Sophia, and he
wondered if his mate was interrogating the older woman in her typical ‘you-
have-information-on-a-topic-I-want-to-know-more-about’ way, and he smiled. He
watched the others engage with Blaise’s aunts and uncles. There were four older
women—the aunts—and five uncles present. He knew from Blaise’s talk that Aunt
Sophia was the aunt who had never married (although she had allegedly had many
affairs over the years), nor had Blaise’s twin uncles, Enzo and Emilio, every
married for that matter. He also recalled that the family was spread across
Italy and France now, and only Blaise still had a home in the fishing town of
the family’s origin, Portofino.
 
Neville had apparently fallen into an in-depth discussion with Aunt Nicia
concerning Lyon’s many botanical gardens, and Harry sensed there would be an
extended visit to the French city sometime in the near-future. Meanwhile,
Hannah and Susan were asking for stories of Beauxbatons from Uncle Salvatore
and Aunt Leonora, who were willing enough to share tales of their youthful
adventures and experiences and the magical school in exchange for their own
curiosity of Hogwarts to be filled. Luna, on the other hand, seemed to have
taken a shine to Uncle Gilberto, and was listened attentively to his tales. If
any of his mates were perturbed by any of the nonmagical there, they didn’t
show it. But then, it wasn’t as if magic was used or flaunted—a hangover from
being muggleborn, Harry thought.
 
As for Harry, he didn’t actively seek out anyone’s company or conversation. He
was happy and content to listen to the others, sit to the side and overhear
their tales. And despite the loud voices and moments of arguing (and one
especially memorable moment of Nicia telling her husband, Ruggiero that he was
full of shit), Harry wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was rather similar to the
Weasleys, he thought amusedly. Granted, more like if the Weasleys were all
forty or fifty years older and still getting together for family dinners.
 
He had noted Blaise’s and Neville’s absence, and their flushed and sated faces
when they reappeared, but he didn’t think anyone else had. And then a feast was
being laid out on the table, and Nonna Tia was calling for everyone to wash up
and come to the table to eat. Not even after a Hogwarts feast could Harry
recall feeling so full—he was sure he had put one near a stone this day alone,
but the food was delicious. He was sure he didn’t want to know what even half
of the strange sea creatures were that swam in the rich red tomato gravy they
poured over the pasta—it reminded him a bit of that fish stew the Beauxbatons
students had enjoyed so much, but he didn’t remember the name of. Not that it
mattered, really.
 
It was after they had all feasted and made attempts to help clean up that their
party finally made move to depart. Thanks to almost all of the aunts and uncles
already visiting his grandparents, the many stop-throughs and visits they had
been planning for their return trip to London were negated. They would still
floo through to Aunt Nicia’s and Uncle Ruggiero’s home in Lyons and then on to
Aunt Leonora’s and Uncle Gilberto’s in Versailles before using the jump point
in Ferques to cross the channel into London. But now they would not be actively
stopping and visiting.
 
After spending nearly five hours visiting in Avigliana, Harry could only be
grateful—although he wasn’t looking forward to the series of floo trips they
were planning on taking. But then again…
 
Harry reached into his pocket and fondled the watch he’d taken to wearing
around with him as he’d never gotten around to replacing his wristwatch. He
grinned. It was the reusable portkey Kinglsey had given him. Portkey travel
sucked, but… so did floo travel in Harry’s opinion.
 
As the others rounded up, he caught their attention. “Since we won’t be
visiting anyone else today,” he started, “I wondered if we might not want to
just take this handy little portkey, I just so happen to have, straight back to
the Leaky Cauldron?”
 
“Where ever did you get a portkey from?” Susan asked, surprised.
 
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed in surprised remembrance. “That’s a good idea, Harry!
It’s the reusable portkey a—a friend gave us to help travel between London and
Genoa easily.”
 
“I have them sometimes,” Harry teased back.
 
“Yes, you do,” Neville grinned. “It would certainly save us all time and floo
powder.”
 
“Ooh,” Luna chimed in. “I’ve not traveled by portkey very often. Shall we try
it?”
 
“That’s what I was thinking, yeah,” Harry agreed. “Then we can all just
apparate to Grimauld Place.”
 
“To where?” Blaise asked frowning.
 
“Grim—“ Harry started before remembering the townhome was still under the
fidelius charm. “Hn, well. Didn’t think of that part,” he continued turning to
Hermione, who quickly caught on.
 
“Oh, my. The secret,” she realized, grimacing. “That could be a bit of a
problem. Hopefully Remus is home, yeah?”
 
“Well, it’s not like he’s working,” Harry mused. “You think he has something
with the secret on it?”
 
“Most assuredly.”
 
“What secret?” Hannah asked.
 
“The townhome we’ll be staying at in London is hidden behind a fidelius charm,
but neither one of us is the secret keeper, so we’ll need to get the secret
keeper to give you the secret so you can get in,” Harry explained before
Hermione could. “We could always just rest at the Leaky Cauldron while one of
us floos over to headquarters and gets Mooney to give them the secret.”
 
“I guess that’s the best course of action for now,” Hermione agreed.
 
“Well, if we’re going to be in near Diagon Alley anyway,” Neville spoke up,
“maybe Harry and I should go ahead and take care of our business at Gringotts.”
 
“Oh! We could do a bit of last minute shopping!” Hannah exclaimed excitedly.
 
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Harry hawed. “I mean, there’s still Death Eaters
out there and—“
 
“And I have a few items I wouldn’t mind picking up from Diagon if we’re going
to be there already,” Susan put in.
 
Harry shot her an exasperated look. “Didn’t you all buy enough while we were
popping all over the countryside this past week?”
 
Blaise reached out to him. “It will be fine. You and Neville can take care of
your Gringotts business now instead of waiting until next week. Hermione can go
and find this person who needs to give us the secret. I will escort Hannah,
Luna, and Susan into the Alley for their few items, and then we will return to
the Leaky Cauldron until Hermione returns to collect us. Most likely, we’ll
take less time then you will anyway.”
 
Harry frowned, but really, what could he do?
 
It took another ten minutes before they had said all their goodbyes, with
promises to visit all around, and then they all scrunched around Harry and the
pocket watch he held out. Making sure everyone was touching the watch, Harry
said, “The Italian Job”… and they were all hooked behind the navel and whipped
through time and space in a nauseating pace before careening into the small
space behind the Leaky Cauldron. They tumbled over like dominos, accompanied by
dismayed cries and a symphony of sorries.
 
“Oh, fuck me, it’s cold,” Hannah groused, digging out her winter cloak.
 
“Come on,” Susan huffed, sliding her arm into Blaise’s and Hannah’s. “Let’s
make this quick so we can go get a warm butterbeer afterwards.”
 
“Maybe we should go with,” Harry started before Hannah cut him off.
 
“We’ll be fine, Harry,” the blonde insisted. “We won’t spend too long in the
Alley, promise. And then Hermione will show us how to get to this super-secret
hideout. You and Neville go get business taken care of. That’s surely going to
take more time than us.”
 
“Yes, but we’ll be safely behind the walls of Gringotts,” Harry grumbled.
 
Luna leaned up and kissed his cheek. “The longer we stay here, the more time we
waste,” she pointed out, slipping her arm through his.
 
“You’re okay with this?” Harry asked Hermione, as if in a last-ditch effort to
keep everyone together.
 
Hermione’s lips were tight, but she nodded. “I’ll be quick, and then figure out
how to get the same information to Neville.”
 
“See!” Harry argued. “We should stay together until everyone has the secret.
Then you can head back while Neville and I go on to Gringotts!”
 
“Or,” Neville sighed, “We could just go to Gringotts after tomorrow.”
 
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah countered. “We have a busy day, Boxing Day, and
you don’t really know how much time you’ll need at Gringotts, anyway, so it’s
best to get started sooner rather than later. And really! Did you really want
to have to visit Gringotts and Saint Mungo’s on the same day?”
 
He seemed to wilt a little.
 
“Hannah!” Harry rebuked sharply.
 
“No, it’s all right,” Neville sighed.
 
“I’m going,” Hermione announced before turning to Hannah with narrowed eye. She
couldn’t quite keep the anger from her voice when she asked, “Where are you
planning on going first?”
 
“I need to swing by the bookstore and the confectionaries,” Susan answered.
 
“Fine.” And with a loud, angry crack! Hermione was gone.
 
“Bookstore, confectionaries, and where else?” Harry growled.
 
“I—“
 
Blaise squeezed her arm. “Necessities only.”
 
Hannah sighed. “The stationary shop and curio shop.”
 
“Fine,” Harry agreed. “Let’s go.” He opened the archway to Diagon Alley, and
for the first time, did not wonder at the amazing sight of the Alley unveiling
before him as he marched into the magical shopping district of London.
 
The Alley was busy, witches and wizards bustling from one shop to another,
keeping their heads down—out for last minute gifts, no doubt. The bookshop
itself wasn’t overly busy—their party alone nearly tripled the occupancy of the
shop. Almost immediately, they each wandered off into the shelves. Harry had
been contemplating whether Hermione would like a particular runes book on
display when Susan stepped up to him with her parcel in hand.
 
“All done! Where are the others?” she chirped.
 
Harry looked up and surveyed the shop. Just as he was about to go searching,
Neville and Hannah emerged from one of the aisles, holding hands and murmuring
to one another. A little of the tension Harry had been carrying since entering
the Alley dissappated, but not all. A few moments later, a smiling and flushed
Luna appeared at his side.
 
“Blaise was behind me,” she told them. “He’ll be just a moment longer.”
 
The Pard gave the blonde an amused, knowing look, but didn’t question her or
Blaise when the other showed up.”
 
“The confectionaries next?” Neville asked, leading them out onto the Alley.
 
They were just walking in when Hermione rushed up to them, breathless. “Winky
is making up rooms for everyone. Here,” she added, thrusting a small piece of
paper into Blaise’s hand first. “Everyone read this, memorize it, and then give
it back to me.”
 
The headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix is at 12 Grimauld Place.
 
 Blaise frowned, but nodded, and passed the paper scrap along. Finally, it made
it back to Hermione’s hands.
 
“Everyone remembers where we’re going now?” she insured, waiting for their nods
of affirmation before setting the secret to flame between her finger tips.
“Good,” she said, brushing the ashes away. “We’ll floo there immediately after
leaving here. Harry, you and Neville should get going, too. The sooner you go,
the sooner you both will get back.”
 
Harry hemmed and hawed, not wanting to leave the others.
 
“We’ll be fine,” Hermione insisted, shooting a warning look towards Hannah. “We
will leave straight from here and return home.” When Hannah looked to protest,
Hermione’s hand snapped up to stop her. “Anything you want or need from the
stationary shop, you can order by owl from home, and you don’t need to go into
the curio shop,” she continued, stressing the word ‘need’. “You merely want to,
so it can wait.”
 
Hannah pouted, but the Head girl was having none of it. With a sigh, Neville
raised Hannah’s hand to his lips before turning the hand over and nipping her
wrist.
 
Hannah started and shot him a wide-eyed look.
 
“Behave,” he told her.
 
“Says the person who’s already gotten some today,” she grumbled.
 
He smiled at her bemusedly and leaned in to whisper into her ear, “Which one of
us is supposed to be the nympho? I forgot. When we get to where we’re going
tonight, we’ll all celebrate Christmas—our first Christmas—properly. How’s
that?”
 
“Too far away,” she huffed and sighed. “Fine. But try and hurry?”
 
He grinned and shook her hand before letting go to go step up next to Harry.
 
“Are you sure you don’t want me along?” Blaise asked, hovering in the doorway.
 
“There’s nothing you need to do at Gringotts right now, is there?” Harry
confirmed. “I’d much rather an extra wand with the girls.”
 
Hermione huffed. “Go. We’ll be fine,” she repeated. “We’ll be maybe ten,
fifteen minutes in here and then we’ll be on our way to Grimauld Place. The
most troublesome part is no one else is keyed in to the wards yet, but Remus is
waiting by the floo to let us in.”
 
Harry frowned, about to say something, but Neville bumped into his shoulder.
“Come on and let’s get this done now so we don’t have to go and do it later.”
 
“Fine,” growled Harry, turning to head the rest of the way down the street to
the large marble and gold building of the wizarding bank.
 
Hermione huffed again and then flounced into the shop.
 
“He’s protective,” Blaise reminded her as he brushed up against her side,
“because he cares.”
 
“I know,” she allowed. “Better than most of you do.”
 
Blaise frowned.
 
“That’s not a—a—an insult or criticism,” she huffed. “Really. I’m annoyed. Not
at you; not even at Harry. At myself, really. We should have had a better plan
for bringing you all back to Grimauld Place with us.”
 
“What’s done is done,” Blaise brushed aside her self-critique because that is
what it was he realized. Hermione was usually very self-aware and critical of
herself and she saw this small hiccup as a failure to plan sufficiently on her
part when, in truth, they had all glanced over this one detail.
 
“Let us focus on the matter at hand,” he said instead, leading her up to the
confectionery display. “What shall we treat ourselves to, hmm?”
 
Hermione allowed herself to be distracted because she wanted to be distracted.
But she shared the same concerns as Harry—she was nervous being out in the
open, knowing her pard members weren’t all safely tucked away behind strong
wards. That they could be attacked at any moment was a real threat, and it
settled uneasily over her shoulders.
 
It took too long for them all to settle on treats and little gifts for one
another. It took too long for the shop clerk to finish ringing up their orders.
It took infinitely too long for them to cover the relatively short distance
back to the Leaky Cauldron. Too exposed. Her nerves sang with high alert as she
hurriedly ushered each person through the floo. She darted a nervous look
around the pub—no familiar faces—before stepping into the green flames herself.
 
As she whooshed away, she thought she saw a flash of bone white. A Death Eater
mask?
 
 
***&&&&***
 
Harry and Neville hurried up the steps to the bank, not even sparing the
warning to thieves a glance. Inside was not any warmer than outside, but at
least there was no cutting breeze to chance shivers down one’s spine. No, the
derisive look of the goblins did that all on their own.
 
He continued to lead them straight up to an empty teller. “We need to speak to
our estate manager.”
 
The goblin’s eyes flicker up from his teller’s book, glancing over Harry’s face
briefly, flicking up to the scar on his forehead, before sneering, “Name?”
 
Harry nearly huffed and rolled his eyes—Andromeda would skin him before healing
him, twice. Instead, he withdrew his key and placed it on the counter, motioned
for Neville to do the same, and answered, “Time is money.”
 
The goblin’s lips rankled. “Indeed.” He signaled for another goblin and handed
off the tray carrying the two keys. He barked out something in Gobbledygook,
and the other goblin nodded before turning to Harry and Neville.
 
“This way,” the new goblin commanded and then took off.
 
The goblin led them down this hallway and that, a dizzying maze of endless
doors with no seemingly discernable feature. Remus had told him it was goblin
magic, part illusion, part space bending. It had made Harry’s head hurt to try
and understand all the gibberish Remus had enthusiastically spewed during his
hour-long explanation. Harry just figured he had to not piss off his guide, and
he’d be fine getting in and out and left it at that.
 
Now he followed the nameless goblin through the corridors until the creature
stopped before a door, seemingly just alike all the other doors they had
passed, and rapped smartly on the wooden surface.
 
A gravelly voice rasped out and their guide opened the door, motioning them
inside.
 
“Good evening, Griphook,” Harry said as he entered and spied the familiar
goblin behind the desk. “I trust your profits continue to soar.”
 
“Not as well as they could be if a certain someone continues to neglect his
portfolios,” the goblin sneered back at him.
 
“Then isn’t it good for us that the state of my portfolios is why I’m here?”
Harry returned. “I need to visit a selection of my properties.”
 
“You will need the ward key for any property you have not already been keyed
into the wards for—“
 
“Which will be all of them except the Black’s London townhome,” Harry
interrupted.
 
“It should have been done immediately,” Griphook snarled. “This summer, when
you came into your inheritance.”
 
“Whoops,” Harry said negligently. “I’ll either get to it this next week, or it
will have to wait until next summer. I have a list of properties here that I
would like to visit first. They are my priority. And…”
 
Harry frowned and looked back at Neville who was waiting patiently for his turn
to talk.
 
“And I have recently entered a mateship,” he continued turning back to Griphook
in time to catch the goblin’s eyes widening fractionally. “Is there a way to
have my mateship honored here at Gringotts without having to alert the
Ministry?”
 
A cruel smile curled the goblin’s lips. “I believe that can be arranged, Mr.
Potter.”
 
“Good, good.” Harry licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “I want to set up a
separate account.”
 
“May a presume Heir Longbottom is the recipient?”
 
Harry blinked, his thought process interrupted.
 
“Err, no,” Neville stepped in. “I mean, I don’t need Harry’s money. I have my
own.”
 
“Yes, but you, uh, you should still have access to the Potter Vaults if you
need them,” Harry continued. “No, I want to set up a separate vault for
Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbot, and Luna Lovegood with a monthly stipend from
the Black vaults.”
 
“And is this to be a daughter of the House of Black stipend,” Griphook asked,
“Or a spousal stipend?”
 
“Well, spousal, I suppose,” Harry answered, looking over to Neville. “That’s
closest to a mate, right?”
 
Neville nodded.
 
“And another account,” Harry added. “For the pard as a whole.”
 
Griphook sneered. “And this account’s purpose?”
 
“It will be a family funds account. Hermione, Hannah, and Luna should all have
access to it. Along with Neville and Blaise Zabini,” Harry added.
 
The goblin’s eyes grew larger. “This is more than just a mateship, Mr. Potter.
This extends even beyond a triad, which are already uncommon.”
 
“It will be a full circle,” Neville spoke up, only slightly nervous. “Will you
please include supplements from the Longbottom vaults, too? Spousal stipends
for Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbott, and Luna Lovegood. And we need a children
account—at least two currently. One will be heir apparent. Harry’s, not mine,”
Neville added.
 
“Mistresses Lovegood and Abbott already have vaults opened with us, or did you
wish to open a new account?” Griphook asked, eyes sparkling greedily with this
new information.
 
“No, that’s fine,” Harry answered. “But Hermione needs a vault, right?”
 
“Ms. Granger does not currently have a vault with Gringotts. There will be the
standard fee for a personal vault.”
 
“Fine,” Harry agreed.
 
“Wait,” Neville interrupted. “What about the vaults used by the Lady Potter?
Are those currently in use by someone else?”
 
Griphook’s lip curled again. “They remain unused,” he confirmed.
 
“Then just grant Hermione access to those vaults,” Neville told Harry. “If she
really wants a personal vault, she should be the one opening it for herself.
It’s like a thousand galleon fee to dig out a new vault. It’s a waste when you
really don’t need it.”
 
“That’s true. Okay. We’ll do that.” Harry nodded and turned back to Griphook.
“I trust Hermione can be given access to the Lady Potter’s accounts?”
 
The unhappy goblin nodded acquiesce.
 
“Okay, good,” Harry continued. “Then we’ll do that. And Hermione and Hannah are
both currently pregnant, so, yeah. Those children vaults.”
 
“Heir apparent and Heir presumptive,” Neville supplied. “Unless you wanted to
do one one and one another. I mean, you do have the titles for Potter and Black
to pass on.”
 
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think on it,” Harry mused. “And probably discuss it
with the girls.”
 
“Good idea.” Neville grinned at him.
 
“So, will the pard’s new vault cost a thousand galleons, too?” Harry asked
curiously. Not that he wasn’t going to do it, but it was good to know what the
fees for things were.
 
“No,” both Griphook and Neville answered.
 
“Because it’s a family vault,” Neville continued.
 
“The fees of the vault are waived as long as a monthly minimum deposit is
made,” Griphook explained.
 
“Because Gringotts reuses family vaults from families that have died out,”
Neville added. “Personal vaults are sold off to families if they’re not passed
down to someone, and most families own several personal vaults on hand for
spouses and children.”
 
Griphook remained silent for a moment, and then finally allowed, “Your
grandmother has taught you well, Heir Longbottom.”
 
Neville nodded in acceptance of the compliment, recognizing it as such. “I was
raised in our world with the expectation that I know its intricacies. Harry was
not, but he’s learning,” the sandy haired boy added with a smile. Then he
turned back to the goblin. “I would also like a list of all habitable
properties in the Longbottom portfolio.”
 
“That can be arranged, as heir apparent,” Griphook allowed, “But you will not
be granted access to the properties themselves without Lady Longbottom’s
approval or your ascension.”
 
“I’m aware of that.” Neville informed the goblin. “I still want the list.”
 
“The dossier shall be owled to you by the end of the week,” Griphook affirmed.
“Is that agreeable?”
 
“Yes, and—“
 
Now this time Neville hesitated, shooting Harry a nervous look.
 
“The paperwork for a circle,” Neville began, licking his lips nervously. “They
can be started without informing the Ministry, correct?”
 
Griphook pressed his fingertips together, elbows propped on his desktop,
staring assessing and the boy playing men before him. “The Terms of Treaty
state that Gringotts must report the conception of a circle of power when
registered.” The goblin paused, watching the Longbottom’s shoulders sag, before
deciding to continue. “A mateship, no matter how unconventional, is not a
circle, however. After all, everyone knows a circle of power consists of
thirteen individuals… not six.”
 
“Right then,” Neville stated, regathering his steam. “I would like to see my
will updated, so that my mates are provided for in event of my death. My death
or my incapacitation,” he rushed to add.
 
“Good point,” Harry sighed. “I’d better do that, too.”
 
“And will that be all?” Griphook asked, scornfully.
 
“Yes,” Harry began, then, “No. You said families keep extra individual vaults?”
 
“It is customary.”
 
“How many of these individual vaults are there currently not in use in the
Potter and Black families?”
 
“Several.”
 
“And they have moneys in them?” Harry asked. “A lot?”
 
“Some, depending on one’s definition of ‘a lot’,” Griphook sneered again.
 
“Can you show me which ones are which and how much they have, respectively?”
 
“I could.”
 
“Harry,” Neville hedged. “Those personal vaults are usually used for children
of the family.”
 
“Let’s start with the Potters, shall we?” Harry continued blithefully. “Not
including the Lady’s vault, which we’re giving Hermione access to, how many
Potter personal vaults are there?”
 
“Harry,” Neville started again.
 
“Eleven.”
 
Neville blinked. “Eleven? The Potters still have eleven personal vaults
available?” he asked incredulously.
 
Griphook shot him a rather derisive look. “Until quite recently, there were
still several members of the Potter bloodline still receiving stipends from the
main Family.”
 
“Does that include my old personal vault?” Harry wanted to know.
 
“It is. These vaults would be used to become the Heir apparent vault and any
heir presumptive’.”
 
“Right. Okay.” Harry licked his lips, thinking furiously. “And how many of
these vaults do the Black’s claim?”
 
“The are fourteen personal vaults within the Black family,” Griphook informed
him.
 
“Yeah, but a couple of those are currently in use, right?” Harry asked. “I
mean, there’s one for Tonks and Andromeda, right? And what about Narcissa’s?
Did that become Draco’s? I know I cast Bellatrix from the family, but does she
still have access to her personal vault? And isn’t there an auntie or uncle
somewhere still alive?”
 
“Draco Malfoy received all monies previously stored in his mother’s vault, but
the vault itself reverts back to the Black family,” Griphook explained.
 
“But what about when I offered him sanctuary within the Black Family?” Harry
frowned. “I know he didn’t officially accept, but it’s still not right. He
should have access to his mother’s vault as his own. I want him to.”
 
“Then it shall be done,” Griphook sighed drearily. “Draco Malfoy will continue
to be considered a child of the House of Black, the same as one Nymphadora
Tonks.”
 
“Thank you, Griphook,” Harry replied gratefully. “Also set aside the Lady’s
vault and one for the Heir apparent, and that leaves how many?”
 
“Nine.”
 
“Okay, so that’s a total of eighteen, right? So, um,” Harry murmured, doing
some quick math. “Let’s start with three each. That’s not bad, a third? And
then maybe we can add another one or two.”
 
“For what?” Neville asked.
 
“Investments,” Harry added, looking up with a grin. “The Potters have some
mediocre investments, but they’ve really been neglected for the last two
decades. And the Blacks have a lot of good revenue from real estate but no
other good investment sources.” He turned to Griphook. “So let’s start to
change that. Setting aside the first three richest vaults for the Lady, the
heir apparent, and the heir…”
 
“Presumptive,” Neville supplied.
 
“Right, the heir presumptive,” Harry continued. “I want you to take the next
three riches vaults and start investing.”
 
“Anything in particular you would like me to focus your investments on, Mr.
Potter?” Griphook asked, already anticipating playing the stocks game with
someone else’s money—it was one of the greatest thrills left for a goblin
living in this modern age.
 
“No. Play around,” Harry direct. “Make sure some of the Black monies are used
to purchase something muggle, though. I want a diversified portfolio. But make
sure any magical company is vetted. I don’t want to be supporting any dark
lords or their sympathizers.”
 
“Good idea,” Neville approved.
 
“Also make sure the investments remain balanced. Something safe for every
something risky. Then place half of any earnings in the three remaining vaults,
and reinvest the other half of the earnings. Send me a quarterly report, unless
something pops up you think it’s important I see before then.”
 
“It will be done,” the goblin purred, “with pleasure.”
 
“Then, if I could have the ward keys for the Potter and Black properties, we’ll
be on our way.”
 
It was not as time-consuming of a visit as it could have been, but it was still
almost two hours by the time they had finished signing the appropriate
paperwork authorizing the transfer of funds, the arrangement of a new family
vault, the approval for an investment adventure, and the recognition of
mateship. They had already had a rather exhausting day, and somehow, the time
difference seemed to press heavily against their shoulders—which was rationally
ridiculous since it was only an hour’s time difference, but Harry was still
going to use it as an excuse.
 
Still, when both boys left Gringotts at just past six, they left with an extra
sense of reassurance. They would tell the others as soon as they got home about
the family vault for the pard—they had extra keys in their robe pockets to hand
out—and Harry had the joyous task of informing Hermione that he’d assigned her
access to the Lady Potter vault. He thought it would be a rather appropriate
accompaniment to his Christmas gift, actually.
 
Now to just make their way through the heavy crowds—and what were all these
people doing out on Christmas Eve anyway? They should all be home with their
families!—back towards the Leaky Cauldron and hop in the floo to Grimauld
Place. Harry was looking forward to catching up with Remus and telling him all
about Italy and the places they’d gone to… if Hermione hadn’t already, of
course.
 
Who was he kidding? She’s probably talked Remus’s ear off over half an hour
ago, Harry thought drollfully.
 
They had barely left the marbled steps of Gringotts when six wisps of smoke
crash into the Alley and begin firing.
 
***&&&&***
 
 
 
*********
Still more to come…
Chapter End Notes
     Okay. So. Outlines are in place for the next two chapters, which will
     take us to the end of Christmas, hopefully, and then it's a short
     hop, skip, and a jump into January & back to Hogwarts!
     Out of curiosity... what all do you think the pard members might get
     each other for presents? I have a few items listed out on a matrix,
     but not everyone's got or given a gift yet, and I'd really love some
     ideas.
***** Christmas Eve Celebrations *****
Chapter Summary
     The Pard settles into Grimauld Place for the evening. Harry and
     Neville handle some Death Eater business in Diagon Alley. Presents!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
34 – Christmas Eve Celebrations–
~THEN~
It was not as time-consuming of a visit to Gringotts as it could have been, but
it was still almost two hours by the time Harry and Neville had finished
signing all of the appropriate paperwork authorizing the transfer of funds, the
arrangement of a new family vault, the approval for an investment adventure,
and the recognition of mateship. When both boys left the bank at just past six,
they left with an extra sense of reassurance.
Now to just make their way through the heavy crowds—and what were all these
people doing out on Christmas Eve anyway? They should all be home with their
families!—back towards the Leaky Cauldron and hop in the floo to Grimauld
Place. Harry was looking forward to catching up with Remus and telling him all
about Italy and the places they’d gone to… if Hermione hadn’t already, of
course.
Who was he kidding? She’s probably talked Remus’s ear off over half an hour
ago, Harry thought drollfully.
They had barely left the marbled steps of Gringotts when six wisps of smoke
crash into the Alley and begin firing.
 
~NOW~
 
- Wednesday, December 24, London -
Hermione stepped through the floo and into the basement kitchen of 12 Grimauld
last. The others had thankfully stepped out of the way, although they were all
in the kitchen still staring back at Professor Lupin rather bemusedly.
“Decided to bring the whole family back with you, I see,” Remus teased
jovially. “I trust you had an enjoyable time in Italy, then? You all look well
and rested.” And then he frowned when the floo didn’t flare again. “Where’s
Harry?”
“He and Neville decided to make their trip to Gringotts while they were still
in the Alley,” Hermione answered, removing her outer cloak. “Remus, I trust you
remember everyone?”
“I do,” he confirmed. “Misses Lovegood, Abbot, Bones, it’s a pleasure to see
you again. Mr. Zabini, while surprising, it is no less enjoyable.”
“Professor Lupin,” Luna greeted while the other two girls fumbled a bit with
their cloaks and parcels.
“Here,” Blaise offered, stepping up to first Hannah and then Susan to help
them. Hannah smiled beautifully up at him and then leaned up to buss his lips
quickly before turning her attention to the professor.
“Professor Lupin! It really is good to see you again. You were quite honestly
one of the best Defense professors we’ve had—well, aside from Harry, that is,
of course, but you taught Harry, so, yeah,” the blonde rambled a bit before
Hermione ran a hand down along her arm.
“Remus lives here,” Hermione started.
“I thought this was the Black’s townhome?” Susan frowned, somewhat confused.
“It is,” Hermione confirmed, “And Remus lives here. That won’t be a problem,
will it?”
“What?” Susan asked, surprised. “No, what should it?”
“I believe Hermione might be referring to the professor’s monthly affliction,”
Blaise supplied.
“Oh?” Susan started before realization dawned. “Oh! I had forgotten all about
that.”
Remus smiled genially. “Some people have trouble remembering anything else
about me.”
“Quite honestly, I’m more concerned with where I’ll be sleeping,” Susan told
him.
“Yes, it’s been quite a day,” Hannah agreed. “Not that I didn’t love meeting
some of your family, Blaise, but…” She trailed off uncertainly.
Blaise grinned. “They can be rather much all at once, can’t they?” he teased.
“And just think—that was only half of my aunts and uncles and none of my
cousins.”
“There’s more?” Hermione asked, rather wide-eyed.
“Quite,” Blaise answered, grinning toothily.
There was a small POP!
“Winky be making sure Mistress’s family and guest’s rooms be ready for them,”
the little elf informed them.
“Thank you, Winky,” Hermione said. “Shall we unpack and then relax a bit as we
wait for the boys?”
“Maybe a quick tour first?” Hannah asked.
“It’s said that the Blacks kept a torture chamber in their home,” Luna shared.
Remus coughed. “Not that we’ve found,” he confided. “And a good many of us have
been up and down this place.”
“Us?” Blaise queried, remember the secret slip of parchment. “The Order of the
Phoenix, you mean?”
“Ah, yes,” Remus half-grimaced abashedly. “Dumbledore will probably be wanting
to speak with you all individually now that you’re in the know about this
place.”
“I would hardly say we’re in the know,” Blaise protested mildly.
“Wasn’t the Order of the Phoenix a secret organization created by Headmaster
Dumbledore during the first war?” Susan asked, fairly sure she remembered her
Auntie Amelia telling her such when she was younger.
“Something like that,” Remus allowed before turning attention to Hermione. “Did
you want to lead your… your pard, or…?”
“No, that’s fine, Remus.” Hermione smiled gratefully at the man. “I’m sorry to
have interrupted your afternoon already. I can show everyone around.”
“It’s fine,” the older man blushed. “I was just reading while listening to the
wireless, nothing important.”
Of course, he hadn’t meant to have fallen asleep on the small couch. And
Hermione’s mad tearing through the house early had shocked him into awareness
and he’d fallen sideways off the couch, landing rather roughly on the floor.
“Very well. We’ll see you in the study in a little bit?” she wondered.
“That will be fine,” he agreed. “I’d love to hear about your holiday in Italy.”
She smiled back at him beautifully. “Of course!” And then turned to the others.
“Come on. The kitchen is in the basement. And there’s just the dining room on
the ground floor,” Hermione explained, leading the troupe up. “Susan, you can
sleep in the first-floor bedroom. It’s the room Ginny and I used when we stayed
here before.”
“That’ll be fine,” Susan responded. “I don’t fancy having to climb up and down
all these stairs. “There’s a toilet nearby?”
“Yes!” Hermione answered, sounding especially grateful. “One of each of the
floors, in fact, although the ground floor is just a toilet and not a full
bath. Still,” she added, “when the house is full of order members, it’s really
great to have five functional toilets!”
Hannah snickered. “Not to mention once we’re heavily pregnant it’ll be
convenient to get to the loo!”
Hermione blinked. “I hadn’t actually thought of that, but…” She bit her lip for
just a second. “Well, chances are we won’t even be here, so it’s not like it
matters all that much. Still—!” She reached the landing and motioned to the
short hallways with two doors. “The first is the bathroom. The second will be
your room, Susan. And right down here is the drawing room, which also serves as
the study. I’ll just show the others to their rooms and we’ll meet you in there
in just a few.”
“Mmhmm,” Susan agreed, unconvinced the others would really be ‘just a few’. She
practically laughed allowed as she went to set her bags in her assigned room.
They had to manhandle Luna just a little bit to prevent the girl from going
into the drawing room immediately—although the girl’s amused smile indicated
she didn’t mind her pard mate’s hands on her in the least. And soon enough they
were climbing the stairs up to the second floor.
“The Master bedroom and the room Harry and Ron used to share are up here,”
Hermione continued. “The Weasleys stayed here for a summer. The third floor has
another three bedrooms, one of which is Remus’s, and then the fourth floor is
the children’s rooms. I’m not actually sure what’s in the attic, though.”
“It’s quite a decent townhome,” Blaise murmured, “But what I wonder is: is the
master bed big enough for all of us?”
Hermione blushed, leading them all into the Master bedroom. It was nothing lush
or overly fancy. It wasn’t even all that big, considering the supposed wealth
and prosperity of the Black Family. But then again, this was a town home, not
some country manor or palace.
“It’s actually a new bed,” she confessed. “Previously there were two separate
beds in here, but the Order got rid of those sometime last year and just the
one double bed was left in here. But then when Harry and I arrived a week ago,
Harry requested a new bed be purchased…for the pard,” she added eyeing the
monstrosity.
“Would you say it’s orgy-sized?” Luna mused.
Hannah laughed and took a running leap onto the mattress, her blonde hair
fanning out against the green comforter. “It’s perfect!”
A moment later, an equally giggly Luna joined her. The two girls started up a
tickle war almost immediately. Hermione, however, sighed and waved her wand to
summon their bags and begin the process of unpacking.
“Hermione,” Blaise cajoled, reaching out for her free hand. “Relax. Your elf
can handle that.”
“She shouldn’t have to,” the girl snapped at him, shaking her hand free and
causing Blaise to frown. “I’m perfectly capable of putting my own things away,
thank you!”
“You’re tense,” he stated calmly, softly enough that the two on the bed didn’t
notice. He reached out again, slowly, no sudden moves. Hermione was visibly
trembling. With an almost exaggerated care, he took her into his arms. “This
isn’t about all of us sharing a bed, is it?” he wondered aloud, “because, as
you said, there are other rooms going unused right now…”
She bristled, and mentally he congratulated himself of distracting her from
whatever was scaring her. Not that they could avoid it for very long. Avoiding
what one feared wasn’t as healthy for Gryffindors as it was for Slytherins—or
Hufflepuffs for that matter, he added with a quick glance at the bed.
“I’m not so prudish that I can’t share a bed with everyone,” Hermione hissed at
him.
He couldn’t help the grin that stretched his lips. He pressed his smile against
her throat and murmured against her skin, “Oh, no. You might have the rest of
the school fooled, but I have tasted of your passion, Hermione Granger.” He
trailed his teeth against the delicate skin of her throat and felt her tremble
for a whole other reason. “You are no prude.”
He pulled back—just enough so that he could look her in the face without going
cross-eyed. “But you do withhold all of yourself from our mates.” She looked
away. “I wonder why that is.”
“Look Blaise, I get it. You’re an incubus. You’re naturally more sexually aware
then other people. But not everyone is all sexually active and comfortable with
exploring their limits. I mean, until this year, the most I’d ever done with a
boy was kiss a few times and some light petting. And then this thing with
Harry—it came out of nowhere! He’s my best friend, and I love him, I do, but I
never intended to be in love with him. Honestly, I really kind of expected him
to end up with Ginny or someone like that. The fact that he turned to me, chose
me first… well, I know that’s more out of proximity than anything else, but
that he really loves me back? I’m still a bit in shock over that, if I’m being
truthful. And before I’d even wrapped my head around the fact I was suddenly in
a romantic, sexual relationship with someone I had only ever considered one of
my best friends, he’s bringing Hannah into our rooms. And then it was Luna, and
Neville, and now you, and… I really haven’t had enough time to adjust,” she
finished softly.
At some point, her diatribe had garnered the attention of the two girls on the
bed, and they had ceased their tickle battle and were sitting abashedly on the
bed, not quite able to look up at Hermione.
“I’m sorry I’m the only one who seems to be having trouble adjusting to our new
normal, as the case may be, but I am trying.”
“We know you are,” Luna responded, sliding off the bed and approaching Hermione
to give her a hug.
“We don’t mean to be pushy or pressure you,” Hannah added, sliding in to offer
her own embrace.
“You’re not,” Hermione protested. “You haven’t been. At all. It’s just that you
all seemed to have taken to this new concept of normal with ease, and I’m the
only one who seems to be struggling with it. And I hate it. I feel like I’m the
one holding us all back from something because I’m constantly uncomfortable
with the level of openness and freedom to express yourselves you all seem to
have.”
“Hermione, no one wants you to be anything you’re not,” Luna reasoned. “We love
you for who you are.”
Hermione huffed out a small inappreciative laugh. “And I believe you truly do
mean that, I do.”
“Let’s just take a moment to all lay on the bed,” Hannah suggested. “We’ll do
nothing but cuddle and appreciate this nice big bed.”
“Susan’s waiting for us,” Hermione protested.
“I somehow doubt it, but even if she is,” Hannah countered, “She can stand to
wait a few more minutes. Just cuddle with us, Hermione. No pressure to do
anything else with us. We know you’re not attracted to us.”
“You’re both very attractive,” Hermione protested. “Each in your own way.”
“Well, thank you. You’ve very attractive, too, but you’re not attracted to us,
like that, and we get that. It’s okay, Hermione.” She drew away, hand sliding
down Hermione’s arm until her fingers could curl around the Head Girl’s and tug
gently. The others melted and flowed together, helping each other crawl onto
the bed and arranged themselves as comfortably as possible. Blaise slid behind
her, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling against her shoulder. Hannah
burrowed her hands and feet against Hermione’s side, Luna curled up behind her,
absently braiding Hannah’s golden hair, as she tucked her head against
Hermione’s chest.
“Is this okay?” Hannah murmured.
“This is fine,” Hermione acknowledge before shifting. “But why are your hands
and feet always so cold?”
“Why are you always so hot?” Hannah retorted.
“She can’t help it,” Blaise defended. “She’s a fire elemental.”
Luna beamed. “Hermione is hot. I suspect it’s because she’s really smart, too.”
“Don’t be sexy, Luna. We’re being cuddly now.”
Hermione snorted. “Yeah, Luna, cuddly now.”
They ended up falling asleep like that, but it was only for a short nap that
left them all refreshed when they joined Susan and Remus downstairs a little
under an hour later.
Susan had been talking with Remus when they arrived. “There they are,” Susan
teased. We didn’t want to disturb you in case you were all actually sleeping.”
“Oh, ha,” Hannah retorted. “we actually were just napping, though. Promise. No
sexy times.”
“And I think that’s a little bit too much information for me,” Remus hastily
made to gather his tea up and stand.
“Oh sit, Remus,” Hermione scoffed. “We really were just cuddling. It’s fine.
I’m to take it that Harry and Neville haven’t returned yet?” she asked,
frowning.
Blaise ran a hand down her spine, but instead of soothing and reassuring her,
he only ended up angering her further.
“Back off, Blaise. I don’t need managing,” she growled at him.
He did as she commanded and backed off. “I merely wanted to help you, not
manipulate you.”
“I’m sorry,” she responded, immediately contrite. “I know I’m being
unreasonable today. I don’t know why. I just… I don’t know. I don’t like the
idea of Harry and Neville being out of my sight right now.
Harry not being here, is it? He thought. That might be a piece of the puzzle,
but Blaise didn’t think that was all. Still, it was Christmas Eve and their
little family was gathered by the fireside, waiting for their missing two to
return before having a light dinner. It was cozy and comfortable, stretched out
in a chair, listening to the girls chat, adding a comment or two himself, as
Hermione especially talk Professor Lupin’s ear off. To give the man credit, he
certainly seemed interested in their travels and sight-seeing.
And then there was a news break from the wireless playing softly in the corner.
“My fellow wizards and witches, we have just received alert messages that a
fear party of Death Eaters has been spotted entering Diagon Alley. We urge you
to seek shelter.”
Not even a second later, Remus was on his feet, conjuring his patronus and
sounding the alert for the Order.
~~~~&&&&~~~~
~Diagon Alley~
Harry and Neville were just leaving Gringotts when the Death Eaters attacked. A
quick glance confirmed that it was a small fear party—only six members, usually
newbies or junior ranking Death Eaters, whose mission was to cause as much fear
and destruction in as little amount of time as possible. It was one of the
fundamental tactics of Voldemort’s forces.
It was extremely effective.
Before the shapes had even finished rematerializing, the Death Eaters were
already throwing curses around. Screams and cries filled the air before the
first explosion took out a chunk of a building, spewing dust and rabble,
choking and blinding. A stampede of pounding feet as the witches and wizards
scrambled to run away.
The Death Eaters laughed, shooting curses at the backs of the hapless sheep as
they trampled over the fallen, desperate to escape.
Harry’s wand was in his hand, a disarming and stunner flying from its tip,
followed by a cutting curse. Beside him, Neville shot an aguamenti at a
thatched roof that was starting to take flame, followed by a disarming and
finally a shield as the Death Eaters took noticed that there was someone
actually fighting back.
“Two minutes!” shouted one of the masked men—he sounded more like a boy.
Harry darted away from the steps, weaving through the cart stands of the Alley,
stabbing his wand out and casting every chance he got. “Incarcerous! Diffindo!
Everte Statum! Expelliarmus!”
Duck. Run. Cover as the cart he had just been hiding behind exploded into a
cloud of splinters and dried herbs. Pop up and repeat.
Neville, meanwhile, took shelter behind a corner of a building, throwing a
shield up to cover a screaming kid who had somehow gotten separated from her
parent just as one of the Death Eaters shot an ugly orange spell at her.
Another quick swish and flick saw a stream of water surrounding the Death
Eater’s feet before turning to ice. When the Death Eater moved to turn, he
slipped and landed hard on his arse.
“Three!” the one from before shouted before crying as a cutting charm sliced
into his arm. “Go! Go!”
“NO!” Harry shouted, running out from behind his cover, but it was too late. In
a series of almost overlapping pops, the Death Eaters apparated away.
Harry cursed, panting heavily. Neville emerged more cautiously, taking in the
surrounding area. “You got one at least,” he pointed out, nudge Harry towards
the one stunned Death Eater.
Angrily, Harry jabbed his wand at the unconscious Death Eater, casting another
knock-out along with a binding spell. Then he followed Neville over to where
there were several bodies lying on the ground. Thankfully, many were moaning
and crying in pain. Some were frightfully still and quiet.
When the aurors finally arrive, nearly another five minutes later, some of the
braver witless shoppers had begun to return to the streets. The little girl
Neville had saved was returned to her older cousin, only a little banged up.
Other family members were screaming and crying while some people actually
proved useful in helping bandage up or heal some scraps and cuts. Those who
could and needed to be were already making their way to Saint Mungo’s. At least
two people were beyond even the Healers’ help.
“What’s going on here?” an auror Harry didn’t know demanded.
“What do you think is going on here?” Harry retorted angrily. “There are three
people over there who need help making it to Saint Mungo’s. I trust you have
some way to handle that? And while you’re at it, there’s one Death Eater tied
up under that tarp right behind you.”
“Is he dead?” the auror asked accusingly.
“He wasn’t when we threw the tarp over him,” Harry replied, helping up a woman
who’s nose and little finger had been smashed when she had been pushed to the
ground and trodden over by the panicked crowd. “If he is now, it’s because
nobody really cared to check on him before taking care of the innocents.
Episky! Episky! There,” he said more gently to the women. “You should still
head over to Saint Mungo’s and have a proper medi-witch look you over, alright?
Do you have someone who can take you?”
She nodded and thanked him, and Harry turned to look for the next person he
could help.
“And just who are you?” the auror demanded, stepping into Harry’s path.
Harry looked up at him, almost disbelieving. A quick glance around showed the
other aurors actually doing something to be helpful. Every one of them except
the hulking bruiser in front of him. Harry took a closer look—he had a bit of
the build for a beater, maybe. But it was more than obvious the big man was
used to using his size to intimidate and possibly bully others.
Not that it was an effective tactic on Harry. He might have enjoyed a growth
spurt this year with his inheritance, but he’d lived most of his life as a
short little runt who had to look up to most everyone around him.
He reached up and coolly brushed aside his bangs, as if he was wiping his
forehead of perspiration that didn’t really exist—the fight was over too soon
for him to have worked up a sweat. The big man’s eyes flicked up, watching the
movement suspiciously… and then widened. And Harry knew he’d seen and
recognized the damnable scar that was as good as any name tag in the British
wizarding world. He if didn’t have to, he’d rather prefer not having to say his
name out loud in this crowd.
“And you are?” Harry returned.
The auror’s mouth twisted. “Senior Auror Randall.”
He didn’t immediately recognize the name, but that wasn’t overly surprising.
“Well, Senior Auror Randall, care to explain what took you so long to get
here?”
“Excuse me?”
“The Death Eaters that attacked us—a fear party, by the way. There were only
six of them—were here and gone in under ten minutes. It took you and your
aurors nearly twice as long to arrive, and instead of trying to help people who
are clearly hurt or in shock, you start barking out demands,” Harry accused,
his anger bleeding heavily into his voice as his volume rose. “You just show up
and start asking ‘what’s going on here?’ Really? Like you don’t already know
what’s happened or else why the hell are you and a full team of aurors here?”
“Harry,” Neville called warningly.
“What?” he demanded, turning to look at his mate, only then noticing the crowd
starting to swell around them again. He turned back to the auror who was trying
to look all glaring and menacing. “I’ll tell you what’s going on here. Six
Death Eaters appeared in the middle of the Alley and started throwing hexes and
curses. And instead of shielding and returning fire, nearly ever damn person on
this street turned tail and ran like a bunch of cowards. They gave their backs
to a bunch of dogs and might as well have stuck targets on themselves. And they
got bit. They got bit because they couldn’t be half arsed to stand up for
themselves and each other.
“Six. Six stupid baby Death Eaters who weren’t even here for a full five
minutes. There were over fifty people in this Alley—more if you count the ones
who hid in the shops—and not one of them thought to shield themselves or fire a
charm back.”
“They’re civilians, Potter.”
“We are in a civil war,” Harry returned. “There are no civilians.”
“Can I quote you on that, Mr. Potter?” another voice called from the crowd, and
Harry turned to see someone scribbling something quickly, not even looking
directly at Harry, so concentrate on his writing.
“Sure. And here’s another—in this war it is every able witch and wizard’s
responsibility to protect themselves and each other. Each and every single
wizard and witch has the responsibility to stand up and protect themselves and
their families from the menace that is Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They are
nothing but a bunch of bullies and terrorists. But they are few, and we are
many. Stop being a slave to your fear.”
“Harry,” Neville whispered urgently, pushing up to his side. “We should go. The
girls will be worried.”
Harry was still angry—annoyed with himself for not being able to stop more of
the Death Eaters (one out of six wasn’t very good odds in his opinion, although
he had managed to hurt several others), annoyed with the aurors who didn’t
arrive sooner, and weren’t very organized when they did get there, and he was
even annoyed at the regular witches and wizards who screamed and cried and
tried to hide or run away instead of fighting to protect themselves.
No. He wasn’t just annoyed, he was disgusted.
“Happy effing Christmas,” he growled before turning away with Neville, be-
lining it to the Leakey Cauldron and its floo.
“You remember where we’re going?”
“12 Grimauld Place,” Neville called, stepping into the floo. Harry barely
waited for the flames to turn yellow again before he was throwing his pinch of
floo powder into the fire and following his mate. He only stumbled a bit on his
exit, but Neville was there to steady him.
And in a surprising flurry of motion, Neville found himself whirled around and
his back colliding with the wall just to the side of the fireplace. Lips
crashed against his, a tongue pushed into his mouth before he could even regain
his breath.
“You all right?” Harry whispered when he finally pulled back enough to rest his
forehead against Neville.
“I’m not hurt,” he answered, panting and licking his lips a bit. “A little
tired, but nothing a shower and a good night’s rest won’t cure. What about
you?”
“I’m angry,” Harry growled, fisting his hands in Neville’s cloak. “What if you
had gotten hurt? What if one of the girls were there and they had gotten hurt?”
Neville kissed him, much gentler than Harry’s kiss. “If the girls were there,
then they would’ve fought beside you, too, and maybe there’d be more than just
one less Death Eater out there right now. The girls are really vicious—you know
that,” Neville rushed to add when it looked like Harry was about to protest.
“Besides, they weren’t there, and I didn’t get hurt, and neither did you. We’re
both all right and there’s one less Death Eater out free in the world. A pretty
good thing if you ask me, yeah?”
A clattering from the stairs heralded the girls, Blaise, and Remus pouring into
the room. Harry somewhat reluctantly released Neville, luckily in enough time
to catch Hermione before she crashed into them both.
“Oh my god! What happened?” Hermione demanded. “Are you two okay? We were
beginning to worry—you were much later than you should have been— and then
there were reports on the wireless about Diagon Alley being attacked and—”
“We’re fine,” Harry reassured. “We’re both fine. It was a rather fortuitous
timing. We were leaving Gringotts right when the Death Eaters decided to
attack. There were only six of them, and we were well covered. Unfortunately,
all but one managed to get away. It was all over almost as soon as it begun. We
stuck around until the aurors showed up, and then we came right back here.”
Hermione hugged him tight. “That’s the second time this holiday!”
He was at a lost for a moment. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t purposefully
targeting us…?”
‘This time’ went unspoken.
“Will Mistress and guests be wanting their dinner soons?” Winky spoke up
tentatively, highly sensitive to the tension in the air.
“That would be good,” Hermione agreed.
“Ooh! And then maybe we could all sit beside the tree and watch the yule log,”
Hannah exclaimed. “And maybe we could each open just one gift!”
“Presents on Christmas Eve!” Luna joined in on her enthusiasm, and really? Who
could deny those two something when they teamed up?
 
~~~~&&&&&~~~~
Remus sat tucked away in a chair strategically placed in the corner of the room
specifically for the purpose of being forgotten. It allowed him to observe
Harry and his mates without really disturbing the teens.
Watching them, he felt torn.
In the one circumstance, he could remember James, Sirius, Peter, and he during
their final year of Hogwarts and the year after, feeling so grown up. They were
young adults, ready to take on the world. They had thought they had so many
answers… so much time to solve the world’s problems.
They had been so very young and so very stupid.
Harry and his mates weren’t very much different. Not really. All young
adults—mature and yet immature at the same time. Still very much in the process
of growing into themselves as a person. Of course, thanks to Harry’s creature
inheritance, they at least knew for sure they would stay together for the long
haul.
How easily he could remember James’s nervousness when he finally decided to ask
Lily to marry him—what if she said no? Or Peter and that one girl he’d been
pretty serious about… They’d all thought for sure Peter was going to ask her to
marry him. What was her name again? Anne, he thought, maybe. The girl had moved
away. A shame. Who knows how things might have gone differently if she’d stayed
in England, but who could blame her?
Not that it really mattered now. That was all almost twenty years ago.
How was that possible? Twenty years. Gone. Just like that.
He had a moment to wonder what he had done with himself in those twenty
years—what had he accomplished? Not a whole hell of a lot, that’s for sure.
Even for a person with his affliction, his personal record was a rather sorely
lacking detail. He had graduated from Hogwarts rather well off—six NEWTS wasn’t
anything to sneeze about. Of course, he largely expected this group in front of
him to achieve their NEWTS easily enough as well. He understood Hermione and
Luna were taking eight NEWT level classes! Crazy, but he remembered Lily taking
an absurd number of NEWTS as well, though he couldn’t remember exactly how
many.
Was it strange that they weren’t all Gryffindors, he wondered.
No, not really. In fact, it probably made more sense that they weren’t all from
the same house. James had been the quintessential Gryffindor, and although
Harry might have looked uncannily like James when he was younger, there was no
mistaking Harry as his own wizard now. He’d always been a bit more like Lily in
his attitude and personality, but he still wasn’t just a carbon copy of his
mother, either. There was a complexity to Harry that James had simply lacked.
It was that complexity that allowed this group in front of him to work so well.
A vanteera. How the hell had that happened, Remus wondered. Inheritances were
always a tricky thing. There was no real indication of who might receive a
special surprise from the family bloodline. Most of the time there was no
outward sign of who had received a creature inheritance, either. Usually,
unless you were told or the person wigged out on you, it was difficult to
discern.
The Mauradeers had sat around their dormitory stove one night near the
beginning of their sixth year, discussing the possibility of their family
inheritances. Due to his little monthly problem, Remus hadn’t been expecting
anything other than a little power boost from his own magical inheritance; nor
had Peter, but James and Sirius had been more than a little nervous. Digging up
their spades of false bravado, they had flung around all the dirty secrets of
their family in a not-uncommon game of one-up-man-ship, that wasn’t helped at
all by James’s mother being a Black.
But a vanteera… that was something else. Something epic. Fabled.
So, of course, that’s what Harry had received. He wondered if his cub would
ever catch a break. Then again, watching him interact with his friends—his
lovers? Oh! And wasn’t that a bad thought! Bad thought! No, no, no! His cub was
too innocent and sweet and young to be having lovers! And then he remembered
Hermione was already in the family way, and suddenly he was excited for grand-
cubs!—maybe this inheritance wasn’t such a bad thing.
“Here! Open mine first!” Hannah exclaimed, catching Remus’s attention once
more. The sun kissed blonde was excitedly thrusting a gayfully wrapped box into
Luna’s hands as they both sat on the floor between the fireplace and the tree
with its pile of presents.
“I don’t think,” Hermione started to protest from her seat on the settee, but
Luna was already unwrapping her present with a little squeal of
delight—something Remus didn’t think he’d ever heard from the girl before.
Granted, she’d been a second year the last time he’d had any real interaction
with her.
Hermione huffed. “We should be allowed to pick out which present we want to
open,” she practically pouted.
Neville tore his eyes away from the two blondes, grinning as he leaned over and
into her, he cut his eyes up to her face and murmured, “They’re fine, Hermione.
Don’t worry. Which present would you like to open?” he countered, redirecting
her attention from the now giggling girls as Luna waved a ribbon wand through
the air and music sounded.
Hermione studied her small pile of gifts for a moment before, with a wave of
her wand, she selected a midsized box wrapped in Christmas green with silver
bells and a red velvety bow. She checked the little card before smiling back at
Neville. “Yours?”
He smiled back at her, leaning back into the newly re-stuffed cushions to watch
her open his present.
She systematically removed the spello-tape holding the paper in place, and then
moved the wrapping and tissue paper beneath. If he hadn’t been watching her,
Remus might have missed the tiny gasp and look of delighted recognition that
lit her face.
“This summer,” Neville told her, “if we’re somewhere settled, I will make sure
you have a flower garden, like the one you said your grandmother had, and you
can hang this birdfeeder and watch the birds on lazy summer mornings,” he
promised.
Hermione’s fingers ran over the seemingly delicate porcelain of the birdfeeder.
“It was just a off-comment,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean for anyone to have to
buy it.”
“It seemed like it was a good memory for you,” Neville countered. “And it
wasn’t like what I was planning on giving you before was anything spectacular.
The hardest part was distracting you in that little gift shop so you didn’t
notice me purchasing it. Luckily for me, they had a book section.”
“I’m not that bad!” Hermione protested, looking up at him. But his grin and
that twinkling light in his eyes was enough for Remus to tell, even from across
the room, that Neville was teasing her.
And then Neville leaned in and tenderly kissed her cheek—and if Remus hadn’t
have had excellent hearing, he would have missed Neville’s reply: “You’re not
bad at all.”
Another squeal from the two girls on the floor redirected Remus’s attention, as
Susan, Hannah and Luna sat in a sea of torn wrapping paper. Hannah scrambled to
her feet and launched herself at Harry, who had been sitting in one of the
armchairs watching everyone, nearly bowling a laughing Susan over.
“It’s absolutely darling,” the blonde exclaimed, hugging and kissing Harry. For
his part, Harry seemed quite comfortable with the act, pulling the girl
properly into her lap and wrapping an arm about her waist.
“What did you get?” Hermione asked curiously, leaning forward as if to try and
make sense of what was still slightly hidden by the paper.
Luna brushed some of the paper aside, and angled the box for Hermione to see.
Hannah spilled out of a Harry’s lap and back onto the floor, snagging up the
box and maneuvering it closer over to Hermione and Neville. Reverently, she
reached in and withdrew one of the seemingly delicate porcelain tea cups. The
edges were rimmed in gold, and the design was floral and fine.
“It’s a twenty-person set,” Harry put in. “I figured if and when we have
guests, you wouldn’t want to mix up your tea cups.”
“I love it!” Hannah proclaimed.
“Well, I suppose,” Blaise drawled summoning a present and sending it along to
Neville. “You should open mine.”
Neville grinned and accepted the box. “What could it be?” he wondered aloud,
giving the box a mock little shake. “Not a book,” he added with an aside look
towards Hermione.
“I’ll have you know that I do not always give people books as gifts,” the girl
huffed and rolled her eyes.
He laughed and settled the box on his lap to unwrap. The antique-looking wooden
box inside was very handsome on its own, but when he unclasped and lifted the
lid, Neville discovered a decent collection of various herbal teas. He lifted
one to his nose and inhaled deeply—the scent soothing and near enough to divine
to leave him smiling.
“I figured you could still use the box,” Blaise explained, “To store some of
your seeds?”
“Or more tea,” Neville returned. “Especially if any of this is even half as
good as it smells.”
“Ooh! We should have a tea party!” Luna exclaimed, clapping happily.
“Not tonight,” Hermione countered. “Tomorrow’s another busy day of visiting.”
“Maybe next year we’ll have our own place set up enough that everyone can come
visit us instead,” Hannah purposed innocently enough, carefully tucking her tea
set away back under the tree. “Oh, Susan, that blue really is lovely on you!”
she added, spying the redhead holding up a satiny winter cloak.
“Blaise? Harry?” Hermione drew their attention. “Which present would you like
to open tonight?”
“Any is fine by me,” Harry responded, forcing a smile onto his face. “Here,
Luna, hand me one from my pile?”
“I’ll open the gold paper wrapped one,” Blaise responded, accepting the package
from Susan who was closest to his pile.
“Oh, that’s from me,” Hermione started, biting her lip. “I wasn’t quite sure,
but I thought you could—”
“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Blaise smiled over at her. “After all, you probably
didn’t expect to need to have a gift for me, and really, it wasn’t necessary.”
“Oh, but it would have been, well, not done not to include you, too, when
you’re part of this pard,” Hermione protested.
“But I wasn’t, not even three weeks ago,” he pointed out even as he continued
to unwrap his gift, equally as excited as the girls to see what Hermione had
thought to gift him. Stationary.
“I know,” Hermione said, disappointment coloring her voice. “Not very…
personal, and perhaps a bit on the touristy side,” she added. “But I rather
liked the idea of getting you something from one of the shops we were in, and
this was such a lovely set. I thought you might enjoy it, although, I realize
it’s not very practical…”
“It is a lovely gift,” Blaise cut her off. “And I know just how I will use it,
so indeed, it’s quite practically.” He grinned at her. “Thank you. This is from
the magical museum outside of Genoa, isn’t it?”
She colored. “Yes. I was looking for something in Portofino properly, but,
well…”
“Thank you, Hermione. I shall put this to good use.”
Harry was tearing into his own present—shiny blue paper peeling away to reveal
a plain shoe box. Bemused, he opened it. Inside was another smaller box and a
book. Taking it out, he quickly realized it wasn’t just any book but a hand-
written journal. He flipped to the first page.
Elizabeth Mae Longbottom nee Potter
He looked up to Neville, surprised.
“Most wizarding families are intermarried somewhere along the lines,” Neville
responded with a tiny shoulder twitch. “I got to thinking, there might’ve been
some personal journals from some Potters somewhere in the Longbottom library,
so I had an elf look, and, well, so far she’s only found the one, but, I
figured it was something to start with. I can’t say if it’s interesting or not.
Really the family journals was never a favorite past time of mine,” he
confessed, “and I only ever got around to reading the ones Gran insisted upon.
Sorry.”
“No, this is brilliant,” Harry insisted. He had so little of his family… “Thank
you.”
“And, well, as for the other…” Neville hesitated, shooting a nervous look over
towards Remus. “I contacted Professor Lupin earlier—I knew you were close, of
course, but I wasn’t sure if he might have access to your family vaults or not,
but he was able to help me.”
Curious, Harry opened the second box not sure what to expect really… although a
pocket watch really wasn’t it. It was nice, though. Engraved on one side with a
family crest and Latin on the other.
Fortune and Virtue.
And then he flipped back to the family crest on the front, realization dawning
on him… He’d seen the crest before because it was his family crest, the
Potters. He just hadn’t really looked at any of his crested belongings too
closely before—they were all sitting down in one of Gringotts’ vaults, waiting
for him to finally have a place to put it all. But, yeah… this was the Potter
family crest, now that he was looking at it, he could even see the hippocamp
sitting atop the helm, which he’d thought was kind of funny the first couple of
times he’d noticed it. And the motto on the back…
“It’s customary for the sons of a family to receive a pocket watch on their
seventeenth birthday,” Neville supplied. “Often times they’re passed down in
the family, but not always. I asked Remus about it when I noticed you’d never
replaced your watch. At first, I thought of maybe getting you a muggle
watch—apparently, they can do all sorts of things, but… well, I’m still not too
sure of my way around on my own, and other than this last week, I wasn’t really
ever in muggle areas, you know. And, besides, Remus was already helping me get
this made for you, so… Do you like it?”
“It’s brilliant, Nev. Thank you,” Harry breathed, and he meant it. The journal
was pretty neat, and he had every intention of reading it. The pocket watch was
also really cool—sure, it wasn’t a family heirloom or anything, but it was a
little piece of his family he could carry around with him, and that was really
cool.
“And with that,” Remus sighed, pushing to his feet, “I think I’ll turn in for
the evening. If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Don’t you want to open one of your presents tonight?” Hannah ask, finished
rearranging Neville’s tea box and Hermione’s bird feeder back under the tree.
“Oh, well,” Remus paused. “I suppose it won’t hurt, only a few hours early… If
you would be so kind as to pass me that purple one?”
He accepted the gift and turned to leave.
“You’re not going to open it?” Hermione asked, surprised.
“Don’t need to,” Remus answered with a grin, bringing the box up to his nose
and inhaling deeply. “A fine selection of Honeyduke’s finest. Thank you,
Harry.”
The other grinned back at him. “You’re easy to shop for. G’night, Remus. Try
not to eat too much tonight. You don’t want to be sick tomorrow!”
“Never fear,” the older man replied. “I know my limits quite well when it comes
to chocolate.”
They chuckled at that… and then lapsed into a comfortable silence for several
minutes, cuddled into one another, listening to the fire crackle lazily, their
bellies overstuffed from all the good food that day and bodies languid.
“I suppose we really should head up to bed,” Luna finally voiced, although she
made no move to actually get up.
“The bed is too far away,” Hannah groused sleepily. “Too many stairs.”
“I have a perfectly fine bed right down the hall, no stairs needed,” Susan
responded smugly.
“Does anyone else find it a little bit funny that the so-called ‘hardworking’
lot is put off by a single flight of stairs?” Neville teasingly asked. “Even
the snakes have to walk some stairs to get to their pit in the evening.”
“Ah, but that’s going down,” Blaise returned, grinning.
“Something you’re very experienced at,” Luna supplied. She waited a beat,
seeming to savor the stunned silence of the others and they processed her
statement.
“I trust that’s not a complaint,” the Italian drawled, shooting her a smoky
look.
“Of course not.” And then she added, “Of course, ravens prefer to be on top, in
almost all endeavors.”
“How fortunate for me, then,” he purred, offering her a hand and pulling her
into his lap. He nibbled at her neck before whispering in her ear. With a
giggle, she was up off his lap again and darting out of the room. Still
grinning, Blaise stood and stretched. “If you’ll excuse us,” he tossed out
before following her.
Neville buried his face against the sofa pillow, groaning.
“At least they waited until Remus was gone?” Hermione offered in joined
commiseration.
“Come on,” Susan slurred, tugging at Hannah’s hand. “If you can make it to my
room, you can sleep with me tonight and then brave the stairs tomorrow.”
“Oh, that does sound infinitely better than trying to crawl up those stairs
tonight,” Hannah murmured, dragging herself to her feet.
Watching the two girls go, the three remaining stayed where they for several
long minutes more… until finally Neville shifted.
“I should probably go find a bed or else I’m going to fall asleep right here,”
he murmured, stifling a yawn.
“The master suite is one floor up,” Hermione put in. “Door at the end of the
hall.”
Neville nodded. “All the rest of the rooms should be free then, right? Well,
except for wherever Professor Lupin sleeps, I guess.”
Hermione blinked, reaching out to clasp his hand as he passed, a frown pulling
at her face. “No, I meant… I mean, that is to say, if you wanted to sleep
somewhere else,” she stressed, “You could, of course, but… our room is right
upstairs. I don’t know if Blaise and Luna went there already, or they might
have popped into the first room, but…”
“I just thought,” Neville hesitated, looking back over to where Harry was
sitting, watching them. He’d been pretty quiet most the night, and Neville
wondered if he was still angry over the events from Diagon Alley.
Hermione reached out her other hand towards him, and he took it, helping her
up. When she swayed, his hands went to her waist, steadying her. She leaned
against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed. Harry,
you coming?”
“I’ll be there in a bit,” he answered, meeting Neville’s wide-eyed surprised
look with a nod. Neville swallowed, and then turned to help Hermione up to bed.
Harry sat, staring at the fire and contemplating his Dark Lord problem for a
while longer.
 
 
*********
Still more to come…
Chapter End Notes
     I find it distinctly odd to be writing about Christmas when it's the
     end of August/early September. Anyhoo... this will probably be the
     last chapter for a while. I'm hoping for November to assist in
     finishing this story. 50K should make a nice dent in seeing that
     happen (nanowrimo). Next chapter will cover Hermione and Neville,
     Christmas morning, and the visit to White Horse. By the end of
     chapter 36 we should be returned to Hogwarts!
     This is a work in progress. Slow updates (4-7 per year).
***** Christmas *****
Chapter Summary
     Tricks, treats, and eats with the pard as they celebrate the
     Christmas day.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
35 – Christmas–
~THEN~
“I suppose we really should head up to bed,” Luna finally voiced, although she
made no move to actually get up.
“The bed is too far away,” Hannah groused sleepily. “Too many stairs.”
“I have a perfectly fine bed right down the hall, no stairs needed,” Susan
responded smugly.
“Does anyone else find it a little bit funny that the so-called ‘hardworking’
lot is put off by a single flight of stairs?” Neville teasingly asked. “Even
the snakes have to walk some stairs to get to their pit in the evening.”
“Ah, but that’s going down,” Blaise returned, grinning.
“Something you’re very experienced at,” Luna supplied. She waited a beat,
seeming to savor the stunned silence of the others and they processed her
statement.
“I trust that’s not a complaint,” the Italian drawled, shooting her a smoky
look.
“Of course not.” And then she added, “Of course, ravens prefer to be on top, in
almost all endeavors.”
“How fortunate for me, then,” he purred, offering her a hand and pulling her
into his lap. He nibbled at her neck before whispering in her ear. With a
giggle, she was up off his lap again and darting out of the room. Still
grinning, Blaise stood and stretched. “If you’ll excuse us,” he tossed out
before following her.
Neville buried his face against the sofa pillow, groaning.
“At least they waited until Remus was gone?” Hermione offered in joined
commiseration.
“Come on,” Susan slurred, tugging at Hannah’s hand. “If you can make it to my
room, you can sleep with me tonight and then brave the stairs tomorrow.”
“Oh, that does sound infinitely better than trying to crawl up those stairs
tonight,” Hannah murmured, dragging herself to her feet.
Watching the two girls go, the three remaining stayed where they for several
long minutes more… until finally Neville shifted.
“I should probably go find a bed or else I’m going to fall asleep right here,”
he murmured, stifling a yawn.
“The master suite is one floor up,” Hermione put in. “Door at the end of the
hall.”
Neville nodded. “All the rest of the rooms should be free then, right? Well,
except for wherever Professor Lupin sleeps, I guess.”
Hermione blinked, reaching out to clasp his hand as he passed, a frown pulling
at her face. “No, I meant… I mean, that is to say, if you wanted to sleep
somewhere else,” she stressed, “You could, of course, but… our room is right
upstairs. I don’t know if Blaise and Luna went there already, or they might
have popped into the first room, but…”
“I just thought,” Neville hesitated, looking back over to where Harry was
sitting, watching them. He’d been pretty quiet most the night, and Neville
wondered if he was still angry over the events from Diagon Alley.
Hermione reached out her other hand towards him, and he took it, helping her
up. When she swayed, his hands went to her waist, steadying her. She leaned
against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed. Harry,
you coming?”
“I’ll be there in a bit,” he answered, meeting Neville’s wide-eyed surprised
look with a nod. Neville swallowed, and then turned to help Hermione up to bed.
Harry sat, staring at the fire and contemplating his Dark Lord problem for a
while longer.
 
 
~NOW~
 
- Thursday, December 25, London -
Despite the chill in the air, Hermione woke up toasty warm, cocooned between
blankets and bodies. It wasn’t an uncomfortable way to wake, she thought
mutedly. If she listened carefully, she could detect the different sleepers—she
was somewhat familiar with listening to Lavendar and Pavarti after six years in
the girls’ dorms, and more recently, the sounds of Hannah and Luna sleeping.
Harry’s breathing was also a familiar pattern to her, and she thinks she could
be able to pick out Ron’s snores as well, if the redhead were here. The two
whose sleeping breaths she was most unfamiliar with, then, had to be Neville’s
and Blaise’s. Which made sense, her waking mind pointed out.
Although Luna and Blaise had ducked into the first bedroom last night, it was
evident that at some point, the two had crawled into the master bed with her
and Neville. Probably when Harry came up to bed. Did Harry also collect Hannah,
she wondered, because she was as certain as she could be with everyone else
sleeping and her eyes still shut that the other girl was also here now. Yes,
there were definitely five sleep-breathing patterns around her.
That was good. That was… calming. Some piece of her was… content. Dare she say
maybe a little happy even? This was her family. Her new family. Her future
family. No, it wasn’t conventional, but really, neither was being a witch. Or,
at least, it wasn’t in the muggle world. She couldn’t live the rest of her life
under the conventions and expectations of her early childhood. The rules of
life had changed—everything had changed when she’d turned eleven and received a
visit from Professor McGonagall.
The rules had changed again, this year when Harry turned seventeen, although
they didn’t know it, either of them, until much later. She thought she was
prepared for what the wizarding world would throw at her, but each and every
year, she kept learning more and more things about this world she now belonged
to—things that scared her, angered her, things that kept changing the rules she
thought she was playing by.
But no matter how frustrated or angry she got… if the alternative was giving up
Harry, giving up having him in her life, with all the messy and crazy things
that came with him… No. No, she wouldn’t give that up. She wouldn’t give him
up.
Her first friend.
Her best friend.
Her first lover.
A body pressed up behind hers, a snuffling face rooting against her shoulder
and a sleepy kiss pressed in the soft cotton of her night shirt. “Thinking too
hard, H’mione. Go back to sleep,” Neville mumbled, nuzzling some more before
settling back to sleep.
Harry was her first lover, but not her last.
She wasn’t in love with them, though, she thought a little sadly. Weren’t you
supposed to be in love with your lovers? Was it just enough to care very much
for them? She did love them, she thought as she settled back into the strong
warmth of Neville behind her. His arm actually made a decent rest for her neck.
At least to some extent she loved them all. It was a little strange—caring for
so many people. For so long it had really been just her parents that she cared
much for. And then it was Harry and Ron. Not that she didn’t care about other
people. She wasn’t… uncaring. She didn’t think. And there were extensions to
that caring—the rest of the Weasley family, Sirius and Remus, their housemates
and classmates…
But this level of caring…. The knowledge that if something bad happened to one
of the people in this bed with her she wouldn’t just be sad or upset because of
their loss… No, it would be far worse than that.
If something had happened to Harry or Neville last night…
They had been all alone in that alley last night against a group of death
eaters, and it didn’t matter if there had actually been other people in that
alley with them, because it was Harry and it was Neville and they were hers and
she hadn’t been there to protect them and something could have happened to
them. Something could have hurt them or taken them away from her. Taken them
away permanently.
There was rustling amongst the bed as bodies shifted awake.
“Hermione, wake up.”
“What’s going on?” There was more rustling.
“She’s burning up, shit!”
“Wait, literally? No, don’t touch her!”
“Hermione? You awake? Can you hear me?”
Hermione blinked, attempting to focus on the face in front of her. Harry’s. Her
Harry. Her brilliant, noble, wonderful, caring Harry. She sucked in a gulp of
chilled air—it felt iced against her throat—and her eyes began to water.
Someone wanted to actively hurt her Harry. Not just hurt him, kill him. Take
him away from her forever. Her shoulders shook, her breath labored.
“Hermione?” he asked—his voice so earnest and sweet and sincere. He was too
good. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words, even if she knew what she’d wanted
to say—her nose was blocked up, her throat choked. A glimpse of silver-white
caught her attention, and she glanced behind Harry to see Luna sitting up to
look over his shoulder. Looking back at her steadily.
Luna, seemingly the flightiest of them all. Was it possible she was really the
most stable?
“It’s all right, Hermione,” the younger girl spoke so serenely, always so calm.
How could she stand to be so calm? Didn’t she understand that they’d almost
lost both Harry and Neville last night? Luna reached out, over Harry’s
shoulder, and brushed her fingers down along Hermione’s wet cheek.
It wasn’t all right. It couldn’t be all right. There was someone out there who
wanted Harry dead. Who would happily kill all of them, just because they were
Harry’s friends. Maybe they’d even hurt them—all of them—if it was figured out
that they were all so much more than just Harry’s friends. What would
Voldemort’s forces do to any of them if they learned about the pard? What would
they do to Hannah or Neville or Luna or Blaise if they learned they were all
Harry’s lovers, not just his friend? How badly would they hurt and torture them
before simply killing them all? Would they even be allowed the mercy of death?
Harry thought she didn’t know about his nightmares… his visions. His little
late-night chats with Neville. All throughout last year… even this year…
although it was harder to track this year now that Harry had easy access to a
balcony in their rooms. Last year she’s simply put an alert charm on his bed
that would inform her when he was having a particular bad dream and another to
let her know if and when he left his dorm or the common room. At first, she
thought she would follow him up to the astronomy tower—just to make sure he was
okay. She still wanted to honor his privacy at least somewhat. If he had wanted
her to know, he would have told her. But he didn’t. He told Neville instead.
And she had been so grateful to Neville. Neville, who was such a good and
sincere friend. It had been the third time it happened that she realized
Neville had set an alert to Harry’s bed so that he would wake up when Harry
left the dorm room and entered the astronomy tower. So that he could be there
for the other boy. She had loved him a little bit more because of it.
She loved him. Loved them both. And someone had tried to hurt them last night.
“It’s all right, Hermione,” Luna repeated, half crawling half-sliding over
Harry. She leaned forward and kissed her tear-damp face.
“They could have been killed,” she managed to get out, although it was horribly
mumbled and nasally.
Amazingly enough, Luna must have understood what she’d said because she pressed
her forehead to the other girl’s, still cupping her cheeks in her ice-cold
hands. “Yes, they could have. But they weren’t. They’re both safely home, with
us. They’re right here and they’re safe and unhurt.”
“For now.”
“For now,” Luna agreed.
“We should have been there. I should have been there.”
“Then we all would have been in danger,” Luna pointed out calmly. “Would that
have really been any better?”
“We could have fought, could have protected them.”
“And if you were hurt?” the blonde countered. “Or Hannah, or myself, or any of
the boys? Do you think they would have been able to focus on keeping themselves
safe if we had been there?” Luna petted Hermione’s sleep-tousled curls. “Settle
your fears, Hermione. Calm yourself. Harry and Neville are safe and home, and
right now they’re worried about you. We’re worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you really?”
“I’m fine,” Hermione insisted, sniffling.
“Then calm yourself,” Luna commanded. “Calm your magic. You’re practically
feverish. If you get any hotter, you’ll set this nice bed on fire and ruin it
before we’ve even had a chance to properly test it out.”
Hermione nearly snorted and choked on excessive mucus. “Is sex all you ever
think about?” she asked, even though she knew it wasn’t.
“Of course,” the blonde answered chipperly. “Why, just last night, Blaise and I
were enjoying some rather engaging sex before Harry ordered us all to bed.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but it wasn’t with any feverous powers. Luna tilted
forward again, this time pressing cool lips against Hermione’s cheeks. “That’s
it. Just breathe. Calm yourself. Breathe. Nice and easy now.”
She noticed just how chilled the room’s air was and shivered.
“Did someone open a window in here?” she asked, looking around.
“You might not realize it,” Hannah said, move to latch said open window back
up, “But it was about baking in here a few moments ago. I thought for sure you
were going to light the bed on fire!”
“I was not—” Hermione began protesting, but then caught sight of Blaise waving
his wand over Neville’s arm…and the angry red smear of a burn on it. “Oh, my
god, did I do that?” she asked, horrified.
“It’s fine,” Neville huffed.
“Not as good as burn paste,” Blaise murmured as he conjured a small cloth and
dampened it with an augamenti charm.
“It’s not that bad,” Neville insisted.
“Neville, I’m so sorry!” Hermione breathed, a fresh wave of tears stinging her
eyes. Here she was, upset that he might have gotten hurt, and she’s the one who
up and hurt him!
“Hermione, it’s fine,” he repeated, turning back to her and searching her face
closely. “Are you all right?”
“How can you ask that?” she demanded. “You’re the one who got hurt!”
“And you’re the one that was upset,” he returned. “What happened?”
“I just…I don’t know,” she dithered. “I just kept thinking of how you and Harry
could have been hurt last night,” she rambled, eyes darting back to Harry who
was still behind Luna watching her. “You could have been hurt and we weren’t
there to help you, and I just… I don’t know.”
“Hormones,” Hannah said determinedly.
“What?” Hermione returned, a bit flabbergasted.
“You’re one of the most collected persons I know,” Hannah replied. “I mean,
with all the crazy shit you and Harry have gotten into over the years, I figure
you would have blown a gasket way before now if you were inclined towards that
sort of overblown melodramatics, which means you aren’t. So, if you take into
account the biggest changes between all those times and now, the logical cause
of this little minor meltdown of yours is hormones. Plain and simple.”
Hermione blinked, trying to process what the other girl said. “Minor melt-
down,” she finally settled on. “A minor melt-down shouldn’t result in someone
getting hurt.”
“I’m frankly grateful it wasn’t worse,” Blaise put in. “It really is a nice
bed. It would have been a shame for it to have burned down. And that was quite
a real possibility with the way you were being to smolder.”
“I was not smoldering!” Hermione protested.
“I think you actually managed to singe and few strands of hair,” Harry teased,
lips twitching, but there was a look of sincere worry in his eyes that told her
just how serious he was… just how close to the truth he was being. She touched
her hair reflectively and his smile turned just a little bit more genuine.
“You’re cooler to the touch now,” Luna put in. “That’s good.”
Hermione flustered, sorely upset still that she’d lost her composure like that
and because of it, she’d hurt Neville.
“You know,” Blaise began, crawling closer to her on the bed. “You’re going to
have to stop repressing your magic eventually. It’s not healthy and it can have
very bad repercussions.”
“I don’t...”
“Yes, you do. I know for a fact you’ve already researched fire elementals
before we left school,” Blaise told her bluntly. “And I know exactly what you
found. My Uncle was dating an elemental three years ago, and so I looked up
everything I could find about them myself.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry spoke up. “What repercussions? What’s not healthy?”
“An elemental’s powers ebb and flow for the first five years of their
emergence, which can occur anyway up to a decade after puberty. They have that
long to master their element or else be consumed by it. In the meantime, if it
remains unharnessed and trained, all sorts of calamities will occur because of
different outbursts—like a bed catching fire. Or the entire house burning down
around us.”
“Pregnancy hormones won’t help it any,” Hannah sighed, climbing back onto the
bed, now shivering herself. “Everyone knows a witch’s magic goes a little wonky
while they’re carrying, which will make Hermione’s control over her fire just
that much harder to master.”
“Wait, what?” Hermione sputtered. “What do you mean my magic’s going to go a
little wonky?”
“Well, it’s not like you’ll need to worry about it right away,” Hannah
continued. “I mean, it doesn’t really start up until the fifth or sixth month,
right? But, I mean, the baby sort of… borrows from the mother as it started to
develop its own magical core. At least, that’s what I’ve heard to explain it.”
She looked to the others for confirmation, but they looked back at her blankly.
“I never researched what effects pregnancy had on magic,” Luna told her, and
the boys looks just as clearly uninformed. What reason would they have had to
look into such a topic, young as they all were, after all.
“But, it’s like I said,” Hannah continued, turning back to Hermione. “We’ve got
time to figure it all out. I mean, at least a year, right?”
“Hannah,” Harry spoke tentatively when it appeared Hermione wasn’t. “The stasis
spell Madame Pomfrey used didn’t work on Hermione.”
“What?”
“She had to cast it again, when she was here, fixing me up. But, there’s a
chance… I mean, I was going to ask you to go with Hermione and have yours
checked too when we got back to Hogwarts, but… there’s a chance that the stasis
spell won’t work for Hermione again. In which case, Madame Pomphrey has said
she won’t attempt to cast it again, which means…”
“We’ll be mommies and daddies before the end of the summer,” Luna supplied when
Harry trailed off.
“Blimey,” Neville spoke into the silence. “No wonder why you were so insistent
on getting those family accounts set up now and finding us a permanent home
before summer.”
Harry shrugged. “Mostly, I just want to make sure you all are taken care of, no
matter what happens.”
“Don’t say that,” Hermione snapped.
Harry shrugged again. “It’s only the truth.”
“It’ll be a challenge to hide the head girl being pregnant from the entire
school,” Blaise pointed out. “Not that other students haven’t been so afflicted
before, but… the head girl? And being as she’s widely known as your girlfriend,
Harry, that’ll bring a whole new wave of attention on her. It’ll be harder to
conceal her condition.”
“Are we sure concealing it is the best idea,” Neville asked worriedly. “I mean,
yes, there are a lot of people who want to hurt us, you,” he added looking
directly at Harry, “but there’s also a lot of people who want to help, and
really, more support wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“I would really rather prefer not to be known at the head girl who got pregnant
during her tenure, thank you,” Hermione supplied.
“We’ll just have to be extra careful,” Luna told them. “There’s no reason we’d
have to lie to anyone or announce it to anyone. I’m mostly sure we could
probably get through most of the year without anyone the wiser. Although you’ll
have to tell the professors. There’s just some lessons you shouldn’t
participate in and since your magic might go wonky, you’ll need others there to
help.”
Hermione pursed her lips, obviously not exactly thrilled at the idea of telling
her professors or of missing out on lessons.
“We’ll do what we must to keep you safe,” Harry insisted. “Both of you,” he
added, eyes darted down to her tummy before quickly looking back up, lips
twitching again.
“Look at you,” Hermione huffed, amused. “You’re all happy that I’m pregnant.”
Harry ducked his head bashfully as all the others turned to watch him. “Well,
yeah,” he admitted. “A bit? I mean, you’re giving me a family. You and Hannah,”
he added, eyes darting to the other girl. “I mean, yeah, we’re building a
family already, with the pard, but… a family. With a mum and a dad and a baby…
and sure, yeah, maybe we aren’t the traditional family—there’s more mums and
dads, but… it’s real. And it’s… pretty damn amazing, isn’t it? You’re like,
growing this whole other life inside of you, and it’s a little bit of me and a
little bit of you all mixed together into something new, and… and that’s pretty
damn amazing, Hermione.”
He scooted closer, so he could brush his lips against hers, watching her
closely as he whispered, “And my cat thinks it’s pretty damn hot. Every time I
think about you, being pregnant with our kit…” His voice had deepened to a near
purring-growl. “I want to do lots and lots of naughty, sexy things to you. With
you.”
“Oh, yes!” Hannah cheered. “Please tell me we’re going to get to have Christmas
Morning sex, because I gotta tell you, I’m not sure if even presents are worth
waking up this early without a good, rousing sexy-time.
The others laughed, even Hermione and Harry. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced
you,” Hermione teased. “By all means, carry on your morning celebrations.
Please don’t let me stop you.”
“Goodie!” Hannah cried, reaching out to snatch Blaise and pull the willing teen
closer. A few moments later, Luna hummed and then moved to join them.
“How are you feeling now?” Neville asked, shifting back beside Hermione, on the
other side from Harry.
“I should be asking you that,” Hermione huffed, reaching out to pet the burn
mark on his upper arm. “I’m so sorry, Neville.”
“It’s not like you set out intentionally to burn me,” he countered. “I just
want to know that whatever upset you, you’re okay now. I don’t ever want to see
you hurting or upset, Hermione,” he added, reaching up to brush her curls back
from her face.
Neville, sweet, wonderful, kind, caring Neville. Neville who shyly helped her
up the stairs last night and didn’t make a big production as they both changed
into the night clothes before slipping into the very large bed. Neville, who
asked her if it was okay, as he settled her against him as they lied down
together and settled in to sleep. Neville who, so softly she wasn’t sure if
she’d just dreamed it, had kissed her hair and sighed so contentedly—as if
there was no other place on Earth he’d rather be than right there, lying beside
her.
“I don’t ever want to see you hurt,” she told him. “That would hurt me greatly,
to know you were hurt, so please promise me to keep yourself safe?”
“I will do my best,” he promised.
“Better than your best,” she demanded. “I care too much for you to ever see you
hurt.”
He smiled brilliantly at her—not quite beaming, but it was pretty darn close.
“Whatever you command of me, Hermione. I will do my best, for you.” He leaned
forward to seal his promise with a kiss to her cheek.
At the last moment, she moved, meeting his lips with her own. She hadn’t been
sure if she would do it, but now it was done. Neville stiffened. Tentatively,
she dared to open her lips against his. A heartbeat. A lifetime. And then he
was reciprocating. Lips dancing, pressing, brushing, pulling away, again, and
again, and again.
She wasn’t sure who really moved first, but next thing she was aware, they were
both lying back on the bed, holding onto each other loosely, lips still
pressing and teasing against each other’s. A thick thigh pressed against
Hermione’s leg, and before she even registered moving she had straddled it,
hips languidly rocking against the solid muscled limb. Hands wandered, and she
didn’t even attempt to restrain their exploration. The breadth of Neville’s
shoulders, the swell of his arms, the tapering dip to his lower back, the hard
curve of his arse…
She might have pulled, he might have pressed, but either way the result was the
same---Hermione on her back, arms and legs wrapped around Neville, his tongue
thrusting into her mouth as his hips pressed and circled against her pelvis.
She moaned—or maybe he did. Maybe they both did.
Someone was pleading. The bed beneath them swayed. There was the tell-tale
slapping of sweaty flesh against flesh and harsh panting. But it was a distant
sensory input. Not important to them in the here and now.
A calloused hand slid up her side, dragging her night shirt with it until it
reached the curve of her breast.
“I want to touch you,” Neville panted in-between kisses, licking at her lips.
“Yessssss,” she hissed, arching against him. His large, warm hand slid over the
mound of her breast, as if perfectly made for each other.
Chapped lips caught on her own as Neville’s thick tongue dipped deeper into her
mouth, sweeping. His rough-skinned hand cupped the swell of her breast,
squeezing with gentle strength, as the pad of his thumb found her nipple and
began to play with it. She arched and cried out beneath him, offering tiny
little sounds of pleasure and encouragement.
“Gods, Hermione,” Neville panted against her lips. “You are so beautiful and
amazing and wonderful and—”
She cut him off with another kiss. He fell eagerly into her—pelvis continuing
to rock up into hers as her thighs wrapped around his hips, squeezing, cradling
him perfectly against her flush and ripe body. He could wish that there were
less clothing between them, that he was cradled inside her body and not just
against it, but this was already more than he ever thought he would experience
with this beautiful being.
Neville brought his other hand up, sliding her night shirt up under her arms so
he could bare her breasts properly. With one last peck to her soft lips, he
darted down to pepper her valley with little kisses, cradling his face between
the soft swell of her beautiful breasts. He opened his mouth, sucking the
flesh, laving his tongue over the sweet skin. And then he fastened his lips
around one hard nipple and suckled.
Hermione released another little sound of pleasure—they were like candy to his
ears. Her fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders and arms, where she
continued to hold on to him. His hips arched up, pressing closer, smashing
their pelvises together so hard he almost whimpered with the pressure against
his restrained cock.
There was a warmth against his back as he was mounted—familiar and oh-so-
welcome despite his distraction with Hermione. He would never turn Harry away.
Probably not any of his mates, really, but definitely never Harry. At first, he
feared Harry was there to stop him, to take his place, but then he felt the
pressure at his thighs, encouraging his legs to spread wider, to make space for
the new body leaning over him. Hermione made a protesting sound as her own legs
were spread just a little bit further, but the scrape of teeth against her
nipple was enough to distract her.
Moist lips pressed against his shoulder, before opening and biting down into
the fleshy meat. Neville cried out, bucking wildly. Just as suddenly, a hot
tongue was there, laving at the hurt. A rumbling purr reverberated along his
back. “I want to be inside you,” Harry announced, “as you move inside
Hermione.”
Neville shivered, body nearly liquifying at the thought—him, caught between
these two amazing and beautiful people.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Harry continued to purr. “Fucking yourself
between us? Filling your greedy hole with my cock before stuffing yourself deep
inside Hermione’s heat. She gets so wet, Neville, it’s like burying your dick
in lava.”
Neville whimpered—the small rational piece of his mind still left tried to
argue that lava and any piece of his body part was just not a good idea. But it
was a very, very small piece. The rest of his mind was too caught up on the
very real possibility that he was about to have sex with Hermione and Harry was
going to be there, too, fucking him, and how fucking perfect could his life
possibly get?
Magic tingled across his skin and the pajamas he’d worn to bed last night
disappeared completely. He moaned appreciatively as now Hermione’s hands
touched his skin, as Harry’s skin pressed against his, no boundaries.
“Look at him, Hermione,” he heard Harry speak over his shoulder. “He’s so eager
to please. But he won’t take without permission. He’ll beg and plead, but he
won’t do anything unless you say he can. You have to tell him it’s okay,
Hermione. Do you want him to make love to you?”
Neville couldn’t help the little eager, needy whimper that escaped him at that.
Gods, yes, he wanted to! He wanted to worship this body under him properly. He
wanted so badly to kiss her everywhere, caress everywhere, to attempt to
satisfy her every need. He would whole-heartedly offer himself up as sacrifice
to her fire if it meant pleasing her. He—
“Yes,” Hermione choked.
“Yes what?” Harry pressed.
“Damn it, Harry Potter, just what is it you want from me?” she demanded
angrily, her fingers biting further into the meat of Neville’s arms and back.
“I want to hear you say it,” Harry purred. “I want to hear you say that you
want to feel Neville inside you, that you want him to make love to you, to fill
you up. I want to hear you say it, because frankly, I think it’ll be really
hot,” he confessed. “But Neville needs to hear you say it so he knows it’s
really okay.”
Hermione was blushing, trying to look at his face from where he was currently
resting pillowed against one of her soft breasts, still occasionally nuzzling.
Soft hands moved from his back up to his neck and cheeks, pulling him up her
body just that little bit needed for their lips to meet. And then Hermione
brushed her lips over his cheek and against his ear.
“Yes, Neville, I’m okay with you making love to me,” she whispered, just a hint
of shyness in her voice warming his insides to a melted goo.
He gave a little surge, finding her mouth again and kissing her desperately. “I
want to be inside you,” he managed between desperate kisses. “Want to make you
feel so good.”
“Auh, Hermione,” Harry pouted. “You cheated.”
But then there was another wash of magic. Hermione’s clothes disappeared and
suddenly she was all hot and naked in his arms, her bare sex rubbing against
his hard penis, and the heat he could feel before radiating out from her core
was even more powerful now as the musky scent of her sex was released and her
juices began coating his shaft from where it was pressed up against her. But
even more distracting was the tingle of magic that proceeded slick oozing out
of his own entrance and a hard dick forcing him open, smoothly, swiftly, with
no hesitancy.
Neville released a cry, back bowing as his hips were held in a forceful grip
preventing any possible escape. He slumped against Hermione, panting and
practically whining as his body quickly adjusted to the feel of being
penetrated again after several days. He loved it—he really did. The feeling of
being so full, the pull of a cock moving inside of him, forcing him open and
then cumming inside of him… He honestly liked it just a little better than
being with one of the girls. But that didn’t negate that he usually had a
little bit more warning to prepare himself other than the tingle of a cleaning
spell and the slick of a lubrication charm being cast.
“Harry!” Hermione scolded, and Neville almost laughed just a little bit. “Did
you just—but I was going to—he and I—”
“Oh, you still are,” Harry promised, and Neville twitched, clenching down
reflexively, earning a little grunt from him. “Neville’s really excited for the
chance. Really excited. Keeps squeezing my cock so good. Just like you do,
sometimes, when you’re close to cumming. You wanna cum, right Hermione? Wanna
feel Neville’s cock as he opens you up as he makes love to you?”
“Harry!”
“Oh, he likes the idea, Hermione,” Harry groaned.
A hand reached between his pelvis and Hermione’s, fumbling a bit, and then
Hermione’s eyes were fluttering and she held her breath.
“So wet, Hermione,” Harry purred. “You must really like the idea, too. Have you
felt how big he is, Hermione? He’ll fill you up so good.”
And then Harry grabbed one of Hermione’s hands off his shoulder and dragged it
down to their crotches where his other hand was busy stroking her. Harry
pressed Hermione’s hand around Neville’s cock and he thought he might just lose
it then and there.
“Feel that, Hermione? All of that is going inside of you.” She gasped, but
whether it was because of his words or something Harry did with his fingers,
Neville wasn’t sure. “Feel how big his head is. Wanna help me line it up?”
Fingers danced over his cock head and Neville groaned, turning back to bury his
face into the swell of Hermione’s chest. He opened his mouth and sucked as soft
fingers slid over him, as more assured hands manhandled his dick until he was
pressed right up against the core heat of Hermione’s sex. This was really
happening, he thought, slightly desperately. And then he felt Harry withdrawing
from him, pulling away. He moved to try and stop the retreat, but a second
later, he was forcibly filled once again.
And this time, the force of the thrust sent him plowing into the cushioned heat
of Hermione.
All three of them sounded a moan of appreciation, twitching and shivering.
Harry provided another smaller thrust, as if to ensure all three of them were
perfectly nestled against one another. And then he withdrew again, Neville made
to protest again, but this time, Harry didn’t press them all together again. He
leaned over Neville’s shoulders, staring directly into Hermione’s eyes as he
whispered against the shell of Neville’s ear.
“Go ahead, Neville.”
***
It was mid-morning by the time everyone trundled down into the drawing room and
dropped into various available chairs or sofas. Within minutes, however, their
sleepiness had vanished under the diligent care of Winky, who kept them well
supplied with tea, cider, or hot chocolate and various mincemeats, crumpets,
sausage rolls, and cinnamon rolls.
The room quickly became a riotous scene filled with exclamations, laughter,
hugs, and kisses--not to mention flying ribbons and wrapping paper—as presents
were exchanged and opened.
Harry was already well satisfied with his pocket watch from last night and the
simple fact that he was with his family, but the two scrapbooks Hermione,
Hanna, and Luna presented to him had to be about one of the best gifts he’d
ever received. The girls explained how they’d gone to Colin Creevey to get a
majority of the photos, at least the ones of Harry—it was kind of creepy the
boy crush the kid had—and how they’d spent any free time over the last month
and a half putting it together. The first was a showcase of Harry’s Hogwarts
years (first year somewhat sparsely represented). At some point the girls must
have enlisted others, because there were various written accounts of things he
barely remembered happening or didn’t remember at all until he read someone
else’s account of it. He was rather surprised and heartened that he’d had so
much of an impact on others without even realizing it.
The second scrapbook was unfinished. In fact, only the first several pages had
anything on them at all—a page biography for each member of the pard followed
by some candid photos of them in various states. There was one picture of Luna,
Hannah, and Neville cuddled up sleeping on the sofa in the Head’s common room.
Another of Hermione bent over some books—in the library of all places. Another
of Harry and some other students at the Fall Festival. When he got to the many
blank pages, he looked up at the girls questioningly.
“Those are for the memories we have yet to make,” Hermione answered.
“Yeah, we didn’t get a chance to put our Italy trip in, yet,” Hannah added.
“But give us some more time, and we’ll get it done. Promise.”
“This is a record of your past,” Luna added, tapping the first book. “And this,
is a record of your future and our family.”
Harry beamed at them, looking so punch-happy that he might have easily been
accused of drinking all the vintage wine in the very nice collection Blaise had
gifted him. Two bottles of which had already been selected to bring for dinner
tonight.
Blaise insisted on making them all a cappuccino on the new machine Harry had
gifted him, although he was quite a bit stingier on sharing any of the coffee-
flavored bonbons Hannah had given him.
The blonde Hufflepuff had experienced a fit of laughter when she opened her own
gift of chocolate bonbons from the Italian boy. The book on healing tucked
under the confectionary box was also well received. Perhaps more so than the
colorful jewelry set Neville gave her. She did, however, immediately donned the
brightly knitted rainbow scarf Luna handed her and declared she’d have to
borrow the yarn so she could make herself a pair of mittens to match!
Hermione had also tossed on the art print scarf Hannah had purchased from one
of their many museum trips—and for a moment, all the teens had enjoyed a moment
of mockery, calling the head girl Professor Trelawney and asking her to make a
prediction. At least the moment of hilarity had lasted until Remus spoke up and
reminded them it wasn’t nice to make fun of a teacher. Even Blaise had looked
properly chastised at that.
Neville exclaimed over Luna’s craftiness and artistic nature as he showed off
the hand-painted flower pots he had received… and then had to laugh when he
went on to open the Italian starter seed set from Hermione and the hori hori
garden knife and samples collection kit from Harry.
“Are you all trying to tell me something?” he asked, grinning widely.
“Yes!” Hannah laughed with him as she tossed over her gift—a heavy duty dirt
removing soap set.
Luna was also entranced by her presents from the others. She almost got
sidetracked from opening the others after discovering the sketch box with all
the various wonderful supplies tucked neatly away inside it. She had given
Hermione a loud kiss on the lips before settling with her new supplies and had
to be reminded that she had other gifts to open. The unusual jewelry Neville
gifted her was put on immediately, although the chocolate was tucked away
safely for later. And it was only Professor Lupin’s request that she not try
them on immediately that prevented her from replacing her house robe with one
of the sexy pieces of lingerie Blaise had given her.
She had smiled at Remus, though, and called out to Blaise. “You should probably
hold off on opening my present further. I fear the good professor might become
uncomfortable.”
Blaise, who had just finished unwrapping the beautiful dark wooden chest,
paused before actually opening the chest up—it wasn’t overly large, but it
wasn’t necessarily small either. And there was definitely something inside.
Curiosity ate at his innards. Surely, just one peek. One peek couldn’t…
He moaned, catching only the briefest of glances before shutting the lid
firmly. It gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘toy chest’. Blaise looked over
to Luna… who smile so beautifully and deceptively innocently back at him.
 “Il mio bel fiore di luna sicuramente mi porterà alla follia.”
He had moved on to opening Neville’s gift – a set of massage oils that he knew
would come in handy, in more ways than one—when Hermione got to his gift. The
jewelry box had once belonged to his great-grandmother. Until their visit to
his grandparents’ yesterday, he hadn’t been sure what he would gift their
beautiful queen. A book voucher seemed so impersonally, although he did know
her passion was books. He didn’t know which books she had already ready or
which she already owned or wanted to own to attempt to procure them for her.
Although she was passionate, she preferred not to be sensual, and she was not a
huge fan of sweets and confectionaries, so things like lingerie and chocolates
were out.
There was a beautiful aubergine dress they had seen in the window of one of the
many shops they had passed that he thought would look stunning on her, but they
hadn’t stopped and he hadn’t had the chance to duck away and pick it up. He did
have a book of Italian Wizarding history he’d managed to procure, but it seemed
so bland a gift. It would have done in a pinch, he supposed.
Thankfully, his grandmama had saved him.
At one point towards the end of their visit, she had pulled her grandson into
the bedroom on the guise of his retrieving something off a high shelf for her.
The rouse was laughable due to the fact several of his uncles were actually
taller than him, but he went willingly, indulgently. He was glad he had.
The jewelry box wasn’t anything fancy—a wooded trinket box, really, with shapes
and figures carved into the sides. It was smooth with age, the wood buttery
soft. It had belonged to his grandmother’s mother, given to her by her then
fiancée as a courting gift back in the 1800’s. It was something small,
personal, and held history within its very grains.
It was perfect. And apparently Hermione thought so, too, because she gasped as
she unwrapped the simple trinket box, capturing Blaise’s attention away from
the various massage oils in the kit Neville had gifted him to see Hermione
delicately tracing one of the etchings with one finger.
“It belonged to my great-grandmother,” he explained. “My grandmother’s mother.
My great-grandfather carved it for her especially and gave it to her as a
courting gift.”
“It’s lovely, Blaise,” Hermione breathed. “And far too precious to give away.”
“Ah, but I’m not giving it away,” he corrected. “I’m gifting it to you. And if
you so choose, you may one day decide to gift it to one of your children, or
one of your grandchildren.”
Hermione hesitated again, and he felt warmth, knowing she really liked it. “You
should really keep this, Blaise, it’s a family heirloom.”
“And you are my family now,” he chided her.
She smiled. “Thank you. It’s really lovely.”
“I’m glad you like it. A much better gift than a book, no?”
“Book?”
 
****
 
Overall, it was a most enjoyable morning, and by the time they all gathered
around to head over to Whitehorse they were still all in high spirits. They
piled through the floo and arrived in the sedate townhome of Andromeda and
Edward Tonks with great bustle and noise.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a surprise,” a nasally voice drawl from nearby.
As one, the pard turned to stare at the blond young man standing in the
doorway, leaning up against the frame, arms crossed, staring mulishly back at
them.
“Draco,” Harry greeted immediately, stepping forward. “I wasn’t sure if you
would come.”
“Like my aunt would have given me a choice,” the other boy scoffed. “Family
duty and reconnecting with my noble heritage.” His eyes roved over their
ensemble. “When Aunt Andromeda mentioned you’d be bringing guests, I assumed
she referred to… your two sidekicks. Maybe a pack of weasels.”
“You know what they say about assuming,” Blaise purred, stepping up closer to
Hermione’s side and leveling his housemate with a warning look. “You have been
less than your usually form of observant this year.”
“Enough to know you spend more nights out of the dorms than in them,” Draco
retorted, angry at being reminded of his own fallacies. “Still, Blaise, I
thought you had better taste.”
“I have found a wealth of hidden delights to appease even the most ravenous
beast for several centuries,” he purred, lifting Hermione’s hand to his lips
and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
Draco’s eyes widened—just enough to be noticed by those who were looking, and
most all of them were looking as they shifted together as one. All save Susan,
who remained standing to the side. Grey eyes flew back to Harry, narrowing as
they scanned him up and down. The gears in his head turning, shifting pieces of
the puzzle together until…
“You came into your inheritance this past summer,” Draco stated.
It wasn’t a question. Nevertheless, Harry nodded.
“More than just your family monies and lordships,” Draco continued.
Again, Harry nodded.
“Interesting.” Grey eyes flitted over the ensembles again. “Potter’s a
creature. How apropos.” He seemed to take a fortifying breath. “A pack
creature, is it? Not from the Blacks—a keres would jealously guard their mate,”
he mused aloud.
Harry shot a questioning look towards the others.
“The Black Family has been known to produce some dark veela – keres – from time
to time,” Luna supplied.
“Some thought Siruis was one,” Neville supplied, an apologetic look for
bringing up Harry’s godfather. “But if he was, he never formally presented
before he was locked away.”
“And not an incubus,” Draco continued, running through the list of known
creatures attributed to each of Harry’s known family ancestries.
Blaise’s lips twitched. “No,” he agreed. “Incubi do not do well within close
quarters for longer than short periods of time.”
“You don’t strike me as very fae,” Draco accused, having drawn to the end of
his mental list.
“He’s fae enough,” Luna teased, silvery blue eyes sparkling with inner
mischief. Draco’s gaze narrowed angrily.
“Let’s leave it at yes, Harry received a creature inheritance this summer, and
as is par for course, it was unusually, shall we?” Hermione interjected.
“Where would the fun be in that?” Draco drawled.
“Mayhap not fun,” a stern voice spoke up from behind the boy, causing him (and
Harry) to straighten to attention immediately. “But certainly only appropriate
for a scion of the House of Black towards his head of house. Step aside now,
Draco. You’ve left our guests standing in the entry hall long enough. They
should have been invited into the parlor minutes ago. The tea is growing cold.”
A mature witch of indiscriminate age stepped past Draco and into the room
proper. Her stance was tall and commanding, and she looked like she’d be more
accustomed to wearing a military uniform than the deep navy holiday robes
accented with gold that graced her lean figure. Her dark hair was swept up into
a flattering pin-up, hiding away its length, but revealing the glint of gold
dangling from her ears. Her dark grey eyes swept over the ensemble of children
still standing in front of the floo space before settling on Harry.
“Andromeda,” he greeted as soon as she was looking at him. “It’s good to see
you looking so well. Happy Christmas,” he added, stepping forward to press a
cursory kiss to her cheek. “I trust we’re not too early?”
“Not at all,” she scoffed, returning his kiss. “Happy Christmas, Harry. And may
I say, you look in fine health. Certainly better off than when I saw you last
this summer.”
“Three square meals from the Hogwarts’ kitchens each day will do that,” he
teased.
“Oh, but it can’t be all the work of the Hogwarts’ elves, surely,” she
returned, eyes sliding back over her other guests. “Please introduce me to—I
believe Remus said you prefer the term ‘pard’?”
Harry beamed at her, stepping forward to present his little family. “You may
recall from previous discussions, but I’m pleased to finally introduce you to
my best friend, Hermione Granger. She’s also head girl this year.”
“Convenient, that,” Andromeda teased. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms.
Granger.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine,” Hermione responded, stepping forward with a
little curtsy. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Tonks. Harry’s spoken quite
a bit of you.”
“No doubt complaining of all the lessons on etiquette I forced him to endure,
as boys are want to lament,” she mused before snapping out, “Don’t slouch,
Draco. It’s slovenly.”
“And this is Hannah Abbott and her very good friend Susan Bones who’s been
staying with us,” Harry rushed to continue the introductions. “She’s kindly
invited us to stay with her at her family estate for the remainder of Christmas
hols.”
“Both fine families,” Andromeda nodded approvingly. “I’m sorry for your loses.”
The girls murmured their thanks while Harry pushed on to continue
introductions. “Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.”
“Lovegood? Relation to the Quibbler’s editor, yes? And Longbottom, you must be
Augusta’s and Edmund’s grandson. Good people.”
“And this is Blaise Zabini,” Harry concluded.
“Hmm,” Andromeda hummed. “Muggleborn or not English?” she questioned.
“A little of both, if it must be known,” Blaise responded coolly. “My father
was muggleborn and Italian. My mother is also European.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Andromeda waved away his defensive stance. “My Ted
is muggle-born. Brings good luck to the blood, I say. Look at my
daughter—Nymphadora is the first metamorphmagus in the Black family in nearly a
century. She’s fairly decently powerful, too,” she added proudly. “And not a
hint of the Black Madness in her yet.”
Her candidness startled many of her guests, which amused Andromeda as she
turned to steer them all into the receiving parlor. Her home was not
exceptionally large—nothing like the manor house she had grown up in, but it
was a decent size for a townhome. It didn’t boast as many bedrooms as the Black
Townhome, but her small family did not need a multitude of bedrooms. In the
parlor, she encouraged everyone to take a seat and watched attentively who
choose to sit where and with whom. There was a mixture of seating options—from
overstuffed armchairs, more delicate armchairs, two mis-matched love seats, and
a larger sofa. The room was eclectic—a collection of various pieces acquired
not for their sense of décor for a cohesive whole but based entirely on their
level of comfort offered.
Draco, of course, chose one of the stiffer armchairs, purposefully setting
himself apart from the collective—just as he had purposefully held himself back
for the entirety of the holiday. Not that she blamed him. His mother was dead.
And for all intents and purposes, his father was currently dead to him, as
well. This was the first holiday he would spend without his mother or his
father. It wasn’t easy—she knew from her own personal experiences from when
she’d been cast from her family for choosing to follow her heart and not her
family’s mandates.
Ted was already in his chair by the fire, but he politely looked up and closed
his book when company arrived. It had taken quite a bit of reinforcement to
train that habit into her husband. Ever the Ravenclaw, she mused lovingly.
The other children were much more relaxed than Draco, despite the new
environments. They were quite comfortable with one another. Their cohesiveness
and attention to the group was not just amusing but heartwarming to watch.
Harry had led the way to the larger sofa, tugging Hermione down with him, and
struck up an immediate conversation with Ted. Within moments, Hermione was
leaning forward and interjecting. From the adjusted position her husband took,
Andromeda knew that whatever the girl had said had immediately caught Ted’s
interest. The Abbott and Bones girls took one of the love seats, the Longbottom
boy crowding down on the end with them, arm slung casually over the blonde’s
shoulders and playing idly with her hair as the two girls chatted. He didn’t
seem to mind not being part of the conversation. In fact, it looked like he had
quite the weight on his mind if the deep look of concentration on his face was
any indication. She wondered if it had anything to do with his grandmother.
Augusta, from what Andromeda remembered, was a stuck-up witch who believed she
always knew best. She doubted fifty-plus years had changed the witch’s
perspective.
The Italian boy settled into one of the cushier chairs—closer to Draco, but not
necessarily apart from the rest of his group. In fact, the Lovegood girl
settled herself right on his lap, despite there being plenty of other seats
still available. She said something – to her seat companion or Draco, Andromeda
wasn’t sure, but she watched carefully as Draco appeared to bristle up
defensively. He was appallingly open for a Slytherin, she thought despairingly.
Her sister had surely spoilt the boy, and apparently his father had been overly
indulgent as well. She was frankly shocked he had survived the last six years
in Slytherin house unmolested. Three weeks was simply not enough time to
properly retrain the boy, but she would do her damnedest. After all, she had
had only a little bit more time with Harry this summer to work with, and he was
coming along swimmingly from the looks of it.
The floo bell rung, and her daughter’s voice called out from the receiving
room. “It’s just me!” followed by the sound of calamity and an oomphf. “I’m all
right!”
Andromeda’s eyes fell shut as she breathed deep and made a wish for serenity
and peace for her daughter. Magic knew, grace would never be her strong suit.
 
When the floo bell rang again, Tonks rushed up to answer it—tripping over the
rug and stumbling out of the parlor. A few minutes later, there was a shout
that had many of the occupants of the parlor looking at each other
questioningly—should they get up to investigate. Ted reassured them all. “I’m
sure it’s just Remus,” he told them, smiling.
Suddenly, Harry remember the question the older werewolf had asked him, and he
couldn’t prevent the bubble of excitement that fluttered up, eyes darting back
to the door every few minutes, waiting for the couple to appear. When they did,
it was in a flurry of action and excitement as Tonks burst through the door and
launched herself at her mother, thrusting her hand out in front of her.
“Nymphadora,” Andromeda began to scold. “What in the—”
“Look!” the young woman commanded, bubbling. “He proposed!”
In a woosh, Tonks suddenly found herself crowded and surrounded by all the
females in the room as Hannah and Susan oohed and ahhed over the sparkly ring.
Harry shared a bemused look with Ted. The sofa dipped under him and he turned
and pulled Neville closer to his side.
“You know,” Blaise drawled. “Those baubles you gave out this morning might not
be satisfactory anymore,” he teased.
“No,” Harry agreed. “I was thinking of proposing to Hermione before we go back
to Hogwarts, but I’m not sure how that would all work if we’re all in a circle
together…”
“You’re forming a circle?” Ted asked excitedly.
“Nothing definite,” Harry rushed to dissuade the man. “The girls seem to think
so, but…”
“You have your doubts,” the older man concluded, nodding. “Understandable.
Especially if you’re at the epicenter of it all, and it seems like you are.
Well, Remus,” he switched topics, standing up as the other man approached. “I
suppose I should be congratulating you.”
Harry had never really given too much consideration to the age difference
between Remus and Tonks before, but watching his former professor interact with
Tonks’s dad, he was startlingly reminded of it. Remus went to school with
Harry’s dad and Sirius. Sirius was Andromeda’s cousin, she had been only a few
years ahead. She and Mr. Tonks and Sirius and Remus would have all been at
school together for at least a few years. And now here was Remus, proposing to
their only child.
He wondered how he would take it if someone like Justin Filch-Fletcher or maybe
Dennis Creevy or Nigel came around when the baby Hermione or Hannah was
carrying was older. How would he feel if it was him sitting in that chair as
his child’s much older suitor came to call.
The answer wasn’t a good one.
There was pressure on is hand, dragging Harry free from the dark and murky
thoughts and emotions he was experiencing at the thought of anyone getting
friendly with his son or daughter. Harry looked up to Neville who was smiling
softly, still trying to relax.
“It’s good, yeah,” Neville said. “They’re finding happiness together. You
already approved the match, so why are you so frowny-frown right now?”
“Just thinking about what it’ll be like when a suitor comes around for one of
our children,” he confessed. He thought he had spoken lowly, but evidently not
low enough.
“Already planning a horde of little Potters, are you?” Draco sneered, earning
him several disapproving looks.
“Don’t be jealous, Draco,” Blaise chastised casually. “It’s only natural to
assume our children will have plenty of siblings. Even if we all successfully
carry only one child, that’s already five children we will have the pleasure of
rearing. I’ve told you before to pick a girl who is not too closely related to
you-or better yet, no relation at all. Make sure you have the conversation with
her first, but then breed like the stud stallion you are.”
Draco’s cheeks pinkened with such blatant discussion of sexual matters in front
of mixed company. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know most all purebloods are inter-
related.”
“And you know my response to that,” Blaise snuffed, indicating that he was
clearly finished with the topic and would not continue to discuss it further.
 
***
Dinner was less than half an hour away and only three-quarters of their guests
had about arrived when the floo bell chimed again. Conversations had ebbed and
flowed around the over populated parlor, people smiling and laughing as they
chatted and teased. Hermione and Neville both looked up, but Hermione quickly
turned back to her conversation with Mr. Tonks and Remus. Her parents were
expected to arrive through the front door, after all, not the floo.
Neville, however, looked a little sick. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or
not that his grandmother had accepted the dinner invitation at Whitehorse. On
the one hand, he was glad his main blooded family would be there to spend
Christmas with him. On the other… so many things could go wrong. So very many
things. He wiped his sweaty palms against his thighs, earning a bit of
attention from Hannah—who was otherwise wrapped up in conversation with Tonks
and Susan, apparently sharing Hufflepuff secrets.
“It’ll be fine,” the blonde told him, patting his hand reassuringly. “And if
it’s not, we’ll kiss it and make it all better before getting Hermione to light
her handbag and hat on fire for you.”
He snorted, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple, which is the sight his
grandmother saw when she entered the room.
“Neville,” his grandmother’s voice fell, a single word of warning and
disapproval.
“Ah, Augusta,” Mrs. Tonks greeted, standing. “A pleasure you could make it to
our little family dinner.”
“Thank you. I’ll admit I was surprised by your invitation to a – as you say –
family dinner.”
“It is lovely when a family grows, isn’t it? We’re just waiting for a few more
guests to arrive before sitting down to dinner. Would you like something to
drink while we wait?”
“No, thank you, Andromeda. What I would like is to speak privately with my
grandson, if we may borrow a space?”
“Ah, I understand,” Mrs. Tonks responded, almost commiserating. “It can be so
difficult to pin them down once they’ve moved on and left us behind to our…
Ted, dear, what do the muggles call it?”
“Call what, dear?” he responded automatically.
“When the children move out and leave the parents behind.”
“Empty-nest,” he supplied readily, turning back to his conversation with Remus
and Hermione.
“Right, ‘empty-nest’,” repeated Andromeda. “What a strange way with words
muggles have, don’t you think.”
“No,” Augusta drawled. “In fact, I make it a point in fact to not think much
about muggles at all, other than that they stay safely away.”
Andromeda started in surprise at the other woman’s animosity, but then
remembered some tidbit about the Longbottom matriarch having participated in
the muggle war efforts during the second World War. It couldn’t have been
pretty. Then again, neither was losing her only child in a most horrific way
and being left to raise her infant grandson. And then to lose her husband
shortly thereafter. No, life had not been entirely kind to August Longbottom.
Still didn’t give her leave to be such a sour old vulture in Andromeda’s
opinion.
“Of course,” she said, getting ready to lead August back out of the room before
she’d even had a chance to settle. Not that she wanted to settle. From the
looks of her starched stance, the elder woman wouldn’t know how to compromise
for anything. “Neville?” she called gently, “If you would be so kind as to
follow me.”
She didn’t take them far—there was a smaller parlor right next to the larger
parlor. It was more of a hobby room now, but it would suffice for two people
who apparently needed to have a chat. She offered the boy a smile for good luck
before shutting the door behind him. Just as she was making her way back to the
family parlor, the doorbell rang.
****
 
“You look flushed,” Augusta immediately dove in. “Not coming down with a fever
I hope. Or maybe just guilt, hmm? I saw you in there, sitting beside that nice
young Abbott girl. Does she have any idea how you ran off with that Lovegood
girl and the other boy—oh, I saw him in there, too, don’t think I didn’t! Does
she know how you were unfaithful and subcommand to temptation?”
“It’s good to see you, too, grandmother,” Neville returning, brushing past her
to take a seat in one of the two arm chairs—unlike the other room, these two
matched perfectly with the little settee. “Looking in fine spirits and health.
Yes, I’m well, thank you for your concern. Apparently, the sun and fresh air
and salt water of the Mediterranean agreed with me.”
He paused. His grandmother’s lips had just about disappeared completely from
the pressure at which she had pressed them together.
“Are you quite finished now?” she demanded.
“Just getting started, I’d say,” Neville countered, relaxing into the chair
while she continued to stand.
“We had a lovely holiday along the Italian Riviera. Yes, my friends are all
doing well, thank you for asking. We stayed at Blaise’s villa in Italy. I know
you didn’t get much of an opportunity to meet and get to know him before we
left. He runs his mother’s portfolio for her but he has several properties of
his own. I believe you might be familiar with his mother, in name, Marianna
Zabini? We didn’t get to meet her. Apparently, she was in Greece with a new
husband. Number eight as I understand it. Hopefully we’ll get to meet her this
summer.
“Luna is also well. We believe her father might actually be joining us
tonight—he was invited, but you never know with Mr. Lovegood. Did I mention
she’d decided to sit her NEWTS early? She’s just looking for a sponsor with the
school board and ministry. She’s definitely smart enough for it—she’s a
Ravenclaw, through and through. Plus, she often studies with us and helps the
rest of us with our homework.
“Hannah’s doing well, too, thank you for your concern. She apparently was a
little homesick while staying with her best friend, Susan Bones—I believe you
knew her aunt before she passed away? She and Susan ended up joining us in
Blaise’s villa. It’s actually rather a good thing you could make it tonight
because Susan’s invited us all back to her family estate for the rest of the
holiday, so I might not have gotten to see you before Spring.”
“You’ll skip out on your own parents?” the elder woman demanded, furious.
“Not at all,” Neville brushed aside her fury. “Harry and Hermione have already
seen Mum and Dad, and Hannah and Susan already knew about what happened to
them. The only one it might be a shock to is Blaise, but either way, we’ll all
be by to visit tomorrow before leaving.
“You might have heard a bit about the trouble Harry and Hermione had at the
beginning of the holidays? But they’re fine of course. They also joined us in
Italy, so it was quite a good holiday with everyone together. Time away from
Hogwarts, relaxing and exploring. Of course, as I understand it, she had just
about as good of a time explaining things to her parents as we had. Except
maybe they actually got the whole story before they flew off into a temper and
Hermione and Harry left for Italy. Hermione’s a bit nervous at the moment
because they were invited tonight, too.
“Then there was a bit of trouble yesterday when Harry and I were in Diagon
Alley, but no worries. We’re completely fine. Not even a scratch on us.
Hermione got a bit upset, and we had to calm her down, but things are mostly
good now. I have a feeling, though, nothing will be really good until the death
eaters are all gone and Voldemort is killed,” Neville frowned.
“What were you even doing in Diagon Alley yesterday?” his grandmother demanded.
“It’s dangerous out now!”
“Well, yeah,” Neville agreed. “Blaise might own some properties, but none
really fit what Harry is looking for, so we were at Gringotts getting some
things set up. We need a place big enough for all of us plus kids, and it needs
to be safe, because, well, there is an evil megalomaniac after Harry, and he’ll
probably be after the rest of us, too. I mean, we’re already a pretty tempting
target just because we’re friends with Harry, but if he ever found out we’re
lovers, too?”
Neville made a little whooshing noise sound effect and then braved a look at
his grandmother to see how she was taking the massive amount of information
he’d just dumped on her.
Stunned. Stunned speechless, no less. It must be a red-letter day, he thought
watching her as she stared back at him looking oh-so-conflicted. Her face was
mottled—partially flushed, partially blanched, as if her body could make up its
mind which reaction to go with. It was wholly unbecoming. Her fingers clutched
her handbag so tight her fingers were yellowed…
And then suddenly, they let go. She let go and slid into the other chair. “What
have you done, Neville?” she breathed. Frightened eyes flew to his face,
searching him as if she could find some physical proof of what he’d said—she
would, if she could see under his clothes. He still sported the bite mark Harry
had given him that morning.
“I choose to be happy,” he said simply. “Being with Harry makes me happy. Being
with the others makes me happy.”
“Polygamy… it’s just not right, Neville,” she started, as if desperate to
convince him to change his mind. “You’re so young. You don’t need that kind of
attention in your life.”
“I don’t think I ever would have been content with just one partner ever,
Gran,” he stated plainly, not quite able to meet her gaze now. “Not and be
happy. And Harry… he calls to me. It was impossible to resist that. And I
didn’t want to.”
“Your inheritance,” Augusta determined. “Something did happen. And you didn’t
tell me.”
He shrugged and immediately felt the sting of a switching hex across his
shoulders, forcing them back straight again. He glared back at her. “You know
inheritances don’t happen all at once, and once I was really sure it was going
to be a full inheritance, well, I was already back at Hogwarts, wasn’t I? And
then things happened with Harry… and the others.”
“And how many know already? Does all of Hogwarts already know?”
“I doubt it,” he countered. “Most think the same as you did—Hannah and I make a
perfect couple in the eyes of the staff and student body. It won’t be until
after we graduate, when we officially move in together that anyone who bothers
to notice might do so. Otherwise, we’re all just really good friends. No one
else besides Susan and Madame Pomphrey even knows we’ve had inheritances. Well,
I mean, Blaise’s dormmates know about him, but not about any of us.”
“The more who know a secret, the less a secret it becomes,” his grandmother
declared staunchly.
“We’re not going to be taking out an advert in the Prophet announcing Harry
Potter came into a creature inheritance and is making up a mixed harem!”
Neville sputtered. “Just, come in, get to know them, and be nice,” he stressed
the last. “Or else you can just go home and have Christmas dinner by yourself
if you want.”
There it was again—the disappearing lips of disapproval.
He stood. “I’ve already been away long enough. I think I heard the doorbell
when we came in here, and that would’ve been Hermione’s parents.”
He hesitated at the door, but his grandmother still hadn’t stood. “I would like
it if you joined us,” he told her, trying… She didn’t say anything, and he felt
his chest harden again. “But if you can’t, you know where the floo is.”
And then Neville walked out and left his grandmother sitting there.
****
Patricia and George Granger were indeed sitting in the family parlor when
Neville returned—as was Mr. Lovegood. The elder Grangers’ eyes kept flitting
over the ensemble, as if not quite sure what to expect. Mrs. and Mr. Tonks
remained the perfect hosts, engaging both Grangers in safe conversations, while
Remus and Tonks talked to Mr. Lovegood.
The pard all looked up, searching his face for any indication of how the
conversation with his gran had gone. Harry stood and approached him.
“Do I need to go and have a word with her?” he asked softly, looking behind
Neville and not seeing the elder Longbottom.
Neville smiled and pulled Harry away from the door. “No, Harry. It’s fine. She
needs to figure out her next move is all.”
“Will your grandmother not be staying, Neville?” Mrs. Tonks called out, looking
up to see the young man reenter the room. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“That’s fine, Andromeda,” Mrs. Longbottom said from doorway, hesitating barely
a moment before stepping in. “I just needed an extra moment.”
And then began the awkwardness of a family gathering filled with introductions
of people you were supposedly somehow related to in some fashion but didn’t
really know, and stop and go conversation that sometimes lagged for a common
topic and sometimes raced ahead with enthusiasm. Dinner was scrumptious,
although not quite right—a different recipe used on an old favorite—and pudding
afterwards was riddled with tense expectations and anticipations.
It was Luna who finally started the exodus when she went up to her father and
told him, “It’s past your bedtime, Daddy. You’ll never get the next issue of
the Quibbler out on time if you don’t get your proper sleep.”
“Right you are, moonbeam,” Mr. Lovegood agreed before making his goodbyes to
everyone.
Which lead to the Grangers both taking their leave. “Bit of a drive, you know.”
“Do you need someone to pop you home?” Andromeda asked, ever the attentive
hostess. “I’m sure Nymphadora and Remus would be willing you pop you back home
on their way…?”
“Oh, but we have the car, and we wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Mrs. Granger
countered.
“Besides,” Tonks interjected, “Really don’t know if I could shrink the car
without making it go all funny. Best not to tempt it.”
“Neville, I expect to be seeing you and your… friends, tomorrow,” Augusta
announced as she stood to make her way to the floo.
And then finally it was just the pard left to floo back over to Grimauld Place
and Draco sulking at being still there.
“Andromeda, thank you for hosting,” Harry said, stepping up to give her a hug
and a kiss.
“A little unorthodox, perhaps,” the elder Black woman deemed. “But overall, I
would say it went well for a first extended family gathering. I would hope,
though, next year, we shall all be celebrating the holidays at your new
established home. It is, after all, the head of house’s duty to host important
family gatherings.”
“We need to find the right place first,” Harry reminded her. “But I’m hopeful,
too. Neville and I are going to take a look at a couple of places before we
leave. I’d like to have wherever it is we decide to live ready before we leave
Hogwarts in June.”
“I’m sure you will find the perfect place for you and your mates, Harry,”
Andromeda encouraged, cupping his cheek with one hand and kissing the other
cheek. “You are doing wonderful, young man. And your young family looks very
fine, too.”
He grinned bashfully and ducked his head. “I hope we can continue to trust on
your guidance and advice in the years to come?”
“It would be my honor. Now, go. Take your family home. As I understand it, you
have another busy day ahead of you tomorrow.” She paused. “My sister… was not
always the sane or rational being. But she was never truly insane. Not when I
knew her, when we were children together and at Hogwarts. But she never forgave
me—not for what she and my parents and aunties saw as abandoning my family
obligation, not for choosing Ted, and definitely not for leaving her as next in
line to fulfill the marriage contract between the Blacks and Lestranges. I
sometimes wonder if something was done to her, done to her mind, that finally
broke her sanity and pushed her into the void. I love her, because she is my
sister. But I also hate her, for all of the terrible, terrible things she has
done.”
“She killed Sirius.”
Andromeda’s eyes pressed shut. “Then she has truly lost herself and turned her
back on family. I know it’s much to ask, but if you ever get the chance, Harry,
please, give peace to her soul. Don’t let them send her back to Azkaban.”
Harry stared at her for a moment… and then nodded.
Chapter End Notes
     Posted a month later than originally hoped for, but NaNoWriMo does
     take away attention that might otherwise have been spent on reading/
     reviewing/editing... Then again, it also added another 50K to this
     story, so... Hope everyone is having an enjoyable holiday season. One
     more chapter, and then we're heading back to Hogwarts!
***** A New Term *****
Chapter Summary
     The Pard returns to Hogwarts after winter break.
Chapter Notes
     Additional Warning for this chapter: male pregnancy, gore associated
     with forced cesarean delivery, mention of involuntary impregnation
     and gestation.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 36: A New Term
~THEN~
“It’s good to see you, too, grandmother,” Neville returning, brushing past her
to take a seat in one of the two arm chairs. “Looking in fine spirits and
health. Yes, I’m well, thank you for your concern. Apparently, the sun and
fresh air and salt water of the Mediterranean agreed with me.”
“Are you quite finished now?” she demanded.
“Just getting started, I’d say,” Neville countered, relaxing into the chair
while she continued to stand.
“We had a lovely holiday along the Italian Riviera. Yes, my friends are all
doing well, thank you for asking. We stayed at Blaise’s villa in Italy. I know
you didn’t get much of an opportunity to meet and get to know him before we
left. He runs his mother’s portfolio for her but he has several properties of
his own… Luna is also well. Did I mention she’d decided to sit her NEWTS early?
She’s just looking for a sponsor with the school board and ministry… Hannah’s
doing well, too, thank you for your concern. She apparently was a little
homesick while staying with her best friend, Susan Bones…She and Susan ended up
joining us in Blaise’s villa. It’s actually rather a good thing you could make
it tonight because Susan’s invited us all back to her family estate for the
rest of the holiday, so I might not have gotten to see you before Spring.”
“You’ll skip out on your own parents?” the elder woman demanded, furious.
“Not at all,” Neville brushed aside her fury. “Harry and Hermione have already
seen Mum and Dad, and Hannah and Susan already knew about what happened to
them. The only one it might be a shock to is Blaise, but either way, we’ll all
be by to visit tomorrow before leaving…Blaise might own some properties, but
none really fit what Harry is looking for, so we were at Gringotts getting some
things set up. We need a place big enough for all of us plus kids, and it needs
to be safe, because, well, there is an evil megalomaniac after Harry, and he’ll
probably be after the rest of us, too. I mean, we’re already a pretty tempting
target just because we’re friends with Harry, but if he ever found out we’re
lovers, too?”
Neville made a little whooshing noise sound effect and then braved a look at
his grandmother to see how she was taking the massive amount of information
he’d just dumped on her.
“What have you done, Neville?” she breathed.
“I chose to be happy,” he said simply.
 
~NOW~
- Saturday, January 3, Hogwarts -
The return to Hogwarts was bittersweet. While they were all glad to be “going
back home”, there had been a peacefulness to being in another country where the
weight and responsibilities of their own country couldn’t really touch them.
The Bones Family Manor had been everything Susan had promised them—big,
tranquil, and remote. Neville had been in heaven, visiting the conservatory for
hours at a time before blazing through the different greenhouses available.
But just because they were removed from the drama of the war, it didn’t mean
Voldemort and his forces were quiet. If anything, after Christmas, it seemed as
if there were more attacks reported than before. Worse still, was the fact that
the muggles were starting to notice the rise in attacks. Despite Harry’s
rallying cry for the witches and wizards of Brittan to stand up and defend
themselves, only two more Death Eaters were collected. He supposed two was
better than their previous score of zero, but standing on the Platform 9 ¾,
patrolling the train as it sped back towards Hogsmeade, sitting in the Great
Hall looking around him… He knew two were too few. The population of Hogwarts
had taken another hit. The students from the Hogsmeade Raid were still missing,
but now there were several other missing students—families that could had moved
away to get as far away from the dissention and unrest as possible. Other
students looked more like unanimated ghosts—victims of the death eater raids,
either first hand or through extended family.
The only really joy in returning to Hogwarts for many of the students was their
belief that the school equaled safety. Harry could have told them how false
that belief was.
Still, Harry had his own reasons for being excited to return to Hogwarts as he
and Neville nervously escorted Hermione and Hannah into the Hospital Wing.
“Ah, Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger,” Madame Pomphrey greeted before seeing the other
two. “Mr. Longbottom, Ms. Abbott, a pleasure. I understand this is a group
affair. Let’s take this into the back room—I have two patients in with a touch
of the flu up front.”
She led them off to a side room and closed the door after they’d all traipsed
in. “Now, as I have been privy to some further information and some of the
particulars of our unique arrangement, I would like to take this opportunity to
speak with you all plainly, as your primary medical care provider. First, I
wish to confirm, there are others in your group, isn’t that right? But they
couldn’t be here?”
“There are,” Harry confirmed. “Two others.”
“We didn’t know they’d need to be here,” Hannah added. “They aren’t the ones
pregnant.”
Madame Pomphrey pursed her lips… you could almost hear the ‘yet’ hanging in the
air. “And you have all been sexually active?” she confirmed. “And do they also
have creature inheritances?”
“Should I go and get them?” Neville asked, hesitantly looking between Harry and
the mediwitch.
“No need, dear. I’ll just have an elf deliver them a note,” the mediwitch
declared, waving her wand and conjuring parchment and quill. Within a minute
she had both notes written and sent off with an elf, not even batting an eye at
the fact she was summoning a sixth-year student or a Slytherin student. “Now
then,” she continued, turning back to the four assembled. “Ms. Granger, I
believe we’ll start with you, if you will please? Up on the bed.”
“Is this really necessary?” Hermione asked even as she settled back on the bed,
feeling decidedly uncomfortable and exposed for all that she was fully dressed.
“Relaxes the core muscles,” Madame Pomphrey explained as she began waving her
wand over the young witch. “Well, it’s as we feared.”
“The spell failed again?” Hermione gaped, sitting up.
“Lie back down, Ms. Granger, please,” the medi-witch commanded. “Yes, the
stasis spell failed again. It does appear that you are one of the few witches
for which the spell will not take. That being said, we’ll take another look,
shall we? About thirteen weeks, I’d say. Just ready to enter your second
trimester. And you had no nausea?”
“No.”
“Hmm. No fatigue?”
“Well, we have been fairly busy,” Hermione hedged. “It would only be normal
that I’d be a bit tired, what with everything going on. But I’ve been mostly
fine the last two weeks. I mean, we’ve been relaxing.”
“If by relaxing you mean running from one museum to another,” Hannah snorted.
“I happen to find that very relaxing, yes, actually.”
“Just a minute, dears. Someone’s entered the ward,” Madame Pomphrey excused
herself.
Hermione turned her eyes to Harry who was frowning and staring off into space.
“Harry, this isn’t good.”
“Hmm?”
“Me, being pregnant,” Hermione expounded. “It’s really not a good idea. I mean,
we’re in the middle of our last year. There’s NEWTS—how am I possibly supposed
to do my NEWTS when I’m all bloated and fat?”
“I really can’t imagine you fat.”
“Not helping.”
“Hermione, calm down. It’s not like we intentionally set out to knock you up. I
mean, yeah, we did sort of talk about it, but I don’t think either one of us
really thought it would happen so soon.”
“It’s a little late to be second guessing yourself, Mr. Potter,” the mediwitch
declared, stepping back into the room. “Maybe you should have given more
thought to the consequences before your started dallying about. And Ms.
Granger, I will remind you that it was you and Ms. Abbott here who came to me
earlier in the fall demanding I preform this spell. It seems to me you were
quite intentional and purposeful about conceiving.”
She went back to waving her wand over Hermione’s body, this time from head to
foot and back again. Upon completion, a tiny scrap of parchment spat out of her
wand. Madame Pomphrey read the report silently to herself, frowning. “It looks
like you’re a little anemic—you’ll want to increase your iron intake some.
We’ll also want to keep an eye on that blood pressure—it’s a little higher than
I’d like to see it. Nothing dangerous. Adolescent pregnancies are not without
their challenges. I’ll want to see you every two weeks. We need to keep an eye
on things. If you have a textbook perfect pregnancy, that’ll be just fine, but
you’re young, and that’s a mark against you in this situation.”
“Go ahead and get up,” she told her Hermione before motioning to Hannah. “Your
turn Ms. Abbott. How have you been feeling? Any nausea? Light headedness?”
“No, I think I’ve been good,” the blonde girl shared. “I mean, a little tired,
but as Hermione said, we’ve been a bit busy with prefect duty and the
mentorship rotation and then the different festivals and making sure there were
some activities planned for the holidays even though we weren’t here ourselves
to enjoy them...”
“I understand, Ms. Abbott. You will be happy to hear, I think, that your
pregnancy is still stable at approximately six weeks.”
“Oh, good. So I’m still okay to have the spell cast on me, without any
problems? I mean, at least for a couple more months, right? We can release the
spell this summer, maybe.”
‘
“There will be no maybes about it,” Pomphrey interjected. It is dangerous to
leave this spell on for too long. It could actually harm your chances to
conceive again. The only reason I’m agreeing to this now at all is because you
are still a student, and I knew you would go off and try and cast the spell
yourself! Not acceptable! Not at al-oh, there goes the proximity alert again.
Excuse me. Neville, I want to see you up on that table next.”
“What? Me? Why me?” the boy in question looked over to the others as Madame
Pomphrey had already left the room to see who had entered her domain now.
“Maybe she plans on checking all of us? I mean, she did call for Blaise and
Luna, too.”
“Indeed I did, and wouldn’t you know it, they were able to arrive at about the
same time, funnily enough. What a coincidence,” the mediwitch drawled, steering
the two newest teens into the room with their pard mates. Once more she shut
the door behind her. “Mr. Longbottom, I believe I said I wanted you lying flat
on the table, not still standing beside it. Right you are, Ms. Abbott, I do
indeed intend to check each and every one of you to make sure you are all in
good health. I believe someone mentioned something about a creature
inheritance—other than yours, Harry, I’ll get to you in a moment.”
“I’m fine,” the raven hair boy mumbled.
“I’m sure you are, but it never hurts to keep abreast of things. I have, of
course, since I last saw you, done a spot of research.”
“Forgive me, Madame Pomphrey, but we weren’t able to find very much about
Vanteerians in the library.”
“Forgive me, Ms. Granger, but you’ll find I have a few more sources than just
the school library,” the mediwitch returned. Hermione looked so stunned the
others had to look away before laughing. “Now, Mr. Longbottom, if you’ll
please? On the bed, hup hup.”
Neville obediently laid back on the bed and watched nervously as the medi-with
waved her wand up and down his body, just like she’d down with both girls. As
before, a strip of parchment spat from her wand and she read it attentively.
Her lips pressed together, and Neville sat up, anxious that something might be
wrong somehow. He felt perfectly fine—healthy and hale and all that.
“Nymph, then?” the medi-witch asked finally, looking away from the script and
back at him. “Dryad, specifically, I would suspect. Your grandmother must be
relieved. I know your grandfather would certainly be proud to have another
nymph present in the family. Do you have everything you need?”
Neville flushed and looked away. “I’m good.”
“Hmm. Well, the minute you start noticing a slump, let me know. Most nymphs
find the winter months especially difficult.”
“Professor Spout has pretty much allowed me free hand with the greenhouses, so
I don’t mind it so much.”
“That’s good, I suppose. And no other concerns? Food allergies popping up?”
“No, actually,” he said slightly surprised. “I mean, I tend to avoid anything
too salty, but sitting next to Harry, that’s not really a problem.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“The house elves have been offering him mostly elven dishes.”
“And that, of course, is quite acceptable feast for a nymph,” Madame Pomphrey
approved. “And none of your other friends have noticed the change?”
“Well, it’s not usually enough for too many, and, well, I mean, it’s usually
only Luna and sometimes Hermione who share off our plates, so…”
“Quite. Ms. Lovegood, if you please, up on the bed. You’re next.” Luna complied
without a word and the process repeated itself until Madame Pomphrey was again
reading the parchment script.
“Fae,” Luna unannounced, “Unpresented as of yet.”
“I would say I was surprised, but Mr. Potter does manage to surround himself
with the extra-ordinary, doesn’t he? Very well, Ms. Lovegood, thank you, you
may get down. And now you, Mr. Zabini.”
“Of course,” the dark skinned young man complied, “But I could tell you what
you will find.”
“Just a moment young man,” the mediwitch held him off while she performed her
scan, frowning deeper than before, this time not in annoyance or displeasure as
in so much puzzlement. As if she wasn’t quite sure what to think or believe
about what she was reading.
“It’s quite all right,” Blaise told her. “Your scan’s not wrong. At least, I
don’t think it is. It wouldn’t make sense for it to work perfectly fine every
time before me, and then suddenly not work on me.”
“These readings can’t be right.”
“Why? What do they say?” Harry demanded, suddenly upset at the idea that
something was wrong with Blaise, despite how calm the boy in question was.
“Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He’s just, well, I’m fairly sure… Well, it appears as
if my scan has somehow double over on itself, producing two readings for one
being.”
“Double? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I assure you, it does,” Blaise soothed, smiling a bit wryly. “I choose to
present in this fashion, but remember, I have another true form. I suspect
that’s what the good mediwitch is seeing.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry persisted. “Surely you’ve been to the hospital wing
at some point in your Hogwarts career. She should have noticed something
different about you then, right?”
“Madame Pomphrey doesn’t run such intensive and personal tests on people who
just are here for a quick pepper-up or bruise salve…”
“No, of course not!” the mediwitch agreed.
“And even if I had been to the Hospital Wing for something more serious, until
very late last year, I was still mostly single sexed.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Hermione frowned. “How can you be mostly single sexed
and then turn double sexed?”
“My inheritance blossomed,” he offered nonchalantly.
“This is why you could turn into a girl?” Harry asked, remembering the very
first morning he’d woken up with Blaise in his bed.
The Italian boy nodded. “Both are true forms for me, so you see, Madame
Pomphrey, your spell is not incorrect.”
“It might make diagnosis a bit more problematic,” the mediwitch frowned, still
trying to decipher the two intermixed readings. “But from what I can make out
of this for the moment, you seem in good health.”
“Yes, ma’am. I am kept very well satisfied with this group.”
“That’s good. And will you be experiencing something similar to Neville’s
estrus that we should prepare for?” Neville flushed red, but Blaise remained
calm.
“It is unlikely that I will enter a brooding period while still a student, but
I thank you for your concern,” he responded to the rather intimate question.
Madame Pomphrey pursed her lips again, but finally nodded. “Fine then, off with
you. Harry, your turn, up on the bed.”
“Is this really necessary?” the head boy groused as he dutifully hopped up onto
the bed.
“Yes, now stop your complaining. Even if Ms. Granger and Ms. Abbott didn’t
already have an appointment to see me, I would have wanted to see you again.
You might recall, the last time I saw you, you were still recovering from
injuries you’d received during a death eater attack.”
“I’m all better, promise!”
“I believe you, but that still doesn’t mean I’m not going to check,” the medi-
witch proclaimed, repeating the procedure of waving her wand from head to toe
and then skimming the results. “As suspected, your body’s natural healing
talents have completely repaired any of the damage. It looks like it’s even
been busy repairing some of the more insidious damage left behind from your
youth.”
Harry tensed at that, but the medi-witch wasn’t paying attention as she
summoned a folder from her office. Around the room, the other pard members
stood up straighter and looked over at Harry questioningly, all except Hermione
who just looked sad, not able to look at Harry as she worried her lip.
“What does she mean, ‘damage from your youth’?” Neville half-whispered to
Harry.
“She’s not referring to your unfortunate meeting with a certain dark wizard, is
she?” Blaise added, protective hackles raised.
A thick folder forced its way in under the door. And then several more
followed, some so thick they had to split themselves into several groups to fit
under the door and then reassemble on the side of the door.
“Is that all Harry’s?”
“Yes, from each of his years. He’s kept me quite busy.”
“So many!”
Too many. The seven files settled themselves on a little side table and Madame
Pomphrey immediately reached for the slimmest one on the bottom. Flipping it
over she briefly skimmed through multiple pages searching for and finding the
confirmation she was looking for. “Yes, see here… Just as I thought. Your body
is healing itself from years of malnourishment and abuse. It’s probably why you
could finally afford a growth spurt this year. I’d say that’s your creature
inheritance stepping in to make you as in perfect health and condition as
possible to help care for and protect your mates. And what’s even better, I can
detect no detrimental side effects cropping up from the mixture of basilisk
venom and phoenix tears in your blood.”
“What?” several voices all cried out in various stages of surprise and fright.
“Well, after so many years, I was only slightly concerned something might
react, and after hearing you’d come into a creature inheritance, I definitely
wanted another check, but… there you have it. You, Mr. Potter, are truly in the
best health you’ve ever been in.”
“So, I’m free to go then, right?” Harry ask, slightly desperately, more than
ready to be off the bed and out of there.
“Not so fast, Harry,” Neville stepped up as Harry moved to hop off the bed. “I
think some of us would like to have a little chat with you.”
“A chat that can take place in the privacy of your own rooms now, I think, Mr.
Longbottom. You are all free to go.”
****
“Just what did she mean, Harry?” Blaise was first to ask once the doors of the
Head chambers closed behind them. “Years of abuse and neglect?”
“Technically, malnourishment, and it wasn’t that bad.”
“Years, Harry, she said years!” Hannah stressed, eyes watering freely.
“I thought it might be something,” Neville admitted, looking bashfully at him.
“But, I mean, I didn’t expect…”
“I knew,” Hermione put in quietly, not meeting anyone else’s look but Harry.
“But you’ve got to admit, Harry, the way she said it… years… and the size of
those files…” She took a deep breath but it didn’t stop her own eyes from
watering.
“I mean, yeah, it was bad. I get it,” Harry told them. “But it’s over now,
isn’t it? I’m never going back there again, am I? And you heard Madame
Pomphrey—my body’s healing itself from whatever, and I’m as good as new, better
than ever, even!”
“And the basilisk venom and phoenix tears?” Blaise asked. “Quite a potent
mixed.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have the scar anymore to show you, but it used to be right
here,” he said, grabbing his inner elbow. “Took a bloody fang while stabbing
it.”
“The Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione said dully. “Second year. Slytherin’s
monster was a basilisk.”
“And you figured out it was using the pipes to get around the school,” Harry
reminded her, more than a little proud of her reasoning capabilities.
“You mean those rumors were true?” Blaise asked, frowning. “You really are the
heir?”
“Well, not really, but possibly,” Harry confessed. “Technically, the last
official heir to come through Hogwarts was Tom Riddle, but he didn’t like the
fact his mum named him after his muggle dad, so he changed it when he got
older. Most everyone now calls him Lord Voldemort.”
The others looked at him with dull disbelief, all except Hermione who already
knew most of everything.
“What? It’s true?” Harry squawked defensively. “His mom was, like, the last
daughter of the Gaunt Family, she was practically a squib, but she must have
been decent enough with potions because she supposedly used a love potion on
his dad to convince him to run away with her. At some point she stopped dosing
him, but she was already pregnant. He woke up, freaked out, and left. She died
giving birth to baby Voldemort in some orphanage in London, and that’s where he
grew up.”
“You-Know-Who’s given name is… Tom?” Neville asked.
“I know right? A good, old fashioned, proper English name, and he goes and
changes it to something weird,” Harry shrugged.
“It’s not weird, it’s French,” Hermione countered. “I looked it up. Roughly
translated, it means ‘Flight of Death’ or ‘Flight from Death’. Which is rather
ironic when you consider his evil minions are called Death Eaters.”
“At least he kept with the theme,” Luna supplied.
“Aren’t we all missing the point here?” Hannah shouted.
“No, we’re not,” Harry attempted to soothe her, grabbing her balled fists and
pulling her into him. “Yes, things were bad when I was littler. But I’m not
that little boy anymore, Hannah. I’m okay now.”
“But it’s not okay,” she protested. “Parents are supposed to love and protect
you!”
“But I didn’t have my parents,” he reminded her gently.
“Then the people who were charged with taking care of you!” she shouted.
“But they weren’t. They never asked to have another child. They just woke up
one morning and there one was, out on the doorstep with the morning milk.”
“What?” Even Hermione sounded taken back by that.
“Yep. Just a note saying, ‘hey, your sister and her husband died. Here’s their
kid.’”
“You mean, no one even spoke to them?”
“Nope, not that I’m away of, and believe me, my aunt and uncle made me very
aware of the fact they were given no choice in taking me in. They used to
lament not taking me to an orphanage when they found me.”
“They couldn’t have,” Hermione whispered. “Orphanages don’t really exist
anymore.”
“Oh. Well, that explains it then.”
“That explains nothing! Madame Pomphrey said you were malnourished—couldn’t
they have used the stipend to buy enough food for everyone?”
“Oh, they had enough food,” Hermione practically growled. “Believe you me, I’ve
seen them. Grossly overweight, his uncle and cousin. No, they choose not to
feed him.”
“That’s why you were so much smaller than almost everyone else when we
started.”
“And why you never really ate all that much at the welcome back feasts, either,
isn’t it? They starved you…”
“Listen guys, yeah things were bad,” Harry interjected, more than ready to be
done with this topic. “Probably worse than I really understood it, but I lived
through it, and like I said, I’m never going back there. I don’t have to have
anything to do with the Dursleys ever again. And I’ve made sure to fill a will
with Gringotts that covers as many contingencies as I could think of in case
something does happen to me in this war, so that you and our children can be as
safe and protected as possible.”
“What? Harry—that’s—”
“Now, I really don’t want to talk about my past. It’s over with and I want to
leave it there in the past. I’m more interested in our future.”
He pulled Hermione against him, hand sliding over her waist to cover her small
belly where they now knew their first child was growing. “We have a little
nugget to prepare for, and we should probably talk about how you want to handle
things, Hermione.”
And thankfully, it didn’t take much more to turn the topic of conversation away
from him. Not that the others were about to forget what they now knew, but at
least they could all turn their attention towards something they could actually
do something about.
 
****
- Wednesday, January 14, Dungeons -
He was expecting something… just not so soon.
The air left his lungs in a whoosh as his back slammed into the stone wall,
propelled by the push against his shoulder. The back of his head stung from
where it had cracked against stone, and he took a moment to blink his eyes back
into focus.
“What the hell, Zabini, you a traitor?”
Reginald Stanton was a puffed up sixth year Slytherin who had aspirations to
rule the roost—unfortunately for him, no one else in Slytherin seemed to agree
but a very select few. In some respects, the boy reminded Blaise of a younger,
less popular Draco. But the boy wasn’t even half as pretty, or eloquent, or
financially and politically endowed. Meaning, he was a loser and a bully.
“Didn’t think anyone would catch on to your escapades, huh?” the boy attempted
to growl—still trapped in that awkward stage of adolescents where everything
looked put together wrong, disproportionate. “Well, guess what? Someone did see
you! Saw you on your knees moaning around a mouthful of cock like a filthy
whore, and for a stinky Gryffindor.”
Whoops. Maybe he should have listened to Neville that morning when the other
had suggested a quickie so near to the more populated corridors really wasn’t
such a good idea, and yet… it had been a truly fabulous idea, and he totally
planned on doing again sometime. “I know it’s hard, but try not to be too
jealous,” Blaise drawled, rolling the ache off his shoulders and stepping away
from the wall.
Reginald might have tried to bully Blaise, to crowd his space and force him
into a defense, but the boy was grossly out of depth in the intimidation
department. After all, Blaise had spent the past seven years watching Greg and
Vincent intimidate others simply by walking into a room—they were actually okay
blokes, all things considered, just grossly out of their depths most of the
time. In fact, the only reason they were at Hogwarts at all is because of the
prestige that comes with attending and the fact their families could afford to
send them. Higher education was wasted on some, like the one in front of him.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Oh? Were you talking? Watch me not care,” Blaise responded, turning away from
him.
Stanton reached for him again, but this time Blaise was ready for him. He side-
stepped the grab and swung away, wand in hand and digging into the uppity
little snot’s throat. “I suggest you not try to touch me again, Stanton. It
might be hazardous to your health.”
“So you really are a traitor to your own House,” Stanton sneered—the ignorant
moron was too big of an idiot, he didn’t even bother to care for his
appearance. His face was covered in pustules that disgusted Blaise to even look
at. One of the first potions they all learned to brew was the boil remover.
Only the idiots who didn’t do the reading failed to realize that diluted, it
could be used as an anti-acne potion. The fact no one had told Stanton—not even
his so-called friends—was even more nauseating.
With a sneer of his own, Blaise pushed the grotesque boy away from him. “I
suggest you leave matters that you are grossly undereducated in alone, Stanton,
and not try to interfere in matters that do not concern you.”
He turned to leave again, wondering if he was going to have to take matters a
step further to get the little creep to desist. He had made it only a handful
of steps when a warm purr sent shivers down his back.
“I do trust you weren’t about to cast magic in the hallways, Mr. Stanton.”
Blaise turned back to watch as their head of house prowled down the corridor
towards them… and yes, Stanton did have his wand out. The stinking coward.
“No, sir,” the twit bleated. “Zabini and I were just having a little chat about
the people he’s been choosing to associate with recently, sir. Were you aware—”
“I assure you, Stanton, I have forgotten more than you will ever be aware of in
this school.” Liquid dark eyes shot from piecing the sixth year to the spot to
lasering in on Blaise, and he felt his pulse quicken and fought the urge to
swallow. There was something about the elder Slytherin that called to him on an
instinctive level. He’d always appreciated the older man’s character—his poise,
his elocution, his sheer radiating presence… and as he matured himself and
became more in line with his inner nature… his raw sexuality. By sixth year,
more and more of Blaise’s peers were being to take note of the Slytherin head
of house. He was, after all, the youngest member of staff, even if his
personality dissuaded the majority from ever attempting anything. A year later,
Blaise still felt that instinctual pull towards the older man. That wasn’t all
that surprising. What did surprise him was the desire to dominate the other
man. He blinked, pushing away the image of pressing on the man’s shoulders and
forcing him to his knees before him… the very position Blaise himself had taken
only too willingly this morning.
“Mr. Zabini’s actions, and who he chooses to spend his time with, are of no
concern to you, Mr. Stanton. Now, I suggest you leave this corridor immediately
and return to your common room.”
“But sir! It’s not even close to curfew!”
“I think you will find, Mr. Stanton, that for you, curfew began five minutes
ago.”
The sixth year looked pathetically confused and in disbelief.
“You should go now. It would be unwise for me to find you again this evening.”
“I—yes, sir,” the boy finally capitulated, and walked back down the corridor,
away from the direction Blaise had been heading. Curfew wasn’t for another
hour, but then, Blaise had had no real intention of spending the night in his
own dorm room.
“You have been incautious, Mr. Zabini,” Snape began once the other boy was
firmly away, watching Blaise closely.
He debated how to play out the rest of this very unusual encounter—their head
of house was not known for his direct instruction or interference of in-house
matters. Then again, his current liaisons were not in-house, were they? And
perhaps worse, they involved Harry, and everyone knew there were nothing but
loathing between Severus Snape and the Potter name. Just exactly how much did
the professor know about his actions?
“Remember there is more at stake than your love life.” The professor loomed
closer, invading Blaise’s personal space. Now here was a man who knew the art
of intimidation. “There is a war raging outside of these walls, and there are
some who would like nothing better than to drag that war right into our very
beds.”
“Depending on who you talk to, I’m already in bed with the enemy.”
“Then you should know to be doubly as cautious and not endanger those you
profess to care for. Unless, of course, it is all a ruse, and you intend to
turn them over when it is most beneficial to you. That is, after all, a very
ambitious and cunning action.”
“And a cowardly one,” Blaise sneered. “I have more loyalty than that.”
“See that you do. The game you are playing is not for the weak-willed.”
“I’m not playing any game, professor. I’ve made my choice, and I will stand by
it.”
“Very well.” Snape leaned away, and even just those few inches seemed like a
breath of free air. “See that you do not come to regret that choice, Mr.
Zabini.”
“I don’t think I will, sir.”
“I will not always save you from your housemates’ retribution once it becomes
known.”
He wanted to say he didn’t need saving, but that was a childish response.
Instead, he answered, “I understand, sir.”
He turned to leave, making it another five steps away before Snape’s voice
called back to him.
“Mr. Zabini, perhaps you have forgotten where the Slytherin Common Room is?”
Blaise turned, smirk curling his lips. “I haven’t forgotten, sir. It’s a very
nice common room. I’ve enjoyed it these last six years. But I find the Head’s
common room to better suit my needs this year.”
“You’re abandoning your house dorm entirely?”
Blaise paused, his smirk slipping. “I think that might be for the best, sir.
Don’t you agree?” When Snape said nothing further, Blaise nodded. “Have a good
rest of your evening, sir,” he added as he turned and finished walking away.
The Pard didn’t say anything when he entered their suite. He slipped in
quietly, seamlessly. The next morning, he didn’t attempt any subterfuge as they
all went down to breakfast. He merely slipped his hand into Luna’s and walked
down with the rest of them. Quite frankly, he was bored of having to hide his
affection towards and with the other members of the pard, all because he was in
Slytherin, and it could be potentially dangerous for his housemates to learn
just how closely aligned he was with Harry Potter.
Luna squeezed his hand.
It wasn’t until they were all settled comfortably around the Gryffindor table
breaking their fast and another Gryffindor brought up the fact there was a
Slytherin sitting at their table that the rest even noticed him being there was
anything out of the ordinary.
“Uh, Harry, you okay with this?”
Harry looked up from his porridge, confused. “With what?”
Seamus nodded towards where Blaise sat between Luna and Neville, calmly making
them all a cup of coffee from the fancy silver pot the house elves must have
sent over from Slytherin’s table, shooting Hermione an apologetic look at her
covetous gaze.
“We can try one of the herbal blends, Neville got for Christmas,” Hannah tried
to console her, patting her knee from where she sat beside the head girl,
across from Neville and the others, even as she shot her own envious looks at
the highly caffeinated beverage.
Harry blinked, still confused at whatever it was Seamus was questioning. “Did
you want some coffee, too?” he asked finally. “I’m sure Blaise would be willing
to share.”
And then it seemed to click. “Decided to finally sit with us for meals, then?”
he asked after Seamus shook his head and seemingly went back to his
conversation with some other Gryffs. 0
Blaise’s eyes darted to the head table. His head of house and several other
professors had certainly noticed his choice of seating this morning. “I had a
run in last night that intimated that it was long past time to quite hiding my
alliances.”
“Will this make things difficult for you?” Hermione asked, unable to prevent
the frown tugging at her lips.
“I’m sure some things will be more complicated,” he admitted before continuing,
“but overall, I expect this to simplify matters. And, if nothing else, it will
not seem unseemly now when I am seen walking you to and from the classes we
share.”
“You did not just come out to the entire school, so you could walk me to our
Runes, History, and Arithmancy classes, did you?” she asked aghast.
“Of course not,” he dissuaded. “That just happens to be a very happy side
effect. And besides, consider me acting as a positive role model for some of
the other Slytherins who are still finding it difficult to either play nice
with the other houses or accept the fact they actually do have a choice in this
war, no matter what their families say.”
“I would think I make the better role model for that,” a voice drawled from
behind him. “Budge over, will you. There’s a foul stench hovering near my
preferred seat. I simply couldn’t stomach it so early in the morning.”
Blaise looked up, surprised, but obligingly made room for Draco to sit beside
him. “Apparently someone took offense with the sixth-year boys,” the blond
continued, although no one asked him. “Set off a sack of dung bombs in their
dormitory. The smell permeated all the way into the common room this morning.
Absolutely foul.”
****
- Friday, January 23, somewhere -
He was dreaming.
It was a strange experience, to be alert and yet realize you were asleep. Never
before had he been so conscience of himself as a separate entity within a
dream. It was peculiar.
He looked around him. He was standing outside a house, tucked between some
trees. The house he was looking at seemed familiar, but how had he gotten
there? Why was he here? Where was here even?
Should he go in the house? He was in the house.
He didn’t remember traveling up the walk or how he got through the door. He was
just suddenly inside the door, looking at the entry way. There was a staircase
leading up to the first floor. There were doors ahead and to the side of him.
He was through the door.
It was a sitting room. A man and a woman were inside. Both seemed exhausted,
defeated, wearied to the bone as they slumped over the arms of a chair and
sofa.
“Seven down,” the man mumbled. “Only another twenty-six to go.”
The woman whimpered. “That’s this week alone,” she sobbed. “You need to tell
him we need more help!”
“If I were to do that, he’d likely kill me,” the man snapped, borderline
panicky. “Then you’d be here tending to all the deliveries and the birthings,
and the incubators, and the offerings alone! Is that what you want?”
“No,” she answered brokenly. “Someone will be coming by to tend to the babes?”
“I’ve told you so, haven’t I?” the man groused, and the woman flinched. “I just
don’t know when. Hopefully before the end of the week. I can’t keep this up.
They keep waking up and screaming.”
“They’re hungry and needing a feed, or they need their nappies changed, Ernie,”
the woman tried to placate. “It’s not their fault. They’re just babies.”
“Yes, well, there’s a reason I told you I never wanted children,” Ernie
retorted gruffly. “Just my luck our Lord has assigned me this task. I’ll be
spending the next year surrounded by the little beasts.”
The woman mumbled something that sounded like, “Your lord, not mine.”
But before the man could respond to her, an alarm triggered. Ernie growled as
he pushed up. The woman seemed to curl in on herself. “Come along, Eudora.
That’ll be another one ready to pop. Best call that elf of yours to get another
crib ready.”
Eudora got to her feet as well, soft slippered feet pattering after him.
Harry went, too. Only, he didn’t follow them up the stairs, he was just
suddenly there. In the room where bed after bed was set out. Each bed was
occupied by a body—mostly women, but a few men, he noticed. But what really
stood out were their gravid stomachs, distended to all different sizes. Some of
the bellies actually moved, shifted and stretched, although their hosts never
awakened.
Each bed looked very much like another—except for one that was about halfway
down on the left. This bed was pulsing with a dim yellow light that was slowly
darkening as he watched. Moments later, the man and woman from downstairs—Ernie
and Eudora, that was important. He needed to remember that. —entered the room.
He strode right up to the bed, wand in hand.
“Are you ready, Eudora?” Ernie asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer as his
wand was slashing.
“Romkey?” the woman called out in a whisper, also rushing over to the bed.
Instantly, there was a pop as a house elf popped in with extra linens. “Romkey
was just tending the babes, Missy Watkins, but bes here now.”
Ernie had removed the sheet covering the person on the bed and sliced a
horizontal cut low along the man’s bulging stomach. And it was a man, he noted,
for the body was very much nude under the sheet. The house elf rushed forward
with a towel and placed it over the sleeping man’s genitals, catching the
streaming blood pouring from the open cut.
Ernie paid no mind to the bloody mess he was making as he put his hand at the
top of the man’s rounded belly, up near the chest, and pushed down and out.
There was another gush of blood, a squelching sound as flesh was forced apart
to make way for the sac that was being forced free of the body. He raised his
wand again, slashing open the caul with a gush of other fluid—reddish but more
watery than blood.
“Come, take it,” he commanded, and Eudora rushed forward, reaching into the
stretched membrane and pulling out a curled up newborn. She took up another
linen Romsey held out for her and started swaddling and tending to the baby
while Ernie dealt with the ‘mother’—all with his wand. Never once did he
actually touch the birth mother if he could avoid it.
The caul and placenta were ripped free from inside the young man’s abdomen and
dumped unceremoniously into a nearby pail. The transversal cut was mended. A
number of potions were magicked into the man, and then Ernie levitated him and
escorted him through a door at the back of the room.
Curious, Harry went to look. It was another room, with more beds. Ten beds.
Seven were currently occupied. Eight, when Ernie levitated the young man onto
one of the beds and then left him there. All seven other occupants had flatter
stomachs. Post-partum, he thought. These people had already delivered their
babies. Six women and now two men. There were eight innocent little newborns.
He wanted to see.
He was in another room. It didn’t feel like the same floor, but he couldn’t be
sure. Along the wall were two lines of basinets, twenty in total, almost
identical to the other room with its rows of beds. He approached one of the
basinets and looked inside. The baby was sleeping, swaddled in a pink blanket.
He checked on the others. Four other little babies were wrapped up in pink
nursery blankets. Only two were wrapped in blue blankets.
There were cards attached to the end of each basinet. He leaned closer to try
and read them—sex, weight, and length of the child was listed, along with date
and time of birth, designation of the child, name of the bearer, and name of
the sire. He recognized some of the names listed under the sire as death eater
names—Yaxely, Crabbe, Avery, Carrow. Some he didn’t recognize—Haworth,
Dagmouth, Plum.
The woman, Eudora, entered with her young charge. She swished her wand at one
of the basinets and the blank card filled itself out with the new information:
Boy, 6 pounds 8 ounces, 47.5 centimeters. 21st January 2:24 am. Pureblood.
Bearer: Entwhistle. Sire: Dolohov.
The newborn was set gently into the basinet with a soothing word and a little
caress. Before she was finished, another alarm charm sounded, causing her to
flinch again. “Come along, Romkey,” Eudora called. “It looks like our busy
night is to get busier.”
He looked down at the tiny baby. He understood what this place was. He
remembered Voldemort talking about it with his flunkies. A house where they
sent their captives once they were impregnated. The room below—he appeared back
in that room with the beds of sleeping men and women. Ernie was once again
slicing open a mother’s belly and removing the amniotic sac—this was where they
were taken and kept asleep throughout the pregnancy.
What would happen to these people once they’d healed? He wondered…
What would happen to the innocent babies? They hadn’t asked to be born, their
mothers and bearers raped and forced to carry them. Who would care for the
babies? It wasn’t right. They’d grow up without a mum or dad—because he didn’t
think the death eaters who had happily raped and impregnate their captives
would care about the products of their actions. All these little babies… no one
to love or care for them. It wasn’t right.
Even worse, they’d grow up in the care of the Dark Lord’s servants. That
definitely didn’t seem right. Just by watching Ernie, he knew the fellow had no
business around children—he’d even said so. Eudora might be all right, but it
was hard to tell. She seemed so beaten down by Ernie.
He had names now, though. Ernie and Eudora. He could remember that. He had to
remember that. Ernie and Eudora.
And Springbrook House.
Harry woke up.
**
- Thursday, January 29, Headmaster’s Office -
“Sir,” Harry greeted sullenly as he entered the Headmaster’s office a week
later. “Has there been any news?”
He asked, not because he expected to hear an affirmation, but because at this
point in the year it had become part of their routine. Once or twice a week, a
letter would arrive at breakfast, inviting Harry to the headmaster’s office
that afternoon or the next. Harry would then join the Headmaster in his office
where they would enjoy a lovely tea and chat. They talked a little bit about
everything, from personal to public affairs.
From time to time, Harry would actually seek the old man out, especially after
a particular dream-vision-nightmare. Especially if he thought he remembered
something useful that could help the Order or the Ministry—like last week’s
dream—that wasn’t a dream at all. He was getting a bit better at recognizing
his visions for what they were. The better he got, the more he was able to
remember from them when he woke up. Dumbledore wasn’t too happy about it, but
Harry was desperate to provide something, anything, some small piece of
information that could help.
Like last week. When he’d awoke the next morning, he’d remembered there was a
house. He’d remembered a room of babies, and a room of pregnant people. He’d
gone to see the headmaster immediately, hoping against all hope that something
he said might help others track down and locate this house. But without names
or a more detailed location, it was nearly impossible to find.
But today wasn’t one of those days. Instead, Dumbledore had invited Harry into
his office this afternoon—for a chat. Harry often times wondered why the
headmaster had chosen him to confide some of his inner musings to, why did the
headmaster tell him all of the random bits and blats, the randomness that
flitted into his head? Why did he even care to know Harry’s opinion on things?
He didn’t know.
How was Harry coping with his various inherited responsibilities? The prefects
and all were doing a great job, school moral was mostly good. The students were
learning and enjoying themselves. Plans for the Imbolic celebration were coming
along well, thank you for approving it.
On a more personal level? Well, they were still figuring things out amongst the
pard, but it was all good there, too. No worries. Yes, it was true that there
were now five members plus himself. No, he was not actively searching the
student population for more. Yes, the girls had spoken to him about the
possibility of forming a traditional circle, but he still wasn’t convinced. No,
no one was going to let their school work suffer because of personal issues. In
fact, if anything, some of their scores were bound to increase
What was the Ministry currently doing about their dark lord problem? Of course,
they were still a little bit in denial that there was any large threat,
although the Minister was a former auror and more than willing to strong arm
his way into getting things done. Yes, they’d started fortifying their ranks,
but the death eaters were a disease that had infected the body of the ministry
for too long, and there were no concrete plans for treating the root of the
disease. Just a lot of talk of plastering over the symptoms.
How were the members of the Order fairing? What had they been up to since last
Harry had seen them? Were they working on anything new and interesting? When
was the next meeting? What was discussed at the last meeting? How did they like
their new location? Was it working out well? No, it was for the best that they
didn’t continue to use Grimauld Place regularly.
And then, there was the inevitable perusal of Harry’s dreams. Had Harry had any
other vision dreams since last week? Yes. Did he remember anything new about
them? No. Not since last week. Was he remembering to clear his mind before he
slept? Yes—he’d actually gotten a lot better at clearing his mind.
It was frustrating, though. No matter how Harry tried—whether through
practicing what little occlumency he knew or falling asleep from pure
exhaustion… The damn dreams seemed to be good for nothing. He just could never
seem to remember the concrete details when he woke, which frustrated him to no
end. He felt like if he could just remember more… he knew he knew all sorts of
important details from within the dreams—the names of specific people, the
death eaters who were tasked with running the different houses, the names of
all the different houses… In his dreams, he knew what they were. He knew the
names of all of the houses Voldemort used… But when he woke up, he could never
remember where or what they were.
If only he could remember and tell Dumbledore! Then they could get a team
together and rescue the people in those houses! Arrest all the death eaters!
Really put a dent in this terrorist war.
All those people. Although his dreams were blurred when he woke, he still
remembered the shapes and colors… the emotions. The emotions were the hardest.
It wasn’t just the victims—the sad truth was, many of them seemed broken,
disconnected. Their emotions were hollow, and Harry wondered, if when they were
ever rescued, found and saved, would they be able to recover emotionally?
Often times, in the dreams, the victims were deadened to him. But the death
eaters? No, their emotions rubbed the strongest, were the hardest to deal with.
Like the Death Eaters themselves.
At first, in the beginning, the first several times they victimized a person,
it was mostly all fear and disgust he picked up on… but all too soon,
excitement raced between them, lust and satisfaction. The death eaters didn’t
just torture those men and women because they were afraid of Voldemort. No,
some were there because they actually liked it. For some, there was a righteous
fire within them. They believed they had a right to treat other human beings as
possessions, objects, a source of amusement. For others, it was just a job that
they took pleasure from doing. Some just went through the motions as part of
their routine—as mundane as getting ready for bed.
That made Harry sick, because while he was there, stuck in his vision, he
became attached like he was actually one of them. He was forced to experience
that same sense of entitlement and satisfaction from using and abusing one of
the kidnapped victims. He was an unwitting abuser, and he hated it. Other
nights, few and infrequent, were the nights he attached to one of the victims.
Those nights were hollow, empty, like he really was just an object being acted
upon with no will of his own.
He wasn’t sure what he would do if Neville, and Blaise, and Luna, and Hannah,
and Hermione weren’t there to help him separate from those lingering emotions
when he woke up.
“We believe we might have found a possible location,” Dumbledore said slowly.
Harry looked up sharply, anxiously. Did they really? They’d been searching for
months! “Harry, you must promise me not to go rushing off on your own,”
Dumbledore stressed. “The order is working with a select few from the ministry
who we trust, but, as you can imagine, the situation is tenuous as best. If
anything were to tip our hand too soon, our quarry might flee before the trap
is properly set, and we would lose all ground we’ve spent these last months
cumbersomely attaining. It is very important you let us handle this, Harry.”
“I don’t even know where you’re looking at,” Harry pointed out.
“Too right you are. We have our eyes on a property in Lincolnshire. That is the
one we are focusing our attention onto for the moment, although there are a few
others that we have in our sights for suspicious activity.” Dumbledore paused
again, watching him closely, but he couldn’t help it. Harry was searching his
memory furiously, looking for any hint of recognition to Lincolnshire.
“My boy,” Dumbledore spoke, dragging Harry’s thoughts forward to the here and
now. “It is not your responsibility, to find our missing students. That falls
to me. I know you are finding it difficult to deal with their current status,
but we will find them and bring them home.”
Not doing anything rankled—no matter that he knew there really wasn’t anything
he could do as just a student himself. It didn’t matter that he was the boy who
lived. He didn’t have the experience or connections or even the basic knowledge
to do more than muck up the field… but oh! How it raked down his raw nerves
like salt in a wound.
“What will be left of them, when you do find them?” Harry asked, mostly
rhetorically, but also sincerely. “Most of them have shut down, emotionally,
mentally,” he confessed. “I mean, even if they weren’t being drugged with
potions and the what, I don’t think many of them are still all there.”
“It is a coping method,” Dumbledore said like he had all the answers, nodding
sagely. But Harry was begging to realize he didn’t always have all the answers,
no matter how much he, Harry, might wish he did. “But remember, Harry, where
there is life, there will always be hope. We will find our missing students,
and the others, and we will bring them home and help them heal. That is all we
can do.”
Harry could only hope the Headmaster was right, but as January swiftly melded
into February and word came back that the Lincolnshire target had been
abandoned, Harry despaired.
*****
-- Saturday, January 31, Hogwarts –
 
Imbolc was one of the Gaelic traditional festivals that somehow didn’t make it
into the popularly acknowledged Roman Catholic cultural acclimation holidays,
unlike Yule or Ostra, or Samhain, although some areas still celebrated it
quietly as Candlemas or Groundhog’s Day. It was a festival for marking the
middle of winter and the herald of spring—the recovery of the Goddess after
giving birth to the God, the return of the light as the earth slowly wakens
from its winter sleep. Not that you would really notice a break in the winter
at the beginning of February in the highlands of Scotland. If anything, it
seemed like winter was determined to keep her icy grip tightened upon the land.
Still, as part of the push to honor their historical traditions, Hermione had
researched everything she could find about Imbolc before approaching first
Harry and then the rest of the prefects.
“Well, really, Hermione, Beltane’s a bit more popular,” Ernie hesitated. “And
fun.”
“So we make it fun,” Hermione countered with determination. “It’s one of the
four main seasonal festivals. Surely we can put our heads together and come up
with some fun activities for everyone?”
And so they had done their best. Starting from just before sundown of the 31st,
as many of the students who wanted to gathered outside in the snow. The seventh
and sixth years practiced their conjuring skills by creating bells, drums, and
clappers which were passed out the masses. They drew pictures of spring time
things in the snow—someone drew flowers, another person drew a family of
bunnies, someone else drew the quidditch hoops, which sprouted a quick debate
about whether or not quidditch could be constituted at a spring time activity…
“Old man winter, it’s time to go!” Shouted one of first years. “Take with you
these piles of snow!”
And then the rest of the students started up a cacophony, banging on drums,
ringing their bells, shooting of sparks with their wands as they chanted:
“Melt, snow, melt! Spring will soon return!”
Harry shot a fire bolt into the large pyre set up before calling out, “A flame,
a fire, all the warmth it brings, melt the snow, cold be gone, welcome back the
spring!”
The students continued dancing and noise making, screaming and shouting and
singing, “Melt the snow! Melt the snow! Soon the spring will be!”
Draco grabbed one of the torches from the pyre and carried it aloft into the
Great Hall where the rest of the staff and students were waiting to start the
Imbolc Feast. All the students from outside following him in, chanting and
merry making in a large troupe behind him as he presented the torch to
Professor Burbage, the youngest female professor on staff. She smiled as she
accepted the torch with great ceremony, using it to light the great fire in the
great hall, which had been stuffed with different purifying herbs. Smoke
immediately began to fill the air, and the students cheered again (some simply
because the fire had finally been relit and they were cold!).
Prefects helped pass out simple red, white, or green candles to any student who
wanted one. After dinner, they could light their candle from the great hall’s
hearth to bring back to their common rooms and dormitories. A few students
tried to make some grumbling noises about the red and green coloration, but
prefects were quick to point out it wasn’t House colors—the red was too
cardinal for Gryffindor, the green to pine for Slytherin—but the colors of
Imbolc: red for the virgin goddess Brigid, green for her fertility, and white
for the snow.
Bowls of snow were set out on the tables, and the food appeared—it wasn’t
anything fancy, although the house elves made a few special items for the day
ahead.
“Someone put cabbage in the mash,” Ron exclaimed as he attempted to heap piles
of potatoes onto his plate.
“It’s only calcannon,” Hermione sniffed, buttering a slice of brambrack for
herself. “Not like you weren’t going to eat some of the cabbage anyway, right?”
she added, giving him one of those motherly looks that said he had better be
planning to eat his greens.
Neville, watching this, made sure to add another spoonful of brussels sprouts
to his own plate… and then, for good measure, added another to a snickering
Harry’s plate, too, so that when she turned back, Hermione would see them both
with greens on their plate. No sense in inciting the head girl when she was
already riled up and anxious about things going well this weekend!
As dinner ended, they all lifted their bowls of snow water and swished it
around until the last bits of snow had melted. One of the second years down the
table from them shouted out to Harry, “The snow has melted!”
“Spring will return!” Harry shouted back. Around them, those who had been
outside earlier took up their noisemakers and created a great noise, causing
many to cringe and wince. A careful look up at the staff table revealed the
shimmer of a noise barrier shield as the teachers all smiled indulgently down
at the students. Well, all but one, but then, when did Severus Snape ever
really smile, Harry thought uncharitably.
Red and white ribbons festooned different areas of the castle, carrying hints
of the festivities throughout the stone building. Classroom that were to house
Imbolc activities that weekend had especially buoyant bows affixed to their
doors to help students designate where to check out. One such room was filled
with rushes gathered fresh that morning. They practiced braiding and weaving
Brigid’s girdles, creating large hula-hoop like constructs that were then used
for competitive games as bodies weaved in and out of the “girdles”. Some of the
girls brought out their needlework and sat around the fires laughing and
chatting as they worked on different projects together.
Hagrid was perhaps the most popular—he’d set up a little petting zoo in one of
the downstairs classrooms. He’d known a fellow who ran a farm—raised sheep and
some other animals, too. With just a little bit of finagling, the COMC
professor was able to borrow some ewes and their lambs, a cow and her calf, a
couple of Ginny goats with their kids, and even some krup pups and kneazle
kittens. Baby animals was a huge hit, and Hermione made sure to ask him about
it for the spring festival.
Neville and Professor Sprout were kind enough to open one of the green houses
for anyone who wanted to come in and pot a couple of bulbs—daffodils,
hyacinths, tulips, forsythia, crocus, and snowdrops being available. Several of
the younger years took advantage of the school owls to send their pots home to
their families.
When the special activities came to a close at dinner time Sunday, the school
atmosphere was lighter and gayer than it had been in weeks. Students were
smiling and laughing as if the troubles of the outside world had been blasted
from their memories. It was a good way to start a new month, Harry thought.
*****
Harry sent the pard off to their own beds in their own dormitories tonight—all
except Blaise, who he sent up to the head’s suite with Hermione. He knew the
Slytherin must be taking some slack from their peers for the arrangement… some
continued to think the Italian was cuckolding him, others that he was cock
holding him. Some thought there was a sordid ménage taking place nightly in the
head’s rooms, others didn’t think much about it at all. Harry honestly
preferred the latter, but since when did he ever get what he wanted?
The truth of the matter was, it wasn’t safe for Blaise to continue returning to
the Slytherin dorms. Not after it became openly known he’d sided with Harry and
thus the “light side” of the war. Since about the second week after returning
to Hogwarts, Blaise had stopped hiding their association. He became as
affectionate in public as he was want to be in private, and he spent every
night in the head’s room with Hermione and Harry. He knew the Slytherin was
working with Hermione to try and explore her elemental gifts—he was grateful.
And Blaise would talk him down from a nightmare or vision when Harry woke in a
cold sweat, a litany of foreign words pouring from his lips in such a melodic
tempo, Harry was hapless but to relax back into slumber.
He walked Luna and Neville up to their towers before trailing back down through
the lower floors, checking for students out of bed and up to mischief. It was a
school night, but that didn’t matter to the truly determined. In fact, all the
better for a practical joker. Luckily, Harry didn’t run into anybody but some
prefects returning from their own hallway sweeps as he ventured further down
into the dungeons. Even the kitchens were mostly quiet. He determined that he
would finish up with the corridor outside the Slytherin common room before
making his way back up to his own bed when he came abreast the dungeon bat
himself.
“Mr. Potter. Out late again, I see.”
“Just doing some sweeps of the corridors, sir, making sure everyone’s safely
away. Finished up the upper floors. Just sweeiping the dungeon’s now, and then
I’m off to my own bed.”
“Where I trust, Mr. Zabini is keeping it warm for you.”
Harry wasn’t sure what it was about the man, but he rankled… more so than any
of the animosity they’d annoyed previously. Ever since the beginning of this
year… it wasn’t the same as before—hell, nothing was the same, but the tension…
the sense of presence.. there was a need to seek out the man from time to time,
to know where he was, what he was doing, if he was well or not.
But he was annoying, hateful, spiteful still. No love lost between them. He
didn’t care if Snape was working with the Order, spying on Voldemort for the
Order—he was still an ass. Sometimes he just wanted to hex his face off.
“Or Hermione,” he answered—no point in hiding the truth they both already knew
from him. “Or both. Kinda hopeful it’s both,” he added, tauntingly. After all,
he had two nubile lovers waiting for him in his bed… how many had the potions
professor? For a moment, Harry tried to envision the type of person that
Severus Snape would invite into his bed. The moment passed quickly with a sharp
pang of… jealousy? Anger?
Snape’s lips pressed tighter.
“I always know it’s going to be a long night when those two get together,”
Harry pressed on. “Fun, but long.”
Mixed signals, they hurt his head. There was a piece of him, he wanted to say
it was small, that wanted to push the professor back against the stone walls of
the dungeon and snog him senselessly. Wanted to take fistfuls of that lanky
dark hair and see if it was really as oily as it looked, or if it was just
super soft. Wanted to thrust his tongue down his throat as he forced his legs
to spread and make room for Harry’s hips…
And there was an equally as annoying voice, screaming at him “what the fuck?”
over and over as it tried to point out that this was his professor, his greasy
grimy hated potions professor with his yellow stained fingers, lanky form and
crappy personality…
“You are despicable, Potter,” Snape spat. “Professor Dumbledore may have
decided to permit you your hedonistic ways, he was always overly indulgent with
you, but do not mistake his leniency as sanction from the rest of staff. No
matter who or what you are, do not mistake, this is a school for children, and
you are still one of its students.”
“Of course, Professor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think you have the dungeons
well covered, so I’ll be heading back up to my rooms. A very pleasant rest of
your evening to you. I know mine will be.”
And Harry forced himself away before he could do anything he would regret… or
not regret. Damn conflicting impulses.
****
Hermione gave a heartfelt relieved exhale as she led the way back into their
common room, the last of the festivities put away in time for tomorrow’s
classes. Imbolc might not have been as fun as the Halloween feast or Yule
party, but they had tried, at least, to break up the monotony of the winter.
There would be some celebrating in two weeks for Valentine’s day, but she and
Harry had both agreed not to attempt a large whole-school celebration—if
couples wanted to celebrate that was their right, but the prefects would not be
planning a special party or festivities for what she saw as a primarily
commercial holiday. No, the next date they’d set their sights on was the spring
equinox in March, and after that was Ostara, and May Day… and before you knew
it, it would be June and they would be leaving.
It was almost a little difficult to believe… it was just five months away, and
they would all graduate Hogwarts. They would be free to do what they wanted
with their lives… granted they knew what they wanted.
Of course, Hermione would be a spot busier than others in five months, she
thought ruefully, rubbing the small swell of her belly. It was definitely
getting more rounded, taking on shape. Just yesterday she was thinking of how
her pants were starting to dig too tightly into her waist line. She’d had to
hike her school skirts’ waist up a bit and lengthen the hem. Really, she’d need
to pick up some extra clothes before too long.
Warm arms wrapped around her from behind and the rich hints of coffee filled
her nostrils as hands settled over her own, covering her belly. “Well done, my
beautiful lioness. Another wonderfully successful celebration.” He snuggled at
her neck, pressing up against her back, cradling her.
“Mmm, thank you,” she purred, practically melting back against him. Then she
straightened and walked out of his arms. “But we’ve got classes in the morning.
I trust you’ve already finished your homework, but do you know about the
others?”
“They’re fine, Hermione,” he cajoled, taking a seat on the sofa and watching
her move about the room as if straightening or cleaning…. But there was nothing
to straighten or clean. “You seem restless.”
She said nothing, pushing in one of the chairs at the small table off to the
side, resettling a Luna-painted flower pot planted with some crocus and
hyacinth bulbs.
“Come here, Hermione,” Blaise enticed. “Come sit with me? You’ve had a busy
weekend, and it’ll be another busy week. Just sit back and relax for a few
moments?”
She flustered her hands, and frowning, Blaise got up and went to her again.
“What’s wrong, beautiful queen of my heart? What has you so restless this
evening? You should be on a high. The students enjoyed your little
festival—that’s not something easy to do with such a bland holiday, most of the
old families don’t even celebrate it anymore.”
“I don’t know, I’m just… antsy, I guess. I want to do something, but I don’t
know what. I hate this feeling.”
“Would you like to go for a walk? Play one of the games you brought? Practice
with your fire? Make wild, passionate love?”
Hermione laughed. “Always with you.”
“I can’t help finding you incredibly desirable.”
“It’s in your nature, I guess.”
“I would not have to be an incubus to find you desirable, Hermione,” Blaise
insisted, nuzzling against her shoulder, hands sliding up the front of her
robes, releasing the fastening. “Your body is as sexy as your mind—all
voluptuous and curvy, hiding beneath your robes…” He slipped the robe off her
shoulders and turned her around in his arms. “Your mouth, whether a smile or a
frown… so sexy.” He kissed her lips, hands skimming down to her hips. “Your
hips…. Your arse…” He squeezed and pulled her against him, burying his face
against her hair. “Your hair, such a riotous mess, but so soft.”
She smiled and shook her head, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders
as he began to sway with her.
“Amazing, beautiful, addicting, and crazy desirable,” he told her.
“I think you might be a bit biased,” she replied, swaying agreeably as he lead.
“Not at all. In fact, I happen to consider myself a very good judge of beauty
and attractiveness, and I’m quite capable of being impartial.” He twirled them
around, enticing her into laughter. “Can you still feel it?” he whispered
against her ear. “That energy swirling inside you, dancing up and down your
limbs, licking at your skin. Can you feel it?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Good. Feel it, guide it, coax it, straight into the palm of your hand.” He
twirled them around the room once more, charming the balcony door open before
swirling her out into the open air, face out over the grounds and lake. “Feel
it, Hermione… and let it burn.”
He stepped back just as the first flames began to lick up around her. Within
minutes, she was flickering like a human torch. “Concentrate, Hermione,” he
coached. “Feed that feeling into the palm of your hand, condense it in other
areas and guide that feeling straight down your arm and out of your palm.
That’s it, start at your feet, calm it, but don’t smoother the flame. Lovely,
Hermione, now your legs—your lovely, shapely legs, that’s it, calm the flame
and guide it up, up, up to your arms and out of your hands.”
It took almost another five minutes, but eventually Hermione was standing there
on the balcony, palms held up as two pillars of flame danced merrily in her
hands.
“You are magnificent,” Blaise breathed. Hermione was too wrapped up in her
power to hear him. “Like the goddess Brigid, herself, made flesh before us.
Goddess of light, of intelligence, your fire is the spark of life. You glow
with the fertility of the land, reborn anew as spring. And as the land ripens,
so, too, do you. Feed us with your bounty, feed our souls with your sweet
inspiration, and succor us with your healing touch when we are weary and
wounded. For Beloved is she, the mother of all things, the queen of all
worlds.”
“You do have a way with words,” Harry said softly, coming up behind him, eyes
all for Hermione. “How she doing?”
“Just fine,” Blaise answered. “She was feeling a bit antsy, so I thought it
might be time to help her release some pressure, as it were.”
Harry shot him an amused look. “She shot you down for sex?”
Blaise smiled back, good naturedly. “That’s still on the table, I hope. We were
just waiting for your return. The others?”
“Everyone’s safely back in their houses,” he added. “And I made sure to do an
extra sweep of the corridors before coming back. Ran into Snape in the
dungeons, surprise, surprise.”
“Indeed.”
“He asked after you.”
Blaise did look somewhat surprised at that.
“You’re still one of his, you know,” Harry found himself defending the
professor. “He’s always been protective of his snakes, everyone knows that.”
“Maybe in public,” Blaise responded. “Away from the eyes of the rest of the
school, he was always quite strict. He wouldn’t take points, because that would
show others something had happened… but you would get a lecture or sometimes a
detention or an assigned essay…” Blaise shivered. “Those were the absolute
worst. Depending on your infraction and intelligence, they ranged anywhere from
copying pages from the dictionary, to summarizing different works of some
warlord or philosopher, or worse: a complete analysis of what it was you did,
why you chose to do it, what were the consequences of said choices, what are
three other preferable choices you could have made, what were the possible
consequences of those choices, and why didn’t you decide to follow through with
one of the other choices… And ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I didn’t think of it’ weren’t
valid responses, either.”
It suddenly got a lot darker, and Harry and Blaise turned back to Hermione,
slumped and panting. “Hey,” Harry cooed, catching her up in his arms—apparently
with good timing, too, because as soon as he had his arms around her, she went
limp against him. “Omphf! Oi, Hermione, don’t conk out on us already, the
night’s still young,” he tried to cajole her.
“That was nice,” she murmured sleepily against his shoulder.
“Maybe a little too much,” Blaise sighed. “Should have stopped her a few
minutes ago.” He scooted to her other side and brushed the hair from her face.
“I think our fire goddess is ready for bed.”
“I guess sex is off the table after all,” Harry teased.
Blaise shrugged. “Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t.” He shot Harry a
look. “Besides, you’re still awake.”
They both took care tucking Hermione safely into her bed and wishing her a good
night before retiring to the head boy’s room. It wasn’t too much later before
they also yielded to sleep.
 
Tbc…..
 
Still to come:
- an unexpected heat
- February Birthdays and inheritances
- School concerns
- Visions, dreams, and occlumency
- Horcruxes... or not...
Chapter End Notes
     Not a very Christmas-y chapter. Depending on how a few of the future
     chapters go this may change, but I've put a guestimated total chapter
     count up, now. We are approaching the end, as I see it.
***** Sexual Healing, a Frisky February *****
Chapter Summary
     February turned out to be more exhausting than the pard originally
     planned for.
Chapter Notes
     Specific chapter warnings: magical creature heat cycle, beasti/
     anthro, double pen, male self-lubricating, mpreg, magical
     inheritance, sex talk, sexual exhaustion, contraception-interference,
     I'm sure there's others...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 37: Sexual Healing, a Frisky February
~THEN~
 
“Mr. Potter. Out late again, I see.”
He paused and turned back to look at the swooping professor. “Just doing some
sweeps of the corridors, sir, making sure everyone’s safely away. Finished up
the upper floors. Just sweeping the dungeons now, and then I’m off to my own
bed.”
“Where I trust, Mr. Zabini is keeping it warm for you.”
Harry wasn’t sure what it was about the man, but he rankled along Harry’s
nerves… more so than any of the previous animosity they’d shared. Ever since
the beginning of this year… it wasn’t the same as before—hell, nothing was the
same, but the tension… the sense of presence... Harry would have an unsettling
need to seek out the man from time to time, to know where he was, what he was
doing, if he was well or not.
But Snape was still annoying, hateful, spiteful. No love lost between them.
Harry didn’t care if Snape was working with the Order, spying on Voldemort for
the Order—he was still an ass. Sometimes he just wanted to hex his face off.
“Or Hermione,” he answered—no point in hiding the truth they both already knew
from him. “Or both. Kinda hopeful it’s both,” he added, tauntingly. After all,
he had two nubile lovers waiting for him in his bed… how many had the potions
professor? For a moment, Harry tried to envision the type of person that
Severus Snape would invite into his bed. The moment passed quickly with a sharp
pang of… jealousy? Anger?
Snape’s lips pressed tighter.
“I always know it’s going to be a long night when those two get together,”
Harry pressed on. “Fun, but long.”
Mixed signals, they hurt his head. There was a piece of him, he wanted to say
it was small, that wanted to push the professor back against the stone walls of
the dungeon and snog him senselessly. Wanted to take fistfuls of that lanky
dark hair and see if it was really as oily as it looked, or if it was just
super soft. Wanted to thrust his tongue down his throat as he forced his legs
to spread and make room for Harry’s hips…
And there was an equally as annoying voice, screaming at him “what the fuck?”
over and over as it tried to point out that this was his professor, his greasy
grimy hated potions professor with his yellow stained fingers, lanky form and
crappy personality…
“You are despicable, Potter,” Snape spat. “Professor Dumbledore may have
decided to permit you your hedonistic ways, he was always overly indulgent with
you, but do not mistake his leniency as sanction from the rest of staff. No
matter who or what you are, do not mistake, this is a school for children, and
you are still one of its students.”
“Of course, Professor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think you have the dungeons
well covered, so I’ll be heading back up to my rooms. A very pleasant rest of
your evening to you. I know mine will be.”
And Harry forced himself away before he could do anything he would regret… or
not regret. Damn conflicting impulses.
****
 
~NOW~
- Wednesday, February 11, Hogwarts –
Neville came out of the shower, free of all the dirt and fertilizer he’d been
spreading around for the last few hours. He loved being given permission to
work unhampered in the Hogwarts greenhouses—Professor Sprout knew he had a
natural affinity for the plants and they an affection for him, and because of
that, she had given him pretty much carte blanche to do what he willed in the
various greenhouses, as long as he respected the safety of others and her
curriculum plans for the school.
This year, he’d taken that freedom and spread.
He loved it, being able to relax and flex his unique powers, explore his
special talents, learn what he was capable of. He was not one hundred percent
sure, but he was pretty sure, that he’d even created a few new cross species of
flora. If the plants continued to thrive outside his care and pollenate, then
he would know. Sprout was eagerly watching his experiments, he knew.
But for today, he was done, and a nice hot shower was needed to help loosen
shoulders and relax. That he chose to use the head boy’s personal facilitates
was no accident. Harry had seemed to be avoiding him the last couple of days,
and he hoped to confront his mate and discover why. He hadn’t noticed at
first—with the attentions of Luna and Hannah and Blaise to distract him—but he
definitely noticed this morning when they woke alone in the bed and Harry
didn’t pin him to the mattress for a pre-breakfast snack.
It wasn’t like the vanteera to pass up an opportune fuck, and it left Neville
feeling hollowed out and empty inside. Needy. That’s what he felt—needy. He
wanted to be fucked, needed to be filled. He loved playing with the others, but
the girls distinctly lacked the natural endowments he appreciated most. And
Blaise’s preferences were more strongly aligned with receiving pleasure, even
when he was delivering; as a result, it was more likely he’d be found sucking
and swallowing down Neville’s cock as opposed to bottoming out inside him. And
that’s what Neville wanted right now. What he needed.
He needed a big, thick cock stretching him open, forcing its way into his body,
and pumping into him, spilling its seed inside him. Stars, he wanted that so
badly. And he was determined to have it, tonight.
He cursorily dried himself off and then went to lie down on the bed. Briefly,
he toyed with the idea of posing for when Harry entered, but in reality, he
ended up falling asleep.
*
Harry was on edge, senses trigger happy and ready to snap. It made helping out
in the study rooms more a hindrance than an actual aid, and he ended up
excusing himself earlier than he’d intended. The Imbolc festivities of the
weekend before had gone over well with most of the populace. They were already
asking if there would be another festival celebration for the Easter holidays,
although that was still two whole months away. Harry was glad all the different
activities and programs he and Hermione had tried to set up were being so well
received, but he really hoped he would be able to hand off the majority of the
responsibility of organizing and running them to some of the sixth-year
prefects. Especially by April, since most of the fifth and seventh years would
already be beginning their mad descent into pre-exam hell. This weekend’s mini-
celebration of Valentine’s Day would be their first attempt since Harry had
caved into the younger years’ whining and moping that nothing special was being
done for the commercial holiday. He had gone to Dumbledore for permission for
some of the Hogsmeade vendors to visit and for the prefects to run a few games
and activities. He’d gotten it, but he’d warned the other prefects that he and
Hermione were staying strictly out of it—it would be on them to plan and
execute some activities.
None of which helped him right now.
He was antsy, not able to sit still or stay in one place for very long. He’d
popped his head into the various study rooms—all was good there. He’d checked
in with his girls. They were perfectly fine. He had visited the headmaster,
sucked on a lemon drop for all of ten minutes before he was ready to move
on—not that Dumbledore was ready to relinquish him, of course. He’d ended up
losing a good three quarters hour to the headmaster’s office. He’d had a run in
with the potions’ master along one of the hallways that stretched between the
dungeons and the Infirmary. No doubt Snape was delivering more potions to
Madame Pomphrey as the mediwitch dealt with a rampant persistent case of the
sniffles.
For a moment, Harry seriously thought Snape had tensed up when he spotted him
in the corridor—was it his imagination, or had the professor stilled for just
the barest moment, as if hesitating to continue forward. Snape had been doing
that more often, Harry noticed, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think what
he might had done to the older man. It pricked his interests, and he
considered—for all of a moment—possibly confronting the potions professor over
his unusual behavior.
But, no. That wasn’t the itch he was feeling. The perpetual scratch, demanding
attention… but for what?
Growling, Harry turned back up towards the head suite. He was obviously in no
mood to be company for anyone. At least if he holed himself up in his rooms, no
one else would have to deal with his crappy attitude. He was tempted to bang
doors behind him, but resisted for the simple reason he knew it wouldn’t
satisfy his irritation.
Stomping into his bedroom, he came up short at the image displayed for him.
Neville must have come up here after his work in the greenhouses, he realized.
The dark brown hair was still slightly damp and curled, just a bit, around his
head. He lied stretched across the bed, face buried into a pillow, arms curled
up around it—back stretched long and wide, trailing down, down, down to the
swell of his buttock. One leg was slightly raised, and Harry could just make
out the shadowy outlines of Neville’s endowments. Lust crashed over him like a
stormy wave.
This morning he had thought it mildly odd that he hadn’t been tempted by his
first male mate at all. He’d left the bed with little more than a careless peck
of a kiss before heading off to start his day. Was that why he’d been feeling
anxious all day? No matter. It was an easy fix. And with Neville all laid out
like an offering on his bed… Harry was quite willing to accept.
The Vanteera male quickly divested his robes and underthings before crawling
onto the bed and sprawling over top Neville. The nymph made a mumbled little
murmur, shifting just slightly beneath the new weight before settling back
again.
That wasn’t good enough. Harry wanted his nymph awake, eager and begging
beneath him. He rocked his hips into Neville’s, pressing his already swollen
cock against the other boy’s arse, already anticipating the tight squeeze that
would embrace him when he entered him. He trailed his lips up over Neville’s
shoulder, lightly licking several patches of skin before grazing his teeth
against him.
It wasn’t enough.
His teeth ached, and before he realized what he was going to do, Harry had sunk
his canines into the round of Neville’s shoulder.
Neville came awake with a startled cry, finding himself trapped under another
body’s weight and a fiery piercing pain in his right shoulder. He tried to
dislodge the weight, only to be met with a fierce growl that froze his efforts.
Panting, Neville tried to interpret what was happening, but his mind was sleep-
muddled and there was a deep-belly fire filling him up, originating from that
ball of achy need he’d suffered with all morning and afternoon long.
He shifted again beneath Harry—for that’s who it was had him pinned, he
realized. He shifted not to get away but to better accommodate the vanteera
pressing down into him, smothering him against the bedding as he worried at
Neville’s already abused shoulder. Neville turned his face back into the pillow
and released another smothered yell, wincing and tearing up as he fought
himself not to fight against Harry’s hold on him.
Darkened nails, elongating like talons curled around his arms, and a flutter of
sound and movement from the corner of his eye was all the hints Neville needed
to know Harry had shifted into his hybrid form. A needy whimper crawled out of
his throat as the weight above him seemed to increase.
Neville was wet, slick slipping from his hole as wantonly as any of the girls
or Blaise when they were needy. He squirmed, feeling the slimy slickness
slipping down over his balls and dick. Harry’s cock slid easily between his
cheeks, pressing with each undulation of his hips, but it wasn’t the right
angle for what he needed, what he wanted so badly.
With a herculean effort, Neville forced himself and Harry atop him up onto
their knees. Harry’s fangs pulled clear of Neville’s shoulder as the vanteera
let out a furious hiss, but Neville kept right on, canting his hips back, knees
spread wide, in clear invitation.
Growling in displeasure at being forcibly removed from his claiming mark, Harry
was quickly distracted by the sweet scent originating from Neville’s
surprisingly slick hole. He buried his face against the winking bud, accidently
catching a fang against the tender skin. Neville yelped, and then moaned not
even a minute later as Harry starting lapping as the glistening slick, licking
it up and tracing it back to its origins, shoving his tongue as deeply as
possible into Neville’s body in an effort to collect the sweet lubricant.
A litany of pleas and curses fell from Neville’s lips as he threw his head back
and forth, fighting to stay still as Harry continued to eat him out,
desperately wanting the vanteera to continue. Equally desperate to have the
beast mount him and fuck him already. He wanted that cock to spear him, fill
him up and own him. But Harry wasn’t going to move until he was good and ready.
It could have been hours later, but likely was only minutes, when the vanteera
did rear back, face smeared with glistening slick. As much as he managed to
lick up and consume, Neville seemed to produce twice as much, and still the
slick dribbled at of the nymph’s bum hole as Harry watched, taunting him.
Growling, Harry grabbed his cock and smeared the head through a trailing stream
of slick. All ready his member was thickening beyond normal, small bumps
forming below the shaft, and he knew he had to be inside his mate. He couldn’t
wait any longer.
Lining his cock head up with Neville’s entrance—angry red and demandingly
kissing at the air, until Harry gave it his cock to suck on instead, and then
that greedy little orifice tried to suck him right in without any effort on
Harry’s part. He grinned toothily for what he knew would be a successful
breeding and clutched at his mate’s hips, unmindful of the pricks of his talons
that drew blood as he jerked the nymph back onto his cock even as he thrust
forward, fully impaling his mate.
Harry threw his head back and roared. Neville released his own scream,
frantically trying to push back onto Harry, as if to get even more of Harry’s
cock inside of him. The vanteera was more than willing to oblige. The tingle of
his barbs extending was nothing compared to the heady rush as the spine shot
forth, shortly followed by the hot rush of semen.
Neville was a squirming mess beneath him, writhing and moaning, constantly
pushing back at him, crying out for more. When the spine and barbs finally
withdrew, Harry was quick to roll Neville onto his back, hoist his leg over his
shoulder, and enter his mate again. Within a matter of minutes, he had
successfully dumped another load of cum into his mate’s receptive hole, but the
nymph was still not appeased.
It took over two hours to slake the nymph’s need, and even Harry’s vanteera
abilities were about tapped out.
“Is that going to happen again?” Harry mumbled, sprawled out in a boneless heap
across the bed, un caring of where Neville was, and already on his way past
half asleep.
Neville was honest to goodness purring with his satisfaction as he stretched
out his achy limbs. “Possibly. Not again for another five or six hours though.
Need sleep first,” he confessed carelessly.
That caught Harry’s attention, snatched it right back away from la-la land.
“What? Really?”
“Mmm. Probably another two cycles,” Neville responded happily, nuzzling his
pillow.
“Shit, I don’t know if I can do that all on my own again,” Harry huffed. “I
feel like jelly now.”
“Felt so good, Harry,” Neville mumbled, his voice thickly sleep-blurred. “I
love how your cock fills me up so perfectly, so thick—big and long, and I love
it. Could feel your cum filling me up, shooting so deep inside me, it was so
good,” he moaned. “I just know you’re going to knock me up. Not yet, but soon.
Maybe when I wake up. We will fuck again.” And Neville drifted off to sleep
with a contented smile on his face.
Groaning for a whole other reason now, Harry forced his tired body back out of
the bed and dragged his carcass over to the door. No one had intruded earlier,
but with any luck, someone was in the pard’s common room.
Luck was with him. Hermione was reading and rocking away in the new armchair
Blaise had brought back with them from Italy. Hermione had fallen in love with
the piece, and Blaise had happily seen she had it—it was the moment Harry had
known for sure that the dark-skinned male was one of them. Speaking of which,
Blaise was stretched out on the sofa, lazily reading his own book. He saw Harry
first.
“Hey,” Blaise greeted with that little smile of his. “You two finished in
there, finally?” He lowered his book to see Harry’s face, studying him, looking
for what, Harry wasn’t sure, but that was a habit Blaise had—studying the
people around him. “Luna made us promise not to go in without your permission
and invitation.”
“Yeah,” Harry huffed, rubbing at his neck, “Well, it seems Neville went into
heat this afternoon.”
“Oh! I wondered if that might be it,” Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide as she
stared at him. “Are you both all right? Is he resting now?”
“Yeah,” Harry mewed, and he shuffled over towards Blaise’s end of the sofa and
collapsed. “Apparently he’s going to get all randy again in another four to
five hours.”
“Oh, that’s because he’s not pregnant, and of course he knows,” Hermione
mumbled to herself, earning questioning looks from the other two boys.
“Neville’s a nymph, so I did some light reading on nymph behaviors and customs
a while back—Neville actually leant me the book, so I know it must be rather
reliable, but of course, each situation is always a little different, aligned
to the individual.”
“And what did you find out?” Harry refocused her, well used to Hermione’s
rambling tangents.
“A nymph’s heat cycle is typically thirty-six to seventy-two hours, with four
to five active breeding periods that can last up to four hours each. If he
doesn’t get—well, that is to say, if he doesn’t conceive in the next three
days, that will be it until the next time his heat period comes around.”
“You should probably be resting,” Blaise teased. “It sounds like our green man
is going to have you busy servicing him all night long!”
“You should help me,” Harry said, desperately. “It’s crazy to think of doing it
all myself…. You should come with me.”
“What? You would want a slinky Slytherin there to slither on in and help
satiate the beast….” Blaise teased. “I don’t know. It sounded like he’s quite
needy and demanding.”
Harry clutched at the back of Blaise’s head, fingers sliding through the thick
black hair and gently pulling his head back, exposing the long column of his
throat. “You all should be there,” Harry purred. “Neville is our own, and we
should all be there to help him.”
“Well, if that’s permission and an invitation…?”
“It is. You, too, Hermione. You should be there helping Neville, too.”
Hermione frowned, nodding absently. “If he’s resting now, and probably will be
for another few hours, you should be resting, too. It’s said that both the
incubus and the nymph can physically love somebody to death. Go, get some
sleep, and I’ll ask Winky or Dobby to make you up a tray for when you wake up.
Something light and nourishing, finger food. I’ll find the others and let them
know you’ve asked for us all to be here.”
“Thanks, Hermione. You’re the best.”
“I know, now go.”
“Want to join me?” he asked Blaise, not moving off the sofa just yet.
“It’s not so early as to turn in just yet,” Blaise mused, looking at the book
he was reading before tossing it on the little table. “Oh well. Early to bed,
early to rise,” he quipped, taking Harry’s hand and helping the other boy up.
“Let’s get you to bed, and we can sleep. Then, when you wake, we will fuck like
rabid rabbits. It will be fun.”
***
True to his prediction, when Neville woke a few hours later, they had just
enough time to nibble and nosh a bit on the tray one of the elves had left for
them before the nymph turned into a demanding nymphomaniac again. They took
turns servicing the nymph until he once again fell asleep, just shortly before
it would have been time to get up for breakfast.
Since it was a Thursday, they all had a mostly fully schedule. Unfortunately,
they’d all had little to no sleep, and Neville couldn’t be left alone while he
was still going through his heat. It was Luna and Hannah who crawled out of bed
first. As the only sixth year, Luna had her own classes to attend. At least all
the others shared the same first two periods.
Hannah headed off to DADA powered on pepper up potions. She made excuses for
Harry, Hermione, Blaise, and Neville—explaining that the three had taken a
cold—and although she managed to copy down the notes and homework assignment
(thanks mostly to Susan who made copies of her notes and the directions for the
homework), she had no clue of what happened in class that day. Blaise managed
to join her for Charms the second period, but she was existing on fumes. If any
of the ‘Puffs gave him dirty looks for sitting down next to one of their own
without the other pard members there, they didn’t say anything with Susan right
there glaring back at them. The Slytherin’s were too busy quietly shunning
Blaise to comment—not like he cared. Really, if he had anyone to be worried
about, it would have been the Gryffindors who might have taken offense to him
possibly encroaching on Neville’s girlfriend. Luckily for him, they were too
engrossed in their own matters to pay any attention to him or Hannah.
He had managed to catch an extra two hours of sleep, and although it wasn’t
enough, it was more than Hannah had had. He watched her worriedly as her head
continually drooped.
“Sir,” he called out when Professor Flitwick was close by. “I don’t think Ms.
Abbott is feeling very well.”
“Oh, dear!” the tiny professor cried. “It must be the flu that’s going around.
I see Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Longbottom are missing today, too.”
“Oh!” Hannah picked up, remembering she was supposed to make their excuses.
“They’ve all taken a cold and are resting—“
“As you should be, young lady,” Professor Flitwick interjected. “Mr. Zabini,
might I impose upon you to help Ms. Abbott up to the Hospital Wing. A bit of
Pepper Up and some sleep will help knock that flu right out of you!”
“Of course, sir,” Blaise replied, gathering both his and Hannah’s things. Some
of the Slytherins looked on in mild amusement—let them think he was making
moves on the Hufflepuff girl, never mind that they all thought he was double
dipping with the head boy and head girl. It didn’t matter than he’d always made
it a point never to move on another person’s boyfriend or girlfriend before and
everyone knew that Hannah Abbott was ‘dating’ Neville Longbottom, everyone knew
Harry and Hermione were dating, and everyone thought they knew Blaise was
dating Luna. Because, to a certain extent, it was true, he supposed. And,
again, he really didn’t care what the rest of the school thought about his
sleeping escapades. Before the end of summer he was sure the whole damn island
would know they were all Harry Potter’s lovers. In the meantime, he got to
enjoy interacting with his pard mates outside of the Head Boy’s and Head Girl’s
rooms.
And, to be completely honest, he was tired, himself.
“Why did you do that?” Hannah groused as they moved through the empty hallways.
“You’re exhausted,” he pointed out. “You need to get some more rest, and this
way, you’ll also be there when Neville wakes up again, if he hasn’t already.”
“That won’t necessarily mean sleep.”
“No, but now you have an excuse to skip next period, and you get to spend that
time in a bed,” he pointed out. “I can’t skip out of Arithmancy or Runes,
otherwise I would have pled off, too,” he continued. “You have Muggle Studies
next, right? So you can easily make that up. It’s bad enough that Hermione’s
missing out today, but at least she’s already the top student in class. If I
miss arithmancy or runes, I’ll fall behind horribly. Now, try and rest some,
all right?” he said, escorting her in through the Head Boy’s door.
Hannah didn’t even remember arriving at the apartments or entering. Hermione,
Harry, and Neville were fast asleep. Blaise walked her right up to the bed and
laid her down. “Just a little nap.”
“Just a little nap,” Hannah muttered, but she was already gone.
Sighing wearily, Blaise made his way over to the Hospital Wing, explained that
he’d escorted Hannah out of class, but that she’d insisted on just going to
bed, and then he accepted the Pepper Up potion the medi-witch poured down his
throat. He wasn’t anymore sick that the others, but he was definitely feeling
the exhaustion of lack of sleep the night before. He wasn’t sure how he made it
through lunch and his afternoon classes, but he did.
Blaise made it through Arthimancy and Runes before returning to the suite,
stripping on auto-pilot, and crawling right into the orgy that was in process.
Luna returned to the rooms last with a tray filled with various finger foods.
She set it down on the table and dropped her book bag nearby before heading
into the head boy’s room to check on the others. The girls were slumped over,
passed out across the bed—Hermione’s curls were a riot spilled over a pillow,
arms akimbo, Hannah curled up beside her, legs spread and still glittering with
someone else’s release. Blaise was clutching Neville’s head, curled around the
nymph as he attempted to suck the very essence out of the incubus.
Blaise’s head whipped back with a strangled cry. “Oh, gods, please, make him
go,” he begged, hips frantically pumping away at Neville’s face.
Behind the nymph, Harry in his hybrid from was gripping Neville’s hips and
focused on furiously fucking, feeding the greedy creature more semen. It was
the only thing that seemed to satisfy the nymph for any length of time. The
girls might distract him for a bit—serve as a bit of a respite for the boys—but
it was the boys’ attention Neville had craved and needed the most.
Luna crossed over to the bed, unrushed, watching as Harry and Blaise tried
desperately to slake Neville’s need. It wouldn’t be enough. The nymph’s body
was trying desperately to conceive. Unfortunately, the potion Neville had asked
her and Hermione to brew for him nearly two weeks ago was still working to
prevent that very thing from happening—just barely still working. His body
didn’t know or understand that, though. It would continue attempting to get
pregnant for another day’s length…
He had had good intentions when he requested the potion. It was true they were
in dangerous times. It was true they were still a small pard and two of their
numbers were already inconvenienced. It was not an opportune time to fall
pregnant—not when the rest of the school thought he was exclusively with
Hannah. Not when it would raise uncomfortable questions and scrutiny. If the
ministry found out, they would try to stick their snoopy nose into the pard’s
business, and they didn’t need that attention. Not with Voldemort and his
forces already out there focused somewhat on them because of Harry. It wasn’t
safe for Harry.
That had been the leading argument he had used when he’d asked for their help
in brewing the potion. If Neville got pregnant, it wouldn’t be safe for Harry.
Neville thought he wouldn’t be able to back up and support Harry if he was
inconvenienced with a pregnancy. And to some extents, that was true. But it
also wasn’t.
Luna reached out, one slim pale hand smoothing over the arched bend of
Neville’s back as his hips opened demandingly back towards Harry. She sent a
trickle of awareness down into the boy’s body and could sense it almost
immediately—the warring presence of two magics: nature versus constructed.
Nature was slowly but surely burning through the unnatural barrier the
construct had erected. Within another cycle, maybe two, the potion would have
burned away completely under the demanding influence of nature.
Indecisive for only a moment—a look towards Hermione and Hannah passed out,
towards Harry and Blaise who were on the verge of passing out themselves,
energy depleted—she made her decision. Raising her other hand up towards
Neville’s belly, sandwiching him between her palms, she released a little pulse
of natural magic.
Blaise cried out again, a moaning cry torn from him as he spilled his release
into Neville’s relentless mouth and collapsed back onto the bed, narrowly
missing crashing into Hermione’s outstretched arm. Neville hummed, before
rearing back and pushing himself more demandingly onto Harry’s cock.
“That’s it,” Harry encouraged. “Fuck yourself, Neville. Convince my cock it
wants to fill you up. You can do it, come on. Look how well you sucked Blaise
off. Certainly your greedy little ass could suck me off just as good.”
Neville whimpered, bouncing back and wiggling pleadingly. “Please Harry,” he
gasped. “Do it. Fuck me harder than ever. Fill me up. C’mon, Harry. You can do
it. Knock me up, cum in me. Fill me up with all your cum until I’m bursting.
Want it. Want it so bad, Harry, please.”
“I am, I am,” he promised in a slew of non-sensical words, anything to appease
the other boy. “Can’t you feel it? I’m already locked in, Neville. I’m going to
shoot my cum so deep inside you, it’s going to have no choice but to breed you.
Promise, Neville. We’re going to knock you up, and you’ll have so many babies.”
“Gods, yes!” Neville shouted, falling forward once more.
“Fill you up with cum and babies,” Harry gasped.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Neville chanted, face smushed into the sweaty bedsheets.
Luna went over to check on Hermione and Hannah, ignoring the boys for a moment.
Humming a little ditty to herself, she collected first one and then the other
girl and transferred them over to Hermione’s bed where the room was cool and
didn’t reek of male sex and the bed sheets were clean. She left Hermione and
Hannah resting between the clean sheets and then went back to check on the
boys.
Harry was still sweet-talking Neville’s nymph. Blaise was watching with blurry
eyes. She rested her cool hand against his face, seizing his attention. “You
will have your chance, too,” she told him, trying to sooth the hint of jealousy
she could see in his gaze. “We all will.”
“He is magnificent like this,” Blaise rasped. “I will not get to experience
this for many months yet. Perhaps years.”
“I’m sure if you ask, he will attempt to breed you sooner,” Luna reassured. “He
is learning more and gaining better control of his vanteera self every day. You
were not here, so you don’t know—even short speak was difficult for Harry when
he first transformed. The night he bred Hermione? Now listen to him.”
“Fuck so good,” Harry was growling. “Take my cock and spine like a pro. Take it
so deep. I’m going to spray your insides with cum, paint your womb with cum,
fill you up with so much cum you’ll be leaking it for days.”
“No!” Neville whimpered. “Can’t lose it! Need it! Need it in me, Harry, please!
Fill me up with more cum!”
“You should join them,” Luna suggested.
“Harry’s almost done,” Blaise protested. “If Neville’s not finished after this,
he’ll need me to step up again. He woke up a bit ago, so we should be winding
down towards the end of this cycle. Then we all can get another couple of solid
hours of rest before having to do it again.”
“Join them,” Luna repeated. “You should try taking him both at the same time.”
Blaise’s dick twitched at the idea. “He’s probably plenty stretched out by
now,” he mused, more to himself than her.
“Imagine your cock and Harry’s filling him up at the same time. Your cock
sliding up against Harry’s, squeezed tightly inside Neville…”
The incubus was already crawling forward, salivating. He tried curling up
behind Harry, but the vanteera snapped at him.
“Harry,” Luna called, snaring the cat’s attention. “Let Blaise in, in front of
you,” she suggested. “That way you both can fuck Neville.”
“Oh! Yes, please!” the nymph shouted his support of the idea. “Oh, gods, yes!
Both of you! Inside me! Please, please, please…”
Harry pulled back carefully, his elongated member with the barbed bumps along
the bottom and a thin, quill-like spine withdrew, allowing the incubus to slide
in front of him even as Neville cried out at the loss and lack of something
filling his empty hole. Harry’s clawed hands immediately latched onto Blaise’s
hips as his lips and teeth grazed along his neck and shoulder.
“Mmm, going to help me enter him?” Blaise purred, reaching for one of those
clawed hands and bringing it back towards his reanimated cock. Neville’s hole
was red and stretched from the hours upon hours of constant abuse, but the
slick his heat naturally produced hadn’t eased up at all, still shining and
glistening in the low light of the room.
Neville’s hole swallowed him right down to the quick, engulfing him in molten
heat and causing Blaise to throw his head back with a surprised shout.
Moments later, Harry was pressing up snug behind him. The thin slide of the
penile spine slid up along Blaise’s shaft, causing him to shiver before he felt
Harry’s cock head pushing in against him. He whimpered. Beneath them, Neville
whined and begged for more, harder and deeper. And then he cried out as he felt
it two—two fully erect cocks filling him up, stretching him impossibly wide,
and the barbs that ran along the length of Harry’s penis dug in more deeply
than ever before.
“Oh, fuck,” Blaise groaned. “Do you feel that Neville? That’s me and Harry, our
two cocks both inside you. Doesn’t it feel good to be stretched around two
cocks?”
“Yes, yes! Please cum in me! Need to feel it!”
“Yes,” Harry purred, one hand still on Blaise’s hip but the other back on
Neville’s. His hand slipped past Blaise and onto Neville’s, gripping tightly
and pulling the nymph back against them even as he thrust forward, capturing
Blaise between them. Blaise moaned, hips and pelvis helplessly undulating
between their two hard bodies.
“Oh, gods,” the darker skinned boy panting. “It’s like you’re fucking us both!”
He squirmed some more and Neville let out a needy sound.
“Cum in me, please, cum in me. Fill me up with your cum. I need it. I need you
to fill me up.”
“Yes, we’re going to, aren’t we Blaise?” Harry promised, continuing to hump the
two boys until they really were reduced to mumbled pleas and grunts. When
Neville’s knees and arms gave out, they collapsed onto the bed like a pile of
pancakes. Harry pulled back a little then, earning a mutter of protest from
both of his mates.
“Cum for us, Blaise,” Harry ordered, and with a shout, the incubus did. At the
first trickle of cum splashing against his insides again, Neville let out a
long moan, his body convulsing. Harry gave a few more frantic thrusts, and then
he gave over to his own release as well, rewarded by Neville’s excited little
grunts and noises as his body greedily soaked up the spilled semen.
It was several minutes later when the door snitched open and Luna returned. All
three boys were blessedly passed out.
“Winky,” the blonde Ravenclaw called, pulling her wand free from her hair bun.
“Yes, Missy Looney?”
“Could you help me clean off the boys and put new sheets on the bed?” Luna
requested, already waving her wand over the boys to cast the few personal
cleaning charms she was good enough at.
“Of course, Missy Looney,” the elf replied as, with a snap of her fingers, the
sweaty and stained sheets disappeared and fresh, clean sheets reappeared on the
bed. “Is there being anything else you’s be needing?”
“Would it be possible to have some restorative potions brought up for the
others?” Luna wondered. “Or would we need to visit with Madame Pomphrey for
those?”
The house elf’s ears drooped. “Medicine witch watches her potions carefully,”
Winky shared.
“That’s okay. Thank you, Winky. I’m sorry to disturb your work.”
“That’s being quite all right, Missy Looney,” Winky assured the young witch.
“Winky being always willing to help Missy Hermione and her friends.”
And with that, the elf was gone. Luna stared at the three boys fast asleep on
the bed. They made a pretty picture, she thought, contemplating drawing them.
Then she turned back towards the main room. She had had a full day of classes
and had the assigned homework to prove it. Might as well get a head start on
that while the others rested.
**
Neville’s heat ended on the night of the twelfth, and the pard was left
dragging and drained throughout the entirety of the next day, just as if they
really were recovering from a nasty bout of the flu. It was Hermione who noted
Luna was missing that Saturday morning. She looked up from the breakfast table—
still not quite one hundred percent again, yet—and scanned the other house
tables to be sure.
Half of the great hall was still missing—either because it was Saturday and
they were sleeping in or because they were recovering from their colds. A few
boyfriends and girlfriends were being especially lovey-dovey due to the
holiday. Hogsmeade weekends were strongly discouraged after October’s attack,
but Harry had worked his magic with Dumbledore to have some of the more popular
shops visit Hogwarts and had set the other prefects in charge of organizing
something like a muggle fair—the first and second years had been especially
excited. Or, at least they had been before everyone had taken cold.
Colds sucked.
Then again, so did recovering from crazy heat periods. Harry cast a glance over
to the Slytherin table where Blaise had chosen to sit with his former dorm
mates. Did incubi have heat periods? He couldn’t remember, but he thought
Hermione might have mentioned something about it. If they did, were they
anything like nymph heat periods, because if they were, he was definitely going
to need a bigger pard before Blaise went into heat. The incubus was already
near insatiable enough, although Neville’s heat had managed to tire the
Slytherin out some.
“Luna’s missing,” Hermione pointed out.
Harry’s head popped up again. Neville and Hannah—who spent most mornings
breaking her fast at the Gryffindor table with Neville, Harry, and
Hermione—were frowning. He did his own sweep of the room, confirming what
Hermione had already noticed. He double checked the Slytherin table, just to be
sure. His second look managed to capture Blaise’s notice.
“She wasn’t in your rooms this morning, was she?” Hannah asked. In one of the
rare nights, they’d all retired back to their own dorms yesterday, to put in an
appearance, so others could see just how tired and exhausted they were.
“It was her birthday,” Neville whispered, sounding shocked and horrified.
“What?” Hermione snapped.
Hannah blanched. “Oh, no! How could we have forgotten.”
“My fault,” Neville muttered, sinking in on himself.
“Wait. Yesterday was Luna’s birthday?” Harry asked. Surprised.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Really, Harry. Do you know anyone’s birthday?”
“I know yours,” he countered. “It’s in September. And Neville’s is the day
before mine.”
“And mine?” Hannah asked.
“Uh… March?”
“Try next Saturday,” she corrected.
“Shit. Really?”
“Really.”
“And Blaise’s was in October,” Hermione supplied.
“How do you know that?” Harry asked, bewildered.
“We’re in arithmancy together,” she answered, as if that explained everything.
Maybe for her, it did.
“Luna was really worried about her inheritance,” Hannah recalled. “Do you think
she’s still in the Ravenclaw tower?”
“We could always ask one of the ravens,” Neville suggested. “But I don’t think
she would have gone back there last night. Actually, I’m a little surprised she
didn’t stay with you and Harry.”
“Me, too,” Harry agreed, frowning. “Let’s head back up, and I’ll check the
map.”
“Good idea.”
Except Luna wasn’t on the map. “It’s possible she’s somewhere off campus,”
Harry supposed.
“It’s more likely she’s in the room of requirement,” Blaise supplied, rejoining
them.
“Does someone want to stay behind in case she pops back up?” Hannah asked.
“Just take the map with us,” Hermione pointed out, honestly concerned about the
younger girl now. She, too, remembered how nervous the Ravenclaw had been about
her inheritance, which was why she had wanted to bond with Harry. Her worry for
the blonde girl saw her leading the way up to the seventh-floor corridor to the
wall across from the painting of dancing trolls.
There was a door already there, and the five pard mates shared a worried look.
Harry stepped forward and knocked. It seemed like the right thing to do, after
all. You didn’t just go through doors when you didn’t know who or what was on
the other side. Never knew if a three-headed dog or something worse might be
waiting to greet you.
After a moment, the door opened. Harry entered first, followed quickly by
Hermione and Blaise. Neville and Hannah waited a beat longer before also going
in.
The room wasn’t a room at all. Instead, it was a forest glen, with a small
brook tinkling through. The walls of the glen were covered with moss and
lichen. One of the larger rocks had a natural dip in it and made for a somewhat
ideal resting spot. Or so Luna must have thought because that’s where she was
curled up, fast asleep. Harry went to go to her when the others stopped him.
“Wha--?”
“Don’t you see it?” Neville whispered. Why was he whispering.
“It’s a fairy circle,” Hannah pointed out. And then Harry did notice the random
mushrooms poking up here and there. Only they weren’t so random as he’d
originally thought and dismissed. Looking again, he could see they were in a
circular pattern, wrapped around Luna at a rather large radius, but still
there.
“I’m not going to just leave her here by herself,” Harry protested.
“Harry, magical fairy circles are rather a lot like the muggle fairy tales,”
Hermione warned. “I wouldn’t suggest breaking one without invite.”
“It’s Luna.”
“And if she’s not the one who put it up?”
“All the more reason to go and check on her,” he argued.
“It’s all right,” Luna’s voice carrying over to them, and they all turned as
one and watched as she reached out and knocked over one of the mushrooms,
breaking the perfect circle. “I hope you realize I would never do anything just
to harm you,” She said, sitting up and pushing her blonde hair away from her
face.
“You disappeared last night,
<span title="beautiful moon flower”> bellissimo fiore della luna </span>,”
Blaise announced. “We were worried when you didn’t show up this morning for
breakfast.”
“Oh? Did I miss breakfast? That’s too bad.”
“I’m sorry we missed celebrating your birthday yesterday,” Harry said, stepping
over the rocks to get to her.
She blinked owlishly up at him, at the hand he held out to her.
And then she smiled beautifully up at him, reaching out to accept the hand he
offered. “That’s all right. Everyone was still recuperating. Besides, I really
wasn’t fit company yesterday.”
“Luna, are you, all right?” Hannah asked hesitantly, also approaching now that
Harry had proven it was safe.
“Yes, I’m much better. Thank you. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Really, I just needed a good rest,” Hannah returned her smile,
reaching out a hand for the younger girl. “It’s you we’re concerned about now.
Did you go through your inheritance all alone last night?”
“It wasn’t so bad,” the Ravenclaw promised them. “Because I had all of you
there with me.”
“But we weren’t,” Hermione protested, upset. “And we should have been.”
“Yes, you were,” Luna corrected gentle. “Since the day you allowed me into your
hearts, you have always been with me. Can’t you feel it?”
They looked at one another, mostly in confusion and concern. But then, Luna had
always seemed to function on another level. Blaise slipped behind her, so she
was encircled now by her pard mates. Bending forward, he placed a gentle kiss
against her nape before pressing his head to hers. “You are in our hearts,” he
confirmed.
Luna’s head tilted back against him, eyes unfocusing before she waved her hand.
“Look.”
They looked, but didn’t see anything. At first.
And then, slowly, glowing threads of energy started fading into existence. They
brightened and became more solid until they seemed truly corporal. There were
multiple threads of energy extending from each person, some brighter, thicker
than others, but none as bright or as think and the ones that extended between
the six of them.
They reached out, one by one, hesitantly at first, and then more confidently,
in awe and amazement. Each time they touched one of the connecting threads, the
other person shivered, and they shared a smile. Harry easily found the thick
threads that lead off to Hermione, Neville, Luna, Hannah, and Blaise. He could
guess at the sixth solid thread that lead off to somewhere in the castle, most
likely the Gryffindor boys’ dormitories and a sleeping Ron—but the seventh
thread was somewhat confusing. It was thicker than any of the other multitude
of other threads wafting and waving about him—many more than any of the
others—but still noticeably thinner than the threads connecting him to his
pard; and yet, it seemed muddled, swelling thicker one moment and then thinning
out the next.
Harry was surprised and just a little bit surprised that he seemed to have so
many other, thinner threads, especially since the others seemed to have fewer
but stronger/thicker threads connecting them to other persons unknown. Why did
he seem to have so many?
“You look like a shining jellyfish,” Hermione mused, staring at the seemingly
unattached threads in curiosity.
“Or a cat with nine tails,” Blaise smirked, reaching his hand into the mess of
loose threads, blinking in surprise when several of the threads seemed to spark
or brighten.
“Possibilities,” Luna explained watching Harry’s threads as well. “Always so
many possibilities surrounding you.”
She reached out and touched the thread that couldn’t seem to make up its
mind—thicken or thin. “Tricky possibilities, but the potential exists.”
She smiled at them, then. “I should apologize. You must have felt extremely
fatigued last night. That was my fault, I’m afraid.”
“Were you in here all of yesterday?” Neville asked, frowning. “I don’t remember
seeing you at dinner, now I think about it. But you were there earlier in the
afternoon, weren’t you? I mean, I thought I heard your voice…”
“I came here after I left you all Wednesday night.” She paused, looking away.
“I should apologize again. You should know, I interfered, just a little bit.”
“You countered the potion,” Neville said, matter-of-factly.
“It was already failing,” Luna felt it necessary to tell. “It would have failed
before morning. I’m sorry.”
“What potion?” Harry asked, looking between the two, confused.
“Wait,” Hermione stepped in. “You countered the potion we made?” she asked.
“But why?”
“What potion?” Harry repeated.
“It was a long shot anyway, Hermione,” Neville tried to placate her. “Thank you
for making it for me.”
“But that means you’re—and she—and why?” Hermione sputtered.
“If I hadn’t of interfered, the potion would have remained in his system for
nearly the remainder of the night, but it was failing.” Luna explained. “It
would have failed before morning, which meant you would have all had to suffer
through at least two if not three more mating cycles and you would have all
been even more exhausted than you already were because of me.”
“What potion!” Harry shouted, finally earning their attention.
Hermione, Luna, and Neville all shared a look.
“A few weeks ago,” Neville started, “I asked Luna and Hermione if they would
make an anti-conception potion for me.”
Harry blinked. “Would that even work?” he asked, puzzled. “I mean, you’re a
guy. Aren’t the… the mechanics a bit different?”
Neville grinned. “A bit. Which is why I asked Hermione and Luna. There is a
male anti-conception potion, but it’s a bit tricky. Well, extra tricky for me,
I guess, because of my nymph inheritance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nymphs are creatures of nature,” Luna supplied. “They embrace the circle of
life, and they do not appreciate interference. Neville’s magic was already
attacking the potion we made him, probably from the moment he took it.”
“But there’s still a chance he wouldn’t have conceived,” Hermione argued. “We
were already tired. Biologically, it would have been near impossible for the
boys to have been able to impregnate Neville, even if his heat had lasted until
morning.”
“You’re thinking like a muggle,” Blaise gently reminded the head girl.
Hannah nodded. “Harry and Blaise both have sexual creature inheritances. Or
didn’t you find it strange that they still were able to give it a go until the
end of each cycle?”
Hermione blinked. Opened her mouth to reply. And then snapped it shut.
“So,” Harry drawled. “You’re definitely…” he motioned towards Neville’s
stomach.
“I was trying not to really think about it, but yeah,” Neville admitted. “It’s
pretty much guaranteed.”
“It’s really too soon to tell,” Hermione tried to argue, but even she knew that
wasn’t right.
Neville shot her a disapproving look and her shoulders slumped. “You read the
book I gave you.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Hermione tried to defend herself. “And I’m
not upset—at you or anyone. It’s just… Just, sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to
wrap my head around some things. I’m sorry. I know, you’re right. You would
have known almost immediately. And we should have known when you didn’t have
another heat cycle yesterday morning.”
“So, you’re really…” Harry started again.
“Pregnant,” Neville said, letting the word drop and hang between them.
Suddenly, Hannah squealed and rushed forward, catching Neville around the
middle and hugging him fiercely. “Congratulations!” she shouted. “We’re having
another baby!” She giggled, and he laughed as they swung around just a bit,
slipping and nearly falling on the moss-covered rocks.
“Careful!” Blaise and Harry both cried, jumping forward to catch the other two
and nearly slipping as well.
Harry’s eyes widened to saucers, darting between Hermione, Neville, and Hannah,
as he realized that three of his mates were now pregnant.
“Luna, can you always see these?” Hannah asked as she regained her balance and
reached out a hand, playing with the threads that connected her to the others.
“I could, sometimes,” Luna responded, staring around her. “I don’t think
they’ll go away now. I See so many things… so clearer than before…”
“Anything you can tell us?” Harry wanted to know, reaching out to stroke the
threads as well.
“Nothing that would make very much sense to you now, but when it will…” She
smiled over at Blaise. “That would be lovely. Yes, thank you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I accept your invitation to head down to the merchant tents set up on the
lawn,” she explained.
Blaise blinked in surprise but then a smile broke out. “Wonderful!” he
exclaimed, pulling the smaller girl against him and dropping a kiss against her
lips. “And you will let me buy you something in celebration of your birthday?
I’m afraid we were all not well enough to properly celebrate your special day.”
“No worries,” Luna replied. “You’ll more than make up for it. Later.”

**
For the remainder of the month, Neville’s moods swung from jubilant to
wretched, sometimes in a matter of minutes. One day when he was practically
radiating, glowing with happiness and health, a few girls had tried to teased
Hannah. When they saw the little bounce in his step they right out suggested it
was because the blonde Hufflepuff had put out and that was why the cowardly
lion was in such a jolly mood. Hannah had seared those gossip-mongers’ with a
hard look.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Neville and I have been quite intimate
for months now, thank you very much,” she said almost primly. “He’s received
some good news he was waiting to hear, and that is why he’s so happy. Nothing
so mundane as getting laid, as you put it.”
Meanwhile, Harry was little more than a wreck. With half of his pard in a
delicate way, he found himself more anxious then ever before about their safety
and the danger he represented to them. Hermione and Hannah and now Neville,
pregnant, carrying a helpless, innocent little life inside them, their first
children—Hannah’s pregnancy was at least in stasis, which supposedly offered
some security to both her and the unborn child, but still!
And Hermione, at 21 weeks, had passed the halfway point of her own pregnancy.
That was an experience—it wasn’t that she complained, although Harry wouldn’t
blame her if she did, but it was plain to him that things weren’t going exactly
smooth. Her stomach often reacted negatively with certain foods—“Just a bit of
indigestion or heartburn,” she would brush aside his concern. Blaise brought
out the special oils he’d received for Christmas, and Luna purchased a few
others that would help soothe the skin slowly being stretched out from her
growing belly. Hannah also added her hands to the work of coaxing cramping
muscles into relaxing.
The concern over keeping her and their baby safe gnawed at his insides.
“There’ll be no way to really hide the fact that she’s pregnant soon,” he
rambled aloud one afternoon when it was just him and Blaise in the Head Boy’s
rooms. “And now Neville…” He shook his head. “We can’t just ask Madame Pomphrey
to put the spell on him.”
“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Blaise reminded him casually as he continued to lie
sprawled over the sofa, lazily reading a book. It was not the first time Harry
had fallen into a worry session. It wouldn’t be the last, he was sure. Besides,
the best way he’d found to deal with his lover when Harry was like this was to
just let the other ramble and wear himself out in circles. “It’s too dangerous
for any wizard simply because the male body is not conducive to growing new
life—it’s ill equipped and prolonging a male pregnancy is more likely to make
the wizard sick and end up killing both him and the baby. Besides which,
Neville’s magic would never allow it.”
Harry shot an apprehensive eye towards Blaise. “Do incubi have heats? You’re
not going to go into heat or anything any time soon, are you? I really don’t
think I could handle all of you pregnant at the same time.”
Blaise grinned spiritedly, stretching out languidly on the sofa, his body on
natural display as the vanteera paced back and forth furiously. “As a matter of
fact, yes, incubi do have heats.”
Harry froze, staring back at Blaise in fear filled, horrified disbelief.
“Although,” Blaise finally added, “each is particular to the individual. My
mother, for example, has a heat period every eight to nine years. As I have
only recently come into my inheritance, it is impossible to know the range of
my own heat periods, but it is unlikely that I would enter one for another two
years, yet.”
Harry nodded, somewhat satisfied with that answer. “Then we’ve at least two
years before we have to worry about you getting pregnant, too,” Harry sighed,
flopping onto the sofa next to Blaise. “I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling
like everyone is vulnerable.”
“Don’t think of it as being vulnerable,” Blaise suggested shifting to curl up
against his mate. “Think of it more as of each person having more of a reason
to fight harder to defend and protect themselves, keep themselves and each
other safe. Because of the babies they’re carrying—the children of our pard,
our children. It is a worthy cause to fight and defend for.”
“Anything could happen,” Harry worried. “A Voldemort supporter can come up
behind one of you and push you down the stairs. You could lose your balance and
fall. Or someone could attack you in an empty hallway.”
“That’s the danger everyone faces, Harry,” Blaise pointed out, soothingly
running his fingers through the other male’s dark hair. “Do not borrow trouble
that has not showed up to our doorstep, yet, my love, mio amante. Let us enjoy
our remaining time at Hogwarts together. Our remaining time as students, living
in a partially innocent world. We will have to deal with everything else soon
enough. Now,” Blaise asked, determined to change the subject from a topic that
was obviously stressful, “what are those parchments on your desk all about?”
“Letters from the goblins concerning my various new investments and purchases,”
Harry huffed out, accepting the change of topic.
“You’ve been investing?” Blaise queried, somewhat surprised.
“Just a little bit,” Harry confessed, shooting a shy little embarrassed look
towards Blaise. “I don’t know a whole lot about investing, but that’s why I
have a goblin looking into possible companies and properties. A goblin will
know where the money is at and how to follow it home.”
“And of course,” Blaise replied, somewhat sardonically, “the goblin skims a bit
off the top for each successful investment, there by lining their own pockets.”
“Naturally,” Harry agreed.
“What else have you been up to? Surely not all those letters are about
investments…”
“No, not all,” Harry agreed. “It’s the information I request for having some of
the curse breakers and warders see to some of the different properties Neville
and I looked at during the Christmas holidays. Remember?”
“I remember you being unsatisfied with what you found then,” Blaise frowned.
“Have you changed your mind? Are you thinking to have one of them redone?”
Blaise asked, slightly surprised. He knew how much refurbishing and renovating
older properties could cost.
“Well, a few of them, actually. Not all at once,” he added, seeing Blaise’s
disbelieving look. “But, eventually I want all my properties warded and
maintenance. That way, if they’re all done, then no one can know for sure which
one we’re staying at,” Harry pointed out. “Not unless we tell them. And
besides, it gives everyone a place of their own if they ever decide they need
it. I mean, I know you have your villa in Italy to escape to when you need some
private time, and I suppose Neville could always visit one of his properties,
but…” Harry shrugged.
“Not that I’m saying it’s a bad idea, but is it really cost effective?” Blaise
pointed out. “Goblins are not cheap.”
“But they’re worth every penny of the work,” Harry returned. “Ask anyone. Plus,
their client loyalty is super high. They take their privacy seriously. We won’t
have to worry about a death eater coming along to imperio the information from
them. Can’t think of anything safer than that.”
“Having a large three-headed guard dog?”
Harry laughed… and then wondered what ever had become of Fluffy.
***
Tbc…
~NEXT TIME~
The Ides of March might not be so idling….

Harry woke with a start, heart racing
“Harry? What’s on the other side of the door?” Blaise asked again.
Harry gasped, opening his eyes and practically jackknifing off the bed.
“Voldemort.”
“You see too much, don’t you?” he asked solemnly reaching out and taking her
hand. “That is your gift, you curse—Sight.”
“I See,” she agreed.
“Back off, now, Potter,” Severus growled lowly, threatening.
Chapter End Notes
     There are three more chapters roughly hewn, thanks to nanowrimo.
     March ended up being split into two, and then Easter... Still
     anticipating this story wrapping up before 50 chapters, but we'll
     see. The second half of April should lead us straight into NEWTs,
     which will bring up to the end of the year and the boss battle,
     because, as everyone knows, the Dark Lord is always so respectful of
     education to wait until *after* the standardized testing period
     before attacking.
     On a bit of a side note, for those who have been expressing opinions
     over Severus's inclusion into the pard: It has always been my
     intention to include Severus as one of Harry's mates--since before I
     even knew about Neville. That has not and will not change. The only
     reason I went back and removed that relationship header from the tags
     is that their relationship is such a slow, slow, slow burn and I was
     waiting until the relationships were introduced before updating the
     tags. However, hints of his inclusion have remained throughout the
     story. At one point, Harry in full Vanteerian form noted Severus as a
     potential mate. Luna looked at Snape and told him it wasn't his time
     yet. But you will start to see more of Severus's involvement with the
     story from here on out, and I'm going to go ahead and update the tags
     to represent that. If you feel that will be a hindrance in continuing
     to read the story, I'm sorry, but I understand and honor that.
***** The Ides of March *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry's dreams persist.
Chapter Notes
     Story warnings apply this chapter: mentions of death eater meetings
     with torture, murder, rape, sexual slavery, forced impregnation, and
     other not so niceness.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 38: The Ides of March
~THEN~
Harry sighed, flopping onto the sofa next to Blaise. “I don’t like this. I
don’t like feeling like everyone is vulnerable.”
“Don’t think of it as being vulnerable,” Blaise suggested shifting to curl up
against his mate. “Think of it more as of each person having more of a reason
to fight harder to defend and protect themselves, keep themselves and each
other safe. Because of the babies they’re carrying—the children of our pard,
our children. It is a worthy cause to fight and defend for.”
“Anything could happen,” Harry worried. “A Voldemort supporter can come up
behind one of you and push you down the stairs. You could lose your balance and
fall. Or someone could attack you in an empty hallway.”
“That’s the danger everyone faces, Harry,” Blaise pointed out, soothingly
running his fingers through the other male’s dark hair. “Do not borrow trouble
that has not showed up to our doorstep, yet, my love, mio amante. Let us enjoy
our remaining time at Hogwarts together. Our remaining time as students, living
in a partially innocent world. We will have to deal with everything else soon
enough.”
***
~NOW~
***
– Tuesday, March 4, Hogwarts –
Harry woke up.
Beside him, Hermione mumbled and shifted, but she didn’t wake up, and for that,
he was grateful. She had been sleeping poorly the last few nights and had been
more tired than usual during the days. A tired Hermione was an irritable
Hermione, and an irritable Hermione was just plain scary for everyone. He
slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his sleeping mate.
Deciding he was too jittery to even try to go back to sleep, he shoved his feet
into his trainers and pulled a somewhat clean robe over him.
It was the middle of the night, hours after curfew but still hours before
morning. The hallways and corridors of the school were deserted—not that he
expected anything less, but it allowed him to wander in peace. He was grateful
the others hadn’t spent the night—even Blaise had been convinced to join his
dormmates for the evening. It allowed Harry an opportunity to slip away from
his rooms.
A part of him wanted to rush up to the headmaster’s office and bang on the
door, shouting that the death eaters had just had another meeting, that
Voldemort was planning another raid… but that was nothing new, nothing that the
headmaster didn’t already know by now.
“Potter!” a stringent voice called out from behind him. “What are you doing out
of bed!”
Harry started, only then realizing his wandering feet had taken him towards the
Great Hall and the front doors. He turned around to watch the potions master
coming through the otherwise empty hallway. Was he just returning, Harry
wondered. Why didn’t he just take the floo back to his rooms?
There was an extra pallor to Snape’s skin as he stalked through the shadows of
the school, only some moonlight filtering in from high placed windows lit the
corridors. This late at night, even the torches had been dimmed, and so the
older man looked like a thing made out of shadows—sinister and deadly.
“Well, Potter? Nothing to say for yourself and your blatant disregard for
school rules?” Severus sneered, drawing up on the younger man and crossing his
arms over his chest—although, tonight, in the mood Harry was in, it looked more
like the man was holding onto himself.
Harry blinked up at the potions professor. He felt both numb and wired with
shock. The source of his shock spilled from his mouth without a thought of
consequences. “Voldemort had another meeting.”
Severus winced—probably because of Harry’s use of the dark lord’s name, but
maybe because Harry knew about the meeting. Both were a source of discontent
for the older man, worth a wince or two at even the idea of either. A
seventeen-year-old student had no business being privy to the depths of
depravity pursued by a group of terrorists—that they could both agree upon.
“The Dark Lord conducts many meetings, Potter. I trust you don’t expect to
receive an invitation,” Snape growled, arms dropping to his sides as he stared
at Harry with livid suspicion. The meeting house was layered in multiple wards
and charms, not least was a fidelius that prevented members from speaking the
house’s name or sharing any of its secrets with others. Potter shouldn’t know
of it at all. That he did was deeply troubling.
“I saw it. I dreamt about it, and I remembered when I woke up just now,” Harry
explained. “A house, by the ocean, I think. I could smell salt water, anyway.
At least, I think it was salt water. And the Death Eaters were there, giving
reports, receiving directions, but I can’t remember who they are or what their
faces look like,” he added with frustration.
“You shouldn’t be seeing them at all,” Snape snapped at him before adding with
a hiss, “You must learn to close your mind.” he glared at the young man
standing in front of him in his pajama pants and school robe.
Harry shouldn’t have been able to see anything at all of that house. That he
did implied more about the boy’s visions that unsettled him deeply. What if
Potter was seeing into the dark lord’s mind, what was there to stop the
reverse? Once again, he felt his position, strung between two masters, tighten
around him like a noose. Surely, he would suffocate and die one day, caught
between his many vows and promises.
He wasn’t given access to any of the kidnapped victims, but he could easily
guess what was happening to those people—he was the one called upon to brew the
complicated and complex potions the dark lord had demanded. He could certainly
guess what fate befell those unlucky enough to be acquired by the dark lord’s
forces, although he did his best not to dwell on what he could not immediately
set to rights.
On the other side, he was prevented from saving any of those people. There was
no way he had of sneaking someone in or out of the property to retrieve the
captives. And there was a distressing lack of information he could bring back
and tell the Light. Definitely nothing good or reassuring. Order meetings were
a special slice of hell—at least at Death Eater meetings there was the chance
of watching others get crucioed for some perceived failure.
 
Severus blinked, shaking himself free from his thoughts.
 
“I do!” Harry cried. “I’ve been trying to clear my mind, but nothing seems to
work! Sometimes, it’s like, the nights I try and clear my mind, those nights
are worse because I end up seeing more.”
“You must want to close your mind,” Severus pressed.
“You think I don’t want to? You think I want to actually keep dreaming about
these things? They killed an entire family tonight! I don’t want to see that!”
Harry cried, his magic starting to whip around him in his agitated state. He
turned away from Snape and slammed his palms into the stone wall. “I thought
maybe if I tried practicing occlumency more that it would help, but it hasn’t.
If anything, it’s made it worse.” He pressed his aching head against the cold
stone. “Before, when I would have the nightmares, I’d wake up with the
impressions of things that happened. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t really see
it, not really. But now… now it’s almost like it’s a movie playing out before
me when I’m asleep, and I can’t seem to wake myself up.”
“And your desire to play the hero, to find some kernel of information you can
sniff out to help save the day, has nothing to do with it,” Severus scoffed.
“I’m not—I don’t—“ Harry growled, whirling around to face Snape again. “Why do
you always think the worst of me? Yes, if I remember something important, I’ll
share it. I want those people safe, don’t you? Yes, I wish I could help them,
but I can’t. I know this, believe me. I’ve had my face rubbed in it enough
already, thank you very much. I get it. There’s nothing I can do to help. I
hate it. I absolutely hate it. Yeah, I want to just run off and go find that
house and save all the people inside it, but I can’t. I don’t know where it is.
I can’t remember when I wake up, and it drives me absolutely insane because I
know I know where it is, but I can’t describe it or explain it!”
“Fidelius charm,” Severus muttered.
Harry’s eyes widened. “Is that what it is?” he asked, wondering. “It doesn’t
feel like this when we’re on about the Old Place.”
“There aren’t as many charms and wards up around the Old Place, Potter,”
Severus sneered, slightly disgusted at the boy’s lack of knowledge.
“No, I suppose not,” Harry sighed, drooping a little.
Severus found himself loosening his own starch posture. He was tired. Bone-
weary tired. It had been a long day even before the evening had arrived, filled
with detentions to supervise and papers to correct. And just when he was
readying to retire for the night, his cursed mark had flared to life, his dark
lord and master bidding him summons. He was given little grace way in
consideration for the circumstances surrounding his location, but even so, the
dark lord was not a patient creature. He had left the walls of the castle
behind as quickly as possible while still walking the earth, and as soon as he
had slipped through the wards at the front gates of the school, he had
apperated away to the Meeting House.
A few death eaters were loitering in the hallway. He ignored them, sycophants
who were hoping to receive positive notice. The fools. He swept passed them
with not even a look of acknowledgement. If anything, he was disappointed,
recognizing several faces of former students. A waste of education.
He arrived at the main hall—a ballroom in the manor house’s former life—strode
inside purposefully, and fell into a precise bow. The dark lord enjoyed his
ceremonies and pomp.
“Ah, Severus!” the wizard exclaimed—although it was more of a hissed wheeze.
“So good of you to join us. I just received word that we are in need of a few
potions. You will, of course, see that Pike has what he needs.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes, my lord,” Severus replied instantly. “As you say.”
“Very good. Get the list from Pike,” he added dismissively. “Now, while you’re
here. Tell me, my spy, what news is there of Hogwarts.”
Dumbledore had given him a safe list of information to pass along—a lot like
Voldemort did for Dumbledore’s benefit. Really, it was a bit exhausting, acting
like the messenger boy between the two powerful wizards. More often than not,
Severus wished reverently that Dumbledore would just step up and take care of
Voldemort like he had Grindlewald. It hadn’t happened yet. Frankly, he wasn’t
sure what the old man was waiting for: the dark lord’s power base continued to
grow more powerful with every new member that was convinced to join up.
And Severus was trapped in the middle.
He wished he could just turn his back on them both, walk away and be at peace.
But he would never escape. Somewhere over the last year, he’d come to the
realization he was going to die a slave. He wasn’t sure he even cared anymore.
The list of potions Pike had handed him before he left burned like acid in his
pocket. He’d only glanced at the different potions being requested of him, but
it was more than enough to make him sick.
He had gone straight back to Hogwarts and found the headmaster, sharing what
little information he could. If the potions he was to make were any indication,
there was to be another raid, and soon. Why else would the dark forces need so
many nutrition and fertility potions so soon after his last delivery?
“Sir?”
Severus blinked, and suddenly he was back in the corridor having run into
Potter of all people while returning to his rooms.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s late, Potter. You should be in your bed, sleeping.”
“So should you,” the boy responded before coloring. “Be in bed, sleeping, I
mean. Your bed, that is, not mine, I—”
Severus quirked an eyebrow. “Really, Potter. I assure you, I have no intention
of ever being in your bed.”
“Ah, now, that’s just plain rude,” Harry countered, suddenly playful. “How do
you know you wouldn’t enjoy yourself? Or is that it—you’re afraid you’d enjoy
yourself too much. Can’t have that, can we?”
“You judge yourself too highly.”
“You could always judge for yourself,” he offered, stepping closer to the older
man and leaning into his body space. “Maybe you could even… teach me, a thing
or two.”
“Back off, now, Potter,” Severus growled lowly, threatening.
Harry frowned, puzzled at his own actions, and with a shake of his head, he
stepped back.
“You should go back to your chambers,” Severus told him. “Now.”
“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. “Yeah, I think you’re right. More tired than I thought.
Must be stress or something, right?” He didn’t really expect a reply, which was
good because Snape wasn’t about to give him one. He turned away, still puzzling
over his weird behavior, because, really! What the heck was that all about? He
didn’t seriously just proposition his potions professor, did he? And he
definitely wasn’t feeling even the remotest bit of disappointed that the other
man shut him down. No, definitely not. He was just over-reacting to things
because of his latest dream-vision. That had to be it.
“And Potter,” Snape called when the head boy had found his way to the main
stair case. “Fifty points from Gryffindor.”
Harry was about to protest, but the words died in his throat, and he found
himself nodding resolutely and heading back up the stairs to his and Hermione’s
rooms.
 
– Thursday, March 6, Hogwarts –
 
Harry woke with a start, heart racing. Slowly, the adrenaline was leaving his
system. Already the images were fading away, lost to him. The emotions lingered
for longer, but eventually, they would dissipate as well.
The bed shifted. “More bad dreams?” Blaise asked.
Immediately, guilt filled him. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t mean to wake
you.”
Blaise rolled over, curling up against Harry. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “I’m
glad I woke. Want to tell me about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell, is there?” Harry groused, somewhat irritably.
“What do you remember?”
Harry shivered. “Something good happened—good for him,” he added, now sounding
quite miserable. “I don’t know what, though. It could be anything.”
Blaise reached up and ran his fingers through Harry’s sweat-soaked hair. “It’s
still early yet. We could probably get a couple more hours of sleep in, if you
wanted.” His fingers slipped from Harry’s hair, skimming down his cheek and
onto his chest, pressing his palm against his slowing heart.
“I don’t think I could sleep now.”
“We can try, if you wanted,” Blaise still offered.
Harry smirked a little. “Try what?”
Blaise returned his smile. “For once, not that, my lover. I suggest merely to
help you get back to sleep, if you wanted.”
Getting back to sleep after a vision-dream always seemed like a pipe dream, but
he was willing to try just about anything. “How?” he asked almost immediately.
Blaise shifted up on the bed again and this time he settled Harry against him.
“Close your eyes,” he directed. “Breathe. Relax. Feel the bed beneath you,
supporting your weight. Feel the sheets, wrapping safely around you. Listen to
my voice, and just breathe.”
And then Blaise continued to speak, his voice warm and melodic, almost
hypnotic. Harry couldn’t make out the meaning of the words—the other boy had
slipped back into his native Italian—but the rich deep voice crooned in his
ears as his mind was set adrift. Before he knew it, he was lulled back into the
land of nod. When he woke next it was morning, and he felt refreshed. He had no
memory of the dreams he dreamt. No echoes of others’ emotions.
When he’d mentioned in passing that Blaise had helped him fall asleep, Luna had
been immediately excited and demanded a chance to tell him “a bed time story”.
Luna’s bed time stories weren’t anything like Blaise’s, but maybe that should
have been expected. Luna’s voice was soft and wispy—it lacked the rich, warm
tones of Blaise’s voice. And for all that she was calm and soothing, she also
had a lilting quality. Her words, while often seemingly nonsense when strung
together, were familiar to his ears. And sometimes his brain would attempt to
make sense of her musings.
The biggest difference though, Harry found, was that when Luna talk him to
sleep, he would dream.
It was a short while later when he said something about it to Blaise while they
were getting ready for bed again. The other boy just nodded and said, “That
makes sense.”
“How so?” Harry asked, genuinely confused, dropping onto the bed. “I mean,
you’re both just talking. Not even really talking about anything important, are
you? I mean, can’t really understand the stuff you’re saying anyway when you’re
talking in Italian.”
Blaise leered, crawling onto the bed and over Harry. “I could be reading you
off a recipe list or reciting the dictionary or telling you the deepest darkest
secrets of Slytherin, and you wouldn’t even know the difference,” he teased,
collapsing beside him.
“Are you?” asked Harry suddenly curious. “Are you really just reading off
recipes?”
“No,” Blaise laughed, “seriously. I’m just telling you stories of my youth.
Sometimes memories. Sometimes I’m just reciting old children stories.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he reassured him, before considering. “Well, no. Sometimes I might be
complaining about homework.” Blaise winked at him and Harry obligingly laughed.
“It might be nice to hear something about your childhood memories, though,” he
mused. “Why do you always slip into Italian?”
“My goal is to soothe you, my lover, and some of my stories, I think you would
be too interested in.”
Harry shot him a gamely eye. “I think I want to hear some of those stories.”
Blaise continued to grin, unable and unwilling to stop the pleasure that arose
from Harry’s interest in his past. It tickled his fancy pleasantly to know that
Harry was curious about him, his past, wanted to know more. He had been just a
little bit worried at first—the pard had seemed to assimilate him with very
little resistance. No hesitancy or resistance or protests. One night he just
followed Harry home and after that, he was there. No real trial or interview.
And the others quite literally welcomed him into their arms and beds. He was
beginning to learn this was somewhat customary for events surrounding
Harry—this happened to or around him, and the others just dealt with it, ‘like
normal’.
‘What is normal?’ Luna’s voice sung through his thoughts. ‘We make our own
normal.’
How true she was.
“So why do you think it makes sense then for Luna’s stories to cause me to see
visions, when yours don’t?” Harry asked, refocusing on the original topic of
their nighttime discussion.
Blaise mused over his words, carefully considering what he wanted to say.
“I suspect it’s because she’s fae,” he settled on answering, finally.
The candle light had dimmed as they both settled back into bed. Now they laid,
cuddled up under the blankets in near darkness. Hermione was still out at her
desk, studying something or another. Luna had said her goodnights over an hour
ago, announcing that she was having a sleep-over with several of the younger
Ravenclaws. Hannah and Neville had also left them for the night, and so with a
warning not to stay up too late, Harry and Blaise had decided to turn in for
the night. It felt a little weird sometimes, falling asleep or waking up
without the others there. The Christmas holiday had definitely spoiled them.
But it was good sometimes, too, to have a little bit of space from one another.
If Harry ever had disgruntlements about Blaise sleeping in his bed every night,
he never said anything about it to the Italian boy. If anything, Blaise
suspected Harry clung to the companionship. Maybe that made some sense, if the
things he’d begun to suspect based off some of the things he’d overheard just
by listening to Harry and Hermione and the others talk—or not talk—about their
pasts. They all already knew Harry’s past was not anything even remotely near
the best.
“The fae are wild creatures. They work on a completely different mindset than
most humans or humanlike beings. They may look human, but it should be
remembered that they’re not any more human than you or Neville or I. We began
as human, maybe, but we’re not, not anymore. We’re something other, as well.
Fae, though… they appreciate and enjoy a wide spectrum of other. They’re
perversely tricky to categorize or define… their inability to settle into one
classification or another is what allows us to define them as fae, actually.
It’s a bit fascinating. I studied it a bit one summer.”
Harry made a noise to show he was still listening, even though his eyes were
drooping and his breathing slowing, deepening.
“Luna’s magic seems to be more prophetic than mischievous or harmful, like some
fae. I guess it could be possible she’s guiding you into visions. What does she
talk to you about?”
“Luna usually just sounds like she’s talking about walking through the woods or
traveling down tunnels, chasing creatures around,” Harry mumbled. “One night,
we found a pool in the middle of the woods, and we tried to swim all the way to
the bottom, but there was no bottom. Or there was the door in a big tree trunk.
We went through and there were stairs that led up or down. We walked up, up and
up and up until we reached the top, and we were in the sky, hanging out with
the stars. We had to find a rainbow to slide back down to earth safely.”
“That sounds like quite the adventure,” Blaise murmured, sliding his limbs
against Harry’s, just enjoying the sensation of his skin rubbing against
another’s.
“Mmhmm. We found a cave behind a waterfall once,” Harry confided. “It led on
forever. Much longer than even the passage between Howgwarts and Honeydukes in
Hogsmeade. We just kept walking and walking until we finally came to some old
wooden door. It might have been a really nice door at one time, but you could
tell it’s taken a beating or something.”
“What was on the other side of the door?”
It took forever to reach the door, it was so long, the passage just kept going
and going. He had to be careful on some of the steps, the stones were wet and
slippery, but the packed dirt was solid beneath his feet. Sometimes he thought
he saw something sparkle or shine along the walls, but Luna told him not to
worry about that. He was more focused on the destination.
There was a door.
How did he know there was going to be a door?
But it was simple—like a peasant’s door. Nothing remarkable about it at all,
except is sat there in the dirt wall. There were no symbols or anything on the
door, so thinking himself prepared, he pushed forward. The door resisted,
despite seeming so weak. He pushed again, harder, before realizing his mistake.
He pulled on the door, and with only the littlest amount of stick, the door
opened.
The other side seemed brighter after walking through the darkness of the
tunnel. But it wasn’t all that bright. In fact, the only real source of light
was the fire place against the far wall and the lamp on the writing desk. Harry
started, a figure sat at the desk. They didn’t seem to notice him at all.
He stepped closer.
The man was nightmarish—pale and skeleton. His black robes only served to
accentuate his pallor.
The door opened behind him, but it wasn’t the same door he’d come through. This
was a much nicer door. Better constructed. Where was his door?
Another man entered, head bowed, black cloak seeming to engulf his form. “My
Lord, you called for me?”
“Yes…” the voice was sibilant. It sent shivers down his spine. He didn’t like
it. “It has been brought to my attention that you have outgrown your current
facilities.”
The man shifted, restless and nervous and looking as equally uncomfortable
being there as Harry was.
“Corvinaes has informed me he is finished with the last of the basic
reconstruction. All that remains are the flourishes and trappings. Someone else
will handle that. For now, know that you are to prepare for the transfer. You
and your wife are to continue on attending to the gestations and births—I
understand our numbers continue to grow. That is good.—someone will be by
within the next few days to move the children.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the death eater practically wept with sincere gratitude.
“We will prepare.”
“Yes, see that you do.”
“Harry? What’s on the other side of the door?” Blaise asked again.
Harry gasped, opening his eyes and practically jackknifing off the bed.
“Voldemort.”
“Wha?” Blaise sat up beside him, the sleepy haze falling away. “Are you sure—I
mean, how? I mean, what?”
“It was Voldemort, and he was sitting in a room with a fireplace and desk. He
was sitting at the desk reading some papers and making notes. And then someone
came in, and he told them that they were going to be moving the children.”
“What children?”
“Voldemort’s got this whole breeding program,” Harry rushed to explain. “His
death eaters keep raping their captives until they’re knocked up, and then
they’re transferred to some house where they’re kept until they give birth.
Then they’re sent back to the death eaters to be raped and impregnated all over
again.”
“What?” Blaise reeled back in horror. “That’s despicable! How do you know
this?” he demanded, pushing aside the thought that such things were happening.
“I’ve seen it,” Harry answered, sounding way more calm that Blaise thought he
should be. “I’ve experienced it. In my dreams. But…” Harry frowned. “But I
never really remember them when I wake up.”
“But you remember now?”
Harry was still frowning. “I… I don’t know.”
“What did the room look like?” Blaise pressed, eager to capture as many of the
details as possible.
“I don’t know, just a room,” Harry responded. “Like a study or something. There
were books on the wall. It was dark.”
Harry shrugged and Blaise frowned, pressing, “What did the other man look like,
the death eater?”
“He had his robes up. I didn’t see him.”
Not enough. “Was it day or night time?”
“It was night… the fireplace and the lamp were the only lights in the room,
everything else was pretty dark.” He was pretty sure of that. Was there a
window in the room? He couldn’t remember.
“Did they mention any names?”
Harry’s face wrinkled in concentration as he fought to remember their
conversation. “I… I don’t… Corvin, maybe? But that doesn’t sound right…”
“What did he say, Harry?” Blaise pressed.
“The reconstruct was finished,” Harry whispered, as if he was still trapped in
the dream. “They were going to move the children. The death eater was happy.”
There was a knock on the door, startling both of them.
“Harry?” Hermione called, poking her head in after a moment. “Are you still
awake?”
“Just barely,” Blaise answered.
Hermione hesitated a moment, hanging onto the door before seeming to make up
her mind and push through. “You don’t mind if I sleep with you tonight, do
you?”
“Not at all,” Harry replied immediately, holding the sheets up to encourage her
into bed with them.
“Never,” Blaise agreed. “You are always welcomed, Hermione.”
“What brought this on?” Harry asked, even as he helped settle Hermione against
him. “Not that I mind at all, but you usually choose to sleep in your own bed
during the week.”
Hermione settled into the bed, snuggling up against Harry’s side, bum pressed
against his hip, head pillowed on his arm, and her cold, cold feet tucked back
under his shins. “I just didn’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she explained,
already closing her eyes and making to head off to sleep.
Blaise and Harry shared a look. Harry’s said, ‘what can you do?’ while Blaise’s
clearly stated, ‘We’ll be speaking out this in the morning.’
Harry grimaced but nodded in acceptance.
***
They didn’t speak of it in the morning. Mostly because Hermione was up before
either of them and prodding them up out of bed and dressed so they could head
down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As had become customary, Luna was waiting
for them near the bottom of the stairs. Blaise easily hooked an arm through
hers and told the others to go on ahead.
“You’ve been leading him in guided visions,” he practically hissed once the
others were away. It didn’t take a genius to see Blaise was spitting mad.
“Good morning, Blaise,” Luna chirped, leaning over to give her boyfriend a kiss
on the cheek. “Yes, I’d love to take a stroll of the corridors with you before
breakfast. That would be lovely.”
She led them off to wander away from the Great Hall and the other students.
They wound up in one of the many rooms that had been appropriated for study
groups. It was empty now, and Blaise whipped his wand out, firing off silencing
and locking charms at the door before Luna had finished settling herself on top
one of the tables, fanning her skirt out.
“You’ve been leading Harry into guided visions,” he accused again, once he was
done with the door.
She nodded. “Yes,” she answered simply.
“You were supposed to be helping him sleep more peacefully!” He crossed the
room on a wave of righteous anger and protective instinct.
“No,” she corrected gently. “You’re helping him clear his mind and rest
peacefully. I’m helping him reach inside himself to channel the different paths
of divinity.”
Blaise’s frustration, if anything, sky rocketed. “Did you know what his
nightmares were about? Did all of you know and just didn’t tell me? He’s seeing
you-know-who in his dreams! No wonder he wakes up in cold sweats and has
trouble getting back to sleep!”
“I’m not sure if Hannah knows,” Luna answered calmly, “But Neville and Hermione
do. Neville used to be the one who went to Harry when he had his visions.
Neville came to me to confirm the spell work for the charms he used on Harry’s
bed to alert him when Harry got up in the middle of the night, but now that
you’re sleeping with Harry, he’s trusting you to take care of him, which is
rather a good thing right now, don’t you agree? Neville really does need to be
taking care of himself right now.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Blaise growled.
Luna frowned. “You can’t stop nature. You might try to slow it down, but nature
will always find a way. The potion was failing. It would have failed.”
“But there’s a chance it would have lasted,” Blaise countered.
“It would have failed,” she insisted staunchly.
“But you can’t know that one hundred percent positively,” he maintained.
“Neville made a choice, and you took that choice from him.”
Luna’s eyes clouded and crumbled. “I had to.”
“No,” Blaise corrected. “You chose to, just like Neville choose to take that
potion in the first place.”
“But he didn’t really want it,” she declared.
“That doesn’t matter,” Blaise practically shouted with his earnestness. “He
made a choice, Luna, and he would have had to deal with the consequences of
that choice, just like the rest of us.”
“He would have been in so much pain,” Luna murmured, looking up with sorrowful
eyes. “If he had woken up from an unsuccessful heat… he would be hurting.”
Blaise shook away her words. “That’s not why you did it, and it doesn’t matter.
And we’re not talking about Neville right now, we were talking about Harry.
Harry and his nightmares that aren’t really nightmares, are they? They’re
visions, true visions.”
“Yes,” Luna replied, somewhat meekly.
“Harry is having true visions,” Blaise had to repeat, just to make himself
process that fact. And then he added, “Of You-Know-Who.”
“No,” Luna revived her earlier buoyancy and began kicking her legs, and then
she paused again, frowning. “Sometimes, yes. Often times, perhaps. But also no.
Harry is capable of true vision, sometimes,” she added. “But the connection he
shares with the Dark Lord usually overpowers any other visions he might have.”
“Connection?” Blaise immediately jumped on. “What connection? What do you mean
the connection he shares with the Dark Lord? How can he share a connection
with… with… him?” he demanded.
“It’s the dark thread. You saw it, didn’t you?” Luna looked at him, puzzled.
“It looks all wrong. All those other threads, connecting to Harry, bright and
shiny, the vicarious threads of all the people who cling to the idea of Harry
as hope and salvation. But not that one. Dark and oily and wrong,” she added
with a shiver of contempt. “It’s old, too. I think it might have been forged
when Harry was a baby, when Voldemort tried to kill him the first time. He must
not have been taken to a proper healer because I think a piece of Voldemort’s
soul attached itself to Harry.”
With that wild amount of food for thought, the piece Blaise attacked first was,
“Harry has a piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to him?”
“Yes,” Luna confirmed matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to get rid of it before we
can completely get right of the Dark Lord, of course. It shouldn’t be too
difficult.”
“How can you say that?” Blaise demanded, fear clawing up his throat—fear for
the boy he’d come to love quite desperately; fear for the little family they
were in the process of building, a family he wanted more than anything; fear
for a future he had thought assured that now seemed dubious.
“Because we’ve avoided almost all of the other possibilities that led to the
more difficult methods of removing the connection,” Luna answered succinctly.
“What were those?” He almost dreaded knowing, but maybe knowing what she
considered the more difficult methods would help him appreciate what methods
were left to them now. Because he highly doubted whatever they were going to
have to do to free Harry from his connection with the Dark Lord were going to
be anything but difficult.
“Well, the least acceptable one would be Harry dying and taking the soul piece
with them.”
Blaise’s heart stuttered right there and then, paining his chest something
dreadful, and he was sure the color drained from his face. “What?”
“Quite unacceptable, don’t you agree?” He didn’t think he would ever hate Luna,
but she sounded too damn chipper and happy to have said the words that had just
come from her mouth.
“Quite,” he managed to whisper, swallowing thickly.
“The other’s don’t end so pleasant for us. I quite enjoy our relationship,
Blaise. I’m glad you decided to make a go for us.” She smiled and held her hand
out for him.
“You see too much, don’t you?” he asked solemnly reaching out and taking her
hand. He couldn’t deny her. He didn’t think he would ever be able to, any more
than he could deny any of the others. He would bend over backwards to keep them
happy and satiated. Her head tilted, looking at him puzzlingly. “That is your
gift, you curse—Sight.”
“I See,” she agreed.
“But it’s not always a forgone conclusion, is it?” he whispered, leaning in
against her.
Her eyes unfocused. “So many possibilities. It’s…hard…to know which… choices
upon choices.” She looked back at him, meeting his gazing and seeing him, not
seeing through him. “The potion would have failed, and you all would have been
ill for days afterward, not just mildly exhausted.”
Blaise pressed his lips together, still not liking what she’d done but not
willing to fight about it anymore now. She had her reasons, and she believed
her actions were right. He disagreed. That was something they would have to
work out, but later. That could wait. Right now there were other matters
pressing on him.
“And will we make it out of this safely?” he asked.
Luna’s head tilted again before answering him, “Mostly. Yes.”
“And Hannah, Neville, Hermione?” he had to ask after. They were their most
vulnerable family right now—he couldn’t help but worry for them, although he
thought he was slightly better at controlling his concern than Harry. “They
will be well? We will make it out of this war together?”
And that last part was almost as equally important to Blaise as everyone being
safe. Everyone making it out of this war safe but not together was
inconceivable to him, but he would rather that be the case than anyone not
making it out safely. He couldn’t imagine their little family with anyone less
than who they were already.
“We should,” Luna agreed, and she leaned her head against his shoulder,
delicate fingers twisting into the material of his cloak, holding him against
her.
“What about Harry?” he had to ask. He had to know. What did she see for their
shining prince, their king?
“There are always so many possibilities around Harry,” Luna’s small voice
whispered. She looked up at him than, her large blue eyes staring up into his
almost pleading. “But yes, he will survive. He has to survive. We will make
sure of it, yes?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”’
She kissed along his chin. “Don’t be mad,” she said, parting her thighs and
pulling him closer. “There are so many better things to do with your time. You
didn’t feed last night or this morning, did you?”
“No.” He didn’t ask how she knew. Luna just always knew those small things
about any member of the pard. He didn’t think it was necessarily the Active
Sight. Possibly passive sight—like that niggling feeling most people got that
told them to take a different route or bring an extra jumper on a warm day.
Only it was more along the lines of, ‘Have another piece of chicken, Hermione,’
‘Neville, stay away from the Brussel sprouts,’ and ‘Have some sex, Blaise.’”
Then again, when it came to Luna and sex, she was pretty much always offering.
A quickie in an unused classroom or ducking into the haunted girls’
bathroom—and who knew ghosts could be so pervy? A heavy petting session behind
a random suit of armor or in a broom closet. Or on the rug in front of the
fireplace, or on the sofa, or on the study table, or if they actually made it
to bed… Stars, but he was a lucky devil.
“Then feed now,” Luna offered, shifting back and lifting her skirt to show she
wasn’t wearing any panties under the thick materials. Her socks rode all the
way up past her knees to nearly midthigh. The sight was intoxicating. She
leaned back on display, spreading her legs wider. “I would like to spend the
morning, knowing your cum is inside me.”
He groaned, low and deep, already pushing his robe out of the way and
unfastening his trousers. How could he ever deny such a request.
“Without any panties it’ll be spilling onto your thighs and skirt,” he warned,
reaching out with his other hand, slipping his fingers into her greedy slit,
relishing the musky scent of her, the squelching sounds of her creamy juices
squishing around his fingers.
“I just guess I’ll have to put a magic cup over my pussy to catch any of your
cum that tries to slip out,” she reasoned.
He groaned again, whipping his cock out and giving it a few quick strokes
before lining the head up against her spongy wet folds. He dipped in and out
several times, teasing himself against the heat and touch of her. She moaned
and arched, and suddenly he was thrust home, practically all the way to the
root as she swallowed him to the root in to the center of her molten heat.
He paused, savoring the sensations— So good. So familiar. So perfect—and then
he shifted, pulling back, withdrawing before thrusting forward again, and
again, and again. He settled them into the quick paced tempo they preferred for
semi-public quickies, a steady thrusting, filling her over and over again as a
litany of crude praises and demands spilled from their lips into the other’s
mouth.
“So good,” he panted. “You take my cock like you were made for it.”
“Deeper,” she whimpered. “Deeper, fill me, cum in me, Blaise. Want to feel you
all day.”
He came with a quiet grunt, painting her insides with the strips of thick cum
she’d wanted, and despite the over stimulation of her fluttering walls, he
forced himself to stay locked inside her, continuing with more shallow thrusts
that allowed him to rub up against all her sensitive bits until she was over
stimulated, too.
Panting as they recovered their breath, leaning against one another, Blaise
laughed airily as he realized he’d never taken off his shirt. In fact, he
hadn’t even removed his slacks properly. He wouldn’t be surprised if, when they
finally withdrew from one another, he didn’t have some of Luna’s juices
staining the front of his trousers. He would be carrying her scent with him the
whole day.
Luna had a little bit more to respect. All she needed to do was pull her skirt
down. “We should probably head back to the others, our absence will be
noticed.”
“They’ll just think we ran off to have a quick shag,” Blaise murmured, wishing
her blouse was opened so he could lay there and suckle one of her tits. She had
such pretty nipples, perfect for suckling. He pressed his face against her
chest instead, nuzzling. “Which we did.”
“Mmm, we did,” Luna agreed, canting her hips against him. The movement provided
the final bit of stimulation needed for Blaise’s now flaccid penis to slip free
with a little squirt. Both grunted at the loss. She wrapped her hand around his
cock, gently scooping off the remains of her own pleasure and licking her
fingers clean while his own hand slipped between her thighs to play with her
creamy hole, still loosely stretched from their activities, but quickly closing
back up.
“How soon before either you or I end up knocked up?” he asked suddenly. “Can
you see that?”
Luna frowned, eyes hazing as she Looked. “You will be a father before you will
ever be a mother,” she said dreamily, “But that is all I know right now. I’m
sorry Blaise.”
“What about you?” he wondered.
Luna shook her head. “It’s always harder to see myself.”
He nodded, accepting that for now. Not to say he wasn’t a little bit
disappointed—just a tiny, little bit. There was a strong need, a desire
crawling just under his skin that cried out for what Hermione and Hannah and
Neville had right now. The craving need to have Harry’s cum inside him, filling
him so completely that it rooted inside him, took root and began to grow
something new. Some tangible piece of Harry he could carry with him always.
He stepped away, finally, and began cleaning himself up, making himself
presentable for the rest of the day.
“Did you know Neville would get pregnant this year?” he asked, not looking at
her as he tucked his cleaned penis away safely back into his trousers.
“It was always a possibility,” Luna answered. “As long as certain things
happened first—Harry being in almost every scenario. If Harry didn’t accept
Neville’s plea… if he didn’t agree to mate him, he would have never bred
Neville… but as long as he bred Neville, accepted him into his family unit…”
She hummed. “It was almost inevitable that Neville would have conceived during
the school year. You helped, too.”
He looked up, surprised. “Me?”
“Yes—during the winter holidays, you helped keep Neville properly sexed.” She
grinned. “You primed his motor and sexed him up so well it sent his nymph to go
into heat early. When he joined the pard, I’d originally pegged him for his
first heat coming sometime in March. That would have been ideal, giving us more
time for my own inheritance, which I already knew was going to be difficult.”
“How do you mean?”
“When I first approached Harry to be allowed into the pard it was so Harry
could act as my grounder. I already knew he would be able to help keep me from
flying apart when my inheritance arrived, but with the extra support from the
rest of the pard, I would have been extra protected. Except, you were all
nearly spent from trying to satisfy Neville’s heat.”
“I still don’t understand how your inheritance would have affected us,” Blaise
explained. “Or you us.”
“Oh. I suppose that makes sense. It’s fae magic. It is not necessarily a kind
entity. It sometimes resents sharing itself amongst others who were not born
and raised within its midst. The wild magic enjoys its freedoms, doing what it
wants to, when it wants to. Half-breeds and non-pure born fae, though, aren’t
always subject to its whims. We grow up with the understanding of constraints
and rules which magic must abide by. It fights its inheritors, and sometimes it
will succeed.”
“What happens if the wild magic succeeds?”
“The would-be inheritor is consumed by the magic,” Luna explained blithely.
“What does that mean?”
“I would have ceased to be Luna Lovegood and become something other,” she told
him. “I would have left Hogwarts to join the wild magick where ever it roams.
Instead, you provided me with anchors to keep me grounded to this reality, so
no matter what the wild magic tried, I could always find my way back to my
proper body, back to you.”
“And being your anchors drained us of some of our energy,” he concluded,
recalling how she’d been concerned about how they were feeling.
“Yes, it can. In some cases, it’s been known to completely drain an anchor, and
if that’s not enough, then both can be lost to the wild magic.” A melancholy
look crossed her face. “It’s very sad.”
“Any other surprises I should know about now, or maybe this week?” he asked,
voice a little weak at the thought of having potentially lost one or more of
his mates because of fae magick. He would have to do some extra research on the
subject, and soon.
Luna thought. “Neville’s sickness will continue while his body makes the
necessary changes to probably carry a baby. Hermione will be extra cuddly, so
we should all take advantage. There will be an accident in one of the
greenhouses because Neville is not there—one of the plants is especially
temperamental and won’t take kindly to his absence. Two of the expectant
thestrels will foal before the end of the month. I should warn Hagrid.”
Blaise nodded.
“What happens?” he asked after another moment when neither one of them made any
move to leave the room just yet. “When the Dark Lord is gone?”
“Hmm?”
“You said Harry was having true visions, but they were always all about You-
Know-Who because of their connection,” Blaise continued. “So what will happen
when the connection is gone, when he is gone? Because I can’t believe we won’t
succeed. Harry will beat him, and when he does, then what? Will Harry still
have these prophetic dreams?”
“Yes,” Luna answered. “But they should be like all other normal visions—visions
of random happenings, mundane thing. Like they should be. Just like they always
should have been.”
“But he won’t ever really have any control over what he’ll see?”
Luna frowned, considering. “I don’t think so, no. Maybe some small influence,
but no. Harry’s prophetic ability is not strong enough to truly control what he
sees.”
“Not like you.”
She smiled. “Not like me,” she agreed.
 
*** *****
~Mid-March, Cornwall~
Lucius Malfoy fell gracefully to one knee before his lord and master. He was
grateful for a number of things as he stayed there, waiting for the dark lord’s
acknowledgement. He was grateful for the potions he’s imbibed before leaving
his manor—potions for pain, potions for loosening stiff joints, potions for
releasing the tension in stiff, stressed muscles. He was grateful that his son
and wife were safely out of reach of his current master. He was grateful that
his son would never have to see the father he’d always been so proud of
debasing himself before a hideous caricature of a man. He was grateful that the
other death eaters currently in the house were not in the room with him to
witness the mighty and elegant Lord Malfoy waiting on bended knee like a
commoner… He was grateful the Dark Lord did not make him wait long to look up
from the various papers on his desk.
 
“And what news do you have for me, Lucius,” the Dark Lord hissed. And he was
grateful that he had some actual news to share with his lord and master. There
was not much, but what there was, was good news, and Lucius succinctly shared
what he’d gleaned from the Ministry.
“Good, good,” the Dark Lord practically purred, stroking the long neck of the
snake that had slithered up and over his shoulder. Lucius waiting in silence,
wondering if his lord had forgotten about him, lost in his own musings, but
knowing he had not been dismissed and therefor couldn’t leave yet. He wanted to
leave but dared not make a move towards the door.
“My plans are going very well indeed,” the Dark Lord murmured, wide mouth
stretched wider into a facsimile of a smile. “We will need the home in Oakleigh
properly dressed out, and perhaps another repurposed before summer. My loyal
servants have been preforming well to help repopulate our numbers. I’ve even
been informed that all of the Notts’ are currently expecting. It seems our
little Yule ritual was a success—all three Nott females are successfully
conceived and even Nott himself has managed to breed two from the pens. Or so
I’ve been told.”
“That is very good news, my lord,” Lucius responded. “To know that our world
will soon be infused with new life and powerful magic from old families, and
all in service to you, my lord, is very good news, indeed.”
“Yes, indeed,” the Dark Lord hummed. “It’s a shame we could not take the boy as
well—he is certainly of an age to have been properly bred besides his
stepmother and sisters—but, alas, there is always this summer. But you,
Lucius!”
Lucius’s insides froze.
“With the regrettable but necessary loss of your dear Narcissa, and now young
Draco, lost to us as well due to his poor choices… that leaves you without a
rightful heir. This cannot be allowed, Lucius.”
He did not remind his lord that it was his own wand which slewed his wife—and
because she was medically incapable of conceiving and carrying another child,
which is why they had stopped trying for a second child, especially when she
and his infant had almost died upon her one successful pregnancy. He did not
point out that his lord had kept her sister, Bellatrix, around years ago even
after the madwoman had been hit by a withering curse that completely destroyed
her womb and the child she’d been carrying, sending the middle Black sister
into an even more terrifying downward spiral of insanity than she’d already
been on.
“A child from one of the breeding stock is certainly not worthy for the next
Malfoy heir,” the dark lord continued. “It would be a crime, really, to allow
one such influence. But to allow the Malfoy name to wither out of existence….?
Hmm, no. There is no other recourse.”
The Dark Lord smiled at Lucius, and Lucius struggled to control his body from
reacting, recoiling.
“I shall assist you myself, Lucius. Find Pike and retrieve the appropriate
potions. Then return to me this evening and we will see you conceived of an
heir worthy of the Malfoy name—one not besmirched by the apparent insanity of
the Blacks, a pity what happened to that line. Tonight, Lucius. See that you
are prepared.”
Realizing what is being ordered of him, a pale Lucius obediently made his
leave, thinking once again how thankful he is that his son was far away from
this.
What Lucius did not see when he left the Dark Lord to his business was the man
reach down below his desk and almost affectionately pet the head of the girl
curled up at his feet. “It looks like you will have a night’s reprieve in your
services, my pet,” he drawled, looking down into the clouded brown eyes of his
chosen. “I shall simply have to continue enjoying your talents until then,
hmm?”
He tightened his grip in the girl’s hair, using the grip to force her face down
into his lap. A careless flick of a finger split his robes to reveal the bare
flesh underneath as she eagerly went to work swallowing. He watched he for a
few moments, enjoying not only the sensations of her hot, wet mouth but also
the teasing glimpses of her gently rounding belly every time she bobbed up.
“That’s it, my Ginevra. Please me.”
*
As Lucius hunted down Pike, the dark lord’s healer, and acquired the specific
potions that would make this night somewhat bearable, he ruminated on his late
wife— his beautiful, wonderful, talented Narcissa. Coldly calculating and
manipulative and wildly passionate. He had had one or two dalliances in his
younger years, as was only expected of an heir, but he had never taken another
lover after entering his marriage with the youngest Black sister. There had
never been any need or desire to do so.
And he had never taken a male lover ever, he thought somewhat disparagingly as
he studied the indigo sludge that made up the potion Pike had given him. He
prayed for fortitude, staring at the male conception potion, more than a little
dismayed.
He had known of its existence, of course—it was of common knowledge among the
purebloods. Developed a little more than two centuries ago to allow a male to
temporarily form a female’s internal reproductive organs, thereby allowing him
to conceive a child with his partner without the services of a third (female)
party. Prior to its development, male partners were forced to enlists the
services of a surrogate bearer in order to conceive a child—unless, of course,
the man was already a natural bearer. But those were rare creatures, indeed. It
was much easier to find a woman willing to be an incubator. She would ingest a
conception potion up to a week before lying with the chosen father.
For most men who were in need of this particular conception potion, the task of
sleeping with a woman was most cumbersome. Not so for Lucius. He was not, nor
had he ever been, a lover of males. In fact, he had never thought to have need
of any conception potion at all. He had accepted long ago that Draco would be
his only child and had doted upon and perhaps over-indulged the boy.
Oh well. What’s done was done. Once more he thanked the gods of magic that his
son was safely away from this web of madness he himself found himself caught
in… and he forced himself to gulp down the sludge.
The dark lord was about power… pleasure, whatever pleasure there was to be had
from the event, would merely be a nonessential side effect. Knowing this,
knowing what was to be his fate, Lucius knew he’d have to plan accordingly and
take extra precautions. He did not want to give the dark lord another
opportunity to bestow such honor upon him. And part of him—the pureblooded Lord
Malfoy part—did in fact see and appreciate the honor and prestige his lord was
to impart. The chance to combine his blood line with the honored Slytherin
bloodline—once thought to be extinct and lost forever…
He was honestly more than a little surprised his lord would even consider such
an action. The Dark Lord was not a lover of male flesh, or any flesh that he
was aware of—despite the knowledge of how he kept the female Weasley like a
pet. She was not subjected to the breeding houses that serviced the dark lord’s
servants, at least. Lucius saw little need or desire to visit the houses for
himself, but he had been through enough of them on the behalf of his lord,
inspecting their upkeep and conditions. The sight of those people—chained and
drugged—muggles and magicals alike…. He shivered.
Remembering what happened to the Notts, he was grateful that his wife could not
be subjected to the same indignity, to be reduced to the status of slave and
concubine like Nott’s young wife and two daughters. He knew that they would
have completed their first trimester and begun to show already. Soon they would
be moved to the holding houses where they would be placed in enchanted sleeps
for the remainder of their pregnancies. When they woke up again, they would be
back in the chattels houses, servicing the dark lord’s servants once more.
That would never happen to Narcissa nor Draco… as long as the boy didn’t get
caught. He would do his best to make sure his son remained free.
He was passingly familiar with the copious amounts of potions the slaves were
forced to ingest. They were quite effective—which was only to be expected.
Severus was quite talented. He would need plenty of potions to assist him
through tonight and the months ahead, and he knew just the potions master to
visit. Severus was the best, after all. He silently toasted the potions master
with his goblet of mixed elixirs. He sincerely hoped that the mixture would
ensure swift conception, making tonight as painless and enjoyable as magically
possible.
Once again, he was grateful that his son was not at current risk. Had Draco
still been considered loyal to the cause, Lucius had little doubt the madness
he was enslaved to would demand his son’s submittance, too. No. For what little
time there was, Draco was free of the dark lord’s service, safely absconded at
Hogwarts, shielded somewhat by his mother’s name and family. Protected by
Potter of all people…
“Sir? Master be asking Korby to be letting yous know—”
“Go away,” Lucius growled—angry not at the little beast but at the situation.
He glared at the last vial. His body was mostly relaxed and pliant. Amazing for
how stressed he was. The next potion would move him beyond his stress and into
a heightened state of arousal—just like the dark lord’s slaves.
Sickness clawed at his stomach, but it was time. Without another moment of
hesitancy, Lucius tossed back the aphrodisiac and reached for his cane. His
belly was warming with more than just nerves as he apparated away from Malfoy
Manor. Resolutely, he approached the front door and followed the elf to one of
the parlor rooms. The Dark Lord’s manor was not like the other houses the death
eaters were invited to. There were no chains on the walls or instruments of a
dubious nature on display. It was simply a room, tastefully decorated but not
overabundantly so. Surprisingly, he did not have to wait long for the dark lord
to join him.
“Ah, Lucius, punctual as always,” he praised. “I trust you have seen to the
potions that will be necessary?”
“I am grateful for your concern, my lord. I have, indeed, procured the required
elixirs and partaken of them.”
“Excellent. We shall retire to a more appropriate room and take care of this
small matter now then. I had my elf accommodate one of the guest rooms for your
use tonight.”
“That is most generous of you, my lord.”
“Yes, it is.”
The Dark Lord led him down a hallway and into one of the many rooms. Inside,
was rather plain—a bed, a wardrobe, a night stand and washing table. Lucius
could feel the effects of the potions he’d ingested, working their magic upon
him.
“Disrobe,” the dark lord command.
His muscles were too loose to cringe or flinch. He slipped the robe he’d worn
specifically for easy from his shoulders and pushed down deep away any hints of
nervousness caused by his nakedness.
“An exquisite form. Shape, colors, Malfoys have always had such striking
features.” A trail of fingers up and across his back nearly caused Lucius to
shiver. “Lovely, almost. Onto the bed—no need to turn around. Hands and knees
will suffice. Did you prepare yourself completely, Lucius?”
Cool flesh slid up behind him, cause his own flesh to crawl. He swallowed the
scream that wanted to tear from his throat, and instead moved pliantly as the
dark lord directed. A tingle of another spell washed over him, the
uncomfortable feeling of leaking secretions, a cold hand pressing his shoulders
down into the bed, pulling his hips up and back… He had used not only the
special lubricant Severus sold for a pretty penny but also several loosening
and stretching charms he’d had to look up specifically. Lucius pressed his face
into the scratchy covers and bit down a hiss as the dark lord’s fingers
penetrated him intimately. Magic—copious amounts of potions and spells—made the
entry practically painless and ensure he received some pleasure from the act.
Still, he shook and quivered the beneath the dark lord’s assault. And it would
only get worse…
“You did. So thoughtful. Saving me an extra step. We shall waste no more time,
then?” It sounded like a question, but Lucius knew the Dark Lord made no
requests…only demands.
Those cold hands griped at his hips—as if he was going to try and escape. There
was no escape. He knew that. He was resigned to his fate. He only hoped that
the numbing agent and pain potion floating around in his system would help
mitigate any of the damage. More cold flesh pressed up against his, from his
knees and thighs all the way up his back.
There was little other warning. The dark lord did not fumble around like a
school boy in a broom closet. He merely shifted his weight until he had the
desired alignment… and then drove forward. Lucius groaned under the pressure of
the intrusion, sucking in another breath when the dark lord dragged himself
back out of his body…. And WHOOSH! As he drove back in.
It was a punishing pace, and all he could do was kneel there as take it,
praying that the dark lord would finish using his body quickly.
It didn’t matter, however.
The dark lord held him with a punishing grip that would leave bruises littering
across his hips like confetti if he forgot to apply a bruise cream when he
returned home. When his lord did finally reach climax, it was with little
ceremony or fanfare—a stuttering tempo and a hissed breath. The dark lord held
him in place, and Lucius imagined he could feel the slimy cum befouling his
insides. His innards twisted at the thought. And then, it was over, he thought,
looking forward to going home and bathing.
The dark lord had other plans. Reaching over to the night stand, he pulled open
the drawer and retrieved a revitalizing potion. “We shall have several goes,”
the dark lord informed him, “to insure conception. After all, the Malfoy line
is too old and prominent to allow to die out with yourself.”
Lucius did not return home until the early hours of morning, sore and aching
and slightly nauseous as well.
“You’re too old to be trying for an all-night bender, aren’t you?”
Lucius was too weary, too drained to startle at the voice. And really, there
were only a very small number of people who ould enter his wards uninvited.
“Severus, what are you doing here?” he growled, his voice raspy and raw. The
dark lord had wanted him to scream… and was very persuasive.
“Your elf came by yesterday with some rather unusual requests,” Severus
drawled, looking up from the fire which he’d been staring into for the last
however long. He motioned negligently to the potion’s parcel at his side. “I
thought to make sure for myself that you are still alive and in one piece.”
He practically shambled over to the small liquor cabinet and poured himself a
generous draught. He gulped the drink down—entirely unacceptable behavior for a
Malfoy, but he could give less than a fuck-all at the moment—before responding.
“As you can see, I am still alive.”
“Though you look to be missing several pieces,” Severus didn’t even attempt to
stop himself from commenting. Good old Severus—could always be counted on for
his honest if barbed tongue.
Truly honest, he reflected, taking note of his current state of attire—if he
had been anywhere but in his own home, he would have been deeply embarrassed.
In fact, he was a little ashamed but too exhausted and depleted to care much at
the moment. His ancestors would have words to say, for sure.
“The dark lord decided to be concerned for the fate of the Malfoy line, and as
Draco is… currently deemed undesirable and any bastards I should deplorably
father off the breeding stock are equally undesirable… the dark lord decided
to… graciously assist me in conceiving an heir.”
“Himself?”
“Indeed.”
“To have the Malfoy line tied to the Slytherin line would be… a feat,” Severus
tried for diplomacy.
Lucius grimaced. “If he even still has claim to the Slytherin line.”
Severus started at the comment. Lucius himself was abhorred he’d actually
voiced the thought he’d had somewhere between round three or four. “How so?”
He hesitated, but really, he was too aching and exhausted to guard his tongue,
and also… if anyone could help explore the validity of the idea, surely it
would be a potions master? “The ritual he used… a year ago, to regain a
physical body…It required three key components to enact—bone of his father,
flesh of his servant, blood of his enemy.”
Severus nodded. On quite a few occasions before, they had secretly discussed
the mastery of accomplishment such a dark ritual had been… and their complete
astonishment that Wormtail had ever been able to carry it out.
“But… it was his mother’s line which was descendent of Salazar Slytherin,”
Lucius pointed out. “No one’s dared mention—or maybe not even dared to
conceive… that his blood is more tainted than ever. My child, if I did indeed
conceive, and he was most thorough in ensuring I would, has just as likely a
chance being related to Peter Pettigrew or blasted Potter as he does some
muggle who died over fifty years ago!”
Severus stared at him, allowing the anger and pent up emotions of the night
pour free from the other man until he swayed there, resting heavily on a cane
that was meant primarily for decoration not function, and panting heavily. His
mind felt heavy with the thought foisted upon him. Best not to think such
dangerous thoughts at all.
“I have brought several potions you should find benefiting,” he finally
announcing. “Would you like assistance to your bed chamber or would you prefer
to make your own way?”
Lucius grimaced at the thought of more potions, more magic worked upon him. “I
hate you right now.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Severus responded nonplussed, already
reaching into the parcel case and retrieving the first of several potions for
the blond.
***
As the third weekend of March approached, the students were expressing more
excitement for the festivities planned for the Spring Equinox which would be
celebrated Friday afternoon clear through to Sunday evening. It was the first
try at the fifth and sixth years really planning a big ceremonious event for
the school, and it took several meetings to help ensure things got done, but
overall, Harry and Hermione were satisfied that they’d be able to hand over the
reins at the end of the school year and see the festivities continue for quite
a few years. Hopefully.
Of course, the weekend did not end without its mishaps, and several of the
younger year prefects were reminded of just how blunt and critical their peers
could be. Still, Harry was relieved that Hermione seemed to be somewhat relaxed
–for her—and was able to enjoy herself. Because with the progression of March
came the dour realization that their NEWTs were little more than a month away.
In true Hermione fashion, the head girl had drawn up revision lists and
schedules for each of them. Harry and Neville quietly coached the others
through this phenomenon—how to talk to a revising Hermione, how to work around
a revision schedule without incurring the wrath of Hermione. There was the
added edge of danger this year because of Hermione’s pregnancy. Harry and
Neville worried about her over stressing herself with NEWTs revision, and the
others agreed. Together, they were able to work out a bit of a system to make
sure Hermione wasn’t over working herself at any point, while still allowing
the girl to have her precious study time.
Truth be told, with the professors all piling on the revision work, Harry was
beginning to feel a bit nervous. It didn’t help much that he continued to
dream.
Thankfully most of his dreams were innocuous things—the exhilaration of flying
on his broomstick with a bunch of other people, anxiously splitting his
attention between searching out the snitch and making sure the littler ones
around him didn’t do anything too reckless; contentedly sitting around a large,
feast-laden table, a gaggle of voices filling the room with a swell of love and
exasperated affection; gaiety of swimming in the warm waters of the
Mediterranean with the others and eating on the patio surrounded by frescos;
the humdrum boredom of sitting in class, taking notes.
A few were darker in nature, but he thought they were actual nightmares and not
visions this time. Still, it wasn’t pleasant to dream about carrion birds
picking at the flesh of dead bodies piled into mounds, or of hands wrapping
around his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe. He was grateful to wake up in
the arms of his mates on the nights nightmares visited him.
As the end of the month steadily approached, Harry began remembering more and
more of his dreams. Additionally, he acutely remembered a good portion of his
and Blaise’s talk… about how the difference between Blaise’s talking him to
sleep and Luna’s talking him to sleep resulted in either plain old dreams or
vision dreams. He wasn’t dumb. In the light of day, with an awake mind and
plenty of time to avoid his school work, Harry had been able to piece together
what was going on and why Blaise looked so upset.
And Blaise was definitely upset. The Italian didn’t like the idea of Harry
having visions about Voldemort any more than Harry enjoyed them, but then, he
couldn’t blame him any. If Harry felt like he really had a real choice, that
there was anyone else who could do what he could, he wouldn’t have wanted to be
the one having visions of a crazy, mass-murdering dark lord bent on killing him
and just about everyone he cared about either.
The alternative was not having any idea about what Voldemort was up to, and
that wasn’t a good option either. Maybe Snape was right and he did have a hero-
complex, but for the first time, Harry was beginning to think he actually had a
choice. He might have some control over his visions—at least over when they
occurred. It took him several weeks of practice, interspersed nights where
neither Blaise nor Luna stayed with him and he had his bed to himself or with
only one of the others. On his own, he was able to practice the technique Luna
had been patiently showing him, and eventually, one night, without Luna’s or
Blaise’s help, he was able to find his way back to that invisible path that led
to Voldemort.
The death eater entered the room, practically stumbling over his feet. “You
wanted to see me?”
“Yes, I wanted to ensure that the construction of our newest home was going
along well.”
“Yes, sir, everything’s on schedule. We’ll have the Cambridge farm ready by the
end of the month and the Kent property ready before the end of April.”
“Good, I wish to be able to move several of our special guests there as soon as
possible, so keep up the good work. Oh, and Gibbons?”
“Yes, my lord?”
Voldemort shot off a crucio faster than the death eater could flinch. It was
lifted a handful of seconds later. The man, Gibbons crawled to his knees,
shivering uncontrollably.
“Do not tally so long in the pleasure houses that you fail to do your job.”
“Yes, my lord, as you say, my lord,” the man stuttered out, bobbing his head.
“Dismissed.”
Gibbons scuttled out of the room, hunched over so far he might as well have
been on his hands and knees.
Voldemort sighed. “Fools, pet. I’m surrounded by fools who think I will not
find out when they have been skirting their duties to me. Ah, but Lord
Voldemort always finds out, doesn’t it?”
At first, he thought the crazy man was talking to his snake—he spent many hours
talking to his snake. But it wasn’t the snake lying on the large pet bed placed
by the fireplace. He could be excused for not having seen the bed—it was tucked
out of immediate view of the door or where he was standing, off to the far side
of the large desk where Voldemort sat at. Barely one corner could be seen
peeking out from behind the desk…
The dull blue eyes looked glassy and drugged. The pallor to her skin spoke of
months away from any sunshine. Her hair, so often likened to the licking flames
of fire like the one in the fireplace beside her looked equally dull—lank and
without any of the luster or the vibrancy that normally radiated from her.
Harry fell to his metaphorical knees beside her with a cry. “Ginny!”
Of course, she didn’t respond. She couldn’t hear him. She lay staring at
nothing in front of her, one hand curled up by her face, the other curled
protectively over her middle, her knees tucked up hiding the full extent of her
nakedness. But there was no hiding the swollenness of her belly, growing gravid
with new life. Harry was very familiar with the sight from watching Hermione
these past few months, and more recently Neville, who’s belly had already began
to change.
“Ginevra, come,” Voldemort commanded, and like a puppet, the girl unfolded and
stood. He pushed a little ways back away from the desk, provided just enough
space to pull the girl before him and with little prompting, sitting her naked
arse on his desk top. He spread her legs wide so he could scooch back closer to
the desk, and placed his hands around her swelling belly.
“My heir. I will forge us an empire, and you and your brothers and sisters will
lead my army. We will rebuild the nobility of our line, crush the weak beneath
our heels and raise the powerful to their place of honor,” he practically
cooed, lips pressed against the stretching flesh.
He sat up, ghost pale fingers petting along Ginny’s cheek and shoulder, down
her breasts and sides. “My dear Ginevra, how you have pleased me.”
“Tom,” the girl breathed, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry my dear, sweet Ginevra. “You’re doing such a wonderful
job, growing our child. You are a testament to your family’s lauded fertility.
You are the perfect vessel for my progeny.”
“Tom,” the girl breathed again.
“Ah, I understand,” he breathed, and he sounded pleased with himself. He ran
his hand down the seam of his robe, and the material parted to reveal equally
pasty white skin. Voldemort, it seemed, was a traditionalist, Harry realized,
nauseated. The same hand that parted his robes reached into a desk drawer and
withdrew a vibrant candy red potion. A sudden motion had him swallowing the
potion before turning to kiss the naked girl.
Harry’s eyes burned with tears even as he turned away, gagging. He reached
desperately for the door, but it was already too late. The images, the sounds,
were burning their impression into his mind. He lunged away.
 
***
Tbc…
~NEXT TIME~
“I say, Mr. Potter! It’s rather late to be out. Are you all right?”
“Does he look all right to you, Porpinton,” a sneering voice answered, and
Harry blinked, idly wondering if all Slytherins were just naturally born with
that sneering voice or if it was something they were taught.
*
“Twenty points from Gryffindor—out after curfew and language.”
Harry could stop the smile from tweaking his lips. “You’re slipping, sir. Even
a year ago that would have been worth over a hundred points,” he added before
firmly shutting the door behind him.
*
“As a matter of fact, there is some news,” Dumbledore revealed. “Although that
wasn’t why I asked you to come visit with an old man… Alas, I suppose we could
address business before pleasure.”
*
“Fear of a name—” Harry started.
“It’s not fear!” Snape actually growled. “It’s taboo.”
*
“But it still begs the question—how did the dark lord survive for over twelve
years as nothing more than a wraith? Why didn’t his spirit just move on when
his body was destroyed? And make no mistake, his body was disintegrated by the
backlash of magic when his spell failed to kill you. So, how? How and why?”
“I don’t know,” Harry answered after a moment spent trying to think of an
answer. “Magic?”
Chapter End Notes
     Happy New Year!
     I'm anticipating the next six months to be rather stressful and
     hectic for me, so I'm not sure how much revision and writing I will
     get done with this story. However, the next four chapters have been
     laid out. Many scenes are already written out, but with gaps in the
     narrative, they're nowhere near ready for sharing just yet.
     Hopefully, this longer chapter will satiate until next time. ;) Take
     care of yourselves!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!