Domino Effect by willowbeecat

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 16/09/2007
Last Updated: 05/10/2007
Status: In Progress

One little change in history, a different route home from school, changes everything. A look at
the true power of the Domino Effect. An Anita Blake/Harry Potter crossover.




1. Chapter 1
------------



Harry Potter walked through the park, keeping a careful eye on the shadows. The seven year old
had decided on a longer, but hopefully safer walk home. After seeing his cousin Dudley talking to
his best friend Piers about how best to punch Harry in the stomach, it was an understandable
decision.

He glanced up at the sky nervously. Everybody had stayed late at school because of a field trip
to see the Tower of London and now it was nearly dark. Harry had to admit that he had enjoyed the
trip. Well, except for those creepy gray people that would walk through the walls when nobody but
him was looking.

The moon was so big. So round. If he remembered correctly, the full moon was in two nights.
Harry paused to look at it. He had always liked the moon. When he got to see it, that is. Most of
the time Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had shut him in his cupboard before the moon rose.

Harry never once noticed the odd shadows, too caught up in watching the moon to look at anything
below the tops of the trees. Harry didn't hear the sound of paws running, the sound of claws
clicking against the pavement.

The first sign Harry had of the attack was the feeling of being pushed to the ground. The
feeling of claws ripping into his side. The feel of breath on his shoulder.

Harry let out a scream as the claws went across his face, ripping skin and muscle from the bone.
There was a bright flash of light, then… nothing.

**

When Harry next opened his eyes it was morning. Wincing, he touched his face. Some parts of his
face felt bumpier than others, but that was it.

Trying to remember what had happened, Harry sat up. Looking at his clothing, he stopped short.
There were at least two dozen rips in the clothing, each covered in blood. The skin under the rips
was a little pinker in some parts, than others.

Harry carefully stood up, trying to ignore how much pain he was in. He was in the middle of a
thicket Dudley was too large to get into. Some of the leaves and patches of grass had dark brownish
stains on them. Glancing to his right, Harry fought the urge to throw up.

Something… Harry wasn't really sure what that thing was, or had been, was just laying there,
dead. There were bits of spotted fur here and there, but most of the charred flesh was exposed. It
looked somewhere between human and animal. Harry really wasn't sure what animal, though.

He bit his lip unsurely. Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly be upset that he'd stayed out all
night. And Aunt Petunia would be really mad if she saw what his clothing looked like.

Knowing that the longer he put it off, the worse his punishment would be, Harry set off for
Privet Drive. Hopefully Uncle Vernon wouldn't hurt him too badly. At least Aunt Petunia had to
let him out of his cupboard for part of the day so that he could go to school.

**

Harry noted, with a detached sort of interest, that Uncle Vernon moved much slower than normal.
Not that he'd use Uncle Vernon's sluggishness for his own gain. Harry knew quite well that
any protest on his part would make the beating worse.

The beating had started moments after he arrived home. Apparently he'd been gone for two
nights instead of one. He'd missed school on Friday. The school had called, something which had
upset Aunt Petunia. She didn't like it when the neighbors gossiped about her.

It didn't take long for Uncle Vernon to loose interest, throwing Harry into the cupboard
under the stairs. Harry lay there for a moment, listening as the door was locked from the
outside.

They wouldn't leave him there for long. He had school on Monday and he'd already missed
a couple days of school that month. The last time he'd missed too many days of school, a nice
lady had come to visit. Harry still wasn't sure what the lady had said or done, but after her
visit Uncle Vernon hadn't hit him for a long time. At least a month.

With a yawn, Harry reached up to pull the cord attached to the light bulb. Harry wanted nothing
more than to nap, but the light was distracting him.

He let out a shriek, covering his eyes. The light was now nothing short of blinding.

“QUIET!” yelled Aunt Petunia, hitting the door. He heard her walking away, muttering about
“ungrateful freaks” and skipping dinner.

It took several moments for Harry's eyes to adjust to the light. In that time, he'd
realized that he did not have his glasses on. But he'd been able to see perfectly.

Looking around his… room, Harry realized that he was able to see better without his glasses than
with.

He traced the strange bumps on his face that felt similar to the scar he'd gotten in the car
accident that killed his parents. The bumpy skin came down his face, over his eyes and lips. There
was another bit of bumpy skin that came from the end of his scar, across his right eye, his nose,
and left cheek, ending just under the left side of his jaw. Like his scar, it was indented instead
of bumpy.

Deciding to worry about it later, Harry changed out of his bloodstained clothing. He turned the
light off and curled into a ball. As he covered himself with his threadbare blanket, Harry wished
for a quilt.

He felt unbelievably cold.

**

A man walked through a small park, occasionally glancing up at the sky. He had a limited amount
of time before the moon rose and wanted to return to his pack before then. His Ulfric had ordered
him to investigate the rumors of an escaped zoo animal in Surrey.

The scent was days old, but the man still recognized it as belonging to one of the shapeshifters
that lived in London. Adam Johnson was a rather sick individual, almost as disturbed as the rogue
wolf Fenrir Greyback.

The man walked quicker. The last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near Adam. But he was the
Geri of the pack and his Ulfric had ordered him. He reminded himself that Adam was a wereleopard
without a pard and there only three wereleopards in all of England and Scotland.

Leopard lycanthropy was very difficult to catch. Feline shapeshifters in the British Isles were
generally family guardians or those cursed by a witch. There were less than two dozen feline
lycanthropes in the entire United Kingdom.

Smelling blood, the man pushed down his beast. Who had Adam killed this time?

The man couldn't help but blink in surprise when he saw the body. The remains of a badly
burnt Adam Johnson lay between two trees, still in his leopard form.

It didn't take long for the man to get an idea of what had happened. A day or two earlier,
Adam had attacked somebody. That somebody had used what could only be magic to kill Adam. The
person had been injured, but had managed to walk away from Adam without leaving a trail of
blood.

Shit. There was likely a new wereleopard in Surrey. A wereleopard with some sort of magical or
psychic powers.

The man knew that so long as the wereleopard did not make the news or approach the pack, his
Ulfric would leave the issue alone. For once the man considered rebelling and tracking the new
shifter down. Whoever had been infected would know nothing about lycanthropes and be a danger to
society until he or she learned control.

That thought was quickly dismissed. He'd never disobey his Ulfric, even if he did think the
man's decisions were wrong.

**

Harry awoke in a mess of sticky goop and torn bedding. Wondering what had happened, he
frantically tried to clean it up.

It was not until he had rolled the messy bedding into a ball that Harry realized that the light
was not on. With more questions than answers, Harry turned the light on, carefully shielding his
eyes.

Feeling the blood drain from his face, Harry carefully examined the walls and door. It looked as
if something had tried to claw its way out of the room.

**

By the time Monday cam around, all of the scar tissue, except for the scar that ran diagonally
across his face had disappeared completely. Several people questioned Harry's lengthy scar, but
not to his face.

Over the next month, Harry's behavior changed significantly. Not that anybody paid enough
attention to Harry to notice.

Instead of daydreaming in class, he would watch classmates, wondering how easy it would be to
catch them and what they would taste like once he did catch them. Several times he barely managed
to catch himself before he moved from his seat. When one of his classmates had skinned her knee, it
was all he could do to stop… it from escaping. Harry wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that
if it escaped it would have hurt the girl.

He settled for listening to their heartbeats and the sound of their breathing. Harry wasn't
sure why he wanted to… hunt-for lack of a better word-his classmates, but he did his best not to
give in to those urges.

Dudley and Piers found that, much to their annoyance, Harry had become fast enough to avoid
being caught by them and their friends. By the time two weeks had passed, the boys had given up on
the game of Harry Hunting.

He was so much stronger as well. Harry was still surprised when he lifted anything that weighed
more than he did with ease.

But the worst was the hunger. He was always so very, very hungry. No matter how many times he
ate whatever leftover wouldn't be missed, he never seemed to be full.

**

If anybody were to enter one of the small parks in Little Whinging, they would doubtless be
surprised. A small black leopard cub seemed to be using it as his hunting ground.

At the moment, the leopard cub was happily munching on his third squirrel of the evening. Once
the cub had eaten his fill, he climbed up the highest tree he could find before settling down for a
nap.

**

Harry yawned, blinking at the bright light. For once he'd woken up before Aunt Petunia
banged on his door.

He sat up. Might as well get a start on breakfast. It'd be easier for him to sneak some food
that way.

“Gaaaaaaaah!”

Loosing his balance, Harry fell from the branch he was laying in. Expecting to be seriously
injured, Harry was surprised to find himself on the ground. He was balanced on the balls of his
feet, knees bent so that his butt was less than a foot from the ground.

Harry looked down and blushed. Where were his clothes? He knew he'd been wearing clothing
the night before.

A glance at the sky told him it was false dawn. Nobody would be up yet. It would be best to make
a run for it.

By the time the Dursleys awoke, there were no signs of damage to their house except for the
broken screen in the kitchen window. The kitchen window had been closed and the screen thrown out,
the furniture righted, and Harry's bedding washed.

**

The first chance he got, Harry headed to the school library. Despite what his teachers might
think, Harry understood everything that they were taught in class and was, in fact, rather
intelligent. But getting better grades than Dudley meant that Uncle Vernon would beat him.

Harry knew that both nights he'd blacked out had been the night of the full moon. Harry knew
that his sense, strength, reflexes, speed, and stamina surpassed human limitations by a wide
margin, even if he couldn't quite put his thoughts into words. He knew that he had healed far
too quickly from injuries that should have killed him. And Harry knew that fantasizing about
hunting his classmates was not, in any way, shape or form normal.

He would have said he was a werewolf, but whatever had attacked him had not been a wolf. Ten
minutes of research confirmed for Harry that he was indeed a lycanthrope. It took three weeks and
numerous trips to the local public library to find out that werewolves were not the only type of
lycanthrope.

Apparently, because the overwhelming majority of lycanthropes in the British Isles were
werewolves, there were very few books that talked about anything other than werewolves. An ancient,
rather disturbing book about Jim Corbett, a hunter from the early twentieth centuries that
specialized in killed “man-eating” wereleopards and weretigers told Harry exactly what type of
lycanthrope he was.

Once he'd realized he was a wereleopard, the research became a bit easier. Wereleopards were
generally little more than blurbs of information in the books he had access to. Lacking any better
idea of what to do, Harry began to read various books on natural leopards and the less prejudiced
books on werewolves.

If nothing else, the books on werewolves could help him. Harry was quite sure that sooner or
later he would meet some of the local werewolves. He had no illusions about the fact that fighting
any werewolf would likely result in his death if for nothing else than the fact that he was
outnumbered by werewolves several thousand to one in Britain alone.

He now knew enough to know that staying in Number 4 on the full moon was a very bad idea and
that the strange goop was a side effect of the transformation. He was just grateful that he
hadn't done anything too bad during the full moon. If he had, it would have been on the
news.

He could never tell the Dursleys that he was a wereleopard. They hated anything to do with magic
and had even forbidden the use of the word magic in the house. Uncle Vernon had often complained
that the government was too lenient on the “beasts” and that all werewolves should be
exterminated.

But now he had to find somewhere to go to for the full moon. He couldn't stay in the park.
He might eat somebody.

There were a lot of forested areas farther into Surrey. But Harry wasn't quite sure how to
get to one of them. He knew that if he could get to one, he could safely transform. He'd
initially considered locking himself up, but the thing inside him had rebelled at the very idea,
nearly coming out in the library.

The only think he could think of was to take a bus to a town closer to open land and then
walking from there. But that plan had several problems. He had no money and the Dursleys would
certainly never give him any money. Not to mention that he'd have to think of some excuse to
explain why he was missing for the night.

Harry had no problem figuring out which bus to use. All he'd had to do was find a bus map
for Surrey and a map of Surrey. He even knew how much bus fare cost each way and which bus he would
have to take.

**

Three days before the full moon, the answer to his money problems hit him in the face.
Literally.

Harry winced, then picked up the rake Mrs. Figg had dropped. Even if he didn't much like
being babysat by Mrs. Figg, he generally went by her house on the way to and from school. Dudley
tried to stay as far from the old cat breeder as possible.

“Do you need help?” asked Harry. He didn't really want to rake her yard, but Mrs. Figg was
so… old and frail.

“Shouldn't you be getting back to your Aunt and Uncle or playing in the park?” asked Mrs.
Figg.

Harry shrugged. “I'm not supposed to be back until dinner.”

“I suppose it'd be alright if you raked the front yard,” sighed Mrs. Figg. “I'll go get
you some lemonade.”

By the time he'd finished raking Mrs. Figg's front yard, Mrs. Figg had given him two
glasses of lemonade and a sandwich as an afternoon snack. Once the leaves were all bagged, Mrs.
Figg came back out of the house.

“For your troubles, dear,” said Mrs. Figg, handing Harry a pound.

“Thank you,” said Harry. “I could come back tomorrow and mow your lawn or do your backyard.”

Something passed through Mrs. Figg. Harry wasn't sure what, exactly. “I'll pay you two
pounds a week to mow my lawn and rake the leaves each week, more if you work on the garden.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. “I'll be back tomorrow after school.”

**

By the afternoon of the full moon, Harry had enough money for bus fare to and back from his
chosen hunting grounds. The bus tickets would use all his money, but he could make more. The only
thing he hadn't figured out was what to tell Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

Although he doubted they'd care so long as the neighbors didn't talk. With that in mind,
he boarded the proper bus.

Hillsdale was a small village a couple towns over from Little Whinging. It was very picturesque,
like the villages in the fairytales Aunt Petunia told Dudley.

By the time the moon started to rise, Harry was a mile away from the town. Mindful of what had
happened the last two times he'd transformed, Harry removed his clothing. He carefully folded
the clothes and put them in a small hollow in a tree.

Once the moon rose completely, Harry's world went black.

**

Harry stumbled back into Hillsdale around dawn. He curled up at the bus stop to wait for his
ride home. For once his belly was comfortably full, and Harry tried not to think about the fact
that he'd probably eaten some sort of small animal.

He lazily watched as people started to pass. A girl around his age walked by the bus stop, on
the way to school, judging by her book bag. Although why she'd head to school at such an early
hour, he didn't know.

Perhaps it was his full stomach, but for once Harry had no desire to hunt the girl. When she
passed by, Harry's felt some sort of strange tingling. Nothing unpleasant, but it'd
certainly caught his attention. It made the thing inside him want to come out and play.

He was a bit too young to notice, but the girl was relatively pretty. She had curly brown hair
that looked like it had never been cut, pale skin, and the largest brown eyes he'd ever seen.
Although at the moment it looked like her hair had a mind of its own.

She paused near him and Harry couldn't help but wonder if the girl had felt the strange
tingle as well. The girl gave Harry a confused look before continuing on her way, leaving Harry to
wonder exactly what had happened.

**

Uncle Vernon didn't hit him too hard. He'd believed Harry's excuse that he'd
gone to school early. Mrs. Figg kept her part of the agreement, and ended up paying Harry four
pounds a week because of how much work Harry did for her.

Harry found that when he didn't have Aunt Petunia yelling at him every other moment, he
enjoyed gardening. It also helped that Mrs. Figg was paying him.

Although Harry was still unsure as to why half of Mrs. Figg's cats avoided him like he had
the plague. Perhaps it was because he was a wereleopard. But some of the cats seemed to be rather
fond of him. And Harry had to admit that he was rather fond of the cats-not that he'd willingly
listen to another of Mrs. Figg's cat related stories.

Once he'd put aside the money needed to pay for his bus fare, Harry had what he thought of
as quite a bit extra. More than enough money to pay for some food. Remembering that he was
carnivorous, Harry mostly bought deli meat in small portions. Along with the various afternoon
snacks provided by Mrs. Figg, he ate better than he'd ever eaten before. Other than the day
after the full moon, it was the closest he'd gotten to feeling full since he'd been
infected with lycanthropy.

The next full moon, he'd managed to remember bits and pieces once he'd woken up. Harry
wasn't really sure he'd wanted to know about eating two rabbits and a squirrel. But they
had tasted very good… Perhaps hunting wasn't so bad.

Harry was once more curled up at the bus stop when the brown haired girl walked by. He felt the
strange tingling again, and knew just by looking at the girl that she felt it too. This time she
glanced at him once, not even bothering to slow down.

**

The year Hermione Granger turned eight, her life flipped upside down. With a new little sister
that cried constantly, Hermione left home shortly after she got up, returning only for dinner.

Neither of her parents seemed to notice their elder daughter's absences other than to give
her money to buy lunch. Both were busy with Gertrude (Trudy) Granger, and their private dental
practice.

Hillsdale was a small village with a magical population of two; Hermione and Gertrude Granger
and the strange boy that visited once monthly. Like Gertrude, the strange boy made Hermione's
body tingle.

Both the boy and Gertrude gave her a pleasant tingly feeling. But the tingles from the boy had
an added layer of warmth, not to mention that the tingles from the boy were much… stronger than
those from her younger sister. Sometimes, when Hermione walked by the boy, she could see an
animal-like afterimage.

After the first six times of seeing the boy, Hermione began to write down the date on which she
saw him. It was not until she'd checked the dates on her mother's calendar, two months
later that Hermione realized what the boy was. Each day she was him was the morning after the full
moon.

It took only seconds for Hermione to realize that the boy came to Hillsdale because the town was
next to uninterrupted countryside. Once she'd decided that the boy had to be a werewolf,
Hermione was left to wonder about the tingles.

By the time Hermione had discovered exactly why Gertrude and Harry gave off the tingles that
nobody but her noticed, it was nearly her ninth birthday. According to the handful of books on the
Preternatural in the local library, the tingles meant that her magic felt another person's
magic.

Hermione had always known that magic existed. But it was a rarely talked about subject. And one
she had never had a desire to learn about.

The knowledge that she and her sister were witches greatly excited Hermione (she was pretty sure
that she was not a psychic, none of the descriptions of psychic abilities matched any of the
formerly unexplainably strange things that had occurred in her life). There were only two books on
how to actually do magic in the local library and by the time September came around, Hermione had
worn them ragged.

The full moon that September took place two days before school began once more. Though Hermione
was cautious about walking past the werewolf boy-all of the books had said horrible things about
werewolves-she was quite sure that so long as she didn't linger he wouldn't hurt her. Sure,
he watched her walk by each time, but he'd never moved from his spot. Perhaps he was tired from
the full moon.

So back strait, head held high, Hermione walked past the bus stop. She glanced at the boy long
enough to make sure that the boy did not move toward her as she walked by. Around ten feet from the
bus stop, the block ended. Usually she turned, but this time she went to cross Main Street.
Hermione had planned on going to the bookstore to try to find some books on magic.

She didn't hear the sound of oncoming traffic until it was too late.

-->



2. Chapter 2
------------



Chapter 2

In the year since he'd been infected, Harry had come to like his lycanthropy. After his
fifth full moon he'd been able to take control instead of having the thing inside him control
what happened. He'd even gotten better at controlling *it* while in human form.

At least to the extent that he no longer desired to indulge in cannibalism. Although Harry did
wonder if it was considered cannibalism if he as a lycanthrope ate somebody purely human. Not that
Harry truly wanted to eat his classmates. It was much more entertaining to mentally stalk them
while in class or at recess.

He'd even learned how to read people's moods and whether or not they were lying with his
senses. His sense of smell combined with the ability to hear a human heartbeat was an amazing lie
detector.

He watched the brown haired girl walk past the bus stop, still unsure as to why *it* had
never considered her prey. Perhaps it was because of the tingling he felt around her. He was sure
that the girl-whoever she was-had some sort of magic.

Living so close to London, Harry had encountered many more people with magic of some sort or
another than the girl. The people who tingled like the girl generally bowed to Harry and knew what
his name. The people with a warm prickle and an animal-like afterimage generally sized him up, most
likely because they were werewolves. There were people who produced other sorts of tingles, but
Harry hadn't really paid them much attention.

Hearing the sound of an engine, Harry perked up. It seemed to be moving much faster than cars
generally did in Hillsdale. He glanced at the girl who was now in the middle of the street. She
didn't know about the car. She was going to get run over.

Without a second thought Harry leapt from his seat. Moving faster than the human eye could see,
he tackled the brown haired girl. They landed on the other side of the street, the girl on top of
Harry (he'd known instinctually that if they'd landed on her, she would have been much more
hurt than he would have been). A large car sped by, moving quite a few kilometers faster than the
speed limit.

Ignoring the smell of fear emanating from the girl, the way she trembled, and her rapid
heartbeat, Harry sat up. Once he stood, he helped the girl to her feet.

“You alright?” he asked.

The girl nodded slowly. “W-w-why d-did you s-s-save m-me?”

“Why wouldn't I?” asked Harry, slightly confused.

“B-but you're a w-werewolf,” said the girl.

“Number one, I'm a wereleopard, not some stupid dog,” said Harry, too offended at being
compared to a werewolf to realize that he'd outed himself. “Number two, I don't eat, hurt,
or kill humans. Cannibalism is disgusting. Number three, I'm just as human as you are, witch.
Number four, I control the leopard, the leopard does not control me.”

“But the books-”

“The books are wrong,” snapped Harry. “I've read the types of books they have on
lycanthropes and they're very wrong about lycanthropes.”

She gave him an offended look. “They were written by-”

“Prejudiced bastards who'd likely never met a lycanthrope in their entire life.” He let out
a growl, feeling *it* wake up. Now was not the time to let the leopard free. “It case you
haven't noticed, most nulls are too damn scared of things like lycanthropes and witches to do
proper research.”

“Oh,” said the girl, suitably chastised. “I-I'm sorry. The books are all I have. My sister
and I are the magical people in Hillsdale a-a-and can you stay for breakfast?”

“Huh?” said Harry.

“Breakfast. Mummy said I could eat in town so long as it was healthy,” explained the girl. “I
was going to go to the bookstore first, but since you're here, you could go to breakfast with
me. You're the only other magical person I know that can talk. My sister-Trudy-is only nine
months old.”

“I-uh, I only have enough money for the bus,” said Harry.

“That's ok,” said Hermione. “Mummy gave me enough money for breakfast and lunch. I can have
breakfast with you and go home for lunch.”

She was offering to buy him food, but Harry didn't much like charity. Then again, it was
free food. And Harry never turned down free food.

“Ok,” he said. “I'm Harry Potter.”

“Hermione Granger,” she said brightly. “You know I'm a witch?”

“You feel like one,” said Harry, as if it explained it all. Judging by the look on
Hermione's face, it did. “Why did you think I was a werewolf?”

Hermione bit her lip, looking down. “I always saw you on the morning after the full moon and
the… aura looked like an animal. And anyway, do you know how rare feline lycanthropy is in the
UK?”

“Very,” said Harry. “Wolves have more of a… I'd have to point it out. But once I did,
you'd understand.”

“Oh,” said Hermione.

**

Hermione tilted her head to the side, listening to Harry describe what transforming felt like.
They'd chosen a corner booth which allowed both Harry and Hermione to have their back to a
wall-Harry had insisted.

It was a small café, one of only three establishments in Hillsdale where one could procure food.
The other two being a rather fancy restaurant and the local pub.

Between words, Harry happily munched on an omelet and toast. As Hermione listened, her
disillusionment grew. Neither knew that this would be the day Hermione realized that those in
authority could be wrong, that books were not always right, adults could be wrong, and before
anything else, one had to be willing to be proven wrong to truly learn. Nor did the two children
know how large an impact this would have on their lives, particularly Hermione's.

“A-are you going to tell anyone?” whispered Harry. “Y-you're the only one I've told, and
you figured out on your own.”

“No,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “But what about your family?”

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon think anybody with magic should be put to death,” said Harry.
“Aunt Petunia always calls people like you and I unnatural frea-”

In that moment Harry's eyes changed from their normal green to yellow-green cat eyes.
Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she should be worried about Harry's sudden change. She could
feel and see his aura growing stronger, like it wanted to get out.

“Harry, we're in a public place,” hissed Hermione. “You need to calm down.”

He took several deep breaths as his aura calmed. After a minute or two, Harry's eyes
returned to normal.

“What's wrong?” asked Hermione.

“Aunt Petunia called me a freak. She doesn't know about the… leopard thing and she called me
a freak.” Harry took another deep breath. “She only calls witches and psychics and lycanthropes and
vampires freaks. She's called Mom and Dad freaks before as well.” For a moment his eyes flashed
to leopard eyes. “Mom and Dad had magic and so do I. And she never told me.” Harry started to
growl. “She hates all magic and she knew. She knew that Mom and Dad were special and magical and
she said nothing.”

“I-oh god,” said Hermione. “Th-that's horrible. How can you live with her?”

“It's better than the alternative,” announced Harry. “At least I know why Aunt Petunia and
Uncle Vernon hate me. I have to-I have to have more magic than just the leopard.”

**

Leopold and Bronwyn Granger were a bit surprised when Hermione asked if a friend could stay the
next weekend, but quite happy. They'd known that Hermione didn't have very many friends and
the prospect of a child coming for a sleepover was a happy event.

And when they did meet Harry Potter, he seemed like such a nice boy. The two children had spent
most of Saturday and Sunday either holed up in Hermione's room or playing outside. The very
idea of their daughter doing something that did not involve books was wonderful.

Though they'd never met Harry's family and were quite sure the boy did not live in
Hillsdale, neither said anything. After the first time Harry slept over, the boy could be found at
the Granger residence on the weekends more often than not and occasionally during the week as
well.

Leopold was just grateful that Hermione had finally found a friend. Bronwyn, on the other hand,
spent a great deal of time trying her best to feed the boy as much as possible. She was sure that
his family was… not quite as well off as her own, and as a result, Harry rarely got enough to eat.
Harry didn't bother to correct her. Free food was free food.

**

Harry moved a piece of string for a half grown kitten. It was the last of its litter to still
live with Mrs. Figg. Apparently none of the stores wanted to buy the squashed face, bow-legged
ginger tabby. Harry really couldn't understand why.

With Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley visiting Aunt Marge for the weekend, Harry had been
left in Mrs. Figg's care. He would have much preferred to sleep over at Hermione's house,
but that wasn't possible. The Dursleys hadn't questioned his absences yet, but if they were
brought to their attention, Harry knew it would become much harder to sneak away.

“What's his name?” asked Harry.

“I've been calling him Crookshanks, but whoever buys him will probably name him something
else,” said Mrs. Figg.

Looking at Crookshanks, Harry thought of the upcoming holiday. It was only days before school
broke for Christmas break. He'd already been invited to come for Christmas by the Grangers, an
invitation he'd gladly accepted. It was doubtful that the Dursleys would even notice he was
gone, and hopefully he'd miss the traditional Boxing Day beating from Uncle Vernon.

“What will you do if nobody buys him?”

“Keep him, I suppose,” she said.

“How much does he cost?”

“I-Harry dear, I don't think your aunt and uncle would let you have a cat,” said Mrs. Figg,
looking a bit sad.

“I know, but Hermione loves cats,” explained Harry. “And I need to get her a Christmas present
and Crookshanks needs and home and I'll ask her mom and dad and everything and Hermione really
likes cats.”

“”Who's Hermione?”

“She's my best friend. I sleep over at her house all the time,” added Harry. “I was suppose
to go today but then Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon asked you to baby-sit.”

“Do you know Hermione's phone number?” asked Mrs. Figg. “I want to talk to her parents. If
they agree, I'll talk to you about how much Crookshanks costs, alright?”

Harry nodded, a large grin on his face. The first real smile Mrs. Figg had ever seen on the boy.
He raced to the phone and began to dial a number from memory.

“Granger residence,” said Bronwyn Granger, answering the phone on the third ring.

“Hi Mrs. Granger,” said Harry.

“Oh, hullo Harry,” said Bronwyn. “I'll put Hermione on the phone.”

`Wait,” said Harry. “I wanted to ask you about Hermione's Christmas present. Well, Mrs. Figg
wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Who's Mrs. Figg?”

“My babysitter,” said Harry. “I'm staying with her this weekend.”

“Could I speak to Mrs. Granger?” asked Mrs. Figg.

“Ok.” Harry handed her the phone.

**

Micah Callahan couldn't help but be grateful that there were no actual wereleopard pards in
the United Kingdom. The Maneater Clan had to deal with neither shapeshifter politics nor taking
over another pard.

He was still unsure why Chimera wanted to be in London. There were only werewolf packs within
fifty miles. Although he was supposed to be giving some sort of speech. Perhaps it was just the
speech.

While they could not do anything that day, Micah knew that Chimera would let them explore London
the next, so long as a member of the pard stayed behind. He once again cursed Merle for allowing
the pard to be taken over.

On an intellectual level, Micah knew that he would have been unable to do any better than Merle
had against Chimera, but Micah had to direct his anger somewhere. At least he had calmed somewhat.
It was more important to figure out how to survive than it was to play the blame game. Survival
came before anything else.

**

Hermione had been overjoyed. She'd taken to bringing Crookshanks with her wherever she went,
something Harry had no problem with. He was rather fond of the cat as well.

Early June found Harry on his way to London. Neither he nor Hermione had access to any good
books on magic. After quite a bit of research, and several conversations with local werewolves,
Harry had a list of stores to check and witches to speak to.

Harry found the pity the local werewolves felt for him insulting, but he was not above using
that pity to his own advantage. He knew that if he'd been several years older, many of those
werewolves wouldn't have given him the time of day.

Harry had spent the months since Christmas saving his money. He stuck to visiting Hermione only
twice a month. The morning after the full moon and one weekend a month near the new moon. Luckily
Hermione understood that Harry wanted to save his money for any books he might find. Hermione had
also given him all the money in her piggy bank for any book he might think was worth buying.

By midday, he'd visited all the witches on his list and three stores. In his backpack were
five books. Two on potions, one on a type of shapeshifting called Animagus (Hermione had
specifically requested that he find a book on non-lycanthrope shapeshifting and the Animagus
transformation was the only type he'd found that involved neither the pelt of a lycanthrope nor
a curse), and another two books that had been recommended by a rather powerful (and ancient) witch
by the name of Lorelei. She'd said they were the best ones to start learning magic from.

Lorelei had given him the name of another bookstore as well. One she'd said was cheaper than
the others on his list and had a better quality of work. She'd also invited Hermione and him to
attend one of her coven's meetings, although Lorelei had been quite understanding when Harry
had told her that Hermione's parents didn't know she was a witch. At that point, Lorelei
had given Harry her phone number and told him to be sure that he and Hermione called if they had
any trouble with magic or needed advice.

Unfortunately the bookstore Lorelei had recommended had quite a large selection of books on a
multitude of subjects, which was why Harry was in a phone booth calling Hermione to ask her
opinion.

**

Micah paused, blinking in surprise. For a moment he thought himself mistaken, but a closer
inspection was enough to confirm his suspicions. The child in the phone booth in front of him was a
lycanthrope. A wereleopard to be exact.

Never before had Micah encountered a lycanthrope so young. The child couldn't have been more
then ten. The child was rather powerful for his age as well. Perhaps not as powerful as Caleb, but
combined with the magic he could feel coming off the boy, Micah was quite sure that the boy would
eventually grow to be one of the more powerful wereleopards around.

The boy didn't seem to have noticed Micah's presence, but that was understandable. Micah
was shielding rather heavily. He couldn't hear the person the boy was talking to, but he could
hear was the boy was saying.

“… so do you want a book on charms or one on transfiguration?” asked Harry. “Well, there were a
couple books on rituals, but I don't think you want to use animal sacrifice… Uh, there was a
book on spells and potions that needed to be said or used during certain lunar phases. It looked
pretty cool. There were a couple on divination… No, there's only enough money left for three
more books if I want to get back to Surrey without begging or hitch hiking.” The boy paused. “Well,
I'm sure we'd be able to get more books later. And Lorelei said we were both welcome in her
coven… I think she's about as trustworthy as Mrs. Figg… I dunno… Right. I'll get you those
books.”

With that the boy hung up the phone and turned around. He stopped short, staring at Micah. He
knew, in that moment, that the boy had recognized him as a fellow wereleopard.

The boy looked down first, acknowledging Micah's dominance. After a moment he stepped out of
the phone booth.

“Who are you?” asked the boy. “I'm the only one in the nearest seven counties.”

“Micah, of the Maneater Clan,” he said. “We'll be gone in a week or two.”

“Oh,” said the boy. “I'm Harry. I don't really have a clan thingy.”

“Pard,” said Micah. “Wolves have packs, we have pards.”

“Oh.” He bit his lip. “Uh, I need to go buy some books. I have to catch my train before four if
I'm going to get back in time for dinner.”

“If you want, after you buy your books, I'll buy you a late lunch.” The boy was far too
thin. Obviously he hadn't been getting enough to eat. “I'll tell you everything I can about
wereleopards before you catch your train.”

Everything about the boy from his scarred face to demeanor to clothing not even thrift stores
would accept told Micah quite a bit about Harry. Somebody had to teach the young wereleopard about
their culture, and obviously nobody had before. If not for Chimera, Micah would seriously consider
offering Harry a place in the pard. But he wouldn't bring a child into that. Even a child who
happened to be a rather powerful wizard and an alpha shifter.

**

“I have a place to go during the full moon,” assured Harry. “And none of the werewolves use it
so I can hunt in peace.”

Micah nodded his acceptance. “Do you still have trouble stopping yourself from shifting if you
smell blood or remembering what happened while you're in your leopard form?”

“I haven't had any problems like that in more than a year,” said Harry. “Hermione gave me a
book on meditation. It really helped.”

“Hermione?”

“My best friend. She's a witch and the only non-shifter that knows what I am. Well,
she's my only friend.”

Micah raised an eyebrow.

“Hermione's the only person I haven't wanted to stalk. She doesn't feel like food
and most of the time I want to hunt the other kids, not play with them. Alright, her younger sister
feels the same, but Gertrude is only three.”

Another nod. Micah wrote out something on a napkin. “If you're ever in trouble-serious
trouble-call this number. It's my parent's phone number. They know what I am, so you can
explain that it's a shifter thing without worry. I try to call them once a week, so it might
take a while for me to get the message. Just remember, it's an international call to the United
States of America.”

Harry took the napkin and Micah's pen. “Thanks. This is Hermione's number. She knows how
to contact me.” Harry ducked his head down. “How come I can't really feel you? I can always
feel the others from fifty meters away.”

“I'm shielding,” said Micah. “Meditation is a very good beginning to learning to shield.
Once you have meditation down, you want to…”

It took a little over an hour to explain everything about shielding from how to stop somebody
from feeling your magic to how to protect one's mind from a vampire. Harry wrote down three
pages of notes on top of the fourteen pages of notes he had on wereleopards and nine on other types
of shifters. Micah had said it was acceptable to take notes only because Harry was unlikely to
encounter another wereleopard anytime soon or learn what Micah was teaching him from anybody
else.

**

Harry and Hermione spent a great deal of studying magic on top of their schoolwork. Hermione had
studied the Animagus transformation incessantly, but was unable to attempt it. One of the steps
involved a complicated potion with ingredients Hermione didn't have access to.

By the summer Harry turned eleven, the Dursleys had grown so used to Harry's disappearances
that they didn't even notice if he was gone for days at a time. However, when Harry was at
Number 4, his relatives treated him much the same as they usually did.

The pity the local werewolves felt for him had dropped sharply in the two years since the first
and last time he'd met a fellow wereleopard. Nine werewolves had challenged him in the past
year and a half. Only three still lived-mostly because Harry didn't like the idea of killing a
woman.

At first the idea of killing had disturbed Harry, but as time went by it'd stopped bothering
him as much. That was not to say that he endorsed the idea of killing, but he no long had a problem
doing what needed to be done.

Not that he'd bothered to tell Hermione everything about what life as a shifter was like.
Oh, she knew that he'd had to hurt people, but she had no idea that he'd killed. Harry had
explained that a lone shifter had to be tough enough to win any fight that might come along or they
would become everybody's meat, but Hermione hadn't quite realized what winning meant.

The Grangers had taken the news that Hermione and Harry were witches rather well. Once
they'd proven they were capable of doing magic, the two dentists had agreed to drive Hermione
and Harry to the meetings held by the coven Lorelei was in charge of. While they were a bit put out
by the idea of both their daughters having magic, neither gave any sign of fear or prejudice.

As for the coven… as far as any of them other than Lorelei knew, Harry was not in any way shape
or form a lycanthrope. Micah's lesson on shielding had proven to be very useful. The witches
were more than happy to teach Hermione and Harry magic, although several were jealous of how
powerful both children were.

At the moment both children were napping in the Grangers' back yard. The night before had
been the new moon and Harry and Hermione had been up rather late doing several spells and potions
that could only be made or said during that part of the lunar phase. Mrs. Granger had come out at
dawn to put a blanket over the children before returning inside.

At precisely nine in the morning, Hermione and Harry awoke to feel the wards around the Granger
residence being triggered. Since the person entering the property was a witch but did not have any
negative intentions toward any of the residents, the wards only warned them.

**

Minerva McGonagal stopped short. She'd come to give the Muggleborn witch, Hermione Granger
her letter of acceptance to Hogwarts and explain magic, which wass why the wards around the
property had surprised her. From what she could feel, the wards were rather well made and very
powerful.

“What is the reason for your presence here?” said a soft, feminine voice.

Minerva turned to see a young girl with loose, knee length brown curls. She wore a plain shirt
and skirt.

“Miss Granger, I presume,” said Minerva. At the girl's nod, she continued. “I am Professor
Minerva McGonagal, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Never heard of it before,” said a boy.

Minerva spun around, trying to hide her shock. Nobody had been able to sneak up on her since
she'd become an animagus six decades earlier. While animagi were not as powerful as a
lycanthrope, they generally had all the abilities of a lycanthrope on a smaller scale.

The boy in front of was a bit on the short side with shaggy black hair that touched his
shoulders, a large scar that ran from his right temple to the bottom of his left jaw, and eyes a
shade of green rarely seen.

“Mr. Potter,” said Minerva. “You should be receiving your Hogwarts letter in three weeks.” She
paused. “Your Aunt and Uncle didn't tell you about Hogwarts? Both your mother and father
attended.”

He gave her a measuring look. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don't like magic. She's
telling the truth, Hermione.”

“Mum should be making breakfast,” said Hermione. “I'm sure we'll have enough for you,
Professor.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger.”

**

“Hogwarts is very selective about students,” explained Minerva. “Only the most powerful witches
and wizards with the correct type of magic are invited. The witches you hear about, while powerful
either do not posses the right type of magic, or were not powerful enough to attend Hogwarts.”

“What do you mean by `right type of magic'?” asked Harry.

This was going a bit better than usual, mostly because Mr. and Mrs. Granger had already known
that their daughters were witches. Apparently both Hermione and Harry had become involved with the
Muggle witches. Minerva wasn't quite sure of what to make of that. While the Muggle witches
were powerful in their own right, many of their techniques were banned in the Wizarding world.

“Muggle witches use nature and ritual most of the time,” said Minerva. “Our type is capable of
using magical foci to do more powerful spells. Most Muggle witches are incapable of using anything
other than a familiar as a focus.” Minerva paused. “Perhaps you would like to see an example of how
Muggle and Wizarding magic differ?”

Both children nodded. With a wave of her wand, Minerva transformed her teacup into a dog.
Hermione gasped while Harry examined the dog.

“How hard is that spell?” asked Harry.

“Most fourth years can manage it with ease,” said Minerva, turning the dog back into a
teacup.

The Grangers had told Minerva at the beginning that the decision of whether or not to attend
Hogwarts was Hermione's, not theirs. So when Harry began to quiz her, she was not
surprised.

“What's the tuition? What classes are offered? How many years is Hogwarts? Do we get any
vacations? Where is Hogwarts? Why have I never heard of Hogwarts before?”

Minerva cut him off before Harry could ask any more questions. “Tuition is free, you only need
to buy your supplies and uniform…”

**

“Mr. Potter needs to access his trust vault,” Professor McGonagal said sharply.

“I have a vault?” said Harry. He'd thought that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had taken
whatever his parents had left him.

“Several, Mr. Potter. However your trust vault is the only one you may remove money from until
you come of age at seventeen,” explained Professor McGonagal.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Could I have my key or whatever it is?”

The goblin narrowed its eyes. “You do not have your keys?”

“Nope.”

“Put a drop of blood on this stone,” said the goblin. “A new set of keys will be made
momentarily. The old keys will be destroyed.”

With a mental shrug, Harry bit a finger hard enough to draw blood. He let a drop of blood hit
the stone before bringing his finger back to his mouth to suck on it. It was a human enough action
that nobody would notice he was really cleaning the wound to help it heal faster.

“Everything is in order, Mr. Potter,” said the goblin, handing Harry a ring with nine keys on
it.

“Thanks.”

“I shall help the Grangers exchange their money while you go to your vault,” said McGonagal.
“There are twenty-nine bronze knuts to a silver sickle, seventeen sickles to a gold galleon. Five
pounds to a galleon. You will need at least twenty galleons for your school supplies. If you want a
familiar, I would recommend taking out thirty galleons.”

“Thank you Professor,” said Harry. “Hermione, want to come with?”

“Can I?” Hermione asked her parents. At their nod, she moved to stand next to Harry. Neither
noticed the odd look that passed across Professor McGonagal's face.

“Can I visit my other vaults? I know I can't take any money.”

McGonagal nodded. “I don't see why not. You're only banned from removing actual money. I
believe some of your parents' possessions should still be in the family vault.” She handed him
the supply list. “You should be able to find most of your school supplies.”

A goblin cleared his throat. Harry blushed slightly, then led Hermione off to the waiting cart.
The goblin gave Hermione a speculative look, but said nothing other than to ask which vault to take
them to.

“Trust vault,” said Harry.

When they arrived, Harry quickly tossed thirty galleons into his bag, only taking the time to
note that there was enough money in it to last his entire Hogwarts education.

“Potter Family vault, please,” said Harry.

Several minutes later, they stood outside a large vault with the word Potter carved into the
top. Once the door opened, Harry couldn't help but gasp. To the left side were mountains of
gold and jewels. To the right were all sorts of furniture, weapons, jewelry, and portraits.

“Hermione, help me find my parent's trunks,” said Harry.

It didn't take them long to find the trunks near a large portrait of a man and woman. There
were three trunks, labeled JCP, LRE, and SOB. Using the trunk labeled JCP to hold everything,
Hermione and Harry put one copy of each book they could find into it along with any personal items
they found in either of the other two trunks. All of the old potions ingredients were put into the
trunk labeled SOB.

While Hermione looked at the other books in the vault, Harry found several weapons that might be
useful. Two sets of knives, a machete, and a sword. Before returning to Hermione, he grabbed a
necklace he thought beautiful. Harry slipped the sword, machete, knives, and necklace into his
father's trunk while Hermione was distracted.

Once they returned to the surface, Professor McGonagal shrunk Harry's trunk for him with a
promise to unshrink it once they returned to Mr. and Mrs. Granger's car. With that they set off
to Madame Malkin's to buy school robes.

“Ma'am?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“When was the last time the uniform changed?” asked Harry.

“Uniform hasn't changed,” said McGonagal. “It's the same as it was when the school first
opened.”

“So, I could wear my father's school robes, right?” said Harry (he found the scents on the
robes rather comforting, even though he knew that after a cleaning or two, his father's scent
would be washed away).

“I don't see why not,” said McGonagal.

Several hours later, Harry and Hermione found themselves in Ollivander's to buy their first
wands. Unlike most in the Wizarding world, they were familiar with magical foci, and had on
occasion, used Hermione's familiar Crookshanks as a focus for particularly difficult
spells.

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, I've been expecting you,” said Ollivander. Unlike McGonagal and
the Grangers, Harry and Hermione had felt Ollivander's presence.

Several minutes later, Hermione had a vine wood and dragon heartstring wand while Harry was
still trying wands. Nearly an hour passed before Harry received a holly and phoenix feather wand,
the brother of the wand belonging to Voldemort. Apparently this Voldemort person had killed his
parents before Harry had killed him.

Harry had been a bit hesitant about buying a familiar. Most animals were terrified of him.
Seconds after he entered the store, only a beautiful snowy owl remained. The other birds had flown
to the rafters in an attempt to avoid Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes before offering his arm to the owl. When she landed on it, he happily paid
the clerk. McGonagal had pursed her lips, a serious look on her face, but said nothing.

“What are you going to name her?” asked Hermione.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. I'll name her before Hogwarts starts.”

**

“Minerva?” asked Albus Dumbledore.

“Miss Granger and Mr. Potter had both enrolled in Hogwarts,” Minerva said. “Since Mr. Potter was
with Miss Granger when I arrived, I gave him his Hogwarts letter and took him with Miss Granger to
Diagon Alley.”

“What was Harry doing with Miss Granger?” asked Albus.

“From what I understand, they are rather close friends and have known each other for several
years.”

Albus nodded. “Very well. Who are you seeing tomorrow?”

“A Mr. Boot.”

-->



3. Chapter 3
------------

Author’s Note: No matter how this may seem, the story is strictly Harry/Hermione, not
Harry/Hermione/Blaise.

Chapter 3

Harry meandered his way from one platform to another. He hadn’t bothered to tell his family that
he’d been accepted to Hogwarts. They probably didn’t even know he was gone yet. Just to be sure,
he’d left a not pinned to his door, telling them where he was.

He’d caught a train from Little Whinging to Kings Cross earlier that day. Once he was on the
platform for tracks nine and ten, Harry began to look around for Hermione. They’d agreed to meet
near the entrance to platform 9 ¾ forty-five minutes before the train was due to leave. Hermioen
had wanted to make sure that they had enough time to find the platform if they had the directions
wrong.

Seeing Leopold Granger, Harry raised his arm and waved. Mr. Granger waved back, then began to
walk over, leading his wife and daughters. Hermione pushed a cart with her trunk, Crookshanks’
carrier, and Hedwig’s cage on it. Harry had left his owl, now named Hedwig, in Hermione’s care
until the beginning of school.

“Harry!” cried out Gertrude, wrapping herself around Harry’s legs. Hermione rolled her eyes
before hugging Harry as well.

“Hi, Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger,” said Harry. “So, let’s go find this platform.”

Ten minutes later, Hermione and Harry had bid her family farewell. Harry carried both trunks
while Hermione carried Crookshanks and Hedwig. Once they’d found a compartment Harry approved of,
he removed several objects from the trunks before putting them up on the racks. Hermione busied
herself with closing the compartment door and letting Crookshanks out of his carrier.

Harry placed the books on one of the seats along with their lunch and drinks. He held up a deck
of cards with a rubber band around them.

“Wanna play?”

----

Neville Longbottom blinked at the sight in front of him, unsure if he wanted to enter the
compartment. A black haired boy around his age was wrestling with a brunette girl in a scandalously
short skirt (it only reached her knees). A fluffly ginger cat watched them in disdain while a snowy
owl hooted disapprovingly.

After several moments, the girl won the wrestling match. The boy lay on his back, his feet
toward Neville while the girl stradled his waist, an alarming amount of thigh showing. She held up
something small and square.

“Mwahahahahaha,” laughed the girl. In a voice that did not sound particularly serious, she
declared, “I have won the ever adored deck of cards! A Granger shall never again be forced to play
poker! Mwahahaha!”

“I will defeat you,” cried out the boy. “You and your evil rummy playing ways!”

“Wait,” said the girl. “Why do I have to be the bad guy? I want to be the good guy.”

“But I was the evil guy yesterday,” whined the boy.

“Oh fine,” said the girl. “Mwahahahaha! Never again shall you play the game of poker!”

“Uh, hi,” said Neville, deciding to interrupt them before they became too involved in their…
game.

The boy sat up, trapping the girl between his chest and his knees while the girl turned at the
waist to look at Neville. The girl blushed and the boy smirked. Neville tried not to wince at the
scar that went across the boy’s face.

“Hi, I’m Hermione Granger,” explained the girl. “This is Harry Potter. Are you a first year as
well?”

“Y-yeah,” said Neville. “Do you-do you mind if I sit here?”

“Put your trunk up, we were about to play a game of poker,” said Harry.

Hermione punched him in the arm. “We were going to play gin rummy!”

“Maybe you should play war instead,” Neville said shyly, putting his trunk next to
Hermione’s.

Hermione and Harry shrugged at each other.

“Sounds good.”

“You’re going to play, right?” said Hermione.

Neville nodded, closed the door and settled himself across from Hermione and Harry. Harry moved
off Harry’s lap to lean against a seat while Harry leaned against the other seat. Once Hermione had
dealt out the cards, they began to play.

By the time the train left the platform, the children had moved from playing war to playing gin
rummy. Neville’s toad, Trevor, tried to escape when the woman with the snack trolley came by, but
Crookshanks stopped the toad.

The card game broke up so that Harry and Hermione could eat their prepared lunches while Neville
ate several treats from the trolley.

“Say, Nev, do you know how we get sorted?” asked Harry.

“Gran said it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Fair enough.”

Hermione perked up. “Do you know which house you want to be in?”

----

Harry sat sideways in the small boat, hand trailing through the water. Hermione rolled her eyes
over her copy of the Communist Manifesto. Neville shook slightly, obviously frightened, though
Hermione and Harry weren’t sure why. Even with their shields up, they could feel that nothing
nearby was truly dangerous.

“Still plotting to help the proletariat overthrow the evil capitalist bourgeoisie?” asked
Harry.

“Of course not,” said Hermione. “Marx was hopelessly optimistic. While his theories are
interesting, communism could never truly work. I just find his work an interesting read.”

“Ah. Can I borrow your copy of The Prince again when you’re done with it?”

“Of course.”

At that moment, the boats landed. Harry moved his hands slightly, then did a backwards handstand
onto the shore. He wiped his dirty hands off on a cloak belonging to a boy with bleach blonde hair,
then offered his hand to Hermione. The blonde did not seem to have noticed Harry dirtying his
cloak.

“Milady,” said Harry.

“Thank you, good sir,” said Hermione, carefully accepting his hand.

Once Hermione was out of the boat, Harry asked, “Need any help, Nev?”

None of the other students seemed to have noticed the act Harry was putting on, much to
Hermione’s amusement. Harry led Hermione along as she looked around, mildly impressed by the
castle.

Several minutes later, Harry watched the sorting hat sing, slightly uncomfortable with the idea
of a hat reading his thoughts. If it could even get past his shields, that is.

Eventually Hermione was called. The hat spent several minutes thinking, before announcing,
“SLYTHERIN!”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. He’d known that Hermione had all sorts of plans in place,
mostly involving changing the way the world at large viewed the preternatural, but he hadn’t quite
expected Slytherin. Then again, Hermione was already talking about getting various magic users
organized and creating unions.

Harry was called up shortly after Neville was sorted into Gryffindor. He plopped down on the
rickety stool and put the hat on.

‘*You need to take your shields down*,’ whispered a voice. ‘*I can’t sort you if I can’t
read your mind… impressive use of occlumency, by the way. You are the first student to successfully
keep me out in a little over two hundred years. Let’s see what we have here… rather ambitious, at
times. Very loyal, but it’s not easy to gain your loyalty. Hardworking, yes… No, not Hufflepuff.
You’d terrify them. Perhaps… no, not Gryffindor. You want to remain with your friend, yes? I do
believe that being clever enough to hide your lycanthropy for so many years marks you as a perfect
choice for*’ “SLYTHERIN!”

There was shocked silence as Harry walked over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat across from
Hermione, his back to the wall. Slowly the Slytherins started to clap, obviously confused about
having the boy-who-lived sorted into their house.

Once Zabini joined them, the feast began. Most of the other first years were too busy staring at
Harry to bother putting food on their plates. After a long moment, the bleach blonde boy from out
side stuck his hand between Harry and his plate of food.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” the boy said, his voice filled with self importance.

“I’m Harry Potter and that’s Hermione Granger,” said Harry, trying to remember to be polite
despite the fact that Malfoy was only seconds away from having his hand stabbed by Harry’s
fork.

“Hi, Draco,” said Hermione.

Draco sneered at Hermione, removing his hand. “Granger is not a pureblood name. Are you a
halfblood?” Draco’s voice made his opinion of halfboods quite obvious.

“Muggleborn,” announced Hermione.

“You’re a mudblood?!” demanded Draco, sounding incredulous. “They let a mudblood into
Slytherin!”

The entire Slytherin table stopped talking. All of them were staring at Hermione.

Perhaps Hogwarts was more dangerous than he’d originally thought. With a mental sigh, Harry
decided to make it clear that such remarks toward Hermione would not be tolerated. He grabbed
Draco’s hand underneath the table and began to push the boy’s thumb back, ignoring his
protests.

“Draco, I suggest you close your mouth. Immediately,” said Harry, his voice seconds away from a
growl. “Yes, Hermione is a Muggleborn. My mother was Muggleborn as well. Insult Hermione or my
mother again, and I’ll do more than break your thumb. Do we understand each other?”

Draco nodded quickly, tears streaming down his face as Harry broke his thumb. Nobody moved to
help either Harry or Draco, watching with silent interest.

“Now then, I suggest you apologize to Hermione for what you said.”

“But-” said Draco, obviously unwilling to ‘lower himself’ in such a way.

“Bad choice, Draco,” said Harry, before breaking his pointer finger in two places.

Draco was openly sobbing by that point. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Good to see that you saw the error of your ways,” said Harry. “You might want to get your hand
seen to. Your bones could heal crooked.”

Draco gave him a look that promised vengeance, then moved down the table to sit between two
ape-like boys. Obviously his goons. The first years, and many of the nearby students were looking
at Harry with interest, and a bit of respect.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Must you insist on using force to prove your point?”

“He insulted you and Mum,” said Harry.

“Thank you for defending my honor,” said Hermione. She turned to the girl next to her. “I’m
Hermione.”

“Daphne Greengrass,” said the girl. “This is Tracey Davis, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Hermione.

She kicked Harry under the table. Though focused on his food, Harry had been keeping an eye on
what was happening. He sighed and looked up.

“Harry Potter,” he said, shaking Blaise and Theodore’s hand.

Harry and Blaise starred at each other. Though the other Slytherins weren’t sure what had
happened, something had passed between the two boys.

“Bear,” whispered Harry, just loud enough for Blaise to hear.

Blaise nodded and then mouthed, “Cat.”

The two tested each other in what, to the rest of the table, seemed to be a staring contest.
Harry brushed his beast past Blaise’s. The two beasts fought for several seconds until the bear
surrendered. Only Hermione seemed to know what had really happened, and that was because she knew
how to look past Harry’s shields.

“Well met,” said Blaise.

“Indeed,” said Harry. “Do you know how many more…”

“Swan among the ravens,” said Blaise, nodding toward the Ravenclaw table.

An arrogant looking Asian girl was giving them a disapproving look. A swanmane, from what Blaise
had said. Harry reached out, testing her power. The girl flinched back, seemingly ready to cry.

“Weak, isn’t she,” said Harry.

“Mmm,” nodded Blaise.

Apparently Blaise’s acceptance of Harry, and Hermione (if only because Harry had protected her),
broke the ice for the rest of the Slytherins. Tracey and Daphne quickly swept Hermione into a
conversation on Muggle Witches and Wizarding Witches. Both purebloods were amazed to learn what
Muggles considered legal. Meanwhile, Harry had started to explain football to Blaise and Theodore,
sparking a fierce debate over the merits of both Quidditch and football.

Eventually, the feast finished. Some Slytherin Prefects led them down into the dungeons. The
password was said (carpe diem), and the first years led to a group of chairs by the Prefects while
the rest of the students went down a corridor.

“Right,” said the Prefect-Adrian Pucey if Harry remembered correctly. “I don’t care what sort of
problems you have with your housemates; outside of the dungeon you damn well better show a unified
front. Do you understand me?”

Harry rolled his eyes and put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. The two had decided to
squeeze into an armchair rather than fight their housemates for one of the couches.

“Now then,” said a female Prefect. Alana, Alanis, Alicia, something along those lines. “There
are several private rooms left and, of course, there’s room in the dorms. No more than four to a
private room. Each of the private rooms has its own bathroom and sitting room. Choose carefully. If
you get a private room, it is your room for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. You are stuck with
whoever you decide to room with. There are absolutely no room changes, except for from the regular
dorms to a private room at the beginning of the next year. Any questions?”

“Are you allowed to room with somebody of the opposite gender?” asked Harry, already thinking of
Hermione’s protection. He didn’t trust any of the girls in Slytherin not to try to hurt Hermione in
her sleep.

“No rules against it,” shrugged Pucey. “Any private room without a name plate is fair game. If
you want the room, go inside and declare that it’s your room.”

As the female Prefect began going on about several other rules, Blaise sidled over. “You two
planning on rooming together?”

Harry nodded. “She knows.”

Blaise gave him a speculative look. “Mind if I room with you as well?”

“Hermione?” asked Harry.

She shrugged. “Is this a thing about… you know?”

Harry and Blaise shared a look. “You remember how I prefer to sleep? It’s the same for all of
us.”

“Then I don’t see why not,” said Hermione.

After ten minutes of droning on about things that could easily be read in Hogwarts, A History,
the Prefects set them loose. Harry and Blaise scanned the hallways carefully, eventually settling
on a generally overlooked room at the end of a hallway. The two of them had found two secret
passages within ten feet of the door while Hermione had found another secret passage in the room
itself.

“I, Harry Potter, claim this room for myself and Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini,” said
Harry, stepping into the room.

A name plate appeared on the door with all three of their names. Harry closed the door and began
to examine the sitting room.

It was rather large, with a couch, a loveseat, four chairs, and a small fireplace. All the seats
were overstuffed and green with silver lining. Against one wall was a table with several chairs
around it. All of the walls had a bookcase or two against them. A cream and green carpet covered
the stone floor.

There were three desks, a mirror, and two windows looking into the lake in the bedroom. The
windows were covered by green velvet curtains that matched the hangings on the three beds. Each bed
had a trunk at the end, and one wardrobe, probably for Hermione, stood against a wall. Crookshanks
lazily stretched from his place on Hermione’s bed.

“So, were you infected?” asked Blaise.

“Yeah. You?”

“Family guardian, actually. I have all the instincts and abilities of a regular lycanthrope
without the moon dictating when I transform,” explained Blaise. “Does Dumbledore know you’re a
wereleopard?”

“No. And I’ll make anyone who outs me wish for death,” said Harry.

“Understood.”

“These beds are a bit small for all three of us,” said Hermione.

“If we ask, the House-Elves will probably replace them with a bigger bed,” said Blaise. “Let’s
call one.”

“House-Elves are…?”

“Creatures bound to a person, family, or, in the case of Hogwarts, place,” explained Blaise.
“They’re servants, and they love being useful.”

“Why don’t you see about replacing two of the beds with a full or queen sized bed,” said Harry.
“We’ll leave one of the twin sized beds in case somebody wants to sleep alone at any point. While
you’re doing that, Hermione and I will see about setting up some wards.”

----

By midnight everything had been set up to Harry, Hermione, and Blaise’s satisfaction. Harry and
Hermione and warded the entire set of rooms to protect against any sort of spying devices along
with anybody who meant hard of any sort to the people who resided in the rooms or their
possessions, no matter what form the person was in, unless it was an elf. They also set it up so
that each time somebody entered the room through a door or secret passage, they had to be let in by
Harry, Blaise, or Hermione.

While they were doing that, Blaise had had a House-Elf replace two of the twin sized beds with a
full sized bed, claiming that all three had nightmares, and found comfort in sleeping in the same
bed. Luckily the House-Elf bought the excuse. Neither Harry nor Blaise had wanted to explain that
given a choice, shapeshifters preferred to share a bed, sleeping in a big, puppy pile. It was
nothing sexual, but both knew that few would believe that it was about comfort.

**

The peace of breakfast was broken by a rather unusual sight. Two Slytherin first years
approached the Gryffindor table while another Slytherin first year saved several seats for them.
Harry and Hermione stopped around a foot from a very sleepy Neville Longbottom.

“This is stickup!” said Hermione.

“Give us Longbottom and nobody’ll get hurt!” added Harry.

“Huh?” said Neville, his mind still not fully awake.

The rest of the Gryffindors stared in shock. Well, most of them, at any rate. Two red haired
twins seemed to find the entire thing amusing.

“What are you,” asked red head # 1.

“Going to do,” said read head #2.

“With him?”

“Why, convince him to join the Dark Side, of course,” said Hermione.

Harry shrugged, then said, “The Force is with you, young Longbottom… but you are not a Jedi-uh,
Wizard yet.”

“Wait,” said another first year-Dean something, if Harry remembered correctly. “You two like
Star Wars? You’re Slytherins!”

“We know,” Hermione and Harry said in unison. Then Hermione added, “Who better to emulate than
Palpatine?”

“Darth Revan, is so much cooler, though,” argued Harry.

“Palpatine!”

“Revan!”

“Palpatine!”

“Revan! Anyway,” said Harry. “Wanna eat breakfast with us, Nev?”

“Uh, sure,” said Neville, giving the rest of his classmates nervous looks.

Harry and Hermione led Neville over to the Slytherin table, introducing him to Blaise, Daphne,
Theodore, and Tracey.

----

“You’re sure of this?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I must think on this. Now go.”

The House-Elf bowed, the disappeared with a soft pop, leaving the vampire to his thoughts. The
vampire was much older than he appeared. Understandable, considering that he’d died centuries
before.

There were few things that the vampire had managed to successfully hide from his sire, but this
was one of them. Before his death, the vampire had been a squib, the magic-less son of a witch and
a wizard. All he’d inherited from his parents had been one of the family House-Elves.

That had served his purposes well enough. Once it had become apparent that he had no magic, the
vampire had chosen to live out his life as a Muggle. He’d married young and had managed to produce
several children before his death.

No vampire had ever learned of his family, and the vampire preferred it that way. He would do
anything to protect his descendants. The vampire had instructed his House-Elf to keep an eye on and
protect his children, their children, and so on from the preternatural, ensuring that unlike many
other vampires, he never lost track of his descendants. His original House-Elf had died many years
before. The one serving him now was one of its descendants.

The information he’d been given was both alarming and wonderful. After many generations, one of
his descendants, a young girl by the name of Hermione, had enrolled in Hogwarts. And from what he
understood, her younger sister Gertrude would eventually enroll as well.

But the company she kept was worrying. To share a bed with a wereleopard and a bear
shapeshifter… but both boys were just that, boys. Luckily for the two boys, the House-Elf had
confirmed that all three had been at least partially dressed and none had done anything
inappropriate.

He reconsidered the gift he’d intended to send to Hermione. Perhaps something more appropriate
for her status.

No matter how much or how little money the vampire had, he always ensured that each of his
living descendants received a gift once a year. Generally a pretty trinket for the females, toys
for children, and something a bit more useful for the males. It had gone on for so long that nobody
in the family even questioned it anymore.

----

“I think we should restart the Marauders.”

Blaise and Hermione blinked at Harry, obviously confused. The three of them were in the sitting
room, trying to finish their homework.

“The what?” asked Hermione.

“The Marauders. According to Dad’s journal, he and his friends called themselves the Marauders
and pranked anybody who breathed,” explained Harry. “Especially Snape.”

All three winced slightly at the idea of Snape. Their Head of House despised Harry. The only
reason he hadn’t taken points off of Harry was because he didn’t want to take points off his own
house. He’d spent the entire potions lesson berating Harry for the smallest mistakes.

“It’s not just that, is it?” said Hermione.

“They were all shapeshifters,” explained Harry. “Some guy named Remus was a werewolf so Dad, and
to other guys… uh Sirius and Peter became animagi so they could spend the full moon with him.
Blaise and I are already shapeshifters, and you’re trying to became an animagi… So… Do you
wanna?”

“But pranks?”

“It’s harmless, and we can use them to practice Muggle magic.”

“Oh, fine,” said Hermione. “Blaise?”

“Sounds amusing.” Blaise paused. “Why did they need to become animagi to spend the full moons
with this Remus guy?”

“Apparently he had very bad control and wanted to go human hunting whenever he was in wolf
form.”

“Ah.”

----

Minerva watched as Miss Granger and Mr. Potter once again approached the Gryffindor table. From
the sound of it, they were once again “kidnapping” Mr. Longbottom. Something that had become a
daily occurrence.

She was still a bit upset that Mr. Potter had been sorted into Slytherin, but it could have been
worse. At least Miss Granger was with him. And the two children seemed to have become rather close
to several of the other first years. Perhaps Lily and James might not have approved of their son
being a Slytherin, but they certainly would have wanted him to be happy.

As for Mr. Potter taking Miss Granger with him to see his family vault… that could be taken in
so many different ways. None of which boded well for the members of various Harry Potter fan
clubs.

Minerva couldn’t help but blink as Severus walked into the Great Hall. He wore pink and yellow
tie dyed robes. When he turned to glare at the laughing children, Minerva saw the words: Long Live
the Marauders-Magical Mischief-Makers Extraordinaire, written in black cursive on the back of his
robes.

She bit her lip. Severus would be furious when he read those words. But that man was also the
reason why many of her Gryffindors did not take NEWT level Potions. She decided to say nothing.

For a moment she wondered how Mr. Potter had learned of the Marauders. Then she remembered that
he had his father’s old trunk. That boy was very lucky that nobody could prove it was him that
masterminded the prank. Although Severus would likely make his life very difficult.

----

“Full moon tonight.”

“I know,” said Harry. “Trust me, I know.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” asked Hermione.

“Sneak out, of course,” said Harry. “The passage in the bedroom lets out a couple feet from
another passage that leads outside. There’s this glamour in the passage outside. Makes anybody who
encounters it think there are rocks blocking the way out. You can even feel the rocks. But they’re
not really there.”

“How do you know that?” asked Blaise.

“Dad and his friends put it up. The journal even told me the password for getting through the
glamour.”

“Ah.”

“So, I suppose I’ll have to cover for you while you’re out,” said Hermione.

“And me too,” said Blaise. “I haven’t been able to transform in ages. We’re heading into the
forest, right?”

“Yup,” said Harry. “We’ll sneak back in after the moon goes down. That should leave us enough
time to get three or four hours of sleep before class.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Blaise.

----

Hermione awoke a little after dawn when an exhausted Harry crawled into bed, dressed only in his
boxers. He quickly fell asleep, an arm around her waist, his head resting on her chest. Not long
after, Blaise crawled into bed as well, wearing a wife beater along with his boxers.

As the boys slept, Hermione thought about lycanthropy. Yes, Harry had told her about how most
lycanthropes craved physical contact, but she’d also checked it out for herself. Lorelei had
introduced Hermione to the vargamor of the local werewolf pack at her request.

The man had told her quite a bit about lycanthropes in general (although nothing that could be
used to hurt either the pack or Harry), all of which matched very closely to what Harry had said.
If not for that conversation, Hermione would never have believed that shifters liked to sleep in
big piles or that Harry had killed before.

Oh, Harry had never told her, but Hermione wasn’t stupid. Harry had done what he’d needed to do
to survive without being used by others. And Hermione accepted that. Lycanthropes came from a very
different society than normal humans.

Her thoughts were soon interrupted by sleep. The bed was nice and warm, after all.



4. Chapter 4
------------



Chapter 4

Harry had never enjoyed Halloween. When he'd found out that it was the day his parents died,
he'd liked it even less.

For a moment he wondered why Hermione was not at the feast. She'd said that she'd
planned on studying in the library for a bit before coming down to the feast. He'd already
threatened to literally throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of the library if she
didn't show.

Draco strutted in, a smirk upon his face, his two goons following him. Pansy Parkinson and
Millicent Bulstrode followed closely. All five looked very happy.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Something must have happened to make Malfoy so happy. Perhaps
he'd gotten into another fight with the youngest Weasley.

He looked at Blaise, who shrugged. Obviously he had no idea either.

“Harry?”

He turned to look up at Neville. He'd heard his approach, but he'd decided to wait for
Neville to make the first move. “Yeah?”

“Lavender just said that Hermione is in the fourth floor girl's room, crying,” Neville
explained quickly. “Something about Malfoy.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Blaise?”

“We can deal with Malfoy later,” said Blaise. “Let's go.”

It took several minutes for Harry and Blaise to reach the bathroom. Ignoring the fact that it
was a girl's toilet, Harry walked inside, Blaise close behind.

“Hermione?” called out Harry, trying not to think about the salty smell of her tears or the soft
sound of her crying. Whoever caused this would pay.

“I-Harry,” said Hermione.

“And Blaise,” said the bear shapeshifter.

“Did somebody hurt you?” asked Harry, approaching Hermione carefully.

She sniffled again, not bothering to move from her place next to the sinks. Blaise held up a
hand, distracting both Harry and Hermione.

“Did you hear that/” he asked.

Harry tilted his head to the side, listening. At the sound of amazingly heavy footsteps, he
paled.

“What the hell?” demanded Harry, pulling Hermione up by her arm. “Let's get back to the
dorm.”

Blaise nodded his agreement.

Still in tears, Hermione asked, “What's wrong?”

“Something's coming,” explained Blaise as they left the bathroom.

“Shit!” hissed Harry, looking at the end of the hall.

Somehow a very large mountain troll had managed to get into the school. Luckily it didn't
seem to be looking their way. Harry motioned for Blaise to follow him as he dragged a stunned
Hermione to one of the school's many secret passages. He pushed Hermione through, keeping a
careful eye on the troll.

“We can't just leave it here,” whispered Hermione, finally regaining her wits. “It could
kill somebody.”

Harry looked at Hermione, then at the troll. He sighed. “Blaise, take Hermione back to the dorm,
I'll handle the troll.”

“Good luck,” said Blaise.

Before Hermione could protest, Blaise had begun to lead her down the passageway. Once he was
sure they were gone, Harry closed the passage and began to walk toward the troll. He trusted Blaise
to keep Hermione safe until he got back.

**

“A mountain troll?” said the vampire. “The little leopard killed a mountain troll because
Hermione asked him to?”

“Yes, Master,” said the elf. “Mistress Hermione was frightened that it would kill somebody.”

“And the bear?”

“The kitty sent the bear to protect Mistress Hermione while he killed the nasty troll.”

The vampire said nothing, thinking on this new information. His respect for the little
wereleopard had grown. Some careful questioning had revealed that the packs in London and Surrey
left the leopard alone mainly because he'd killed most that had challenged him, leaving only
his female challengers alive.

The leopard was becoming quite dangerous. And he had put Hermione under his protection. This was
both a good and a bad thing. At least for Hermione.

She'd be protected from most of the dangerous preternatural creatures. But the leopard had
drawn her into the shapeshifter underworld. Then again, the girl was studying to become an
animagus. She would have been drawn into that world no matter what. At least this way she had a
moderately powerful alpha to protect her.

**

Nobody was sure what had killed the mountain troll. Something had ripped it limb from limb,
leaving the body in a bloody mess on the fourth floor. The school talked about it for days
afterward, terrified that some beast would kill them in their sleep.

Once again, Blaise was rather happy he'd decided not to argue with Harry's dominance.
What Potter could do, despite being only a little above the midrange of lycanthrope power was
amazing-and terrifying.

Hermione still hadn't revealed what Malfoy had said to her, but had managed to confirm that
Malfoy and his little gang had caused her tears. Nobody in Slytherin had been particularly
surprised when Malfoy had needed to have several of his bones regrown, nor had they been surprised
by the amount of time the rest of his cronies had spent in the Hospital Wing. Slytherin power
struggles were often very violent.

Thought they hadn't been at Hogwarts long, all the Slytherins knew that Harry could be
deadly when annoyed. When pissed off… he was the things nightmares were made of. And nothing pissed
Harry off faster than somebody who threatened Hermione.

**

Harry studied his plans, a piece of beef jerky hanging out of his mouth. He was in a quiet
corner of the common room playing poker with Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Tracey. Hermione sat between
Harry and Tracey, writing something. Crookshanks sat on Hermione's lap, purring loudly.

“What are you doing?” asked Daphne.

“Are you familiar with labor unions?” asked Hermione.

“Huh?” Everybody but Harry gave her a blank look.

“Don't worry,” said Hermione. “By the time I'm done, the Wizarding world will be very
familiar with labor unions.”

After several long, uncomfortable moments, Theo asked Harry, “Is that a good thing or a bad
thing?”

“Depends on if you're the employer or the employee,” said Harry. “I'll let Hermione
explain the concept.”

**

Harry fought the urge to back away slowly. Hermione was standing over a bubbling cauldron, a
serious look on her face. She got that look whenever she went on some sort of intellectual rant or
holed herself up someplace with a good book for hours on end.

“Should I ask or should I go back to the common room?” asked Harry.

“I just finished the animagus potion,” explained Hermione. “Just let me bottle it.”

**

“Wait, so what do you need to do?” asked Blaise. “For the animagus transformation, I mean.”

“It's quite simple,” said Hermione. “On the night of the new moon-that's tonight, I
drink the potion, say a spell, drink two other potions I've already prepared, and hopefully
I'll transform.”

“And if you don't transform?” asked Harry.

Hermione shrugged. “I'll be dead. But don't worry. That only happens in one out of every
six attempts.”

“So even if you do something wrong, you'll probably transform?” said Blaise.

“Oh, no. One out of every six is if you do everything correctly,” explained Hermione. “One out
of every twenty-three survive if a mistake is made.”

“Of course,” muttered Harry. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Harry. I'm very sure that I want to be an animagus. I'm also very sure that
I've done everything correctly,” snapped Hermione. “Nothing you can say or do will stop me from
doing this tonight.”

“I'm not going to try to stop you,” said Harry. “I just wanted to make sure that you were
ready to do this. So, where do you want to do this?”

“We can't do this in the castle. This is the sort of this the House-Elves would report to
the Headmaster,” said Blaise.

Hermione shrugged. “The forrest?”

**

It had been exceedingly easy to sneak into the Forbidden Forrest, but then again, it generally
was. While Harry drew a circle of protection that woul ensure that nothing entered their clearing
while Hermione attempted the transformation (and keep Hermione from running off, just in case her
animal form was as difficult to control as it was for a lycanthrope the first couple of
transformations), Blaise kept watch and Hermione set up what she needed.

“Right,” said Hermione. “Stand outside of the circle I've drawn.”

Blaise nodded and backed up, careful not to wreck any of the symbols Hermione had drawn in the
dirt. She stood in the center of a circle with strange, runic symbols running around it. There were
five candles, each a different color.

Hermione knelt down, three vials of potion in front of her. She closed her eyes, then used her
magic to light the candles wandlessly. She downed the first potion, then began to chant in an
unfamiliar language.

As she chanted the lines in the dirt started to glow white. Harry could feel the very air around
him crackle with power. She then downed the last two potions.

Harry watched with a morbid sort of fascination. Nothing he could do now would stop what was
about to happen. Either Hermione would die or she would become an animagus.

The bones under Hermione's skin began to move. She winced in pain, but said nothing. After
what felt like forever, Hermione transformed.

Animagi were truly unique in the shapeshifter world. They had all the powers of a lycanthrope,
but on a much smaller scale. Animagi could pass for a member of the same species as their animagus
form, in size and coloring. They were not controlled by the moon, and they certainly avoided
lycanthrope politic at all costs. Unlike all other forms of shapeshifter, animagi were highly
respected as well. But the strangest thing-in Harry's opinion-was that animagi took their
clothing with them when they transformed.

A small, red fox sat where Hermione had been. The fox was much smaller than Hermione, but that
was just part of the transformation.

“Hermione? Do you understand me?” asked Harry. “Tap the ground once for no, twice for yes.”

The fox gave him a look that told Harry quite clearly that he was being an idiot before tapping
the ground twice with her front paw. Harry had to admit that Hermione made a very nice fox, with
her soft brindle fur and bushy tail. Actually, her tail sort of reminded him of her hair.

**

“You cannot be serious.”

“But it's tradition. Every Marauder needs a nickname. I put off picking ours until Hermione
transformed, but now that she has, we need to pick names.”

“Oh fine,” muttered Blaise. “Mr. Beorn.”

“From the Hobbit?” said Hermione. Blaise nodded. “I think Harry should be Mr. Pounce.”

“Pounce? Why pounce?” said Harry.

“Remember how we first met?” said Hermione. “That's why.”

“Then you should be Miss Reynard,” said Harry.

“Wait-Reynard?” said Hermione. “Why didn't I think of that? If we're going to do
anything involving Reynard, then Blaise should be Bruin and you should be Tibert. It all fits.”

“Better than Mr. Pounce,” said Harry. “Blaise?”

“Bruin is good.”

“Right, so the new generation of Marauders is officially Mr. Tibert, Miss Reynard, and Mr.
Bruin,” announced Harry.

“So what are we going to do to announce our new names?” asked Hermione.

“A school wide prank the day before everybody leaves for Christmas,” explained Harry. “Which
reminds me, are you guys staying or leaving?”

“Staying,” said Hermione.

“Leaving. Mother insists on taking me to Rome.”

**

Roughly ten minutes before breakfast ended, people began to notice something odd. Their uniforms
changed in unison.

Instead of wearing school robes, they now wore strange green outfits with shorts for boys and
knee length skirts for the girls. Each had an apron on over their clothing and a floppy green hat
atop their head. The girls with hair long enough (and Draco), now had their hair in two braids that
were secured so that they formed loops.

The professors did not fare much better. For some reason Professor Dumbledore now wore what most
Muggleborns recognized as a Santa Clause outfit with Professor McGonagal dressed as Mrs. Clause.
The other Professors wore brown trousers and shirts along with the antlers growing out of their
heads. Several students started to giggle when they saw the way Professor Snape's nose glowed
bright red.

From some unseen source, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer began to play.

Above the teacher's table, words began to form in silver and gold. They read: A Bit of
Christmas Cheer-Courtesy of the Marauders, Magical Mischief-Makers Extraordinaire, Wishing You a
Very Merry Holiday Season, Miss Reynard, Mr. Bruin, and Mr. Tibert.

Despite various attempts, nobody was able to remove the various spells and enchantments. Anybody
who tried to change with their clothing or hair was immediately given elf-ears on top of their
enchanted outfit.

Christmas themed songs in various languages played throughout the day. By midnight, when the
enchantments finally faded, many of the students were either singing along or ready to kill the
Marauders. Snape had gone on an hour long rant during potions class. Dumbledore, however, seemed to
find the entire thing quite entertaining and stopped Snape from giving out detentions.

**

Christmas came far too quickly. Hermione was the first to awake. She crawled out of bed to find
a rather large pile of gifts that seemed to contain both Harry's gifts and her own. She put a
dressing gown over her tartan nightgown and slipped on a pair of slippers before waking Harry.

“Harry,” said Hermione. “Let's open the presents.”

“Huh?” said Harry. “Oh. Get back on the bed, I'll bring your presents there.”

“And yours,” said Hermione.

“Uh, right.”

Hermione was well aware that she and her family had been the first to give Harry anything
resembling a present. She was still amazed that he'd given her Crookshanks without expecting
anything in return.

Harry pushed aside the curtains, allowing them to receive a bit of dim light from the lake, lit
the candles, then went to collect the presents. He set them out on the bed in front of Hermione
before joining her on the bed once more.

They both received quite a bit of candy and chocolate from Theo, Daphne, Tracey, and Neville.
Harry received a copy of The Art of War from Blaise while Hermione was given a rather large book on
British Wizarding customs and related laws. Mr. and Mrs. Granger gave Harry a book on calculus
(Harry was very fond of math), and Hermione a book called The Handmaid's Tale. Gertrude sent
each a picture she'd drawn herself.

This left Harry with one present left and Hermione with two. As per usual. Every year Hermione,
Gertrude, and their mother received a present from an unknown sender. Family legend had it that the
mysterious presents were from a dead relative. All Harry had done, when he'd first been told
this, was mutter about vampires while sniffing the packages under the Granger's Christmas tree.
Hermione chose not to think to hard about who the mysterious gift giver was.

“I'll open my mystery gift, I suppose,” said Hermione.

“You never did say how long this has been going on for,” muttered Harry, looking a bit
grumpy.

Hermione shrugged. “According to Grandma, her great-grandfather remembered the gifts being sent
to his own grandparents. More than two hundred years, at least.”

“And your family hasn't tried to figure out which vamp is send you gifts yet?”

“I suppose a vampire would make sense,” shrugged Hermione. “He or she probably just wants to
send gifts to family.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Be quiet, you,” said Hermione.

She opened the gift and pulled out a set of gold combs with several pearls set in the portion
that would be visible when in her hair. A gold snood with a pearl at each chain intersection sat
just bellow the combs. Under the snood was a long gold chain with a pearl strung on it once every
four or five centimeters. There were a multitude of long hair pins with a pearl at bend of each. At
the bottom of the package was a note.

Knowing that Harry didn't understand French, Hermione read the note aloud in English, “For
your hair, granddaughter. These items are charmed to keep your hair safely coiffured in even the
most trying of times. Merely tap the combs, hair pins, snood, or chain with your wand and they
shall dress your hair in any style you choose.”

“You're not really going to use those, are you?” said Harry.

“Whoever sends these things has never once sent anything that could hurt anybody in the family
when used correctly,” snapped Hermione. With that she tapped the chain with her wand, announcing,
“Braided crown-twice around my head, chain wrapped around braids, leftover hair secured in braided
bun at base of neck with chain.”

Hermione could feel her hair braid itself as the chain wrapped around the braid, touching her
skull where it secured the braid to her head. The chain then bound the last foot or so of her hair
into a bun at the base of her neck.

One of the many disadvantages of having hair so long was that it was immensely difficult to do
anything with it. Oh, she could pin her hair up each day, but it took time. The same with braiding
her hair. Not to mention that when braided, her hair was several inches longer than when loose
because the curls had been straightened out.

When wet, her hair went past her knees-halfway to her ankles. Luckily, it became curlier as it
dried. Years ago, she'd been talking about cutting a foot or so off her hair when Harry had
mentioned that he liked her hair long. Hermione hadn't done more than have her split ends cut
off since. Not that she'd ever tell Harry that she kept her hair long for him.

“Here,” said Hermione. “Open mine.”

Harry unwrapped the gift. There were two rather books inside. One on offensive magic, the other
on defensive magic.

“Thanks,” said Harry, hugging her.

Hermione opened her last present, uncovering a wooden box with Celtic knots carved into it. She
opened the box. A gold necklace made with a Byzantine chain. A gold and pearl pendant with
complicated filigree designs was attached to the center of the chain.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times. “How-where-it's too much.”

“No, it's not,” said Harry, securing it around her neck. “It was in the family vault, it was
mine, and I decided to give it to you. There were hundreds of necklaces in there.”

“I think that's for you,” said Hermione, motioning to one last package.

Harry sniffed it, said “Dumlbedore,” then opened it.

**

Minerva watched as Mr. Potter escorted Miss Granger to the Slytherin table. Instead of their
usual robes, both wore decidedly Muggle clothing. Mr. Potter wore trousers and a button up shirt
while Miss Granger was dressed in a dark purple velvet dress. The dress was rather pretty, with
it's white lace accents. But the length of the skirt, while acceptable in the Muggle world was
practically indecent in the Wizarding world.

She comforted herself with the fact that the girl wore black stockings. For a Muggle, the outfit
was rather modest. Not that most purebloods would consider it so.

She could see Severus turned a rather interesting shade of red at the sight of one of his
Slytherins dressed in such a way. Perhaps she should explain Muggle fashion to him.

“Miss Granger,” growled Severus. “Come here this instant.”

Miss Granger shrugged at Mr. Potter before coming up to the high table. As she came closer,
Minerva noticed the gold and pearls the girl wore. Either she had had a very good Christmas or she
was dressing up in already owned objects for the holiday.

“Yes, Professor?” she said.

“What are you wearing?” demanded Severus.

“My Christmas gifts,” said Miss Granger, touching first the chain in her hair then the necklace.
“Aren't they lovely?”

“Not that,” snapped Severus. “I was speaking of your completely inappropriate attire.”

She looked down at her clothing then back up at Severus. “I thought we were allowed to wear our
own clothing when outside of class.”

“Where is the rest of your dress, Miss Granger?” Severus said slowly, as if speaking to somebody
who was mentally impaired.

“This is all there is of my dress,” explained Miss Granger. “I don't see why you would think
there should be more to it. It's the height of fashion-in Muggle Paris, at any rate. Mum sent
it to me. My family's in Paris for Christmas this year.”

“Your legs are showing,” Severus said, sounding rather angry.

“Severus,” interrupted Minerva. “Muggles often wear much less than what Miss Granger is wearing
right now. Miss Granger, why don't you go back to your seat? The feast should soon begin.”

“Yes, Professor McGonagal.”

**

Hermione was rather take with the hair accessories she had been given. As the months went by,
she was almost constantly seen wearing one or more of the hair ornaments, always accompanied by the
gold and pearl necklace.

Her fellow Slytherin females were quite jealous. And in Pansy and Millicent's case had
demanded Hermione give the jewelry to them. Both girls had quickly seen the error of their ways
when faced with an angry Harry.

Harry didn't quite get why the normally bookish Hermione liked jewelry so much, but had
decided that it was a girl thing. He also didn't understand why Hermione was studying so hard
for the finals they had left. She was the smartest witch in their year and she knew more about
magic than most third years. That he passed off as a Hermione thing.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of somebody banging on the entrance to the
Slytherin common room. Noticing that nobody else was going to go see what was going on, Harry got
up to answer the door.

An out of breath Neville stood in the doorway, looking seconds from passing out.

“Nev, what's wrong?” asked Harry.

Neville explained quickly, outlining what Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan had been
doing over the year from discovering that a three headed dog guarded the passage on the third floor
to the trap door under the dog to their conclusion that Snape was planning on stealing the thing
guarded by the dog. Apparently they had left an hour earlier to go find the object before
Snape.

“Wait-Snape?” said Harry. “What kind of idiots are they? Theo, Daphers, Trace, look after
Longbottom for me.”

He pulled Neville into the room, pointing his wand at any who thought to protest.

“What's going on?” asked Theo.

“Some Gryffs are being foolhardy idiots,” explained Harry. “Blaise, Hermione, you two can study
later.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Hermione.

“We have stupid Gryffindors to rescue,” explained Harry. “Come on.”

**

Harry starred at the hellhound and the hellhound starred at Harry. Blaise and Hermione stood to
the side, watching with mild amusement. At Harry's growl, the hellhound whimpered and backed
up.

All three of them went through the trapdoor. Luckily, as shapeshifters they had better reflexes
than normal humans and were much more durable. They landed on their feet in a pile of ash and
burned vines.

Harry sniffed the air, eyes narrowing. He recognized the scent in the room, and obviously Blaise
and Hermione had as well. While one of the professors was trying to steal the stone, it certainly
wasn't Snape.

Harry broke the locked door with one kick in a fit of annoyance rather than deal with trying to
catch an illusive flying key. In the next room they found an unconscious Ron and a crying Seamus
along with a very large chess board.

“Hermione, get them out of here,” ordered Harry. “Take the brooms in the room back there. Blaise
and I will find Dean.”

“W-What are you doing here?” demanded Seamus.

“Saving your sorry asses,” muttered Blaise.

“Neville sent us,” explained Hermione. “Now let's get out of here.”

“But-”

“Go, before I loose my temper,” Harry said, his voice monotone.

Harry and Blaise completely bypassed the chess board (it hadn't reformed from its last game
yet). They found the body of a troll, and after that Dean Thomas. He seemed to be staring at a
piece of paper intently.

“How stupid are you?” demanded Harry, ignoring the way the boy jumped.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Neville sent us. He was worried you'd get yourselves killed,” explained Blaise.

“Now come on, let's get you out of here.”

“But the Sorcerer's Stone!”

“Hmm?” said Harry.

“Snape is trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone!”

“Snape? Puh-lease,” said Blaise.

“Give me that,” said Harry, taking the paper from Dean's hands. He read it twice, studied
the seven vials in front of him, then handed one to Blaise. “You and Dean drink this one. It will
get you back through that fire. I'll go see if anybody's really trying to steal
anything.”

Blaise stared at Harry for a long moment before forcing some of the potion down an unwilling
Dean's throat and taking some for himself. He put the vial back down, then dragged Dean through
the fire.

Harry downed the proper potion and headed onwards. He had a feeling this wouldn't end
well.

**

Harry groaned. Why couldn't he remember the license plate number of the bus that had hit
him? Oh, wait-he'd foolishly taken on Voldemort. Crap. He should have been more intelligent
than that.

Luckily the disembodied bastard hadn't gotten the Philosopher's Stone from him. For some
reason-Harry still didn't know why, his skin had burned Quirrell's worse than silver burned
a lycanthrope's. Then he'd blacked out.

He opened his eyes slowly. A white ceiling, the antiseptic smell. Shit. He was in the hospital
wing.

“How long, Mr. Potter?” asked a soft, female voice Harry didn't quite recognize.

“Who are you?” demanded Harry.

“Madame Pomphrey, school Medi-Witch,” said an older looking woman in an outfit rather similar to
what women wore at the turn of the century. “How long ago were you infected?”

Harry paled. “W-who else knows?”

“Nobody, Mr. Potter. Patient-Healer privilege. Nobody, not even Dumbledore or the Minister of
Magic himself can get that information from me,” she said, everything about her sincere. “Before
you ask, Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger stayed until visiting hours were over. Now, how long ago were
you infected, and what strain?”

“Wereleopard, five years ago,” Harry said dully. “What are you going to do?”

“Do you have a safe place you can go during the full moon?”

“Yes, both here and at home. Why?”

Madame Pomphrey sighed. “So long as you don't infect or injure another student, I shall do
nothing. But please, if you need anything, come see me.”

**

After a rather confusing conversation with Dumbledore, Harry had been released from the Hospital
Wing. The remainder of the school year had passed without incident, and soon enough he was heading
home.

Harry had to wonder what the Dursleys would do when he got back. He'd only left them a note
saying that he was going to Hogwarts and would be back next summer. They likely wouldn't want
him back in the house at all.

-->



5. Chapter 5
------------



Chapter 5

“You want us to do what?”

“Oh, honestly Harry,” said Hermione. “It's just a family vacation. And many chances will you
get to see a Lesser Smokey Mountain Troll?”

“B-but-troll and you know,” stuttered Harry. “And what about passports?”

“They're small, cute, furry and very shy,” explained Hermione. “And as far as my parents
know, the Dursleys have already given you their permission.”

“Huh? How did you manage that?” asked Harry.

The two of them were sitting on their trunks waiting for Hermione's parents to arrive at the
station to pick them up. Harry was beginning to think that Hermione had told them to pick her up at
the wrong time. Hermione had handed Crookshanks off to Blaise before he left, asking him to take
care of her cat while she was on vacation.

“I told them you'd be coming when I mailed them your passport.” Hermione paused. “You might
want to do something about Gringotts. I think they thought that I was speaking for you when I asked
them to provide you with a passport. You'd be amazed what Muggle documents they can provide to
Wizards. Anyway, they sent me a self-updating passport for you without even questioning me. And my
parents have already arranged everything else.”

“Why would they give you my passport?” said Harry.

Hermione shrugged. “I think it's because you took me down to your family vault with you.
Well, it's the only thing I can think of anyway.”

“Why didn't you mention any of this to me earlier?” demanded Harry. “And why did you plan
this without my say-so?”

Hermione bit her lip, and looked down. “I didn't want to get your hopes up. You know, if we
couldn't get you a passport. And then when it came, you were in the hospital wing and then
things got so busy and I didn't know if you would want to come and you don't really need to
come I just wanted you to and-”

Harry put a hand over her mouth. “I'll go. Just ask me first next time. Are there any local
weres?”

“I have the number for the local Ulfric. Lorelei sent it to me. She said that there weren't
any cats or foxes nearby, but I thought you'd want to call.” Hermione bit her lip. “And
we're staying at the Blue Moon Cabins, which is owned by said Ulfric-not that Mum and Dad know
that.”

“Give me the number,” said Harry. “I'll go call this Ulfric. Do you know his name?”

“Uh, Verne, I think.”

“Right. So when will we leave and when will we arrive?”

“Early tomorrow morning. We should be there by late afternoon, early evening-their time.
They're in Tennessee, by the way.”

“I'll be right back. While I'm gone, write Blaise a note asking him to look after Hedwig
this summer.” Harry turned to the owl. “Girl, you're going to have to stay with Blaise. Customs
is not a nice place for owls. So deliver the note to Blaise and watch out for him, ok? I won't
be there to watch his back.”

Hedwig hooted. Satisfied that his familiar understood his instructions, Harry went off in search
of a phone booth.

**

“Verne, phone.”

The werewolf stood and moved to enter the building. “Who is it?”

Roxanne shrugged. “Some kid. Said he needed to speak to you and only you.”

“Blue Moon Cabins,” said Verne, picking up the phone.

A young British male who's voice sounded as if it was starting to change said, “Uh, hi. Are
you Verne?”

“Yes. How may I help you?”

“The Granger family should be arriving sometime tomorrow,” said the boy. “And they don't
know about uh… my furry problem. But a friend gave me your number. Said you were the local, you
know.”

“Your leader should be the one to ask permission for you to enter our territory, kid,” growled
Verne.

“I'm not a member of any clan,” said the boy. “Cat flavored, not wolf. And there'll be a
fox animagus coming as well.”

“Ani-what?”

“Animagus. It's a type of shapeshifter not governed by the moon. She's harmless,
couldn't infect anybody if she tried, but she's under my protection.”

“Start from the beginning,” said Verne, having calmed down somewhat. He'd heard the term
animagus before, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where. “What type are you, why
don't you have a group, why did you wait so long to call, and why is a fox under a cat's
protection?”

“Leopard. I live in England. There isn't enough of my kind in the country to form a football
team let alone make a pard,” said the kid. “My name is Harry Potter. Hermione Granger is the
animagus-and no her parents don't know. I'm sure they would have thrown a fit if they knew
their twelve year old daughter and her friend are shapeshifters. I wasn't even told that
I'd been invited to go on vacation with the Grangers until ten minutes ago. You have no right
to expect an answer to the last question. And this call was made out of courtesy, not because I
needed your permission to exist. I don't want to have any problems with your wolves. It's a
vacation. We're going to relax, not to fight.”

Verne let out a sigh. “The fox is twelve?”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Harry, how old are you?”

“Eleven,” the kid mutter.

An eleven year old? Shit. What sort of sick fuck infected a kid?

“I'll warn the rest of the pack. No killing other than wild animals and no fighting with any
member of the pack unless they challenge you. Understood?”

“I can live with that. I'll make sure Hermione knows as well,” said the boy, sounding rather
relieved. “Thanks.”

“No problem, kid.”

**

Harry watched, eyes bright as they drove along the side of a mountain. So much forest. So many
places to explore and hunt in. He could practically feel Hermione's excitement. He knew she
wanted to run in the forest as much as he did.

From what he understood, the Grangers generally went to someplace in Europe for their summer
vacation, but with Hermione's interest in the preternatural, they'd decided to come out to
Tennessee on the off chance that they'd see one of the Lesser Smokey Mountain Trolls
instead.

As for the Dursleys… he wouldn't actually have to see them until August. When he'd
called the house, nobody had picked up, so he'd told them he was staying with a friend for July
and would be back for August. If worse came to worse and they actually kicked him out, Harry knew
he could always live in the forest next to Hillsdale or convert some of his Wizarding money to
Muggle money and take a room someplace. Although he'd have to be particularly careful if he did
the latter.

He'd left all but three of his knives and the machete hidden in various places in the
Granger's house. There were only so many objects he could hide with magic before somebody
noticed. At least this way he wouldn't have to worry overly much about a lack of weapons.

While Harry did not know how to use a sword, he was very familiar with knives. Even before
he'd become infected, Harry had known how to use one. Dudley wasn't the only danger in
Little Whinging and carrying a weapon was always a good idea, no matter how safe the adults thought
the neighborhood was.

As for the sword, he'd already talked to Blaise about that. With some luck, Blaise would be
able to locate a good tutor. Harry really wanted to learn to use one.

Leopold parked the rental car in the small lot in front of the main cabin. He turned back and
said, “Hermione, Harry, watch Trudy and stay within yelling distance while Bronwyn and I get us
checked in.”

Once the children agreed, they hurried out of the backseat. They'd been cooped up for what
felt like days.

Knowing how long the trip would be, Hermione had worn jeans and a t-shirt instead of her usual
outfits which consisted of skirts and dresses. Her hair was tied into a tight braid that ended less
than half a foot above her ankles Harry had dressed much the same, his hair tied back in a pony
tail. Gertrude, on the other hand, had been dressed by Mrs. Granger. She wore a dress and her waist
length hair was in two French braids.

Hermione quickly got Gertrude interested in some sort of hand game while Harry boredly walked on
his hands. He would have loved to have gone for a run in the forest, but he settled for doing
gymnastic moves instead.

Hearing somebody approach, Harry righted himself, making sure to stay between the girls and
whoever it was. A werewolf-and a powerful one at that.

The man was rather tall with dark skin and long hair tied into a multitude of braid with beads
in them. The man tilted his head to the side in a rather dog-like way, studying them. He raised an
eyebrow at Harry.

With a mental shrug, Harry studied the man as well. Definitely werewolf, so hopefully he'd
avoid a fight. Verne had said they would be allowed in his territory.

“Harry Potter and Hermione Granger?” said the man. “I am Jamil, Skoll of the Thronos Rokke
Clan.”

Harry nodded, then added, “And Hermione's younger sister Gertrude.”

The man glanced at the girls, then said, “Verne has already explained your presence and would
like to speak with you when you can get away from your guardians.”

“Is he within yelling distance?” asked Harry.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger just said that Hermione and I had to stay within yelling distance. If you
can delay them and swear that Gertrude won't be harmed in any way or find out about Hermione
and I, we can speak to Verne now.”

Another nod, then Jamil motioned for another werewolf. Once the man was within hearing distance,
Jamil said, “Tell Roxanne to delay Mr. and Mrs. Granger while Verne and Richard speak to the
visitors. The girl is under my protection until the meeting is over. Send somebody to tell Richard
and Verne we're coming now.”

The werewolf gave a nod of acknowledgement then ran off.

“Come on.”

“Hermione, Gertrude, we're going for a walk,” announced Harry.

Giving Harry a questioning glance, Hermione picked up Gertrude, balancing her on her hip and
walked over. Her eyes widened when she took in Jamil. She took a step closer to Harry. Without a
second thought Harry gave her a one armed hug, acknowledging that Hermione was under his
protection.

The four-nearly five-year old snuggled closer to Hermione, letting her head rest on her
shoulder. She yawned, then wrapped her arms around Hermione's neck. Following Jamil and Harry,
Hermione put a hand against the back of Getrude's head.

She said two words in Greek, allowing a tendril of magic to flow from her body to
Gertrude's. The girl let out another yawn before drifting off to sleep.

“What was that?” asked Jamil.

“Sleep spell,” said Harry. “She'll either wake up on her own in a couple hours or one of us
will wake her. This way Gertrude doesn't hear anything we don't want her to.”

**

Richard watched the three children with interest. He hadn't quite known what to expect when
Verne had told them that a wereleopard and a fox shapeshifter would be spending a month there, but
he certainly hadn't expected two children young enough to be his students. The third was a girl
no more than four or five sleeping in the fox's arms. Perhaps a sister, judging by the
resemblance.

Verne had invited Richard to attend his meeting with the two shapeshifters. Since it wasn't
his territory, it wasn't necessary for him to meet them.

“Harry, Hermione,” said Verne.

“Hullo sir,” said Harry. He gave Richard a questioning look.

“Richard is a visiting Ulfric from St. Louis. Now, what are your plans while you are here?” he
asked.

Harry motioned toward Hermione who said, “We'll be doing whatever Mum and Dad want us to do.
I think we'll be heading to Nashville for a couple days, but the rest of the time will be spent
here, hiking on the mountain and stuff like that. Harry and I were thinking of camping out in the
woods for a couple days if you didn't mind.”

“I've already checked about Nashville,” added Harry. “Hermione and I shouldn't run into
any problems up there. If you don't mind, Hermione and I would like to spend the full moon in
the forest-if you do, we'll find someplace else. Oh, do you mind if we practice magic? We
won't do anything to the locals, but we promised Gertrude that we'd start teaching her this
summer.”

Now that he took a closer look, Richard noticed that all three children were rather powerful
witches. Harry and Hermione had rather good shields. If he hadn't known they were shifters from
the beginning, it probably would have taken several minutes for him to pick up on it.

“You may camp in the woods and use it during the full moon, but all other magic must be approved
and supervised by vargamor,” announced Verne. “The rest is all acceptable. If you venture into the
woods, I suggest you keep an eye out for the local vampires.”

“Ah,” said Harry, clearly understanding Verne's warning. “Don't worry, I live near
London. The locals are very… old fashioned.”

Richard remembered quite well what had happened in London less than two weeks earlier. The local
master hadn't quite taken to being a public figure and had gone insane, leading to a massacre.
He'd been told what the master had been like before then and couldn't help but agree that
Colin was quite like him, though much less powerful.

Hermione bit her lip, then said, “We know wards to keep vampires and their servants out.
We've used them before-around my parent's property and the forest Harry uses during the
full moon back home. If we go camping, I won't feel safe unless we put those wards around
wherever we sleep. I could teach your vargamor how to put up the wards in exchange for being
allowed to put them around our campsites.”

Harry gave her a sharp look. Hermione paled, then looked down.

“What's wrong?” asked Richard.

“Those wards are Potter family spells,” said Harry. “Just because I taught them to Hermione does
not mean that she can teach herself or offer them to others.”

“If these wards work, what do you want in exchange for teaching them to our vargamor?” asked
Verne.

“They'll work,” growled Harry, obviously offended. “My family specializes in warding. I
would not dishonor the family name by offering a defective ward. In exchange for teaching the spell
to your vargamor, he or she must swear on oath of my specification to never pass on this knowledge
without my knowledge, Hermione and I will be allowed to set up this ward in a ten foot perimeter
around whichever cabin we and the rest of the Grangers are assigned along with our campsites and we
will be taught an unfamiliar spell, ritual, or potion of lesser value than this ward by your
vargamor. We are, of course, more than willing to swear the same oath about whatever your vargamor
teaches us.”

“What are the requirements of this ward and what does it do?”

“It requires several pieces of stone carved with certain symbols-depending upon size and
strength, a couple candles, and a ritual performed at either sunset or sunrise. The ritual itself
needs some of the blood of the caster and for the caster to say a long, complicated spell.”

“Should our vargamor agree, I see no reason to refuse this exchange,” said Verne. “I will speak
to you again once I've spoken to her.”

Harry nodded his acceptance.

“May I ask what you meant by family spells?” said Richard.

“Sure,” said Harry. “My father was the last in a long line of magic users. In certain magical
societies, families specialize in particular types of magic and develop spells, potions, etcetera
accordingly. The Potters were warders, so we have a great number of different ward spells and
rituals that were developed by and kept within the family.”

“How long a line?” asked Richard.

“Since the ninth century.”

“More than a millennia,” said Richard, a bit shocked. He'd heard of families like that, but
hadn't quite expected to meet a member of one.

“Actually, nearly three millennia, I should have specified,” said Harry. “My first known magical
ancestor was born sometime in the early ninth century, B.C.”

Richard would have said something if he wasn't sure that the boy was telling the truth.
Everything about the boy suggested that he was.

Deciding to change the subject, Verne said, “Harry didn't explain your type of shapeshifter
to me very well over the phone, Hermione.”

“Oh,” she said. “I'm a fox animagus. It means that instead of being infected or cursed, I
used my own magic to make me a shapeshifter. Including myself, there are eleven known animagi in
the British Isles. But I'm not registered and three of the ones I know of weren't
registered either. Technically, we're supposed to register, but I'd rather risk being fined
a couple thousand pounds. The government has no qualms about using people if it suits them.”

“They added a year in Azkaban to the fine last year,” said Harry.

Hermione let out an annoyed growl. “Fascist pigs.”

Verne and Richard shared a look. “But how do you `use your magic to make you a
shapeshifter'? Does it involve pelts of shapeshifters?”

“What? No,” said Hermione. “The animagus transformation is less powerful than being a true
shapeshifter, but I chose it because I didn't want to hurt anybody or have a curse that would
be passed on to my children put on me. Harry, could you hold Trudy?”

Harry took the sleeping child from Hermione.

“I'll show you,” said Hermione.

Before anybody could react, Hermione had called up her beast and started to transform. It was
unlike any transformation he'd ever seen before. There was no left over goo or torn clothing.
In fact, if Richard had not seen the girl transform, he never would have believed that the
adolescent fox in front of him was really Hermione.

She moved around a bit, leaving Richard to wonder why her clothing was nowhere to be seen and
where most of the girl's mass had gone before transforming back. She was completely clothed and
none-the-worse for her impromptu session as a fox. Her hair was even still braided.

“I can't figure out where the clothing or the other four fifths of her weight go either,”
said Harry. “It's just part of what makes the animagus transformation the animagus
transformation. And don't even get me started on how many times she can transform in an hour
without getting tired.”

“I'll speak to you two again tomorrow,” said Verne. “Your parents will be worried if you two
don't get back out to them.”

They nodded and scurried off. Once they were out of earshot, Richard turned to question
Verne.

“What do you know of those two?”

“The girl wasn't a shapeshifter before she went off to Scotland with the boy for school. The
local packs generally don't mess with the boy anymore. He's killed all male challengers.
They were nasty deaths at that. They're both members of a coven run by the mother of the Ulfric
of the pack in London-but neither know it. The woman's name is Lorelei” Verne shook his head.
“They attend a school of magic in Scotland for a hidden magical society.”

“Hidden magical society?”

“Apparently Marianne attended one of their schools in Salem as well. From what she, members of
this society are all strong witches that officially broke away from the rest of the world during
the inquisition in Spain. Their numbers are around three millions and they regularly recruit
witches without magical families or witches that they consider powerful enough when they are
eleven. The boy's family really is that old. From what I understand, he's famous for
accidentally killing a dark wizard when he was an infant.”

**

The cabin was actually very nice. At least in Harry's opinion. There were two bedroom, a
bathroom and a kitchen/living room/dining room. The Grangers had taken the main bedroom, put
Hermione and Gertrude in the other bedroom, and set Harry up on the foldout couch.

Once they'd all woken up, Mr. and Mrs. Granger gathered supplies for lunch and water to
drink before taking the children on a hike. They'd had quite a bit of fun with that one, though
both Hermione and Harry had ached to explore on their own. Once they'd returned to the cabin,
Harry and Hermione had set out to find Verne. Hopefully they'd be allowed to put up the
necessary wards.

**

Marianne studied the children in front of her. It wasn't often that she'd run into
fairly competent witches less than thirteen years in age. Then again, they were wizards.

She'd always felt rather annoyed at the British government for their actions during the war
against Voldemort. The way they idolized Harry Potter for surviving where his parents did not just
made it all the worse.

The boy in front of her was nothing like the stories of a spoiled, arrogant child. Then again,
the Daily Prophet was not reliable and they obviously had no idea their savior was a lycanthrope.
Marianne knew quite well that if the Wizarding world knew what Harry Potter was, he'd be
shunned. They were quite unreasonable about lycanthropes. Much worse the Muggles, in fact.

“I know you're a wereleopard, but I don't know what you are,” said Marianne.

“Fox animagus, ma'am,” said Hermione.

Marianne quickly raised her respect for the girl's magical abilities. “I didn't become a
wolf animagus until I was in my twenties.”

“Really?” said Hermione.

“Well, that explains why you're their vargamor,” said Harry. “Why doesn't your Ulfric
know…”

“Verne knows that I'm a wolf shapeshifter, but I only explained that I was an animagus
once.”

“Ah,” said Harry. “So, since you've agreed to the terms, I'll need a magical oath not to
purposefully reveal the method to the anti-vampire wards.”

“Completely understandable, Harry,” said Marianne. “I'll be teaching you two legilimency in
exchange. I'd originally planned to teach you occlumency, but your shields are already very
good. And before you ask, I will not ask you to swear an oath.”

“That's really too much,” protested Hermione.

“Nonesense. Legilimency is a common spell and this ward is a family spell. Though training in
legilimency is rare, it is still less valuable than a family spell.”

**

Harry led the way, more in touch with the forest than he had been for days. Hermione and Harry
had carefully arranged it so that they would be on a three day camping trip during the full
moon.

Though a bit reluctant at first, Hermione's parents had eventually agreed when the two had
mentioned that they wanted to see nature in its purest form and couldn't with Gertrude tagging
along. Hermione still couldn't believe that they'd bought that excuse.

“Greetings fellow travelers.”

Harry and Hermione stopped short. They turned to see a pretty blonde girl hanging from a tree by
her knees. She blinked at them with her large eyes.

Harry couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't been able to sense, hear, or smell her
before. Reaching out with his senses, his eyes widened. The girl was certainly a witch, perhaps
more than a witch.

“Hullo,” said Hermione. “I'm Hermione Granger and this is-”

“Harry Potter.” The girl flipped, landing on her feet. “I'm Luna Lovegood. Did you know you
were a wereleopard?'

“Yes, actually,” said Harry, now sure that the girl was a member of the Wizarding world. “How
did you know?”

“You feel like a cat.” Luna gave Hermione a second look, then let out a loud laugh. “It's
supposed to be the fox and the hound not the fox and the leopard.”

“Uh, right,” said Hermione. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“Daddy and I are searching for our jackalope cousins.” Luna paused, finger on her chin. “Well,
we're searching for my jackalope cousins. I'm related to them through Mummy, not
Daddy.”

“Uh huh. How are you related to jackalopes exactly?” Harry asked, rather sure he didn't want
to hear the answer.

Luna gave them a disbelieving look. “Everybody knows that jackalopes are the colonial cousins of
wolpertingers.”

“What's a wolpertinger?” asked Harry.

“Made up creature from Germany,” said Hermione.

“I am not made up!” snapped Luna, stomping her foot.

-->



6. Chapter 6
------------



Chapter 6

“Uh, Hermione, I think you should apologize to Luna.”

“Why should I?” demanded Hermione.

“Remember our books-aren't-always-right conversation?” asked Harry. At Hermione's nod,
Harry continued. “A lot of those supposedly mythical and made up creatures are real. Micah said
that Jackalopes were real, but very rare. He had a run-in with one years ago.”

“Oooh, where?” asked Luna, distracted from her annoyance.

Harry shrugged. “Near his parents home, but he didn't say where that was.”

Luna pouted. “Ah well.”

“You're really a wolpertinger?” said Hermione.

Luna nodded. “I inherited it from Mummy. But I already told you that.”

“What is a wolpertinger exactly, anyway?” asked Harry.

“Sorry,” said Hermione. “Uh, maybe you should explain, Luna. I mean, you did say you were a
wolpertinger.”

“Well,” said Luna, plopping down on a large rock. “About fifteen hundred years ago, my
ancestress, Maren got into a fight with a Roman wizard who cursed her-this was back when the Romans
were trying to subjugate the Germanic peoples. But he couldn't decide which animal to curse her
to be, so he mixed and matched. As a result, the wolpertinger was created. Anyway, we have the body
of a rabbit, the wings of a swan, teeth of a cat, and antlers of a stag. I wonder if he created the
Crumple-Horned Snorkack as well.”

“Oh.” Harry quickly decided not to annoy a wolpertinger unless he was sure he could win. “I know
you don't go to Hogwarts.”

“I'm starting my first year there in September,” said Luna.

“Of course,” sighed Hermione.

**

A great deal of time over the next three days were spent with Luna. While a bit… out there, she
was certainly interesting. Although seeing her transform into a wolpertinger had been a bit
strange-especially since she was the size of a normal rabbit.

By the time Harry and Hermione had returned to the Blue Moon cabins, they'd already arranged
to meet Luna in Diagon Alley on the same day as when they were meeting Blaise. Harry had bought a
yearlong subscription to the Quibbler when he'd realized that while it did have blatantly
untrue stories in it (always about the Wizarding world), the rest of the stories were true (these
were on what was happening in the Muggle preternatural community).

While Hermione had a subscription to four national and international Wizarding newspapers, none
of them reported on the Muggle world. Not to mention that they were amazingly inaccurate.
Especially when it came to current events. Mr. and Mrs. Granger forwarded another three Muggle
newspapers to Hermione as well. One local paper, a national paper, and an international paper.

Harry thought that the number of papers Hermione received was a bit excessive, even if only two
were daily-the rest being weekly-but Hermione claimed they were tools and research materials for
her future plans. That had shut Harry up rather quickly.

As for Harry, he subscribed to several magazines. During the school year, Harry had decided that
he might as well spend some of the money in his trust vault on something useful, and so had bought
several subscriptions to various monthly magazines. These included three published by various
lycanthrope communities, Transfiguration Today, Soldier of Fortune, five magazines published by
various covens, Dueling International (one of the best magazines about magical dueling), the
Quibbler, Challenges in Charming, The Practical Potioneer, Dark Arts (the Wizarding equivalent of
Soldier of Fortune combined with information on useful spells), and National Geographic.

As for Nashville… that had been uneventful. They'd gone to the Grande Ol' Opry, seen the
Parthenon, the zoo, the Tennessee State Museum, the Country Music Hall of Fame (apparently Mrs.
Granger loved American country music), and the Cheekwood Botanical Garden and Museum of Art.

While the children had enjoyed visiting those places, both were grateful to once more be in the
wilderness. Even if they were surrounded by werewolves, both couldn't help but like the
area.

“Hi, Marianne,” said Hermione, waving to the witch.

“You two ready for your lessons?” asked Marianne.

“Yup.”

Harry yawned, then nodded, carrying Gertrude. “After that, can we start teaching Gertrude how to
scry?”

“I don't see why not.”

**

Richard blinked at the sight in front of him. Hermione and Gertrude were playing a jump rope
game while Harry read something, a magazine on his lap. The most unusual part of the entire scene
was the snowy white owl sitting on Harry's shoulder, affectionately preening his hair.

“Hi, Richard,” said Harry, not bothering to look up from his spot on a tree stump.

“Harry. Who's your friend?” asked Richard, stepping into the clearing.

“Oh, this is my familiar, Hedwig.” Harry shrugged, careful not to disturb the owl. “She was just
delivering a letter from one of our friends.”

“Why would you use an owl to deliver messages?” Richard sat down a couple feet from Harry and
Hermione.

“Because the Wizarding world is strange and its people are several centuries behind the times.
Don't bother to deny it-Hermione and I know Marianne told you and Verne about the magical
community we're members of.” Harry shook his head. “Damn interfering House-Elves.”

“House-Elves?”

“You don't want to know. Let's just say that one of them is in a lot of trouble right
now.” Harry paused. “If somebody wanted to get the degree-uh, GCSE, I think-without actually
attending school, how hard is it?”

“If the person had tutors, not that hard. Why?”

“Well, the school we go to only teaches magic, not you know, normal stuff. And I was thinking
about what Hermione and I were going to do once we were out of there and unless we have those sorts
of degrees, we'll never be able to get good jobs or go to a university or anything. We'll
be trapped with them.”

That gave Richard pause. He hadn't considered that when he'd heard of the hidden
society. The kid was going to him for help.

“If you and Hermione are willing to actually work on this, I could help you,” Richard said
slowly. If he remembered correctly, to get a General Certificate of Secondary Education, one had to
pass a set of exams around the age of sixteen. “I teach middle school biology over in St. Louis. I
can look up the requirements for the exams you need to take send you schoolwork and assignments
that will help you learn what you need to know to pass the needed exams.”

Harry gave him a grateful smile. “Uh, it might be more than just Hermione and I that want to do
this. We were talking about starting a study group for people interested in normal schooling as
well as magical.”

“Who would be in charge of this group?” asked Richard.

“Hermione. Back when we were in normal school, she skipped two grades.”

“Huh,” said Richard. “If you want to do this group for more than thirty people, I won't be
able to do it. But I'll find you another tutor.”

Harry snorted. “We'll be lucky if we can find fifteen among the sheep we call classmates.
How do you want to do this? I have a P.O. Box that my normal magazines and Hermione's
newspapers are sent to. I set it up so that anything sent there will be forwarded to me by mail.
You could send stuff there and then I can owl assignments and stuff back to you.”

**

Once Richard left, Hermione walked over to Harry. “What's going on?”

“Richard agreed to help our Muggle study group-he's a biology teacher in St. Louis,”
explained Harry. “And Draco has been a very bad boy.”

“What did Draco do?” asked Hermione.

“He had our letters stopped,” explained Harry. “His House-Elf was trying to take our mail, but
Mrs. Zabini's House-Elf caught him. Anyway, the Malfoys are in trouble for messing with mail
and Blaise has forwarded everything to us.”

“Why would Draco order our mail stopped?”

Harry shrugged. “We have mail from Theo, Trace, Daphers, Blaise, Neville, the Weasley twins, and
Hogwarts.”

“You know Daphne hates it when you call her Daphers.” Harry smirked, to which Hermione rolled
her eyes. “Which are mine?”

**

Hermione paused, not quite wanting to believe what she'd just read. Surely it was a practice
no longer considered valid. The entire idea was just strange and outdated.

But the book had been given to her by Blaise. Not to mention that he'd assured her that
everything within the book was valid Wizarding custom and law. Had Blaise known when he'd given
her the book? No-neither Hermione nor Harry had told him how they'd first met.

She'd need to do research-quite a bit of research-before she brought this to Harry's
attention.

**

Harry ambled down Privet Drive, trying to decide the best approach. After their return to
England, Harry had left his trunk at the Granger's home along with Hedwig. Better to be too
careful than not careful enough-at least in his opinion.

He had no idea what the Dursleys would do when he arrived, but he wasn't taking any chances.
He'd even left his wand with Hermione. Harry was quite sure that if they could, Uncle Vernon
would snap it.

He let himself into the house, careful to keep the wall at his back. It didn't take long to
find Aunt Petunia, cooking something that was supposed to resemble food.

“I'm back,” announced Harry, watching with a detached sort of interest as Aunt Petunia spun
around, nearly spilling the food.

“What are you doing here, you ungrateful little freak?” demanded Aunt Petunia.

“I live here. Remember?”

She glared at him for a moment before saying, “You're behind on your chores. Go clean the
gutters, mow the lawn, and weed the garden.”

That had certainly gone better than he'd thought it would. But Aunt Petunia's reaction
was not a clear indicator of what Uncle Vernon would do.

**

“Hi, Mrs. Figg,” said Harry. “Do you need any yard work done?”

The woman smiled at Harry. “Of course. The garden just hasn't been the same without you to
tend it. How long until you go off to school?”

“I'm leaving on the first of September.”

Harry quickly got Mrs. Figg caught up with an edited version of his school year. Even if he did
have a lot of money, he certainly didn't have more than a handful of pounds with him. While
he'd converted some of his galleons to pounds the year before, they certainly wouldn't last
long and Harry didn't feel like wasting his money to go to the bank when he could do some easy
yard work for Mrs. Figg instead.

**

Blaise read the letter in his hands again. This was unexpected. But he knew that Muggles did not
consider things such as life debts to be of much importance.

Magic had a mind of its own, no matter how hard wizards tried to control it. Magic would do
things to life debts and contracts and oaths made between magic users. Things that Muggles would
never even dream of.

At least the girl had asked for help and clarification of the customs and laws regarding this.
But once Blaise had learned exactly what had happened between the two, he knew that there was
really no way out.

Well, no way out without incurring the wrath of magic itself.

With a sigh he sent a letter to Hermione asking for a meeting between himself, Hermione, and
Harry before their appointed meeting in Diagon Alley. Once he'd sent that letter, he wrote a
letter to his grandfather, the head of the House of Zabini. Perhaps he would be able to think of
something Blaise had missed.

After a moment's pause, Blaise wrote out several other letters. One to Andromeda Black-Tonks
and another to the solicitor in his mother's employ. Once that was done he went off in search
of his mother.

**

Less than a minute after Harry entered the Granger house, a book had been thrust into his arms
with the order of “Read.” Though a bit confused, Harry gingerly sat down and began to read the
marked section.

He was still a bit black and blue from the beating Uncle Vernon had given him, but luckily all
the bones had healed correctly. Not to mention that Uncle Vernon had been satisfied with the
beating, meaning that so long as he didn't draw too much attention to himself, the Dursleys
would likely ignore him until he left again.

Harry read the section with twice, almost unable to believe what he was seeing in front of him.
Sure, he'd saved Hermione's life the day they'd met, but there was no reason for a life
debt to be such a serious thing. At least in Harry's opinion.

“Is this true?” Harry asked softly.

“I think so,” replied Hermione. “I sent Blaise a letter-to make sure that the laws in the book
were up to date-and he's invited us for a meeting at his home in Hertfordshire tomorrow. His
letter said something about him making sure there were people who could help us at the
meeting.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Who'd he say would be there, how are we getting there, and what time
is this meeting?”

“He didn't say who would be there, but he did say his family solicitor would be there,” said
Hermione. “It's at one, but he wanted us there for lunch at twelve so that we could meet some
of the people. And we're taking a train to Kings Cross and then catching another train to his
town. From there I have walking directions.”

“Right. Should we wear robes or something?”

“He didn't say,” shrugged Hermione. “Slacks and a button up shirt for you and I'll see
if I can find a skirt long enough for those wizards. Tomorrow isn't a good day to offend them.
Oh, and Mum and Dad know we're visiting Blaise, so Trudy will be with them.”

**

It took what seemed like forever for Hermione to decide what to wear and how to do her hair.
Although her parents had been a bit confused about Hermione's sudden interest in fashion until
she mentioned that Blaise had inherited a title from his maternal grandfather.

Harry still thought that Hermione looked a bit out of place when they got off the train.
Although she'd covered her hair with a pretty scarf with green designs, Harry knew that her
hair was in an elegant up-do involving her two combs and several of the pins. She wore a matching
green sundress that reached her ankles, barely showing the sandals she wore.

Once they were on their way, Hermione took the scarf off her head, revealing it had been folded
in half lengthwise. Once unfolded, she wrapped it around her shoulders as a shawl.

At Harry's confused look, Hermione explained, “The Wizarding world doesn't like it when
women show their shoulders or anything above their ankles. You know they're still in the Dark
Ages when it comes to things like that.”

“Maybe after you get the whole labor union thing going, you could work on witch's rights,”
suggested Harry as they walked up a stone path to a rather large house.

“Perhaps.”

Harry knocked on the door, noting that the house had no electrical or phone lines. A moment
later a small House-Elf opened the door.

“May Mipsy help Sir and Miss?” said the elf.

“Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to see Blaise Zabini,” said Harry.

“This way please. Master Blaise is expectin you.”

They followed Mipsy to a small dining room. Blaise, who had been speaking to several adults when
they arrived, stood.

“Mistress Hermy and Master Harry to see you Master Blaise.”

“Thanks, Mipsy. Why don't you get them some tea,” said Blaise. Once Mipsy had disappeared,
Blaise turned to Harry and Hermione. “Hey guys. We were just about to start lunch.”

“Blaise,” said Harry while Hermione hugged him.

“Right, these are my friends, Mr. Harry Potter, heir to the House of Potter and the House of
Black and Miss Hermione Granger,” said Blaise. “This is my mother, Lady Sabine Zabini, my
grandfather, Lord Marcus Zabini, head of the House of Zabini, Mrs. Andromeda Black-Tonks, and Mr.
John Jameson, the Zabini family solicitor.”

Hermione gracefully took the seat Blaise indicated, next to Lady Zabini, allowing Harry to pull
the chair out for her. Harry had been taken out to upscale places often enough by the Grangers to
remember what to do. Harry then took the seat between Blaise and Mrs. Black-Tonks.

Harry faintly remembered reading about Andromeda Black in his father's diary. Though
he'd done research on his fathers friends and had discovered-much to his anger-that Sirius
Black had been the one to betray his parents to Voldemort, Harry knew that Andromeda had been his
godmother. From what he understood, she'd been banned from contacting him before he entered
Hogwarts because of her relation to Sirius.

“How is your daughter?” asked Harry, remembering that the girl would have graduated Hogwarts the
year before he entered. “Nymphadora, right?”

Andromeda smiled at him. “She's about to enter her third year at the Auror Academy.
She's been doing quite well. Although for some reason she insists on being referred to by her
surname.”

Harry tried not to laugh. The Black family was worse about picking names for their children then
his own grandparents (honestly, who named a child Petunia?).

“May I ask what this is about?” said Andromeda. “Your friend did not explain.”

“A life debt, between myself and Hermione,” said Harry. “I'm assuming you know that Muggles
don't give much thought to that sort of thing. Hermione and I only found out about the
Wizarding laws concerning life debts two weeks ago.”

Her face turned serious. “We'll speak more of this after lunch. May I ask, though, whether
you saved her life or she saved yours?”

“I pushed her out of the way of a speeding car.”

She nodded. “If you ever need time away from you Muggle relatives, you are more than welcome in
the Tonks home, Harry.”

“Thanks, ma'am.'

The conversation at the table was a bit stilted, but that was likely because of the situation
they were in. Although Lady Zabini occasionally threw Hermione a look that said she considered the
girl beneath her, she never gave any other sign of her displeasure.

Once lunch had ended, they withdrew to a cozy sitting room. Harry sat on a couch between
Hermione and Andromeda. He rather liked the woman, and knowing that the Ministry of magic had
stopped her from taking him in, had decided to be forgiving.

Blaise sat in a chair next to Hermione while Lady Zabini sat across from Harry. Lord Zabini sat
next to her and Mr. Jameson sat between Blaise and Lady Zabini.

“Now, Master Zabini said that you had a legal problem, but did not explain what it was,” said
Mr. Jameson.

“I saved Hermione's life, four, nearly five years ago,” said Harry. “It's how we first
met. At the time, we were familiar with the Muggle magical community, but not the Wizarding magical
community. Her parents have on several occasions said that they'd like a son like
me-they're Muggles, they had no idea what their statements would mean. I gave Hermione her
familiar four years ago, and a necklace last Christmas. I had no idea that Wizards even had laws
concerning life debts until a couple weeks ago.”

“Uh, Harry,” said Hermione. “You also took me down with you to the Potter family vault last
summer. And when we went on vacation the Goblins sent me your passport when I asked for it.”

“At school, Harry and Hermione sometimes sleep in the same bed-uh, Hermione has nightmares
sometimes,” added Blaise. “We share a private room in Slytherin. Nothing happened, but they still
shared a bed.”

Mr. Jameson nodded. “Unfortunately your ignorance of the Wizarding world cannot protect you from
their laws. There are few options available.” He paused. “Mr. Potter could renounce his family and
is adopted into the Granger family.”

Harry shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“I thought so,” said Mr. Jameson. “You two could continue on as you are now, however Mr. Potter
has essentially taken Miss Granger as his concubine. As such, Miss Granger belongs to him. Any
child she may have would be considered his and she would be forbidden to marry or have relations
with another man.”

Hermione looked like she was about to say something, but a look from Harry stopped her. He knew
that Hermione found the second option unthinkable, and he had to agree with her on that.

“And the third option,” said Harry.

“You could sell or give Miss Granger to another man as a concubine,” said Mr. Jameson. At
Harry's disgusted look, he continued, “As a Muggleborn Miss Granger has fewer rights than a
pureblood or halfblood.”

“I'm not going to sell her or give her away,” said Harry.

“Of course,” said Lord Zabini, speaking for the first time. “Did the Potters or the Blacks
arrange for Mr. Potter's future?”

“James insisted that Harry be able to make that choice for himself,” said Andromeda.

“Then there is another option, Mr. Potter,” said Lord Zabini. “You may instead change
Hermione's status as your concubine to that of your betrothed. You would, of course, be
obligated to marry as soon as possible. Sixteen without parental consent in Scotland, if I remember
correctly. Considering the circumstances, the Granger family would not be required to provide a
dowry. If you wish, I could have Mr. Jameson draw up your marriage contract.”

“Hermione?” said Harry.

“I don't… I don't want to spend the rest of my life as some man's property.” She
seemed to be close to tears.

“Marry me?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“I'll find you a ring in the family vault later,” said Harry. “So, what does this marriage
contract involve?”

**

The vampire was half tempted to kill the Potter boy. But at least he'd done the honorable
thing and agreed to marry Hermione.

If he'd known that Hermione had owed the boy a life debt, he would have done something to
settle it before the situation had become so dire. But he hadn't known, and his descendant had
to live with the consequences. Unfortunately he'd only ordered that his family be protected
from magical danger, not normal danger.

And the boy certainly cared for Hermione. As a concubine, he essentially owned her. As his
betrothed, and eventually as his wife, Hermione had regained all the rights that a witch normally
had. Although the Wizarding world had no provision for divorce and no laws that protected a wife
from her husband.

**

Harry entered the Potter family vault, trying to decide which ring to pick out for Hermione. He
hadn't expected to end up engaged to Hermione, but he wasn't one to walk away from
responsibilities. Admittedly, Harry was still at the point where he found the idea of kissing a
girl strange.

Finally, giving up on making a decision on his own, he approached one of the portraits. It was
sleeping, but a quick shout of “wake up!” solved that problem.

“What are you doing?” demanded the portrait of a man dressed in the armor of a knight.

“I need help,” explained Harry. “And you're a Potter, right?”

“Of course I am,” said the portrait. “I am Sir William Potter. Who are you?”

“Harry Potter. My father was James Potter.”

“Was?”

“He died protecting Mum and I when I was a baby.”

“A noble death,” nodded Sir William. “Now, what seems to be your problem?”

“I just got engaged-uh, betrothed-and I need to get Hermione a ring,” said Harry. “Muggle man
gives a Muggle woman a ring when they get… betrothed and another ring when they marry.”

“Is this Hermione a Muggle?” asked Sir William, looking a bit put out by the idea.

“What? No. She's in Slytherin like me, but her parents are Muggles.”

Sir William nodded. “It is good to bring new blood into the family on occasion. Who arranged the
marriage, your mother?”

“Mum's dead. I arranged the marriage, I suppose. Uh, I saved Hermione's life and
accidentally made her my concubine. When I found out, I decided to marry her instead.”

A woman walked into Sir William's portrait. She was dressed in clothing even more old
fashioned than Hogwart's robes.

“William, introduce me to our descendant,” said the woman.

“Of course. Harry, this is my mother, Lady Elaine Potter.”

Lady Elaine then asked, “This girl, what is her family like? They are Muggles, yes?”

Harry nodded. “Her parents are… I guess you'd call them healers. They know that Hermione,
her younger sister Gertrude, and I are magical. I don't think they care. They never complained
when we practiced magic in their house or on their property. Oh-Hermione's already completed
the animagus transformation. She's a fox.”

“Acceptable,” said Lady Elaine. “Her grades at Hogwarts? And which young ladies does she
associate with?”

“Top student of our year,” shrugged Harry. “Her closest female friends are Daphne Greengrass and
Tracy Davis. She's friends with Luna Lovegood as well, but they're not that close. She also
spends time with my friends-Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom, and Theodore Nott. Luna's going
to start first year in September so she hasn't been sorted yet and Nev is a Gryffindor. All the
others are Slytherins.”

“She'll do,” Lady Elaine said in a dismissive manner. “Bring her here so that we may meet
her sometime within the next year. Now, what type of rings do these Muggles give each other?”

“An engagement ring has a jewel and a wedding ring is plain.”

“What jewelry does she normally wear?”

“I gave her a gold and pearl necklace last Christmas. She wears that at school. And her hair
things are always gold with pearls.”

“Look over by that set of armor. There should be several gold rings. Now, what color are her
eyes and hair?”

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