A Crowned Family: the Venison Special

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27466141.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom, Beverly
Katz, Brian Zeller, Jimmy Price, Freddie Lounds, Bedelia Du Maurier,
Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle |
Voldemort, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood,
Ginny Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Remus Lupin, Sirius
Black, Minerva McGonagall, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,
Rubeus Hagrid, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Lucius Malfoy, Nagini
(Harry Potter), Peter Pettigrew, Mason Verger, Dr. Cordell Doemling,
Will Graham's Dogs
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Inheritance,
Ravenstag, Murder Husbands, Fix-It, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry
Potter), Harry Potter was Adopted by Other(s), Cannibalism, Hannibal
Lecter is a Cannibal, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves
Hannibal Lecter, Cuddling & Snuggling, herd family, First Year Fix-It,
Second Year Fix-It, Third Year Fix-It, Fourth Year Fix-it, fifth year fix-it,
Vampire Severus Snape, Slytherin Fred Weasley & George Weasley,
Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn Draco
Malfoy/Harry Potter, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Murder,
Molestation, Murder, Creature Mating, Dominatrix, Bondage,
Kidnapping, Gay Sex, Straight Sex, Bisexual Characters, Asexual
Character, Mpreg, Power of Love, Power of forgiveness, Happy Ending
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of A Crowned Family
Collections: Hannibal favs, Harry Potter favs, R’s reads
Stats: Published: 2020-11-09 Completed: 2023-02-19 Words: 395,108
Chapters: 80/80
 A Crowned Family: the Venison Special
by sunshineglow118

Summary

The supposed gift of empathy was better tolerated by the no-maj community, yet that did not
make Will Graham any more accepted by them. No person, magical or otherwise, enjoyed
others knowing their secrets.
With a buffet of secrets, Hannibal Lecter walks amongst his prey in two skins. While his
hunger remained unsatisfied, his magic found itself glutting on Will Graham.
The transformation and reawakening of a lost creature, the Ravenstag, requires the two of
them to find new hunting grounds. The need to hunt in England brings forth a change in a
young wizard, curled beneath a cupboard malnourished and bleeding: Harry Potter.
Of course, the only natural thing to do is take the child and raise him as their own. The
opportunity set before them…? to kill one of the most pronounced magical killers: Lord
Voldemort.

Notes

For those of you joining dinner for the first time, welcome esteemed guests. We are so
honored to have you for dinner.

My friends that are here for dinner with me tonight, may we reminisce of the days we could
freely walk about coffeeshops to write and read.

My fellows, old and new, I am humbled to be with you once more, on this journey.

As I did with the first story, I shall gift you with two chapters and then see you every other
Saturday.

Without further ado...

 Marble

There was weight against his chest, a pulling within his throat, like it was to burst free of his
stomach if he could not pull it from his lips. Will woke, gasping and clawing himself free of
the sheets. He panted on the bed, one hand running through his hair as the dreams of deer
antlers plagued him. Stumbling, he rose and threw off his shirt, replacing it for a cleaner one.
Will reached for his nightstand, pulling the drawer free. He raised his hand to the top, blindly
fishing for his wand free from where it was charmed to stick- a false bottom too obvious of a
place.

A quick swish pulled his sheets free, another set wrapped around the bed.

Will began a quick perimeter sweep of the area, first checking on all the dogs, many of them
blinking up at him with drooping eyelids.

“I’ll be right back,” he told them, stashing his wand back under the drawer, resetting the
charm. He passed the shotgun that was next to the back door, stepping into the cold in
nothing more than his shirt, underwear, and bare feet.

He scanned the area, seeing nothing in the flat meadow that surrounded the side of his house.
He walked along the edge, his gait shuffling in the cold gravel. The front of the house was
secure, nothing more than the stars twinkling above him. He thought about heading straight
in, but his obsessive need to secure the area made him move to the other side of the house.

Will couldn’t say he was glad that he did. Had he gone into the house, he would have easy
access to his gun or his wand. But here he was, completely defenseless and bare, to a very
large stag before him.

It was one of the largest stag’s he had ever seen, and that was with it standing just far enough
into the light that Will could catch a glimpse of him. The creature stomped his hoof once,
puffing his chest out. Will made his movements slow, opening his palms to the side of his
body, hesitating, slowly kneeling onto the hard gravel to make himself smaller.

He was not a threat to this creature. Will listened, hearing a great heaving breath. The
creature was real to him, but even Will was unsure if it was real. The magical world could
blur so many lines with his condition. What he saw could be very real- the question was in
which context.

The creature was approaching him. It was upon him, about three feet away. The beast smelled
of the forest, an assortment of trees, the riverbed, like blood of a fresh kill. Will flinched
when the creature dipped its head to breath on him. If it were cooler, Will would have seen
the extent of the creature’s lungs.

He did not look at the creature while it inspected him. As he told Lecter, he was not fond of
eye contact. All creatures, magical or no-maj, human or creature, had rules with eye contact-
a challenge if it was held for too long. What Will could look at were the hooves of the
creature. They were large- easily the size of a horse hoof and cloven like a deer. It was likely
that if Will were to stand at the side of the stag, their shoulders would line up.

What was peculiar about the stag’s legs, were the black feathers that flecked the hoof. There
was a part of him, delirious or tired enough, that wished to reach out and touch. His actions
were stopped when the creature touched him. He froze, telling himself to keep his breath
calm. The stag breathed on him, scenting his hair, nuzzling around the sweaty locks.

It moved to his neck, giving him a wet and sloppy lick from his collarbone, all the way to his
ear. The wet sensation in the shell of his ear caused him to flinch further, pulling his arm up
to block the creature, pushing it away. He was unbalanced, both by his sudden movement and
his actions. He struck the creature and he was belly up now, vulnerable with his organs
exposed.

But it allowed him to see its sheer size. The crown towered over him, seeming to encompass
the moon in its rack and cage. A broad head with deep black eyes stared at him from the
gravel that molded to his flesh. The feathers were raised a bit, all down its spine: hackles.
Will panted on the ground, frozen. The creature huffed at him, reaching a great neck out, and
huffed once more on his face.

Will laughed at the situation, slowly moving himself back to kneeling. The creature snorted,
then walked back into the forest. Will stayed put, watching the shadow beast become
absorbed by its own.

He unfolded himself, stiff and skin taught from the cold. He retreated to his bed, too
exhausted to think much of it.

Contrary to what others thought of Will, he was a perceptive man. Though he was immersed
in the dark, all windows and doors covered with thick drapes to keep the light from singing
his retinas, inducing migraine after migraine. With his vision useless to the dark, he knew the
pattern of his household by heart, keeping all unnecessary things off the floor.

With his vision obscured, his auditory senses extended.

It meant that he heard the car approach his house, crunching the gravel under tires. It was a
simple defense, the gravel, today, hybrid cars gave Will almost no time to pull away from the
road. Stuck in his own head, he relied on sound to navigate. The car parked with a click of
the gear shift, and then a quick exit.

It was a man that was exiting the car, women tended to spend a half minute gathering their
things before exiting a vehicle after parked. Parking a car tends to automatically disengage
the locking mechanism, which is what allowed the killer-

A set of three knocks ripped him back to the present. He squeezed the blankets around him
once more, then pulled himself free. The light dazed him when he opened the door, blinking,
it was Doctor Hannibal Lecter.
He bristled, taking a half step back.

“May I come in?”

And for whatever reason, Will found himself opening the door to the psychiatrist that insulted
him earlier. The two found themselves at the table, surrounded by darkness, the only light
that came in was peaking through the corners of the blinds.

There was no magic to be found in this part of the house, Will was always hesitant about
letting no-maj into his domain. The windows and curtains played a part in distracting guests
from seeing the smaller things. Unlike any other people, Hannibal did not attempt or ask to
open Will’s windows or blinds. He looked around, orienting himself with the scant light, then
began setting up his station at Will’s table.

Will did not say anything of the bribery. Hannibal accepted his thanks for the first hearty
meal he had eaten since the neighbor down the street moved to be closer to her family-
sending him a casserole as thanks for the times he fixed the odd appliance at her house.

“I don’t find you all that interesting,” Will said, attempting to hide his ticks behind the
clicking of a fork on a plate. Hannibal’s pride stung at that, his head rearing up at the offense.
He calmed.

“You will,” his lip was turned up just enough that Will thought he was smirking, he looked
away- the dogs were all behaving, laying in their beds or amongst each other on the floor
outside the kitchen.

“What kind of problems does he have?” Hannibal asked as Will went to drink his coffee. He
pulled the mug back from his lips to reply:

“uh… a few.” He sipped at the drink. It was beyond better than what he had in his cabinet,
leagues beyond what the FBI had in their drip deposits. Will could see Hannibal in a kitchen,
meticulously cleaned and bright. The man-made food his art, his canvas. French pressed
coffee would no doubt be considered a simple task for Hannibal, and a staple for breakfast.

“Do you have any problems, Will?” Will gave him a look that was highly skeptical but
bordered on playful. Damn Hannibal, tempting him into pleasantries with caffeine.

At least the man knew how to play a good game.

“Of course, you don’t. You and I are just alike…problem free. Nothing about us to feel
horrible about.” Will took another bite of food, eggs mixed with sausage. Hannibal paused,
looking down at the table, at his little conversational chess board he was so used to playing
with other plebeian people. “I think Jack thinks of you as a fragile little tea-cup. The finest
china only to be used for special guests.”

Will found himself laughing, bubbled up from within his stomach that pushed him back into
his chair and exposing himself most to Hannibal since they sat down. The man looked over
him, but did not roam lower than his chest, gaze held nowhere in particular. Will did not feel
special, certainly not with Jack. The darkness obscured his profile, hiding the shine in his
eyes. He dared asked.

“How do you see me?” Will would not have asked such a question if he knew the man would
look at him the way he did. He stopped eating, hands still and eyes pierced into him, locked
on and unmoving.

“A mongoose I want under the house when the snake slither by.”

And Will, he moved towards the light only fractionally.

Eight empty bullet chambers faltered to the ground, one after the other, each bullet it once
held now safely lodged into the vital organs of one Mr. Garrett Jacob Hobbs as his wife lay
slaughtered at the front door like the lamb before the Angel of Death, his daughter struggling
to cling to life. William was overwhelmed, his thundering heart beginning when the blood
sprayed across his pale skin.

He clung to the wife, frantic hands twitching for the right spot that would close the sputtering
wound of Mrs. Garrett Jacob Hobbs. William’s hands could not knit the wound back together,
magic, perhaps, but the man did not call his intrinsic gift to aid her in some poorly covered
miracle. Will must have realized this as well, rising to abandon the woman for the door. She
sputtered out a last breath, collapsing limply onto her front door.

Hannibal passed through when he heard the first gunshot, stepping around the furniture at
bullet two, three, four. The scent of mingled family blood baptized the place, the kitchen
spewed with it. Though he could not see William’s face as bullet five through eight entered
Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ body, his stance was strong, each stride purposefully as he lost himself
in the act, blood spraying back onto him with each new lodging.

Hobbs slid to the ground, propped up in the corner to look up at Will, completely focused on
his killer.

“See?” Hobbs said, hands hanging limply in final submission to the greater killer. His head
tilted to the side, glazed eyes landing on his dying daughter. Will, released from the
metaphorical spell, moved forward to the daughter.

His hands were once again, frantically trying to keep all the blood in. Hannibal found himself
watching the scene before him, almost entranced by the way he was covered in blood,
attempting to breathe life into his daughter. He broke from his own frozen spell, moving
forward with two steps, a firm hand over the slice in her neck.

His mistake was looking directly into William’s eyes during such a traumatic time. Upon
their introduction, Uncle Jack acting as the proverbial middle man, Hannibal looked into Will
and saw the extent of his empathy. William was a mirror, able to stand before it and look step
into the gaze, the mentality of another.

William’s empathy did as all mirrors do, they reflect.

And with his magic signaling to Hannibal’s as compatible, he felt his own switch within his
magic. It coiled within him, dropping fear heavy in his stomach. Logically, Hannibal
understood that it was William’s empathy that was leaking onto him, the fear, frantic
movements. This girl, a simple sheep, echoed in his mind the word: daughter.

The hospital ride was as chaotic. Blood was falling around the van, machines screaming at
the four of them. The team of three worked quickly, stabilizing Abigail as best they could
with the limited space. The objective was to keep her alive.

Within the hospital, Hannibal got to work, wordlessly scrubbing up with the doctors. He
operated on Abigail, feeling the veins within her body as he knitted her together. She needed
several units of blood, and coded on Hannibal once, but he was able to piece her back
together with the muggle magic at his disposal. It was a nurse that finally asked his name,
commenting that he hadn’t seen Hannibal in the unit before. The pale look on the nurse’s face
made Hannibal smile behind his operator mask, fear of a liability charge no doubt running
through the nurse’s mind that an unemployed person was allowed to shove their hands into a
young woman.

He sat in the chair next to her, his hand on hers, feeling the after effect of Will’s empathy. He
allowed himself to relax, finding silence between the beeping of monitors. He was not
sleeping, in a state of rest, consciousness just hovering below the surface. He perked a bit,
with the rise of her monitors, relaxed when they did.

Hannibal must have sunk deeper into his rest as he did not notice Will walking into the room.
He kept his body still, breathing consistent with rest. Will was an observant mongoose, one
that did not do something foolish as prostrate when he greeted the agent in the night, he
would no doubt notice a change in breathing patterns. He listened to Will move amongst the
room, leaving only the lightest of sounds with the movement of his clothing.

Only able to rely on the reflection of the cool linoleum tiles, Hannibal watched the opaque
image of Will look from him to the girl on the bed. The wizard shifted on his feet, nervously
looking around before he settled down into the chair, both hands attached to the handles in a
subconscious tick Hannibal noticed. Will did not reach out for her, simply watching over the
two of them.

Hannibal hid an amused feeling within his chest, relaxing his awareness a bit, letting it fade.

With Will near him, his body recognized the compatibility, sinking lower and lower into the
chair. He did not ever sleep at a hospital, no doctor, nurse, any staff, slept. They allowed their
bodies to sink into whatever soft surface they could, then let exhaustion overcome them until
the nap was over. Hannibal allowed himself to fall back into that default rest mode- a sense of
comfort with the other man close to his side.

He jarred as quickly as William did when the monitors began to squeal. Hannibal found
himself quickly surrounded, then shoved out of the way as employed doctors rushed to her
air. It was Will that came to him, stood closer than he probably enjoyed. Together, they
watched as she struggled to stabilize for the last time, the line falling flat.
The last of the Hobbs legacy died on the table that night. The doctors went about the usual
routines when dealing with a corpse of a suspected criminal, leading it to a different section
of the morgue that rested beneath the hospitals.

It was an unfortunate beginning to their odyssey. The two men parted without saying much to
each other, Hannibal straying from the side of Will first. Will was left with the paperwork and
Uncle Jack. He poured himself a cup of hospital coffee when an equally as tired receptionist
pointed it out to him. He nodded his thanks as he poured himself a meager cup, much
different then the one Hannibal could make.

His thoughts of quality coffee died as he dove into his statement. By the time the clock
finished one full rotation, his statement was wrapped up, tucked neatly into the standard FBI
envelope. He walked down the reflective path, down the stare well, his steps echoing with
each land.

Jack was at the bottom of the well Price and Zeller with him, each holding up a set of photos
or scans. Will passed over his file to Jack, his eyes conveying his exhaustion- emotional and
physical. Jack nodded his head, said something to him, only for Will to ignore it when he
caught the sight of a limp hand. He walked around the three men, weaving around the glass
door until he gazed upon the sight of the Hobbs daughter.

The last words of the father echoed through his mind, see?

He saw her dead, on the table, life drained from her rather than consumed. It was a tasteless
death, one that was rushed and sloppy. His eyes fluttered, her fear gripping her throat as the
blade sliced over. She was aware of her own fate, of the inevitability, like a rabbit still under
the jaws of a wolf. Hobbs was surprised by his own actions, the weight of the knife in his
hand inconsequential to the weight within him- the sight of his daughter struggling to
breathe.

This was not how she was supposed to die, how any of them were supposed to die.

Will shook himself free, the spider’s web of Garrett Jacob Hobbs like barbed gossamer
around his eyes.

See?

He saw her pushed into the cooler, locked away from him.

Will operated on auto-piolet as he went home. Getting into his car and making the very
mechanical drive home, following the GPS. He blinked his eyes at each headlight, the
oncoming migraine punching within the walls of his head.

He pulled his car over, blinking his hazards. He reached into the glove compartment, moving
past the gun kept within to the small leather pouch. Will pulled the cork off the bottle and
tipped it back, lavender on his tongue, the faint scent of menthol no doubt on his breath. He
rubbed his brow for a few minutes, giving his face a massage so his sinus’ would open to the
potions after effect. Will swallowed when the burn from the menthol reached a boiling point.
His head continued to throb for the trip to his house. The potion worked when he exhaled, his
breath leaving behind a mist. He tossed the bottle back in the glove compartment, pleased
with his own skills as he got out of his car. With the migraine gone, Will found himself
coherent enough to notice the scent within his own house.

Scoffing, Will went to his bed table and pulled his wand free. He let the dogs out, all of them
running freely for the first time in a while. It allowed Will to maneuver around the house with
his wand, pulling dog hair free of the cushions or under the tables.

Dust bunnies and dog hair deposited themselves out the window and onto the ground. He
found it humorous that many of the birds of prey would use his dogs hair within their nests-
adding a scent barrier to discourage intruders from harming chicks.

Typically, Will strayed from using his magic on tasks like cleaning. It was a cheap use of
magic and tended to lead to worse habits of magical waste later. It wasn’t like his house
wasn’t clean, it was just dark and poorly circulated. With the numerous dogs, it gave the
appearance of dirty. His dishes were clean, the kitchen decently stocked with quick meals.

Will would, however, confess that his dogs tended to eat better meals than he.

As he went about cleaning the back of the house, Will opened the door, his wand towards the
house as he pulled the dust and dog hair outward. He stilled in his tracks at the sight of the
great stag.

It was dusk, the sky colored more purple. Light would not be out for much longer, the
yawning of night quickly descending on the two of them, the world around. The creature was
covered in those same dark feathers. They were smooth against the pelt, not lifted in
challenge or danger.

Will deposited the dust on the ground. He did not take his eyes off the creature, nor did the
creature break gaze from him. Will could hear the sound of his dogs at the front of the house.
He debated flicking his wand, but the slight movement of his right hand had some feathers
beginning to rise as well.

He did the only natural thing and dropped his wand. It fell to the ground with little fanfare,
sitting atop the grass. Will backed away from his wand until his knees hit the back of the
stairs. He sat down, leaned against the banister and watched the creature. His attention was
broken when he had to whistle for the dogs to scram- neither of them were bothered.

The stag did not move from where he found it even as the purple hues of dusk bled a deep
violet night. His dogs, who took notice of the creature, crept slowly to him, hugging the wall
of the house to conceal themselves. He was wary of the creature, but it did not seem intent on
harming him or the animals.

Will was beginning to shiver, the flesh on his body rising. When his teeth began to chatter,
the creature’s ears pitched forward. Will clenched himself, his heartbeat increasing a bit. The
great beast shook out its feathers, turned and walked back into the forest.
Will reached his hand out, his wand smacking into it without speech. His eyes were not good
enough to see beyond the shadows of the tree line, but he knew the creature was watching
him.

He was unsure if it was watching out for him for his own good or not.
 Connection
Chapter Notes

As it was in the beginning, it shall be again.

Two chapters...

I will shamelessly shout out: if you enjoy my food- click subscribe so you get tasty
chapters delivered right to your mailbox. May your eyes feast upon my words, nourish
your brain. Hazards may include getting feels played with...

Will stood as far as he could from Hannibal- the upper level. It was a poor attempt at an
escape, in fact, he found himself now quite isolated. His only exit was the very ladder he
came up or to make a foolish jump down.

“Jack thinks I need therapy,” he said, a twitch in his head forcing him to walk, fingers
hovering above the book titles on the shelves.

“What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there,” Hannibal said from
his lower position. Will paused and looked at the man. Though Will had the tactical
advantage of the upper floor, this place was Hannibal’s territory. It reeked of subtle power.
The deep reds of the curtains added a sense of looming power over the muted tones around
them.

His eyes darted around the room when he held eye contact with anyone, Hannibal, and they
landed on the stag behind the man’s figure. It was easily missed, to the immediate left of the
entrance. To a right-handed person, they tended to look right when entering a building. Will
did not see the bronze statue.

He looked away before Hannibal could track his gaze.

“Last time Jack sent me some place,” Will’s fingers paused on an autonomy collection, well
worn and used, pages creased in several places, dented along the top where notes were
crammed in. He inhaled sharply, “I brought something back.”

Will couldn’t put a finger on what it was that he brought back. For the hours that he was with
Abigail, stuttering blood-stained moments, then resting in the hospital, it felt like a family-
whole and connected yet with the ever looming fear of it being torn apart. And as it
happened, Abigail’s life failed, that every feeling snapped free.

See?

See what?
“Do you feel obligated?”

“I feel responsibility.”

Will wasn’t sure what to feel about that. They traded verbal barbs at each other as Will made
his way closer to the bronze stag. Hannibal paused during his turn of banter, the possibility of
Abigail working with her father.

“The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, William,” he said, almost making
Will flinch at the sincerity he spoke, “not the worst of others.”

He was verbally disarmed again.

The rubber-stamped letter with Hannibal’s signature was quickly passed back to the
psychiatrist with the rising of the fungus bodies.

“I see Hobbs as dead,” Will said, hands on his hips, tucked away in the back of his mind,
Hobbs with eight gunshot wounds to the body, strung up like a cow on the rack. He could
only nod his head when Hannibal asked if it felt good to take the life of Hobbs.

The psychiatrist helped thread together a picture of the fungi killer.

“Envy the way of connection,” Hannibal said, “the human mind cannot connect the way a
host of fungi can.” Hannibal paused, sitting up and looking at Will with a curious gaze. “He
envies the way you can connect with him.”

Will gave him a laugh.

“Not physically.” There were ways with magic, ways this man could never hope to obtain.
Such knowledge would drive him to the brink of his own destruction.

Will was isolated from the magical world, in no ways welcome within it. His gift of empathy
gave him the unfortunate gift of knowledge. Magical people prided themselves on their own
family secrets, and even more, the degree to which they could hide them. As Will could slip
into the mind of others, purely becoming them, all secrets were laid bare.

And that, came with horrific results.

In younger years, when he was within the magical community with his father, his magical
core would become so overwhelmed he would collapse to the ground. It wasn’t just his
empathy that extended to the magical people around him, but the charms, spells and wards
people would attach to themselves would harm him.

It was impossible for his father not to notice Will’s struggles, the bleeding nose wounds that
would sporadically start in town, the boils that would erupt on his skin, the inner ear feeling
as if it were being branded. His father had the mercy to cut off all connection with the
magical world, slipping through the cracks and finding work with the no-maj population.

His lack of connection was consistent in the no-maj world but lacked the actual curses and
hexes. It was manageable, and he learned to make it work.
He looked at his own picture, a photo of him staring blankly at a fungi body, as Beverly read
about the FBI headhunting serial killers.

Jack slammed his fists on the table, Will asked if the fungi killer’s car was still in the lot. He
could smell the car before the other pharmacist pointed it out, the stench of pig manure
wafting over the air. He smashed the glass of Stammets’s car window, popped the trunk and
ripped the woman free. She was covered in the mixture, pulse low from the insulin induced
coma.

An ambulance came to take the woman away, leaving the FBI with a cold trail- making Jack
enraged. He ordered Will to go home. Will turned around, glad to leave this mess behind him
for another day as Jack went to hunt down Freddie Lounds.

When he arrived at his house, he went through the same routine of letting the dogs out and
feeding them. There were no traces of his stag friend, the tracks washed away from the rain
that must have passed while he was gone. Will took the time to dry the dogs paws off,
lathering them with a towel, giving each praise as he calmed from the day.

Within his house, Will pulled the last fish free from his refrigerator, unwrapped it from the
paper packaging. He bent down to one of the more expensive things that he owned, a set of
boning knives. They were sharper, stainless steel cored, no-maj made.

He picked up the sharpening stone and laid it on the table. The sharpest blade was about four
inches long, curved at the top. He made three passes over the sharpening stone before he
flipped the blade and repeated the movement. After washing the blade, he washed the fish.

The knife sliced through the fish like a hot knife through butter. Blood spilled onto the table,
the organs spilling free from the muscle lining. Will reached in, his fingers tracing the pattern
of the under spine, and pulled. With one movement, the entire digestive system was removed
and deposited in the trash. He shred the scales from the fish, fileted it to his liking, and seared
it quickly.

It was lightly seasoned, but it warmed him in a different way- Will had caught this fish, seen
it through to completion. He smiled to himself as he ate his meal.

Easy dinners called for easy clean up. He poured himself a finger of whiskey and noticed he
missed a call from Jack. The man left a voicemail, Stammets’ was still missing but had an
interest in him. As this was nothing new to Will, he left his phone in the charger, within the
wall, as he went to take the trash outside. He went around the side of the house and disposed
of the garbage.

It said something about his level of confidence that Will held for the creature, that he felt no
need to walk out of the house armed. It said something to his stupidity when he encountered
Stammets, who was pointing a gun directly at him.

Will wasn’t necessarily unarmed. Growing up no-maj with his father meant that practicing
spells became almost a game of hide and seek. Will was forced to perform all magic silently
if he was in a magical library.
In Louisiana, the magical trace only stretched as far as the cities. America had so much wild
magic, that the Trace was pointless outside a crowded area. Will was allowed to practice his
magic as freely as he wanted too- given that he wasn’t caught by magical authorities. And if
he was caught by no-maj ones, his father told him to learn how to lie quick and convincing.

Wandless and wordless magic was raw power.

“The journalist said you understood me,” he said, gun pointed at Will. Will stood up, hands to
his side.

“I don’t.”

The gun wavered, his hand lowered.

“Well you would have,” he said. He stepped forward, the gun pointed at Will, “you would
have,” he growled, emphasizing with the point of steel.

He took a step back, panting.

“If you walk through a field of mycelium, they reach for you. Reaching to connect- touch out
and grab you.” This is where magic failed to surprise Will the way it did others. Where no-
maj technology reigned superior; it could break down the smallest, most minute details and
was only getting stronger by the day.

Magic was dying, creatures every day growing closer and closer to extinction. Will himself,
isolated and alone.

“They know you are there.” This man was searching for what everyone wanted, connection
to another. Will felt the ache of it as well. He knew not if it was the crushing isolation from
either world or the magical pull that was stifled within him. “The spores reach for you as you
walk by.”

Will’s eyes were trained on the gun. He was too far to reach the man to block or strike. A
spell directed outward in a forward direction would be impossible given his lack of practice.

“I know who you’re reaching for.” Stammets stood, looking resolved. Will felt the echo, his
own execution a simple fact in the mirror of his mind. Will braced, either to get shot or
shield, he did not know.

He was saved from the choice. His creature reared up behind the fungi killer, twisting its
massive body in the moonlight so as it came down, jaws could snap around the neck.
Stammets stood no chance against such a beast.

The stag crushed the neck as he landed on four hoofs, the body crumpling beneath. The stag
shook its head, the death shake all predator animals instinctively had to kill prey as quickly as
possible. Will only flinched when the bite separated from the stag and blood spattered on
him.

The creature flared its nostrils at the man, going back down onto the neck, one hoof on the
body to better brace. The neck was completely severed now.
“I’ll have to hide that, you know,” Will said, dazed. The beast stopped growling, eyes and
ears at Will’s attention. Slowly, the beast rose its head, careful that the great antlers did not
scrape against his body.

Will took one step forward. The creature did not pull its lips back in a snarl, rather, licking
the lip feathers. He took another step forward. The next, over the body. The creature was
close enough Will could feel his breath.

While he was at eye height with the beast, the crown towered both above and around him.

“Thank you,” he said, either feeling the after-effects of adrenaline or feeling either brave
enough to lean his forehead against the creatures. The beast huffed, nudging its forehead a bit
closer into Will, encouraging touch. Will laughed freely, turning his face into the feathers,
placing a kiss on its brow.

He thought little of it, taking the opportunity of the beast’s frozen stance to sink his hands
into the feathers. The creature shook its head, blood still dripping from them both. While the
dark feathers hid the evidence, Will was now smeared in blood. He pulled away from the
creature, looking down at his clothing, then to the body.

Going to step forward, he was blocked by the stag’s body. Ten point antlers towered over
him, a great mane of obsidian feathers that bristled out against his massive skull. His
whiskers were pointed forward, barely brushing against his own chin.

“I can’t just leave it here,” he pointed out, trying to move around the stag. The beast was
large, the size of a horse and seemed to be as stubborn. The stag seemed to find Will’s
circling amusing, darting around, and dragging the body away.

“This is not helpful,” yet, Will said this with a laugh. Grotesque as it all was, the stag had
bowed to him, a leg caught between its mouth. Will lunged, missing for the beast had long
legs that could pull it back faster than Will could run.

The stag dropped the fungi killer’s body, standing over it. Will realized that he could have
greatly misinterpreted the situation. The stag killed the man, and allowed Will close for
whatever reason, but now he was standing over a-

“food source,” he laughed, foolish.

Will knelt down again, not about to fight the beast for its dinner. The stag dipped its head,
eyes trained onto Will, then pulled back lips and dug into the meat of the man. Like most
animals, it went for the liver first, being the most nutrient rich, filled with iron, it would take
a day to process the sheer amount of calories the liver alone contained.

Animals went next for the heart, kidneys, fat storages, and the creature was no different. It ate
quickly, massive teeth cracking through the smaller bones on limbs, using a hoof to hold
down the femur and split the bones open. The stag consumed the man with everything it was,
pulling the meat off the bones of the thighs once the organ meat was gone.
Will wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do, he was glad that it was early in the
evening though. It would mean that the stag could tear at the body for longer before he had to
think of a plan. Before dawn.

The creature seemed to be content with Will observing. It relaxed its stance, eyes no longer
locked onto Will, dipping more intently on the body. Will shifted until he was laying on the
ground, his face propped up by his elbow.

This was not the most horrific thing Stammets had done to him. The lone mushroom man,
clawing, gasping for the last shred of life, was petrifying in a way that he thought only
dementors capable of. He was glad that man died in the ambulance; what kind of life would
recovery look like?

There wasn’t much left of Stammets that was recognizable. His body was twisted and
mangled, pieces of him torn away or missing entirely. The stag huffed, lifting its massive
head, a tongue coming out to lick around the bloodied feathers.

Will stayed still on the ground as the creature approached him, his back upward to the sky. It
was intelligent, he knew this from the beginning, and he knew that playing opossum would
not fool the creature. The stag did not seem concerned with his laying on the floor, putting its
muzzle next to his ear.

He pushed away again, playfully now, like it was a jest between the two of them. The stag
rolled Will over onto his back, his muzzle coming to scent at the center of Will’s neck. The
creature licked him, tongue traveling up his neck, over his stubble and onto his face where
blood had settled into his skin.

This was not the response of an animal looking to hunt, but those very same jaws snapped
through a human femur with ease, the very tongue focused on pulling bone marrow out the
split side. He breathed heavy; fear spiked just enough to remind him that this creature was
something he’d never heard of before.

He allowed the creature to lick at his face freely, tense as it licked his neck and beginning of
the shoulder. As it dipped down, nuzzling his shirt, Will reacted, pushing away from the
creature. On his hands and knees, Will quickly stood to his full height- only just coming to
eye level with the stag.

The stag nudged forward, his muzzle folding into Will’s curls. Will chuckled at the feeling,
the nose twitching in his hair, deeper to the nest above. Will laughed then, the touch so free,
even if they were both covered in the toll of violence.

The beast seemed to sense his own time’s close; taking a step back away from Will. Will,
with hands still deep in the feathers, scratched at the juncture between jaw bone and neck,
right behind the ear. The beast tipped its head only so, indicating that it enjoyed the feeling,
gentle of its rack.

“Thank you,” he said again, taking a step back. The beast turned its rack, walking back to the
mangled remains of Stammets. It grabbed a limb and dragged it back to the forest like a lion
with it’s kill. Will was left with the remains around his home. He gathered the pieces of
clothing and the gun of Stammets, removing his own- uncaring of his own nakedness.

He burned them outside, a spell to his clothing, the blood seeped into the ground.

He washed away the little remains his stag left behind. Uncle Jack would be calling soon,
asking if there were any leads.

Will didn’t feel the need to howl for this scent.

 To Those That Wait
Chapter Notes

An Allergy Notice:
Esteemed guests, I thank you for joining me at the table once again. I am very excited
for you all to dine tonight but I do wish to caution you for the coming meals. This is a
darker fic that is going to play on the taboo side of both Hannibal and Harry Potter. Both
stories have a dark side that feature things like creature rape (Umbridge and centaurs)
child molestation (Verger and Tom Riddle as a victim). While I am not going to write
creature rape, Hannigram may mate in their creature form. While I will not write
childhood rape, Harry will have an experience at the Verger Estate that will later serve
the story. I am using the Tag: Canon-Typical Violence- nothing is explicit or (for lack of
a better word) 'extreme' but do your own research if you’re concerned. The tags are there
for the same reason the spicy symbol is next to the menu at dinner. Child Murder- Lord
Voldemort murders Harry as a baby. These are dark works of fiction- understand that
you dine with me by your own free will.

With that, I do believe you will enjoy today's meal...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The numerous cases Will went on were preventing him from finding a restful sleep, and
therefore, hindering Hannibal’s plans. Though the man was rude and his alter, dear William
was what pulled his magic in a way that made him yearn.

Made him hunger.

At first, he was unaware of the extent of these feelings. His introduction to Special Agent
William Graham was one that filed his business card in his meal rolodex. But as the man
rattled on about the nuances of eye contact, he initiated it, and gazed into Hannibal’s point as
if to prove the lecture he was giving, simultaneously disproving his own natural aversion.

The man was a cocktail of enigmas and Hannibal desired to drink him down for every ounce.
Hannibal visited William’s residence in the night, his hooves carrying him the distance from
where he was parked. He stood outside the house, scenting the surrounding area. There was a
river-bed that he crossed, a section that held an echo of Will’s scent.

Hannibal could see Will standing in the river, fishing himself dinner. There were traces of
blood that stained the land forever with his habits. Completely self-sufficient and away from
mankind. When Hannibal stood closer to the house, the wind pushed the thick scent of the
house to him, that he scented magic.
He contemplated his next move carefully when he heard the door open. Will walked around
the house, in a thin shirt and his underwear. Hannibal huffed a laugh at the wizard, stepping
into the light, remaining still to wait.

During their introduction, the first physical feature that Hannibal noticed of Will’s was the
man’s hair. It was curled against his head, ruffled during the day; stress from cases or classes
causing him to rub his scalp backward. He restrained himself from reaching his hand out to
ruffle Will’s hair in the office, he did not feel the need to do so in stag form.

Which was why Hannibal was now following the human. Will had taken three serial killers,
going further with the prized catch of the Lost Boy’s killer. While Will’s record ego boosted,
his mental state was deteriorating. The newest physical symptom of his distress was his
sleepwalking. It pulled Hannibal in two ways: William was pruning the field of lesser
predators, becoming one himself as those who encountered him had a tendency of dying. As
his mental state slid, Will fell onto Hannibal; coming to him at his office for conversations
laced with mild flirtation only to show Hannibal the free loving creature he could be at
night.

The sliding mental state had a negative effect as it was interfering with his magic from
determining if Hannibal was a compatible mate. No matter how many times Hannibal scented
Will, the man’s magic would not absorb his own offering. It was only a few hours ago that
Hannibal saw Will in his human image, sitting across chairs in his own territory.

“Tell me about your mother, doctor?” Hannibal gave a flicker of a smile before a quick
inhale, he relented the information to Will.

“Both my parents died when I was very young. The proverbial orphan until I was adopted by
my uncle at sixteen.”

Will stiffened in his chair, his movement giving off the thought of too exposed and
claustrophobic. “Something so foreign about family…like an ill-fitting suit; I never
connected to the concept.”

“You created your own family.”

“I’ve collected a family of strays,” he corrected, stuttering out the response.

Hannibal was pleased with his answer; still pleased as his human walked on the pavement.
His breath fogged the area, once again wearing a light shirt and underwear. The stench of fear
and restlessness was thick on him- the very thing preventing Hannibal’s magic from seeping
in.

William cried out, his body jarring in confusion, collapsing to the ground. Hannibal moved
forward, scenting the blood that tainted the pavement. He looked at Will’s feet, glass wedged
in the heel from a car accident. Will was disoriented, laying on the ground, overstimulated
after swinging from such a state of unconsciousness to jarring in pain. The ravenstag moved
forward, nuzzling down at Will’s neck. He licked at the sweat that collected on his neck,
freeing the scent of fear and replacing it with his own.
Hannibal nudged Will’s arms, nuzzling around his chest. A delirious hand came to rest
against one of his antlers, holding tight while his eyes rolled upright.

“Hi,” he said, a pained smile on his face. Hannibal huffed at him, pulling his head back,
gazing at the wound. Will said nothing as he moved, face passive as he looked at the injury.
He gripped the glass and yanked.

He let out a single curse, dawn out, then threw the glass behind him. Hannibal thought about
the situation as he looked around. He could hear a car nearby, approaching them. Leaving
Will was not an option.

Hannibal’s saliva could not heal, but he did not pass the opportunity to taste Will. Will pulled
away his injury from Hannibal’s tongue after only one sweep. He stood as best he could.
Hannibal walked next to him, nudging him, pressing his body in an obvious invitation.

Will shook his head, taking a step back.

“You’re not a horse,” he smiled, reaching forward to brush back Hannibal’s brow feathers.
The feeling was a nice pressure against his eyes, a long forgotten blind spot eased a little
more by the agent. While Will’s chivalry was to be admired, he was walking with an open
wound on dirty pavement. The man was three miles from home, and while there was an
approaching car, Hannibal would rather spend the night with Will than some other human.

The clattering of Will’s teeth brought his attention back. The marble skin, marked with pale
blue and red lines of blood just under the surface, was pulled taught against his frame. His
body shivered, trying desperately to stay warm. Hypothermia was a thing that Will would
struggle with until he got his pelt.

Hannibal’s vision was far superior in this form than his human one. It allowed him to see a
space just beyond the road that he could set Will into. Hannibal walked around Will, who was
suspicious of his change in position. Hannibal nudged Will towards the forest.

Will laughed, pushing his snout back. Hannibal snorted at Will, pushing him back with a little
more force, mindful of his antlers and the injured man. Will stumbled, trying to walk a
straight line and avoid standing on his wound. Hannibal pushed his antlers forward before
Will could say anything.

“Alright,” Will said, raising his arms in surrender. He hopped over the guard rail
ungracefully, Hannibal leaping over it. He stood in front of Will, tilting his crown forward to
lead the man. Will stumbled his way over, rolling his eyes at Hannibal. Hannibal would have
found it offensive if it were anyone else, but hands massaging a kink on his shoulder made
him relax and forgive Will.

The spot was not far, a tree that had overturned pulled open a large section of the ground.
Hannibal dug at the spot with his hoof, pulling back the dirt and then looked at Will. The man
was shivering, looking blankly at the hole. He shrugged, worming his way into the hole.
William took off his shirt, his body shaking to the wind, and tied it around his foot.
Hannibal scanned the area for any threats, seeing the car pass by the road, red tail-lights
growing fainter in the distance. He ignored Will’s groan at the sight of the lights leaving. Not
to be discouraged, Hannibal collapsed his legs, the opening of the hole just deep enough that
he could wrap his frame around the most of Will. He rested his head over Will’s chest,
muzzle resting against his face.

Rather than say anything, Will reached up and continued to stroke Hannibal’s brow. His scent
wasn’t covered in fear as it was when he first stumbled out of bed. He smelled of pine, blood,
traces of oil and asphalt. He smelled content, his heartbeat was steady, magic resting against
the canvas of his mind as Will’s hand grew heavy over Hannibal’s snout.

Will sputtered as Hannibal began to groom him, taking complete advantage of Will’s exposed
body, but the man was caught somewhere between laughter and disgust. He imagined Will
laughed the same when surrounded by his dogs. Hannibal reached his snout deep into Will’s
neck, his lower jaw right against the man’s vulnerable pulse point.

Will froze, his heartbeat was steady, but the instinctive response was still active within the
man- even as a predator. Hannibal licked at his neck. Will stiffened, two hands at his neck,
reaching deeper into the feathers. Will’s scent was amplified by the cold, his shivering was
one of the body’s many responses to keeping warm; Will’s primary response as shivering lead
to sweating. Hannibal shifted his body, now positioned to cage Will between himself and the
roots of the tree.

Hannibal’s body produced more heat, it was only a matter of time before the ground had
absorbed all of Will’s and forced him to turn deeper into Hannibal’s pelt. Like the mongoose,
Will stubbornly shivered in the little den they created. Hannibal kept his gaze up, ears pointed
forward to reach out and hear if anything was wrong.

He failed to keep his feathers from preening as Will turned into his body, spine against the
sweep of his belly. His under-feathers were warmer by nature as more of them grew under his
belly. As they were shorter, they were a softer kind of down. His top feathers- the length
designed for defending or intimidating others. Will sighed into the pillow of feathers that
Hannibal had grown around his body.

How long had Will gone without the caring touch of another? Hannibal wondered if it was as
long as he had. He found no reason to resist.

Hannibal dipped his head to groom at Will again, his scent beginning to seep into his skin.
The man’s hand rested on his snout, thumb stroking the feathers on the side of his lip.
Hannibal snorted near his ribs when he felt curious fingers pull his lip back to inspect his
teeth. If he were human, he would laugh, in this form, he settled for tilting his head, slowly
licking the digits with his tongue, circling around them, down the palm.

Will’s heartbeat had increased, blood was beginning to rush to the surface of his skin for a
different reason than hypothermia. He so desired to taste Will, in so many ways he almost
couldn’t decide which he wanted first. His spike of arousal would bring out all the best scents
in Will; his own aphrodisiac.
Continued indulgence meant he couldn’t scare his snack. Before Will could respond with
shame, Hannibal drew Will’s fingers into his mouth.

This was a lesson in delicacy for Hannibal; fingers were in his mouth, exploring teeth in
ways no one had ever tried on him. Hannibal had taken his own photographs of his teeth,
transforming in a room full of mirrors and well timed cameras. He used molding, the very
same the FBI used, to see the true extent of his jaw and teeth. Muggle dentists had been
inside his mouth for the cleanings, but never had he allowed someone in his mouth like this.

Will was kind enough to keep every movement of his fingers slow and steady. He did not
scratch at the bones or pick at the ridges in his mouth. His fingers traced to the back, the
premolars that he used for shredding the meat he ripped off the bones of his prey.

Will’s fingers traced over one of them, his eyes on Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal recalled the
taste of the Fungi killer, how Will laid down to watch him feast after killing him. He
supposed in this form, Will was able to distance himself from the man and animal. An animal
killing a man was easier to understand than a man.

Even Will did not deny the pleasure he felt in killing Hobbs.

Will’s finger caught on another premolar, reaching for the edge, he pressed down until his
skin and Hannibal was blessed with the taste of Will’s blood.

His nostrils flared, feathers ruffling as a show of his excitement. He applied a little pressure
onto Will’s finger then, now that he was given permission, until more blood leaked into his
mouth. Will gasped, tensing to remove his fingers. Hannibal opened his mouth, freeing the
man from his bold exploration. Will’s bloodied fingers traveled up his brow, right to where
the ridges in his horns began to grow.

Eyes were connected to each other as Will leaned close, bracing his body against the ground
to better lift his torso to meet Hannibal’s face. He huffed at Will, the air cold enough to leave
a trail of mist around them. William’s eyes fluttered as he hesitated, his heartbeat pumping
blood through his now exposed body, pulse thrumming at the throat, he leaned forward, his
human skull resting against Hannibal’s.

The great beast found himself closing his eyes, relaxing against the man.

“You’re beautiful,” William said, the words embedding themselves right into his facial
feathers. They rippled around him, starting right from Will spoke, all the way to his tail. Will
nuzzled into him, exhaustion and shock, the elements now beginning to take their final toll.

The human pulled away, locking eyes with Hannibal once more. He licked his lips, blood
rushing to his cheeks.

It was Hannibal that flinched when Will came close next; a kiss, bestowed right above his
nose. William’s eyes began to widen, his scent immediately coming to sour with shame and
fear. He would move if Hannibal didn’t reassure him.
Rather than lick Will and claim him through scent that way, Hannibal curved his neck around
Will before the man could escape their makeshift den. The human was no match for
Hannibal’s strength, his neck almost as thick as Will’s torso, he pulled Will into his side.

Will was effectively squished into submission.

Using caution, Hannibal tilted his jaw and lowered it to Will’s skull. Saliva was used to scent
many things, but there was a pheromone point just beneath his jaw that would wrap Will in a
cocoon of his own scent. Antlers danced over Will’s face like trees, the man laid complacent
under his care, chuckling as Hannibal caught his muzzle under his ribs.

His hand got heavier, body molding to his own, breath evening out. Sunrise would come in
five hours and though the ground was cold and Will would be stiff in the morning, Hannibal
prided himself on the knowledge that the rest of William’s evening would be filled with
peaceful dreams.

Hannibal’s ears flicked forward, lesser deer crossing the street.

“I don’t know how much longer I can be of use to Jack,” Will said when he was pacing
Hannibal’s office earlier in the day. Hannibal stood above Will this time, their positions
reversed.

“It is becoming more and more difficult for you to see,” was the only response Hannibal
could give.

Will charged into the office, his posture wide with authority as he stated:

“Abel Gideon isn’t the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Hannibal was grateful that Will seemed to be carrying the weight of the only intelligent mind
in the FBI. His rage simmered within him, fingers twitching as he read the article; he snapped
the lead off three pencils before Hannibal tempered the anger he carried. Will paced the floor,
back and forth, while Hannibal sat in his chair.

“What is your image of the Ripper, William?” Hannibal asked, the words falling off his
tongue like a spell to trap the man. Will stopped, exhaled as he closed his eyes.

He stayed there, still, for a minute. His body swayed as his head twitched, eyes fluttering just
under the protective lens.

“The Ripper creates art out of,” he hesitated, stuck on the word. He turned to face Hannibal,
his eyes wide and clear, “swine that he cares nothing for.”

“The Ripper is a male,” Hannibal kept his gaze on the table beside him, smirking at the
reflection of Will’s annoyed facial expression.

“He doesn’t deface or disgrace them through violent acts of sexual perversion- that is below
him. The Ripper is a god that walks among the field of cattle. ” Will moved slowly to the
chair, folding down into it. “He tends to his flock, passing unseen yet completely welcomed
to prey.”

He laughed, pushing the locks of hair out of his face. Hannibal caught a waft of his own scent
laced in the curls.

“If Abel Gideon does not shame way the Ripper does, does not take away the organ of life,
then he is not the Ripper.”

The remainder of Hannibal’s session was cut short when Will’s phone rang, Uncle Jack
summoning the wizard to his mundane job- to try and catch the person Hannibal was only
just sitting in front of.

He went about his patients, giving them the attention that they needed, during their own time,
and prepared dinner for his guest of the evening- a musician: Tobias Budge and the Cat Gut
Serial Killer that deposited a body to the FBI.

The very killer that pulled William away from him prematurely.

“Actually, I was going to kill you.” Tobias was bold, talking so freely in Hannibal’s domain.

Hannibal chucked over dinner.

“Of course, you do- why haven’t you killed me yet.” Hannibal indulged in a bite of food.
“Or have you changed your mind.”

“I need a friend,” Tobias said, the echo of Bedelia drifting through his mind- gentle words
that spoke to him about loneliness, the veil that everyone spoke to: a person suit. “Someone
that thinks the way I do, sees the world the way I see it.”

That afternoon, Hannibal left the windows open. It was a bold choice, a light November frost
covering the ground and an economically wasteful one if Hannibal was concerned with
conserving heat. The frost on the ground, coupled with the wind chill, brought in the scent of
pine and an echo of himself.

Will was close to him. Hannibal turned to Tobias, now standing within striking distance.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Hannibal said truthfully. He could hear the sound of boots
crunching on the ground, approaching the front door with muttering words falling from the
lips that bestowed a kiss to the ravenstag.

The doorbell rang.

“Expecting anyone?”

“No.”

Hannibal turned and walked to Will. When he opened the door, Will was clearly distressed,
his scent mixed, heavily traced by Alana.
“Alana kissed me,” he said as he pushed inside the house, a hand on his chest. Hannibal’s
rage was not so easily tampered. Here is a potential mate smelling of another, with a rival
who was both trying to harm his potential mate and improperly court himself.

Later, Hannibal would confess it was the overwhelming amount of rage that consumed him-
Will standing too close to it. He would be burned by the rage, no doubt, but rather a minor
burn than a deep scalding one. Giving into his desire to sink his teeth into something,
Hannibal stalked behind Will, spun him until he was pinned to the wall only so he could
better cage him in with the rest of his body.

Will’s body twitched at the rough handling, his pulse increasing under Hannibal’s thumb as
he moved it to cup beneath the stubbled jaw line.

Hannibal dove for the proverbial kill, sealing his lips over William’s as if he were attempting
to suck the life free of him. Will’s hand was pitched above the door, half raised to likely
attempt to strike Hannibal. It came down to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder. His fingers sunk into
Hannibal’s clothing as the man bit on his lip.

Yet again, Hannibal got the chance to savor dear William’s blood. Hannibal worried the split
in his lip with his own, pulling as much blood as he could.

A slow drawn out clap had their heads breaking. Hannibal still had his forehead pressed
against Will, in reflection to what the man so often did to him. Hannibal was not concerned
with the muggle standing in front of the two wizards, both capable of wordless magic.
Hannibal was not worried as a killer.

“Now I see,” Tobias said. He smiled, his eyes cast between the two of them. Hannibal could
feel himself preparing to leap as the other killer dropped a weapon from his sleeve, a tightly
woven cord.

Will reacted faster than either of them. With his speed, he was able to flick his fingers out, his
magic strained on the cord that Tobias fashioned. With snake-like animation, the wire
wrapped itself around Tobias’ neck before any of them could pull it free, tightening with
magical strength that had the man collapsing to the floor. Hannibal watched Will turn his
finger around in another circle, the coil crushing his vocal cord, severing the larynx.

Tobias was struggling to find oxygen with his broken neck, flesh and cartilage collapsing
inward. Bulging eyes were popping from his skull as Will ruptured blood vessels.

Tobias Budge dropped on his knees, hands trying to clutch his own weapon. Hannibal was
gifted the moving art of his mate, his hands took the human-gut wire, his magic fizzled out as
his arms engaged. Will struggled with the transition from magically killing him to with his
hands, dropping to the ground. William stretched his body upward, Tobias hanging prostrate
by his neck on Will’s crucifix.

The moment fell together perfectly. William had consecrated their bond- now, Hannibal only
had to assure its consummation.
 William’s hands fell free of the wire, he rocked back on his knees- perfectly serene as the
body fell. The rattling of dishes snapped Will from his feat. His hands shook, a shaky exhale.
He turned to look at Hannibal, eyes wide with fear as his body was still against the horror of
being caught. As fast as Will had moved earlier, Hannibal clutched onto Will as he apparated-
attempting to escape entirely.

Hannibal was not worried about the house. Even if the body was on the main floor of the
house, it wasn’t the first time he had to leave one unattended.

Will was calling his magic to him, forcing Hannibal to bring up his hand to block Will’s
attack.

“You don’t know what you saw,” Will tried to say, attempting to lace his words with magic.
Had Hannibal been a lesser man, or not a potential mate, then he might have fallen for it.
Hannibal dodged his spell, skittering around the dogs that were escaping through the back
door to hide behind the couch.

He panted, a laugh through his teeth. It reminded him of the play he engaged with Will before
feasting on Stammens body.

“There is no shame in hiding your magic, William.”

Hannibal was surrounded by Will’s scent, in the heart of his territory. While he was allowed
in it once, he was now here uninvited.

It was considered rather rude given that he was attempting to court the wizard. He cringed
from behind the couch when Will went silent. Contemplating his next move, Hannibal shifted
his weight, rising above the couch with his hands near in a low surrender.

The bed wasn’t far from Will, directly behind him. The only thing that stood between
Hannibal and Will was the couch he took cover under. Will’s gaze was darting between
Hannibal and the ground, his own nostrils flaring like he could smell hope. Each step was
slow, the movement he made to Will was as powerful as it was graceful. He crossed the room
to Will, coming into his space for the first time as a human.

Always skittish with the approach, trusting once connected, Will’s arms went up to cradle the
back of his head just as easily as they did when he was in his pelt. Sharp fingernails traced
the roots of his hair, his feathers flaring only slightly, enough to feel their unique texture.

Talking always seemed to stop them from moving forward. Will followed his instincts,
reaching forward to reconnect their lips in a kiss. Hannibal walked them both backwards until
Will fell into his own bed. Hannibal pushed him upward, lifting Will from his spine until he
was higher on the bed. Will panted, his heartbeat pumping the perfume of arousal all through
his body.

“Stay with me,” Hannibal said, nuzzling at Will’s collar bone. He panted himself, finding it
almost hard to control his jaw as he reached for the shirt covering Will. Unlike his time as a
ravenstag, Will was completely clothed. Hannibal would not be the one to remove the
clothing unless Will demanded it. He settled for resting his elbows on the side of Will’s head,
one leg propped up on the side, the other laying right against Will.

Hannibal was close enough to watch his apple bob against his throat with the thoughts that
were running through Will’s mind. Will shook his head.

“I’m not wanted in either world.”

Hannibal understood the isolation and loneliness all too well.

“You are wanted in mine.”

Will pulled Hannibal’s head up sharply by his hair, earning a low abet playful growl from the
man that could easily tear out his throat.

Will reached out to Hannibal.

They came together in a kiss of teeth. Hannibal pulled at the slow forming scab on Will’s lip,
who retaliated by sucking on Hannibal’s tongue, grazing it with his teeth. Their bodies jolted
together, magic picking up on their mutual arousal and compatibility.

“Hannibal…” the man in question groaned at the sound of his own name falling from Will’s
lips. Their scent was beginning to saturate the room, magic sparking around them in
anticipation. Will shook his head, freeing an arm to drape over his eyes as his body deflated.
“It will never work, Hannibal.”

The man chuckled at his mate’s doubt, magic now coiling around the room, building in a web
of pressure that neither could escape until completed. He nudged Will’s arm away, biting at
the sensitive flesh to move the arm from his eyes.

The more Hannibal touched Will, the more his claim sank in- possessive with every touch.
Will opened his mouth to Hannibal’s tongue, inviting him in with his own. Uneasy hands
moved to Hannibal’s back.

“You’re my stag,” Will whispered against his lips, both panting with the need for air.

“Would it be so hard,” Hannibal asked, a thumb brushing the bruised lips, “to let us be
forever?”

Will closed his eyes and went limp in the bed. Hannibal did not find it alarming, he got to
watch so close at his mate to be run through scenarios in his skull. Eyeballs were twitching
just below the skin, hitching in breath, his tongue flicked out to run over lips, arousal scent
spiking and testing Hannibal’s patience as Will proceeded to arch his back in a hypothetical
sexual scene.

His eyes opened, clear blue eyes holding onto Hannibal’s as they shared the same breath.

The smile that Hannibal received erased any doubt.

The two then tore at each other like animals, dipping into clothing, Hannibal ripped the shirt
Will wore. The primal display of strength had him whine, making Hannibal buck his hips
right into Will’s.

“So many layers,” Will muttered as he attempted to remove the buttons on his suit coat.
Hannibal now was sucking at Will’s scent gland, pulling his blood to the surface only to
bruise it with his teeth. Though it was a young and pubescent sign of marking territory, it
mulled the fire in him.

Alana’s scent was no longer over the man.

“You are far too thin.” Hannibal thought this numerous times during their nightly jaunt but it
was the first time he could so freely express his thoughts. Hannibal ate at the body, he fed
Will a few times, now- it was time to feed his mate regularly.

He tossed his own clothing to the side, not caring for the buttons that rolled under the bed or
catapulted themselves across the room. They were obscured in darkness, yet both could see
the others naked flesh bare. Will brought his nails down from Hannibal’s spine, along the
lines of his ribs, so he could take the both of them in hand. Hannibal panted into Will’s mouth
as a slow hand pumped them.

“We will need contraceptives,” Hannibal said, turning to mouth at the other side of Will’s
neck. Will’s hand stuttered so Hannibal rose to look at the man, blush deepened and eyes
attempting to avoid looking at the drawer.

The bottle of clear lubricant was the thing that Will was likely looking for- the shame came
from the surrounding objects. Hannibal looked in the drawer at the oddly shaped glass and
plastic pieces within. He smirked down at Will. Perhaps the idea of taking something foreign
wasn’t so appalling to him. Muggle toys were more abundant, but he did see a magical one as
well.

“Sadist,” William said from beneath him, arching his spine up regardless, “you get off on
humiliation.” That wasn’t entirely true, the humiliation of the swine who dared attempt to
cross his path- executed and then fulfilled their purpose- yes, but there was never a sexual
gratification.

“Pleasure is pleasure, William.” He lowered his hand, pressing between the fibers of each rib
only to switch his pressure to light along the fleshy part of his stomach. He reached down the
joint of the hip, petting the meat of William’s thigh. “Taboo is only so because it is forbidden
to those who are not bound by shame.”

Will huffed a laugh, bit his lip with a hiss when Hannibal grazed his teeth over his inner
thigh.

“I think there are several social theorists that would disagree,” he panted. Hannibal nipped
him, following a vein with his tongue as it trailed upward. Will was mildly distracted by the
feeling of lips on his neck- he missed the bottle popping open.
The lubricant tingled a bit on the pad of his finger, an odd response unless Will happened to
be more adventurous than given previous credit. He reached up to scent his fingers; amongst
the lubricant was Will’s scent.

“You brewed this?” the question was rhetorical, the scent evident enough but the thought of
Will hunched over a cauldron with a book open to a potion, bottles floating around him with
a knife covered in blood. It was enough to have Hannibal bite at the side of Will’s neck.

His spine arched.

Hannibal thrust the first digit into Will.

“Yes,” Will said, his eyes burst open. His hips gave little thrusts, trying to goad Hannibal into
thrusting deeper with his fingers. The erect cock, which had been ignored since Will let go of
both of them, hovered in front of Hannibal’s face.

The man would consider it a crime if he only had Will’s blood to compare.

He reached his arm around Will, pinning the man to the bed so he could take his cock into his
mouth. Will’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, legs rising to the side, dipping down in
submission as he allowed Hannibal to manipulate him as desired.

The taste of Will matched his scent perfectly, in a way that Hannibal could never truly
explain. He reached his fingers under Will, the man lifting his legs so that Hannibal would
have an easier time reaching his hole. He drove his finger in Will roughly, watching with
pleasure as Will’s eyes shot open, body tensing as he shouted in pleasure and pain.

Hannibal smirked as he rubbed mercilessly against Will’s prostate before adding a second
finger.

“Hannibal,” Will groaned, body flopping on the mattress as he was assaulted by pleasure.
Hannibal, stretched Will efficiently, but never with pain and without pleasure. Soon a third
finger was added. A hand gripped his hair, pulling at him from the roots. He groaned around
the length in his mouth, his own excitement making him uncoordinated.

“Now, Hannibal,” Will ordered. Hannibal smirked, crawling up Will’s body, taking notice
that some of his skin was turning black, small feathers beginning to protrude from his flesh.
Will dug his fingers into the base of his spine, feeling around for the stalks of feathers.

Hannibal grunted, teeth clenched as he flinched.

“Rude,” he said to Will as they both looked at the black feather he pulled free. Will twisted it
in his fingers, eyes going distant again. Hannibal gave him the moment.

“You’ll live,” Will said, his smile turning vicious.

Hannibal retaliated by twisting his three fingers as he removed them, the effect had his
knuckles catching on Will’s rim. Will’s eyes rolled, the hand holding the feather going weak
in the sheets. The two of them were needy, their magic calling out for the other. Hannibal and
Will both knew it was a rushed process, yet they were both accustomed to handling a bit of
pain.

Repositioning Will so the man was braced on his hands and knees, Hannibal slid up his body.
Thighs were resting against the other, the whole of his stomach pressing into the dips and
wells of his spine. Hannibal thread his one hand under Will’s belly, weaved it up until it was
around his jaw.

“You are mine, William,” Hannibal muttered, slowly sinking into Will. His spine dipped, eyes
rolling into his head. “You shall want for nothing.” Hannibal whispered these words directly
into Will’s ear, panting them as he sank deeper in, overwhelming the man so unused to touch
alone.

Will retaliated with a hand against Hannibal’s back, pushing fingers right to the feathers
between the stalks and skin, dragging his nails in the sensitive spaces. Will’s scent changed a
bit, a spicy, fierce smell laced with his arousal; one of challenge.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” he growled, teeth clenched, blood settling between each one, “
claim me.” Hannibal growled in his ear.

“Gladly.” Hannibal rocked back onto his haunches, pulling Will to sit back down onto him as
Hannibal could use gravity to nail his prostate repeatedly. His hands could slide up and down
Will’s body as their momentum slammed the headboard against the wall to leave scuffing
against the paint.

Their magic was coming together, folding along at their jagged edges. Hannibal’s magic was
beginning to show itself against Will’s skin. The frequently groomed places were starting to
break out in a black color. He was not concerned about Will, even if he wasn’t aware of the
transformative process, he could feel his own half transformation occurring.

As it never harmed him, he doubted it would harm Will.

In his passion, Hannibal felt his antlers split his skull as Will tightened around him, whining
for him to keep the pace faster against his prostate. Will hung his head low, grunting and
moaning with pleasure, body seemed to be so overwhelmed by the most basic of touches.

When the man looked up and saw the grotesque shadow that hung over the wall, antlers
crowned over the man that fucked him, over the Stag that walked next to him, killed for him,
the rest of the pieces seemed to fall into place.

“You’re him,” Will whispered, arms now braced under his chest again to look at the shadow
the half-moon caused. “The Copy Cat,” Will said, slowly turning his head to catch Hannibal’s
eyes. “The Ripper.” His own eyes fluttered with the intensity of the revelation, the taboo,
Hannibal’s own primal response to the confession.

“Yes,” Hannibal growled, his teeth right next to Will’s ear, hand right over his heart. He
smirked at his mate, then slowly moved his hips forward. It was a sharp contrast to what they
were both doing; intense in its pride rather than the wild claiming.
“Oh Hannibal,” Will moaned. He closed his eyes and thrust his hips back against Hannibal’s.
“More.”

Hannibal was all too happy to provide.

It was only a couple of more thrusts, more passionate now that Will knew Hannibal’s secret,
before he gripped Will’s hair to pull his head up while his hips thrust wildly to bite down on
Will’s neck, sealing their mating.

Venom released into Will’s neck at the point of orgasm, his magic diving into Will’s as he
held Will close to his hips. Will whined, the venom in his neck making him limp and calm
under Hannibal to better aid the transformation.

Hannibal released his teeth from Will, licking over the wound and watching it seal- the only
time his saliva would ever be used for medicinal uses. Will rocked in his arms, slightly
delirious, one of his arms reached around to weave itself in his sweaty locks. Will turned their
heads so they could share a kiss, sloppy and perfect in the vulgar ways post sexual kisses
could be enjoyed.

“All that talk of becoming,” he muttered against his lips, eyes fluttering with the delirium of
the orgasm and venom. Hannibal laughed, shifting them apart with a mutual sigh.

“It will be well by morning, William.”

Naked, Hannibal carried his new mate deep into the forest behind Will’s house. Spotting a
safe place, he laid Will gently onto the forest floor and shifted into his ravenstag form. Much
like the night previous, Hannibal twisted himself so Will was pressed into his soft feathers.

It wouldn’t be much longer now…

He could see that his venom was already coursing through Will’s body.

His veins changed from blue to black, spawning from the mating bite he gave Will to the tips
of his fingers. Hannibal leaned his head down, licking Will’s brow as he slowly began to
change. He moved his tongue to the bite, lapping at the wound until it healed.

Will’s magic slowly pulled from his body, encasing him in a deep blue. It swirled around
Will’s body, then flashed. It was the same way he transformed the first time; magic willing it
to be, then become something as simple as shifting into an Animagus form.

Hannibal nuzzled Will’s new face, licking the tiny feathers around his new antlers. Will gave
a great sigh in his sleep, head raising a bit to meet Hannibal’s.

Scanning the area once more before resting with his newly christened mate, Hannibal gazed
with his eyes and ears. The dogs were in the house, making their way back inside through the
back door; the very same they escaped while Will and Hannibal fought in human form. His
ears could pick up no unnatural sounds that his eyes could not detect.

Hannibal groomed the top of his mate’s crown, then rest his own head down- the intention to
start on the journey as soon as possible.
Chapter End Notes

Such is the work of the devil and we walk the path as tempters...
 Resignation
Chapter Notes

My guests,

With this feast, I wish you a happy and healthy Thanksgiving. I am so honored to be
serving you this fic once more. Old friends and new, welcome to the table.

May we feast as friends this season.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warmth. Warmth was surrounding him. It was within his own core, like his magic had rested
deep within a balm. Will’s body felt heavy in the blankets. He shuffled his head, burrowing
his nose deeper into the blankets.

He felt something shift near him, a bed partner. How many years had gone by… The
proximity of the person did not make him tense, going further to relax as a weight settled
over his side, heavier than an arm. His partner was male.

And treated him very well if the long-forgotten tingle was any indication. Surely Will was
dreaming. That very night, he heard a racoon, something stuck in the shute of his chimney.
He did not want to risk a magical blow out by pointing his wand at it. He tried to pull the
creature from the chimney, but the stubborn bastard stayed in there.

Rather than hurt it by magical force, Will grabbed a sledge hammer, throwing himself into
the stones. His dogs were outside, away from his destruction as he tore at the wall, ripping
apart the stones to toss them. He missed Alana walking into his house, flustered as she circled
around his destruction.

They exchanged what he supposed could pass as flirting. She walked closer to him, years of
distanced desire reawakened in a quick moment. But nothing came past that, an exchange
between two people that would only grow distant and resent each other.

Something brushed against his ear, he shook his head, wakefulness seeping into his body with
the heat of the sun. The air was cold against his nose, crisp air awakening another sense. Will
must have left the windows open?

His mind caught up with the nights events:

Hannibal.

Will opened his eyes, remaining still like he had so often with him, his Stag- the Stag.
Something large brushed against his neck, a rippled pelt rubbing against his neck- heavy
pressure. Hannibal’s head nuzzled right of his. Will became aware of the little blind spot right
in front of him, the new distance his eyes could offer. His nostrils flared as his body
stiffened.

Hannibal lifted his head, tongue coming to groom at the new bones and feathers he had.

“Good morning, beloved,” the sound of Hannibal’s voice echoed through his ears, though his
lips did not move. Will picked up his head, disoriented slightly with the weight of his antlers.
He peered down at his body, long legs folded neatly under him, tucked against Hannibal’s so
the greater stag could spoon around him.

Sleep was long gone, his mind still as it caught up with what his eyes were looking at. The
stag rubbed his head against Will’s neck, their antlers clicking together. Will wasn’t sure why,
but he found his eyes closing, his body beginning to mirror Hannibal’s.

“You have magic,” it was the only conclusion; Will felt his magic settling against Hannibal,
their necks twisted, antlers fighting for space above their heads like tree branches. Hannibal
mouthed at his feathers, pulling one of them. Will growled at Hannibal, the stag rising to his
full height in one graceful swoop.

He looked down at Will with what must have been a smug smile.

Not to be deterred, Will tucked himself in two, recalling the deer he’d seen on documentaries.
He avoided thinking of Hobbs and his daughter.

“What are you…we?” He asked, looking down at his hoofs. Hannibal, who kept his head
high, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“Ravenstag,” He replied. “The last of my kind.”

Hannibal’s ears flicked onto something, his feathers rising a bit as he widened his stance.
Will turned his head, following Hannibal’s gaze. He saw, far beyond what his human eyes
could ever be capable of, an entire herd of white-tailed deer. There were four does, five fawns
between them. Will’s ears caught the distant scent of a deer, muskier than the family closer to
them. He spotted a buck, smaller than the two of them, watching his herd of deer from a
distance.

The last of Hannibal’s kind.

It was well known that wizards could produce heirs; sire and gestate. There was a certain
amount of trust a wizard had to put to their own magic when gestating a child: a makeshift
fetus would pull itself together from the nutrients in the body, drawing deep on a magical
reserve. As gestation continued, the body had to accommodate two-fold: equipment and
nutrients.

Will turned his head to his new mate.

The last of his kind.

As Abigail bled on the ground, he looked back into the eyes of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, his
empathy imprinting the daughter onto him. He was numb to the call of family until that
point- the visceral breaking of his shell made him grasp for family.

The two of their magical cores had imprinted on the other, molding themselves to share the
best traits.

Will would be expected to continue that legacy.

Hannibal was one; now, he was two.

“Come,” Hannibal said, walking forward with a nudge of his antlers. Will did not know how
to move on four legs in the slightest. He started with a front foot, stretching it forward,
landing, and moved a backfoot. “You’re overthinking it.” Hannibal’s voice was close to his
ear, the great body coming to stand next to him. He turned his head as his feathers tingled,
like they were tickling his stomach.

“They reach for each other,” Will said in awe, watching as he shifted closer, the feathers
contracted, pulling the two bodies together.

“With mates or fawns, it’s a reflexive response to showing affection.” Will’s feathers pulsed
with Hannibal’s explanation. He felt his skin pull, he moved to Hannibal, knocking into him.
The ravenstag laughed at Will’s unbalance. “We have hackles of our own to raise when we
are before a threat. But that is of little matter. Now, we run.”

Will flinched, stumbling away as Hannibal thrust his antlers in Will’s direction. He got
caught under all his feet, stumbling over himself with little grace. Huffing in frustration, Will
pulled himself up again, shook out his feathers when his instincts pulled at him. He found
himself calmer after that, beginning to walk.

His choppy movements evened out, gait lengthening. Hannibal laughed next to him,
beginning to pick up his own pace. Will found that cantering was an easier gait to maintain
for stamina, but galloping, galloping was freedom in a way that Will never found before.

Hannibal took him faster than he ever thought possible. His legs carried him as if he weighed
nothing, magic pumping to every feather in his body as oxygen was pulled into the massive
lungs that billowed in his chest. The ravenstag jumped over the logs and down ravines with
no problems, landing on instinct next to the larger one.

He knew when Hannibal turned them to return to his house. They had to slow their gaits, Will
needing to focus on his turns as the trees became thicker, requiring him to turn his body.
Hannibal was superior to him, natural instinct and years of experience made him the natural
apex predator. The ravenstag was a gentleman though, slowing so Will could play with the
man.

Will found his legs shaking by the time the two of them approached his house. He was glad
that Hannibal got the opportunity to see his house like this; while it wasn’t floating in the
darkness of night, the mist gave it the impression that the field was atop a cloud.
He took a step forward, his knees buckled. He felt his pelt folding into him, magic taxed for
the evening as his bones constricted, skin folding around his feathers. He laughed in
exhaustion and joy. Never had he felt such a way. Hannibal stepped down next to him, no
clothing covering either of their bodies. The man reached forward, wrapping Will into his
arms as he rose on the ground.

Will, feeling flustered by the display of strength, felt a little spiteful. Before Hannibal could
kick the door down, Will flicked the lock open with a wave of his hand. Hannibal hummed at
him, walking under the threshold so he could toss will back onto the bed.

“I left a body in your house,” Will chuckled, rubbing a hand down his face. He landed on his
back, stomach exposed as Hannibal remained plastered on his side. Hannibal’s fingers were
tracing around Will’s ribs, lifting and lowering with the swell of his breath.

“Unfortunately, the meat had rotted at this point.”

Their moment was interrupted by the ringing of Will’s cell phone.

“There is only one person that calls me this early,” Will closed his eyes, making no move to
answer the phone. When Winston came over to Will’s bed, his head resting on the edge, Will
felt pity. He rolled himself out, threw on a pair of clean pants, then went about providing the
dogs breakfast. He could feel Hannibal’s gaze on him, like a lion surveying prey they were
to eat.

The man seemed quite content on Will’s bed.

“What are we going to do?” Will asked, looking up at Hannibal from his spot in the kitchen,
surrounded by the mouths of eating dogs. Hannibal pulled at the sheets a bit.

“We remain.” He looked up. “Or we move on.”

There was the issue of Hannibal’s hobby.

“Working with the FBI is playing with fire Hannibal.” Will collected one of the dog’s bowls,
two, tossing them both in the sink. When he looked up to see Hannibal’s smile, Will turned to
sigh.

“Italy is nice, this time of year,” Hannibal said, his voice, slow and wavered.

For all the man was a terrifying monster, it seemed they all had the same fears. Will picked
up another dog bowl. He thought about it, looking at the hole in the chimney.

Alana and Will both know that there was no animal within the chimney. The rocks, his floo
networks, an entire heat system, destroyed because of work-borne stress.

He didn’t find it so hard to picture, but he dare not.

“Are you asking me to elope with you?” He was sure if Hannibal were a lesser man, he
would have rolled his eyes. Magical documentations would be difficult to transfer, no-maj
ones were simpler in their processes. For every reason Will could come up with on why it
would not work, his mind would picture a scenario where eloping with Hannibal worked.

“You have your practice.”

“All of them can be transferred with my reputation in the magical and muggle world.”

He could not bring up his own profession on why it was a reason to stay. Will was mated now
to a serial killer. The two things were counter intuitive.

Buster rattled around him, moving his bowl across the floor. Will scooped it up before he
could try and destroy it.

“My dogs?” Will asked. Hannibal looked over at all of them, then to him.

“I could never part you from your strays.”

Will moved around the dogs, walking back to his bed where he molded himself to Hannibal.
He laid there, the two wrapped in the sheets, ignoring the persistent calls of Uncle Jack.

“Well,” Will traced one of the claw marks he gave Hannibal, “two home families are bad for
child development.”

Hannibal rolled Will back onto his spine, pressing him deep into the mattress as the two
began to reaffirm their new bond.

It would take some time before everything was ready. Will flicked his wand at the chimney,
leaving all but the largest rock to glue themselves back together. Taking a stone from his
porch, Will transfigured it, moving the stone until it fit, sealing the hole. He bent down and
lifted the original stone, putting it on his kitchen table.

That was a gift for Jack.

Will blushed as he pulled the bedsheets back to toss them in the washing machine. He used
more soap than normal. As he went to refit the bed, he saw the feather that he pulled from
Hannibal’s back. It was half the length of his forearm, soft in the middle of the feathers. He
noticed if he hovered his finger away from the feather, it would curl in on itself, trying to pull
him close.

Every no-maj he worked with would find confusion with his sudden departure. Like the
feather, Will felt his own pull to Hannibal. Like walking downstream, Will did not find
himself fighting the current. He had knowledge of the water rushing around him- that
Hannibal was the cannibal they were searching for; one that wore many faces. He knew of
the water along his legs: that he was a cannibal himself.

He was aware of the inevitable pull towards the ocean. This path leads to one place.

His magic did not fight the pull; his mind found no reason.
*

Will spent some time debating on how to tell Jack he was quitting, for real, this time.

One hundred percent.

In the end, he printed his two-week notice at his house, the rubble of his chimney providing
the perfect support for his reason for leaving.

He walked into Jack’s office with a cup of hot coffee without invitation, sitting down in the
same chair he met Hannibal. Will did not need to wait long, his coffee still too hot to drink.
When Jack walked in, his head was stuck in a file, autopilot taking him to his desk.

“Hi Jack.”

Jack jumped out of his skin. The whole thing almost had Will laughing. He kept a strong
poker face by avoiding Jack’s eyes. Before Jack could scold him for entering, Will slid over
his two-week notice.

The man read through it quickly.

“Health concerns? I thought you were working through that?” He sat back at his desk.

Will anticipated this. He opened his bag and put the stone on Jack’s desk. It was large,
required two hands to lift and weighed about thirty pounds. It left a medium sized hole in his
wood flooring- nothing that magic couldn’t fix.

“That came from my chimney, where I spent an hour pulling it from the wall with a
sledgehammer convinced that there was something rattling around inside.”

He sat back in his chair, took his first sip of coffee and pulled his head back.

Hannibal was spoiling him.

“You caught the last three, I need you to-“

“This doesn’t stop with this killer, Jack,” Will said, standing now. “Two-weeks.”

“You save lives here,” Jack tried again. Will thought of the body that he left behind in
Hannibal’s home. The two had gone their separate ways when they finally were able to free
themselves of the bed.

“People die all the time, Jack,” Will countered, putting his coffee on the edge of the desk.
Hannibal had eaten from the very humans that rest in the morgue beneath their office.

Jack wasn’t happy, it didn’t take an empath to figure that out, but the man had no control over
Will.

Though Will ripped all of Jack’s control from him, the man must have gone to Alana Bloom.
He could hear her heels coming from the hall, his ears picking up on things that were out of
the human range. He clicked his slide buzzer, continuing with the lecture.

He chose to focus on the profile of the man he killed rather than watching Alana’s face. There
were some things she would not be able to understand as a no-maj, try as many of them did.
His lecture came to an end, he dismissed his students, she descended the stairs to him.

“I think it’s good for you,” Alana said, distanced from him. The way she rocked on her heels
indicated she was not pleased with his departure. He smiled at her as he collected the
gruesome photos. He felt her truth within his magic though. This was a good choice, leaving
with Hannibal.

“I think it’s best I go far away from Jack Crawford.” Will snapped the flap closed on his bag,
tossing the strap over his shoulder. Alana laughed, parting from him as he went to make an
escape.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

He could read between the lines of her statement. He did not need to look at her face to see
her anger and betrayal, she radiated it.

If only Alana knew the distance Will was going, she might have said something while she
had the opportunity.

Will strategically parked in the back lot. It was poorly lit, so it naturally discouraged people
from parking there, distanced from the building and could pick up the wind current coming
from the side of the architecture.

He found that not only his hearing had increased, but his tolerance for cold. A powerful burst
of wind came from the side, smacking his body. His coat, thick as it was, would have made
him shiver. Yet, he found himself warm beneath his layers. He pulled back the sleeve, his
skin color had not changed.

Cigarette smoke came with the next gust of wind. Will turned his head, scented the area. He
saw a woman, Beverly Katz, shivering in the wind. He walked over to the woman, not
knowing how to really approach the situation.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he took a step back when she rounded on him, the cigarette still
balanced between her fingers. She glared at him as she relaxed, her body catching the next
stab of cold wind.

“I don’t,” she passed him the cigarette. “If you share, it doesn’t count as one.”

Will had his fair share of cigarettes. He didn’t make it a habit, but it was an easy in to addicts-
offer a light of a cig, and they’d give him a fact or two.

To share cigarettes was an unspoken sign of friendship- of mutual sin.

He took the cigarette and took a small drag.

She laughed out her smoke as he coughed up a bit of his. They pressed their backs against the
wall, Will moved to take the brunt of the wind.

Holding the butt in his lips, Will slipped off his jacket, moving it to wrap around Beverly.

“Kind Knight,” she said, the blush on her cheeks from the cold. Will liked that about Beverly,
she was blunt, accepted things with a sense of humor.

Looking up at the cloudy night, there was rain that was due in a few hours. By then, Will
would be at his home, empty without the dogs, and finished packing the last of his things.

“I hear you’re eloping.” Beverly took the cigarette back, using the opportunity to look him in
the eyes. For anyone else, Will would scoff. For Beverly, he found himself blushing, a hand
to the back of his head.

“Yeah,” he said, lacking a response. “Ringing in the New Year.” Beverly laughed, her head
tossed back at his embarrassment- Will joining in. “What are your thoughts?” Will shifted his
stance a bit.

“I don’t know Will,” she took a long drag. “I don’t have a crystal ball.” Beverly was not
aware of her own double joke. “But.” She went silent, the cigarette burning the edge of her
finger. “I once watched an oil spill catch fire over water. It was terrifying.”

Her eyes looked raw; connected to each other, Will could almost feel the weight of the
pendulum in his mind winding up to swing. She broke eye contact before it could release.

“And it was beautiful.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Catch you later, Graham.”

Hannibal was in Will’s home, his car parked in the gravel. When his mate asked why he
smelled of cigarettes, his defense was an echo of Beverly’s:

“If you share, it doesn’t count.”

Will was unsure if it was the slip of his drawl or the tobacco aroma that had Hannibal
descend on him like a lamb to the slaughter.

The lack of furniture was not a problem for either of them.

The network of criminals Hannibal had at his disposal was something that astounded Will.
Within the last two weeks of Will working for the FBI, Hannibal had secured the papers
needed for immigrating to another country.

For both the magical and no-maj world.

Will looked over the files while he sat on the couch. Hannibal was standing in front of the
liquor cabinet- attempting to distract himself from Will’s lingering approval.
“This house,” Will said, holding up that stack of papers within their binder. “You’ve had it for
some time.”

“It has recently been refurbished to fit the needs of two,” Hannibal said.

Will chose not to think about what condition the house was in before Will met Hannibal. The
man in question moved away from his selection process, folding himself next to Will.

Moving to Italy was more suitable for their magical cores than France, as the country had
stricter Dark magic laws and was far too close to England’s little war. The past two magical
wars tainted the reputation of Dark magical people and practices. France, like England, was
now a strongly light oriented community. In Italy, the laws were looser and those that
practiced in the rural areas were rarely punished for crimes.

If we don’t see it, it’s not happening.

Will and Hannibal planned on exploiting that policy.

Eloping only became real to Will when Hannibal asked for his dogs. Hannibal had offered to
drive Will home from HQ after a long day of looking over throat cello- trying to figure out
why the killer suddenly stopped. Jack had yet to accept the theory Price and Zeller pitched;
the first brush of truth against Will.

Will opened the door for the dogs to run freely, greeting each one as they played in the yard.
Several of them recognized Hannibal, loping to him with wagging tails. He bent a knee as he
scratched each one that came to him.

“Tomorrow, I am bringing a specialist in to transfer your strays.”

Will stilled from the step he was sitting on. He looked up at Hannibal. The man laughed.

“Did you think they would be content with walking through fire?” Hannibal managed to find
Winston’s favorite spot. The dog dipped his neck further into the killer’s hand. “Apparition is
painful for us as humans. The first sign of sociopathy is cruelty to animals.” Hannibal locked
his eyes onto Will.

“We are not cruel.” He said simply.

Will stood up and walked over to Hannibal. The man was still kneeling, looking up at Will as
if he were something holy. He pushed Hannibal onto the ground, something resolved in him.
Hannibal folded against the gravel, Will following him, hands tracing until they came to the
taller’s hip. He did not ask for permission as his hands traveled to the button.

Hannibal’s underwear was as expensive as the clothing he wore. Will already had the man on
the floor; he wanted him ruined. Will wrapped his one hand around Hannibal’s length, sitting
up on the man’s thighs to keep him pinned. He knew the pressure he applied was too loose,
the strokes too slow. Will didn’t find himself wanting to play that game for too long. He slid
down a bit, his face coming to pant right above Hannibal.
Will looked up at Hannibal before he dragged his tongue from the base to the top. When
Hannibal’s nostrils flared, Will looked away, the heat of the gaze conflicting his own pride.
The cock in his mouth kept him from thinking about it too much. Hannibal gasped, the air a
punched sound from his lungs as Will’s mouth slid up and down.

Having so few partners, Will knew his own skills were subpar, yet Hannibal seemed to be
enjoying it. His fingers twitched in the grass, wanting to pull at Will, gentlemanly enough to
refrain. Will dipped down too far, overambitious with his own limits. While he choked, his
throat squeezing down on Hannibal, the sound that left him was far from human. Will
gathered himself, then went back down.

Hannibal’s eyes opened and he propped himself up. A gentle hand came to Will’s curls,
dipping down to the split in Will’s mouth. Will’s mouth flexed, the choking sensation with
the hand so close to Will’s mouth had him graze Hannibal with the edge of his teeth.

Fingers tightened in his hair as Hannibal exhaled his release. Will took as much as he could,
but had to pull off before he couldn’t breathe. Hannibal had let Will go, but perhaps that was
a bad idea, given that Hannibal was an animalistic cannibal who was extremely possessive
over what he considered his: mainly, his kills.

And now, Will with a face was painted in come...

Hannibal was still on the ground, half propped, cock softening with release. The two of them
debased and clothed.

Hannibal moved quickly, his pelt folding over his human skin. The shift surprised Will, the
man tumbling back onto the ground. Hannibal’s mouth came right to Will's, his longer tongue
licking over Will’s face.

“Stop Hannibal,” Will pushed at the head, the ravenstag walked over him, caging Will under
his legs. Hannibal licked right over Will’s lips, his muzzle right over Will. Will felt his
arousal, still fully present against his thigh.

Will twitched, his body aroused against the soft nibbling at his neck. Will bucked his body a
bit, snarling at Hannibal. The stag shifted, Hannibal’s large body pinning Will.

“When we first curse,” he said, tongue biting at Will’s neck. “We feel taboo, a shame and
pleasure from that.” Hands pulled Will’s pants down, Hannibal’s body so close and warm.

“Hannibal,” Will said, his head hanging and flushed. He knew what the man was alluding to.
A hand came down around Will, his cock gripped tight enough it almost hurt. He whined,
arching his back to kiss Hannibal.

“My tongue is longer.” Will gave a harsh exhale, only just sounding like a laugh.

“For the cannibal,” he panted, his thighs shaking under the delicious weight atop him, “that
might not be a selling point.”
 Hannibal kissed Will, their tongues pulling at each other from the contorted angle of their
coupling. He stripped Will until the man’s eye rolled into the back of his head. Will clenched
and came quickly, his come on Hannibal’s hand, his own body and the ground.

Hannibal didn’t waste any time shifting forms to clean up Will. Will, who was still orgasm
stunned, didn’t entirely notice his mate’s transition, floating on the high of being cared for.
When he came too, the first thing he noticed were the feathers surrounding him.

He smiled up at Hannibal, then furrowed his brow at the smug looking expression, even in
stag form. He looked down at himself, seeing all evidence of their activities wiped away.
When he looked at Hannibal, the stag had the audacity to lick his lips.

Will’s blush felt like it was on fire as he tucked himself back in his pants even with Hannibal
resting next to him. He rolled into the feathers to avoid his shame of the pleasure they found.

Oh, before he went to sleep, he needed to say something.

Will raised a hand, one finger pointed up at the stag that was staring at him like the creep he
was.

“I accepted the cannibalism pretty quickly, if I do say.” He put his hand on Hannibal’s brow,
the feathers lifting to touch his fingers. “Give me some time on…bestiality.”

Hannibal huffed right against his face, Will following with his own laugh.

It was a nice afternoon, the sun was warm on Will’s skin. A nice pelt of feathers next to him
to keep the cold of winter away. He felt his eyes begin to close, then Hannibal’s nose at his
neck. He burrowed his face into Hannibal’s feathers at his neck, scenting the ravenstag the
best he could.

He was tired.

Will trusted Hannibal to look over him and his strays.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for joining me.

Stay safe, be well, I love you with all my heart (holds heart on the table, smiling above
it)
 Cupboard Essentials
Chapter Notes

Good afternoon, guests!

It is good to see you all well and healthy. I wish you all the best in life as we continue to
navigate this pandemic. I have set the table up, socially, perhaps morally, distant for
your enjoyment. Allow yourselves to indulge on the good things that life provides you.

Let's have some afternoon tea.

Please, enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will and Hannibal both built a strong foundation and structure around their non-magical
lives. If they were to disappear off the face of the earth without a paper trail, being such high-
profile agents and consultants, it could lead to the FBI digging in the wrong places. Taking a
plane was the easiest option to get to Italy before they could talk about their next lifestyle.

This is as real as it gets , Will thought as he heard the chime for their plane that signaled it
was time to board. His and Hannibal’s carry on were both light. The lights were bright around
them, reflecting off the industrial flooring that was easiest to clean for high trafficked areas.
People were everywhere, children running around while negligent parents sat staring blankly
at their phones, the sound of tenders making food, different TV’s, radios, headphones blasting
music across the floor.

“Here,” Hannibal said, handing him a fruit smoothie, the cap off, suspiciously full to the top.
Will sniffed the top, smelling the relaxant potion, his own scent lingering. It was one he
made. He tipped the drink to Hannibal in thanks before taking a slow sip.

He nursed the potioned drink as they boarded, feeling lethargic as Hannibal folded him into a
first class seat.

“Well played,” Will said to Hannibal, moving closer to the man’s scent- the artificial scent of
circulated air and all the other scents that would pool into the aircraft. Will, being as drugged
as he was, did not fight Hannibal or feel awkward by sitting in first class. The FBI offered no
such luxuries.

Will twined their fingers, feeling his limb go heavy.

He was long asleep by the time the plane reached the Atlantic Ocean.
The potion wore off an hour before the plane was due to land in England. Will’s head was a
bit fuzzy, his senses a little dull. Hannibal helped him by putting some jerky in his hands. At
first, he ate to get food in his body. When his haze cleared, Will could taste the meat.

Will glared at his mate. Hannibal laughed over the captain speaking of their landing.

They had a day before their next flight- Hannibal and Will debated taking the flight while
they walked to their hotel. It was early in the evening on a weekday, the only people out were
those trying to get home or others trying to get food.

Hannibal and Will were no different. Checking into the hotel was a simple affair, the
reception staff taking their luggage up to the room. Still groggy from the potion, Will rubbed
his eyes as he sat in a chair.

“Rest,” Hannibal said, moving him to the bed. Will pulled Hannibal down too. They
remained there for some time, Will floating in and out of awareness.

“Feeding will assist you,” Hannibal said conversationally. Will chuckled, lifting his head to
better nuzzle Hannibal goodbye.

Hannibal showed up at Number Four Privet Drive as an honored guest. He, with the help of
his illegal contacts, forged several documents that made it seem Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had
won a private dinner and show.

They were not that smart of a couple. They had earned his judgement for their sheer likeness
to cattle. The husband was large, bursting at the seams with fat as he cannibalized pork. His
wife was a shrew woman, like the birds that would sit atop swine to pick at the maggots
amongst the rot. They were not intelligent as cattle. He did not need to put much effort into
his scam, a few emails, a fake website with a few testimonials in case they wanted to look at
his past ‘work.’

The door opened after he knocked, on time, a few moments later, Vernon Dursely opened the
door, larger than when they met years ago. His face was blotched red from the simple
exertion it took Mr. Dursely to walk. His suit was ill-fitting- one that he must have worn
when he weighed less. Regardless, Hannibal gave a kind grin, using a false name and was
invited into their miraculously clean house.

A house that smelled of true cleanliness had layers of cleaners saturated within the surfaces.
Wood that shined with oil, the cheap linoleum, cracked and worn in places commonly
worked, still had white grout. The carpet fringe was pushed back in straight lines that showed
no sign of crooked use.

It seems that even the rude have standards, he thought as he was shown around the house and
into the subpar kitchen. He would, of course, work with it.

Hannibal smiled through the formalities, looking at pictures of their fat, no doubt horrid
child. The mother told him that her ‘Duddykins’ was with his aunt. The husband boasted that
they were only going to tell their neighbors of the dinner after they dined on it.
“I am sure this dinner will be the talk of the town,” He said politely.

When he instructed the man and woman to sit down at their gaudy dining table, he smelled
their blood.

Years of practice hid his teeth as he walked around Mr. Dursley to fill his wine. Hannibal
turned his body to fill his wife’s glass- set the bottle in front of them to step back. They
sipped their wine, Mrs. Dursley’s tacky lipstick leaving prints behind on the glass.

They made some amateur wine comment that likely plucked from the internet. Hannibal was
tired, he was hungry. Reaching to the small of his back where two ice picks were hiding, he
jammed them into the center of their spines that shattered the nerves. The two would be
paralyzed, stunned by fear and adrenaline to remain upright.

He smelled their fear, their blood wept from their wounds, both unable to move or scream.

It was rare for Hannibal to hunt two people at the same time. He had spent several hours one
day, contemplating the benefits of hunting each of them one at a time, or together.

But now he had a mate to think about. And potential fawns.

Hannibal started on the male.

He stripped the man of his clothing methodically so he could reach the meat. Hannibal flayed
the skin off his thigh, to strip back layers of thin- thigh muscle. Before the two of them, he
contorted the strips of thigh muscle into seven roses that he placed on the table in a small
bouquet.

At least something could be picked from the fat.

Hannibal’s bag had a needle and thread. He walked to the man and slowly began sewing his
lips together for the rude comments he made; his constant greed. As his wife watched,
Hannibal gouged his eyes out quickly and replaced them with the roses.

Hannibal grabbed one of his scalpels and sliced into the man’s belly, his wife watching the
intestines fall to the ground in a wet heap. Vernon lurched forward, the weight of his organs
pulling his paralyzed body onto the table. He could not see his organs, only feel the weight of
them leaving him hollow.

As the blood pool grew beyond the size of the table, the man’s eyes glazed, his heartbeat
slow. Hannibal inspected the harvest that hung.

The kidneys were the healthiest organs he could harvest. The liver was saturated in sugar,
heart covered in fat and lungs were weak from when the man had to do a simple task but his
fat slowed his breathing down.

He moved onto the wife: Petunia Dursley.

Hannibal was about to cut into her cheek when he felt a dull spark of magic course through
the house. It was faint, but Hannibal was alert enough to be aware of it.
His hunger and desire to hunt for Will had made Hannibal sloppy. He did not scent the place
for magic. In an unfamiliar hunting ground, it would require him to pull on his ravenstag
form without exposing his pelt. Back in America, he established a muggle hunting ground,
one that he knew few magical people lived in.

He flared his nostrils, scenting the entire house, past the blood that was spilled by his hand.

It was blood, faint and familiar. Hannibal walked around the kitchen, smelling the new blood
getting fainter as he strayed from the table

With caution, he stalked to the door beneath the stairs, following his nose.

His nose led him to the four locks, a small flap that could only be opened from the outside.
The blood was strongest from within.

The most disgusting form of rudeness was child abuse. Hannibal despised it in all forms:
emotional, physical, psychological, and sexual forms of it were the epitome of rudeness. In
his practice, he treated three patients that had the potential to become a killer. Only one of
them had, a teenage girl that he taught for a year before she created her own path.

He only realized that the two he was cutting up were guilty of it.

The small boy was covered in burns, bruises in various states of severity and blood that
oozed slowly from several places. Hannibal had to reign in his rage before he reached for the
boy, gloved hand hovering over his head. Even though Hannibal could not touch his head, he
could feel the fever consuming his body.

The boy’s magic was barely keeping him alive as it was, flickering and struggling to keep
him breathing as several of his ribs were broken. The boy whined in his sleep, eyes darting
under his little eyelids. Hannibal took a deep breath and could scent the familiar smell of the
boy on the woman that was still at his table.

They were related; he was her nephew.

Hannibal stood up, eyes filled with rage and stalked over to the woman. He forced her head
to turn and look at the dying child in the cupboard, working fast so he could save the boy.
With her eyes trained on him, Hannibal cut her shirt away and forced his knife through her
ribs.

He plunged his hand into her frantically beating heart and tore it out of her chest with little
finesse he was known for as a killer. Her body convulsed around Hannibal’s gloved wrist.
Lungs contracting with a wounded sound as she tried to survive. He placed her heart into her
hand, grabbed the scalpel and drove it through her heart, hand and the table.

Hannibal knew that if he used magic to speed the process, the Aurors would come. He
quickly stripped himself of all his clothing that had blood on it. With little time for error,
Hannibal walked around the house, searching with every sense for a sign that the boy existed
beyond his prison. On his way, he found the signature of the husband and wife. Hannibal
mimed the movement, focusing on where they added pressure to their signature to forge it
later.

It would be easier than he thought to take the boy from the family that hurt him as badly as
they did. He wouldn’t have to erase any trace of the boy, as there was none there.

He walked to the boy, debating the best way to pick him up to do little damage to his lungs
and other broken bones.

He whimpered when Hannibal maneuvered his body into his arms. The boy was about ten,
but weighed the amount of an underweight eight-year-old. His arms and legs were bowed
from over-exertion, his nails broken and dirty. The clothes on him were old and far too big.

Hunting at night had the advantage of most of his prey sleeping through his acts. The cover
of night made it easy for him to escape down a road, even with a child in his arm. As he
passed through the door, he could smell the sizzled out burn of magic deflating. The child in
his arm moaned with its drop as if unburdened.

The use of the blood wards added to the mystery of the boy in his arms. Blood wards such as
the weak ones surrounding the house were intended for protection- an adoption. It was clear
that the aunt did not feel for the child as the caster hoped.

Earlier in the evening, Hannibal purchased a hotel room in a questionable part of town, one
that would not ask questions if he were paying cash. He readjusted the boy, then apparated.
Hannibal rolled his hand, his wand in his fingers, and summoned his bag.

At the bed, he set the child down. His wand acted as scissors, cutting the fabric free,
unrolling him to reveal the extent of the damage- the boy’s scent was sickly.

Currently, Hannibal was unable to tell if the sickness was from the fever, his wounds, or a
magical kind. He opened his bag, a syringe in his hand, adjusted the dosage for several
potions. When he had the proper amount, Hannibal tipped the boy’s neck up, opened his jaw
and guided the syringe into the back of his throat so he would not have to swallow.

Doing this with a Blood Replenishing, Nutrient, Bone Growth, Skele-grow and an anti-
swelling potion to take away the pain while reducing his fever, Hannibal began shifting the
bones into place. He moved the boy’s arm into place with his hands and his ribs back to
normal with his magic.

Hannibal could feel the raw power, however weak, in the boy as he began rubbing bruise
ointment onto the deep bruises. Burn potions were dabbed onto his skin with a black cloth, to
which his magic rose to accept the potion. He cleaned the cuts with muggle tools, peroxide
and iodine alike only to heal them with magical ones. It ensured that the boy would not gain
any infection yet have the shortest recovery time.

The boy was stable.

Hannibal arched his back, bones cracking up his spine. The mattress was not an operating
room bed that he could adjust the height to his best position. He looked at the clock on the
nightstand: 3:30 blinking at him in bright red numbers.

The boy was bare, blood stained on the clothing he once wore and the sheets. Hannibal
destroyed the stained sheets, a new pair, softer, wrapped around the bed as the boy hovered
just an inch off the bedding. He lowered the naked child. Though cleaned, his scent was still
off.

Hannibal shifted in the middle of the room, the crown of his antlers coming to scratch the top
of the popcorned ceiling tiles. He lowered his head with a huff, his nose scenting the sleeping
child.

Dark magic was coiled in his chest. Deep within his own core that was recharging with every
unlabored breath. His nose twitched as he moved up towards the boy’s skull. His neck still
scented no creature inheritance, though the taint was there as well. Hannibal scented in little
chuffs, moving up until his nose came across an old scar.

He could not see the shape of the scar under his nose with the blind spot. He inhaled, his
lungs flooding with the scent of the child all the way down to his magical core.

There was his natural one, and another shard, nestled, punctured, scabbed over.

His shift to human form had him pull the hair back of the boy.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” he greeted the sleeping child. Hannibal took a step back, his mind
oddly blank.

The Ravenstag were the only creatures that were able to survive the kiss of the Killing Curse;
though they relied entirely on their pelt to do so. Hannibal had scented the boy twice and
there was no underlying creature status.

This was the only human that had survived the killing curse.

When Hannibal learnt of the news, he was naturally curious about the anomaly, but not
enough to go to England after their war had come to such a grinding halt. Hunting in such an
unstable territory was dangerous. With ten years that had gone by, Hannibal felt safe enough
to roam.

And fate had delivered him the only thing that had done as his species was able to.

Hannibal lifted his wand and cast a stasis charm around the boy. His breathing was steady,
eyes no longer fluttering with the delusion of fever. He was going to leave, only turned back,
a warming charm around him as well. Hannibal had little fear of losing the child, now so
familiar with the scent of the boy's magic.

His hand rested over Harry’s body, right over his chest where his magical core gathered the
most power. Hannibal pulled from his own to cast a heavy protection over him; one far
stronger than the weak blood magic that surrounded his old house.

With the child protected, charmed and traceable, Hannibal left the room.
 The nearest orphanage was not far. A simple google search had made it convenient for him to
get directions. Like a monster from Grimms, Hannibal passed through the caged gate,
through the door. He broke in as a muggle; the aurors would not be alerted to his crimes.

Walking around, he modified the memories of the matrons. So many of them were elderly,
overworked and overtaxed, years of taking care of children- it was easy to forget how many
had gone to good and loving homes. A child like Harry Potter was one that came in older, a
problem child as he couldn’t socialize. Two men came along, both from good standing
professions that were looking for someone older.

Older children were harder to find good matching homes- they wouldn’t say no to such fine
gentlemen.

The matrons did nothing to harm Hannibal, nothing to insult. He was a god to them, a
predator, but they were sheep mothers- looking after the young. He did not slaughter freely.
Getting the matrons to sleep deeply was not difficult. He gave them drops of healing potions
that required deep sleep to work.

With all the children safely tucked in bed, the matrons getting the first night of needed sleep
in years, Hannibal roamed freely as he forged documents.

He debated on Harry’s adoption date. Though Hannibal and Will were both in England for a
day, a layover flight, making Harry’s adoption false would look more suspicious.

William had just gone through a traumatic empathy experience with the death of Abigail
Hobbs after delving into the mind of her father without a paddle or lifejacket. It could be an
easy story to sell: Will imprinting on a recently orphaned boy from an abusive home.

William Graham and Hannibal Lecter only spent one day in London, England, during which
they adopted one: Harry James Potter.

Files tucked into place, Hannibal made a quick stop to the kitchen. The dishes were cracked,
scratched, mismatched and bent. He did not find it insulting; they had little funds, often
forgotten. Hannibal smiled to himself as he plucked a vial from his pocket. It was filled with
a nutrient potion.

Hannibal put a drop on each item of food. The potion would sink into the food: bread, meat,
cheese through the night as it fermented. By the time they would all eat their scraps, the
nutrient potion would soak through it all- giving each human extra unexpected calories.

Hannibal did not feel nervous about William; his mate had a habit of collecting strays that
were skittish around others.

He could not allow another child to die in his care.

The world would burn before that would come to pass.

Chapter End Notes

I am ravenous...
 Daybreak
Chapter Notes

News-reporter: "...that a massive snowstorm is near. Prepare for power outages for three
to six days..."
Me: "oh dear, this may effect my Saturday feedings"

So... while I could set this on a timer to post- why would I starve you?

Hello my guests,
today I have prepared a lovely main course meal. I do believe you will enjoy this one.
For those of you who do not like Severus, I ask that you expand your palate because, if I
do say so- I'm going to make you fucking like him, nay, love him. This meal is going to
set you on a hunger path like no other; one that I hope to satisfy.

Dine my friends...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A squeeze on his shoulder had him back to consciousness. Will grabbed the arm on his own,
his eyes finding Hannibal’s.

“I need you to see something,” Hannibal said. The man was nervous and alert. He went into
his bag, pulling a smaller one the size of a marble.

“What happened?” Will asked, throwing on one of his shirts, his pants following quickly.
Hannibal was moving too quickly for Will to empathize with him. The man was lacking
organs yet smelled of blood. Will did not fear Hannibal being sloppy enough to get caught-
but something unsettled him.

“Hey,” Will said, his fingers wrapping around Hannibal’s. He squeezed the man’s fingers.
Hannibal pulled him close, their noses to their throats to better immerse themselves in scent.
When they parted, Hannibal pulled him close.

Will felt the drag of apparition. He stumbled on cracked concrete.

“It’s been some time since I’ve done that,” Will admitted sheepishly when Hannibal caught
him. Hannibal smiled fondly at him, their hands still wrapped together. Will felt no fear as
they stalked the night, Hannibal leading them to a motel with neon lighting: the first sign of
trouble. Hannibal removed the key from his pocket, unlocked the door and held it open for
Will.

Will recalled when Jack asked him to prepare himself. He thought he was ready for the angel
killer- he was not.
Will hesitated at the sight of the bed then- he hesitated now.

There was a boy on the bed, black hair, tan skin that was hidden under the white scrubs and
bandages. Though, it was difficult to see his natural skin tone beneath the bruises that were
not covered by bandages.

I am feared, and so, they must condition fear before I can discover it.

I am a burden, one that must feel the weight I owe.

Images flashed through his mind, a scene reconnecting with the bruises he could see. A man
hit him, someone that carried a lot of weight behind a punch, putting anger and burden onto
him.

Will freed himself, his hands clenched tightly in his hands.

Children were always difficult on the psyche.

“Are they dead?” It was a rhetorical question. Hannibal walked next to him, their bodies
sharing heat.

“I assure you they are,” was all he replied. “However, the meat was horribly spoiled.” Will
found himself growling. It must have startled something instinctual in the boy, who shifted in
the bed. He looked up at Hannibal, gaze caught so intently on the boy.

“You’ve imprinted on him.” Will could see it, better than he could the boy’s tragic past. He
witnessed Hannibal’s wrath, something pulled deep within the pits of his mind. His rage
encompassed the family that did this to the boy. Hannibal healed the child, evident by his
even breathing and bandaged body. He inhaled, Hannibal’s magic was almost attached to the
boy but it did not hide a sour fume. “I can smell it.”

“To ensure his safety,” Hannibal nuzzled at Will’s neck. He tipped his head to the side before
Hannibal went on another murder spree.

“What else is there?” Will could feel there was danger beyond the killer behind him.

“Yes,” Hannibal growled, rearing his head up to walk around the bed. His hand was gentle
when it reached to touch the boy’s forehead. He pushed back the wild black hair on the
child’s head.

That scar was a familiar wand movement. Even as far as he was from the magical
community- Will Graham knew the name of Harry Potter.

“This scar contains a magical deposit called a horcrux.” Hannibal explained, he nodded to
Will. “The magical deposit is a soul shard that belongs to the Dark Lord.”

“I assume that is not good,” Will joked in ill humor. The fact that Hannibal had imprinted on
the one and only Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, would bring trouble enough.
“No,” Hannibal said somberly, kneeling so he could take Harry’s hand in his. Will blinked,
the image of Hannibal sleeping next to Abigail as she was in a coma, right before dying. “If
the wrong people were to find out about the horcrux, he could become a vessel for
resurrecting the Dark Lord Voldemort, a hostage…” Hannibal trailed off, his voice distant in
a way Will had rarely seen. Almost absently he said: “or sent to slaughter.”

“How do you know this?”

Hannibal’s hand went back to the scar on Harry’s head.

“Ravenstag, wizarding kind has depicted my own as following the dead or ushering them to
the underworld.” He looked up at Will. “We are only able to absorb the killing curse in our
pelt. The feathers allow the curse to pass over our body like mercury on skin.”

Will was silent as he took in the information.

“You should know that putting mercury on your bare hands is dangerous.”

Hannibal glared at him. Will gave an apologetic smile.

“Can it be removed?” He asked over the boy, his other hand moving to his frail, bandaged
fingers. Hannibal was silent as Harry breathed, his leg moving a bit more. He would be
waking soon.

“I am sure there are other pieces.” Hannibal inhaled, nostrils flared as he dragged in his scent.
“This deposit is small, almost unnoticeable.” Will stood up and moved to the other side of the
bed, next to Hannibal. He knelt next to the man, his hand folding over the one holding
Harry’s.

“Is this the first time you’ve collected a stray?”

Hannibal hesitated, enough of a response. Will smiled at him from where they were kneeling
on the bed next to Harry.

“My teachers taught me to scry the soul as one would delve into the mind.” Hannibal was
almost hypnotized by Harry. “I can incase the other artifacts once his magic stabilizes enough
for a ritual.”

Will looked over at Harry, his own magic feeling an echo of a call. Hannibal’s scent was
wrapped around the child and while it had yet to settle, the claim was there.

The cord that Abigail snapped, the thought of daughter, reignited within him as he looked
over Hannibal and saw son.

“I didn’t think we’d be having children so soon.”

That was the nice thing about them- they didn’t have any problems.

Hannibal smiled at Will, their foreheads touching. He was going to comment, but Harry’s
movement was with more control, his magic beginning to lash out against the sleep stasis
Hannibal cast over him.

The two met eyes. Will nodded. Hannibal removed the spell.

Harry’s magic released with the spell, calming now he was free. His eyes fluttered, wake
coming to him as he didn’t recognize where he was, he began to hyperventilate. Hannibal
moved to him first.

“You are safe now,” he said.

“Easy,” Will said in the same voice he used to calm his dogs.

“Where,” Harry panted, trying to sit up through the pain that was in his shoulder. “Where am
I?”

“You are safe now, Harry,” Hannibal said, his face closest to Harry. The boy looked at him,
stilled, then began to push away.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, voice low as his eyes darted around to try and find
the nearest door to escape.

“Everyone knows who you are,” Will said. When Harry looked at him, he realized his
mistake. Hannibal was quick to recover for Will.

“That is unimportant, Harry,” Hannibal began, taking the boy’s unbandaged hand. “I am
Doctor Hannibal Lecter, a healer of both worlds. This,” he raised his hand to Will, “is my
mate Special Agent William Graham.” Harry looked between the two of them, then focused
his attention on Hannibal.

“You came to the house,” he said slowly, looking up towards the ceiling as he remembered.

“And I healed you,” Hannibal assured him, moving his hand to look at the other bandaged
one.

“Hannibal told me you were dying.” Will reached forward, his fingers running through the
knotted locks of his hair to calm him. Harry flinched, his eyes becoming wet and lip
beginning to quiver. He began to shrink in on himself.

“Your magic was the only thing that was keeping you alive,” Hannibal said. He let go of
Harry’s hand as he noticed the clock. Will was next to Harry, his body providing another line
of support as Hannibal moved to grab a potion bottle from his bag. It was a nutrient potion
that Will brewed not too long ago. He used them himself, making them a little more potent so
he could get by on one a day if needed at the FBI.

Hannibal approached the bed with a slow stride, Harry watching his every movement.

“Drink this,” he offered the bottle. “It will not replace a meal, but it will aid your healing.”

Harry gave the bottle a skeptical look, but his youth made him take it with little fear, tossing
it back. He made a face, shaking his head at the taste. The bottle dropped to the bed, Will
took it before it could break in his hands. The boy began to pick at the adhesive against his
fingers as a way to keep from looking at them.

“Harry,” Hannibal began, “we want you to come live with us.”

Harry looked up, his entire body tense as a string. His eyes looked to Hannibal first, he was
the one who offered the deal. Then they turned to Will. Will looked into the green eyes,
reflecting back the same shade of the killing curse he took so many years ago.

He could feel so many things, his own eyes almost fluttering into the back of his head. He
was sure, if he concentrated, he could empathize with the very evening Harry received his
scar. Harry broke the spell when he looked back at Hannibal, one question on his lips:

“Why?”

“No one deserves to live with a family like the one you had,” Will said, kneeling on the poor
carpeting.

“We will be your family now.”

A new hour chimed on the clock, one more hour closer to dawn. Will and Hannibal would
have to forgo the plan to take the plane to Italy if they were going to carry a child with them.
The wizarding community would swarm the area of Harry Potter’s relatives soon.

They needed to move.

“What about-”

“Your family is dead, Harry,” Hannibal put bluntly. Will glared at his mate when Harry’s eyes
dropped to his hand, moving to stand between them. Hannibal took a half step back, bowing
his head a bit. Will wasn’t sure why he moved as he did, but he felt satisfied with Hannibal’s
surrender. Will turned to see that Harry was drifting, a reflection of himself.

He looked up at Will, his green eyes filling him with surface thoughts of fear and promise.

“Okay,” he muttered. Harry twisted, going to move from the bed. He made a poor attempt to
cover his wince of pain to those as skilled as Will and Hannibal. Hannibal moved in faster
than Will, his arms already scooping up the small boy.

His anxiety and fear smelt sour in the air as if his scent has curdled within itself. Will pulled
out his wand, removing any trace of their DNA. They committed no magical crime- no auror
would come to this motel room. Hannibal shifted Harry under one hand, his own wand
attending to shrinking his things and flying back to his pocket.

“To the hotel?” He asked, smiling a bit at Harry’s amazed expression; eyes looking between
the two of them with childhood wonder as they performed a little magic. Will opened the
door for Hannibal and Harry, closed it behind them, and removed their prints.

Will pictured the room in his head, the sheets they’d laid on for a few hours, still smelling of
the airplane. He stepped forward into the pull, and landed intact.
He stumbled only a bit, still getting used to the sensation. He shook it off, his feathers
brushing the backs of his ears as magic flared around him. Hannibal and Harry appeared in
the room next.

“I didn’t like that,” he heard Harry whisper to Hannibal. Will moved to stand at Hannibal’s
back so he could peer up through Harry’s hair from where it was hidden in Hannibal’s neck.
Hannibal’s hand was making gentle circles around his bony spine.

“Only one more time before we make it home,” Will said, his own voice a little put out by the
mode of transportation.

The last of their things were packed. Harry’s head was now firmly on Hannibal’s shoulder,
his fingers clenched in Hannibal’s suit.

“Take the back exit so I can check us out,” Will said, scanning the area. He shrunk one bag
and put it in his pocket, walking with the other one in hand. “The last thing we need is them
thinking we’ve kidnapped someone.”

“Aren’t I being kidnapped?” Harry asked to the side of Hannibal’s neck, his eyes beginning
to droop. The two laughed quietly at Harry Potter. Hannibal nodded his head, already moving
to the door. He stopped at the door to rest his head against Will’s.

“Go,” Will said, opening the door. He watched as Hannibal carried Harry down the hall,
disappearing without looking back. He watched the clock for three minutes, then moved.
Checking out was a simple process, the staff was in the middle of a shift change. The crew
was confused, and they rushed his process.

Will lapped the building, following Hannibal’s scent. When he caught sight of the man- he
was still holding Harry up with his one arm, the other completely laid over his spine up to his
back. Hannibal was rocking back and forth- the effect instinctually pulling on a womb-like
calm. Harry’s eyes were open, he was awake, and limply content in Hannibal’s arms.

Hannibal extended his other, Will folded into it. They were all pulled into the chamber- The
two trusting on Hannibal to lead them to Italy.

Ever the perfectionist, Hannibal landed perfectly on soft grass. Will and Hannibal both turned
to Harry, his scent sour with dizziness and nausea. Hannibal rubbed his back again, lower,
where his digestive organs were.

With Harry’s scent mellowing, Will turned to look where Hannibal brought them. He had
seen it on the website, but in person was something else entirely.

Their house was on a lake front, far enough away it wouldn’t flood the house, but Will could
go fishing as Hannibal hunted. The grass was taller here, coming up to their ankles as the
wind blew. The sun was just starting to rise over the Italian Villa he bought for his already
growing family. There was a small wooded area to the west of where they were standing so
Hannibal and Will, along with whatever fawns they had, could run without being hunted by
humans.
The house itself was large enough for a family of five and several dogs. The kitchen was
finished to Hannibal’s liking, along with a large cellar that only he would use. The house
itself was warded against all kinds of foreign magic to keep magical authorities from entering
the house or detecting a sicker kind of magic.

A potions lab was on the lower floor, far from the wine cellar so as to not spoil their drinks.

Will turned to Hannibal, Harry’s head lifted up to look at the house.

“It’s perfect,” Will said, dipping his head enough to connect their lips. Hannibal sighed into
his lips, smiling.

“Come,” Hannibal said, shifting his weight a bit so Harry would not slip. Will walked next to
Hannibal, his own nose scenting the weariness on all of them. “We need a good meal and
some rest.” Hannibal unlocked the door and held it open, carefully turning Harry around.

In a way, this was good for Harry- they were all entering a new house. They would all need to
navigate this newness together.

Naturally, the first place Hannibal gravitated towards was the kitchen. He set Harry down on
the counter, his knobby legs dangling off the marble. He walked to the fridge, pulled it open
and inspected the basics that were inside. He pulled a carton of eggs. Will handed him a pan.

They had the standard magic conversation that most teachers had with muggle raised
children. Dumbledore, the powerful English wizard that conquered his supposed lover,
Gellert Grindelwald, was the one that put Harry Potter in the Dursley household, Will had
little doubt of that. Harry was not yet ready for that conversation. He was overwhelmed as it
was.

The two men worked next to Harry as they prepared breakfast for him. Hannibal handed him
a small portion of eggs and a fork, splitting the remaining breakfast between the two adults.
Harry looked skeptical at the food, his fork moved it around the plate once, then he dove in.

“Does magic explain that stag?” Harry asked as he chewed his food.

His magic was calm and settling. There were a series of conversations that Harry needed to
hear, only after Hannibal and Will spoke about their navigation: The Boy Who Lived,
Voldemort, horcruxes. If his mind would rather focus on the fantasy of the stag, so be it.

Will looked at Hannibal, awaiting his go ahead. This was Hannibal’s first stray, and while
they would be family, Will understood the natural imprinting of first touch.

Hannibal looked out the kitchen window, the daylight breaking yellow across the morning
dew. Will watched as he moved out the room. He shrugged at Harry, unaware of what the
man was doing. When he returned, he was holding a small dog crate.

Harry stiffened next to him, his body shifting to hover behind Will. Hannibal set the crate
down; Will’s seven dogs could remain in the transportation bin a while longer.
“My aunt Marge would let her dog, Ripper,” Hannibal scoffed, “chase and bite me until I
learned to run up the tree.” Will knelt down to Harry.

“None of my dogs bite.” He stood, knees cracking. He grabbed the dog crate, Hannibal took
Harry’s hand. They hadn’t explored the house beyond the kitchen, already they were leaving.
Will set the crate in the grass, Hannibal and Harry a little ways off. “We’ll start with Winston.
He’s my newest dog, but he is very gentle.” Will popped open the magical seal, swinging the
crate door open. He summoned Winston, calling his name.

Will spent some time petting Winston to remove whatever excited energy he gained before
meeting Harry. Winston looked at Hannibal and Harry, his tail wagging slowly as he licked
Will’s hand before slowly moving over to the other man that fed him.

“I ask the dogs to not enter the kitchens and...other rooms.” Will nodded his head, watching
Harry’s reaction. Harry moved closer to Hannibal’s legs, making himself smaller. Hannibal
placed a steady hand on his shoulder, calming him.

Winston’s approach was slow, he seemed to know that Harry was unsure about him. Will
watched Hannibal’s other hand scratch the dog’s ear. Winston’s tail brushed against Harry’s
arm. He flinched back and froze, eyes directly on Winston, who didn’t seem to mind Harry.

“Hold out your hand, Harry.” Will asked, waiting to release another dog. Harry shook his
head, still watching Winston, who moved to sniff at Harry’s leg. The boy gasped when
Winston licked him. Harry flinched like he wanted to move back. Like the cracking of glass,
Harry extended his arm to Winston’s neck.

The dog, like all of them, were desperate for love. Winston walked towards Harry now that
he’d been accepted, demanding Harry pet him more. The boy laughed, scratching Winston
with more enthusiasm.

“Would you like to meet the others?” Will asked, ready to summon the next. Harry nodded
his head, Winston still wagging his tail.

One by one, Will freed his dogs to their new home and the newest addition to their strays.
Buster was enthusiastic about meeting Harry, running around him in circles that had Harry
trip and fall as he tried to catch the dog. Others left the crate slowly, focused on reintroducing
themselves to the pack only to mark their territory on the new home.

“The dogs need a good run,” Will commented as each dog frantically sniffed at the ground,
staying close to Will as they fanned out.

“What’s stopping us from giving them one?” Hannibal asked, smirking a bit.

“What about Harry?” Harry perked up at his name, hesitating.

“I would not leave him behind.” Hannibal assured. He took a step back, his pelt folding over
him in one solid movement. The dogs stopped at the transition, some of their tails tucked by
the sight of the large creature. Harry was still, but his face was breaking into one of
amazement. Hannibal gestured for Harry to come closer. Will watched as Hannibal extended
his nose to Harry’s chest, the boy gasped.

Will shifted to his form, walking next to Harry as the boy took an unsteady hold of
Hannibal’s antler. There was a sound of fear that escaped Harry as he was hoisted on
Hannibal’s back. He was small on Hannibal’s shoulders. Will watched Harry pet Hannibal’s
feathers.

“You won’t let me fall?” Harry asked. Will snorted, walking to Hannibal’s side so he could
rest his chin over Harry’s small hip. The boy rubbed the feather’s over his nose, he could see
why Hannibal liked it before he knew of the man’s secret.

They walked slowly so Harry could get used to the feeling. The dogs stayed close to them,
flanking their sides or staying behind them. Hannibal liked to push and he probably itched for
a run as much as the dogs. Their walk turned to a trot that had Harry giggling.

Soon they were galloping, leaving the dogs behind them.

Will’s own heart was pumping with euphoria as the three raced over the meadowed area,
slowing as they made their way to the creek that the dogs conveiend at. Harry practically slid
off Hannibal’s back, landing on the ground with a dull thud that had them both concerned,
but his laughter banished it quickly. There were tears in his eyes, a mess of emotions to
untangle.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered to Hannibal, his hand resting on his muzzle as the
stag nuzzled him. Will walked next to Harry, his nose scenting the boy as well. He laughed,
twitching his body away from both of their noses.

“Tickles,” he said, breath calming.

The two great stags circled around Harry, their bodies mirroring each other to better wrap
around him. As Will scented his neck, licking the shell of his ear once before the boy wormed
his way deeper into his feathers, Hannibal was looking out for whatever danger may lurk
beyond.

Though the hour was early, it wasn’t surprising when Harry fell asleep, he had quite an
eventful day. Will reached out with his neck, nuzzling the scent gland on Hannibal. The
ravenstag turned to him, their antlers clacking together as they nuzzled over the newest
addition to their little family.

Severus Snape was in the depths of his books. They were opened around him, each on
different pages, a notebook of his own transcribing different theories. The man was too
engrossed in his work to notice the summons that came from the fireplace. The fire provided
a nice cocoon of warmth to keep the cold winter from seeping into the stones of his cellar.

When he stood, his bones cracked but his hands went to his stomach. The growling had
passed yet again, but it would not be long before he was required to feed.
His research was cut short when the Headmaster burst through his wards without knocking.
The door slammed on the stone wall- his arm extended as he panted. Severus stood, angry at
the man for intruding on his research.

“I need you to come with me,” Albus Dumbledore said, a letter clutched in his hand as he
panted in fear against the door. Rather than wait for an answer from the potions master,
Dumbledore walked over to him and took his arm.

Severus was aware that, as Headmaster, he could freely apparate within and out of Hogwarts
freely, but the pain of passing through the wards was enough to never want to take the ride
again. Severus glared at Dumbledore as he brushed off the painful experience.

“What is wrong?” Severus asked, catching up to the elder wizard. Severus looked around at
the houses that surrounded them from the ally they came from. They were all the same style,
each one only different with the paint and tacky exterior decorations.

A breath of wind brought the fresh scent of blood to his nostrils. He felt himself salivate in
response, knowing where they were both headed. As Severus got closer, the blood smelt
more familiar.

“Don’t let it be so,” Dumbledore muttered. Severus had long since abandoned trying to
understand him. The two rounded the street corner to the sight of muggle authority crawling
over one house- where the scent of blood was thickest.

The people in that house, number four, were not alive, Severus could tell that from where
they were standing from. It was pungent in a way that he only smelled in the worst days of
his worst mistakes. Bile came to his throat, his hunger clawing at him as the scent repulsed
him in turn.

What they were doing in a muggle neighborhood, in broad daylight, without a Dark Mark
cast over the roof, had Severus confused.

Dumbledore said nothing as he flicked his wand around the both of them. Severus followed
after Dumbledore, stepping around the muggle police that were keeping other nosy neighbors
away from the crime scene. Once under the crime scene tape, Severus was salivating at the
amount of blood permeating the air.

“What are we doing here?” he growled, a hand over his fangs. His voice was guarded,
surrounded by people with cameras and in white suits. Severus froze when he entered the
dining room.

This was no magical killer. Blood was stained on the ceiling, pooling around the stripped
subjects. The male had his organs spilled out from under him, falling at his feet to rot
unseen.

“Tuney.” The word came from his mouth before his mind could catch it. He turned on
Dumbledore, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place so violently, the image gave him
vertigo. Her heart was impaled on her hand, her face hanging limply, though caught in a
frozen moment of terror that the muggles captured with their own still photographs.
“What did you do?” He did not care that he growled, his fangs bared, at the most powerful
wizard the world had seen. This was the house of Harry Potter. He waved his wand over the
walls to search for the warding. When they did not illuminate Severus, Albus gasped.

“Did you feel that?” one muggle asked, looking frantically around for the source. The two
wizards held their breath. It took everything in Severus not to claw the paper from the walls
in his rage as he was forced to still.

“Just keep dusting for prints,” an advisor ordered. He was by Petunia, who was somehow still
upright, her gazing at the stairs. “We haven’t had a serial killer like this in some time.”

Dumbledore seemed to be in a daze, his eyes blankly looking at the woman.

“The wards have no magic,” he spoke, silent to the muggles around them.

“If you warded this house with the intent that Petunia would love Lily’s child, then you were
mistaken.” Severus moved around the house. There were no pictures of a James junior
around. He tried to scent the area for a trace of the boy, but the blood blinded him. “The
wards may have been active once, but they would be here if she loved him.” Severus said
after he completed his search, standing to look at the living room centerpiece. “Clearly, she
didn’t.”

One muggle brushed by them, holding up a folder. Something about his movement brought
forward a new...no, older scent of blood. Severus inhaled sharply- it was only new to his
senses over the larger blanket of blood that hung in the air. He dare not turn to alert
Dumbledore to the scent behind him.

“This says they have a nephew.” She folded it open to read further, Severus and Albus
hovering near.

“Could he be our killer?” Severus drew in the scent of the area- the blood was overwhelming,
his head went light with it. He almost stumbled, drawing a hand to his head as his stomach
twisted painfully. He hated Peturia- she was lesser and knew it, rather than rise to the moral
high ground, she fractured his and Lily’s relationship. Severus knew he couldn’t dive for her
body- the pandemonium it would cause...

“Well, he’s like, ten, so I doubt it’s him.” The advisor walked over to her, requesting the file.
There was no magical scent in the house. Severus could smell blood- he couldn’t tell if it was
Harry’s or not.

“Send a team over to the orphanage, see what they have to say about...Harry Potter,” the
advisor handed the file back. With the passing of the pages, a new and younger scent drifted
by.

Regardless of Harry’s part in the Dursley murder, Severus’ nose told him the truth beyond the
capacity of any veritaserum: Harry’s scent was fresh in the house.

“We must find him,” Dumbledore said. The two spared a look at the muggles Harry once
shared blood with, then left through the door. Dumbledore caught onto his arm the moment
they were free of the police tape, to drag him to another city. “Don’t let it be so,” he was back
to repeating.

Severus followed the man through a gate with rusted letters, broken iron pikes and brown
grass. There was the scent of hundreds of children, Harry could be one of them, he could be
anywhere- it was too difficult for him to tell by scent alone. Dumbledore opened the doors,
moving around the matrons and running children to the back.

When the two found the filing room, Dumbledore tapped each filing cabinet.

A single sheet of paper burst from the back file, floating its way into Dumbledore’s hand.

He slumped down in the chair, a hand on his head with closed eyes as the hand with the paper
fell heavy.

“Oh Severus,” he said, “what have I done?”

Severus took the paper from him. The watermark on the top of the paper was inscribed with
the words: Wool’s Orphanage.

If he were a lesser man, he might have slumped in the sibling chair under the weight of his
assumptions.

“He was adopted yesterday,” Severus said, walking around to the front of the desk. The
window was cracked, a draft pushing through the poor glass from where he could see the
houses just as dilapidated as this one. Severus tapped on the window sill while he thought.

“The muggle police will be here for his file shortly.” Severus walked to the drawer, the
floorboards creaking with every step. Harry’s file was old and frayed at the seams, he opened
it.

There weren’t many papers within the file. He seemed to be abandoned at the age of four,
finding few friends as he aged with his fellows. Harry Potter’s file was what confused him.
He lifted it to his nose. His starvation allowed for a deeper scenting.

There was a trace of magic over the folder. He moved the pages and looked at the file itself.
The middle wasn’t frayed at all, it seemed to be new. Aged by magic only on the outside for
appearance sake.

There was magic within this orphanage.

Severus found himself at a moment of crossroad. Albus Dumbledore was occupied with the
thoughts of his failings as much as Severus was. While Severus had no guardianship over
Harry Potter, he was continually the cause of the boy’s strife, no matter if he was the child of
his own tormentor. He had lost the boy his mother. Dumbledore could not free Sirius Black
from Azkaban- Peter Pettigrew was all but gone. With it, Harry’s hope of a guardian that
would at least love him.

They were both at fault, both guilty of neglect and negligence.

 For that reason, Severus Snape did not open the folded slip with the names of his newest
guardians. They failed to interfere when it was needed. They earned no such right to it now.

“Whoever adopted Harry Potter, saved him from the murderer within the house.” Albus gave
a great sigh, now standing.

Severus knew that the universe played an unfair game; perhaps it spared Harry this time. He
took the paper from Albus, assembled the file once more. He pointed his wand at it, watching
it turn to ash with his anger- at Dumbledore, at the Dark Lord, at himself.

“Then we no longer get to decide for him.” The words didn’t taste well on his tongue.

His hunger was not satisfied when he tipped back a dark bottle of whiskey.

Chapter End Notes

I am so very happy that you are here with me.

[shamelessly asks for Yelp review]

[skipping away with evil laughter] "Y'all are gonna fucking love Severus."
 Where the Heart is...Home...
Chapter Notes

[drinks another finger of whiskey, adjusts silver wear on the table, shamelessly ignores
my own update schedule, places gift on the table]
"Merry Christmas, you filthy animals!"

Welcome back!

Let us enjoy the Yuletime season- winter wherever you celebrate, no matter the weather.
Sit down at the table and feast. May we close this year and bring forth a new season, a
new meal.

A Note: we tend to use the term 'human' in lowercase as we are a species; the same way
we would use the terms: snake, wolf, deer, etc. I am using the term 'ravenstag' in the
same way unless elevating the status of the creature. In which case it will be uppercased.
Yet, I am loose with my own update schedule so bare with me.

Anyway, feast!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry woke to something brushing the side of his shoulder, moving up his arm. He shuffled
to burrow deeper into whatever warmth he found for himself. There was a huff of hot air,
then hands coming around his torso. Harry woke then, as his body was lifted against
Hannibal’s.

He was still unsure how he could fit in the man’s arms- he hoped the man didn’t think he was
a useless baby.

“We should all sleep in a bed tonight,” Hannibal said, his hand running circles over Harry’s
back. Harry watched as the other ravenstag got up onto his four legs. Harry reached out to the
stag in wonder as he brushed the feathers over his brow.

When the stag shifted to the man, he pulled his hand away, wiggling in Hannibal’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Will said, running his hand through Harry’s knotted hair. He rubbed circles on
Harry’s head that only had the boy melting deeper into Hannibal’s arms.

The gentle rocking of the motion had him drifting as the two carried him.

“Harry.” It was Hannibal humming in his ear. He opened his eyes, only to rub them with the
back of his hand. “This is your room.”
Harry couldn’t hold back his own gasp of surprise. He turned his head to look at the room. It
was the largest room he had ever seen. There was a bed, pillows, sheets, blankets, all to
himself that was placed next to a window. A small bookshelf was to the side of the room with
a lamp sitting over it. The ground was clean, there were no cracks in the walls and ceiling. No
stains, mold, other strange things that haunted dark places.

“Oh Harry.” He heard Will say before he squeaked as he was picked up again, Will moving to
settle him on the bed.

His bed.

Harry couldn’t really tell either of them why he was crying as he was unsure of the answer
himself. The winter holidays always brought more abuse from the Dursleys, even after
Christmas had passed. He had to clean the house, top to bottom, and when he was done- he
was put away like the rest of his cleaning supplies. Now he was told that this entire room was
all to himself. Harry had a door that he could close on his own, not have to worry about when
someone would pull it open or stomp dust all over him while he slept in the darkness.

This place was secure.

“Magic is all about intention, Harry,” Will said, now brushing out the tangles in his hair with
a comb. Harry stopped crying for a moment to question where the comb came from, stiff
when Will calmly worked through one of the knots- unlike Aunt Petunia who would rip
through them or cut them straight off. “And just like this comb,” he said gently, tapping it
with his finger in front of Harry before returning to his hair, “it is useless without the
thoughts and intentions of the person behind it.”

“What?” he asked, turning his head upward. Hannibal reached over, brushing away Harry’s
tears from his eyes.

“Some people used to think that the first Ravenstag were magical creatures that would guard
over lost children of the woods,” Hannibal said. Harry looked up at Hannibal as Will went
through the rhythmic movement of the comb through the worst of his knots.

“Where I am from, the trees would reach so high, darkness would cover the land the
Ravenstag lived in. The darkness seeped into their feathers to better blend into their
environment- teeth sharper to eat the creatures that tried to hunt them regardless of magic or
spears.”

Harry felt himself melting into Will’s side as Hannibal continued his story in the bed.

“We were never such mindless creatures that we would feast without cause. The children
from the surrounding villages that entered the woods of Ravenstag were never harmed,
herded home when the night would approach from the shadows. In return, the children would
feed the Ravenstag- their hearts and spirits with laughter and childhood games.”

As Hannibal spoke, he gave a playful growl and tickled up Harry’s ribs, making him giggle
and fall deeper into Will’s chest. Will stopped his brushing until Hannibal finished making
Harry laugh before he moved onto another set of knots.
“But if the Ravenstag ever caught the scent of a child harmed,” Hannibal’s voice changed to a
more somber tone, Harry looked down at his fingers, his head bobbing with each pass of
Will’s comb. “One would cross the border between the woods and the town.”

Harry could picture it in his head, a dark raven creature walking from the shadows into a
sleepy town at night. Hooves leaving prints in the dirt, a crown of antlers stretching over the
threshold of the offender's door.

“What happens then?” Harry found himself asking with the pass of another brush, his eyes
getting a little heavier.

“The Ravenstag feeds on the laughter of children, so it can follow the scent of their cries. The
Ravenstag walked into the house, great hooves going unheard by those under its judgment.
And when it would find the one who tainted what was rightfully the Ravenstag’s,” he paused,
as did the brushing of his hair, but before he could ask what was wrong, Hannibal continued
his story.

“The Ravenstag would hang over the bed of the judged and feast on his heart while it beats in
his chest. Steal the breath of the lungs, consume the stomach and leave him hollow.”
Hannibal was only silent for two passes of Will’s brush. “The child would wake to the
Ravenstag, climb upon its back to the forest where the Ravenstag would transform the child
into a little fawn of its own- to live in the woods of darkness, forever.”

“Will I get to see the other fawns?” Harry asked, with a yawn, missing the silent conversation
the two adults had with their eyes. Will and Hannibal both untangled themselves from him.
Harry missed their warmth, wanting more of it, for them not to leave him alone. His thoughts
were assured when they both worked together to get him under the covers. Hannibal didn’t
look him in the eye.

“That is a story for another night, Harry.”

The blankets were tucked around him by two sets of hands. His body felt heavy under the
weight, his eyes slipping closed again as the two men brushed a final hand over his head,
finally wishing him a good night’s sleep.

He wished he could have replied, but his jaw felt heavy, so he succumbed to the weight of his
body.

The morning was a whirlwind for Harry. At first, he forgot where he was and what happened
the night before. When he remembered, he carefully walked down the stairs to start breakfast
only to find that Hannibal was already at the task while Will was outside with the dogs.

Harry was still hesitant around them, but he liked Winston for how soft he was and Buster
always wanted to be pet, but then he would dart away; making for a fun game of chase.

It was strange for him to not have to cook breakfast, to have a place at the table. He was
included in the conversations about the day but only answered when the question was
directed at him. They ate with mismatched plates and silverware, various boxes surrounding
them.

The best part of the day was helping to unpack.

Will and Hannibal both seemed to only use their magic on the larger things that they didn’t
want to lift with their hands. Other than that, Harry took part in decorating the house with the
two.

He got to pop the bubbles on the bubble wrap when he was done, play with the packing
peanuts in all their abundance once the fragile items were removed from their boxes. Harry
was even asked where certain things should be hung or placed. It was nothing like moving
things with the Dursleys, even the clean up that went into it after; Harry never felt like he
laughed more while doing chores.

The next day only brought more excitement for Harry.

Will and Hannibal took him to the city for clothing shopping. They changed the size of their
own clothing to better fit him until they could get his own clothes. Will gifted him with a
resized winter jacket with the letters FBI on the back. Harry wasn't sure why the adults found
his new jacket humorous, but he loved the intention that went behind it. Aunt Petunia only
gave him the worst of Dudley’s clothes- this was something that Will cared for.

Harry didn’t know his own size when it came to clothing so shirts were put across his torso
and pants to his legs until they had an idea what size he was. Harry was allowed to pick out
his own clothes but did not. Though he could not see the price on the tags, he was told often
how expensive children’s clothes were by his aunt.

Harry was thankful that he didn’t anger the two with his ‘I don’t know’s.’ He was walking
outside with them, trying to understand what the people around him were talking about.

“I will have to teach you Italian,” Hannibal said, following Harry’s confused gaze on the sign
of the clothing store the exited from.

“You’ll have an easier time than I will, given your age.” Will said, pushing Harry a bit to get
him to crack a smile. Harry smiled down at his new shoes, nodding his head. They continued
in and out of stores, collecting bags on their arms. Hannibal and Will pulled Harry along into
one of the allies to show him that they could shrink the sizes of the bags to fit iin their
pockets. When they offered one to him, he shook his head, not wanting to be responsible for
losing something so expensive.

As they were making their way to the next shop, he was told a bookstore, Will asked for his
glasses while Hannibal inspected his eyes. They spoke over him, explaining that they could
fix his genetic damage with a potion. Will returned his glasses, they weren’t bent in the
middle, the perspective sharper. Harry thanked the man, turning them over once he could see
a bit clearer.

The bookstore was crammed between two larger stores, a blue sign hanging above the
doorway. It was a small shop, the books stacked in all sorts of places with the scent of paper.
Harry thought this was an unusual store for them to enter, given that the other stores seemed
to not have price tags, this one, all of them were hand written. Hannibal seemed to know the
owner of the shop, taking time to greet him in quiet Italian.

“Pick something that you want to read, Harry,” Will said, giving his shoulder a slight push.
Harry looked back at Will, feeling a bit afraid to be away from him. Harry went though, not
wishing to be annoying or a burden. He walked around the stands, but stayed close enough
that neither Hannibal nor Will could leave without him knowing.

“I haven’t thought about school,” he heard Will say in a quiet voice. The two adults were
close to him. Harry pretended to look at the books in front of him as he listened to the
conversation between the two adults.

“I believe it would be best to tutor him privately before he goes off to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts?

“He needs to be socialized.” The voices sounded further away, Harry moved to another
bookshelf, creeping along the sides of the books. He picked up one of them so it looked as if
he was following the rules.

“Harry will be leaving for school in almost a years-time.” Hannibal’s voice was a little louder
from where he was located. Harry’s heart was caught in his throat, but he stayed still. Will
sighed, a book was slid from the shelf, a little to his left. He heard the sound of pages
flickering from cover to cover.

“I just,” Will paused, putting the book back on the shelf that separated them. “I just don’t
want him to turn out like...like me.”

Harry didn’t like what he was hearing. He dropped the book he was holding, a loud thud
giving away his location. He ran to Will’s legs and wrapped his arms around them.

“Don’t send me away,” he whispered, squeezing harder, “I’ll be good, I promise.” He looked
up at the two of them, remembering the story they both told to him in bed the night previous.
“I promise-I’ll be a good fawn.”

The two got down to his level, a hand on each shoulder.

“We’re not sending you away, Harry.” Hannibal assured. He pulled away from the two of
them.

“You said you were sending me to Hogwarts.” Harry didn’t understand what they were
saying.

“Hogwarts is a school for magical children, Harry.” Will said. “The very one that your
parents went to in England.”

Harry blinked, then felt a blush rise to his cheeks at his own thoughts.
“As you said, Harry,” Hannibal lifted his chin until he was looking into Hannibal’s maroon
eyes. “You are our fawn- the Ravenstag of legend did not let the fawns away from his Herd,
neither shall we.”

Harry felt himself leap into Hannibal’s body, his arms wrapped around the man’s neck so that
he couldn’t possibly go anywhere without Harry going along with him.

Hannibal and Will both assured them that the bookstore was the last of the stops on their
journey, Will going further to tell him about his empathy and how being surrounded by
numerous people for an extended period of time could hurt his mind.

The pull of apparating was less painful between the two of them. They didn’t let go of his
hands until they were all greeted by the dogs, each of them requiring both hands to attend.

“Why don’t you go play with them, Harry, while I start on the Eye Corrective potion.” Will
threw a ball, all of the dogs chased after it. Harry followed after them, surrounded by the
dogs. Buster was the fastest dog of the mix, darting after the ball with his jaws, then taking
off. Harry ran after him, becoming almost dizzy with the amount of circles the dog ran
around him.

He was allowed to explore more of the lands. Hannibal told him that the two would take a
run through the land, where he would be shown the line he was not allowed to cross without
one of them with him.

Harry threw the ball into the woods, then ran after the dogs with a laugh.

Surrounded by trees, the dogs took to keeping their noses on the ground, scenting whatever
animals came across their path. Harry could not believe the day that he was having- the way
his life had changed in such a short period of time. He went from sleeping under the stairs to
his own room in Italy in a single night.

Harry had every birthday, christmas and wishing on a star finally granted- the gift of a loving
family.

Harry’s thoughts were cut short at the sound of a chirping bird. It was loud, the same chirp
over and over again. Harry followed the sound all the way to the base of a tree where a bird
laid on the ground, struggling to get up with a broken wing. He scattered the dogs that were
looking at the poor creature, kneeling by its side.

“Magic is about intent,” Harry repeated, picking up the flailing creature in his gloved hands.
He spotted a nest in a crux of branches, where it dropped from. Harry closed his eyes and
concentrated as hard as he could for the bird’s wing to heal as Hannibal had done for him. He
grit his teeth, swearing he felt something happen as the bird twitched, eyes pressed so tight he
could see little blue and pink spots behind his eyelids.

The chirping changed, not one sound, but all sorts of music leaving the bird. A new, lively
fluttering quaked in his hands. Harry opened his hands, watching the bird fly off until his
eyes could no longer track it along the forest skyline. He laughed in amazement as only the
bird’s song carried through the wind.
“I did it!” He cheered, the dogs around him matching his own happiness with yips and
barking. “Goodbye,” he said as Harry raced back to the house, through the leaves that had
fallen on the ground, all the way to the door.

Will’s dogs made it to the door before he did, Will was standing with a towel, taking care to
rub the dogs paws before he allowed them into the house.

“You are dirty,” Will said with a smile.

“I went into the woods,” he panted, hands on his knees to breathe. “I found a bird, it had a
broken wing and I fixed it!” Harry, with his lungs feeling like they weren’t on fire, looked up
at Will- only to have his excitement vanish at the other’s expression. “Did I...Did I do
something wrong?”

“No, Harry,” Will said, shuffling around the dogs by the door. “I was just surprised.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Far from it,” Will laughed. Harry looked up from his shoes to Will’s smiling face.
“Performing magic like that is rare for a Wizard.”

“Really?” Harry asked. Will nodded his head, opening the door for Harry and the dogs to
pass through.

“I am proud of you,” Will said to him. A hand brushed over his hair. “Now go wash before
dinner.”

There was hot water in the pipes and he was allowed to wash freely. He had his own towel in
the bathroom, a toothbrush of his own. A warm meal on his plate with a family to share it
with.

The only thing Harry asked for was a story from Hannibal as he was told to go to bed. At
first, he thought his request would be denied, given that the man froze. Harry was saved from
apologizing when Hannibal tucked the sheets over his body, Will sitting at the foot of the bed,
Hannibal next to his arm.

Harry waited for the two adults. They looked at each other, sharing a silent conversation from
where he was laying. Harry watched Will give Hannibal the smallest of nods. The man turned
to him.

“Wizards are under the impression that the Ravenstag can carry souls in the crown of their
antlers to the underworld,” Hannibal told Harry. “You must know, Harry, that I am just as
mortal as you are in my pelt though we are more magically resilient. But the myths are
seeded with truth. We are death creatures, like dementors and thestrals.”

“What are those?” Harry asked, his head tilting up at Hannibal. Hannibal gave a small smile
at his curiosity.

“Dementors are cloaked creatures that can suck the soul out of a person, ripping out all of the
happiness from a person with nothing more than a breath.” Harry put a hand to his forehead,
rubbing the scar that rested under his bangs as Hannibal told his story. “Our antlers and teeth
can impale and bite at dementors in our other skin; in the flesh, we are susceptible to their
hunger if proper precautions are not taken.”

Hannibal continued at Will’s nod.

“Thestrals are a cousin species of the pegasus yet they remain invisible to most people.”

“Can Ravenstag see them?”

“William, yourself and I can see the thestrals, yes.” He went silent for a brief moment. “As
we have all seen death.”

“Seen death?”

“Harry,” Will said, leaning forward. “You have witnessed death.” A hand rested on his
shoulder. “The death of your mother at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort.”

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes and sitting back on the bed.

“My parents died in a car crash,” he said, drilled into him so many times, the question was
already answered by the time the question was finished being asked. That was what aunt
Petunia would say, over and over again when he would ask. She raised a hand to him and it
was the last time he asked the question.

But in the darkness with the spiders spinning little cobweb nets in the corners of the stairs, he
couldn’t place the sick feeling as if something was missing. The darkness shrouded him- no
one provided him any light.

“The Ravenstag were wise enough to know that all things would come to an end,” Hannibal
said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He settled down for another story. “When one of their
kind would feel the call of their creator, they would abandon their body and climb into the
rack of a fellow Ravenstag, entrusting their soul to the other. The Ravenstag would make the
journey to Death’s gate and pass through the fertile meadows with the soul cradled in their
rack.”

Harry tilted his head at Hannibal as his voice went soft.

“The Ravenstag would search for another of its herd that passed through the meadow before.
The soul would transfer from one rack to another, and the Ravenstag was to walk away from
the meadows without looking back. And as the Ravenstag exited Death’s meadows- if they
did not look back, their pain would receive balm in the form of protection. Leaving one soul
behind in the natural way allowed the blessing of Ravenstag to pass on from generation to
generation; no death curse could pass over our feathers.”

Harry put his hand to his scar, rubbing the raised flesh. Hannibal raised his hand and moved
Harry’s fingers, pressing just enough that Harry had his head pushed back. He felt a slight
tingle, his eyes almost closing, but Hannibal passed his thumb over it. He dropped his hand.
“And yet you, with no relation to the Ravenstag; eyes green as the curse, hair black as our
feathers, was able to repel the very curse that only our feathers can.” He paused. “In the flesh,
as a babe.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, flopping his hands down on the sheets.

“We don’t know,” Will said. “We don’t know why Voldemort targeted your family and we
don’t know how you survived. And we don’t know how you managed to kill him when so
many had tried.”

The story was like the fly caught in the web- twitching and pulling the spider closer to prey.
Harry could hardly see it in his mind- a painful sensation of fear, cold and still as a shrill
scream was followed by cruel laughter.

“He’s not dead,” Harry whispered, looking between the two- he didn’t know how he knew it,
but it was the truth. Something within him was whispering that Voldemort was alive- a
present threat that lurked like fish under frozen water.

“We are Ravenstag,” Hannibal said, Will to the other side of him. They were crowded around
him on the bed, the sheets tucked into his sides. “We shall protect you with the legends as our
guide.”

“With magic, with our hands, and with our teeth,” Will said.

Harry was in a warm bed, with people that were watching over him, feeding and clothing
him. They took him away from a world that only brought him pain and loneliness. He settled
in the bed, his eyes drifting closed.

“Sleep well, Harry,” Will said at the door.

“The new year means we shall have to prepare for hibernation.” Hannibal brushed his hair
back from the scar and kissed his brow.

Harry hid his face in the comforter with embarrassment, but the flush on his cheeks-the
feeling that he mattered to them-

That was enough to settle his thoughts for another peaceful night of sleep.

An echo of magic, the twinge that existed within her sluggishly flared to life. She shook her
head, clearing the fog as she desperately tried to scent a fellow.

Somehow, one of them, was closer.

She began the trek forward, listening for any echo to guide her forward and scenting for
anything stale that resembled the scent of her own.
Chapter End Notes

Happy Holidays!

From: author
To: audience
 Unexpected Guests
Chapter Notes

[fights off 2020 with kitchen knife, slams window closed- bars the door]

Hello, 2021, this one is for you.

Thank you to all of the people that are joining me on this adventure. I have so much fun
writing for you, even more when I get to add things into the stories based on your
comments. I have included more Ravenstag Storytime due to the amount of people that
enjoyed it. It has become a new favorite thing for me to write.

A note: I moved Harry's age up. In the first story, it was honestly meant to be a one-shot
(lol) so there are many time-jumps to get Harry to his first year. In this story, Harry is
currently ten.

Enjoy this 2021 celebration. I popped champagne for those who desire to partake. There
are are wide collection fizzy drinks in fancy glasses as well. This is finger food, and I
have designed this meal to be served using tiny plates.

You shall have to come back to the buffet for seconds...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The removal of Hannibal’s person-suit came with Hibernation. He had long since repressed
the ravenstag instinct to bunker down during the winter months. True, hibernation tended to
require Hannibal to stock up his cupboard and freezer supplies, but he found time to hunt.
The family seemed to benefit from it. Will spent the time recovering from the trauma at the
FBI in a safe and secure environment as Harry got used to being a part of a family.

When he had nightmares, he had a tendency to wake up and start obsessively cleaning.
Hannibal was the parent that would go to help Harry, as Will often needed his own help.
Hannibal would start a fire magically and they would gather on the couch, under a blanket,
and practice Italian until Harry either fell asleep or became bored enough to talk about his
dreams.

On one such night, Hannibal laid down on the length of the couch to pull Harry to rest across
his chest. Like newborns, Harry calmed at the sound of Hannibal’s heart and the scent of him.
Though he had a human nose, he was still capable of a strong olfactory sense if it was trained
properly. Hannibal and Harry were both comfortable by the fireside, soaking in the warmth
with a throw blanket tossed over them.

Harry bobbed in and out of consciousness, his fingers tightening when he would get nervous
about falling back to sleep.
“How’d you know Will was the one?” Harry asked after trying to stifle a yawn. Hannibal
smiled, brushing the hair back on Harry’s head. The boy hummed against his chest, the sound
vibrating along his bones.

“There is a flow to magic,” Hannibal said after a moment of silence. He rubbed up and down
Harry’s spine slowly. “It tries to find balance at the untethered and broken ends.”

Hannibal turned his head to the fire, watching the flames slowly burn a hole through the
middle of the log above it.

“I was told, the same age as you, that we could feel our magic pulling us closer to a call of
magic. Perhaps the Ravenstag would go about it’s life unaware of the pull, and yet, a balance,
harmony , is the ultimate goal.”

“I have traveled much of the world, encountered hundreds of people and never did I find a
balance with them as I do William. Company and companionship, perhaps, but never
completion.”

Imagine Hannibal’s surprise to find his mate in the clutches of the FBI, potential sucked from
his beautiful mind with the same tenacity as a dementor.

“I was almost unsure, it seemed too good to be true, that our paths of the world somehow
managed to collide as they did. I encountered William outside his home one night and knew
it to be true.”

“But how?” Harry asked with a tired whine. Hannibal smiled at him, hushing his fawn.

“By the way he smelled,” Hannibal said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. To
him, it was, Hannibal recalled approaching Will, who stood outside his house with hands at
surrender.

“I do believe I scared him a bit, when I first encountered him in my pelt.” Harry laughed,
lifting his head to look at Hannibal.

“No you didn’t,” Harry said as he settled back down. “You’re not scary.”

Hannibal almost took offense to Harry’s statement, yet was equally warmed by it. Harry saw
Hannibal as the father that saved him, something that offered protection from the evils of the
world like himself. Hannibal hummed to Harry, echoing the vibration in his fawn’s chest.

“The Ravenstag have a venom meant for a mate, for that harmony that exists within. Like
vampires, it is transferred in a bite. Afterwards, it wasn’t long before Will transformed for the
first time as if it were natural to him.”

There was no need to tell Harry about the details that came before, during and after the bite
was delivered. The fire popped, log splitting in two by the flames that consumed within the
hearth. There was cruelty in the world, evil that Hannibal glutted on while it plagued the soft
and innocent touches of life.
“Harry,” Hannibal said, his tone serious for the hour and their previous conversation.
Hannibal and Harry were both bare chested against each other. The need for a parent to bond
with a newborn went beyond a familiar tick- it provided the baby stability of hormones,
developed a natural heartbeat, and regulated stress levels. Harry may have had these times as
a babe, but the regressive nature of, for lack of a better term, cuddle therapy- would balance
Harry psychologically.

Harry responded instinctively, lifting his head to look at Hannibal, eyes dilating as he looked
at Hannibal.

“If anyone, ever, tries to bite you like that, magical or not, you have every right to do
anything possible to escape.” As Harry would grow older, go out into the world and begin to
lose the last of his childhood innocence, Hannibal and WIll would both elaborate on the sins
of man. Hannibal could feel Harry’s heartbeat against his chest- he was not panicked yet.
“Even if it means you have to kill them.”

Harry would never escape the burden of his legacy- even if the Dark Lord died, he would
hold the title of Boy Who Lived. Harry would have to contend and battle his legacy as much
as Hannibal had to in his youth. Hannibal put his hand around Harry’s head so he could kiss
Harry’s hair.

Harry settled on Hannibal’s chest once more, both looking to the fire.

“There was a man that tried to kill William one night,” Hannibal said, his tone soft in Harry’s
ear. Harry tilted his head, interested in more. “Will was tending to his dogs outside when a
killer stalked him in the night. When the gun was pointed at Will, I ran to him, charging the
muggle with my antlers.”

Harry shuffled against Hannibal, under the blanket, his body growling heavy with sleep.

“See?” Harry said, his eyes drooping. “Not scary.”

Hannibal enjoyed the peaceful moment with Harry, quietly snoring. Hannibal found himself
content to bask in his youthful innocence.

Neither Will nor Hannibal scolded him for being a child- to allow himself to be childish.

The time that made Harry happiest was when it was snowing. Will discovered that Harry had
an extreme fear of water when he tripped over one of the rocks in the creek. Harry was never
in any danger of drowning, but for the brief moment he was under the water, he panicked as
if he’d been dragged under with a curse.

When pried from the lip of the water, Harry confessed that his aunt held him in the bathtub
once, forced him down and under the water. She released him, or he fought her off, he
couldn’t remember. Teaching him to swim would be a slow process that would have to wait
for the summertime. Most of the time spent was him getting comfortable around water again.
Will bonded with Harry during these sessions, sitting on the dock, bundled up with hot
chocolate and fishing.
Trauma washed away and replaced with better memories and life skills.

His fear did not touch snow. Like all children, there was a magical force that surrounded
snow. How quickly it could change from hail to water, the individual flakes- snowballs for
the dogs to catch. Harry gathered up the snow in his hands, not caring that amongst the snow
was frozen mud, to throw for the dogs.

“He’s a kid,” Will chuckled, knowing Hannibal well enough he was upset with how dirty
Harry was.

“He is covered in grime,” Hannibal bemoaned.

Before Harry could get his clothes too dirty, Hannibal summoned him back to the house,
Will whistled for his dogs. The group came trotting over, Will already drying off the dogs.

Harry was still a sheepish child. Hannibal watched as Harry ducked his head, a smile peaking
through wet bangs and a dirty face. In private, Hannibal thought his bashfulness was a
defense mechanism in case they ever raised a hand to him- it would allow him to shield his
body and turn his expression to guilt. Harry laughed as Will dried him off with a warm spell.

“Go take a shower, Harry,” Hannibal said as he ushered the dogs into the house as Will dried
him with a charm. “The storm won’t harm you.”

“But Will just-” Harry started to protest. He was cut off by Will, who said:

“Listen to your-” Will stalled his breathing, Hannibal felt something erupt in his chest.
“Listen to Hannibal, Harry.” He said, standing straight as if there was no break in his
command. “Charms only do so much cleaning.”

Harry, none the wiser, shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay,” he cheered, making his way up the stairs to the bathroom. Will wasn’t facing him, a
hand raised to pull down his face.

“Freudian slip?” was all he offered as he turned. Hannibal chuckled, stepping forward so he
could take Will’s face between his palms to press their brows together.

“Dear William,” Hannibal said, close enough he could feel the oxygen of his mate’s chuckle.
Hannibal lifted his head only so that he could look into his mate’s eyes. “Is that how you see
Harry?” Hannibal kissed him deeply before he could respond, tongue flicking at his lips. “As
our son?”

“He is,” Will said, leaning forward to kiss Hannibal again, hands at the man’s hips.

“Harry is our fawn.” Hannibal assured.

They could hear the start of water. Harry was always quick in the shower- a result of years of
conditioning. Hannibal stepped away from Will. Neither of them could be caught in such a
position before their fawn.
“You want to hunt,” Will said, taking a deep breath. The two walked away from each other,
the tension still present between them. Will was falling into his instincts beautifully. Perhaps
it was the addition to the family that had him accepting of their dietary needs. Will would
groom Harry when the boy decided to nap in the forest, taking care to keep his human body
as warm as possible with his pelt.

“There are several candidates,” Hannibal said, pouring two glasses of white wine.

“His aunt cannot be a candidate,” Will said. “I am surprised we have not heard from Albus
Dumbledore, yet- I don’t look forward to meeting with him.” Will nodded his head to his
mate as Hannibal offered a glass.

“Perhaps he’s realized the situation is no longer in his hands,” Hannibal said. He never
thought the esteemed wizard ever did, he was simply a man. “Regardless, it is far too soon to
hunt his aunt.” Hannibal took in the scent of his wine. “Would you like to join me?”

The water shut off.

“Who would watch Harry?”

“I do believe Harry is old enough to watch himself,” Hannibal said. Will didn’t seem to like
the answer, but even he would have to admit that Harry was extremely self-reliant. They both
knew it was due to the neglect he faced as a child. Forced to take care of himself, Harry
learned to take care of his most basic needs.

Sometimes, he would grow frustrated with the coddling from Hannibal and Will. While
Harry never said anything about it, both adults could tell when he was annoyed by their help.
The days their territory was draped with snow, the two bundled Harry since he had no pelt.
The boy shrugged off many of the layers, saying that he was used to the cold.

Will and Hannibal both still swaddled him.

Hibernation meant that Hannibal and Will were more lazy, spending time indoors by the fire-
teaching Harry about Wizarding-customs. Sometimes, storytime would take place on the
couch, Harry sandwiched between the two as Hannibal told them stories about their new
legacy.

Harry came down the stairs in his blue pajamas, wearing a pair of thick socks to keep him
warm. He came to the two of them, cuddled between their bodies on the couch, a warm
blanket tossed over the three of them.

“Harry,” Will asked. Harry turned to look up at him. “Would you be alright if we left you
here for an evening?” Will could feel Harry’s fingers dig into the blanket.

“Where would you go?” Harry asked, looking between the two of them.

“We would return early in the morning, far past your bedtime.” Hannibal assured him. Harry
plucked at the strings on the blanket. He didn’t think it would be that bad.

“You’ll still come back?”

“Harry,” Hannibal said, leaning forward, his red eyes were intense with the fire. “We would
hunt to the end of the earth to find you.”

Harry snuggled down between them, feeling warmth that extended beyond the feeling of the
blanket. It was easy for him to fall asleep between the two of them.

The Ravenstag’ did not leave the morning after they pitched the idea. Harry was glad for
that.

Maybe not...

Harry was swaddled in jackets and his emerald cap... again. Hannibal and Will both in their
pelts in the snow. Will told Harry that they would go on a little excursion for snowdrops.
Harry was excited that he was able to apply the knowledge he learned from Will. A heavy
snowfall would help the potency of the flower in potion ingredients. What the two did not tell
Harry was his virginity would make for a powerful harvest- untouched as the snow and
flower itself; it made for a strong potency if mixed with unicorn blood.

The snow was too deep for Harry to keep up on his two legs. Hannibal solved this by
lowering his rack so Harry could climb on his back. The ride took some time, the two stags
had to be careful as they crossed over the water, taking care not to slide in or get swept away.

Harry dismounted when he saw the small flowers. He rubbed his gloved hands over
Hannibal’s pelt to smooth out the feathers. Will and Hannibal were behind him, touching
their noses together as he turned. He reached in for the pocket that held the vials and a small
knife to help harvest.

Will nuzzled the side of his neck when he bent down to pluck the flower. Earlier in the day,
Will taught him the proper way to prune a flower. He sliced upward, then carefully placed it
into the vial, taking care not to bruise the stalk with his fingers.

After he harvested five, Harry was pushed away by Will’s snout.

“There are more,” Harry said, pointing to the other flowers that grew next to the ones he
harvested.

“We shall only take what we need, dear Harry,” Hannibal said in his mind. “The flowers you
have plucked are powerful and shall last for a very long time.” He looked at Harry with his
dark eyes, even darker in this form. He huffed, shaking the snow from his feathers, turning
his body to Harry. Harry recognized the command and climbed on with Hannibal’s help.

“Greed is the rudest of sins, Harry,” he said, the two turning home with the vials jingling in
his shirt pocket.

“I understand,” he whispered, trying not to disturb the peace of the woods. Will trotted to the
two of them with a rabbit between his jaws. The snow parted around his body like the
Christmas tales he heard at the Dursley’s- only more fitting Will’s black pelt against the
pristine white snow. He dropped it at Hannibal’s hooves, nodding his head once. Hannibal
tore into the rabbit, the blood of the creature left behind. Will came up and groomed the side
of his face, then moved to scent Harry.

“Aww gross,” Harry laughed, trying to brush off the faint streaks of blood Will left behind on
his jacket.

The jacket was easily saved- turns out, Hannibal was very proficient at removing blood stains
from clothing.

Harry was glad, he really liked his jacket.

It wasn’t until the signs that spring had sprung that Will and Hannibal asked if it was alright
to leave Harry alone for one night. He waved off their concern as he was doing some of the
homework Hannibal provided him, reassuring them that he had taken care of himself for
longer periods of time.

He would be eleven in the summer anyway, then go off to a magical boarding school. He
would have to get used to being on his own soon enough anyway.

Normally, one adult would go out to the grocery shop, always at night to avoid the crowds,
and the other would stay with him. If Hannibal was shopping at night, Will would indulge
him with a later bedtime and a bowl of ice cream on the couch. If Hannibal was the one
watching him, Hannibal would tell him stories about the Ravenstag, his earlier years in Italy
or how he met Will.

“And what is Beverly’s number?” Will asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. Will
and Hannibal made a list of numbers to contact if there was an emergency. There were the
obvious ones being the authorities, but then Will wanted him to remember an American
phone number. She was an agent of the FBI, an American cop.

How an American could help from the other side of the world if Harry was in danger, neither
he nor Hannibal knew, but Hannibal asked Harry to memorize it for Will’s peace of mind.

Harry rattled off the number for Will, trying very hard not to roll his eyes. Judging by Will’s
face, he did not succeed. Hannibal saved him by placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. The two
often had conversations with their eyes more than their words. Will nodded his head.

“There is food for you in the fridge,” Hannibal said, pointing it out in the fridge. Harry
nodded his head, closing the door, almost guiding the two out the door. “And you can call us
if you need us.”

“I’ll be fine,” he almost whined, a smile on his lips.

Hannibal and Will both looked at him from where they were standing between the door, a
black bag in Will’s hand. He walked forward and hugged the both of them. The two knelt
down and caged him in their arms, nuzzling the side of his neck with their faces. He found
himself mimicking their behavior, taking in small puffs of their scent. They both smelled of
the woods, the fire of the hearth, something that smelled like home.

“Be good, Harry,” Hannibal said, kissing the scar on his forehead. Will leaned forward and
did the same.

“We’ll be home soon.” He ruffled his hair.

Harry watched the two of them leave the porch and apparate away. With a pop, the two
vanished from sight.

He was alone for the first time.

Harry skipped around the house, giving a little whoop as the dogs pranced around him.

This was different than the time the Dursleys left him. This time, the two would come back.

Harry finished his prance around the house, taking the dogs back in. He sat on the couch,
content to watch the television, finding a documentary on the ocean to keep him occupied.
When his stomach growled, Harry went into the kitchen and put the meal into the oven per
the instructions written on a sticky note. He took the dogs out while the food was heating.

Buster wanted to play with his red ball, dropping it at Harry’s feet as the other dogs romped
through the meadow. Harry threw the ball, laughing as Buster brought it back to him. Harry
threw it again, further this time. He waited.

“Buster!” he shouted.

Harry didn’t hear the sound of Buster’s collar.

“Come here,” he said, patting his thighs with both hands. The dogs that he could see filed
into the house. Winston stayed at Harry’s side, eyes looking to where Buster had run off too.

“Buster!” he called again.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard barking. Harry ran towards the noise, Winston
keeping to his side. Harry walked through the treeline, following the sound of Buster’s
barking.

“Buster, you scared me,” Harry said when he found the dog.

Buster was a terrier, Will explained to him, and his job was to hunt for burrow animals like
rabbits and mice. Farmers often had a terrier in the mix of pack dogs, to keep snakes from
eating their chickens and other such creatures. He explained that their smaller frame allowed
them to mock charge animals, drawing them out of their homes, before lunging for a kill.

Winston growled.

Harry moved his eyes beyond where Buster was mock charging. There was something
moving in the shadows. Harry pat his thighs twice, fear beginning to make him freeze. Buster
looked back at Harry and galloped to him, sticking close to Winston with his nubby tail
between his legs. Harry backed up slowly, the moving figure revealed itself to be a cobra in
the moonlight, one of the largest he had ever seen.

“I have traveled a long way to find you,” the snake hissed a feminine voice. She raised her
long head, long enough to strike Harry from where they were standing before he could get
away. He took a step back, the dogs whining behind him. Perhaps this was another magical
creature.

“Why are you looking for me?” Harry asked, feeling like it was the only sentence he could
get out of his mouth. His mind was racing. If it was a magical creature, how did it get past the
wards that Hannibal and Will showed him.

“Your magic smells of my master’s,” the snake said. She slithered closer, Buster barked,
darting forward. The snake reared her head, as if to strike.

Harry cried out, running forward to catch the dog. The snake stilled, Harry on his knees
under her gaze with a trembling Buster in his arms. Harry pushed him away, towards Winston
where he was circling around the snake.

He trembled as the snake reached her nose forward, a tongue flicking out to scent over his
forehead.

“I will not harm you, hatchling.” She turned her head, looking from where she must have
come. “A great danger approaches as does this place of rest. I shall protect you from the
Man-Eaters.”

She hissed, coiling around his body. Harry pushed against her scales, not liking the size of her
body in relation to the smallness of his own.

“Man-Eaters?” he asked, finally climbing free of her scales. He darted back several steps
closer to the house before she could wrap around him again. “Danger approaching? What
did you do?”

“I could not breach the barrier without the aid of the humans that approach your nest.”
Harry felt his blood run cold. He looked beyond the trees and could see nothing but darkness.
He could hear nothing, but his instincts told him to run. “They seek the Man-Eaters.”

Harry shook his head, a hand coming up to his hair. He turned and ran. Winston and Buster
were by his side, running as fast as he did. Harry didn’t care about the dirt he tracked into the
house- locking the door. He was about to go to the phone, ready to call Hannibal and cry for
their return, but the power cut out.

Harry held his breath, sank to his knees and crawled to the kitchen. The dogs were in the
living room, whimpering and crying. He froze by the oven when he heard the dog door push
open. A sliding sound came over the ground and into the kitchen.

“I am Nagini, hatchling,” the snake said, climbing up the side of the counter so she could
look down on Harry. Harry pressed his back to the hot oven. She was massive, her body
coiling around him even as her mass was above on the counter. “Should a snake eat another,
they are snake-eaters. My old master never feasted on the flesh of his own as you do with
the contents in the oven.”

She moved her nose from Harry’s face, her tongue flicking the glass over.

“No,” Harry said, looking back at the food bubbling suspiciously within the oven.

There were some things that Harry didn’t get- some jokes that he assumed were only meant
to be understood by adults. The Dursleys had their own little way of shooting barbs at him-
though he may not know the extent of the insult. Never, had Harry felt like Hannibal and Will
were insulting him, rather, he felt he missed some part of the humor.

Harry ripped open the oven, burning his hand as he pulled the food free- tossing it to the
ground. Harry crawled forward, his heart pounding in his chest as he lifted the meat to his
nose with his fingers, Nagini’s tongue scenting the meat next to him.

It was within him that Harry knew the truth. The scent entered his nose, he had cooked pork
for years, it was one of the things that Dudley loved to eat the most. Harry knew it’s scent in
every form: bacon, loin, haggis, ribs...he spent years preparing it no matter the slice or grade
of meat.

This was not pork.

The meat fell from his shaking fingers. He was crumpled on the floor with his back against
the cabinet doors, the snake slithered around his body, embracing him. Harry did not fight her
as she squeezed him a bit.

“Calm, hatchling,” she whispered in his ear. “We must escape. Man approaches.”

“What?” Harry whispered, looking around. Hannibal and Will said that they would be back
before he woke in the morning but nor before his bedtime.

Winston started barking at the door in a way he’d never heard. The brindle hackles were
raised, the other dogs getting up to do the same with sharp teeth bared.

Glass shattered at the front door. Nagini unwound herself from Harry with such speed that it
threw him to the ground. Harry ran from the kitchen to the back door, some of the dogs
chasing after him. He could hear shouting, men within the house.

Harry pushed open the door to race into the meadow. He skidded to a halt when he saw two
other men in front of him. He looked around, heart pounding in his chest. Harry could feel his
magic prickle at his fingertips, but he had only performed magic a few times...never under
such stressful circumstances.

The men spoke to each other in rapid Italian, faster than he could understand. When they
nodded their heads, looked at him, and made their way closer, Harry backed up.

Winston charged one of them, jumping up and landing on one man’s body. The man lifted
something towards Harry as the other threw Winston to the side. A sharp pain in his thigh had
 Harry’s muscle dropping him onto his knees. He whined as his leg went numb, the sensation
traveling up his body faster than he could run in the other direction.

Harry fell to the ground in a way that left his head turned to the door, it allowed him to see
the snake move like rushing water over the stairs to the man that hit him. Nagini wrapped
around the man, her body longer than he was tall, and squeezed. Harry couldn’t move away
from the sound of his bones snapping and gargled cries. She darted down, striking the man
that Winston tackled with her venom.

Harry only managed to roll himself onto his back, the numbness took over his arms, made
him weak to the hands that lifted him, and threw a bag onto his head.

The world was dark and unknown.

Chapter End Notes

Favorite part of writing this chapter was either Harry's casual misunderstanding of
Hannibal cleaning the blood off his jacket or "you're not scary."

Enjoy your 2021!

I shall see you in the comments or on the 18th!

Thank you for joining!

 Muggle Reinforcements
Chapter Notes

Good morning, friends.

I have a nice brunch for you. It is served with some spicy material that some may heed,
check the tags for an allergy warning regarding Mason. If you eat it, then complain
about the spice, I'm not helping you...

Last week was an utter shit show at work: people getting Covid, dealing with Karen's
(Hannibal help the essential workers) and I almost posted early because of it. [insert
angry Hades gif] Today, I am graciously serving this meal because I got my first Covid
vaccine- thank you to my fellow medical staff out there for all your hard work.

Please be warned of the spice and enjoy the dining.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They landed in the remains of a firefight.

That was the only way to describe it. Both of their hearts seized at the sight.

Five hours ago the grass was not tainted with blood and bodies.

Five hours ago, the house had power, an attached door.

Five hours ago, their fawn was safe.

Hannibal and Will both knew that he was gone, even as they scoured the house and forest for
any signs of him.

The two were in the kitchen, Hannibal tending to Will’s dogs as Will closed his eyes. Several
of the dogs suffered from glass in their paws. Though, Winston was the worst of them all.
Currently, he was sleeping off the effects of several potions that Will modified for canines.
The dog suffered from the results of multiple blows of blunt force trauma. He was found
laying in the grass, next to two bodies.

“There’s conflict,” Will said, shaking his head. Hannibal bandaged Buster’s last paw, soaked
in dittany. He put the dog on the bed next to Winston. “Harry encountered something magical
and no-maj at the same time.” He stood up, stepping around the food that was thrown to the
ground, around the oven where there was blood not human or canine.

There were some scales around the kitchen. Some of them were paper thin, others had chunks
of flesh attached to the deep blue scales. There was a body in the house, one that this creature
had crushed from the rib cage. The rest of the body remained untouched by constriction.

“He knows,” William whispered, his lips hardly moving. Hannibal could smell the fear
within the room, the way it saturated the walls, how the magic was voided- cold and frozen.

“It was rumored that the Dark Lord was heir to Salazar Slytherin.” Hannibal passed him one
of the scales. Harry’s blood was not spilled in the house. “This is his familiar’s work.”

The two drew their wands, Will taking the lead out of the house. They followed the trail of
destruction to the back door where Harry burst free from. With no way to contact them, it
was the smartest move- make his way to the forest and use the home field advantage to hide
until they arrived.

The bodies that laid between the house and the forest suggested that these people planned this
for some time. Hannibal wanted to inspect the bodies, to scent them deeper than the blood
that tainted their home. It took restraint as Hannibal waited for Will to finish empathizing.

Will’s eyes opened, but they were not in the present moment. His breathing changed, his eyes
darting from side to side. He turned his head, cocking it to the side as he watched something
glide across the floor.

The wounds of the bodies matched Hannibal’s theory. The constrictor wrapped around the
man, traveling only to the parts that were most vulnerable before crushing every vital organ
while striking the man next to him.

The venom was fast acting and powerful, Hannibal could smell that without his pelt. The
man died a slow death, his organs shutting down, venom powerful enough that it burned the
organs from within before hemorrhage could kill him.

Hannibal could smell that the snake was near.

It was not their current goal.

“They took him, Hannibal,” Will said, a hand to his mouth. Hannibal was by Will’s side,
embracing his mate as his own tears fell from his eyes.

Harry felt himself drifting in and out of space. His body felt heavy, it didn’t respond to him
when he moved. He could hear voices over him, but the sounds were muffled. Something
was obscuring his vision, heat around his face. Harry tried to get whatever it was off him, but
his arms burned when he tried to move.

He stopped moving, head lolling to the side of wherever he was. There was a consistent
voice, high pitched, shrill and sporadic when talking. Harry tried to open his eyes but the
bright light had him blinking closed. He could feel himself being moved, the lights above
him streaking across the ceiling like comets.

He was lifted, a wave of nausea coming over him had him heave. His stomach had nothing to
give- he didn’t eat dinner that night.
Dinner…

Harry groaned as he landed on something soft. His arms were moved above him, tied to
something. His head smacked back against something hard. A hand touched his face,
obscured with the bright light shining in his eyes. Something soft, a pillow, was put behind
his head.

He dipped forward, panting.

Harry didn’t know how long he drifted in and out. He could feel his fingers but even though
they felt numb, his shoulders were pulled back.

“Oh goodie,” the shrill voice sounded clearer. Harry blinked away the dizziness. “You’re
waking up,” the man said. Harry watched as the man moved his chair closer to Harry. The
jarring movement of trying to pull away from the man had his shoulders scream in pain. He
looked at his hands, tied to the headboard of a bed. His legs were spread out, tied to posts on
the bed as well.

“You are just too cute,” he said, touching his nose with his finger. Harry stilled, his throat
tight. His jaw was stretched thin, he couldn’t talk. The man leaned back on his chair, picking
an apple from the nightstand that was next to him. He reached in his breast pocket where he
freed a sharp knife.

He licked his lips as he slowly peeled the apple.

“You see,” he began, cutting some of the peel so it dropped to the floor. “Doctor Lecter and I
were good friends- in a long-term, committed relationship.” The last of the green peel
dropped to the ground. He began making slow scores to the apple, twisting it in his fingers
like a globe spinning on an axis.

“Then he went and found Will Graham of all people, being the killer that he is.” He dug into
one of the score marks deeper, pulling one of the apple slices free with a violent rip that had
apple spray on Harry’s face. Harry flinched, at the apple, at his words.

“Oh, poor little orphan, Harry Potter,” the man ran a hand through Harry’s hair, pulling on the
back of it until he whined. The man laughed at his pain, going back to his apple. “Don’t
worry,” he stage whispered with a smile, “I won’t tell anyone. Not that there will be much to
tell- the papers at Wool’s were destroyed before Interpol could get their hands on them.”

The man was sitting on the side of the bed now, his hand touching Harry’s stomach.

“You must be hungry,” the man clapped his hands. Harry saw movement to his left. Another
man, portly and breathing heavily through his mouth, leaned over Harry. Harry could hear the
clasp of the gag unlocking. He spat the gag out of his mouth, his tongue and jaw sore from
being held open.

He felt hopeless, alone and scared.

And that made him angry.

Harry reared his head upward for the underside of the man’s arm. He sank his teeth into the
flesh, pulling as hard as he could. He ground his teeth down through the man’s scream,
closing his eyes as blood sank down his throat to his stomach and down his chest. The man
he bit whimpered as he fell to the floor while the one on the bed laughed with delight,
clapping his hands, the knife bobbing dangerously close to his face.

He sighed, waving the other man away from the bedroom. He took his pocket square and
flicked it out with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife.

“My name is Mason,” he said, dabbing Harry’s bloody lips with the napkin. “And I bet
you’re a real daddy’s boy, aren’t you?” He dropped the bloody towel to the ground. Harry
tried to struggle, his voice didn’t work. “Fighting like that, eating human,” Mason’s mouth
was next to Harry’s ear- he felt sick.

“It’s a good thing that Will Graham took the brains of the FBI when he stole Hannibal- it
wasn’t hard to find where he’d run off too after we got into the computers.” Mason clapped
his hands three times.

“No sense we can’t have a little fun while the motherhood panic really sets in,” he said as he
stood up, removing his suit jacket. “After all, I want him here, but I want to punish him for
leaving.”

Harry didn’t know what was happening; why Mason was looking at him as if he were some
rabbit. Hands raked over his arms. He struggled, his breath catching in his throat.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, finally able to catch his voice. The man was on the foot
of the bed now, taking off his shirt. Harry tried to curl in on himself, but the bonds around
him kept him still.

“Yes,” Mason said, a knife in his hand. “Struggle for it.” He settled the knife over Harry’s
night-shift, ripping up the seam.

When his hand touched Harry’s chest, a feeling like no other washed over him. He felt his
scar erupt with sensation, his body shivered with an unnatural chill. Harry’s eyes burned like
he had salt water in them, his jaw clenched.

Mason didn’t care for his sudden stillness. Harry could feel something building within his
body, tingling under his flesh. Mason reached to touch Harry again, and he did. Mason’s body
froze from the point of contact- a green flash illuminated the room and Harry could hear the
distant cold laugh that rang through his head. The man gasped once, his hand fell limp- body
collapsed to the side. It slumped to the side of the bed, rolling with a smack onto the floor.

Before Harry could question what was going on, his stomach growled, mouth salivating. He
groaned, the unnatural angle of his body snapping the ropes as his body contorted to change.
He flailed, a strange sound coming from his throat.

Harry was hungry, so very hungry. There was food on the ground, just like his father
provided. Harry stumbled off the bed, his legs weak with excursion and strain. He nosed the
body onto its side.
It was still warm, whatever unnatural death washed over made it easy pickings for Harry. His
nose pushed his arm out of the way, a small opening for him to tear at the ribs. His jaw
opened, tilting to the side to separate the ribs with his sharp teeth.

The blood satisfied his glut- he pushed his nose deeper into the warmth, pulling the heart
free. He snarled, ripping the cavity open deeper. There was more in there, more food that he
could glut himself on. This was a meal that was earned, he fought for it.

Harry pulled himself away from the meal when the innards were feasted upon. He was tired,
scared, his magic felt taxed in a way that was beyond any magic he tired- even healing the
bird. Harry tried to stand, but he felt unbalanced, the world tilted in an odd way that felt like
he had vertigo. He fell to the floor, his legs under him.

He looked down, almost going to throw up, but all thoughts stopped when he saw his legs.

They were cloven hooved, with little black feathers on their sides. Harry looked, really
looked at what he had done.

Like the stories Hannibal told him at night, there was a hole in the center of Mason’s body,
ribs pried open to the side and blood pooling all over the place. Harry turned his head, a
mirror to the side to show the length of the bed.

In his reflection was a small black fawn with white feathers. His ears flicked forwards, black
and white feathers towards his shoulders standing like Will’s hackle feathers.

The strangest sound erupted from his lungs. He gasped after that, something spurred within
him, Harry felt his body pull itself together, twisting in on itself.

He gasped, his hand in front of his face.

He looked around, shivering with his nakedness. Harry didn't waste any time. He grabbed the
suit jacket Mason took off and wrapped it around his body.

Sprinting to the door, he slowed down, peering around the wood. No one was outside. Harry
had no idea where he was going, he just needed to get out. He walked down a hallway,
cringing when he looked back and saw he was leaving behind bloody footprints.

“This is so bad,” Harry whispered. He hopped onto the carpet, rubbing the blood from him so
he couldn’t be tracked as easily. Voices were talking up ahead, coming closer to him. Harry
looked around for a place to hide and found a table with a cloth draped over it. He crawled
over to it, putting the draping over him.

He held his nose and mouth as the people walked around him. He learned that trick at the
Dursleys, when Vernon was particularly angry. The people got closer, their footsteps right in
front of him- shadows touching the cloth he was hiding under.

They started shouting when they saw the blood prints he left on the ground. He was lucky
that they ran after the origin of the footprints rather than follow them. His hiding place wasn’t
that great.
Harry darted down the hallway, racing down one of the narrow staircases. He jumped into a
room when he heard people coming close, his hand over his mouth again. The voices didn’t
come closer, but it wouldn’t be long before he was found.

Looking around for anything he could use, Harry spotted the blinking blue light of a landline.
He crawled as quiet as he could to the phone and dialed Will’s number. The phone didn’t
even bother ringing. He shook the phone after Hannibal’s number failed.

He dropped to his knees, tears running down his eyes, ready to sob in fear. He held his breath,
Will’s voice echoed through his head.

He tried the third number.

The phone was ringing. Harry curled up beneath the desk, his hand over the voicebox.

“Hello?” the voice said at the other end. Harry almost yelped with glee, relief rushing through
him.

“Hi, yes, it’s Harry,” he said. The voice at the other end was silent.

“Hi Harry,” she said, “I’m Beverly, but why are you calling me?”

Harry nodded his head, he felt better with her on the phone, less alone. He peered around the
desk, hearing the voices getting closer.

“Right,” Harry said, “I don’t know where I am, or how I got here, and my parents are
missing, and there are these people who keep trying to look for me.” He climbed out of his
hole, making his way to the window.

“Kid, where are you?” Beverly said, her voice sounding more panicked. Harry looked out the
window, there was a ledge wide enough that he could climb on it.

“I’m going to climb out this window,” Harry said.

“Don’t do that,” she shouted. Harry shushed her, holding the phone close to his coat. He
lifted the window with his one hand and straddled the window sill. He could hear Beverly
trying to talk to him but he was occupied by looking at the distance between the ground and
window ledge.

“He’s climbing out a window, Jack!” Beverly shouted. Harry put the phone to his ear.

“Here I go,” he said. Harry put the phone in the breast pocket and swung his leg over the
window. He had to focus on shuffling along the top of the roof, but it seemed that Beverly
was on the phone with another person named Jack.

“Where is he?” the man, Jack, asked Beverly.

“Very high up,” Harry said when the next brush of wind caught him. He braced, glad he was
used to facing off the elements. “A man named Mason tied me to his bed,” Harry grunted as
he climbed onto the roof, careful to keep the phone with him.
He panted, his body upward as he looked at the stars. He was safe on the roof for a moment.
Harry rolled over to stand up but his hands felt a strange texture of the roof.

“Huh,” Harry said, the phone next to his head. “This roof tile says I’m at the Verger estate.”

“Hold on, kid,” Beverly said. “Find a place to hunker down. We’re coming.” Harry looked
around the roof. There was only one door- he figured that was as good a place as any to hide.
It would only be a matter of time before they would come up to the roof. Harry jumped on
one of the wooden boxes to climb up on top of the stair’s little hutch roof. He kept the phone
close to his chest, listening to the sounds of people screaming and running around the house.

He could hear dogs outside, their barking carrying into the woods.

Harry was about to relax, but the doorknob turned. He clicked the end call button, the phone
tucked close to his body. Harry made himself as flat as he possibly could as three men walked
out onto the roof. His heart was thundering in his ears, the hairs on the back of his neck
rising. They circled around him, guns in their hands. They checked under crates, within the
one chimney chute. The three circled back around at the front of the door.

They closed it behind them.

Harry counted to fifty twice before he was able to breathe again.

He dialed the number. It rang only once before it was picked up.

“Oh thank god; you’re not dead.”

“Normally people have to try twice,” Harry said, panting as if he’d run a marathon. His
nerves calmed a bit with her near again. He didn’t feel safe, far from it, but this was better.

“We’re not far, kid,” Beverly said. Harry could hear the sound of sirens from the end of her
phone. It sounded like Jack was shouting on the other phone.

Harry, from his vantage point, could see further than he ever could before. His eyes were
sharper to the images in the night. He could see the dogs hunting around the woods, finding
no scent for their masters that trailed after with a gun.

Another burst of wind had him shivering. Harry curled in on himself which gave him the
opportunity to see the sides of his arms. Harry ran his fingers over the feathers that came up
on his forearms. He opened Mason’s suit jacket, seeing that the feather’s expanded around his
rib and down his legs. He ran a hand through his hair, finding the texture to be a combination
of hair follicles and feathers.

He lifted his head when he heard the first shrill siren cut across the night sky.

“I can hear you,” Harry said, tears falling down his eyes. He got off the roof of the door and
walked to the ledge of the building. He was still very high up, about four stories off the
ground.

“You’re still there, Harry?” Beverly asked, the sirens loud around her.
“Yeah,” he said, breathless as he stood watching the lights break through the darkness. He
gasped, almost jumping up and down. He looked down at his hands, seeing the feathers were
still there.

Not knowing what to do about that, Harry went over to the chimney. He put the phone on the
ledge so he could scoop up the ash and cover himself in it. He rubbed it over his face, down
his arms and legs, over his torso.

“I see you!” Harry said, almost knocking the phone down the chimney with his excitement.
Black and white cars with red and blue lights flashing on them surrounded the building.

“Alright kid, now where are you?” Harry ran to the ledge, looking for a woman that was
talking to him. He spotted her, a car door slammed on the other side of the phone, he looked
for people leaving a car. There were three women, but only one had a phone up to her ear.

He rushed to the ledge and waved.

“Hi!” he shouted, the phone still next to him. Many of the agents turned to him, lifting their
guns. Harry ducked down, shying from the ledge, hearing Beverly shouting at them from the
ground.

“We got you, kid,” Beverly said. Harry smiled, standing up. He felt really energetic, like he
could skip down the stairs to the rescue party that came for him. When he got to the door and
pulled it, it was locked.

Harry put the phone to his ear.

“The door is locked,” he walked over to the ledge and looked down at Beverly. She had a pair
of binoculars looking up at him.

“We’re coming to get you, Harry, just hold on.” Harry looked back at the door and looked
back to her.

“I want to come down now,” he said, his voice blank. He looked around, his eyes settling on
the chimney.

He no longer wanted to be on the roof. He wanted to be on the ground, with Beverly, so that
she could call Will and Hannibal to pick him up.

“Harry, wait while we come get you,” Beverly said, her voice more urgent.

“No, I want to come down now.” Harry felt his magic getting tight in his chest again. He
walked over to the chimney. Beverly must have seen him climb up the bricks.

“No, Harry. Don’t go in the chimney!” Beverly shouted loud enough he didn’t need the
phone to hear her. He heard the shouting of men getting closer. His heart started beating
faster in his chest. He didn’t know who would come out the other side: friend or foe.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. Beverly shouted for him, but he dropped.

The bricks did not graze him as he took the fastest elevator ride ever. The chimney opened
around him, allowing him to freely slide down to the first floor. It slowed right before he hit
the chimney flue, then spat him out with a cough of ash.

He laughed from where he tumbled on the ground. He looked down at his arms, some
feathers still tainted around his elbows, knuckles and knees. He readjusted the suit coat, the
only thing covering his nakedness, and walked to the window.

Like the one before, he lifted the window and jumped out the side, bare feet landing on the
trimmed grass. He stayed low in the bushes, not wanting to be seen by anyone other than
Beverly. He heard his name being called by her, the phone abandoned by the fireplace.

“Hi!” he said again, popping out of the shrubs. She screamed, a hand to her heart, the phone
next to her ear. She walked to him with a slow step and dropped her phone.

“Hi Harry,” she said, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. She had dark eyes and hair,
thin features and a nice scent around her. He opened his arms to her, folding into her body
with a hug. “I got you,” she said, pulling his dirty body close. He heard other agents file
around him, felt a blanket wrap around him, but Beverly didn’t leave his side.

She led him by the hand to an ambulance, where he was put on a stretcher and a person
helped clean his mouth. People started asking him questions, but Beverly waved them off.
They asked him to open his mouth and bite down on something. The substance was warm
and did not taste good, but he did as Beverly asked.

“Who are your parent’s Harry?” Beverly asked him, wiping the blood off neck and chest.

“Oh,” Harry said, sitting up. “Will told me to call you.”

“Will?” A man asked. That must be Jack, the man that he heard Beverly talking too while he
climbed over the window sill. He scoffed. “Will Graham?” Harry nodded his head twice.

“He’s my dad.” Harry nodded his head again at their stunned expressions. “Hannibal is my
father. Can I go home soon?” His question was directed at Beverly. She looked at Jack for a
second, he nodded.

“How about we get some hot chocolate and waffles?” Beverly said, wrapping him in a
blanket as she buckled him in the back of her car. “We’re going to my house tonight. Jack is
going to tell your parents where you are.”

Harry was sure he fell asleep in the car, when he woke, they were parked in a parking
garage.

“My apartment isn’t far,” she said, unloading herself from the car. Harry took her hand when
it was extended to him, following her to the elevator. She let him hit the floor three button.
Her apartment was small, a couch in front of a TV, a table that was covered in anatomy books
just like Hannibal’s table.
He touched one of the books, an entry on the human heart, and remembered what he had
done. It felt like he was in a haze, as he ate Mason’s heart, but the hunger within him needed
to be satisfied.

“Let’s get you in a bath,” Beverly said, moving to the bathroom. She plugged the tub and
began filling it with water. Harry drew the blanket around him, not wanting to go near the
water. She noticed his hesitance. They both knew he needed a bath, Harry could smell the
grime on him and he wanted to wash the experience from his skin.

Beverly turned to open the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

“Here,” she said, prying open something orange. She handed it to him- it smelled of soap and
salt. “It’s a bath bomb. This way I can help you get clean and you can still feel modest.”

Harry stepped forward and let the bomb fall into the tub, laughing when it immediately
bubbled orange and pink. She filled the tub up halfway, her shampoo next to her.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked. Harry shook his head immediately, grabbing onto her
arm. She nodded, settling on top of the covered toilet seat. Harry slipped into the tub quickly,
the dirty jacket kicked to the side. Beverly used a gloved hand to pick up the jacket and put it
in a plastic bag, tying it off to toss to the side.

Beverly was gentle as she washed him, only touching the top part of his body. He washed
himself of the grime and soot of the chimney, glad to see there were no feathers on his arms
he would have to explain to the muggle.

She had him rinse off twice with the warm water, making sure that there was no grime left on
him. Beverly left him to towel off, a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt on the toilet for him.
Harry dressed and followed his nose to the kitchen.

Beverly slammed the freezer closed, a colorful box in her hands.

“Okay, so I don’t have waffles but I do have toaster strudel, which I’m sure is on your
father’s Top Ten Most Banned Foods, so we are going to have them.” She ripped open the
packaging with her teeth and popped them in the toaster. Beverly poured hot water into two
mugs with spoons in them.

“Hot chocolate isn’t complete without whipped cream,” Beverly said, shaking a red can.
Harry watched as she topped it off and slid his mug to him. He picked it up and ate the cream
first. He then dove into his breakfast. His stomach rumbled as he ate, he didn’t know when
the last time he had food.

“Hannibal and Will are probably on a plane right now to come get you.” Beverly said, hissing
as she threw the toaster treat onto the plate. She handed him the icing packet. Harry absently
made patterns with his icing as Beverly went about making her own toaster strudel.

“I miss them,” Harry confessed, looking down at his food.

 “Hey,” Beverly said, a hand on his shoulder. She brushed his cheek with her thumb. “You’ll
be with them in no time. So you better take advantage of that whipped cream can.” She shook
the can, lifted the nosil to her mouth and squirted. Harry laughed as she ate the cream and
passed the bottle to him.

Harry laughed as cream spilled over his face, licking up the stuff that dropped. She laughed at
him, showing him the proper wrist technique for proper whipped cream eating.

The kitchen was left a mess, Harry and Beverly both needed to wash their faces after eating.
Beverly seemed to understand his hesitance in a new place- she settled on the couch and put
an animated movie on about a deer named Bambi, lifting the blanket for him to come close.
Harry shuffled next to her on the couch, burrowing into her side as he ran his hand over the
hairs on his arm.

He didn’t know how and he didn’t know why, but he was a Ravenstag now.

What he did know was that his parents were coming to get him, and he wouldn’t leave their
sides again.

Chapter End Notes

Was that the moment you're all waiting for?!

I wish you all health and that a vaccine gets to you quickly.

In other news, I love writing Beverly. We'll be seeing more of her and Ravenfawn!Harry

Thank you for reading! I look forward to seeing you again!

 Welcoming Party
Chapter Notes

Good evening guests.

You're author is depressed and writing makes me happy as I get to share the fruit of my
labor to hungry people. I am excited for a reunion to happiness just as Hannigram is
desperate for Harry's return. This is the longest chapter I've written so far. It has my
faves: Beverly, Nagini, worried parents, adorable Harry.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Beverly loaded Harry into her car that afternoon to go to the FBI headquarters where
Hannibal and Will would collect him. Harry collapsed to the side of the car door, his head
against the glass as the seat belt kept him supported.

He was exhausted. His body felt like every movement was through molasses; his eyes felt
tired and dry as if there was sand within him. Harry ate the breakfast that Beverly made with
slow bites. He didn’t bother changing out of the clothes she provided him, used to ill fitting
clothing anyway. The gentle rocking of the car lulled him to sleep.

He woke to Beverly squeezing his shoulder. He scrambled out of the car, looking around at
the various agents that were training. He watched as some of them climbed the ropes, others
darted along automobile tires for agility training.

“This is my favorite part of working here,” Beverly said, watching over the others' sweat as
they ran around the agility course. “There is something thrilling about chasing down
somebody.”

She nodded her head at the agents who looked down at him with furrowed brows, taking his
hand after one of them asked what he was doing at the agency. Beverly held the doors open
for him, walking down concrete hallways until she made her way to a coffee machine.

Jack was standing there, a cup already in his hand. He smiled at Harry, but it didn’t feel all
that genuine. They greeted each other, Harry looking around the room as if his parents would
pop from the corner. Jack looked at the watch on his hand as the three walked out of the
break room.

“It shouldn’t be long now, Harry,” Beverly said, keeping next to him as Jack led them down a
flight of stairs.

“We’re just going to ask you to stay in this room, Harry,” Jack said, holding open one of the
doors for him. He hunched in on himself, a cold metal table sitting in the middle with a chair
on either side. The glass was reflective, though he could not see who was looking for him.
He sat on the chair, his head feeling hot, he rested it on his forearm and drifted off.

He lifted his head, looking at the two men that walked in through the door. They passed him a
coloring book and a few crayons as they introduced themselves as Price and Zeller.

Price was leaning against one of the walls as Zeller took the seat in front of Harry. Harry
opened up one of the pages, mindlessly coloring in the lines so he had something to occupy
his hands.

“Could you tell us what happened, Harry?” Zeller asked. Harry looked up from the dinosaur
he was coloring. He tilted his head, unsure of how much to tell them. Hannibal and Will were
coming for him, but he didn’t know what information was safe.

“I woke up on the bed,” Harry said, switching out a green crayon for a blue one. “Well, I
guess I woke up before, but I couldn’t see or hear anything.” Harry looked over at Price, who
was looking through the contents within a folder. He took a deep breath.

“He um,” Harry stopped coloring, pulling the sleeves of Beverly’s sweatshirt over his fingers.
“He, Mason, he cut off my shirt and started touching me.”

Price flipped something in his book, looking to the other adult. Harry felt his heart beat
faster.

“What about Cordell?” Harry tilted his head at the question. Price pulled something from the
file and slid it over for Harry to look at. It was a picture of the fat man’s arm, a visceral bite
mark in the middle. Next to the picture, was the white mold that he had in his mouth.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, rubbing the side of his jaw. “I did that after he removed the gag.”

“Gag?” Zeller asked. Harry nodded his head, switching out a crayon.

“I guess he removed it because Mason liked it when I struggled in the bed,” Harry colored in
one of the bushes blue rather than green.

“And,” Price said, stepping forward to the table, “how did you get out of the bed?”

Harry didn’t think he could say he transformed into a magical creature and then was so
hungry that he followed the stories his father told him- to eat the heart of the abuser. There
were no markings on his wrist, he only noticed when Beverly spent time looking over his
wrists in the tub.

He wasn’t sure what happened to the ropes, if they snapped, vanished or he slipped free from
the bondage as he transformed.

“I just ran,” he settled for, looking blankly at the pictures. “I slid out of the bed, and ran.”
When he looked up at the adults, they shared a look with each other, then looked at the glass
wall. A silent conversation went through their eyes, much like Hannibal and Will did. Zeller
nodded his head to Price, to which the man flipped through his pictures.
“Did you see what caused this?”

Harry looked at the picture of Mason Verger. He was unclothed at the torso, his white shirt
collecting blood from where it had fallen from the chair he was sitting on. Mason was on his
back, the left side of his ribs ripped open from the outside with a gaping maw in the middle.
Harry looked around the edges of the picture, glad that he saw no feathers amongst the blood.

Harry pushed the picture away, shaking his head.

“No,” he said, curling in on the chair.

“Come on, kid,” Zeller said, sitting back in his chair- he gave Harry a smile. “You’re not in
trouble for biting Cordell if that’s what you're worried about.”

Harry wasn’t worried about that. Beverly was kind enough to explain what the FBI was doing
to him as he sat in the ambulance. They took his blood to make sure he was healthy, and
hadn’t contracted anything.

He had to give them something. To muggles, there was no way they could see his world.

“It was the Ravenstag,” Harry said. The two looked at each other, not expecting his answer.
Harry felt his heart pick up- this might work. “It freed me and I ran away until I got on the
roof.”

There was a buzzer sound that had the three flinch.

“By the way,” Beverly’s voice echoed through the room. Price and Zeller relaxed in their
chairs, glaring at the glass. “Sliding down the chimney will kill you.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Harry said, pointing at the glass where Beverly must have been. “It
was magic!”

There was a knocking on the glass- Price clapped his hands as he walked to the door, Zeller
collected the photos.

“See you later, Harry,” Price said, waving as the door closed.

The door quickly opened, a new person, a woman in a red dress walked in. Her heels clicked
the ground in measured steps that had him thinking of Hannibal’s hooves. Her hair was neat,
resting on her shoulders with not a single hair out of place.

She didn’t look happy to be in the room- Harry was trying to figure if she was unhappy with
him or something else.

“You can imagine my surprise, when I get a phone call from the FBI saying they have my
only patient’s son with them.”

Harry didn’t know this woman. She stood and walked the way Hannibal did, the two were
somehow connected. It felt like all he was doing was talking to people about his stay at the
Verger house while trying to distract him. This woman was unsettling. Harry didn’t know if
she was magical or not, and if she was, he exposed his parents secret.

His heart caught in his throat, he shifted.

She looked at the glass, brushing some imaginary dust off her dress.

“Did it feel good to bite off Cordell’s arm with your teeth?”

No one asked him that question. Harry’s fingers played with the fringe on Beverly’s sleeve.

“It would not help you escape, but you did it anyway.” She looked up at him, her brown eyes
on him. “Why?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, they were no longer aching from where Mason had tied him
up.

“It seemed like the only thing I could do,” Harry told her. “I was scared and angry.”

“It is natural for an animal to lash out when caged.” Her head turned to the glass. “When
children reach the age of three, they have the same jaw strength as a dog.” She tapped on the
table three times, stood and walked out of the room.

Harry groaned and put his forehead on the table with a smack.

He just wanted to go home. A sense of dread pooled over him, catching in his throat like a
food choking him. Harry no longer wanted to be here. While Harry knew it was only a matter
of time before his parents came into the room, he was still alone.

Two people came into the room to check on him. Beverly was one of them, she brought a
container of munchkins. When he refused to speak to her, she sat on the ground, her back
resting against the leg of the table and began eating them. Harry’s resolve broke after three
munchkins.

“Let me get you something to drink,” she handed him the carton as she left the room. Harry
put the box to the side, curling in on the chair.

The door burst open, slamming back on the hinges. He raised his arms, already jumping into
their arms as Hannibal and Will embraced him.

Harry whimpered in their arms, sagging against Will’s chest as Hannibal embraced him from
behind. He could feel his own tears sliding down his face- he was so tired.

“We got you,” Hannibal said, taking Harry from Will’s arms. Harry folded his face into
Hannibal’s neck, his body wrapped as close as possible to the man. He breathed in Hannibal’s
scent, smelling the echo of Will’s, the dogs at home.

He was safe now.

His parents would take care of everything.

Harry sagged, the last reserves of energy sapped from him.

Hannibal resisted the urge to growl at Jack when he entered the interrogation room. His
instincts had frayed and worn down over the three days that Harry went missing. The two of
them neglected eating, showering- their focus consumed with the need to find Harry.

Hunting for Harry in the forest proved as useless as hunting through the house. He managed
to find the points where the wards had been cut. There was evidence of the hunting party left
behind. Though Hannibal had to hunt beyond his territory and property line, he was able to
find a single van- though that was all he was able to gain.

Will tracked down the car to the rental company, found a series of fake names and credit
cards. Will practically tore apart the car, taping together take out receipts to find more about
these people. There were no guns in the car- tranquilizer guns, but no live rounds.

Their intention was to capture one or both of them. Instead, they took something that they
would surely hunt to the ends of the earth for.

When Will got the call from Jack, they were a half step from apparating right to the FBI
headquarters without care of how suspicious it would look. Hannibal booked them two seats
on the first plane out of Italy to America- no care for the class, airline, even who was flying
the plane.

Jack had a yellow folder in his hand, Verger written on the slip. Will must have noticed it too
if the proverbial hackles were any indication.

“You’re asking me to empathize with my son’s molester,” Will growled, stepping close
enough that the two men were almost chest to chest, his teeth pulled back in a snarl. Hannibal
was lucky that he had Harry caged in his arms or else he would reach over and strangle Jack
for what he was asking Will to do. Jack backed up a half step as if he did not think of the
implications it would cause for the man.

“Well something tore into Mason after he died,” Jack growled, pointing to the photos.
Hannibal could feel Harry stiffen in his arms, his breathing change a bit. Harry ducked his
head and buried it in Hannibal’s neck, taking snort little inhales as if his human nose found
comfort in Hannibal’s scent. Hannibal reached a hand up to his skull, rubbing the hair at the
base of his neck. He could tell that Harry’s scent had changed but he was unsure if it was
Beverly’s borrowed clothing Harry wore or his own scent changing due to trauma.

Whatever it was, Harry played a part in Mason’s death if the sound of his heart was anything
to go on. Hannibal hushed him, rubbing between his shoulder blades- assuring their son that
all would be well. Soon they would be home.

“I am not an agent anymore, Jack,” Will growled, taking a step back towards Hannibal and
Harry.

“Then explain this,” Jack said, holding up one of the photos of Mason.
The two Ravenstag recognized the wound patterns as a reflection of their own. Animals
commonly tore into the vital organs as they were the most nutrient rich. The alpha wolf
would always have the first claim of internal organs- unless there were pups to think of. The
same was for Ravenstag, the most nutrient rich organs going to the fawns while the stags ate
around the body.

Mason was torn open from the ribs, his bones mangled and crushed under small, but
powerful jaws. The meat was torn out of his body. There were streaks of blood around the
picture, bloody footprints that trailed out of the room.

There were no hoof marks, yet the evidence, to the two wizards, was revealing enough.

Will spread some of the pictures out on the table, looking over them with quick eyes. He did
not stay on one image for long, preventing him from completely empathizing with Mason. He
shook his head, backing up. Hannibal stood between Will and the images, glaring at Jack.

“Let us go home, Jack,” Will said, near pleading. Jack looked at the pictures once more, then
gave a great sigh.

“I’m sure you remember the paperwork,” Jack said, standing out of the way. Will left the
room first, Hannibal not far behind him. As they made their way closer to the exit, Hannibal
caught Bedilia’s scent. She wore a red dress, looking just as regal as the day Hannibal told
her they wouldn’t see each other for some time.

“Have you found the balm to your loneliness?” She asked from where she stood. Harry
clenched his fingers, his nails scratching the skin on Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal could tell that
the boy was growing frustrated with the people around him.

Will walked off with Jack, leaving the two adults in the hallway, Harry zoned out in
Hannibal’s arms.

“Of course they did,” Beverly said from behind them, weaving herself between Hannibal and
Bedialia, serpent-like, she put more space between Hannibal and his psychiatrist, almost
dancing until she stopped behind Hannibal’s back to look at Harry, who perked up at the
sound of her voice. Beverly handed him a small bottle of water. “You better put this
munchkin in a bed.” Hannibal was surprised with himself- he did not hear nor smell
Beverly’s approach. Perhaps it was Harry given he stayed at her house, bathed using her
products, wore her clothing.

Regardless, Hannibal was glad for the excuse to leave his old psychiatrist. He didn’t have the
energy to engage in their verbal spars.

Hannibal walked next to the woman, glad that Harry had someone that was looking out for
him in the FBI. He left Bedelia to her thoughts and without a proper goodbye.

“Hey,” Beverly said, stopping Hannibal after she had looked around the corner. Hannibal felt
his feathers flare a bit, gripping Harry tighter in his arms. “Jack doesn’t like that Harry’s only
living relatives were murdered. He thinks there might be a connection between them and
Verger.”
“Verger was a deranged patient of mine,” Hannibal said, knowing just how far his
perversions ran- his oversight, his negligence, got his fawn hurt. Hannibal had several dishes
in mind with Mason’s organs- it seemed that Harry got there before Hannibal could.

“I’m okay,” Harry said, his hand squeezing Hannibal’s shoulders. It did not fill Hannibal with
confidence. His fawn was not showing any signs of extreme duress, but his exhaustion was
concerning for the man.

“Well,” Beverly said, seeing Will walking closer to them. “If you’re ever in the States, you
can drop him off at my place.”

“Bye Beverly,” Harry said, shifting his weight around. Hannibal readjusted him in his arms as
Harry held his arms out for a hug. Beverly stepped close, a little awkward with how close she
was to Hannibal. Harry hugged her, exchanging a soft thank you, before he deflated back on
Hannibal’s shoulder, face resting in the crook of his neck.

Will and Hannibal walked to the rental car. Will sat in the driver’s seat while Hannibal stayed
in the back seat next to Harry.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, turning into Hannibal’s chest, the angle awkward with the seatbelt.
Hannibal hushed him, holding Harry close as the boy cried in his shirt as Will took them
away.

All the two had to do before they could apparate home would be to return the car. Harry still
hadn’t left Hannibal’s embrace since the interrogation room. Will handled the car.

The three walked into the family bathroom and apparated back to Italy. The travel was
intense, crossing an ocean was exhausting already.

They landed in a mess of limbs.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, rubbing his red eyes from where he stood by the hearth. Will went to
walk to him, but Harry held his hand out, stopping Will. Harry took stock of the living room,
the house. His eyes darted along every surface as his memories returned to him.

“You lied to me,” he said slowly, looking up at the two of them. Hannibal felt his heart and
blood freeze in his veins. Harry’s nose flared as he took in the scent of the area. He took a
step back. “When were you going to tell me?”

His eyes watered, a hand coming up to his chest like they were breaking his heart. Hannibal
took a step forward as his own heart thundered in his chest. Harry matched his movement by
darting closer to the door.

“ Were you going to tell me?” Harry’s hand was on the door knob. His voice was tight with
anger that hid the tears gathering in his eyes. They had just gotten him back- he could not
leave so soon. The ravenstag within him wanted nothing more than to drag their fawn to the
forest to groom him- wipe off the scent of friend and foe. Hannibal could not, would not, let
Harry leave.
“We promise we were going to tell you,” Will said, his hands to the side to not spook Harry.
Harry shook his head, not believing them. Hannibal dropped to his knees, ready to plead with
Harry for his forgiveness.

“Your bedtime stories,” Hannibal gasped the words as if they were punched from his chest.
“We were easing you into it.” He shuffled closer, three feet separating the two of them. At
any point, Hannibal could reach forward and grab Harry, pull him into his arms and hold him
until he calmed, until he listened to reason. Only, this was his fawn. “Easing you into so
many horrors.”

Harry’s hand was still on the door, his eyes looking between the two of them, to the kitchen.

“I need to think,” he said, turning the knob before either of them could stop him, he was
gone. Hannibal moved to run after him only to be stopped by the hand of his mate on his
shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will, blue eyes rimmed red with tears threatening to fall.

“Let him go,” Will said, pulling Hannibal back onto his feet. Will reached up to Hannibal’s
head so they could rest their foreheads together. “He’s not far.”

Harry could feel the cold air pass through the sweatshirt Beverly gave him . He walked
through the grass of the meadow where he had encountered the men. The land wasn’t tainted
with the scent of death or fear- purged magically or by nature, Harry didn’t know.

He walked to the creek, following down the path until he decided to settle in a small grove.
Harry pulled up the grass, one strain at a time as his thoughts drifted. He was happy to be
home yet there was a heavy weight of conflict rolling around his stomach.

“Hatchling,” a hissing came from behind him. Harry flinched at the sound, calming when he
saw it was only Nagini. She slithered down from the tree she had wrapped herself around.
“You have returned. This is good- they feared for you.”

Harry turned his head, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He ripped up some of the grass, feeling
no better about his situation.

“I have observed them since the humans took you. They are not as I thought.” Nagini
coiled around him, her body tight and warm against his. “And now, you are one of them.”
Harry absently rubbed the scales atop her head. He looked up when he heard the snapping of
a branch. He scanned the area, his eyes able to see further than the last time he was in the
forest.

“They lied to me,” Harry said. She flicked her tongue on his scar, down the side of his face.

“They did,” she hissed. “And you will one day lie to them as my hatchling lied to me.” Her
face was next to his, looking directly ahead where Harry’s eyes landed. “This is the way of
family. You do not grow angry for my hunting of rodents. They, you, are beasts that cannot
feed alone on lesser creatures.”
Harry brushed off the tear that fell from his eyes, shivering a bit in the cold. Nagini curled
around him a little tighter, he whined, she loosened her grip.

“I cannot find sustenance on ants,” she hissed in his ear. “You cannot find sustenance on
rabbits anymore.”

To make matters worse, as if proving her point, Harry’s stomach rumbled- a pain he was used
too but had forgotten. Nagini’s laugh was more of a pitched hissing sound, unwinding herself
from his body but sticking close. He stroked her snout, rubbing down the length of her neck.
Nagini moved closer to him, purring as he pet her.

He was glad he had her with him.

“They are watching you,” Nagini said.

“I know,” He said. In truth, he could hear them both. He wasn’t sure which ravenstag was in
front of him or the other to his left. Harry yawned into his hand, his eyelids heavy over him.
Harry shifted in the ground, laying in the dirt as his lungs gave a heavy sigh. Nagini unwound
herself from him, accommodating his body as he laid on the ground.

Harry stretched and the bones in his spine popped the sensation of lightning tingling over his
skin. He lifted his head when he heard the familiar rustle of feathers. Harry blinked slowly at
the two stags that surrounded him, their crowns tilted as they looked at him. He made a
sound, lifting his face to greet his parents. They licked over his face, over his eyes where his
tears had fallen. Will laid down behind him, Hannibal laying in front- completely circled by
feathers and warmth.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, nuzzling into Hannibal’s chest feathers. Hannibal scented Harry,
licking his neck, Will scenting over where was groomed.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, fawn,” Hannibal said, his head rubbing over Harry’s. Harry
turned his head to look up at Will.

“This was our fault,” Will said, his face next to Hannibal’s chest as well. “You’re safe now.”

Harry could feel himself shaking, he pushed his face into Hannibal’s feathers, feeling how
they reached out and intertwined with his own pelt. He could smell the scent Will and
Hannibal were lacing with his own. Each grooming, nuzzle of a snout, rub of the chin, lick of
feathers, spread different scent markers on him. Harry felt his head grow fuzzy, almost numb
with the sensation of care going through him.

“How did I become this?” Harry asked, his head relaxing a bit. He moved away from the
depths of Hannibal’s feathers, closing his eyes as Will licked around his brow feathers.

“I do not know, fawn,” Hannibal said. “Children are only born.”

“You haven’t exactly followed the common rules of magic.” Will said. “Perhaps we have
forgotten that magic’s intent is profoundly fluid.”
Harry felt the need to say it, something he didn’t think was ever possible for him to say.
Harry recalled the words of Will, the very first night they all arrived at the house. Will was
brushing his hair, taking the time to calm him as he said: magic is about intent. Harry moved
his head, brushing against Will’s face.

“I love you,” he said, his eyes closed, rubbing along Will’s neck. He turned to Hannibal,
giving the man the same treatment as their feathers pulled each other closer. “I love you.”

The words were exchanged freely between the three of them. Will felt such a profound
connection with another person, to look after, love and foster into something greater than he
could ever be; willing to go to any lengths to assure Harry’s wellbeing. Within Hannibal, a
cracking of long repressed trauma. He did not see his sister, but he could feel the love once
there fuel the new fire Harry stoked within him- banishing the numb loneliness that
encompassed him with the legacy of last. For Harry, this was hope, forgiveness and love. The
need to be accepted and cared for, given to him in bounty.

It was right as Harry was about to fall asleep that his stomach growled again. Harry whined,
his face shoved back in Hannibal’s chest as if he could escape his new reality. Hannibal
chuckled deeply, nuzzling Harry with his snout. Harry felt his feathers slick back as Hannibal
licked a long stripe from his brow feathers to the back of his neck.

“I shall return soon, little fawn,” Hannibal said. He rose on his four legs, leaving Harry to
curl up in the warmth of Will’s pelt. Harry watched as Hannibal walked in the direction of
their house, stopping at one of the trees to look at the low branches. Harry followed his gaze,
seeing Nagini coiled within the tree branches. Hannibal dipped his crown to her, she bowed
her head a bit, then Hannibal was swallowed by the shadows.

“How did Nagini find me?” Harry asked, flaring his nostrils. Will’s feathers expanded a bit,
the ones connected to Harry pulling him closer to Will on instinct. Will nuzzled Harry,
ruffling the feathers on his face. Harry sneezed, pulling away from Will to run his small leg
over the feathers Will had ruffled.

“Nagini,” Will growled, his dark eyes on the snake. He snorted. “You speak the language of
the snakes. Parseltongue is a rare ability that has gained the reputation of an evil ability over
the recent years.”

“I’m not evil,” Harry said, feeling his own feathers lifting as he spoke. He watched the little
white ones, not many of them decorating his pelt, rise higher than his black feathers.

“No. No, you are not Harry,” Will said. Will’s ears flicked to where Hannibal had gone,
Harry could feel Will’s feathers puff up against his own speckled pelt. Will growled, his lips
pulling back to expose the full set of teeth within his mouth. Harry ducked down further into
Will’s feathers on instinct as the larger ravenstag growled above him. When Hannibal
emerged from the shadows, Will relaxed.

Harry watched as Hannibal made his way to the both of them, extending his snout to greet
Will before he looked down at Harry- who almost shrunk with the intensity of Hannibal’s
gaze.
Hannibal was standing in front of Harry, towering over his small body from where he was
burrowed into Will. At least Will had the advantage of his crown to look less small. Harry
could feel his mouth water. He turned his head when Hannibal started making a strange
sound, his stomach contracting. The ravenstag lowered his face towards the ground.

Only so that he could promptly regurgitate food in front of Harry.

Will and Hannibal both laughed at the sound that came out of Harry’s mouth.

“What was that?” Harry asked, his ears flicking around.

“You know what this is,” Hannibal said, nudging the half eaten human closer to Harry.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “that sound.”

“You bleeted,” Will answered, nosing Harry closer to the food Hannibal brought him. Harry
couldn’t stall any longer from the truth he found when he first met Nagini.

Harry’s stomach rumbled, pain tingling in his sides. He had forgotten this pain, forgotten how
to best ignore it or how to keep his mind from thinking of it. In the dark, half digested as it
was, Harry couldn’t smell the person that the meat had come from. He leaned forward and his
instincts took over, opening his mouth.

He licked up the meat Hannibal brought for him, crunching on the splinters of bone that
remained. Just as he finished what was on the ground, Hannibal turned Harry’s head. The
fawn lifted his own, opening his mouth without needing to be asked. Hannibal was careful as
he opened his jaws around Harry- depositing another load of food to Harry.

“You are right, Harry,” Hannibal said as he groomed the blood that had spilled over the
feathers on his lips. “You are not evil for feeding on this.”

Harry looked up at Hannibal as the great beast folded his legs to cocoon himself around
Harry.

“We should have told you,” Hannibal said, his eyes downcast before Harry. “And there is still
much to discuss.”

“You made me a man-eater,” Harry echoed Nagini’s words with a growl, his own feathers
puffing up at his shoulders, lips pulling up to expose his teeth. In relation to the size of Will
and Hannibal, it was almost comical how his feathers puffed up where theirs could extend
outward. He deflated quickly- tired of fighting, his head moved to the side as Will groomed
his feathers. He looked over to Nagini. Her coils were hung over the branches, weaved
together like a blanket. She picked up her own head, regarding the family from where she
rested.

“Though,” he sighed, looking down at Hannibal, who comically put his head on the floor,
looking up at Harry as if he were kicked. “I guess it’s only cannibalism if we’re the same
species.”
Hannibal’s ears flicked forward. Harry leaned forward and licked a stripe up Hannibal’s
brow, turning to give a kiss to Will’s cheek.

“We’ll explain everything in the morning,” Will said, wrapping his head around Harry’s
small body.

“Promise?” Harry said, blinking slowly at Will. Hannibal made a whining sound, licking
over the scar that rested just under Harry’s feathers.

“Yes, fawn,” he assured. “Everything that we know.”

Harry hummed between the two of them, eyes drooping shut as the two stags watched over
him.

“How did this happen, Hannibal?” Will asked, his own exhaustion trying to take over his
body. The only thing that kept him awake was the enigma that Harry possessed. “I’ve never
heard of a creature's inheritance passed on without some biological catalyst.”

Vampires were created with the power of a bite- the burden of the curse was the loss of
reproduction. Their counterpart, werewolves, were created more often than not. And while
they could reproduce, the gene was recessive.

Ravenfawns’ were strictly born.

Yet, a fawn from a bloodline that had not touched Hannibal’s was made.

“I care not for the reason,” Hannibal said, grooming Harry’s pelt, small compared to the size
of Will, fragile in comparison to Hannibal’s towering mass. “He is beautiful.”

Harry shuffled in the nest of feathers, kicking one leg out. His feathers puffed up, then folded
themselves inward, bringing forth his human skin. Will’s feathers pulled at the naked boy,
keeping the spring chill from their fawn as Hannibal shifted his own flesh.

On two legs, Hannibal flicked his wand, the leaves and grass transfigured themselves into a
night shirt and pants for Harry. Harry grunted as Hannibal manipulated him into the clothing,
picking the child up.

“Why isn’t he waking?” Will asked in a worried tone, still in his stag form with his feathers
pulling at Harry to keep him from the cold.

“Transformative magic is taxing.” Hannibal picked up Harry in his arms, the boy curling into
the side of his body as they walked back to the house. “Until he can stabilize his shifting, he
will require more food and sleep.”

The two left the unspoken consequences out of the conversation- almost worried it would
break Harry free from his slumber.

“School starts in September…” Will huffed, his feather shifting as he shook his pelt out.
 “I trust Harry will be eager to master shifting before that day comes.” The two would have all
of spring and the whole summer to teach Harry the skills he would need as a young fawn
before sending him off.

As Will made it to the stairs of their house, he shifted. They made their way into the house,
the dogs wagging their tails as they scented Harry. Hannibal carried Harry to his room and
leaned down to set him on the bed. The movement from Hannibal’s arm’s jarred Harry back
to wake.

“No, father,” Harry said, clinging to Hannibal’s shirt tight enough to damage the threads. He
gasped, pulling his hand back and into himself as if he were ready to be struck. Hannibal
wasted no time in lifting Harry from his bed.

“Hush, son, dear fawn.” Hannibal rocked Harry in his arms, the two clinging to each other.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Harry said, feeling a bit foolish. Hannibal needed no
further instructions, taking his son to his shared room. Will was already changed into his
pajamas, waiting in the bed. When he saw Hannibal with Harry in his arms, Will lifted the
top sheet and comforter. Harry wiggled out of Hannibal’s arms and trotted to Will.

“Dad,” he whispered, crawling on the bed until he was pressed against Will’s side.

“Oh Harry,” Will said, bringing Harry closer to his bare chest so the boy could listen to his
heartbeat. “I love you so much, little fawn.”

Hannibal crawled into bed, pressing himself against Harry, an arm thrown over him and
landed on Will. Harry fell asleep as fast as he did when they had been in the forest. When
Harry’s breathing deepened, evened out with the lull of their heartbeats, Hannibal and Will
both succumbed to the stress and relief of the past days.

Chapter End Notes

Please join me in the comments...I think I will have a milkshake to treat the sads; works
for Hannibal.

I'll see you in two weeks for a new meal.

 Genesis
Chapter Notes

Hello friends!

I have a nice meal prepared for you. It is a hearty one, if you get my drift. Prepare
yourselves for a second round of smut after Harry is tucked into bed. Hannigram getting
their ritual on- you've read the tags and the warnings. Don't like the spice, pass to the
left.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will was used to the feeling of waking as exhausted as before sleeping. The sensation pointed
towards stress in his waking life; unable to process and recover while in a dreamscape. With
Hannibal, in the short time they had together as a pair, followed by their time with Harry, had
evened this out.

While he still went to bed stressed with his mate, the stress was only a result of a good day:
teaching Harry to fish, making potions, bandaging a wound that went unnoticed. There was
something productive about the stress that came with raising a child. His mind found an
anchor with Harry.

Losing Harry was akin to a breach in a boat. Water rose around him, the overwhelming sense
of dread that their child...his fawn, was missing.

“He’s right here.”

Will only smiled out of reflex, blinking away the sunlight that broke their comfort. Will
turned himself closer to the nest his mate made for Harry within the comforter. Hannibal
moved his hand over to Will’s hip that formed a bridge over Harry’s body.

Will turned his head, shuffling his arm slowly to not wake Harry. He picked up a bit of
Harry’s night shirt that had torn.

“His magic is still unstable.” Hannibal said, gesturing for Will to look more closely. Will
blinked away the rest of sleep, the film over his eyes clearing. Harry was breathing deeply,
his eyes twitching with the dreams that came with REM.

Hannibal was the one that scoured the forest first. While Will picked over the bodies both
within and outside the house, he watched Hannibal gallop into the depths of the forest,
following the freshest scent. Will wanted to go with him, to shift and run for his fawn, but
there was information that could be on the bodies.
Harry was facing Will, the scar on his forehead resting pink. Will furrowed his brow,
reaching carefully to look at the locks of hair. At the crown of his hairline, rather than treads
of hair, were stalks of feathers. Hannibal moved a bit, shuffling Harry closer to him. Gently,
Harry was turned around so Will could look at his spine.

Up the entire length of his spine were covered with his black feathers. Little white freckles
decorated his ribs, up to the back of his collar bone. When Will reached to pet the feathers,
they reacted in the natural way- reaching up to touch Will.

“Is he going to wake up?” Will asked. Harry shuffled between them, settling after he gave a
stretch. Neither Will nor Hannibal found much rest while their fawn was missing. They
attended to their bodies needs with little care of what was going into them. The need to find
what was there’s overtook everything. Will’s magic stretched out- his empathy searching for
the missing boy that filled the home.

“Soon,” Hannibal hummed, a gentle smile breaking. “He is hungry.”

“He devoured Verger.” Hannibal growled at Will’s comment, what looked like his own
feathers beginning to break through his olive skin.

The growling must have spooked something instinctive in Harry. He whined, attempting to
coil himself inward while the feathers lining his back spread out. Will got to watch Hannibal
calm, the animosity that fueled the Ripper quelled with nothing more than a meek and
sleeping whine. His mate hushed Harry, nuzzling Harry’s hair with his nose as he would in
his pelt. Hannibal huffed a laugh as Harry’s stomach growled in answer.

“Eating Verger solidified the transformation,” Hannibal said, his eyes on Harry’s scar. “His
magic is seeking nourishment.”

“It’s searching for answers,” Will said, pushing back Harry’s hair. His breathing had changed
since his stomach growled again- closer to waking up. Hannibal and Will said nothing as
Harry brought himself out of his dreams.

Neither of them had the experience of bringing a child into the world that they could keep for
themselves. No-maj or magical, bringing a new life into the world was, at the very least, a
rush of hormones- at most: forging a profound bond. For both peoples: the process was labor
intensive and dangerous. For those that had magic, it was the release of an extension of self.
For no-maj, it was the genesis of a new bloodline.

This was Harry’s genesis, his own birthing. He was the Boy Who Lived, but here, between
the two of them, Harry was a boy caught between two forms as he slowly woke.

His fingernails were black as he rubbed his eyes. When he yawned, his teeth were longer,
bones almost protruding from his mouth. Will and Hannibal watched as his magic swelled
with his breathing, pushing the feathers over his ribs, only to retract back with his exhale.

“Hi,” he said, his eyes slowly opening. Hannibal leaned down and kissed the feathers on his
head.
“Good morning, Harry.”

Will smiled as he moved forward, caging the boy completely against the two. Harry laughed,
his joy reinvigorating the cold energy that took over the house.

“Woah,” Harry said, looking at his hands. Hannibal and Will moved back to give him space
to look at his arms. He looked up at Will with such childhood amazement, the first shooting
star, first catch of a fish. “Look Dad,” he said, holding his hands closer to Will.

Will felt himself blinking away tears as he looked over Harry’s hands and the microfeathers
that surrounded his digits. All the wonder of the world was at Harry’s fingertips and he
wanted to extend that same wonder to Will. Moved by this, Will pulled Harry close to him,
kissing his hair and holding him close.

“Come,” Hannibal said, throwing the blankets off them all. Will shivered, Harry’s feathers
pulled around his torso to keep the chill away. Harry laughed in wonder as he sat up, looking
at his back. Will rolled out of bed to fish a sweatshirt he had worn the day previous. It was
covered in his own scent. Before Harry knew what was happening, Will swaddled him.

The magic of the moment was lost when Harry rounded the corner to the kitchen. Hannibal
went into the fridge, his movements more calculated than they were fluid. Will could see that
Hannibal was using every reflective surface to watch Harry’s reaction without watching him.
Hannibal put eggs, milk and finally, a paper bag that was full of raw bacon.

Harry moved slowly, like a young predator surveying a new hunting ground that was
scanning for danger.

Will walked to the cabinets that had the pans, pulling several out for Hannibal to use.

Harry climbed up onto his usual bar stool and waited with his head turned to the side. Will
could see that his feathers were still peaking out from his hair and arms.

“Will this go away?” Harry asked, pulling one of his arm feathers back at an unnatural angle
until he winced and freed it. Hannibal cracked an egg into a bowl.

“With time, yes.” He cracked several more into his bowl. Will passed him a whisk then
moved to the fridge to pour Harry some water. “We will go outside and play after brunch
settles.”

Harry perked up at that, his feathers puffing up with excitement. Will walked behind Harry,
settling his drink to his son’s side.

Hannibal and Will both watched for every minute reaction Harry gave to their meat. The
bacon was a vibrant pink, the white of the fat clung to the fibers of protein. Harry’s eyes were
glued to the meat as it was laid in the pan.

His feathers flicked forward at the sound of the bacon frying on a hot skillet.

Harry’s nostrils flared when he caught a scent of it.

“Your ability to speak in parseltongue is what connects you to Nagini,” Hannibal said,
moving from the bacon to the produce. He picked up an apple, tossed it behind himself so it
landed on the blade. Harry smiled, Will rolled his eyes with a fond expression as he went
about making coffee for the two.

“She said she was searching for me...for her hatchling.” Harry reached out to take the offered
apple slice that Hannibal extended.

“Nagini is the Dark Lord’s familiar,” Will said, pouring himself and Hannibal a larger than
normal share of coffee. “And their magic is bound through a connection called a horcrux.”

“Horcrux?” Harry asked, taking the next apple slice.

“A horcrux is a vessel that contains a fragment of a person’s soul.” Hannibal showed Harry
the remaining apple, all perfect and uniformed slices. He scooped the slices around with his
hand, attempting to make a solid apple again. There were two slots missing from the macabre
puzzle.

“The more fragments made,” Will said, standing behind Hannibal to reach for a slice, “the
less it holds its shape.” He ate the slice in his hand, forcing Hannibal to apply more pressure
for the apple to remain whole.

“Fragmentation like this results in a fragmentation of mind and magic.” Hannibal let go of
the apple slices, letting them fall where they wanted. The three shared the snack. Will flipped
the bacon, oil splattering on his shirt.

“Voldemort made horcruxes then?” Harry said, holding his slice of apple in his blackened
fingers. He brought the apple slice halfway to his mouth only to freeze. He laughed, the
sound manic. Harry’s hand traveled to his forehead. He looked at the slice.

“There is one inside me,” he looked between the two. Hannibal, folding the eggs around in
the pan as Will drained the fat from the bacon. “Can it be removed?”

“Like all parasites,” Hannibal said, serving Harry a portion of eggs. Will added several slices
onto his fawn’s plate, setting it down in front of him.

“And it won’t change me?” Harry asked, forgoing his fork as he lifted the bacon with his
fingers. Will chuckled as Harry bit into the bacon with little care. Hannibal’s expression was
one like his child had hung the world. He kissed Harry’s brow, ruffling his hair and feathers.

“You will be your own reckoning, little fawn,” Hannibal told him. Harry laughed as the man
moved to his own plate, picking up the bacon with his fingers.

“Okay,” Harry said. He ate another slice of bacon- Will saw some of his natural pigment had
returned to his fingers, up to his wrist. “How do we remove it?”

“I will be the one to complete a ritual.” Hannibal said.

“We have two soul fragments, horcruxes,” Will said, pushing his own serving of bacon on
Harry’s plate. Their fawn looked down at it, seeing that he had eaten three pieces. They two
waited on baited breath as Harry regarded the food. He scented the food this time, his eyes
dilating a bit. Harry shrugged and ate another slice. “You and Nagini can help locate the other
shards.”

“Now?” Harry asked, sitting upright. Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder, calming their
fawn from getting up from the table.

This was the first meal they were having, after all.

“Will it hurt?” Harry asked. It was a childish question, as the answer was obvious. The two
bet that even Harry knew the answer to that.

“We will try to keep it as painless as we can.” Hannibal rubbed the top of Harry’s head. Harry
picked up the last piece of bacon. Their fawn was hungry- he ate a full pound of bacon in the
same amount of time it took to make their breakfast. Will was glad Harry was eating, the
evidence of his stability proof on the tan skin he now had. Hannibal was pleased their fawn
was slipping into his new flesh with such ease.

“I don’t think it’ll be hard for you both to kill him, then,” Harry said, turning the bacon over
in his hand. He put it in his mouth with a vicious chomp of his teeth.

Will smiled at his fawn, taking a sip of his coffee. The bacon went to their fawn, the three ate
their eggs quickly. Harry helped the two clean the dishes. Hannibal said the others could wait.
Will and Harry both looked at him confused. Hannibal chuckled, opening the back door that
Harry ran out earlier that week.

Walking out as a family, Hannibal basked in the warm sun.

“Play is a healthy part of a young fawn’s life,” he said. Harry laughed freely as Hannibal
shifted into his pelt. Will observed the two from the porch, a moment between father and son.
Hannibal stomped his hoof with impatience, something Will didn’t think Hannibal would
ever do before they began this journey.

Harry looked at his hands, stumbling to the ground as his magic folded over his body. He
bleated his distress as the bones shifted in his body, the fabric of his clothing torn to shreds.
Hannibal walked around Harry like Will would one of his dogs, nosing along Harry’s neck,
checking over their fawn.

It didn’t take long for Harry to get his hooves under him. Little black cloven feet supported
long legs that Harry would have to grow into. Will walked to Harry and Hannibal in his
human form, feeling much like the first time he encountered the great Stag. Harry swayed
next to Will, stumbling as he tried to get closer. Will caught his side with a laugh, rebalancing
him only to stand back next to Hannibal as Harry tried again.

Harry pranced around him, his own jumps unbalanced as he enjoyed his new form. Hannibal
huffed a breath, his feathers rippling from crown to tailbone. Will put his forehead onto
Hannibal’s planting a kiss right at the blindspot.
Will felt himself shift without conscious thought. His pelt folded over him, antlers cracking
against Hannibal’s. Harry tripped as he tried to stop, tumbling to the ground he knocked into
both of their legs. Will leaned down, his nose nudging Harry back up.

The fawn’s legs were turned in, like a kid learning to ice skate for the first time. Will pushed
him onward, Hannibal trotting ahead of them. Harry’s ears flicked forward, his feathers
standing to attention as his instincts told him to follow. Will walked behind Harry, pushing
the fawn along when he would still for too long.

Hannibal began to trot, Will catching up to his mate. Harry smiled, moving faster with them.
His legs, while longer than the rest of his body, still needed to canter to keep up to them.
Their gait was steady as Harry still had trouble running in a straight line. The two stayed
away from the thicker parts of the forest, where his legs could get snagged on the roots of
trees. Harry seemed to enjoy playing with the two in the meadow, play bowing and prancing
only to stumble over his legs.

Harry’s feathers preened in the sunlight. The three of them were completely exposed if
anyone was foolish enough to enter. The two walked around Harry in a hypnotic fashion,
surrounding him, circling around only to bed down around him with near synchronization.
Harry’s feathers pulled the two stags closer, giving the impression that he wasn’t even there.
Harry huffed his contentment, his eyes drooping shut.

Will leaned down to groom Harry’s feathers at the brow. He felt his own feather’s preen as
Hannibal groomed him.

The two enjoyed the silence for several hours before Harry began to stir again.

“We will need to hunt now,” Hannibal said, nuzzling Harry awake. “The brook first.” Will
stood first, scanning the area for prey now that Harry was exposed. He stood up, stepping
backwards for a couple of strides. Hannibal nudged Harry’s flank forward. Will supposed he
had the advantage of a fully developed magical core that could support his shifting and the
energy that it took. Harry would grow into his bones, both in human and ravenstag.

Until that time, Harry would need to learn to hunt.

“Will I be safe at school?” Harry asked, focused on putting his hooves on the ground without
stumbling. “I won’t hurt them?” It was the first time Harry managed to stop with strong legs
under him to look up at the two.

“We do not senselessly hunt, fawn,” Hannibal said, licking over the spot where Harry’s
antlers would one day grow. “And we are not baseless animals that feast on one source.”

The herd arrived at the brook. There was a lip over the water, trees contorted over time to
swing in an arch to catch the sunlight. With the sunset upon them, animals were drawn to the
water. Fish came closer to the surface of the water, squirrels came down from their homes for
a last meal.

There was grass that was too short for Hannibal and Will to hide in, but Harry could crouch
down and learn to ambush prey. Harry did not cross the treeline, staying close to his parents
as they scanned the open area.

Will watched fondly as Harry’s ears flicked to the side, his head turned to listen to the geese
that landed to the right of them. Will’s feathers rose as his mouth salivated. He leaned down
and nuzzled Harry’s ear.

“Go into the grass and bunker down,” Will said, “I will run the geese this way.”

Will waited for Harry to make his way into the grass. He was on unsteady hooves, looked
back at them once for approval. Hannibal nodded his head, Harry moved further from them.
When he was in the middle of the meadow, ten feet from the brook, he hunkered down. The
grass was taller around him, he was hidden from their prey.

Hannibal turned his head and bit at Will’s scent gland, nuzzling his feathers. Will’s pulse
picked up, his feathers ruffled through him. Will flicked his tail as he trotted in the tree line.
He outflanked the geese, careful to keep his scent from the wind line.

His ears flicked forward, he could feel the feathers perched above his cartilage as if honed in
on Harry’s location. The wind blew the scent of the geese right in Harry’s path. Will had little
doubt that Harry’s instincts were kicking in as his own had.

It felt like something came over him, careful movements and steady breathing. Will emerged
from the treeline, using the shadow cast over as additional cover. He knew that Hannibal was
waiting to join in for the slaughter.

Will charged the geese. They were too stunned by his sudden approach to launch themselves
upward. Forced to run on their legs, wings trying to lift off, they were too worried about what
was behind them. Will reared up, keeping them closer to the ground as they rushed Harry.

Harry lept from the grass, his jaws wide as he snatched at the first bird that ran for him. He
pulled it to the ground, a snarling sound heard through the din of squawking. brown feathers
littered the area as Will and Hannibal killed two between them quickly, observing their fawn
fight for his first meal.

The kill was virginal- bloody and inexperienced. Feathers of fowl and fawn scattered the
grass from where they were fighting. The goose’s caws were garbled as Harry rolled onto its
wing with shaky legs, crushing the bones. Harry’s eyes narrowed on the long neck- he shot
forward, his jaws crushing down on the bird with such force it almost decapitated the
creature.

The silence that left was only broken by Harry’s heavy breathing as he stood proud over the
dead goose- his pelt covered in blood. He looked up at the two of them, his eyes wide and
feathers flaring with excitement.

“Look!” He said, stomping his hoof. “I did it!”

The three celebrated their successful hunt with praise as they ate their kills.
Before they moved onto Harry’s next lesson, a shrill cry broke through the sky. Will looked
up and saw a bright orange bird flying towards them. He growled, walking around to take
Harry under his hooves.

“It’s a blessing,” Hannibal said in awe, standing next to Will as Harry hunkered between his
legs. Will looked up, closer at the bird around them. It smelled of fire, vibrant reds, yellows
and oranges decorating it’s plums. The phoenix landing in front of them, talons touching the
feathers of the other bird’s.

Harry walked around from Will’s legs, his ears forward with curiosity.

The phoenix blinked at Harry a couple of times before turning it’s head to pluck a red feather
free of it’s pelt. The phoenix extended the feather to Harry, nudging it closer to their fawn.

“This is Magic’s blessing,” Hannibal said as the two watched Harry turn his head for his own
feather. He shuffled them around, his pelt flexing as his teeth searched for the right feather.
He grasped one of his fawn feathers, a white one and traded it for the phoenix feather.

The phoenix grasped the feather in the sharp talons as Harry picked up the red feather. The
beast beat elegant wings twice before burning away in a bright beacon of fire. Harry sneezed,
the feather falling to ash around his mouth and down the front of his feathers.

The sky has been painted with the colors of fire.

Will brought Harry to the lip of the brook, the sun painted gold and orange. Dusk would be
upon them soon.

Will turned his head, ready to instruct Harry, but stopped at the sight of his fawn. He was
staring at the water, his eyes following the slow movement of a fish under the water. Harry’s
ears flicked to the sound of the insects, diving down to skim some water. Little bubbles
popped to the surface, giving Harry an idea of where the fish was.

Harry dove into the water with his jaws open, his flank falling over the lip- there was as
much splashing as the goose flailing. Harry shook out his feathers with the remaining half of
the fish in his mouth. Hannibal huffed a laugh, jumping into the water with a splash as he
greeted his fawn.

The three hunted in the stream until the sun set- leaving the water before night’s chill would
harm them. On the walk home, both ravenstags' could tell that Harry was happy, his feathers
fluttering along his pelt, the white one’s giving away his emotions. His stride showed he was
tired though, another day of stretching his magic still took a toll on his body.

Harry yawned when he made it to the door, showing off all the sharp rows of teeth in his jaw.
His pelt folded around him, sans clothing, and with the black feathers circling his spine.
Harry blushed, curling himself inward.

“Tomorrow,” Will said, scooping Harry into his arms before he could become too
embarrassed. Harry was quick to shower and faster to go to sleep. The fingernails were still
black, feathers lined down his shin bones, knees and elbows. By the time the two folded the
sheets around him, he was asleep.

The two watched over Harry, simply watching him breathe in the nest of sheets and blankets.
The feathers on his arm drew back as he slid deeper into sleep. He shifted in his bed, rolling
to his side. Will smiled at his son, took his mate’s hand, and walked out of Harry’s room.

Something primal stirred inside him. It was similar to the sensation of hunger, clawing at him
until it needed to be satisfied. Will spared a look at Hannibal and saw he must have felt it too.
Will could feel Hannibal’s eyes tracking Will’s movements. Will spared a look at the dog’s
water dish, flicking his wand so it was clean, fresh water added. Hannibal removed his outer
coat and hung it on the door.

He walked outside, the door ajar for Will to follow. Rather than give into the hunt right away,
Will crouched down to look over his dogs, giving extra attention to Winston who made a full
recovery. The dogs were cuddled in their beds, several of them sleeping atop one another.

Will nodded his head, the house secure with Harry in his room.

He walked outside and was greeted to the sight of his mate.

Though Will was only on two legs, he felt powerful as he walked to the beast. This creature
was not tamed, the violence and hunger was his surface, only covered by the illusion he
created. Will shifted, his feathers standing proud as he crossed the rest of the distance to his
mate. Will leaned forward to kiss Hannibal, moving his nose to his mate’s, licking up his lips
and around his antlers.

“This is new for me as well,” Hannibal said, his eyes closed as he leaned forward to groom
Will’s neck. He did not reach far, nor press deep into Will’s feathers. “And I fear the
magnitude of my emotions for the both of you.”

“Would you consume us?” Will asked, the one to step closer and push his nose into the scent
gland on Hannibal’s neck. He could smell the blood from Hannibal’s heart, the velvet of his
nose able to feel the pressure of Hannibal’s heart. Will knew the answer, he could smell the
truth in Hannibal’s blood. Rather than wait for an answer, Will pulled at the feathers on
Hannibal’s neck and ran before the ravenstag could say anything more.

He darted off into the forest, his legs carrying him across the ground. He could hear
Hannibal’s hooves pounding behind him, the sound of their breath heavy. They reached a
small clearing of trees, toppled down from some rot within the soil. Will skidded to a halt,
kicking up the dirt around him as he faced his mate.

Hannibal shook out his feathers as he walked in a circle around Will. Will stopped so he
could paw at the ground twice, soil kicking up around him. Hannibal huffed, taking a
moment to rub the side of the bark with his antlers- shaving off the velvet of his crown that
left the air smelling of blood. Will’s nostrils flared.

He charged.
Will felt his teeth tighten in his jaw as his legs strained against the weight of Hannibal’s rack.
The two were bone to bone, antlers dangerously close to their eyeballs. Both hearts were
thundering loud enough they thought it came from the sky. Will took a half step back, the
pressure releasing enough for the two to rock back on their hunches.

Hannibal struck at Will’s shoulder with his hooves, Will returning the blow. They towered
over the forest ground, their racks clacking with how close they were. Will pushed Hannibal
back, charging only a stride before his rack was met against Hannibal’s.

The two had nicked each other at some point, the pain only adding to the zenith of the
moment. Pheromones surrounded the woods like a thick fog. Hannibal let out a massive
breath from where they were connected, moving the feathers on Will’s nose. Will could scent
his arousal, a spice that was mellowed in honey. Hannibal pushed forward, his size giving
him more muscle to manipulate Will.

Will dropped his hoof, darting to the side where he charged again.

This time they did not hold, an unspoken agreement to strike and strike and strike. Each
charge was only met with a clash for a second.

They met in the middle, their heads close to the ground as their racks pushed for all their
might. Neither made any real headway on the other and the game wasn’t to beat the other.

“William,” Hannibal moaned, pressing harder into their antlers. Will felt his hooves slid in
the ground, torn and exposed from their previous strikes. Will exhaled, not letting go of the
pressure, he had rarely heard his name moaned like that.

Though, the experiences were growing the longer he and Hannibal remained connected. He
felt his feathers ripple along his body. Will snorted as he found purchase on some stones
beneath the soil.

“You’ll have to take it,” Will growled, the rows of teeth exposed in a smile. Hannibal pushed
forward. Will dropped his balance, reared and struck downward. Hannibal pulled some of the
feathers from his shoulder as he tried to run around Will. Will kicked out at Hannibal with a
back leg, twisting his body to charge.

They shared the same space as they laughed, the tension building as their muscles grew
harder with the fight. Will stumbled forward when Hannibal darted back, breaking the
tension between them. Hannibal knocked his own body into Will’s unbalancing him to the
side. Before Will could fall, Hannibal grabbed his back antler.

Hannibal had his antler in his mouth from his flank, jumping onto his back. Will made a
whining sound that echoed through the night when his and Hannibal’s cocks touched.
Hannibal gave one more thrust against Will, a growl leaving his throat when Will attempted
to drop his crown.

Will doubted that Hannibal knew the feeling that was coursing through him. He could feel
Hannibal’s magic surrounding him beyond the pelt of feathers. Oh yes, he could feel the soft
under feathers of Hannibal’s belly burrowing themselves between the rough stalks of his
spine, pulling and massaging them. His crown was still pulled up to the night by Hannibal’s
mouth, the sensation bursting along his skull where it felt it reached the marrow of his bones.

The magic that rushed together, around and within them both. It was as if they were
exchanging a pair of organs: swapping a kidney, sharing the same breath in lungs to
intermingle.

The scent of them filled Will’s scenes. He exhaled, clenching as he did. He could practically
taste the ozone of their magic.

“Hannibal,” Will moaned, the breath punched from him. It was taboo and he could feel the
wicked sensation coiling in his stomach that fed him like a dark coal. He surrendered, his
stance widening for Hannibal to take him. The ravenstag did not let go of Will’s antler, the
domination had Will’s eyes flutter.

Hannibal tightened his legs around the bones of Will’s flank as he thrust forward. The
feathers that tangled Will’s spine, their soft tips burrowed themselves to his skin, flexing to
keep Will connected to Hannibal. Will cried out, bucking a bit. He imagined it would be like
being restrained in bed, immobilized and under the whims of the pleaser.

“Oh William,” Hannibal moaned, the sound broken through the antler. Hannibal stepped
forward, attempting to keep them closer.

They were mating like baseless animals, a slave to their taboo instincts. The heat, hot breath,
pull of bones and feathers. Neither of them lasted long. Will cried out, over stimulated as his
cock was left hanging. He shuddered as Hannibal fucked him through his orgasm. His head
was pulled back sharply, lifting to the full moon above them as Hannibal came inside him.

Will’s legs were tight under him, the bones locked to keep them both supported. Hannibal let
go of his antlers, allowing Will to dip his head, stretch the kink out of it. Hannibal groomed
his withers while he stretched out, relieving the pain between his shoulders.

Hannibal moved off him with an uncharacteristically ungraceful movement. When Will
turned to look at Hannibal, the man was in his flesh. There were bruises on his body from
where Will kicked and struck him. Will was sure he had a similar set under his pelt. The man
smiled in the moonlight, his veins black.

“If I saw you everyday, forever Will,” Hannibal said, his arms by his side, doing nothing
more than taking in Will for everything he was worth. “I would remember this.”

Hannibal stroked Will’s brow, his hands coming to fold around Will’s cheeks so he could rest
their brows together. Will shifted, his feathers falling around him rather than pulling inward.
Hannibal’s hands moved from the face of a stag to the skull of a man, laced around locks of
curly hair. Will rested on hand to Hannibal’s torso, on his left side, nails pressed until he
could feel the echo of the organ beneath it.

Like all firsts, the tapestry and colors would find themselves etched into the folds of each
memory. It was virginal as it was carnal- cannibalism at is most satisfying flavor.
Chapter End Notes

Thank you for dining with me. I do believe I will fetch myself some lunch.

I look forward to seeing anyone for seconds within the comments.

 Frolic
Chapter Notes

I'm not going to lie, I've been shot at several times this week so arriving to this moment
makes me satisfied, like sitting in a chair after a long day. I created this chapter with the
intention of it being shorter- it didn't fit in the last one and it conflicted with the timeline
of the next chapter.

What I'm attempting to say is: this chapter is a snack. It's fluffy and cute- makes you
want more...

[loads snack into hotdog canon]

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry didn’t look behind him as he raced through the woods. He could almost feel the ground
shaking as Hannibal chased after him. Harry did not run with fear in his stride- a game of
chase and nothing more. The trees to his left were too thick and close together for his father
to weave his body through like Harry could his own smaller form. He pulled his lips back in
a vicious smirk when he heard his father snort behind him as he slid to a halt. Using the
diversion to his advantage, Harry lengthened his gait to cover more ground within the woods.

Running through a tunnel carved between the ground, Harry spared a look back. Harry’s
body crashed into something hard that sent him skidding to the ground. He huffed, shaking
out his feathers as he looked up to see Will, a look of amusement on his dad’s face.

“Don’t waste time looking back for an enemy that you know is close behind you,” Will said,
grooming over the flipped feathers. Harry heaved himself to standing, preening next to his
dad. Hannibal stood on top of the ridge that Harry ran through. He stomped his hoof to get
Harry’s attention.

“This space is ideal for an ambush, fawn.” Hannibal looked down at Will and Harry. “You
are small and without your antlers, use the surroundings to your advantage.” With almost a
smirk, Hannibal jumped from the ledge, his legs extended to land right on Will had he not
moved. Harry darted to the side, his feathers puffing out in alarm as Will came out of
Hannibal’s ambush.

Will reared up and caught Hannibal with a hoof in retaliation, bucking away from the larger
stag. Will shook his feathers, splayed across his body with a laugh. Harry trotted up to the top
of the hill, watching Hannibal and Will spar with their antlers.

He backed up a couple of strides, puffing his shoulders higher, his tail flicked upward. Harry
charged the lip of the hill, jumping off the edge. He landed near Hannibal and Will, bleating
his happiness as he landed the jump without stumbling. He raced back for the lip, making the
jump again, not noticing that Hannibal and Will stopped their spar to watch Harry.

As Harry made his last jump, Will stopped him from making another by putting his body in
Harry’s determined path.

“It’s time to hunt,” Will said, nuzzling the feathers on Harry’s neck. Harry was new at
hunting. Will had human knowledge that lended itself nicely to hunting in his pelt. Harry still
needed to learn these skills.

It was raining, the sky grey cast and the scent of animals left like an imprint if they grazed
against anything. Hannibal turned his head to the wind, inhaling deeply to find any scents
around him. Harry stood next to him, mimicking his father by sniffing the air with little
snorts.

“There are rabbits to hunt,” Hannibal said, leading Harry to a small mound of dirt. “They
are fast and will always try and dart to their home.”

Hannibal and Will were large, hunting rabbits required more effort to accommodate their
massive bodies against the low running hare. Harry, though his legs were long and gangly,
was close enough to the ground that hunting rabbits would be a good exercise for him.

Harry’s ears flicked to the side, catching a sound of something hopping across the fallen
leaves on the ground. He waited, his breathing steady in his chest as the rabbit came closer to
him. It was a fat hare, one that was enjoying the grass of spring. With the sight of the prey,
his nostrils flared, heart beating stronger in his chest. The world fell around him, the sound of
the rain pattering on the leaves of trees fell silent, the thought of his parents watching him
practice, unnoticed.

Harry darted forward, the movement startling the hare to running. It was a race towards the
rabbits’ burrow. His teeth were close to the ground, snapping his jaws as his hooves carried
him closer and closer to the rabbit. The small beast darted around him, trying to throw Harry
off it’s trail, yet the path was straight towards the home.

The copper taste of blood hit his tongue before Harry realized he bit down on the creature.
The rabbit screamed, Harry dropped his prey, staring at the wound he created. The blood
seeped around the rabbit on the grass.

“Kill it quickly, Harry,” Hannibal said, his shadow towering over Harry. Harry froze,
watching the life from the rabbit fade away. “Fear spoils the meat, Harry,” Hannibal
scolded, stomping his hoof into the wet ground once. The rabbit was dead, the blood forming
a little puddle around the damp grass.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said over the rabbit, putting his face into Hannibal’s chest. The scolding
was nothing like the Dursleys’, yelling and beatings, it was a reprimand; one with a lesson.

“You are learning, fawn,” Hannibal said with an understanding tone as he groomed over the
white feathers of Harry’s barrel. Hannibal leaned down and nudged the hare closer to his
fawn. Harry looked at the hare, his body tense. He moved slowly, his jaw cracking open to
reveal large and sharp teeth. White teeth and black lips pulled apart the rabbit, ripping it apart
to eat whole.

“Very good, fawn,” Hannibal said over Harry as he ate the remainder of his kill. The rabbits
were a fatty morsel that would bolster Harry’s magic until it settled into his pelt.

The two taught Harry that hunting was never for sport. Animals they hunted were eaten, their
parts used to fashion knives, pelts used as blankets if they could be salvaged. To hunt an
animal and pin it on the wall would be a mockery to what they were as creatures.

“We are apex predators, Harry,” Will explained from where he was standing in the rain. “To
defile their bodies by mounting them on a wall would make a mockery of what we are.”

“Have humans hunted us?” Harry asked. Hannibal’s lips pulled back to show the teeth
within his mouth, a vicious growl erupted from his throat.

“Not for a long time,” Hannibal said. Will trotted over to him, rubbing his nose along
Hannibal’s neck. Harry didn’t understand what upset Hannibal, but he trotted over to his
father, nuzzling the feathers on his chest in comfort. A laugh echoed through his mind,
somber in tone. Hannibal nudged Harry along to another hunting ground.

Learning to hunt came with learning to shift. Folding into the form of a fawn was easy for
Harry- he was eager to explore his new form and the world that opened up with it. Shifting
back to his human skin was a challenge for his magic.

Harry was required to think about his human form, which was easy enough. Hannibal
explained that the shifting was the easy part, the difficulty came with bringing his clothing
and eventually, his wand, to the surface with his skin. Transfiguration with mutation was
advanced magic for wizards.

The difficulty came with many embarrassing shifts, tearing the clothing around his body as
he folded his feathers around his back. Magic made the repairs to his clothing a simple
process- his dad or father chuckled over a stripped Harry as they spelled the clothes back
onto his body.

It was a sunny May day that Harry and Will both learned about the sharpness of his white
fawn feathers. The family was outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Harry was bleaching
himself in the sun, body in the well of Hannibal’s stomach with Will sitting in his human
form next to Harry, against Hannibal’s neck. Will was petting Harry, the dogs wandering
around with leisure.

Will flinched after stroking a hand down the length of Harry’s back. Harry turned his head at
the sound of Will’s exclamation. His nostrils flared at the sight of the blood on Will’s palm.

“Oh William,” Hannibal said as Will healed the wound in his palm. He turned his hand over
for Hannibal to nuzzle. “ I had forgotten.” Hannibal moved his nose to Harry’s back,
nuzzling the white feathers. “Fawn feathers are sharp to flesh.”
“Interesting.” Will moved his hand to Harry’s back, hovering his finger over the white
feather, watching it lift to the pad of his index. When it stood straight, Will pushed down on
Harry’s speckles until blood covered where he put pressure. “It’s a good defense until you
have antlers,” Will said, licking the blood from his finger. Harry turned his head to look down
at the bloody feather.

“It doesn’t hurt you?” Harry asked Hannibal. The great ravenstag shook his head.

“Not in our pelts,” he said.

“What about baby fawns?” Harry asked with a yawn. Hannibal looked down at Harry, an odd
look in his eyes, then to Will. Will nodded his head at Hannibal, curious about the nature of
his creature status.

“The fawn tends to choose the form of birth,” he began. “The closer you come to gaining
your antlers, the more feathers you will lose; trading one defense for another. I was taught
that after six months, a fawns’ magic tends to stabilize between shifts of human and
ravenfawn.”

“What happens during that six month period?” Will asked, plucking small specks of dirt free
from Hannibal’s coat. The beast huffed, turning his head to look around their territory.

Hannibal wasn’t present for the birth of his sister, his mother and father staying in the
bedroom- Hannibal with his nannies. The memory was faded, being so young, he only
recalled the nervous excitement of those around him- more of a sensation of anticipation than
a tangible memory locked away in the far depths of his mind.

“It used to be…” he began, “that the parent ravenstags would stay in their shifted form for
the unstable period.”

“Even in the rain?” Harry asked, his head tilted to the sky to watch the clouds passing over.
“What about the baby when it rains?”

“You saw how our feathers gobbled you up,” Hannibal chuckled. He looked to Will as he
spoke. “The child tends to mirror the parents form once they pass the six months.”

“Will you have a baby?”

“Would you like a sibling?” Will asked, fingers within the warm pelt of Hannibal, able to feel
any miniscule movement of stress. Harry shook the feathers out on his pelt, head resting in
Will’s lap for the other hand to pet.

“I don’t think that’s my choice,” he said carefully.

“You are part of this family,” Will said, running his finger between Harry’s brow feathers
down to his nose. Harry didn’t meet either of their eyes, his gaze on the grass.

“Fawn,” Hannibal said, pulling on Harry’s feather’s with his teeth to get his attention. “If we
have a child, they would not replace you.”
 Harry’s feathers expanded a bit, burrowing themselves deeper into Hannibal’s pelt, the ones
on his neck holding Will’s hand practically hostage.

“You would be the first to know if we were having a fawn,” Will assured him with a scratch
of his nails to Harry’s feathers. Harry looked up at Will, his eyes looking between human and
ravenstag. His hooves shuffled nervously.

“I think,” Harry said cautiously, “I think it would be fun to have someone to play with.”

Hannibal and Will both released the breath neither of them knew they were holding in their
lungs. Harry perked up, the sun fanning over his pelt.

“We could play hide and seek, hunt, even go to school together!” Harry said, sounding more
excited as the idea took hold in his mind.

Hannibal chuckled, his belly vibrating with the sound of it.

“The fawn would be a bit young to go to school with you.” At Harry’s head tilt of confusion,
Hannibal clarified. “We want to see you safe before we bring a fawn into this world. This is of
no fault of your own.”

“That doesn't mean you can’t play with them when the fawn is old enough.” Will assured
Harry by petting his feathers, scratching one of the pressure points on Harry’s neck. “We just
have a Dark Lord to eliminate first.” Will laughed as Harry huffed, giving a roll of his eyes.

From where Will was grooming Harry with his human hands, he could feel the warmth
seeping out of Hannibal’s pelt to Will’s flesh. Will turned to look at Hannibal, lifting his chin
up to kiss the velvet of his mate’s nose.

There was work to do before the two could add another member to their family, to the small
Herd that was forming around them, beneath the spring sun.

Chapter End Notes

Harry really needs a sibling his age, doesn't he? I wonder how that could happen...

A little taste of the next chapter: Hannigram send Harry to Hogwarts and are guests to
the Headmaster at invitation.

I see y'all next week. Take care of yourselves, be healthy!

 Parent-Teacher Conference
Chapter Notes

Hello guests! I have a nice, hearty meal for you. I think this might be the longest chapter
that I've posted so far.

I had a lot of fun with this chapter-so I hope that you enjoy the meal.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“This feels surreal,” Will said. Hannibal laughed from the chair next to him.

The two were watching Harry from the porch, watching their child sun himself in the grass.
Their fawn was enjoying bleaching out his feathers in the warm summer sun. Occasionally,
his ears or tail would flick away a bug that came too close to him.

Nagini was hanging above the nearest branch that could support her weight, overlooking
Harry. In the spring, when they were coexisting on the same property, she stayed outside the
house. The great constrictor would take shelter underneath the staircase during the night.
Hannibal and Will both constructed a series of wards under the house to protect her from the
elements.

Since giving her a place that she could be safe and warm, the two saw more of her. The
constrictor still lurked, mostly coming out to speak to Harry or hunt.

The cry of a bird had them both turn their heads upward. In the sky, a barn owl circled above
the house, coming lower and lower to the stoop. Hannibal smiled as he stood, Will still in his
chair.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, stroking down the owl’s spine. He relieved the bird of it’s
burden, the weight of the envelope almost as much as the creature. Will stood up, lifting his
arm out for the bird. The owl took his invitation, landing on his arm with sharp talons
pricking his skin.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe to stay the night.” The owl hooted, fluttering his wings. Will
smiled at the bird, nodding to his mate. Moving the owl away from Nagini’s common hunting
grounds wasn’t difficult. He put the small owl in one of the thorned trees Nagini strayed
from, leaving the bird with some grain.

Hannibal was sitting on his chair, one of the letters opened. Will smiled as he took the other
seat, reaching for the largest sealed letter.

Harry James Potter

There was no address attached to the letter. The inherent magic of the owl and it’s task drew
it here- not the magic that surrounded Hogwards.

“Albus Dumbledore would like to speak with us,” Hannibal said, handing over the letter for
Will to read without being asked. Will picked up his glasses, shuffling the paper so he could
read the cursive.

“I forgot how inefficient parchment was,” Will laughed, squinting at the letters.

To the Guardians of Harry J. Potter

The letter was brief- explaining that Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts
School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. He requested to meet with them the evening of Harry’s
first day of school to offer explanations.

“He thinks we're no-maj,” Will said, putting the letter between them. Hannibal paused from
responding when Harry shifted in the grass.

During the cool days of spring, Hannibal and Will both took the task of teaching Harry how
to shift between forms. Hannibal explained that it was likely Harry could fold so easily
between forms since he was born in a traumatic situation. The pelt offered him protection and
assurance he could survive his experience. Feeding on Verger’s heart helped Harry’s magic
settle as a ravenfawn.

“We’ve given him no reason to think otherwise,” Hannibal said, taking a sip of the lemonade
he made earlier in the afternoon. He looked at his watch, Harry would be hungry soon.

“He’ll be in for one hell of a surprise,” Will said, laughing when he saw Hannibal’s face at
his curse. Hannibal held Harry’s letter in his hands, turning it over, thumbing the wax seal.
There was no unsuspected magic around the letter. A secrecy charm to destroy itself if it falls
into foreign hands, a charm against the elements.

“You’ll have to let him go,” Will said, the two watching Harry wake up. Nagini, like the
snake tempting Eve, moved from her perch above the tree to Harry. The two watched as she
nuzzled him, Hannibal with white knuckles clenched against the chair. “We need to let him
go.”

Harry stood up, shaking out his feathers. The white ones fluttering more than the permanent
black ones. They watched as he spoke to Nagini, the sound of hissing butchered with his
tongue. Both seemed to understand what the other said in either form. Harry came trotting to
them, shifting when he got to the stairs.

“There is something here for you, Harry,” Will said, plucking Harry’s letter from Hannibal’s
hand. Hannibal glared at Will.

“Thanks, dad,” Harry said, effectively removing Hannibal’s glare. He tore into the pages.
“I’m going to Hogwarts.” He looked up at the two of them with a smile, their only warning
before Harry jumped onto Will. Hannibal braced Will against Harry’s aerial assault, hugging
the family.
Harry was excited to read the contents of his letter. Hannibal opened the door for the family,
dogs and wizards piling into the home. The sun shone in through the windows, fracturing into
rainbows on the ground. Harry pulled himself onto the couch, spreading the papers out on the
table.

“What will you do while I’m gone?” Harry asked, reading over his necessary materials list.

Will had expected that he and Hannibal would travel around, murdering those along the way.
Retrieving Harry added a spice to their life that both didn’t know they were lacking until he
landed in their laps. For Will, he gained stability. Having someone to help and teach, helped
him. People were motivated to kindness through grief; the loss of a mother tended to lead the
child to helping others.

It seemed that he and Hannibal were no different than others.

Though, Will could see and practically smell the hunger coming off Hannibal. Will suspected
that the addition of Harry aided in his own transition as a Ravenstag. Where there might have
been some room to argue the morality of eating humans, however instinctual desire to
provide for his fawn erased any moral hangups.

Will looked at his mate. Hannibal had long ago perfected the outward image.

Will knew him as he knew himself: they were hungry.

“I am sure we can find ways to keep ourselves occupied while you are gone,” Hannibal said,
breaking his eye contact with Will to sit next to Harry.

Will looked at his watch, it was early in the day.

“Until then,” Will said, taking the list of school supplies into his hand, “We should get you
ready for school.”

Harry cheered, bouncing around them with his excitement. Motivated by Harry’s enthusiasm,
neither wasted time in gathering their things. Transfigured items slid into their coat pockets.
The family ran to the edge of the wards- an attempt to run off Harry’s energy before they
arrived in town. Will shifted first, waiting for Harry to do the same.

Harry shook out his feathers, the white ones giving him a blurred effect. Hannibal stood near
him as Harry began to shift. He lost his feathers first, turning inward to reveal blackened
flesh. Harry groaned as he concentrated, bringing his clothing back to his body as his feathers
disappeared.

“Well done, Harry,” Will praised, brushing off the dirt that molded onto his clothing. Harry
smiled, a bit winded from his concentration. Hannibal huffed at Harry, leaning forward to
nuzzle his neck and take a moment to nuzzle his hair. Harry pushed Hannibal’s nose away
with a laugh as Hannibal pulled on Harry’s hair playfully.

When Hannibal shifted, Harry stood between the two adults, lacing their fingers together.

The family vanished from the property.

It was one of the first times that Harry had experienced the magical world in its abundance.
The small houses wedged together had a large walkway that was beginning to fill with
children and their parents. Harry whipped his head too and fro, taking in all the scents of the
magical people.

Will rubbed his eyes. He had forgotten the sheer loudness that accompanied the magical
community. The children were louder- discovering magic and their own potential through
tricks, games and pranks. Empathizing with their joy was a welcome change from the pain
and pleasure that came with the cases at the FBI. The parents, however, had little control over
their magical auras. With every person he passed, their aura touched his, leaving behind
imprints of emotions and intentions.

Hannibal must have noticed as he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the lapel in his jacket.

“Thank you,” Will said, squeezing Hannibal’s hand. The man smiled with a nod. Will put
them over his eyes, the light blue tint adding another layer of distance for his empathy. He
smiled at Harry, willing himself to see the rest of the day through.

He wouldn’t rob his child of the excitement that came with school shopping.

Will slowed when he passed a set of windows with something moving. Hannibal, who had
walked faster to chase after Harry, spared Will a look. Will nodded his head at the sign above
them. Hannibal looked at the wooden sign, then to Harry who was walking further and
further from them both.

Not that either wouldn’t be able to find him given his scent and his proximity.

Hannibal nodded his head.

Will smiled at his mate and walked into the store.

The scent of animals hit him in quick succession to the sound of them. Will walked around
the parents and the magiologists that were feeding their animals. Owls were in small cages,
many of them with their heads in their wings to avoid the noise of the room. Will frowned.

He looked around, seeing that the staff were busy cleaning the cage of a large spider. Will
tapped the cages of each bird, putting a muffling charm around the outside. Owl after owl
fluttered to the edge of the cage in thanks, puffing out their own feathers in a way he
recognized as happiness.

A set of vibrant yellow eyes caught his. They did not move in the skull of the owl that
observed him. The owl was female- larger than her male counters. The owl was mostly white,
speckled black feathers coloring her pelt. Her eyes dilated as she blinked at him.

“Hello,” Will said, extending the bubble around him. He swirled his wand around the owl and
himself. The sounds contorted to muffle around. The bird hooted, flapping her wings at him
in greeting. “Would you like to come home with me?”
Will found that all creatures, magical or not, had an intelligence to them that surpassed
humans. Will found that their intuition should always be trusted. If one of his dogs was
looking at something, Will would follow the dogs eyes- looking for the danger they might
see. He did not discredit the owl’s intelligence. She hooted at him, her head turned as if she
needed to be convinced.

“In truth,” Will said, picking some of the owl treats from beyond the bubble. “I wouldn’t be
the one looking after you.” Will offered some of the treats to the owl from outside the cage.
She smelled them, accepting them with only one nick to his finger.

Will looked around as if he were committing some great crime. The staff was still occupied
with feeding the spider. He plucked a black feather that fell off of Harry’s pelt, as natural as
losing hair. He twisted the feather in his fingers, in front of the owl. Her yellow eyes
sharpened on the feather.

“It would be my fawn.”

He extended the feather to the owl, past the bars of her cage. She made no movement at first,
looking from him to the feather. Then, she blinked. The owl leaned her beak forward,
grabbing it with her talons as she brought the feather to her nose. Will was patient as she
inspected the feather, running her nose over it, pulling some of the fibers apart, even eating a
few of the stalks.

Will smiled when she finished her inspection, sitting on the feather as if it were a clutch of
eggs. She fluttered her wings as if to ask what she was still doing in the cage.

“Thank you,” Will said, opening the cage for the bird. She hopped out as soon as the door
swung open, landing his shoulder with Harry’s feather still clutched in her talon.

“Wow,” the tender said as Will paid for the bird. “I’ve never seen her respond so well to
someone.”

Will smiled as he paid the teller, making his way out of the building. Will kept from looking
at the staff as he left the building and animals. The owl launched herself from his shoulder,
flying at line with the buildings. Will followed her, watching her elegant movements carry
through the sky.

Will found himself smiling as he and the owl hunted for Harry by scent.

When she made her way down ward, to the line of people, Will could hear Harry gasp.

Greeted to the image of Harry holding Hannibal’s hand, an owl running her beak through his
black hair brought a genuine smile to his face. Hannibal looked up at Will with a similar
look.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Will said, stroking a feather over the owls head. Harry’s gaze
locked onto his own, a blush dusting his cheeks.
“Thank you,” he said, hugging Will. The owl flapped her wings, the angle awkward from
where she was nesting on Harry’s scalp.

There wasn’t much more to purchase after the owl was with them. She took off, flying above
them in graceful arcs, landing on the rooftop of whatever building the family stayed near.
When it came time for the three to leave, supplies gathered and Will’s magic feeling drained,
Harry was concerned for his owl.

“How will Hedwig find us?” Harry asked.

“Hedwig?” Hannibal hummed, looking up at the bird. It was a fitting name for the familiar of
an orphan.

“Magical owls develop a bond with their human,” Will explained, looking up at the bird. Her
yellow eyes were locked onto Harry. “They can smell magic, individual to the caster.” She
fluffed her feathers out, preening at their attention.

“The same way that Nagini found you,” Hannibal said. Harry relaxed with that reassurance.
He waved goodbye to the bird as she flapped her wings, taking off in direction of their house.
Hannibal apparated with the two of them, landing in the tall grass outside his house.

Dinner was a more extravagant affair as they were celebrating Harry’s birthday. Officially
eleven years old, he had marked Will’s life in a way that was unimaginable.

“I can’t believe I’ll be going to school in a week!” Harry was practically vibrating off the
chair with joy. There was little doubt that Harry had a birthday that he could remember. He
spent so little time with his birth parents before they were murdered- the memory fading
away as he grew into a toddler.

Celebrations and comfort were foreign to Harry. He took joy out of the little experiences
around him as he was unable to as a younger child.

“Are you nervous?” Will asked. This would also be the first time that Harry would go off into
the magical world on his own. His magic would grow and develop amongst the other children
as well as the friendships he lacked before the two retrieved Harry.

Harry shrugged, pushing the food around his plate.

“A little,” he admitted. Will moved in complete synchronization with Hannibal, putting their
utensils down to reach, to touch Harry- ground and reassure that while they were sending him
off to his first adventure as a wizard, a fawn, they were intertwined forever now.

“You should never hesitate to write to us about anything,” Hannibal said. “Fears,
accomplishments, failures and theories.”

“Do you think Voldemort will come after me?” Harry asked, looking between them. His
fingers had woven with Hannibal’s but Will rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder, above his
heart. Will squeezed Harry’s shoulder, his attention now on Will.
“As long as he is alive, he will try to hunt you down.” Will smiled as he said this, a feral one
that he knew was matched on Hannibal’s. “Hannibal and I have both hunted killers for a long
time, Harry.” He looked up at his mate, his hand still twined with Harry’s. Hannibal was
unblinking, red eyes reflecting against the candle in the middle of the table, the dark blue
cloth allowed the white plates to shine like bright stars.

“You do not have to be the best,” Will said, looking back at his fawn. “You only have to be
better.”

“He has years of experience on me,” Harry said, a little frantic as he looked between the two.
Hannibal nodded, picking up his knife.

“Perhaps,” he said, “and while Hogwarts has ancient magic that protects it’s students and
staff from ill-intent, the Dark Lord is an heir to one of the founders.” Hannibal set the knife
down. “But he is alone, his followers have all but abandoned him in quaking fear for his rise
or failure.”

“You have a family here.” Will brushed Harry’s hair back. “We have killed for you.”

“And we will gladly do it again, little fawn.”

Harry laughed a little, his head low. When he looked between the two of them, Will knew
they placated his fears.

Hannibal was standing outside the house, the grass fluttering around his squirt pants. He was
watching Harry and Will both saying goodbye to the dogs. Harry’s fear of dogs had all but
vanished after cohabitating with them for so long. The bond of selfless love, caring for
another had helped him in ways that Hannibal though over exaggerated by his psychological
careers.

While the canine had adapted itself to humanity for scraps when humans lived a nomadic
lifestyle, they hunted, offered protection to man and yes, a bond. In his youth, dark memories
hidden behind large iron gates, he interacted with the hunting dogs on his estate. But they had
a purpose and didn’t like humans for the fact they were more feral to better their senses.

Will’s pack had a unique experience though. Abandoned, all of them had to hunt on their
own, get a little closer to their instinct and ancestors while their domestication made them the
perfect companion. Hannibal never thought he would appreciate a pack of dogs as much as
he did when Harry went missing.

Buster, the terrier that lived up to his breeding as Hannibal would occasionally catch him
lunging at Nagini. Either he was a reckless fool, or was smart enough to take advantage of
her not willing to strike as he played. The brown and white dog dropped a red ball at Harry’s
feet, nudging it closer to Harry when he tried to hand it back. Harry took the ball and opened
his trunk, popping it amongst his clothing.
Hannibal could only imagine what Nagini must be thinking, seeing the red ball in the trunk.
Hannibal didn’t exactly approve of Nagini going with Harry, but he found her curled in his
trunk, her body coiled as if to strike out. He could not understand her as Harry could- any
person could understand what she was saying.

So Hannibal made a compartment for her, a pull out slot that she could hide into, spelled so
only herself and Harry could open it. She was safe there and, more importantly, the students
were safe from her.

Harry turned around, his backpack secured to him, trunk shrunk to fit in Will’s pocket. No
words were exchanged as Harry stretched his hand to reach and take Hannibal’s.

Will nodded his head and the two pulled Harry along, all the way to England.

The three blended in with the surrounding Muggles. Hannibal in his suit, Will dressed in
more muggle clothes yet the outer coat he wore to keep away the fall London chill nodded
it’s head to the wizarding community. Harry was dressed in his casual school uniform,
naturally blending into the other school children getting onto the trains with their parents.

Amongst them, everywhere, sticking out like blisters, were wizards. Many of them had
charms laced over them, attempting to keep muggle eyes away from them, yet their
rambunctious children broke the spell. Will was the one taking the lead, weaving them in and
out of people with the grace he displayed as he fished in a river.

The portal fell over them like water.

Harry gasped as he was pulled by the two. King’s Cross station was already beautiful, the
modern design of the muggle part allowed all of the light to shine through the glass domes
around them. The station was sleek on the other side, a bustling noise of flowing electricity
and technology. Within the portal, the clock turned back. Green pillars of steel hung above
the sky in great arches surrounded by brilliant white limestone

The bright Hogwarts Express played a homage to old mining trains. It was black in the front
that would offset the coal dust that would fleck in front. A clever design to hide the dirt with
its natural color. A bright red cut off in the middle of the engine that powered the beautiful
locomotive. Gold studs and letters decorated the train as it whistled- drawing everyone’s
eyes.

The only thing that broke the beauty of the train’s image was the sheer chaos of family’s
stuffing luggage into the bottom compartments as children lept on the train.

“It is strangely like a college move-in day,” Will commented as the three moved away from
the chaos, towards the back of the train where there were younger children.

“One would think none of them had magic,” Hannibal said. The scent of magic was powerful
here, joy of children as they rushed to greet their friends, breaking from their parents. Harry
looked around, a smile on his face.
“We have people watching us,” Will whispered. Hannibal nodded his head absently,
searching amongst the crowd for anyone that looked like they would harm his fawn. He
scanned the entry points, atop the beams for wizards or animagus that were out of place.
There were the conductors and security that helped the children load their bags, a couple of
aurors that stood towards the front and back of the train.

“Lord Malfoy,” Will muttered, nodding his head to the side with an eye roll. “He claimed to
be under the Imperious.”

“A mockery to mind healers,” Hannibal replied. The evidence of the Imperious curse was
blatant. The blank look of disassociation, a puppet that followed it’s master with no will.
Taking the time to slowly strip away the will of a person took dedication and patience- the
right amount of suggestion that the victim would fill in the remaining blanks.

Lucius Malfoy had never been subjected to the long term consequences of the Imperious
curse. There was life in his body, a mind that could string together enough thoughts to get
himself out of Azkaban as quickly as possible.

Before Hannibal could become consumed by his hunger, he turned his attention to his fawn.

“Come here, Harry,” he said, summoning Harry. Will pulled Harry’s trunk free from his
pocket, flicking his wand as it expanded to the natural size. Hannibal brought his magic to his
hands, the complex ravenstag magic that pulled all of his senses to his human skin. His
fingers were tinged black at the nails, Hannibal ran his hand through the messy locks of
Harry’s hair. He pulled a feather free from Harry, revealing it to the boy with an embellished
flick.

Harry smiled up at him, his green eyes bright with happiness he had long forgotten could
exist within a child. Harry threw his arms around Hannibal’s neck, burying his face into his
neck, both taking the time to scent the other for the last time until Christmas.

“Thank you for saving me, father,” he said, his voice only heard by the three of them over the
din of the Hogwart’s Express final warning whistle. Hannibal broke the embrace, a hand
brushing Harry’s cheek for the last time. His fawn moved to Will, just as enthusiastic about
hugging his dad.

“A healthy amount of trouble, Harry,” Will said as he stood next to Hannibal, pointedly
ignoring his glare. He gave Harry a small push, sending him onward to a new adventure.
Harry turned and picked up his trunk, taking a couple of strides forward.

Like the first hunt as a ravenfawn, Harry paused and looked back. He set his trunk down, and
rushed back to hug the two of them.

“I love you both,” he said, squeezing them with his arms, “so much.”

“With all our heart’s, Harry,” Hannibal assured.

“Now go have fun.” Will told him. Harry smiled as he ran back to his trunk. He walked away
from them, getting lost among the other students that filed into the train car. It wasn’t long
after that, all of the students within the trains, parents waving on the platform.

The train whistled it’s final call, the station managers giving one last patrol for any straggling
student. The two could hear the engine fire off before the great steel gears lurched it forward.
Students that hung from the windows laughed as they were rocked back. The train began to
move forward, the engine smelling of coal and magic as the six cars moved along the track.

“Harry has your habit of collecting strays,” Hannibal said, the two standing as if observers of
time. The parents, as soon as the train left, began to file out of the station. Hannibal and Will
observed them, watching as Lord Malfoy seemed to be impatient with his wife, saying
nothing of it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Will said incredulously. The aurors that surrounded the
back exits, more suspicious for civilian wizards were beginning to file out one by one. They
must have been junior aurors, given their age and how they had yet to recognize the still
threat of Hannibal and Will.

Not that they would harm the children, but a casual observer that lingered usually had ulterior
motives.

“I have a feeling that Harry will gain some followers of his own.”

Lady Malfoy collected herself, making no movement to dab her eyes at the feeling of a child
leaving.

“The world is not big enough for two Dark Lords,” Will said. He walked away from
Hannibal, giving the man a lovely view of his mate, even if it was covered by his cloak.
Hannibal stalked forward, through the portal.

Cunning mongoose, Hannibal thought as Will was nowhere in sight. His scent was still over
the area, displaced by the constant movement of muggles filing in and out of trains.

They had a couple of hours before they would find Dumbledore; surely enough to hunt down
his mate.

Given the hour, Harry was no doubt in bed with the rest of the younger students. Hannibal
and Will were both in a quiet pub outside in the small magical town of Hogsmeade. After
Hannibal hunted down Will, and the activities that followed, the two spent the rest of the
afternoon touring muggle London. It had rich history everywhere, different time periods
holding a new significance to history from brilliance to grotesque.

Apparating to Hogsmeade was a nice change for Will. The magic here was calm, almost
sleepy past dusk. Many of the patrons in the pub were talking about the new batch of
students, Harry’s name came up. But nothing that caused them worry. The witches and
wizards discussed the rumors, the Potter Family and retold their own stories of living under
Magical Martial Law.
The two silently finished the last of the ale in their pitchers, leaving their space neat for the
barkeep and a large tip next to their empty mugs. Hannibal opened the door for his mate, the
two scanning the single street way.

The castle was large and inspiring. Magic was seeped deep into the ground, so much so that it
carried to the town. The trees were larger than their age, the rockface hanging over the
surrounding water likely looked the same as it did when Hogwarts was first constructed.
They took a slow walk to the treeline, the closest apparition point to Hogwarts.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Hannibal said, dipping his head in greeting to the wizard. He was
an elderly man, half moon glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said politely, folding the edge of the red robes in as he
walked. “Unfortunately, I am off to an important meeting so I must be on my way.”

“You will find that we are the ones you are off to retrieve,” Will said, stepping closer.
Hannibal watched Will interact with the wizard, giving him the opportunity to read him. “The
parents of Harry James Potter.”

Dumbledore hid his surprise well, no doubt seeing enough of it over his time. Hannibal tilted
his head to the man.

“You will have to forgive me,” he said, stepping to the two. “I had assumed you muggles.”

“Our profession would allow for that assumption,” Hannibal told him. “A protection of
ambiguity.” Hannibal walked so he stood next to his mate. Dumbledore looked between the
two of them, not drawing his wand.

“William Graham,” his mate introduced, not offering his hand to Dumbledore. Hannibal
bowed only slightly at the waist as he introduced himself, smoothing over the rougher edges
of his mate.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he offered. Dumbledore introduced himself properly and raised his hand.
The three walked quietly to the castle. A thin path of trees cut through the magical forest.
Trees taller than they could see, forced to crane their necks until their necks until throats
exposed, the place teemed of wild magic.

Centaurs lived here- a mixed smell of man and equine. Nearby, there were thestrals that
smelled of blood and the echo of death. Deeper within the forest, where no moonlight could
reach the forest floor, unicorns roamed within the hidden parts. Armaculata silk drifted
through the bark of the trees, a swarm of them. The trees and magic was a sanctuary for lost
and displaced magical creatures.

Now, the forest had collected another two, the third sleeping within the stone walls of the
castle.

The magic within the castle responded to Albus Dumbledore, sliding over his arms as he
opened the stones to a wall. Intrigued, Hannibal and Will entered through the doorway he
created, watching as Dumbledore walked through and sealed it without a wand. It wasn’t a
moment of pride, simply a skill that he used as easy as breathing.

The crypt was dark and dank, the line of torches lit their path. Hannibal and Will did not feel
fear or hesitation as they walked along the bottom trenches of the castle. Dumbledore’s scent
was calm- as if he were on a stroll by himself.

Dumbledore led them to an opening with a large gargoyle in the middle.

If you say anything about it, Will projected as they stepped into the stairs. The beast did not
move as the stairs rose along the shute. I will kill you.

It would be amongst the highest honors to be killed by your hands, darling William.

Though Will did not sigh, Hannibal knew the man was not amused.

“Please, have a seat,” Dumbledore said, holding the door open for the both of them. Hannibal
walked in first. The room was warm, surrounded by the moving portraits of Headmasters and
Headmistresses of the past. The only thing that was more abundant than the portraits around
the room was the sheer volume of books.

They had practically overtaken his entire office, stacks and stacks of them. They were filed
within the bookshelves, crammed in the wedges tightly, then some atop the stacks. There
were vertical bookshelves that climbed high- supported by magic. Papers were sticking out of
some books, other volumes and tomes curled up on a desk with various paperweights ranging
from the magical kind to common rocks found outside.

Hannibal watched as a tea set found itself in front of the Headmaster’s desk, arguably the
most chaotically organized space within the room. Will, who had wandered off, stopped to
look at an elegant looking phoenix.

A very familiar phoenix.

If Hannibal looked close enough, he could see the one odd white feather sticking amongst his
natural ones. The bird trilled down at Will, blinking its dark obsidian eyes.

“Young Harry gave us quite the surprise this evening,” Albus said, slowly pouring tea for the
two of them. The cream and sugar hung in the air with the aid of magical charms. Hannibal
moved to the chair offered first, taking the tea in his hand.

“Did he?” Will asked, moving to stand next to his chair rather than sit in it. He took the
offered teacup, his hand running over the surface. Dumbledore smiled at the two of them,
moving a stack of papers to the side.

“Indeed,” he said, “He was sorted into the Slytherin house.”

Hannibal and Will shared a look.

“Is that a bad thing?” Hannibal asked, his attention on Dumbledore.

“No, no,” the wizard said, waving away their concerns. “He comes from a line of
Gryffindor’s. A whole generation.”

“Had his birth parents lived, perhaps he would have fallen into that house,” Will said to the
man, his tone much like Hannibal’s first interaction with Will- abrasive and coarse.

“Blood has never determined personality,” Hannibal added.

There was a chess game breaking out in the room. While Hannibal and Will had advantages
in numbers, Dumbledore was at the seat of power within the castle. Dumbledore sat back, his
gaze knowing.

“I shall do us all the courtesy then of jumping to the point.” He reached for one of the files
stacked on his desk. “Were you aware that his blood relatives were murdered?”

Intimately so. Hannibal knew what the feeling of Mrs. Dursely’s fleeting heart felt like,
recalled the stench of blood and bile as Mr. Dursley’s organs spilled underneath the table as
he died.

“We were made aware of their deaths,” Will said from where he was standing, finally taking
a sip of the tea offered. Dumbledore nodded his head absently.

“I placed heavy blood wards around that house before I left Harry on their doorstep. It was
only when they were dead and moved by muggles that I was alerted.” He told them. “They
did not go off when Harry was dropped off at an orphanage. You can imagine my worry.”

Will hummed, skeptical and mocking.

“It couldn’t have been that much seeing as you left him at their doorstep.” He jabbed quickly,
a strike only to back off. Hannibal was content to watch the two of them spar. “Warding only
lasts as long as the intention sets in. As they were the ones to dump him at an orphanage, I
don’t imagine the wards would alert you.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” he said, holding his hand up. “I will not ask for your
nor Harry’s forgiveness for placing him in the hands of an abusive and neglectful family as I
know I do not deserve it.”

Dumbledore was a dangerous opponent. He had power that neither Hannibal nor Will knew
the true extent of. His library alone was a testimony to the depths within his mind.
Successfully defeating one Dark Lord, Gellert Grindlewald, granted him unimaginable
power- magically and politically. Though the cost of it was the life of his lover and his own
heart, Hannibal knew this man was powerful. He had protected the magical community from
exposure on a mass scale, held back the newest Dark Lord.

If they were required to kill Albus Dumbledore to protect their fawn, they would. Steps
would have to be taken, a plan, contingencies.

There was already one Dark Lord after them, a sporadic serial killer with a deep hunger for
their fawn that could only be sated with the taste of revenge.
Albus Dumbledore was powerful- Hannibal would rather have him as an ally than an enemy.

“You should know that there were those who wished to take Harry after he was orphaned.”
Dumbledore looked down at the knots of wood within the table. When he looked up, his eyes
were hard and full of anger. “To study him. He is the only species now that has survived the
blast of the killing curse.”

None of them blinked. There was no vibration or probe of Occlumency from Albus
Dumbledore, simply the instinctual impulse to submit to eye contact.

A shrill cry from the phoenix broke the tension in the room. Dumbledore chuckled.

“Maybe not the only species,” he said to his bird. Hannibal found himself relaxing. When
Dumbledore looked back at the two, he deflated a bit. “I am glad that Harry found the
protection he needed with you.”

Hannibal nodded his head.

“There is a great deal of knowledge to be found within the muggle world. After I finished my
healers program, I enrolled in muggle university to learn anatomy. I found great fulfilment
within a muggle hospital as an emergency worker. I only stopped after I killed someone,” he
admitted.

Dumbledore’s right arm flinched at the shoulder. His hand did not reach for his wand.

“More accurately, I couldn’t save a person. I transferred my skills to the body and delved into
fixing the minds. Since then, no one has died of my practice.”

Will slouched against the side of Hannibal’s chair, giving a casual shrug.

“I left because I was never truly in it,” Will admitted, Dumbledore’s eyes now on Will’s. “I
am a self-taught wizard with an empathy disorder. Wizards, even accomplished master
Occlumens such as yourself do not...appreciate that I can break down all of your walls with a
look of the eyes.”

Hannibal and Will made a formidable force. Hannibal’s years of conditioned and polished
skills transferred into his preferred art. Will’s, however, was an untamed and wild force that
overcame anything in its path by breaking it down to the base parts. Hannibal was a physical
threat to Dumbledore and Voldemort while Will was the one who could pierce them with
nothing but his eyes.

“I used my ability to delve into the mind of muggle killers.” He gestured to Hannibal with his
teacup. “It was how we actually met. Standing at the home of a serial killer with a penchant
for impaling teenage girls onto deer antlers and eating their organs.” He sipped his tea,
leaving Hannibal to watch the disgusted face of Dumbledore’s. He had faced many killers in
his days as a wizard but few as a muggle.

“The killer sliced his wife’s throat open, I killed him in his house, but only after he did the
same to his daughter. I made the mistake of looking into her eyes as he died, empathizing and
leaving a frayed bond within my mind.”

Hannibal watched the phoenix out of the corner of his eye. The bird was listening, intelligent
and immortal until its companion died. There was a trace of death around the creature as
much as Hannibal, as the thestrals in the forest and dementors that surrounded Azkaban.

“We left the country and stumbled upon Harry. We saved him because our magic’s reached
out and touched, connected.” He said. Hannibal heard the echo of Stammets in Will’s voice,
connection and reaching out to touch like walking through a field of mushrooms. While the
story wasn’t true, the web of lies that wrapped around it was.

“Harry is our child before he is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.” Hannibal clarified.

Dumbledore rocked back in his chair slowly, a soft smile coming over his lips. Hannibal
almost smacked himself. He anticipated an ambush for information. This was a screening-
one they didn’t get from the orphanage where they...acquired Harry.

“Forgive me,” Dumbledore said, his eyes falling closed for a minute. “I wished only to know
if he was safe, protected and loved.”

“He is all of those things,” Hannibal assured, the magic within his chest relaxing.

“And he is happy,” Will said, putting the teacup down at the edge of the table. Hannibal stood
up, leaving his teacup next to Will’s.

“We do not deny ourselves the pleasures that come with the muggle world. We shall not deny
ourselves its weapons either.”

Their grins were identical: feral.

Dumbledore stood, giving a small bow to the two men. As they were introduced, they exited
in silence. The gargoyle took them to the bottom of the castle, down to the crypt. When the
magical elevator stopped at the bottom of the castle, the torches were still light, shining a
path for them to follow.

The two walked silently in sync with one another. Their shadows flickered along the torches
light, bouncing off the walls in a menacing fashion. The door had a slip of light coming from
it. Hannibal pushed at the door, the stones sliding to the side for them to pass.

Free of the castle, Will shut the door and the two watched as the light disappeared. Will put
his hand against the stone and pushed, feeling the solid weight behind it. He laughed as he
turned to walk down the path to the tiny town of Hogsmeade.

When they were about halfway down the path, the two froze when they heard the breaking of
twigs to their left. Wands drawn, Hannibal took the lead, walking into the depths of the forest
as Will flanked around the sound.

“Shouldn’t you two be inside?” Will asked. Hannibal smiled as two boys, a pair of twins,
turned on Will in the dark. The twins looked from one to the other, fear beginning to set in
their blood. Not wanting to scare them anymore, Hannibal stuck to the shadows and waited
until they did something foolish before walking up behind them.

The twins stuttered, slowly turning away from Will so they were walking backwards towards
the castle. The two were smart to not turn their backs and run, keeping their eyes on the
predator and slowly backing away.

“You’re right,” one said, shrugging as they walked back onto the main path.

“We’ll just all be on our merry way’s now, yeah?” the other said, keeping his hands to the
side in surrender.

The children ran off to the castle, breaking across the meadow into one of the taller
gateways.

“They were wearing green, Hannibal,” Will said, turning to his mate. Hannibal chuckled as
they made their own way back on the path.

“No doubt a bad influence on Harry, then,” he said, taking a moment to breathe in his mate’s
scent amongst the magical forest.

“Do you think it was wise for us to reveal that much information to Dumbledore?” Will
asked, his breath short as he found comfort in Hannibal.

“Yes,” Hannibal answered. “When he finds out more, he will come to us with questions about
our nature.”

“If he finds out we are Ravenstag?”

“Unless we shift or reveal that information ourselves,” Hannibal said.

Will and Hannibal resumed their walk on the path, leaving the castle out of their direct sight.

“He does care for Harry,” Will said, “for all the students.”

“We both saw that with how well the castle responds to him.” Hannibal said. “It let us pass,
after all.”

They had crested the hill, now overlooking the sleeping town of Hogsmeade. There were
some lights on the upper floors of the houses, the tavern seemed to be the only business
open.

“I believe he suspects Harry being a horcrux.” Hannibal calmed Will by lacing their fingers
together. “He will not harm Harry nor will Harry allow for harm to come to himself.”

If what Harry did to Mason Verger was any indication of the strength of his magic when
threatened, then Dumbledore would have his work cut out for him if he had the gaul to harm
Harry.
 “You didn’t seem surprised by his sorting.” Will said, strolling around him as they broke free
of the treeline.

“He allowed himself to look weak when Cordell was attending to his gag so that he could get
a taste of his flesh.” Hannibal prowled forward. “He belongs there.”

Will smirked at Hannibal, his stance playful as they neared the apparition point.

“Proud father is a good look on you,” Will said. Hannibal lunged for his mate, gripping Will’s
biceps tightly as he apparated away. Will already played one game today- it was time to
collect.

Chapter End Notes

Hedwig totally wrote herself- Will is just so good with animals that I feel there was a
connection. Writing in a non-linear way is fun. I hope that you liked the interactions
between Hannigram and Dumbledore. Salty!Will is always a charm to write and
Hannibal really finds it erotic that his mate willingly admits to murdering people before
the most powerful light wizard. Dumbledore is not the enemy in this fic; he has faults
but that allows for some exploration on his part.

Thank you for joining me on this feast of a chapter! I look forward to people who want
leftovers in the comments!
 Initiation
Chapter Notes

Hello audience! I hope that everyone is healthy and warm where you are- glad to see
you made it to the table safely.

I have prepared Harry's first encounter with Hogwarts. There is a pun within the chapter
that I am proud of- it's Hannibal, puns are part of the meal. Severus will make an
appearance as the Caretaker.

You have no idea how thrilled I am that Harry is in Hogwarts. I have so much plot in my
outline that is waiting to be freed. You are all spoiling me with your kudos and
comments- it helps keep the creative juices leaking out of my fingers. Thank you all for
joining me at the table once again.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry shuffled onto the train and made his way to the back. Kids of all ages were pushing
around him, trying to find their fellow friends or their own compartment. Rather than hunt for
one around him, Harry pushed along to the next train car.

Quieter, Harry found an empty one- one that faced the other side of the wall and put his bag
down. He gave a sigh, happy for the silence of the room.

“That’s better,” Harry said, putting Hedwig next to him so she could see out the window. The
train whistled once, then rocked powerfully. Harry laughed as it began to move, looking out
the side of the window as the station grew smaller and smaller.

He pulled his head back when the door opened. A boy slammed it closed, one hand on his
chest as me panted.

“Did you lose them?” Harry asked the blond boy. His robes were the same casual black as
his- he must be a first year as well.

The boy whirled around, his hands pushing back his misplaced hair. Silver eyes looked at
him, a bit blown from having to run, a flush on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” the boy said, shrugging a bit. He moved so he was sitting across from Harry,
slouched down so if someone looked for him, they would have to be peering into the
compartment rather than scan the top.

“I’m Harry,” he said, slouching down as well.

“Draco,” the boy offered. He stiffened and hissed, a hand to his lip to be quiet. Harry watched
as two boys, both in black uniforms stomped around the compartment.

“They who you’re hiding from?” Harry whispered when they walked away. He brought
himself back to an upright position when the stomping muffled, the sound of a train door
opened, then closed.

“Idiots that my father wants me to be friends with,” Draco scoffed, flopping with his arms
over his shoulders. Harry nodded his head absently, not familiar with the feeling.

“Honestly,” Draco said, “they can’t even tie their shoes without magic.”

Harry smirked, kicking his legs next to Draco’s lap.

“Lucky for you, I can tie my own shoes.”

Draco gave a dramatic gasp as if he accomplished some great feat. The train broke the
surface of London, now traveling through the planes of grasses.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” Draco asked as he moved his bag off his shoulder.
Harry plucked some pellets out of his pocket as he fed Hedwig.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. He heard of the four houses from his parents but it was a passing
conversation. They were all more concerned about the heritage of Harry’s mortal enemy than
the house system. “What about you?”

“Slytherin,” Draco said with a proud nod of his head. “My whole family comes from that
house- it’s a legacy.”

“Blood doesn’t determine that,” Harry said, rolling his eyes playfully. He pulled a book out
of his bag, the first year transfiguration textbook.

“My godfather is the Head of House,” Draco said. “He also teaches potions.”

“My dad has taught me some things,” Harry said, putting his book down. “At least you know
some people.”

Harry was excited to go to school. It was a new chapter in his life, a new adventure for him.
Now, he could make friends that wouldn’t be chased away from him by a bully of a cousin.
His parents would be proud of his good grades rather than yell at him for succeeding over
Dudley.

A knock came to their shared compartment, a woman opened the door.

“Anything from the trolly, dears?” she asked, showing off her cart filled with candies and
drinks. Draco cheered, standing up with his hands in his pockets. Harry followed suit,
thanking the woman for visiting them.

“Draco, you should hide again,” Harry said as he caught a glimpse of the boys he was hiding
from. Draco groaned as he got on his hands and knees to avoid being seen. Harry stood with
his back against the door to prevent them from finding Draco. He watched them stop at the
trolly, only two carts a head of them.

They stuffed food into their pockets and shoved past the woman. Harry glared at the two for
their rude behavior.

“Thanks,” Draco said, moving when Harry nodded his head.

The two remained in the car together, talking for a while, then were content to read their own
books. Harry perked up when he heard the sound of excited students running up and down
the corridors.

“I guess we’re not that far,” Harry said, climbing up to the window. Even Hedwig perked up,
fluttering her wings to match his excitement. The train began to slow down, rocking towards
the giant castle.

Harry and Draco were both in awe as they gathered their things. They hopped off the train,
looking at the image of the castle climbing high above the treeline.

“First years’!” a voice shouted over all their heads. Harry turned to gaze upon the largest man
he ever saw. He summoned all of the first years, each one of them in the black robes.

“I’m Hagrid,” he said, putting a hand to his heart, “Keeper of Keys, ‘ere at Hogwarts!” He
clapped his giant hands, motioning for them to follow. Harry shuffled along with Draco,
following the mass of first year students to the bottom of the lake where boats were waiting
for them.

Hagrid helped them on, holding the boat close. Anytime a student came close to falling, he
simply had to wrap his hands around their torso to catch them from the water. Harry boarded
the boat, Draco following close behind.

Two others got on, a bushy haired girl that had only eyes for the castle and a nervous looking
boy who was holding onto a toad, of all things. Harry sat across from the girl, turning to the
giant castle.

“I’m Hermione,” she said in a daze. Harry couldn’t blame her for looking at the magnificent
castle that spired from the cliff-face up into the heavens of the night sky. The stars twinkled
above the navy tapestry of the sky like diamonds, reflecting across the ripples of water as the
boats made their way close to the castle.

Hogwarts had candles at every window, the glow illuminating the stones so it looked like it
was on fire.

“I’m Neville,” the other boy offered. Harry gave his name, watching the odd exchange
happen between Draco and Neville; they must have known each other.

Hagrid’s boat pulled ahead of every student’s leading the way to the shore. Just as he helped
them get in, he was careful with each student as they got off the boats. Each student followed
him through the beautiful wooden doors, lined with iron and magic that he could practically
taste.

The students shuffled along, whispering to the others that surrounded them as they pointed
out the moving pictures. Harry bumped into Draco when the students came to a sudden stop.

“I am Professor McGonagall,” she introduced, looking over all of them. She was a stern
looking woman that explained the concept of house points and the pride of being a Hogwarts
student- no matter the house. Yet, Harry felt she didn’t have a good standing with the
Slytherin house.

“Slytherin has taken the House Cup from her for years.” Draco explained as she turned
around to open the doors. All of the students that parted from the train had already filed in,
seated with their colors. The red of Gryffindor was to Harry’s right, against the far wall. The
colors they were walking between was blue and yellow, Slytherin on Harry’s far left.

“It’s a charmed ceiling,” Hermione said from next to Harry. Harry followed her gaze, slowing
down to look up at the voided sky with bright candles bobbing up and down to give a rippling
tapestry effect.

“Where did you read that?” Draco scoffed, “ Hogwarts: A History?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Hermione said. Harry could see she was blushing, her eyes
darting around. Harry and Neville exchanged the same uncomfortable look.

“Can we stop before any teacher notices?” he asked, putting his head down.

“They already have,” Neville said as he looked from the teachers to his shoes. Draco rolled
his eyes as Hermione huffed. Other students around them were too caught up in making their
way closer to the center of the stage than comment.

They stopped near a stool, in the middle of the room.

Initiation.

His last name was towards the back of the alphabet. The first student, Hannah Abbot,
shuffled up to the stool nervously. She sat down and flinched as Professor McGonagall set
the Sorting Hat down on her head.

It was silent, Harry looking around to see if this was a normal thing.

“HUFFELPUFF!” The hat shouted. The students wearing red and yellow erupted in cheers as
the girl got off the chair to join the others. Student after student was called, making the way
down the alphabet.

Hermione Granger was the first of the group to rise to the chair.

“RAVENCLAW!” It shouted. Hermione beamed with a smile as she made her way to the
other first years that were sorted there. It wasn’t long before Neville Longbottom was the
next to go to the stage. Harry gave him a little nudge forward, watching as he turned to sit in
the chair.

The hat was silent for some time, humming to itself, moving toward the tip.

“GRYFFINDOR!” It shouted. Neville moved in with stiff movements, as if the sorting

surprised him. The Gryffindor’s cheered as loud as they did for the other students, patting
him on the head as he sat down. It wasn’t long before it was Draco Malfoy’s turn. Where
Neville’s hat took it’s time to decide, Harry laughed as the hat shouted:

“SLYTHERIN!”

Before it even rested on his blond hair.

As the numbers around him dwindled down, students filing into their houses, Harry knew
that it was only a matter of time before he was called. Hannibal and Will both prepared him
for his reality as the ‘Boy Who Lived.’ He was glad that he withheld his last name from
Draco in the train car, from Hermione and Neville in the boat. He didn’t want any of them to
act differently, knowing what he was rather than who.

Harry wanted to be Harry.

When his name was called, he moved as calm as he could, steady strides as he walked up the
stairs. Harry did not look at any of the students, nor the teachers around him. Harry gathered
himself and sat on the stool. Harry ignored the looks and whispered, draining the sound out
by listening to the thundering of his heart, picking a candle to gaze at as the hat was lowered
to his head.

“It has been a long time since I have seen a Ravenfawn,” the hat echoed through his mind
the same way his parents did. Harry stiffened under its scrutiny, almost sweating now. “Do
not fear, they would not hear the truth even if I could speak it.”

The hat hummed aloud like he did for the students that were more difficult to house.

“Interesting,” it said, “Very interesting. I do believe your family and own ambition shall end
this war.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

There was silence for a heart stopping second, both in his own chest and among the entire
Great Hall.

Draco was the first to start clapping, his hands almost dumbly coming together until the rest
of the table joined in. They did not shout as loud as the other tables, but their faces showed
their pride. Harry made his way over next to Draco, smiling at him as he sat down on the
bench.

“This is going to be great!” Draco shouted as the applause and whispers died down. Harry’s
heart, by the end of the sorting, had felt as if it soared out of his chest. Harry could still hear
its beating, no longer of fear but euphoria.
There weren’t many students that needed to be sorted after Harry. The few filed evenly to the
four houses. When the last student took their seat, the Headmaster of the school stood up.
The older students all quieted without him needing to raise his hands. Harry looked at the
man.

“Welcome back old students, and welcome to the new ones,” he began, smiling down at all of
them. “Some new announcements to the students. We have a new Defense Against the Dark
Arts teacher- Professor Quirrell.” He lifted his goblet to the man, who lifted a shaking cup of
his own. “May we wish him health in this new year.”

He looked around at the students.

“I would like to remind everyone that the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, forbidden for students
to enter.”

“Who would have guessed?” Harry whispered when he leaned over to Draco. Draco
snickered into his hand.

“And if you wish for a painful and agonizing death, you would find yourself on the third
floor,” Dumbledore concluded. Harry looked around at the other students, surprised to find
them nodding.

“What?” Harry whispered to himself, beyond confused.

“Now, we begin the feast!” Dumbledore said, raising his hand. Food magically appeared on
the table with cutlery that shone and cloth napkins. Harry looked around, seeing that several
of the students around him were already digging into the turkeys, hams, and other meats on
the table.

Harry chuckled to himself as he reached for the turkey. It was the first time that he’d eaten
natural meat in a while. Human wasn’t going to be on the menu for some time.

Commotion broke down the length of the Slytherin table.

“The Weasley Twins,” Draco said, looking at the two redheads that were sparking spells over
their group of friends. “Most of their family is sorted in Gryffindor but they broke tradition.”

“Speaking of broke,” one of the sloppier eaters called out to the two. Their heads turned on
this student, crumbs over his shirt, a stain somehow on his uniform. The twins smiled,
seemingly doing nothing. The sloppy eater jumped out of his seat as a spider crawled into his
food. Harry and Draco laughed at his pain.

“Their family doesn’t have a lot of money,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “But they have pure
blood so that has to count for something.” Draco’s brow furrowed as he dug back into his
food. Harry hummed, cutting his bit of turkey.

“Blood is blood,” Harry said. He recalled ripping into Mason Verger’s chest. He ate a human
heart- it didn’t matter if it was muggle or magical, it was human flesh that he needed to
consume. He looked back at the turkey, wondering if this would be an ongoing problem. “We
are all the same when we are bleeding.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Potter?” Draco asked quietly. Harry shrugged as he
finished chewing his food, cringing at the poor manners of the other children.

“It didn’t really matter.” Harry nodded his head to the twin. “If they have pure blood but are
poor, they are somehow lesser. I’m a halfblood, so I’m lesser.” Harry wanted to make friends
here, he wanted to be himself, not the legacy that was attached to him shortly after his birth.
“We can’t control what family we are born into- only what we make ourselves into.”

His father spoke of Harry’s own reckoning, and while he didn’t entirely understand what his
father meant, it was something to aspire to.

Harry smiled at the other students, content to eat silently as he listened to what they had to
say. The feast went on with several spells flying around, the ghosts coming down to greet the
newest of students.

“That’s my godfather,” Draco said, speaking up to nod his head towards the man in black
robes. He stood before the other teachers, disappearing behind the stone wall. Students began
to pile out of the Great Hall, the plates and silverware disappearing. Harry followed along
with his Head students, descending the moving staircases as they looked at the portraits
hanging above them.

The dungeons were naturally colder than the upperpart of the school. Stone walls kept the
heat from entering, yet it was not dank and musty. The Head boy and girl opened the door for
the students to pile in.

The first thing Harry’s eyes landed on was the man standing in the center of the main room.
He was the very professor that Draco pointed out at dinner- draped in black cloth.

“I am Professor Snape, Potions Master and the Head of Slytherin House,” he introduced.
“The Slytherin house is one of honor and respect. Because of this, we are the most scorned,
which is why there will be no infighting with any of you,” he said, pinning each of the
students down with his dark eyes.

“We have a stigma to overcome; it is not easy. Should you find yourselves being treated
unfairly by students, come to me before you raise your wand. We look out for each other,
learn together and scheme as a group,” he told them. “My door is always open for you
whenever there is an emergency, otherwise, I ask that you follow my office hours.”

His lip lifted the slightest as he spoke to them.

“It is my job to see each of you learn, grow, and remain healthy while you stay at Hogwarts.
Please do not hesitate to come to me if there is a problem.” Professor Snape looked back at
the two prefects. He nodded his head, standing to the side of the children.

“Mr. Potter, please remain behind.” Harry looked back at Draco, confused but shrugged.
“I’ll find us a room,” Draco said, patting his shoulder as he went along with the rest of the
boys to the lower levels of dorms. Now alone, Harry looked to his new Head of House.

“Please follow me,” Professor Snape said. He turned on his heels to walk to the large oak
door. Posted on the outside were the office hours he spoke of. Harry followed the man into
his office.

Dark as it was, it was warmed by the large fireplace that sat in the middle. Green banners
decorated the two sides of the door they walked through, other natural landscapes hanging on
the stone walls.

Surrounding the room was an impressive collection of books and rolls of parchment. Several
stacks of books were on the professor’s desk, papers jammed inside- making them larger.
Rather than sit in the chair behind his desk, Professor Snape moved to the chair that rested by
the fire, indicating for Harry to take the other seat.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Harry asked, looking up at his new teacher. The professor regarded
him for a moment, dark eyes shining with the flames of the fire. He waved his wand, pointing
it towards his desk. Harry watched as a package of papers floated over to him- grasping it
with thin fingers.

He leaned forward to look at Harry, his hand palm to palm.

“I have some news about your relatives,” he said slowly, plucking the twine that was wrapped
around papers. Harry was silent, knowing that he was speaking of his aunt and uncle. Harry
hadn’t put much thought into them since Hannibal and Will picked him up. He didn’t see
their demise, Hannibal confessed to Harry while they were in the motel room that he killed
the two.

In the winter, they would come up on the one year anniversary of a new family.

“Were you aware that they were murdered?”

“Yes,” Harry said calmly to his professor. “A social worker came by to tell me and my
parents.” He lied. Since finding out about his family diet, he knew why Hannibal visited his
blood home.

“And your parents,” he asked, leaning forward. Harry caught something as he came closer,
the scent of old and stale blood. “Are you happy with them?” Harry tilted his head, confused
why his professor had an echo of iron on him. The question had him naturally smiling.

“Yes,” he said.

Harry watched Professor Snape sag in relief, folding back into his chair with the papers now
on his lap.

“I knew your mother, when we were younger,” Professor Snape whispered. He opened his
eyes, the haze of whatever memories gone as he looked at Harry. “I made her a promise,
though she was unaware of it, to protect you. I put my trust in the wrong hands and for that,
you were hurt.”

Harry flinched back, clenching his hands.

“You know,” he said.

“I know that Petunia,” he spat the name out, his hands clenched and eyes angry, “abused you.
I saw the crime scene that the killer left behind. I saw the one that the muggles missed.” He
looked right at Harry as he went to the sleeve on his arm. There were several buckles up his
forearms that he had to unravel.

When he pulled back the sleeve, a dark and ugly looking tattoo sat in his flesh. A screaming
skull with a snake curling from the mouth, forming a serpentine around itself until it fell back
into the bone of the design. Harry tilted his head at it, his own eyes looking into the hollow
depths of the skull.

“I am a spy against the Dark Lord, Harry. And I could not save you the day that your parents
were killed, nor did I save you from the family that harmed you.” Professor Snape said this
like the confession was pulled from his lip, like his teeth were acting as bars against the truth.
“For that, I know I shall never be forgiven.”

Professor Snape’s hands were almost shaking as he rolled his sleeve back down his arm,
buttoning each one back to cover the mistake on his flesh.

“I need to know that you are safe where you are. That you are protected and loved. Are your
parents doing this?”

Harry was unsure how much Snape knew of his fathers, of either their inherited legacy or the
legacy they created for themselves. He did not bring up anything about his feathers so Harry
didn’t think the man knew of the Ravenstag. Yet, he suspected that Snape knew his father
killed his relatives. What was evident was the weight he carried on his shoulder from the
mark on his arm.

Harry wanted to ease this man’s pain, even if it meant pulling back the curtain a bit on his
family’s legacy.

“I love my father and dad,” Harry finally said. “And they love me. They both healed me,
taught me, and gave me what I’ve always asked for- a family.”

Professor Snape relaxed a bit, his lip quirking up slightly.

“Harry,” he said, “your biological parents sacrificed themselves to protect you. You were still
harmed.”

He let the statement hang in the air.

“Would they kill to protect you?”

 Harry almost barked out a laugh. It wasn’t the question he was expecting, and it would hardly
be a question worth asking if Professor Snape knew about what Harry was.

“I have no doubt they would kill to protect me,” Harry said, feeling very confident about his
answer. He was assured many times by his parents that they would do everything in their
power, muggle and magical, to protect him. His answer satisfied the professor, who sat back
in his chair, a hand rubbing over the brow of his eyes.

“Good,” he said absently. When he looked back at Harry, he gave a smile. “Welcome to the
Slytherin House, Harry Potter. Go run off to find your friends.”

Harry got out of the chair to find where Draco was. When he was going to shut it, he heard
his professor call his name.

“If you ever want to learn more of your mother, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

Harry smiled as he shut the door. He moved in the direction that the other boys went to,
walking closer to the noise. Draco had walked out of one dorm door, seeing Harry, he waved
him over.

“I saved this one for us,” Draco pulled Harry into the dorm.

There were three beds, one of them more dilapidated looking than the other two. Draco
already had his trunk at the end of one bed, his bag tossed onto the sheets. The bed canopy
was a dark green, sheets a cool grey with matching pillows.

“Thanks,” Harry said, moving to the other bed. He put his backpack on the bed so he could
pull out his parchment.

Harry and Draco shared the same space in a compatible silence as they wrote letters to their
parents about the first day of school.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading! I just love writing Severus as a dark caregiver- willing to protect
Harry if it means he can be happy. Fear not, it will come into play with Draco soon!

Speaking of Draco...writing Drarry is growing more difficult. They will still be in a

relationship but some are asking if I will develop it more than the first fic. The answer is
yes. Since this fic is longer, there are already more Drarry moments. The hold up in
writing Drarry authentically, while keeping to canon, is that Drarry is *not* canon. The
allure of Drarry is the tension that Harry and Draco have during their confrontations in
the books. With Harry in Slytherin house and a natural friend, their relationship will still
stray more on the side of friendship. I will be working more on Draco's character
development but I don't want to make either Harry or Draco an OOC to make their
relationship fit.
I'm confident you'll still like what I am doing. I wanted you to know because you are the
people supporting me through this too- you're as much of a part of the Venison Special
as I am writing it.

Thank you for your support; may I see you in the comments for leftovers and
takeaway...
 Creatures within Classrooms
Chapter Notes

Hello guests! I have brunch for you- it's got champagne too.
I would like to tell you that I went on a full writers binge for you all. There is so much
good stuff coming your way- I can't wait to take you there with me.

Please enjoy Harry navigating his first challenge at Hogwarts....

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry pulled his outer jacket over his body as he shivered with the draft that the door brought
in. His books were surrounded around the table that he commandeered with Draco. During
their studies, Harry waved over Neville, who was looking around for a place to sit. The three
had various books open to help them with their homework.

His eyes could not focus on the paper for too long. It felt like he was reading the same
sentence over and over again. Harry shook his head, pulled on his hair to get the pain to
ground him.

Hermione was not with them in the library tonight. The Slytherin’s and Ravenclaw’s shared a
Charms class. Hermione had taken the habit of answering every question that a teacher asked.
Her hand was already in the air before the professor was done asking it.

It discouraged the other students from wanting to try while alienating her. As he and Draco
were leaving class, some other Slytherin’s joked about her know-it-all attitude because she
was still learning about the magical world. She burst through Harry and Draco, storming off
with sniffles. Harry did not defend her from the comments of his fellow house members.

He felt guilty.

She studied with both Draco and Harry, inviting Neville into the group when he was too
nervous to find Harry now that they were in ‘warring’ houses. The four of them found
compatibility when they studied in the library and companionship when they found empty
classrooms to talk in.

Harry slammed his book closed.

“I’m going to find Hermione,” he said, turning to pack his parchment in his bag safely.

“Why?” Draco asked. Harry sighed, looking around to make sure the librarian wouldn’t yell
at him for being too noisy.
“Because she is our friend,” he said, zipping his bag closed. “And she shouldn’t have to be
alone.”

Ready to storm off and find her, Neville got up with his bag. Harry clapped Neville on the
back, a silent thank you passing through the gesture. They both looked at Draco expectantly.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“Dinner will be soon anyway,” Neville said to Draco. The three made their way down the less
crowded staircases towards the Charms classroom. Other students passed them, Neville was
the one that asked the Ravenclaw students if they’d seen Hermione. The students looked at
Draco and Harry with sneers but were willing to talk to Neville.

After finding out she was last spotted near the dungeon girls bathroom, the three began
walking that way.

A loud bang had them freeze. They looked between each other, still as they realized none of
them made the sound.

“We better find her quickly,” Draco said, moving the three forward. They ducked into the
final bathroom they scouted on the floor. Harry heard a shuffle of feet. He went to the one
door that was closed and knocked on it.

“Hermione?”

“Go away,” she said, snuffling. Harry looked back at Draco and Neville, who were both
giving nervous looks as another bang sounded. This time, closer to them.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said, his hand against the door. Another bang, followed by a
series of thumps was coming towards them.

“Go get help,” Draco said, pushing Neville out the door. Harry watched Neville run the way
they came, away from the sound of stomping approaching them.

“We have to go, Hermione,” Draco said, pounding his fist on the door once. A low, vibrating
growl broke the silence of the bathroom. Hermione shuffled in her stall, unlocking the door.
She was rubbing the tears away from her eyes, but smiled at the two of them.

Hermione gasped, freezing as she looked at something behind them. Harry and Draco both
turned, seeing a troll as tall as the rafters standing between them and the door. The three drew
their wands, yet unsure of what to do.

“Run,” Draco said quietly, as if his voice would break the proverbial frozen spell over the
troll. Draco darted forward, using the troll's shock to get around him. The troll was moving
for them, swinging a large club around. Hermione dragged Harry away, the stall doors
shattering to small wooden splinters.

“Shoot the wall, Draco!” Harry shouted, spotting that the two could crawl under the sinks to
get to the door. Draco pulled out his wand and shouted a curse near the bathroom mirrors.
The glass shattered outward, cutting into the troll. It screamed, the sound echoing through the
room, as it stumbled back onto the toilets.

Harry pulled Hermione along under the cover of the sinks. The two scrambled to meet Draco
at the door, who was waving them along. The troll got his legs under him, the club gripped in
his hands. Draco directed them around the castle, taking sharp turns rather than sprinting
down straight corridors. His misdirection made the troll slow down- giving them more space
between them and the enemy.

While Harry was looking back to see where the troll was after it gave a mighty roar, he
plowed straight into something, landing right on his butt. Professor Snape looked livid,
turning his attention to Harry. Before the man could scold him about running through the
school, the troll gave another loud roar.

“Seems we’ve found the troll Professor Quirrel was speaking of,” Professor McGonagall said
as she picked Harry up off the ground. As she moved him off the ground, Harry heard Will’s
words echo through his head: Don’t look for an enemy you know is close behind.

Professor Snape and McGonagall pushed the three behind them with instructions to get back
to their dorms. Hermione thanked them both, giving a hug to Draco and Harry each, before
she turned and ran off to the Ravenclaw tower.

It was late by the time that Professor Snape arrived back at the Slytherin dorms. He called
both Harry and Draco down, scolded them for their foolishness, rewarded them points, then
sent them off to bed.

Harry and Draco got ready for bed, excitedly talking about their adventure with the troll.
Draco got into bed shortly after Harry did. Harry tossed in the sheets, his body curled close to
conserve heat. Draco’s bed curtains were closed, Harry closed his, hoping to trap his heat in a
bubble.

His sleep was fitful, the moment he thought he was warmer, he would wake with a shiver.
Harry turned his head to look at his watch, it was early, too early for his students to be up.

In a fit of frustration, Harry threw off his covers and got changed for the day. He figured he
could walk up to the library and study for a couple hours before making his way to the Great
Hall for breakfast. Harry began climbing up the stairs, seeing that even the portraits were
sleeping.

He shivered again, feeling the bits of his feathers pull around his ribcage and arms. Harry
made sure that his sleeves covered whatever feathers popped along his arm. The stairs shifted
while he was walking on them. He braced against one of the railings, watching it turn to the
next platform.

The stairs stopped at a platform, sliding back into the stones. Harry resumed walking the
staircase, looking around for a route that would take him to the library. He yawned as he
charted his course, not recognizing the part of Hogwarts he was in.
“The third floor,” he said, breaking the silence like the sun beginning to paint the sky purple.
With no one around, Harry felt emboldened to explore a bit. Quiet steps took him into one
corridor, dimly light either because students weren’t supposed to be here, or the early hour.

There was a series of doors down the hallway. Most of the iron and wooden doors were
closed. The ones that were open were only just so that Harry could stick his head through to
see the old and dusty classrooms. He leaned on one of the hinges, wincing as it creaked open
with a sound that shattered the silence.

Harry retreated to the hallway, wondering why the third floor was forbidden if it was a series
of empty classrooms. As Harry rolled his eyes at the sham of the third floor, he heard the
sound of the stairs turning- stone scraping against stone as it passed over the yawning mouth
of the towers.

He listened to the sounds around him, catching a scent of something approaching.

Harry felt his heart pick up in pace as he looked for a door that wasn’t rusted through.
Running as quietly as he could, Harry found a door at the end of the hall that did not have
dust lining the wood. The iron was black and shining.

Pushing all of his weight onto the door, it popped open, the only thing saving him from
stumbling was his ability to hold onto the handle. Harry turned, his chest against the door. He
heard the sound steps walking towards him.

“Out for an early morning stroll, Professor Quirrell?” The drawl of Professor Snape came.
Harry bent down on his knees to look through the keyhole. Professor Quirrell was pale
looking, the turban wrapped around his head as it usually was, giving nothing away during
the early hour.

“Patrolling for unruly students,” was his explanation. Harry noticed the man didn’t have his
stutter with him. According to the Weasley Twins, Professor Quirrell was the one that alerted
the staff of the troll in the dungeons. He, quite dramatically, entered the Great Hall, panicking
only to announce that there was danger and pass out. Harry, Draco, and Neville did not get to
witness this as they were hunting down Hermione.

“Well, as I have this morning’s shift and you feel so inclined to assist, then we shall go
together.” Professor Snape said. Though Harry could see neither of them, both too far from
the small vision space, Harry knew the man was displeased by the tone of his voice.

Harry held his breath as his teachers walked away, the sound of their steps ascending the
staircase.

The plan to go to the library was no more.

He was silent as he waited, counting to one hundred before his body finally relaxed. Harry
closed his eyes, turning so his back was against the door. When he opened them, he froze.

This was arguably worse than getting caught by Professor Snape. This was the horrible death
that Dumbledore told the students about.
In the middle of the room was a large three-headed, sleeping dog. Harry didn’t move as the
dog took in deep breaths. The three heads were sleeping, eyes closed as they drooled on the
massive paws. Along the neck of the Cerberus was a long and thick chain, nailed into the side
of the wall. If it were a normal dog, Harry would have thought it to be a black lab.

He smiled with the twitch of the dog's ear, saddened by the sight of the beast. He remembered
Will telling him no creature, man or beast, deserved to be chained. If beasts were, they had
the tendency to become violent. While there was a time for a beast to be caged, for
transportation or sickness, the state was supposed to be temporary- never long-term.

Harry did not step closer to the dog, guessing that the chain could reach him at the door if he
woke the creature.

“I’ll help you,” Harry whispered to the dog. The ear flopped back over in response, a great
snore echoing through its mouth. “I promise.”

Feeling safe to exit, Harry walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as
he could.

Now that he knew Snape and Quirrell were out on patrol, Harry snuck back down the stairs,
contending to try and go back to sleep before morning classes. The sun had turned the sky
into a beautiful shade of purple and red, breaking across the frosted November grass.

Harry yawned as he slipped back into bed, the feathers along his spine creeping up the length
of his arms to keep him warm.

The next hour passed in a doze, nodding in and out of consciousness. He heard Draco begin
to shuffle, rolling over in his sheets to pull the blankets over his head. Harry eventually
roused himself out of bed, letting Draco cast a spell over his uniform to press the creases out
of it.

As the two left their shared dorm space, filing with the other students to make their way to
breakfast, Harry saw Professor Snape sitting on one of the chairs. He greeted the students,
letting them pass under his wary gaze.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Draco,” he said. Draco immediately looked over at Harry, trying to figure
out what he’d done through the night. The two followed Professor Snape to his office.

“Are the heating charms not working in your dorm?”

“They work just fine,” Draco said with a smile. Professor Snape hummed, his attention back
on Harry. Harry tried not to shrink under his gaze.

“Draco,” Professor Snape said, a fond smile on his face. “Why don’t you head to the Great
Hall so that Mr. Potter and I can talk.”

Draco glared at Harry yet left without arguing with their Head of House.

“Are you cold in the evening, Mr. Potter?” Professor Snape asked. Harry was unsure where
the conversation was going. He nodded his head slowly. Professor Snape lifted his finger for
Harry to wait, walking away from the boy to his private quarters that sat behind his office. He
wasn’t gone long, the man emerged holding a heavy grey blanket.

He handed it to Harry, who had to take it with both hands.

“This,” he said, running his hand along the warm cloth, “is a thermal blanket. It is spelled
with a series of warming charms. It doesn't produce its own heat, rather, take the heat that
you produced and keep it close.” He led Harry out of his office, now alone in the main
communal area of Slytherin House. “If this doesn’t keep you warm, alert me and I shall brew
you a potion.”

Harry ran off to his room quickly, tossing the blanket over the length of his bed.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, rejoining his teacher. Professor Snape smiled at Harry,
holding the main door open for him to pass through.

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” he said. “I wouldn’t be a good head of house if I didn’t know what
my pupils were up to. Even in the early hours.”

Harry cringed, so Professor Snape was after him.

“I didn’t get caught,” Harry said as they walked up the stairs to the main floor, the sound of
the student body getting closer. Professor Snape hummed, stopping at the diverging path to
the main entrance and the staff door.

“But you did confess.” Professor Snape nodded his head at Harry, turning on his heel to
saunter over to the back door that led to the professor's dining table. Harry, stunned by the
way his teacher pulled the truth from him so effortlessly, gave a single laugh. He made his
way to his house table, spotting Draco in the crowd.

Will came into the house, flipping through the mail that was in their box. He arrived at the
doorstep with two other letters on the mat. He scooped them up, a smile on his lips to see
Harry’s handwriting. It still wasn’t up to Hannibal’s standard of penmanship, but it was
legible. The other letter was written with spider-like handwriting with a green seal on the
back.

Hannibal was sitting at his harpsichord, a sheet of music on the stand with a pencil in the slot
of his ear.

“We got mail,” Will said, moving to the seat next to the instrument. “The standard: bills,
junk,” he said. He held up the two parchment envelopes for Hannibal to see. “Harry wrote us
a letter, I think his teacher did too.”

“Which do you think we should read first?” Hannibal asked, his full attention on Will.

“Probably the teacher’s,” Will said as he ripped past the wax seal. The parchment unfolded
for him. “To the parents and guardians of Harry Potter,” he read to Hannibal, “as Harry’s
Head of House, it is my responsibility to take notice of the health and wellness of my
students. I have noticed, as the year progresses, Harry has become more lethargic and cannot
maintain a stable core temperature. His body cannot seem to find equilibrium.”

Will continued:

“My concern is this is happening with the change in seasons. Should the symptoms persist, I
shall test him for illness or creature status to ensure his physical wellbeing. If you are aware,
however, of what is causing his circadian unbalance, please do not hesitate to contact me. All
matters will be kept confidential.

“Sincerely, Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House,” Will finished,
handing the paper over for Hannibal to read. Will watched Hannibal’s eyes scan over the
letter.

“‘Circadian unbalance,’” Will quoted when the paper laid on the harpsichord keys between
them.

“It is clear that he has knowledge of the muggle world,” Hannibal said, putting his pencil to
the side.

“What do you think is wrong with Harry?” Will asked. Hannibal hummed.

“I believe that Harry is going into an early hibernation,” Hannibal said. “It is common for
fawns to enter hibernation early or late in the season, and his symptoms are consistent with it,
according to his teacher.”

“What do we do to keep him from sleeping through his classes?” Will asked. “How did you
do it while playing human?” Hannibal smiled up at Will’s question.

“A steady diet,” he answered. Will glared at him- it wasn’t like Harry was skilled enough,
nonetheless, old enough to be hunting on his own. “I will begin making a potion for the three
of us to regulate the hormone fluctuation that comes with Hibernation. I have managed to
perfect it to a pill taken daily.”

Will paused for a moment, mulling over the words Hannibal spoke.

“Birth control,” he deadpanned. “You’re giving our son birth control.”

This time, it was Hannibal that rolled his eyes at the accusation.

“It’s not to prevent breeding, my dear.”

“A pill, taken daily, for his hormones,” Will clarified. He shook his head at the situation.
“What should we do about his professor?”

“I do not believe that he knows of our heritage,” Hannibal said, looking over the letter again,
going so far as to flip it over, bringing it to his nose to smell. “He suspects something non-
human, but I doubt he will say anything unless certain.”
 “With a potion mastery, he is a standard healer in Magical Britain,” Will said, reaching across
the stack for the letter that Harry wrote as Hannibal went into the kitchen to remove the heart
from the oven.

Will laughed loudly at the words Harry wrote in his letter, smirking at Hannibal when he
asked what was the matter.

“Our son found a three-headed dog!”

Will was gifted with the sight of Hannibal rolling his eyes for a second time that evening, the
knife clutched in his hands.

“Of all the habits…”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for joining me. I hope that you liked the chapter. For those who've been here
from the beginning, I kept the "of all the habits" quote for you. Also, can I say what a
fun time it is writing Caretaker!Snape, who knows that Harry snuck out and totally was
hunting him down but got sidetracked by Quirrell only to pull a confession from Harry;
its getting to be like a writers kink.

If you want takeaway- I'll see you in the comments.

 Exposure
Chapter Notes

Good evening, guests and friends.

Please join me for seconds, for dessert. Do not be fooled, this dessert packs a punch-
remember some other boy who was good at manipulating Hagrid about his creatures...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry watched the owls descend from the ceiling, flying to their students to drop off letters.
Harry saw Hedwig’s bright white feathers crest the sky, flying in elegant arches until she
landed by his food.

“Hello Hedwig,” Harry said, handing over some of his bacon to her. She hooted, rubbing her
head onto the palm of his hand. She lifted her leg for Harry to take the letter and package.

“She’s a beautiful bird,” Draco said, eyeing her. “Who sent you mail?”

“Father,” Harry said, knowing immediately who’s neat handwriting composed the letter.

Harry,

I am glad that your classes are proceeding nicely.

I have provided you a bottle of pills. Take one, every morning with breakfast to help regulate
the Hibernation symptoms. This is common for fawns, do not fear.

Your dad and I are very proud of you.

With love,

Father

Harry carefully folded the note back into the parchment envelope, then within the pages of
his charms textbook to keep it neatly pressed. Picking up the square package, Harry could
feel things rolling around. He unraveled the twine around the package, slipping the paper
around it.

There were two jars. The first had small indigo tablets within the bottle, directions printed on
the side with Harry’s name on it as if he got them from a muggle pharmacy. He slipped one
out of the bottle and into his mouth, swallowing it with water.

“What’s that?” Draco asked. Harry shook the bottle, little tings clinking inside with the
movement.
“Just pills to keep me alive,” Harry replied. Draco smiled as he rolled his eyes at Harry’s
sarcasm.

After taking the pill, Harry looked at the other bottle. This one was black with a tight seal on
the top. It took him a couple tries, but the lid popped off. on the inside of the lid was a slip of
paper that read:

For you...or the dog

Harry recognized the handwriting of his dad. There was what looked like jerky inside the
bottle. After confirming that no teachers were looking, Harry lifted a piece of jerky up to his
nose and inhaled.

He smiled, mouth salivating as the scent of human pulled his hunger. He laughed as he ate
the slice in his hand. His hunger found nourishment with the jerky, the chill that came over
his body broken as he continued to eat.

Draco had a letter in his hands, a fierce looking owl traveled out of the hall after dropping it
off to him. His color drained a bit as his eyes travelled over the words. Draco sneered as he
slammed the letter down on the table, writing side down.

“You okay?” Harry asked, watching his friend. Draco packed up his bag, taking the letter and
shoving it into the depths.

“Let’s go to Care,” he growled, throwing his backpack over his shoulders. Harry bottled up
his pills and the human jerky, putting them into the bottom of the bag carefully. Harry
watched as Draco disappeared with the other students that were making their way to class.

Harry walked by himself to the rotunda. He spotted Neville making his way over to Hagrid’s
hut, jogging over to him. Neville smiled when Harry approached the group of students,
Neville broke off to join the rest of the Gryffindors. Harry was about to ask what was in the
letter that caused Draco to storm off, only to be interrupted by a red head.

“Don’t get too close to the snakes,” he said, “or they’ll poison you.”

Before Draco could rant at the boy, either getting himself a detention or points removed,
Harry interjected.

“If you were smart enough to make the distinction,” Harry said coolly to the boy, “you would
know that snakes have venom not poison.” The Slytherin’s around Harry smirked, chortling
to themselves as he backed into the sea of Gryffindors. Before any arguments could break
out, Hagrid came around the side of his hut, carrying a barn owl on the perch of his arm.

“This one’s chicks just hatched,” he said, holding the tired looking owl up. “Today, you’ll be
lookin’ to see if they’re healthy.”

Hagrid led the students over to the nest of chicks. It was difficult not to coo over them.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry said, holding one of the fluffy chicks in his hands. Draco scoffed at
Harry with his arms crossed over his chest. Harry rolled his eyes, setting the chick down with
its other mates. Rather than go to Draco, Harry turned around to find Hagrid.

“Hello Hagrid,” he greeted. The large man turned from where he was organizing a feed
drawer. “Could I come and talk to you tonight?”

“Sure thin’ Harry,” he told him. Hagrid looked around, “but keep this to yerself.” Harry
nodded his head, ready to ask what Hagrid was doing with the three headed dog.

If anyone would know, it would be him.

Class was tense between Harry and Draco. Harry figured that whatever was in the letter was
causing him to be upset.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Harry asked away from the other students. Draco looked at the
proximity of the other students and rolled his eyes.

“Not ignoring you, Potter.”

“Potter?” Harry asked. “Alright Malfoy, what’s your problem then?”

The use of his last name seemed to unbalance him. Draco looked like he was going to argue
more, only for his shoulders to drop. Defeated with the use of their last names, Draco yielded
by rifling through his bag.

He picked up the parchment, crumpled from where it was in the bag, clenched between his
fist.

“I’m happy here, Harry,” Draco whispered, looking up at the Hogwarts castle with a mystical
expression on his face. Draco lifted the paper in his fists, shaking it. “Mother tries to keep me
away from it.” Draco brushed his hand over his eyes in a quick movement. “I hate who my
father makes me sometimes.”

Harry could understand that in his own way. When the Dursley’s would have to take him out
in public, they were nice to him. Harry learned from an early age that it was only to keep up
their appearances; as soon as the doors closed- they were back to their horrid selves.

“Can you hate someone and love someone at the same time?” Draco asked.

Harry was sure this was a question for his father, yet, Draco was a friend in need- a friend
that was hurting.

“I guess,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as the two watched the other students feed the
owl. “But if you don’t want to become your father, then you won’t.”

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

“No,” Harry said, lifting a hand to point at his scar. “There might be people that only see the
outer image, but at least you’ll know they don’t care for you as your friends do.”
Draco was silent after that, the paper still in his hand. Hagrid looked over at the two of them,
his brow furrowed in confusion. Harry waved him off, trying to convey they were okay.

“Thanks Harry,” Draco said, putting the paper on the ground.

“No problem,” Harry replied, laughing when Draco set the paper on fire. Harry didn’t get to
read the words his father wrote Draco, but they had as much weight on Draco as the ash did.

For now, their problems were a mild inconvenience.

“I think I’m going to go study with Neville after Charms,” Draco said as the parchment
finished burning. “Stick it to my father.” Harry clapped Draco on the back as the two made
their way to the Gryffindor they befriended on the boat.

Harry’s larger problem was the three-headed dog. He had no clue how to smuggle the dog out
of the school. His plan mostly consisted of showing the cerberus to Will before Hannibal. If
Will and Harry both liked the dog, Hannibal would be outvoted.

The stars aligned for Harry. Professor Flitwick decided that rather than give a midterm test,
he would be assigning a paper for the students to research that was not on the year’s
curriculum. Each student was to pick a charm, write about its uses, counterspells, history, and
any other information the student felt would make their essay better.

Many of the students groaned, from both Ravenclaw and Slytherin. When Professor Flitwick
asked if there were any students that knew what they wanted to research, Harry shot his hand
into the air with a speed that Hermione was known for. Professor Flitwick called on Harry
with a laugh, the chalk hanging in the air by the chalkboard next to his name.

“The shrinking charm,” he said. Professor Flitwick chuckled as he wrote the name of the
spell on the board. Hermione chose her essay topic as quickly as he did. Students flicked
through the surrounding books on charms to write about while Harry got the opportunity to
begin studying the spell.

There was only ten days before Yule, giving Harry enough time to research the charm and
hopefully perfect it on the dog. While Draco and Hermione went off to the library, Harry told
them he would catch up, giving the excuse of trying to find Neville. When he lost them at the
turning stairs, Harry walked with a brisk pace to the third floor.

He scanned the area for people looking for him before darting into the door with the
Cerberus.

“Hello,” Harry said. The dog snarled at him, great paws bracing over the floor. Harry
swallowed a knot in his throat. This dog wasn’t much larger than the troll but seemed like a
dangerous threat. He took a deep breath to center himself before kneeling on the ground. The
chain rattled as the lips pulled back to show a set of white teeth. “I’m Harry.”

Harry pulled the jerky from his bag and popped the top off. The dog sniffed the air.
“I used to be like you,” Harry said, tossing a piece to the middle head. “Chained up and
afraid,” the dog ate the piece in one bite; Harry doubted that the creature even tasted the
meat. He broke off another piece, throwing it in a high arch for the dog to catch. Harry
watched the paws move to catch the jerky, seeing there was a trap door underneath.

“I won’t give up on you,” he said, not moving closer. “My parents made that. They helped me
too, just like I am going to help you.”

Harry knew that the jerky helped him with his Hibernation symptoms. There were ten days
before break, enough time that he would slip back into his shivers without the aid of human
flesh. He had dealt with worse before his father found him. Harry tossed the rest of the meat
to the dog.

He took it as a good sign that the dog licked his chops, no longer snarling at Harry. He smiled
as he slid the backpack onto his shoulders.

“I’ll be back for you soon,” Harry promised, slipping out of the door.

Harry was ready to go down to Hagrid, thinking of all the ways he could assist the dog while
he passed from class to class. At dinner, he made sure to eat quickly, as if it would get him
closer to slipping away with the other dismissed students.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked as Harry made to slip away. Hagrid’s hut was still
considered to be the grounds of Hogwarts, therefore, Harry didn’t think he was out breaking
curfew. Professor Snape wouldn’t see it that way- he wanted to get the information and get
back before his Head of House found him.

“Hagrid’s hut,” Harry said. “I want to know if he uses a magnifying charm on the pumpkins
or some fertilizer, you know, for my paper in Charms.”

Draco was silent for a minute, looking him over.

“That was a shite lie,” he said. “Don’t let Snape catch you. I can’t save you if he does.”

Harry was willing to get a detention if he got any more information on the dog on the third
floor. He shouldered his backpack and walked along with the students until he got close to
the corridor that would feed to Hagrid’s Hut. Harry didn’t see Hagrid at dinner but he could
see that all of the huts lights were on.

Harry knocked on the door, smiling when he heard another dog barking. Hagrid shooed off
the dog, Fang, and opened the large door. Harry slipped in as Hagrid closed the door.

“‘ello Harry,” he greeted. Harry shrugged off his outer jacket, it was warm in the hut, feeling
for the first time as if his body could stabilize without the aid of pills from his father or a
blanket from Professor Snape. “Whatcha need talkin’ about?” he asked. Hagrid pointed to the
very large chair for Harry to sit in, pouring some water into a drinking gourd made of some
animal bone.
“I wanted to know why there was a Cerberus chained up on the third floor,” Harry said,
deciding to be blunt. Hagrid furrowed his great brow, looking down at Harry.

“Yer found Fluffy?” he asked, shocked as he turned to move the fire’s embers.

“Fluffy?” Harry questioned.

“You, little fella, shouldn’t be on the third floor,” Hagrid pointed to Harry as he said this, but
a smile was on his face. Harry smiled back to his teacher as he sat back at the table. “The
litt’l pup-”

“Fluffy is a puppy?” Harry asked, almost flopping back in his seat. This may be a problem. If
Fluffy was due to grow, he wasn’t sure if his father would allow such a large dog.

“Yessir. Charm’d to look larger. Doesn’ hurt ‘em one bit.” Hagrid lifted his mug, muttering to
himself, “his bite still hurt.”

“Fluffy is alone, Hagrid,” Harry said, leaning forward to look down at the table.

“He’s got a job ‘ter do.” Hagrid didn’t sound convinced by his own words. “‘e’s just a pup,
but he’s got big paws ‘ter fill.” If what Hagrid was saying was true, it would seem that all
Harry had to do would be break the spell over the dog.

“How big is he, actually?” Harry asked, hoping that the size Fluffy currently stood at was
highly dramatic.

“Like a normal pup, three heads an’ all,” Hagrid drank down the rest of his mug, slamming it
down on the table with a little force. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. His dad would like
the puppy and his father would learn to love the creature as well.

“Aren’t you sad that he’s trapped all alone, in a small room, with no other dogs?” Harry
asked him. Hagrid didn’t respond, looking down at his hands to sag his shoulders. “He’s got
to be lonely.”

Harry was laying it on thick, and felt bad for doing so, but he could tell that Hagrid also felt
wrong by the dog’s situation. He only hoped the man wouldn’t say anything or be too
distressed when Harry stole him.

“Alrigh’ Harry,” Hagrid said, standing up. “”You bette’ get back to yer dorm. I got work in
the forest.”

Harry promised his parent’s he wouldn’t go too deep into the Forest. Neither of them could
really do anything about keeping him away, but they informed him of the natural danger of
the place and how it could be considered rude to run along the middle of other creatures'
territory.

“Can I come?” he asked, running to Hagrid’s side and looking out the window. It had been so
long since he shifted into his pelt. Hibernation didn’t require him to spend time in it, but now
that he might have the opportunity to shift, even for a small amount of time, was something
to be excited about.
“I dunno, Harry,” Hagrid said, reaching high above Harry to grab a crossbow off the top of
his shelves. He pulled it and a quiver full of arrows down. “Somethin’s huntin’ unicorns.”

This was the perfect time for Harry to both shift, and hunt for something to feed Fluffy. Harry
had practiced some shrinking charms since given the essay work. He might be able to shrink
down a dead deer and give it to the dog as a bribe, showing that he is trustworthy.

“What hunts unicorns?” Harry asked, trotting alongside Hagrid as he made his way closer to
the lip of the trees. Harry was itching to shift now that he felt the cool mist of the forest touch
his face.

“Evil.” Hagrid loaded an arrow into the bow quiver, Fang whining next to him.

“Can I please come, Hagrid?” Harry asked before he was ordered to leave. “I can help! I can
expand the search for the injured ones!”

Hagrid looked into the forest, the yawning mouth towering above them, reaching on all sides.
Hagrid may know the forest like the back of his hand, but he was still only one man. He
sighed, a great cloud of breath blowing from him like a dragon at a forge.

“Alrigh’ but,” he said when Harry almost skipped in. “Yer should know to run if ya see
anything, yah?”

“Right,” Harry said with a firm nod to his head. The two marched in together, Fang whining
by his side. Harry knew he couldn’t take off immediately or Hagrid would get suspicious.

“Why would someone hunt a unicorn?” He asked, hopping over a fallen log while Hagrid
stepped over it.

“Killin’ a unicorn leaves ya with a curse,” Hagrid explained from where he was looking at
some tracks. He scanned the trees surrounding them, sighing as he stood up. “Drinkin’ their
blood can extend yer life but it leaves ya with an unquenchable thirst for it.”

Harry nodded his head, looking around at the fog. He wasn’t sure if it was unnatural or not.
The way that it clung just high enough to keep their vision obscured. Harry knew that his
senses would only expand if he was shifted. He could look for any harmed unicorns in his
pelt much faster than his flesh.

“Hagrid,” Harry said, waving him over to a bush. Tangled in it were several strands of white
hair.

“Good job, Harry,” Hagrid said, clapping Harry on the back. While Hagrid looked for tracks
or other signs of the unicorn, Harry took to untangling the stands.

“We could cover more ground if we split up,” Harry said, handing Hagrid the lock of unicorn
tail hair.

“I can’t leave ya on yer own,” Hagrid said, looking the other way.
“I’ll be fine, Hagrid,” Harry promised, waving off his concern. He lifted his wand. “I’ll send
red sparks up in the air if I need you. Especially if I find a unicorn that needs help.”

Hagrid looked around the forest one last time, perhaps realizing that the best way to help a
herd of unicorns was for them to venture out themselves.

“I would give ya Fang, but he’s a coward.” Harry laughed at Hagrid, going to pet the whining
Fang.

“Good luck,” Harry said, turning around without fear to walk into the mist and depths of the
forest. He waited, counting to one hundred as he walked away, listening for any signs of
Hagrid before he shifted into his pelt.

Harry shook out his feathers, stretching out his back and hooves. It felt good to be back in his
feathers, like his pelt was a suit with wrinkles, Harry’s magic rushed to his skin and warmed
under him. The coolness of night did not touch his pelt.

Pawing the ground as his senses enhanced, Harry could feel the magic that his father told him
about- how his wand was somehow with him, magic against magic. His ears flicked around,
the natural sounds of a forest not leading him to any direction but the one away from Hagrid.

Cantering through the woods, Harry leapt over the fallen trees and roots with a practiced
ease, landing and giving a little buck for his excitement. Though he was small and still a
fawn, he was able to run faster given his size, keeping him from the branches that his parents
would have to duck under.

Running through the forest felt like coming home. The wonderful feeling of the wind carding
through his feathers as he hunted for prey. He could smell it was closer, turning so he could
find the fully grown deer he had scented.

The scent was headier than a doe, a dangerous target for both the size and the antlers of the
stag. Harry was without his own; if he approached poorly and missed the kill strike, he would
be forced to run away from the other deer’s antlers.

Harry climbed the bank of the deer, outflanking him as he jumped onto the back, sending him
to the ground with teeth around his throat. The stag bleated as they hit the ground, a wounded
sound echoing through the night as Harry clenched onto the neck, killing it before the scent
of fear could spoil the meat.

Shifting back to his human skin, clothing on and wand clutched in his hand, he muttered the
shrinking spell onto the deer, watching as it slowly shrank down until it was no bigger than a
deer figurine. He put the deer into his pocket as he licked his lips, tasting the warm blood
upon them.

The coppery taste of blood made him look down at the state of his clothes. He was covered in
blood, forgetting that his pelt was coated in the blood of his kill. All the times that Hannibal
and Will would groom him, they would clean the blood of a kill off him. Harry waved his
wand over his skin and clothing, removing the blood from them before returning to the task
at hand.
Cantering through the forest, Harry stopped to sniff the new scents around, searching for any
blood that might lead him to a harmed unicorn.

The wind came from the south, ruffling his feathers, and carrying the scent of blood with it.
Harry lifted his head, turning to the scent of the wind. He waited, listening for the rustling of
trees that came with the next gust of wind.

This was like no blood he scented. It smelled of copper but had an element of fresh water,
like the dew drops of a new morning.

Harry followed the scent, certain that it was the unicorn. He galloped forward, his long legs
carrying him through the forest floor. He slowed as the scent grew stronger and death began
to permeate the air. If something could take down a unicorn, then Harry had no doubt it
would try to kill him. He knew, as a Ravenfawn, he was immune to the killing curse.

Both his parents stressed that in no way, did that make him indestructible.

Harry crouched, crawling on all fours closer to the lip where the blood hung over the forest
like netting. In the bowl that Harry was above laid a dead unicorn. The white coat was stark
against the darkness of the forest, almost glowing with ethereal power. Silver blood painted
the ground, a dark looming creature hovering over the neck of the great beast.

About to make his plan to summon Hagrid, there was a twig that snapped. Harry froze,
wondering for a brief moment if he were the cause of it. The humanoid figure lifted it’s head
to the mouth of the bowl they were in. Beyond, Harry saw a white filly paw the ground
nervously from the outside of the lip.

Harry could smell the familiarity of the filly. It was the daughter of the mare, about the same
size as he was. Where she would one day have a horn growing from her head, now was a tiny
gold glowing nub- the clearest sign she was no common horse.

The filly nickered again, walking closer to the body of the mother despite the predator
standing above. The figure stood up, blood covering the brown cloak.

A sharp pain erupted through his forehead, colors coating his visual spectrum as the creature
walked to the approaching filly. He refused to make a sound as the pain coursed through
him. Through tear filled eyes, Harry could see that the abomination looked like it was almost
flying to the filly, preying upon the scent of fear.

Harry growled, shaking his head free of the pain.

He charged, leaping down over the body of the unicorn. He landed with a thud that had the
abomination begin to turn towards Harry. Though he did not have the high ground, Harry had
the element of surprise and approach from a blind spot. Teeth bared, Harry jumped up to
strike at the creature, putting himself between the monster and the filly.

While the creature stumbled back, Harry stuck forward with his jaws, clenching down onto
the shoulder to give a kill shake. Acidic and vile blood burst into his mouth, forcing him to
gag and release the abomination.
It fell from his mouth, the creature giving a human cry in pain. Harry lunged again, taking a
part of the creature that was clothed to bite. Harry tossed it to the ground, the blood too much
to keep in his mouth before the need to vomit overcame him. He reared up, pushing both of
his hooves against the human chest.

Though the creature was on the floor, it cast a spell towards Harry, a blasting hex that he
narrowly dodged. The tree behind him burst with the intended explosion, blasting it back.
Harry charged forward with his head down, smacking his skull into the body of the creature;
even without horns was painful.

The creature reached for Harry, throwing his body on top of Harry’s barrel. Harry growled
loudly, curling his spine inward so his feathers would puff outward as he gave a powerful
buck, forcing the creature to back away from Harry with ragged breathing.

The wizard was fighting a losing battle; blood loss was crippling its movements, Harry
continued to charge and strike with his hooves. When he raised his wand hand to Harry, the
fawn reached to bite down on the arm- marking him as Harry’s prey.

Harry was tiring, his head splitting in pain. He barreled the creature again with his skull,
intent to rear up and crush the man’s head beneath his hooves. Before he could bring his
weight down, the man vanished with a pop.

He panted on the battlefield, mouth hanging open to let gravity drop the acidic blood that
burned his mouth. Saliva pooled around him, frothing at the mouth, a filly approached
another terrifying beast.

The filly dipped her head to him, one leg stretched in a bow. Harry felt as if his head was full
of cotton. As elegantly as he could with a woozy head, Harry returned the bow. The filly rose
her head, walking towards him still. Not knowing what to do, Harry remained still. She
leaned forward, the nub of her horn between his eyes where his antlers would one day grow.

A zap burst through his head, in the center of his pain- splitting it like an egg with a zap.

Ow! Harry thought, backing away from the filly.

I am sorry. It is the only way we can talk, she projected, her sorrow coming along with it.
Harry stumbled back to a balanced position, watching as she nuzzled her mother.

What was her name? Harry asked, not trusting himself to be able to walk on his four legs.
The filly dropped her legs, laying in the crux of the wounded neck, sliver blood of black and
silver coating her body.

We don’t have names. Harry’s legs gave under him, no longer strong enough to hold upright.
She would sing when I got scared.

Melody, Harry said, tipping over on the grass, breathing hard in the dirt. You want to
remember- that can be her name.
And will you name me, nightfawn? Harry huffed a laugh in the dirt, the scent of tainted blood
bringing him to gag again.

Hope, he said. It may be the only thing that could get him out of this situation. Harry couldn’t
hold his pelt together any longer. Curling into himself, a painful realigning of bones snapped
skin over feathers. His wand was in his hand, blood all over him. Harry turned his head from
the filly and vomited more of the blood that he took in when protecting Hope.

You’re human? she asked, standing from her mother, from Melody. With shaky hands, Harry
removed the blood from him, his uniform was covered in dirt, but no longer held the blood of
his prey. What are you? Hope asked, nuzzling her nose over his sweaty hair.

Another voice bound across his mind with mighty hooves and an imposing presence. He
lifted a hand to his head, knowing where the unicorn was since it could speak so loud in his
mind.

He is a Ravenfawn, the unicorn said. There was a herd surrounding him, unicorns of all ages
almost banishing the darkness from the forest with the glow of their white coats.

Father, the filly said, running to the stallion to nuzzle his breastbone as Harry would have
done to his parents. A conversation happened between the two, the filly giving a small nicker
before taking place by the father’s side.

What is your name, so that when we meet, I will know you in both forms, fawn? Hope
demanded.

“Harry Potter,” he grunted from the floor in an undignified heap to be surrounded by a

grouping of unicorns.

I beseech Twelve Blessings to you, Harry Potter, the Ravenfawn. Harry’s vision had blurred,
like the potion Will gave him no longer had an effect- as if he would need glasses again. He
could see the profile of Hope trot off to another group of unicorns, the feeling of grief
separating from him.

The light around him faded with their departure, but a glowing star stood above him. He
could feel the imposing presence in his mind as he laid on the floor- the stallion over him.

You have saved a filly, fawn, the stallion said. Harry felt his skin shiver in the cold, a sheen of
sweat coming over him as the fog gathered. Summon the friend of the forest, Hagrid. He shall
take you to safety, fawn.

The beast stomped a hoof near Harry’s head, he was too delirious for fear, yet the action
cleared his mind just enough to point his wand upward and cast a spell through the treeline.

Your chivalry is admired. I cannot save you now, but enter this forest and you shall be
welcome. The creature dipped his horn over Harry. The glow began to dim, the feeling of his
mind coming back to his own. Your secret remains to the beings of this forest and shall
stretch no further.
 Harry could feel his body slipping away from him as if he were sand. He looked up at the
trees, the few stars that broke through the dark treeline with little specks of bright white. The
red sparks let behind a line of sulfur that would lead directly towards him.

Harry could only hope that it was Hagrid that found him before the abomination returned
from the darkness he approached.

Chapter End Notes

Could you imagine if Harry went to Snape because he couldn't get the jar open, like:
'pls, sir, halp.' and he pops it open to a wafting smell of human...I thought about it, I
really did.

Which is why I put Harry's thought process of outvoting Hannibal when it came to
Fluffy.

I hope that you are all healthy and well- drink some water, get eight hours of sleep,
make that bread, then eat bread. And remember that dessert means you'll have sweet
dreams...
 A Benadryl Haze
Chapter Notes

Good afternoon, friends! It is such a sunny day today, may good things fall on your
plates. This chapter is kinda for me- I have a longer Severus perspective that I hope you
will enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Severus could say he was having a relatively uneventful year. While he thought hiding the
Philosopher’s stone in Hogwarts was a foolish idea, particularly because Harry Potter would
be returning to the magical world- and with that, bringing along a slew of threats. He set up
his own riddle, numerous potion bottles sitting before an ever burning fire, the last of the
trials before getting to the stone.

He anticipated Harry Potter’s arrival with a nervous interest. While inspecting his papers at
Wool’s Orphanage he knew that the papers were fraudulent, even as he burned them.
Dumbledore and Severus had watched from the rooftop as police cars surrounded the small
orphanage, scaring the children back to their rooms as the matrons were interrogated.

They had no information on Harry.

Harry Potter, when he arrived, sounded like a happy and healthy child. He did not have a pair
of glasses as his birth father did as well as better manners. Harry was a quiet minded child.
He showed interest in Quidditch but showed no love for the sport as his father did. He
performed well in his classes- his papers were well written for a child his age.

In the magical book that listed all of the students arriving at Hogwarts, under Harry’s name
were two guardians: Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Mr. William Graham. Dumbledore and Snape
pondered the name ‘Lecter’ for some time, each silently wondering if the Lecter family had
truly been lost at the end of Grindelwald’s defeat.

There was an odd thing about Harry- he smelled of human. While this was normal for many
of the students, Harry smelled of hunted human- the lingering aroma of a fresh kill. It was his
starvation that confirmed the scent of humans- the head spinning effect to smell blood. With
the use of potions, Severus could dull his own senses from smelling the numerous hormonal
teens around him, especially the females.

Severus would never feed on one of his students, or any minor, like that. It was vile to think
there were some vampires that glutted and lusted on the youth. He’d rather his fangs pulled
from his gums before brought to such a desperate state.

Harry smelled of this human blood.

At first, Severus was seized with the thought that something had hunted him, that his parents
Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Mr. William Graham harmed him. Severus’ panic quelled when he
remembered that Harry had not left Hogwarts since arriving in September, nor had his
parents visited. The scent only followed him at meal times- and Severus would have noticed
if Harry was snacking on any of the Slytherins.

The blood was not his own; he suffered no injury. There was no blood in his goblet.

Though Severus could not figure out how the scent of human clung to Harry Potter there was
little doubt that it was there.

A knock interrupted is musing. He reached for his mug of tea, taking a sip to clear his
parched throat before allowing the student to enter.

“Draco,” he said warmly, waving the door closed behind his godson. Draco walked in,
rubbing his hands with an air of distress.

“I think I hurt Harry’s feelings,” Draco said, flopping down on the chair, his leg bouncing
with anxiety. “And he hasn’t come back.”

“Harry is not in the dorm?” Severus asked, his body tensing. He did not like not knowing
where Harry was; his legacy alone was a liability.

“I said some stupid pureblood shite over the day,” Draco murmured, eyes not looking at
Severus. “He said he forgave me.” Snape stood up, pinching his brow as the beginning of a
headache took over.

“If there is one thing that the Potter’s were known for, it’s their uncanny, if not foolish, ability
to forgive.”

It was a courtesy he would be denied forever from Lily.

“He went down to Hagrid’s hut earlier,” Draco informed him. Severus’ headache was almost
summoned to a full migraine at those words. Hagrid had told him there was something
hunting unicorns in the forest, leaving behind marks of a feeding. It didn’t bode well for the
security of the Philosophers stone or Harry if the two were connected.

“Draco,” Severus said, kneeling next to his godson on the seat. “Harry isn’t avoiding you.
He’s probably still with Hagrid.”

“But it’s past curfew.”

“A student can be out past curfew if they are with a professor. Either Harry is taking
advantage of that or he is on a jaunt through the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid.” Severus
threw on his outer cloak, grabbing one of his portable potion bags.

Draco followed after him, standing in the middle of the Slytherin common room with the few
other students watching their interaction.
“You all know the rules,” he said, bidding them farewell when they gave a silent nod of their
heads only to return to the work in front of them.

Severus took the stairs two at a time, the same sinking feeling in his gut as when Dumbledore
dragged him to the orphanage. He made it to the main level when an overwhelming scent of
blood was brought in. Severus covered his nose as he followed the trail, leading towards
Hagrid’s hut.

“To the infirmary,” Severus said to Hagrid, already seeing that Harry was carried in the half-
giant’s arms. Hagrid was a tall man that took long strides, able to take stairs four at a time
when he wanted to move quickly. Hagrid said nothing to Severus, muttering to Harry about
blood and dead unicorns.

Practically kicking down the infirmary door, Hagrid went over to the first bed and placed
Harry down, taking the next bed and staring blankly at the boy. Madam Pomphery came over,
a hand over her mouth as she took in the image of Harry shaking on the bed with a cold
sweat.

Severus pulled off the blood from Harry’s clothing, the unicorn blood burned off into the air.
The mysterious sludge he pocketed into a vial. Not recognizing the sample, Severus cast a
large, translucent bubble over them, unsure if his student was contagious with anything. It
was unlikely for Severus to get sick given his creature status.

As he went to cast spells showing Harry’s vitals, he turned, eyes rolling into the back of his
head as small muscle twitches changed to full convulsions. Severus cursed as he tipped Harry
on his side while the boy seized.

Harry vomited the sickness that clung to his insides. With little time to roll his sleeves
properly, Severus removed his outer coat, arms exposed to the air around them as he tended
to Harry, one hand over his stomach. Harry’s stomach clenched violently as he vomited,
trying to pull the poison from within.

Severus grounded his palm over Harry’s stomach and began to chant, thankful that he found a
teacher in a vampire that was old enough to remember Healing Chants in return for his blood.
He spared a look up when he heard the door open, seeing Albus and Minerva walking over to
him. The scent of the bile must have hit them at the same time, noses covered with a fist.

Harry’s teeth were chattering, skin covered with a sheen of clammy sweat did nothing to
alleviate the heat burning within his body. The black sludge covered the ground where Harry
was tipped over. His convulsions were still intense, but with nothing to give, Harry simply
gagged.

“He’s delirious,” he muttered, to himself or his audience, he had little time to think. Harry’s
temperature had climbed to a dangerous 103.2 degrees. Severus cleaned the blood out of
Harry’s mouth and from the room around, taking another sample for later study.

“He needs to be cooled,” Minerva said, voice muffled from outside the bubble.
“If we dunk him in an ice bath, we risk sending him into thermal shock,” he growled, feeling
out of his depth as Harry’s breathing increased again, heartbeat and blood pressure rising.

“Then do something!” Madam Pomphery said to him.

“If he’s been poisoned by something magical there is no telling what a magical solution may
do to his body.” Severus gripped the edge of the bed with his hands, eyes glazing over as he
thought of all the possibilities to treat Harry. He knew that Hagrid had gone out to hunt for
the creature that hunted the unicorns- it could be anything that Harry encountered.

Though they all had a good idea none were willing to voice.

Out of magical options, Severus grabbed his portable bag and expanded it, lifting up the
section that had muggle tools and solutions. He pulled the charcoal tablets out, ripping them
open with his teeth to dump into a glass flask filled with water.

He waved his wand over Harry’s nose and mouth, performing a complex breathing spell to
circle oxygen around Harry’s sinus’ to his lungs. The spell monitoring his breathing dipped.
Severus reached to his bag, the cool plastic tube revealed.

“What are you doing?” Albus asked, watching as the charcoal solution swirled with the aid of
a simple potions spell. He lifted the tube over Harry’s mouth, tilting him back and opening
his mouth.

“I’m going to pump his stomach,” Severus said, his own voice sounding distant. Charcoal
was one of the oldest human medicinal treatments- muggles and wizards alike using it to treat
illness. With the tube and solution ready, Severus steeled himself.

“I am sorry about this,” Severus muttered to Harry as he spelled the lubricated tube down his
throat. Harry gagged, his body lurching upright. “It will keep you alive long enough for your
parents to help you.”

Severus knew that his actions would be questioned from the wizards outside the quarantine
bubble. He worked quickly, the tube sliding down Harry’s throat with a little more ease once
it worked past the gag reflex. Harry’s eyes rolled, coming to contact with his own, only to
dart to the side.

His student wasn’t aware of what was happening to him.

While Severus never practiced this method with his vampire teacher, and hoped he never
would have too, he was glad for the information now.

“I know, I know,” he said absently to Harry as he continued to push the tube. It would need to
hit the internal well of the stomach before Severus could tip the charcoal solution down. He
lifted his wand, hovering the funnel over the top opening of the tube.

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Severus said to a delirious Harry. Severus tipped the
solution back, watching the black liquid pour down the edge of the tube, down Harry’s throat
where it would pull the rest of the poison from the lining of his stomach.
Harry’s magic reacted immediately, hovering over his skin in a green hue, striking out against
the bubble. Severus could tell the moment the solution hit his stomach, Harry gave another
gag, trying to expel the plastic and solution. Severus shushed him, rubbing his sweaty hair as
best he could while doing the job of three people.

“Don’t fight it, Harry,” Severus whispered, ducking out of the way from a green trendle of
magic that stuck the shield. “Easy now. You’re almost there.” Harry’s eyes were open,
bloodshot and unseeing as he strained against the spells around him.

“Now comes the ugly part,” Severus said. As quickly as he could without harming Harry,
Severus removed the tube from his throat. Harry’s stomach clenched again with the need to
vomit. Severus tipped him to the side once more as the last of the tube slid out with a sick
sound, followed by another round of vomiting.

Various fluids were everywhere within the bubble. Harry’s uniform was soaked in the fluids
of his sickness, bile, blood, saliva, the charcoal and blood from his stomach permeated the
air. Severus spared a look at himself, seeing that he too was covered in the same amount of
sick as he neglected to put a covering charm.

Time was still of the essence but Harry had stabilized; color returning to his lips and
fingernails. His fever was still high- they weren’t out of the clear yet. Waving his wand over
himself and the boy, he removed the fluids, banishing them.

Severus took the moment to check over Harry’s skull, running his fingers through the locks
of hair to see if there was blood or a head injury. He felt something odd behind his ear,
turning his face to see if Harry had a splinter. Attached to the flesh of his skull, between the
hair follicles, was something thicker. He ran his finger around the part, popping it free.
Between his fingers, was a single black feather.

Severus pocketed the feather.

“The worst seems to have passed.” He looked through the translucent shield. “We need to
alert his parents. I believe Harry’s father is more skilled than I at this point.” Severus wasn’t
pleased with Harry’s vital signs.

“What did you do to Harry?” Minerva asked. Severus pulled a sheet of parchment, scribbling
over the notes he made as well as a dire plea to help. He pulled one of the buttons off his
jacket, spelling a portkey. He handed the button over to Albus to complete so they could
arrive inside Hogwarts.

“I pumped his stomach,” Severus said. “He probably absorbed some of the poison. His father,
as a doctor, is more qualified than I.”

“What about Saint Mungo’s?” Dumbledore said, handing the button back. Severus sealed the
button to the letter. There was a fireplace with a connected floo network in case students
needed to be moved to a different medical unit. Severus threw powder into the fire, watching
the flames erupt in a glow of green. He threw the envelope into the fire after shouting for its
delivery to Potter’s Guardians.
“No,” he finally said, pacing in front of the fireplace. “If he is moved to Mungo’s they will
use a magical solution on him. There is no telling what it may do to Harry’s body.”

Severus looked down at his watch, to the fireplace, summoning Harry’s guardians with his
eyes. He paced back and forth, his attention straying to Harry when the boy would moan. His
vitals remained stable but it wouldn’t be long before the effect of the fever took over and he
would be unable to do anything more.

The fire changed color first, cracking reds and glowing yellow embers erupted in a green
hue.

Two men stepped from the flames, moving in complete synchronization with one another.
The taller blond wore a three piece muggle suit, carrying himself with an air of confidence
even as his eyes landed on his child on the bed. The other had curly hair, a beard that
screamed American, kept in step with his husband.

“I pumped his stomach with a charcoal solution before I got you.” Severus said, entering the
bubble the other two were in. Severus figured the one taking off his jacket, calmly reaching
into his own medical bag was Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Minerva, Albus and Madam
Pomphery backed away as he expanded the circle.

The other man, Mr. William Graham, hovered over Harry by his face, wand extended with a
light Lumos checking the dilation of his eyes. Severus watched as the two men cast spells
silently over Harry, more monitor numbers hanging above his bed frame.

Severus observed Dr. Lecter strip open a sanitary needle. A band snapped around Harry’s
upper arm, his vein bulging for the doctor to slip in. Mr. Graham moved to the bag that his
husband offered.

“He’s hydrating,” Dr. Lecter said to them. A slew of spells ran over Harry’s head, light
entering his body as the doctor worked on his son. Mr. Graham sliced his son’s finger,
collecting two vials of blood, then sealed the wound.

Severus found himself looking at Albus and Minerva, watching their reaction to the new
fathers’ of Harry Potter. He felt hopeless, even as he aided Harry. The most powerful wizard
of all time was now hopeless to watch the two men try and revive their son. Though Albus
believed that the two saved Harry from the murderer, Severus knew they were responsible for
the death of Petunia and her husband. This scene before them, parents rushing to desperately
save their son, would erase whatever inclinations of thinking they were the murderers.

“His fever is breaking,” Severus said, watching with a sigh of relief as his temperature
dropped back to high double-digits.

“His vitals are climbing to a steady rate,” Mr. Graham said, his hands shaking now that the
task was done. The group seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when Harry deflated
on the bed, head lolling to the side without any indication of distress.

“I’ve been rude,” Severus said, extending his hand to the two killers. He reached his bare arm
to the doctor first, introducing himself.
“Hannibal Lecter,” the taller of the two introduced, only a glance at the brand against his pale
flesh. The other shook his hand without fear as well.

“Will Graham.”

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, a sincere look in his eyes, “for saving our son.”

Severus could only nod his head, looking at the boy in the bed. Minerva moved from behind
them, transfiguring two chairs so they could sit near their son. Will took the offered chair,
Hannibal had to be guided to sit in it by Minerva.

“Sit down, dear,” she said in a hushed tone, patting his shoulder once he listened.
Dumbledore walked closer to the door, giving Harry and his family one last look.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must see what found Harry and did this.” He did not wait
for a reply, walking briskly out of the room, the door left ajar at the seams. Minerva looked
back at the door, up to Severus. He knew that she would need to return to the Gryffindors,
then begin a patrol on the inside of the school grounds.

“I have students to check on,” Minerva said to the three, nodding to Severus. “I hope the next
time we meet is under better circumstances.”

“Many thanks,” Hannibal said from the chair, only sparing her a glance. Madam Pomphery
had already gone off to check her supplies, away from Harry, his family and Severus.

“You’re not human,” Will said from his chair, rubbing a hand down the length of his face.
“And you knew Harry wasn’t human either.”

“Your observation may have saved his life,” Hannibal added, swirling his wand around to
cast a silencing spell. Severus took his outer cloak from where it landed on the floor, spelling
the various scents off it until it smelled of fresh laundry. He slipped it on, clipping the buttons
over his wrists to hide his mark.

With his coat on, Severus reached into the pocket and removed the feather that was attached
to Harry’s head. Both of his parent’s stiffened- proving his theory that they were aware of the
ailment that caused his nightly shivering.

“When I was checking him for head injuries,” he began, spinning the feather over the boy in
question, “this was attached to his head like a strand of hair.” He extended the feather, Will
reached for it. Severus could feel the feather move closer to Will’s fingers before he released
it.

“You are no doubt curious,” Hannibal said, relaxed in the chair Minerva made for him.
Severus shrugged his shoulders, unsure how to approach the topic. Creature inheritance was a
commonly guarded secret.

“Vampire,” Severus offered his own creature status, while not entirely correct, it was
generally right. He had human blood coursing through him, much of it his own. The
transformation was only partial.
“Ravenstag,” Will offered quietly.

Severus inhaled slowly through his nose, stilling his beating heart.

“Not as extinct as one would believe.” It was the only response he could offer in light of the
news. The symptoms that followed Harry matched with the status he carried.

“You can smell the human on us,” Will stated, leaning forward on his chair.

“It’s not as if I have any moral hangups regarding feeding on humans,” he said, finally sitting
back on the other bed. “It would be hypocritical.”

“Hypocrisy is unbecoming,” Hannibal said. Severus was going to comment, but stopped as
Harry shifted on the bed. His head tossed from side to side, an arm coming to rub his eyes.
When they opened, they focused on the two men.

“Father, Dad,” Harry acknowledged. Perhaps he sensed Severus by his side, with unnatural
ability, Harry turned to look at him with saucer pupils. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice
hoarse from the vomiting and the tube shoved down his throat.

“What do you remember?” Severus asked. Harry’s head rolled to the side of his shoulder,
hanging heavy.

“Hunting,” he coughed, a look shared between the three. “The unicorn...there was something
drinking its blood. I bit his shoulder.” Harry laughed, his gaze on the ceiling above them. “He
did not taste good.”

Severus fumbled for the vial of fluid that came from Harry’s clothing, the other contained his
blood and bile.

“I don’t imagine he did.”

“You did well, Harry,” Hannibal assured, stroking his son’s brow.

“Go back to sleep,” Will said. “You’ll see us in the morning.”

Severus wasn’t paid enough to argue with the parents of a ravenfawn that Harry had another
week of school to complete before the official start of the Yule holiday. Harry would receive
better monitoring from his parents than he would here. Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of
his head, the last reserves of his energy sapped from him.

“This is a sample of whatever he ate,” Severus said, handing it over to Hannibal. Hannibal
rolled the solution around, lifting it to the light. “I’m sure we will both do our own tests.”

“If it is who we all think it to be,” Hannibal said, looking at Will, “we shall need to create an
inoculation.”

They were all anticipating the day the Dark Lord Voldemort would rise and attempt to
overtake the wizarding world once more. If none of them could bite at the enemy, they were
all vulnerable to attack. Each of them had a natural weapon with their mouth.
 “I’ll see if Beverly can make us one,” Will said to Hannibal. Severus did not know who this
‘Beverly’ was, but the two seemed to understand. He did not ask for clarification.

“Would she take the sample without question?” Hannibal asked.

“She will be up for the challenge.” Will smiled, his grin near feral. “Did Harry tell you what
he was hunting?”

“No,” Severus said. “He went to talk to the grounds keeper, Hagrid, who teaches Care of
Magical Creatures.” Severus whipped his head at the chime of the clock just outside the
doors. Given the late hour, he was sure that some Slytherin’s slipped out of their dorm for a
night stroll.

This night, he would allow them to roam the castle free.

“Can we take him home?” Will said, pointing to the fireplace they came from. Severus
nodded his head, standing up.

“I trust he’s in good care?” Severus asked. The two nodded, the question hardly needed to be
asked. He shook both their hands and walked away from the apex predators.

The silence of the infirmary hung over them, the soft breathing of their fawn reassuring the
adults their child was safe. Will stood up, reaching his hands for Harry’s pockets. There was
something stiff in the right one.

Within was a small deer, sticky with blood and at one point, very much alive and large.

Hannibal figured it out a half second faster than Will.

“William,” he said, his voice a quiet type of anger. “Our son risked his life in an encounter
with the Dark Lord,” he emphasized the words by squeezing Will’s hand hard enough to hurt,
“to help a dog.”

Will chuckled, more out of a lack of a response. The grin he gave his husband was full of
teeth. Will stood up, content to leave Hannibal to tend for their fawn while he hunted the dog
Harry wrote about.

“Let’s not see his efforts go to waste then.”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! Hope that you liked the addition of Draco talking to
Snape- I'm enjoying writing the man as a positive role model for Draco. That is one of
the things that I am adding to this larger version so I'm eager to see what you thought of
the addition.
May you all have good weekends and that the food helps carry you into next week.
 Dog Treats
Chapter Notes

Hello my loyal guests,

Please have another- it is a beautiful day, spend some time outside, eat good food, and
enjoy the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will rubbed the scar on Harry’s head, his locks were crusted with the dried sweat from his
fever. He was in Hannibal’s arms, sleeping peacefully. Hannibal turned to the fireplace,
yellow flames calm within the hearth. Will scooped up a pile of floo powder. He kissed
Hannibal goodbye before throwing it to the flames. They erupted in a green glow and
Hannibal stepped through, vanishing with the embers of green.

It was late, the sounds of the castle echoing through the stone chambers. Will walked around
the castle, following the scent of blood that stained the school grounds. He found himself
looking at the school in awe. The magic that surrounded the building was just as powerful as
the first time he entered- escorted by Albus.

The rancid blood led him to the stairs, walking down the well, he rounded a corner to wait for
a staircase to reset.

“I know where he is,” the voice of Severus said, coming from the shadows. Will turned to
look at the man, two predators in the night that found mutual prey to hunt. The stairs stopped
in front of them. Will held his hand out for Severus to take the lead. The man eyed him with
caution, rightfully so, before moving downward.

Neither Severus nor Will needed to use a lumos charm to light their way, content to walk
briskly in the dark. His change to a Ravenstag improved his night vision for his human eyes;
he suspected Severus’ creature change did the same. What confused Will was the scent of
blood on the man- there was blood within him that was still his own. He retained some of his
humanity with the transformation.

When Severus had his back to the door, wand out, Will’s thoughts sobered.

“There is a Cerberus inside,” Severus said. “He responds well to music.”

Will was delighted. When Harry wrote to him about the dog, he began making plans to puppy
proof the house. Neither Will nor Hannibal had many things laying on the ground of the
house, but he still ran over the house with a fine gaze.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Will reached into his inner jacket pocket where some of
Hannibal’s human jerky was stashed.
“That’s where Harry’s been getting it,” Severus said with his attention to the popped jar,
unlocking the door with a series of charms that a staff member would only know of. Not that
Will would be unable to enter, he could have found a way into the building if involved
tearing it down brick from brick.

Will entered first, a grin on his face to see the massive, three-headed dog sleeping to the tune
of a harp. Will lifted his wand to the dog, walking closer in slow strides in case the beast
woke. The trap door beneath it was wide open, a trail of red blood laced with streaks of black
and silver streaked down below. Waving his wand over the dog, he waited for the netting
around the dog to unravel.

Both Severus and Will observed the massive, menacing dog revert back to his original size-
akin to a puppy freshly weaned off his mother, sleeping peacefully. Will smiled, running his
hand over the middle head. He hid his jerky back in his lapel.

Severus jumped into the pit of vines first, Will followed him, landing in the soft mass. The
vines tried to shift around him, ready to constrict to kill, but Severus brightened the room.
The vines lowered them gently.

“What are you hiding down here?” Will asked, curious why such levels of security were in a
school for children.

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Severus said, making his way to the next trial. “Nicholas Flamel
is an old friend of Dumbledore- asked for it to be placed here.” The two ran to the next door-
following the blood trail.

There were broomsticks next to the door, hovering and waiting for someone to mount them.
Rather than do that, Will scanned the keys floating aimlessly through the air. There was an air
of maliciousness attached to the keys. Will did not touch the broomsticks, feeling that it
would trigger whatever charm was attached to the keys.

Severus spotted the proper key first, casting a strong, non-verbal summoning charm on it.
Will cast a protective shield around the two of them against the barrage of keys that swarmed
them. Severus pulled the key to his hand, walking within the bubble that Will cast to the door.
Severus opened the door just enough for him to slip through with Will’s shield.

When Will closed the door, he found himself standing amongst the remains of a wizards
chess game picking itself up. Giant marble statues laid shattered to pieces across the floor.

“Minerva has truly outdone herself,” Severus said as the two walked alongside the wall. Will
dodged the fallen Black Queen’s sword from where she was sitting on her side of the chess
board. Severus, with the aid of his vampire abilities, raced to the other side of the game board
before any piece could swing at him.

On the other side of the board game, Severus clutched his arm, hissing in pain. Will stopped,
looking down at his clothed arm, knowing that the magical tattoo beneath that caused him
agony.
“I cannot help you with this challenge.” His hands were behind his back, standing at attention
once the pain passed. “Nor can I follow you past the flames.” Will nodded his head, making
his way to the table with the bottles. They were different sizes and shapes, some of them
tinted to hide their natural color.

Will read through the riddle, impressed with Severus’ ability to make a challenge dedicated
to the mind, not the amount of magic as the other challenges were. He read through it twice,
eliminating two of the possible potions. With three remaining, he felt he had a good idea
which bottle to drink.

Will downed the potion, feeling as if his skin was coated with a protective lacquer. When he
looked at Severus, the man nodded to him once, his wand in his hand.

“I cannot move against the Dark Lord now,” he said. “If I am needed as a spy again…”

“I understand,” Will said. He did; Will knew what it was like to work for a man that would
take and take and take from you until you were nothing more than the bones kept within
flesh. He could empathize with Severus’ pain without the need for the pendulum to swing.

Will walked alone, following the trail of blood.

The scent of acidic blood was around every challenge, it only grew stronger as Will
approached the final challenge. It was a large room with staircases leading to a single mirror.
A man with black and silver blood was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his body leaning
against the mirror. He was too weak to lift his arms to defend himself, sitting in his own pool
of blood.

He did not fear the man, the creature, in front of him. He read the gibberish along the mirrors
border, laughing at the simple, yet impossible challenge.

Dumbledore was a smart man- one that knew his enemy well.

“Immortality,” he said, kneeling before the broken man. He reached to unwind the garlic
smelling turban. “Fleeting, isn’t it?” Will was not concerned with the host of the man that the
Dark Lord attached himself too. He looked at the reflection of Voldemort, morphed to the
back of his loyalists head.

“I shall not die,” he whispered.

“My Lord is immortal,” the broken professor whispered, bruised eyes, labored breathing.
Will was proud of his son. The arm of the host had a bite mark on it, teeth sunk into the
sinew, bone crushed. The host was dying, his body crumpled by Harry’s hooves. Will
hummed, content with his inspection.

“And yet, here you are, having your servant drinking the blood of a unicorn as you search for
the Philosopher's Stone.” Will gave a laugh without humor, letting his words lace with
cruelty. On the professors chest were tears in his clothing at the chest, he was weak from
blood loss and magical exhaustion.
“I can make you immortal,” Voldemort whispered to him, their eyes connected through the
reflection of glass. Will could see the lacerations that Harry’s white fawn feathers left behind
on the host. At one point, the creature must have attempted to grab his fawn around the
barrel. The feathers pierced the host’s flesh in a pattern that reminded Will of shooting
Garrett Jacob Hobbes.

Will stood with a hearty belly laugh. Will took two steps back from the disgusting, mangled
mess of wizards.

“You can’t even keep yourself alive,” Will chuckled, walking backwards slowly. The feral
nature of his movements was like he was on a hunt with his mate.

“What are you doing?” the Dark Lord asked. His host was dead, limply slumped against the
mirror with glazed eyes.

See? the voice of Hobbs echoed through his head. Will shook the thought out of his mind,
refusing to muddle the image before him. Will looked at his reflection, feeling the magical
pull of the spells around the looking glass. He raised his wand to the image of his desire
before it could manifest, shattering the glass. The shards cut through the Dark Lord’s host-
making him scream as the morphed face slowly vanished.

Satisfied, Will whistled a tune to himself as he turned from the outline of the mirror and false
promise of immortality. Halfway up the stairs, something thumped him in the back that
caused him to turn.

Sitting innocently on the stair beneath him, was a rock that held the colors of fire. He huffed
a laugh, picking up the red stone.

“Let’s return you home,” Will said, pocketing the stone.

He walked out of the room. The flames died down, seeming to stop with the reclaiming of the
stone. Severus stood on the other side, his scent anxious, visibly calming when he saw Will.

“It’s done,” he said. Severus didn’t ask questions, only nodding his head.

The walk out of the challenges was easier, the magic calm without the need to protect the
stone. The chess pieces were standing in a line and made no move to strike either wizard.

Regardless, they both kept their guards up.

The keys hung in random, fixed places in the air. The two made their ways to the vines. A
simple tug of one had them retracting, forming a leaning staircase for them to climb out of
the trap door. Will carefully picked up the sleeping puppy, removing the collar from his neck.
He smiled at Severus as he hid the puppy in the crux of his arm, poorly obscured by the outer
jacket he wore.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see this,” Severus said to Will.

“Plausible deniability,” Will replied. Severus led him back to the infirmary, the moon hanging
high over the sky. The halls were dark and quiet, even the portraits were fast asleep in their
frames. Severus held the door open for Will to pass through.

“Thank you,” the professor said, extending his hand to Will. Will reached out to take it,
shaking it once.

“You should join my family for a Yule meal,” Will replied. Severus stiffened, the shock of his
offer evident in the widening of his dark eyes.

The wizarding tradition of Yule was a powerful one. If Severus was a follower of the Dark
Lord turned spy, then he knew of the significance of the Yuletide. A time when darker magics
took their root and grew with subtle tendrils. It was a time for families to reinvigorate their
magic. Will never celebrated the Yule traditions of wizarding kind, taking the Christmas
traditions with the rest of his Americans.

Hannibal hadn’t had anyone to celebrate with since his family died. The two found an echo of
comfort with their no-maj companions. Now the two had a family- they owed him a debt.

It would be the first Yule Will would ever have- to celebrate it with a new family and a
creature inheritance was bound to be interesting.

Severus saved Harry’s life, it was only fair that he be involved for the celebration.

“I would be honored,” Severus said, one hand over his waist as he gave a cut bow. Will was
thrown off by the movement- there weren’t many uptight purebloods in the bayou of
Louisiana that required him to learn the traditions or mannerisms. Nevertheless, Will returned
the gesture, feeling a little awkward.

“I’ll send you an owl,” Will said. Severus stepped away from Will as he grabbed a handful of
floo powder. He tossed it into the flames, green embers crackling. He shouted his home
address, then stepped through the heat.

Will walked out of the hearth, the soot falling to the ground. The dogs walked around him,
wagging their tails. Their excitement only picked up at the scent of a puppy. Winston was the
most excited, play-bowing for the little three-headed dog. Will figured the canines had grown
used to strange beasts and creatures.

He put the puppy in one of the cages, a simple blanket wrapped around the creature. Winton
whined from the other side of the cage, wrapping his body around the bars.

“Let everyone get used to him a little,” Will said, rubbing Winston’s head. He cleaned the
soot off the ground as he made his way up the stairs to Harry’s room where Hannibal was
sitting in a chair next to Harry’s bed, their hands twined.

“Is he dead?” Hannibal didn’t need to ask, yet hearing the words eased both their nerves.

“Yes,” Will said, sitting on the other side of Harry’s bed. “His host, rather.” Will brushed
Harry’s hair back. In the time that Will went through the trails of Hogwarts, he must have
bathed Harry. Their son was no longer wearing his school uniform, instead his pajamas.
“It seems we will need to have a talk about what is not safe to consume,” Hannibal
commented. “I would have thought the Dark Lord to be fairly obvious.”

“Says the man who solves his problems by eating them,” Will said, playfully coming to
Harry’s defense. Will moved to Hannibal, taking his hands to make the man rise. “He’s right
here,” he said.

The two gravitated to the bedroom, undressing in slow movements- contrasted to the frantic
running of their first encounter with the Dark Lord. The possibility, probability was always
there; to encounter it- made it foolishly real.

Harry slept off the effects of several potions and muggle injections for the three days he
should have attended school. Will told Hannibal that he invited Severus for a Yule meal,
which made the man excited to hunt for a fellow man-eater, as Harry dubbed them all.

Will watched over Harry as Hannibal went on a solo hunt for their Yule meal. As he was out,
Harry’s fever broke. Will was glad that Hannibal was out hunting, for if he was, he would
have to bear witness to Harry’s frantic enquiry of Fluffy. Will hushed his son with a fond
smile, pushing him back down onto his bed.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Will said, picking up a small three headed Cerberus off the ground
with a green ribbon magically wrapped around each neck. The puppies tried to each pull off
the other’s ribbon. Once Harry scooped them up, he burst into a fit of laughter, allowing the
dog to kiss his face.

Hannibal arrived to the scene of Harry sitting in the living room by the fire, with Will, both
on the floor, taking the time to introduce the unnamed puppy to the pack. He smiled, walking
to the kitchen to put the packets of neatly wrapped meat away before making his way to the
hearth.

“Please don’t do that ever again, fawn,” Hannibal said, taking Harry into his arms, hugging
him almost as tight as Nagini.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fear of the situation seeming to bleed through as a single tear fell
from his eyes.

“There was no way you could have known,” Hannibal amended.

“You’re safe now, Harry,” Will said, moving to embrace Hannibal, feeling as if his words
were more for Hannibal himself rather than Harry as they were intended for. “We are going to
work on something, along with Professor Snape.”

They would all need something to prevent being poisoned by the Dark Lord’s blood. After
all, they planned to tear him apart.

“Let us eat,” Hannibal said, standing up from the couch. The Cerberus trotted after Hannibal,
following him into the kitchen with the others. “We still need to hunt for a Yule Log.”
By Hannibal’s standards, dinner was a simple matter. It was late in the evening, and though
Harry was tired, he could always find a bound of energy to shift into his fawn form and
explore the territory in search of Yule log. Harry’s pelt kept him warm, his legs long enough
to break through the snow without needing help.

After finding their Yule Log, the herd walked back to the house to prepare the hearth. Will
taught Harry how to build a fire without magic as they laid the log atop the mountain of
kindling. He warmed the floo, laughing through grit teeth at Harry’s retelling of sliding down
the chimney in the Verger Estate.

As per the tradition, the family gathered before the hearth- keeping guard over the flames.
This was the first Yule they would celebrate together, a rekindling of the dark magic of their
heritage.

“What should we name the Cerberus?” Harry asked, taking a sip of the hot chocolate his
father made for him. Will smiled at Harry, his hands occupied with the puppy.

“Will and I are at odds with each other,” Hannibal commented.

“Why don’t you flip a coin?” Harry suggested. Will shrugged his shoulders at his son’s
proposal. Hannibal shifted in the couch, reaching into his pocket. There was a single dime
within his pocket. Will called heads, of course he did.

The coin landed, rattling around in a circle.

“Hercules it is,” Will grinned, lifting the dog to his face, receiving a mountain of kisses. He
put the puppy down, lifting a wand to wrap a collar around each head, Hercules etched in the
middle. The puppy pranced around the room, an air of pride around Hercules as he showed
off his collar to the other dogs.

Harry was wedged between his dad and father, slowly drifting off to sleep with the warmth of
the fire and the comfort of his parents.

A meledonic cry came from outside, carrying within the house. The flames responded within
the fireplace, embers blazing. Will stood up, his wand in his hand as Harry curled closer to
Hannibal, more concerned with falling asleep with his parents than whatever was outside.

Will returned to the living room with a package in his hand, wrapped with simple twine.

“Fawkes,” he said, sitting back next to Harry. “It’s for you.” Will offered Harry the wrapped
parcel. He took it carefully, lifting the letter. Harry pulled the thread holding the knot
together, unwavering the paper packaging.

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it
well.

A very Merry Christmas to you.

“Woah,” Harry said, lifting the sheer fabric up. The fabric had a water like sheen that flowed
with Harry’s fingers.
“Harry,” Will said, his own hand touching the cloak. Hannibal did the same, both of them
sharing thoughts of the impossibility. “Do you know what this is?”

“No,” he said, standing up. He raised his arms, throwing the cloak around his body without
prompting. Hannibal and Will both watched as Harry’s body seamlessly vanished from view,
a head floating around.

“It’s the invisibility cloak,” Will said.

“The third Hallow,” Hannibal added, walking around Harry. He could see no mirage or break
in the cloak as other knockoffs had. He paused his inspection. He took the cloak from Harry,
lifting it a bit until it covered his entire body.

Though Harry was obscured from sight, he could still hear his fawn giggling from under the
cloak. Hannibal had one other test though. He inhaled the scent of the room, dragging in the
scent of his mate, the burning embers of the Yule log, the dogs.

He could not smell his son.

The two collected their son, folding the cloak so it could rest in their laps.

“This, Harry, is one of the three Deathly Hallows,” Hannibal said. “Like the Ravenstag of
myth, this cloak is fabled to fool death.”

“If there is this one, there are the other two.” Will inspected the nonexistent threading, the
texture falling like water over his hand. “The first is a wand said to give the caster immense
power. The second is a stone that allows you to talk to those who’ve died.”

“And like any myth where the mortals encounter the embodiment of death, the mortal always
has consequences with abusing Death’s power or gifts.”

“Just as you are a fawn, you must protect this object.” Will passed the cloak over to Harry.
He looked at it hesitantly.

“You’ll let me keep it?” Harry asked.

“If you promise to be responsible with the power it carries,” Hannibal reminded Harry.

There was the weight of Harry’s legacy that he would always carry with him. The invisibility
cloak served as a reminder of his challenge with death, overcoming it, transforming with the
Ravenstag inheritance.

Severus landed at the apparition point of the Ravenstag residence. He could feel the charms
around the territory, obscuring and protecting their land. A mist hung around his feet,
evidence of the wards trying to push his mind away.

He did not have to stay long; a small tear in the shield popped from within, the outside
hanging like curtains. Severus entered the territory to see Will standing there in the snow with
nothing more than a plaid outer jacket.

“Hello,” he said, waving his arm to his territory. Severus bowed from where he stood,
fascinated that the snow remained on the ground within the wards while it melted outside. It
would explain the mist that hung around his shoes.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Severus said. In his hand was a very nice bottle of Scotch- a
gift of thanks and an extension to be friendly.

It was not a far walk from the ward point to the house. The meadow was frozen with the
snow, leaving behind their tracks. Severus saw that, to his left, there were the tracks of a
cloven hoofed creature. There was a little house in the middle of the meadow, lights on in the
lower level with a blanket of snow over the rooftop. The chimney continually puffed out the
smoke of their burning Yule log.

Severus could smell the human once he saw the house. The scent was faint and could be
mistaken for the scent of a living human. He walked carefully, scanning over the woods and
the meadow of the forest.

“You won’t be hurt,” Will said with a smile. “It would be terribly rude,” he added as his smile
went from inviting to feral.

Will held the door open for Severus to walk through. With steady movements, he entered the
den of the Ravenstag.

Rather than met with blood, knives or murder, he was greeted by a pack of dogs, each
wagging their tails to introduce themselves to him. Another dog but it’s heads through the
others, nibbling with sharp teeth at Severus’ fingers.

“Fluffy,” Severus said with a stern tone, getting the dog to release his fingers.

“Hello, sir,” Harry said, rounding the corner from the kitchen. He reached down and picked
up the three-headed dog with the same type of courage that his biological father had. “His
name is Hercules now,” he laughed through the dog kissing his face.

“Mr. Potter,” he greeted. “A better name for the Cerberus.” Severus stood taller when
Hannibal Lecter entered the room.

“Thank you for joining my family this Yule,” Hannibal said, extending his hand. Severus
shook it with a firm grasp.

“I am honored to be invited this season,” he replied. Severus was a half-blood and though he
came from a disgraced pureblood line, while his mother was healthy, taught Severus the
traditions of a pureblood wizard. To be invited while magic was at its darkest, by a creature
that thrived in the darkness of it’s pelt, was a high honor.

Severus had saved the scotch for a special occasion. He would never open the bottle for just
himself, nor were there any people that he’d be willing to share it with. In truth, the bottle
served as a reminder of Severus’ loneliness- that he had no one or no occasion to open such a
bottle.

Giving it away served several uses.

Hannibal hummed as he looked over the bottle on the outside, finger passing over the
printing. Severus removed the dust from it with a charm, then wiped it down with a damp
cloth before arriving. He thanked the vampire and showed them to the dining room.

The table was neatly set: a dark blue table runner complemented the brown table. Silverware
was expreatly placed for the meal that would be served. There were three wine glasses at the
table, one missing- Harry’s seat.

Copper scented blood was thickest here.

The dogs hovered around the table, Hercules under the table legs. Will whistled for the dogs,
pointing to the living room. The adult dogs wandered off towards the fireplace. Hercules
stayed under the table, trotting around. Will, about to duck under to extract the puppy,
watched with a fond expression as Winton came back into the room, grabbed one of the
heads by the scruff to take it to the fire where he was quickly cuddled close to the brindle
dog.

“Please be seated,” Hannibal said with a smile. Harry walked to his chair and sat down, Will
and Hannibal both seated at the heads of the table. Severus could smell the blood of the meat
as Hannibal approached, four plates balanced on his arms without any spells to keep them
safe. He expertly served Harry the plate with the smallest portion, Severus next, then Will
and finally himself.

In an unfamiliar situation, Severus wasn’t sure if there would be rituals before the meal- he
waited for the family to dig in before lifting his cutlery.

“Have you ever dined on human flesh, Severus?” Hannibal asked, no taboo within his tone.
Severus still felt the need to look around the table. He saw that Harry was cutting the flat
steak on his plate, completely at ease with the conversation. When he looked at Will, the man
bit down on his seared meat.

“Only when it comes to feeding,” Severus said, making his first cut. He noticed that the meat
was cooked rare. Rarer, perhaps, than most people would eat it, but the company might allow
for a rarer slice of meat.

Severus was practically salivating at the scent. He rarely fed: the human within him finding
complete repulsion with the act while the primal part of him relished in the experience. He
could feel his venom pricking to the surface of his fangs.

“It’s delicious. Thank you,” he said.

Severus hoped that his body wouldn’t do something as embarrassingly rude as his stomach
growl or he salivate to the point of drooling.
His body craved the nourishment that the family provided on the plate. Innocently white
plates were decorated in red blood that welled from the fork tines. Dinner wasn’t quiet,
Hannibal asked how Severus gained knowledge of the muggle world.

“After the war,” he began, treading on carefully cracked ice of his own mind, “I found myself
in the company of a vampire.” It was a dark time in his life, the pun unintended. He was a
spy that was only recently exonerated by Dumbledore. “I was a food source; in exchange for
my blood, he taught me the skills he learned in the muggle world.”

“Was he a young vampire?” Hannibal asked, no doubt wondering if that was the reason for
Severus’ condition given that younger vampires had poor impulse control. Severus prided
himself on controlling all his desires, before and after his partial transformation. It was rare
that he had a lapse of control.

“Vampires tend to find positions as healers or doctors attractive due to the power they hold
over another,” Will said. Before Severus could answer, Harry smiled brightly.

“Like serial killers,” he said with excitement in his tone, looking directly at Hannibal. Will
laughed at his son, a fond expression given to Hannibal. The man did not look angry at his
son, a painful smile, ousted, but a smile nonetheless.

Deciding to save his host, Severus spoke:

“He was an older vampire, actually. One that grew bored with the magical world.”

“Well,” Will said, “I am glad that you were able to save Harry.”

“I didn’t know that would happen,” Harry muttered, his shoulders deflating with eyes on the
plate. Will leaned over to pat Harry on the shoulder.

“We know,” he said to his son. “We have Beverly working on an inoculation.”

“Beverly?” Severus asked, his brow turned up. “I will confess, I am having trouble finding a
solution to create a vaccine.”

“She is skilled in her work,” was all that Will had to say.

“Perhaps, you two can pool your resources,” Hannibal added. Rather than accept the vague
invitation to speak to this Beverly, Severus opened the conversation to how the magical world
and muggle world differed with their medical practices. They continued to converse until the
meal had ended. Hannibal took their dishes, Will invited Severus into the living room where
they would open the scotch.

As he was looking for a place to sit that would not mess with the natural dynamic of the
house, he saw movement from the muggle radiator. Harry walked near the radiator,
prompting the snake to move.

Severus recognized the blue pattern immediately. The netting of scales slithered out from
under the warmth of the radiator, towards Harry.
He moved before he thought of it, rushing forward with inhuman speed, Severus grabbed
Harry around his waist and pulled him back closer towards his parents with his wand pointed
at the large serpent.

Completely unaffected by the situation, Harry was laughing from where he dangled in
Severus’ hold.

“She won’t harm you,” Hannibal said, standing where Harry only just was, within striking
distance of the serpent.

“That is the familiar of the Dark Lord.” Though his host was in front of the snake, he did not
waver his stance with either his wand or grip on Harry.

“We know,” Will said, sitting calmly on the couch with his glass of scotch. Harry wiggled in
his arms, Severus put him down slowly, keeping one eye on the snake as Harry walked to
Will’s side. Hannibal stepped closer to him, the snake trailing behind him, tense as he was.

A hissing sound from behind him had his eyes widen.

“You speak Parseltongue,” Severus said, looking from Harry, who had his palms open the
same way that he did for little Hercules, to the snake that was moving closer to the hearth.

“It is more complicated than that,” Hannibal said, taking a seat next to Harry, effectively
protecting him from both sides. Will flicked his fingers towards the fire, reinvigorating the
hearth’s flames without the use of a wand. Severus observed the snake move her massive
body until she stopped to coil up on the warm stones.

“What do you mean by complicated?” Severus asked, taking the offered chair. Even as he sat
within its comfort, he could not relax with the Dark Lord’s familiar so close.

“The Dark Lord is neither dead nor alive due to his creation of horcruxes,” Hannibal said.
Severus looked at the snake.

“Nagini is one of them. We can smell the soul fragment within her that keeps him alive as his
body dies.”

“Harry has the ability to speak Parseltongue because the Dark Lord unintentionally ripped
another piece off the night he killed Harry’s biological parents.”

Severus nodded his head, processing the information. If Nagini was a horcrux, the only way
to kill her and it, would be a magically powerful object: the Sword of Gryffindor, a horn of a
unicorn, basilisk venom...all dangerous for a child to consume.

“Can it,” Severus lost the words in his mouth, a hand coming up to rub between his brow.
“Can it be removed without it killing you?” He asked Harry. Harry gave Severus a tired
smile, his head bouncing between Will and Hannibal as sleep began to take hold of him. An
identical grin was plastered on the faces of both Hannibal and Will. They looked between
each other, relishing in whatever victory Severus provided.
“Fortunately, there is.” Hannibal smiled, a satisfied look on his face. “Harry’s scar hurts him
when he is in proximity to the Dark Lord.”

“We believe the pain is being caused because the horcruxes are trying to find an
equilibrium,” Will added.

“When do you think it will be safe to extract the horcrux?” Severus asked. “Your magical
core still needs to grow- it could serve as a leech if it festers.”

“We believe the best treatment plan would be to scry for additional shards during his third
year, give Harry some time to heal, then remove it during the fifth.”

Severus looked at Nagini, still not trusting her. He had seen her jaws widen and eat a man
whole as he screamed in pain, the venom melting the soft tissues of his organs him from
within. Removing the horcrux from her was a task he did not envy.

“The Dark Lord will not wait,” Severus said in the silence that hung over them. He looked at
Harry. The first-year had nodded off during their conversation, his head resting on Will’s
chest.

“He won’t,” Will agreed.

“We only need to delay the inevitable. Until then, we will prepare as best we can.”

Severus observed Hannibal fondly run his finger through some of Harry’s locks. The two
adults shared a look before Hannibal moved to pick Harry up. The boy wrapped tired arms
around Hannibal’s neck as he moved to walk up the stairs.

Sensing the inevitable end of their evening, Severus stood up from the chair, his eyes still on
Nagini. Hannibal returned to the two.

“Come,” he said, “I shall walk you to the ward point.”

“Thank you,” Will said, a firm handshake exchanged between the two.

Once Hannibal was outside in the snow, he shifted seamlessly into his pelt. Severus took an
instinctual step back at the size of the creature- standing near two meters if he counted the
crown, the creature with black feathers had the pelt of a raven and antlers of an elk.

The beast let out a great exhale, holding his head proudly as he walked with an elegant pace.
Severus followed as Hannibal led them to the wards, walking the same trail he came. When
he came upon the ground with mist, he knew that he was close. Hannibal walked forward,
dipping his antlers along the point to pull back the opaque curtain.

“Thank you for inviting me to your house during this Yule celebration,” he said, bowing at
the waist. The ravenstag’s feathers puffed up. Hannibal extended one hoof outward and
bowed. When he rose, Severus walked forward to the ward tear. The creature said nothing as
the curtain closed, and with it, the image of the snow covered land.
 It was when Severus crawled into his bed, the fire embers warm enough to heat his room, that
he realized: the meal fed him. The aches in his body had all but disappeared, the need to have
the room sauna like, no longer.

Severus’ hunger had been satisfied.

Chapter End Notes

I enjoyed expanding Will and Severus teaming up to face the Dark Lord, even if the
half-vampire did stay behind. I feel that for as much as Hannibal and Severus share
medical knowledge, Will can empathize with working for a person that drags you
through the mud.
Will being proud of his baby fawn for protecting a unicorn, using his fawn feathers
against Quirrellmort, then taking Fluffy only to have Winston being a good dad to
puppy!Fluffy
Dinner with Severus was my fave to write, simply because of Harry calling out
Hannibal at the dinner table as a serial killer. Also- laced with foreshadowing...
 Spots
Chapter Notes

Hello guests,

Its been a long week but I made it, and you shall too. May this keep you going towards
your goals. It is with you that I can write this story. You feed me with your comments
and I thank you.

Please enjoy this meal.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Draco and Harry returned to school after the Yule break, they were both excited to see
that Severus and McGonagall had split teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts class after the
death of Quirrell. Dumbledore explained to the students that he had found his sudden calling
as a curse breaker for objects meant to transfix people.

It was as close to the truth as Dumbledore was willing to tell the students.

During the Yule break, Draco annoyed his godfather enough to learn the truth of Quirrell's
death.

Harry explained to Draco what happened to him- that he went into the forest with Hagrid to
help him search for unicorns and had got hit with a curse that muddled his innards. Draco
was relieved that his godfather was able to save Harry. He expressed his relief by punching
Harry in the shoulder and telling him that what he did was stupid as he hugged him.

Yet, as the year drifted closer and closer to a close, Draco knew that meant returning home to
his father. Lucius was out working most of the time. He had a habit of leaving as Draco
would wake and return home as Draco was getting ready for bed. He had his mother that he
latched onto without his father there.

His mother was loving when Lucius was gone, willing to dote on him with afternoon tea or a
dinner in the veranda.

Draco was excited to see his Mother.

He was not looking forward to the loneliness that his father would leave behind- regardless of
if he was in the Manor or not.

Draco was glad he had his godfather. He knew that his mother enjoyed speaking to her other
Lady friends, and that he was too old to now be a part of the conversations. During those
times, he would enjoy staying with Severus- learning a new potions trick or helping him
categorize ingredients.

Hogwarts was a warm place for Draco- without the looming and cold mist of his father’s
trail, he could explore things that interested him rather than the good of the Malfoy name.
Though, his father never passed an opportunity to remind him of the weight that came with
his legacy.

Which brought Draco to his godfather’s private quarters door. He had trouble falling asleep,
his thoughts churning in his head as Harry slept in the bed next to him. He threw off the
covers in a frustrated huff, slipping on his robe for warmth.

“Just come in,” a voice said through the wood as if it came from beside him. The door
cracked open enough that he could slip through. Draco winced as he entered, even invited, he
felt as if he were intruding.

Severus was sitting on his couch, a book hovering by his face with a mug of tea in the other
hand. Draco walked to his godfather and sat next to him on the couch, pulling the blanket
over his lap.

“Make yourself at home,” Severus said.

“I will,” Draco retorted, burrowing deeper into the warmth by the fire.

“What keeps you up, Draco?” Severus asked, a page flipping on his book. Draco shrugged
his shoulders, reading the words within the Herbology book, noting the underlined sections
with notes scribbled into the sides. Severus flicked his wand towards the little kitchen he had
within the quarters. A tea cup and some chamomile flowers filtered over to his hands.

“I want to be your potions apprentice this summer.”

“You’re still a bit young for that,” Severus responded. Draco huffed, tired of hearing the
answer again.

“You said that I could help during Yule break!” Draco said, crossing his hands over his
elbows, sitting up to look at his godfather. His godfather looked at Draco with a raised
eyebrow that would make any Gryffindor cower only Draco had received this look for as
long as he could remember.

He liked to think he was gaining some immunity to it.

Severus sighed, reaching to take the hovering book. The spell dropped when it landed in his
hands.

“If I gave you an apprenticeship,” he began, “you would be bored to tears in my classes.”

“Please, Severus, I want to help this summer!” Draco clutched onto his godfather’s nightshirt.
Severus rolled his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. He pulled for Draco with speed faster than
he could see until he was trapped in his godfather’s embrace.
The man was colder than his mother’s skin. It was not unbearably cold, more like his entire
body felt like the tips of Harry’s cold fingers. Like his godfather’s glare, Draco had grown
used to the cold that came from his partial transformation. In the summer, he loved to sit next
to his godfather on hot days- enjoy the outdoors without the heat.

In truth, Draco had grown used to having an abundance of people to talk freely with. Even
when his mother’s friends brought their own children, they were all required to follow a
certain script with each other. At Hogwarts, children that he’d known for years, had a whole
new side to them he’d never seen. To make matters worse, Draco enjoyed seeing his
godfather everyday. Though he did not have a daily potions class, his Head of House greeted
each student at some point during the day.

“Draco,” Severus whispered. He was silent, neither looking at the other. “I can’t advance
your studies in potions- it wouldn’t be fair to you.” He held up his hand, telling Draco to wait
before interrupting him. “That doesn’t mean I can’t teach you skills that will help you make
potions.”

“Really?” Draco said, sitting up on the couch, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You’re mother will not tolerate me kidnapping you for the entire summer,” Severus said,
tightening his hold on Draco’s torso for a second. “But I do believe she will understand
spending six to eight weeks with me.”

Six to eight weeks with his godfather. Draco was going to negotiate for one day a week,
maybe an evening if Severus would tolerate him enough.

“It will be hard work, and you won’t be able to use magic. I will lock your wand away.”
Severus warned, the tone of his voice solidifying his claim.

“What type of work?” Draco asked, not that he would say no. Severus smirked down at him.

“We will build a garden.”

“A garden?” Draco scoffed. Severus laughed at his expression.

“You would be surprised. The quality of a potion is only as high as the quality of base
ingredients.” He opened the book to a random page, garlic. “I do not have the time to
dedicate myself to building a potioneers garden with a job as a teacher but we can plant
flowers to harvest for potions.” He turned the page: Geranium. “And then I will show you the
difference between store bought ingredients and homegrown ones.”

“We can really do that?” Draco asked. Severus hummed, moving the blanket so it fell more
on the both of them. He flicked his wand to dim the lights in the oil lamps around him, the
majority of the light provided by the fire.

“I will need two weeks to prepare Spinner’s End, you can use the time with your mother. It
will be up to you to negotiate eight weeks of time.”
“I can do that, easy.” Draco yawned, the tightness in his body releasing. He could survive
four week at the Manor with his father’s presence if his mother was there. “Thank you,”
Draco whispered.

“You should get back to bed,” Severus yawned into his hand. “You have your herbology test
tomorrow.”

Draco hummed.

“Five minutes.”

Severus didn’t find himself protesting his sleeping godson’s comfort.

The remainder of the year passed normally for Harry. With McGonagall and Severus splitting
the Defense Class, he learned two different styles of defending himself. With Professor
McGonagall, she took to animating other things to distract a person- moving the floor or
putting chairs in their path. Severus taught a more practical way- almost like dueling. His
spells were more directly in line with the textbook.

Their final exams approached and their workloads grew as they came closer to the final days
of school. Harry and Draco would often climb into the unoccupied third bed in their dorm to
quiz each other on upcoming exam material.

During each final, Harry and Draco made sure to sit as close to the other as possible while
they took their exams.

“I don’t want to look at another book for the next month,” Harry said, pushing open the door
to walk towards the Black Lake. It was a warm spring day that sung the tales of a warmer
summer. After spending two tests cooped up, he was eager to soak in the sun.

“I think I’ll be happy to rest my eyes before spending my summer with Severus,” Draco said,
following Harry closer to the water. He found a nice patch of sun that they could lay in
without the tree's shadows touching them. The two dropped their bags, pillowing their heads
on the soft parts.

Part of Harry longed to sun bathe in his feathered form. He knew that his parents wouldn’t
like if another person knew of their secret. Hannibal and Will both made it clear that their
heritage was a dangerous one. Just as Professor Snape did not tell everyone he was a
vampire, Harry had to use caution telling others about his secret. And while Draco knew their
Head of House was a vampire because he was the man’s godson, Harry was still unsure he
wouldn’t ruin his friendship if he explained his own dietary habits.

It was a guarded secret that weighed on his heart during school.

“You okay, Harry?” Draco asked from the grass next to him, eyes still closed. Harry
hummed, not giving an answer. He listened to the wind blow against the trees and the giant
squid splashing through the warm water as he thought.
Harry heard Draco shift in the grass, rolling over Harry so his arms were propped next to
him. Harry gulped at Draco’s closeness. This was different from the times they were studying
in the bed or occasionally fell asleep next to one another in the common room. They were
alone.

Draco smiled.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard.” His eyes were bright with mirth. Harry rolled his
own at his friend’s teasing tone. “What’s wrong,” Draco groaned, pushing on Harry’s
shoulder as if it would push the answer out of him.

Harry sighed as he turned his head to look back at that castle. He longed to tell Draco his
secret; it was hard, keeping it to himself. Professor Snape knew, of course, but he was an
adult and yet, not his parent.

He could ask questions with his parents about being a ravenfawn or ask to hunt. Here, it was
different. Everything was done in secret: taking his morning supplements during the colder
months, hiding his jars of human jerky. Harry loved Hogwarts- he was finally able to have
friends his own age, study to his heart’s content when he couldn’t with the Dursley’s.

All of that was because of his parents. Harry couldn’t betray their trust. So Harry deflected.

“Just thinking about how I’m going to miss school when I go home.” Draco pulled a face at
Harry’s comment as if he were crazy for wanting to stay.

“You’re going to miss classes and tests? The Gryffindor’s?”

“They’re not all bad,” Harry told Draco. “Neville is good for a Gryffindor.” Draco rolled his
eyes, flopping down in the grass next to Harry with a dramatic huff so his side was pressed
against Harry’s own.

“Yeah,” Draco said after a moment. “I guess you’re right.”

The two fell silent again, watching the white clouds stretch out and congeal like taffy. Harry
spared a quick glance to Draco and found that he looked to be struggling with his own
thoughts now.

“Do you think,” he began. “Do you think we become our parents, Harry?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Like,” Draco gave a dramatic hand motion to the clouds, “What if...what if we’re in
Slytherin because we are evil?”

Harry was the one that propped himself up onto his elbows to look at the blond. Draco was
blushing, eyes averted from Harry as he rambled on.

“What if I’m in Slytherin because, because I am evil?”

“Do you really think that?” Harry asked him. When Draco closed his eyes, lip quivering,
Harry shifted so he could put his hand against the pale boy's cheek and turn it so they were
facing each other. He waited until Draco opened his eyes, a tear sliding along the pale flesh of
his cheek leaving his eyes misty.

“Draco,” Harry said, surprised by the quiet tone of his own voice. “You are not evil.” He
laughed at Draco. “You have Gryffindor friends. You sleep under as many blankets as I do
because we get cold in the night.” Draco shoved Harry’s shoulder when he brought up their
night habits. In a more serious tone, Harry said: “You were worried about me when I was
sick. I don’t think evil people care when their friend’s aren’t feeling well.”

Draco swallowed whatever words he was about to immediately say. His eyes darting as if
unsure of what Harry was saying.

“My father,” he said slowly. He took a deep breath. “My father is a… a-”

“A Death Eater?” Harry asked as if he were talking to Professor Snape. “So?” He waved his
hand in the air. Draco’s mouth dropped at Harry’s nonchalant manner. “Why would I care?”
He asked Draco.

“My father helped the man who...who murdered your parents,” he said, shoving Harry in his
shame. Harry rolled his eyes; Draco was not the only one with killers for parents. It was
another secret that Harry longed to share- if to share his friend's burden while showing him
there was no need for shame.

“We are not our parents, Draco. I mean? I’m in Slytherin. My father’s family was apparently
from a strong line of Gryffindors. It’s not like it matters.” Harry reached to brush the tear that
fell from Draco’s eye, following the same path as the last one. “We’re not defined by our
houses. I bet there are bad Gryffindor’s, Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s with a bunch of good
Slytherin’s.”

Harry let Draco have a moment for his message to sink in. He seemed to relax as he accepted
what Harry said, his back relaxed against the grass.

In that moment, something changed in Harry. He recognized something with the position the
two were in. He was leaning over Draco, the soft breeze combining their scents in a way that
smelled of comradery. Draco’s silver eyes captivated Harry’s own.

“Thank you, Harry,” Draco said, low enough for only the two to hear. Harry swallowed, his
throat oddly dry as the urge to get closer to his friend boiled within him.

Being with older students, Harry had walked into some of them kissing. Looking at it felt
wrong- he didn’t understand why they did it.

For whatever reason, he felt the urge to do that.

He leaned down slowly, eyes tracing each movement for any sign that Draco wasn’t willing
to do the same. Draco gasped as Harry touched his lips to his friends, opening enough to slip
against one another. The sensation was good.
Harry wasn’t sure what he was doing, not an activity taught in any classes, but he knew he
wanted to do it again. When the two parted, their cheeks were flushed with embarrassment,
faces darting away from each other as they shared an awkward laugh.

“Wow,” Harry said dumbly. Draco flopped back onto the grass, one hand over his eyes as if
to hide his blush.

“Bloody Potter,” Draco growled, not looking at Harry. “Maybe we'll try that again
sometime?” He asked through the slit of his fingers.

“I think that’s okay,” Harry said, laying next to his friend as they gazed at the clouds with
dazed expressions.

Hannibal and Will both noticed the immediate change in Harry when he shifted into his other
form. Hannibal was the only one that understood it’s significance.

Harry was taller than he was in December, having grown an inch in both forms while at
Hogwarts. He was growing now that he was consuming the proper amount of calories and
nutrients. His shoulders were beginning to show signs of getting broader, his teeth becoming
sharper in his pelt.

There were more black feathers than in December. As Harry shook out his pelt, no doubt
happy to stretch out his feathers for the first time in five months, a few white ones dropped to
the ground. Hannibal walked to where Harry shook the feathers free, picking them up by the
stalk to avoid slicing into his finger.

Harry was beginning to lose his child-innocence in both the physical and metaphorical sense.
Hannibal was surprised by the amount of feathers within Harry’s pelt when he first
transformed. After witnessing his parents death and his time with the Dursley’s- Hannibal
would have expected him to only have a dusting. As a fawn began to grow they would
naturally learn more of the world- in pleasures and pains.

The spots would drop.

Harry was prancing around Will, play-bowing low in the grass. He scraped the ground and
charged Will, smacking his skull against Will’s own head. Will snorted as he shuffled
forward, nuzzling Harry back up.

It was difficult for Hannibal to scent, different from scenting for the Horcrux within, yet
Harry’s body was changing. Beyond simply going through the awkward stages of puberty-
being so young and finding his mate, Harry would feel the need to be closer to his intended.

Too young to understand the nature of sex, pleasure and mating, his body was simply reacting
to hormones. His scent glands would later morph as he grew. Sexual maturity ran the same
course as humans and Harry would only feel the need to mate when his hormones settled.
 As Hannibal did not find Will in his early years, after he lost all his white feathers in one
night, he ignored the need to find his chosen mate. Now that he had Will he was beyond
happy, complete in a way he didn’t think could exist with another being. A fawn was more
than Hannibal could have asked for and while he was, in no way, a religious man, when a
child would grow within Will, it would be a blessing.

He formed a vial around the feathers much the same way he would around the snowdrops
Harry picked during the winter.

Hannibal smiled as he shifted into his pelt, rearing up to get his fawn’s attention before mock
charging his laughing son.

Chapter End Notes

Am I tired of the negative consequences of toxic masculinity and projecting a better

relationship with the characters...yes, yes I am.

As always, I hope you enjoyed the meal...may it fuel your success as your never ending
support fuels mine. Thank you
 Echoes of a Soul
Chapter Notes

Hello, good evening. I am very tired but here is something for you to eat before bed.
Speaking of beds...
Smut warning
and murder. Harry is getting ready for year two...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry’s school work kept him occupied for the first two weeks of summer. Much to his
parent’s pleasure, he spent the time diligently reading over the assigned material and filling it
out. Once it was completed, he was excited to spend his time outside.

Hannibal and Will both took to refining the hunt, teaching him spells that could remove the
blood from his body as well as the scent from the area. They stressed that he was supposed to
use as little magic as possible. The spells may one day aid him when he was older and
hunting on his own.

Additionally, part of playing outside meant learning how to fight. Though Harry was small,
more designed for running from a threat, he had shown his aggression towards the creature
the Dark Lord became. They would both do him a disservice if they did not teach him to
fight.

Hannibal would hunt for Harry, telling his fawn to run for as long as he could before
Hannibal would hunt him down. Like hide and seek.

It never took long for Hannibal to find Harry. When he would find his son, Harry needed to
fight for as long as he could. His fawn feathers were sharp against Hannibal as Harry would
expand them when he was close, but in his pelt they were ineffective. Harry learned to buck
and rear, told to strike against Hannibal. It wouldn’t take long for Hannibal to pin Harry to
the ground, his teeth resting along Harry’s throat for a moment to show the kill strike, only to
let up and nuzzle his fawn back to standing.

“Your lungs are not used to such running,” Hannibal said as he watched his son shake his
frustration at how quickly he was able to catch Harry. “I have hunted for years longer than
you, young fawn. Do not be discouraged.”

Activities like these took Harry’s mind of the lack of letters he was promised.

In the earlier days of summer, Harry did not mind the lack of letters from his friends. He told
the two about Draco’s stay with Professor Snape, and that he was looking forward to the
letters that Draco would write. Harry would write his own letters and hand them to Hedwig,
watching her go off until she became too small to see in the sky line.
She never returned with any letters.

Privately, Hannibal and Will knew someone or something was stopping Harry’s mail. They
still received the muggle post in their mailbox outside the wards that was next to an ominous
pathway that the occasional teenager group would dare each other to touch. The adults knew
that one way to draw a child out was through isolation- go get him to doubt his friendship and
those he trusted.

The last straw came when an owl dropped off Harry’s school supply list, two weeks before
their fawn was set to go home. Will opened the letter, reading through Harry’s supplies as
their son slept peacefully in his bed.

“I’ve heard of this man,” Will said, holding the papers to Hannibal. “Lockhart.”

“One would think Hogwarts would be able to hire better staff.”

“Staff that aren’t frauds,” Will growled, leaning next to Hannibal to read the numerous books
that the curriculum called to buy.

“Arrogant,” Hannibal said, leaning away just far enough that he could catch his mate’s eyes.

“No Hannibal,” Will said, one hand placed on his chest. “We’ve spoken about this.”

“I only said that he was arrogant,” Hannibal said with a slight uptilt of his lips, his hands held
innocently at his sides as if he’s committed no crimes. Will glared at Hannibal, knowing his
mate and the Ripper well enough to know that arrogance was a punishable crime. “Contrary
to what you may think, my dear William, I have killed in the magical community before.”

Rather than growl at his mate and force Hannibal to stand his ground, Will approached
slowly, twining his arms around Hannibal’s waist to rest his head on the other man’s chest.

“You killed under a different guise. And those you killed weren’t watched by Albus
Dumbledore.”

“May I remind you that it was you who killed the first professor,” Hannibal hummed, the
sound vibrating in his chest. “Odd that this letter came through.”

“Our next move needs to be calculated, Hannibal. Not a statement from the Ripper.”

“We are being watched,” Hannibal growled. Will could not stop Hannibal as he walked out
the door, watching through the window as he shifted into his pelt and cantered into the
darkness of night. Will sighed as he rolled his eyes, walking around the numerous dogs to sit
on the couch.

Will jarred awake when he heard Hannibal’s footsteps on the porch. The sun was beginning
to crest over the hill, sky painted a pinkish red. When he approached Hannibal, he almost
stopped. His mate was covered in grime, his arms scraped and head hanging defeated in the
doorway.
Will walked to Hannibal and took him upstairs. He walked his mate into the bathroom that
shared their room, stripping the man of his shirt without needed words as the bathtub filled
with warm water. All of the dirt that Hannibal accumulated on his hunt through the forest was
now on his body and clothing. Naked, Hannibal practically fell into the tub; the grime and
dried blood on his body changing the color of the water.

Will pulled the medical kit from their cupboard, transfigured a stool for him to sit next to
husband. He tended to Hannibal’s wounds in silence, not noticing the man in the tub gazing
at Will besotted. Will didn’t seem to notice the intimacy until he finished bandaging the
wound and looked up at Hannibal who flinched when he noticed their proximity. Hannibal
never wasted an opportunity to taste Will’s lips.

As much as Will wanted to take it further, the feeling of Hannibal’s hands tugging on the fine
hairs behind his scalp, he could hear Harry waking up in the other room.

“Get some rest,” Will said, his lips brushing against Hannibal’s as he spoke. The man
hummed, tilted his head and claimed Will’s lips again. He hummed into his mate one last
time, savoring the moment before he pulled away from Hannibal. “I’ve got Harry. Rest,” he
ordered, flicking some water on Hannibal’s chest before he stood to retreat.

Hannibal joined them several hours later in the living room, still dressed in his pajamas and
looking exhausted. Harry, when he noticed his father enter the room, stood from where he
was petting Hercules and went to his father to give him a hug.

“You’ll be okay, Harry,” Hannibal said to his son as he sat on the couch. “Whatever is
watching us is certainly illusive.”

“It doesn’t feel malevolent,” Will said, curling closer to his mate as Harry flanked his other
side. “Whatever’s watching us....” Will’s eyes glazed over, falling down to rest on the table.
He blinked. “It feels the need to protect us. Not cause harm.”

Harry looked at both of his parents for answers they could not provide. He looked down at
his hands, playing with his cuticles.

“What if we,” he shook his head.

“If we what, fawn?” Hannibal asked.

“What if we...ask it?” He said, his voice quiet. “If it doesn’t feel like it is going to harm us,
when can’t we ask for its reason?” Their collective silence had Harry blushing, shaking his
head as he looked down.

“We can try that, Harry,” Will said, reaching over to squeeze his son’s hand. Harry perked up,
smiling up at the two adults. Harry looked around the house, noting how the dogs didn’t seem
disturbed by the presence.

“Could you come out?” Harry asked. The three waited, Hannibal tense between his family.
Harry wiggled in his grasp, slipping from it so he could sit on the floor. “We won’t hurt you.”
Hannibal watched Harry’s head whip to the side, as if he felt an echo of magic pulse through
the house. Hannibal noticed Will’s nostrils flare a bit as he tried to find the creature that was
in the house.

“We know you don’t want to hurt us. Do you want to talk to us?”

There was a tense moment of silence where both Hannibal and Will felt their hackles raised
as Harry perked up a bit, turned the other way, then looked.

“Hello,” he said with an innocent smile. Hannibal could have cursed himself for not thinking
of a house elf breaking into his territory. The house elf was hiding behind a table, poorly
cowering as Harry greeted him.

“Harry Potter, sir,” the house elf said with a little bow, walking a bit closer, eyes darting onto
both Hannibal and Will. Hannibal, about to move to strike the creature that breached their
territory, was grabbed by Will, fingernails digging into the flesh of his arm. The message was
clear: for them to let their fawn handle the situation.

Harry waved his hand closer, though the house elf did not step closer, seeming to recognize
the threat that Hannibal and Will possessed.

“What’s your name?” The creature's large eyes began to water, fat crocodile tears, ringing his
hands together.

“For the great Harry Potter to ask the name of a megar house elf,” The creature snuffled,
wiping away tears with the threadbare pillowcase. “It is the greatest honor Dobby has
received.”

“Dobby,” Harry said, crawling a bit closer to the elf since it would not come to him. “Why
have you been watching us?” Dobby froze, looking at the two adults, swallowing a dry
throat.

“Bad things are coming to Hogwarts,” he said, raising his hands and backing away. “Harry
Potter must not return to Hogwarts.”

“What plagues the school?” Hannibal asked, his arm still under the clamp of his mate’s.
Dobby turned sheet white, shaking as his hands wrung his pillowcase.

“Dark things that were once hidden are revealed.” Dobby looked directly at Harry as he
spoke this. “Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts.”

The elf looked up, spine stiff as he was no doubt summoned by the Master or Mistress of his
house. Before he could lunge for the creature to ask what House he belonged to, the creature
raised a hand and snapped himself away.

“That settles it,” Hannibal said, breaking from the hold Will kept on him.

“Hannibal,” Will said, chasing after the man. “We’ve talked about this.”
“That was before we received a warning from a house elf that belongs to a dark magical
household.”

“We cannot kill off all of his defense professors, Hannibal.”

“I have killed men for less than the crime of fraud.”

Will glared at his mate. He put his hand to his face, rubbing down his chin.

“I know,” Will said, walking closer. He knew the judgement of the Ripper intimately well.
Lockhart was already on the man’s meal rotation; it was a matter of when he would collect
now. “What do you think the chances are that Dumbledore will choose as a professor you
over another candidate he may have lined up?”

“He is desperate,” Hannibal explained. “He would want to keep the parents of Harry Potter
close anyway.”

“And if he has a backup teacher ready?” Will took both of Hannibal’s hands into his own,
interlacing the fingers. “We have a son to worry about,” he whispered, voicing his concerns
to his mate. Hannibal’s breath caught in his throat- the thoughts of brutal murder clouded his
mind over the ever present concerns he had for his fawn. He looked over to see Harry looking
down at the place Dobby apparated from.

“They actually wrote to me,” he said, his eyes watery. The two dropped their arguments to
walk to their son. Their fawn was touching the letter slips with reverent fingers. Both
understood Harry’s concern and doubts when his promised letters didn’t arrive yet they could
only offer so much encouragement that, one day, a letter would come.

“Of course they did,” Will said, running a hand through his locks. “They are your friends.”

Harry pulled off the twine that Dobby had kept them wrapped in.

“Why don’t you go to your room to read them, Harry,” Hannibal said. Harry smiled up at his
parents as he ran up the stairs, Hercules following after his excited energy.

The two stood off in the living room, the energy tense. As much as Hannibal desired to hunt,
he was not one of the foolish killers that would jump at the first opportunity to strike.

“Perhaps,” he said, “we can compromise.” Will seemed to relax at his statement. Hannibal
approached Will with a steady stride.

“What do you suggest?” Will asked.

“We have discussed inviting Severus over before the year begins,” Hannibal said. “Perhaps
we invite him and see what he reveals about ‘dark things returning.’” Will stood still for a
few seconds, his eyes running over Hannibal. He nodded his head in a jerky movement.

Will picked up a pen and a piece of paper.

“After we pick up Harry’s supplies.”

“Two days later,” Hannibal said, judging by the look that Will gave him, his mate knew
Hannibal was still holding out on murdering Lockhart. Will finished writing the letter silently
and left the house to find wherever Hedwig had bunkered for the night in the woods.

Hannibal growled when he lifted the list of an exorbitant amount of books he would have to
purchase from a fraud. He was not against professors using their own books in their classes,
though they only tended to pick one for the course material, this was a man that was using his
position in a school to sell his foolish books.

He wouldn’t be a fraud for much longer.

Will took hold of Harry as they stepped through the flames. They were using a public floo
network to get to London from their little Italian Villa. Harry walked fearlessly next to Will
through the flames and popped out the other side to a warm, English pub. Hannibal exited the
flames a moment later, the adults scanning the room for danger as Harry looked at the décor.

Hannibal and Will followed the numerous children bounding through the streets, looking
above for the signs that indicated where the bookstore was. When they spotted it, surrounded
by people, Hannibal and Will shared a look. They lead Harry to the line where the glass was,
waiting patiently among the other parents.

Will looked through the glass.

He saw the numerous people falling over themselves to talk to the man. The people that tried
to speak to him, regardless of staff or student, were brushed aside. Lockhart would pick up a
book, sign it, then pass it back and wait for the next one with an air of superiority.

A series of events happened quickly that made up Will’s mind. He witnessed a camera crew
setting up their devices with the man, now standing, holding up one of his books with his
own smiling face on the cover. It was the blurred image of Chilton, crushing the backs of
others to promote his own ego- standing high above those who were deserving of credit while
raking in as much money as he possibly could.

Will grabbed Harry’s hand and left the line, Hannibal trailing by his side.

“Yes,” he growled, relenting to his mate’s desires- damned be the consequences. He had no
doubt that Hannibal was smiling. He only hoped that his mate kept their nature hidden
enough from the other wizards that walked around them.

The family walked back the way they came, Harry content to travel with his parents. When
they passed a side alley, Harry stopped in his tracks.

“Something is down there,” he said ominous, head tilted to the side as if he heard a message
only meant for him. Hannibal immediately gave a low growl, pulling his son closer to his
side. Will turned to look down the dark alley. He couldn’t hear or smell anything.
“Go,” Will said to his mate. When the man looked like he was about to protest, Will put his
hand over the one holding onto Harry, giving a squeeze to remind the killer they had
something precious to take care of before they hunted with wild abandon. Hannibal nodded
his head once.

“Bye Dad,” Harry said as he hugged him around the waist.

“I’ll be home soon.” Will said, passing his son to Hannibal. “We have to prepare the house.”
This was said to Hannibal, the fire in his eyes changing only slightly as the promise of
hunting Lockhart settled. Hannibal took Harry, following the flow of foot traffic as they went
back to the pub.

Will walked down the alley. The walls were darker, a thick coal coating over them. There
were two witches and one wizard loitering in the shadows. He waved them off when they
tried to approach him, promises of a good time for a little money were unneeded. Will
followed his intuition, walking deeper down the stairs.

Movement caught his eye coming from the store to his left. Will looked up at the bell hanging
above the door, silencing it as he entered. He made sure not to touch any of the cursed objects
hanging around. Really, there was a lack of customer concern within the shop- if Hannibal
was the one inspecting, he would have done something to kill the shopkeeper with his own
cursed objects.

“I would remind you that it is not prudent to appear less than fond of Harry Potter,” the male
voice said. Will turned so he could hide beside the wall as he listened to the man instructing
someone on how to act with their son. “Not when most of our kind regard him as the hero
who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

In England, Will found that there were three common ways wizards spoke of Voldemort. The
first was cowering in fear, using the He Who Must Not Be Named title to address him. The
second were those who called him by the title he gave himself- Lord Voldemort. The last was
a small group of wizards that called him as this man did- the Dark Lord.

Hannibal and Will used his titles freely when speaking amongst themselves or with their
fawn, instilling in him a lack of fear for an enemy he would one day have to face. With their
assistance, of course. The only other people Will heard of speaking of the Dark Lord-
followers.

Will stayed quiet in his spot as he got information off the man, Lucius Malfoy- as he was
greeted by the shopkeeper. Lucius nodded his head, quieting him.

“The ministry is conducting more raids. I have a few-ah- items at home that might embarrass
me, if the ministry were to call.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the man said, likely bowing to the arrogant man.

“There are rumors of another Muggle Protection Act, no doubt that flea bitten, muggle
loving- fool Arthur Weasley.”
Will resisted the urge to growl at the man lest he give away his position. Somehow, Harry felt
something call to him within this store. Hannibal was better at pulling his pelt to his flesh
without shifting than he. Will closed his eyes to channel his feathers, drawing his expanded
senses closer to the surface so he could scent the area.

The smell of dust and musk deepened so much, he almost stumbled over a cursed object. His
head began to throb as the multitude of scents burst through his sinuses. Will’s eyes began to
water- the magnitude of sensations that the cursed objects held assaulted his mind. Will had
to get out of there- if he stayed, at the least- he risked exposure.

Will stumbled out of the store, gracelessly, hearing the bell above the door ring with his
departure. Rather than run up the stairs as many would, Will descended deeper into the cove
for darker wizards. He turned the corner just as the shopkeeper burst from his front door,
looking around frantically. Will panted, holding his fingers by his eyes to relieve the
pressure.

When the pain became tolerable, Will pulled his hand away, almost laughing as he looked at
black fingernails. He laughed through the pain as he rested his head against the black bricks.

He could only hope that whatever drew Harry to Lucius Malfoy that it wouldn’t follow him
to Hogwarts.

Judging by Lockhart’s behavior that they observed from the window of the bookstore,
Hannibal would not have a difficult time finding him. Though Will did not originally intend
to kill Lockhart, frustrating as it was, it was worth the humor of Will taking one look at the
man through the glass to decide that Lockhart was worthy of death.

As always, Hannibal cooked the three a nice meal, feeding his family before acquiring more.
He was excited to hunt for Severus- the half-vampire offered a new look on their shared
choice of meat. Once Harry was put to bed, Nagini hovering over his bedpost, Hannibal felt it
was time to leave the house for England once more.

“All will be well, dear William,” Hannibal said as he checked over the items he would need
within his bag. They were all in place, the design cemented in his mind. Will stood next to
him, simmering low with nerves. While they were founded, no harm would come to them
because of his hunting patterns.

“Please be safe,” he said, folding into Hannibal’s space to claim his lips. Though Hannibal
had to leave, the kiss deepened between the two, hands coming to grip the back of hair and
clothing. Will’s scent spiked with heat and arousal.

Who was Hannibal to leave his mate waiting.

Hannibal dropped his hands to Will’s pants, unbuttoning him as he got to his knees.

“Harry,” Will said, eyes frantically looking at the stairs. The two were in the middle of the
kitchen.
“Is in his bed fast asleep.” Hannibal said with his knees planted on the ground. Will panted as
Hannibal removed his pants enough for his cock to fall out of his pants.

“What are you doing?” Will panted, looking down at his smirking partner. Rather than
answer, Hannibal wrapped his mouth around Will in one swallow. Will tossed his head back
with a hushed moan as Hannibal pulled his mouth off to suck at the tip and dive back down.

Will bit the back of his knuckles as Hannibal hummed softly, the vibrations charging up the
base of his cock. Hannibal held Will against the table, his hands braced against his hips.
There was no intention to draw out the experience- only to leave Will with a reminder as he
left the house.

“You’re incorrigible,” Will groaned, his cheeks flushed, sweat peaking on his forehead as he
gasped quietly, trying to thrust into Hannibal’s throat as he took him deeply.

Will bit down on his knuckle as he came, the groan broken by the finger between his teeth.
Hannibal, the smug man, stood up in one elegant movement.

“A monster,” Will added, cheeks flushed, scent satisfied. Hannibal chuckled as he helped
Will back into his pants, all evidence removed.

“It has been said,” Hannibal retorted. Will pulled him close and kissed him, no doubt tasting
what remained of himself on Hannibal’s tongue. “I’ll return before dawn.”

Will hummed, still flush against Hannibal as the man pulled away.

After apparating to muggle London, it wasn’t difficult to find Lockhart as he hunted through
the pubs. The man attracted attention like a peacock, flouncing himself around the men and
women around him, telling of his adventures Hannibal knew were stolen.

Luck was on Hannibal’s side as he found the wizard in a muggle pub just outside the portal to
the magical world. The muggles listened to his ‘fantastical’ adventures with drunken awe, the
women he tried to pick up laughed at him in a mocking way, moving away from him after he
got too pretentious for their standards.

Hannibal sat on a bench outside the bar and waited for the right moment. From the window,
he watched as the barkeeper tossed a stumbling Lockhart onto the street. The man attempted
to balance himself, but his drunkenness had him crash to the ground. Hannibal huffed a laugh
as he stood with predatory grace.

“You seem like you need some help to your house,” Hannibal said to the man as he brushed
himself off. Careful to wait for the man to touch him first, Hannibal allowed his victim to
lean on him. Through trial and error, Hannibal found that if his magical victim initiated the
touch, it would prevent his magical signature from latching onto him.

“If you could be so’kind, good sur,” he slurred, eyes lidded over with alcohol poisoning.
Hannibal reached into his pocket where he placed the sedative. He jabbed the needle into
Lockhart’s elbow, supporting his weight as the wizard slumped over him.
Hannibal found a spot that wasn’t far from the bar Lockhart visited to drag his prey to. The
sedative would wear off quickly- Lockhart would still be heavily intoxicated, but he would
feel every cut into his body.

Lockhart woke with a jarred movement of his head, his hands attempting to pry themselves
from the restraints. Hannibal watched the drunken wizard struggle, smirked as he tired to cast
a spell. The man was magically weak- his ignorance inflated a false ego. When the man
finally noticed Hannibal, he pleaded to be let go, that he wouldn’t remember anything or tell
the aurors.

He wasn’t even smart enough to tell that Hannibal, for his disguise, was a muggle.

Hannibal cut off his fingers first, each one falling to the ground in useless numbs. When he
screamed, Hannibal grew tired of his tongue and removed it, dropping to the ground with the
rest of his fingers. He tipped Lockhart’s head back so the blood wouldn’t drown him as he
worked. His cries turned to whimpers in the chair as Hannibal continued to cut.

Head tipped back, Hannibal skewered his eyeballs. He took a slow walk around the
whimpering man. He grabbed his next set of tools, ripping the shirt open to access his canvas.
Hannibal cut into his chest, sawing along the bone as the lungs expanded and contracted with
violent screams of pain. He removed the lungs of the man, liver and kidneys too saturated
with alcohol to eat.

The man bled out faster than Hannibal would have liked but it allowed him to work in
silence, putting shards of glass into the sockets of his eyes.

He stepped away with a smile, satisfied that the man had been exposed for the fraud that he
was.

Hannibal collected the organs, thrilled that he would be able to once again cook for a man-
eater.

As Hannibal returned from his hunt in the early hours of morning, he was asleep when the
owl arrived. Harry was the one that brought it to Will, curious why his dad was getting letters
from his headmaster.

Will held the letter in his hand, almost skeptical that it was his name on the letter rather than
Hannibal’s. Will read over the letter, a laugh of disbelief escaping his mouth.

“Really?” Harry asked, looking between the letter and his dad once Will explained why
Dumbledore wrote to him. At Will’s nod, he cheered, frolicking around the room. Will could
feel the presence of his mate come behind him, wrapping arms around his waist, a chin
coming to rest on his curls.

“I’m blaming you,” Will said, knowing the exact smirk his mate had on his face. A thought
drifted through Will’s mind. He turned around, pulling his face away from Hannibal to look
the man in the eye. “You are not feeding him human,” he said as he put one finger on
Hannibal’s chest. “I let you hunt Lockhart so allow me this.”

“What are we going to do with Nagini?” Harry asked, the moment breaking as the three
looked at the giant constrictor resting on the hearth stones. “I can take her!” Harry said. The
two looked at each other, the conversation of Harry having taken care of himself. “Yes!” he
said, walking to the snake to explain the situation in their shared language.

Hannibal watched Harry trot off into the woods, Nagini slithering after him. He knew that the
two would be safe in the forest, numerous places for them to hide if, for any reason,
Dumbledore decided to walk beyond their house. Harry reared as he got to the woods, his
own way of waving Hannibal’s concerns off.

Albus was patiently waiting at the end of the wards. The two made cordial small talk as they
walked to the house.

“I must confess my surprise at hearing the Lecter line survived the second World War,” Albus
said as he climbed the stairs to their porch. “I am pleased that it continues.”

Hannibal pushed the door open as he pushed back the pain of losing his line, his family,
becoming last. He recognized the political move Dumbledore was trying to make. Being a
Count made his sway in the courts more powerful, even if he wasn’t a part of the British
Ministry governance.

“War is a terrible thing,” Hannibal said, holding the door open for his guest to pass through.
“Reckless killing only seems to serve a grand cull of the human population.”

“How true that is,” Dumbledore said. If he wanted to say anything more, he was distracted by
the numerous dogs that came to greet the headmaster. Winston and Hercules were both
upstairs, locked in Harry’s room with water and dog beds so the wizard wouldn’t see the dog
they stole.

“I do believe Hagrid would be elated to see the amount of dogs you have.”

“They were my husband’s family before I found him.” Hannibal almost slipped and called
Will his mate, giving away his status as a creature. A man like Dumbledore would have
caught such a slip, move to investigate and would be able to piece together the puzzle that
Hannibal was the one that killed his first professor of choice.

Hannibal would have to marry Will to avoid further mishaps.

The man of his musings walked into the room. The dogs parted around him as he made his
way to Albus.

“Headmaster,” he greeted, more cordial than the first time they met in the wizard’s office.

“Thank you for being open to the idea of teaching children on such short notice.” Hannibal
and Will led the headmaster to the dining room. Will had a little more notice that Hogwarts
would need another professor than Dumbledore.

Their vegetarian dinner meat was resting on the cutting board. Hannibal only had to leave his
mate to slice the meat and serve it on a plate. He walked out, the three plates balanced on his
arms.

“Why do you think I would be the right teacher for your students?”

“You have experience teaching, according to our past conversation,” Dumbledore said.

“I used to teach no-maj adults how to catch serial killers, not magical children how to cast
spells.”

“And yet, I believe that you would be perfect for the role.”

“Is that simply because you have little choice? Or my credentials?” Will asked. Dumbledore
gave a small sigh as he sat back in his chair.

“I will admit that I am desperate for a teacher as school term is only two weeks away,” he
began. “However, I do believe that you will offer a different perspective on Defensive magic
than I have hired in the past.” Dumbledore sipped his wine. “As an American, you can offer a
different view on the magic taught. There was an incident with a former student of mine in
the twenties. He and I both noticed that Americans are taught silent spells from a young
age.”

“Witch trials and the lack of a pagan religion were the cause of that,” Hannibal said.
Dumbledore nodded his head again.

“Few graduating students can manage even the simplest of spells silently cast. In America,
students are expected to be able to cast each spell they’ve learned silently by the end of the
year.” He paused. “Of course, each teacher brings something different to Hogwarts.”

Will had already made up his mind when he thought that Dumbledore would choose
Hannibal to teach at the school in Scotland. Arrangements were made quickly for their things
to be moved to a large cottage in England, about fifty miles from the Irish Sea. Since the two
had magic, moving was a quick and simple process. Harry would have to grow used to not
using his magic around the house, saving it for school only.

It was a simple price to pay for his safety.

“Neither of you are incorrect regarding my desperation,” Albus said. Hannibal tilted his head,
Will mirroring the movement. “There are many candidates that I could have easily chosen.
All of them, of course, have been vetted by the Ministry.”

Hannibal resisted the urge to growl. He and Will both recalled what Dumbledore told them
when they first met him: that their fawn was close to becoming a lab rat for the Ministry.

“Such people are of the opinion that Voldemort is dead. I am sure that, regardless of your
sources, we both know that to be false. The ministry would rather burrow their heads in the
 sand until evidence of his resurrection lays stark at their feet.” He paused, looking down at
his plate of food.

“For that to happen, many people would have to die,” Will said before he tossed back the rest
of his wine in an uncouth manner that Hannibal would have cringed at if not for such a
disturbing conversation that their son’s safety hinged on. “It’s all down to the paperwork now,
yes?”

They discussed the semantics of Will’s term over the remainder of their dinner. Will made it
clear that he would not be living in the castle so much as his quarters acting as a pseudo
dormitory. He and Hannibal were happy living together and Will would be content walking to
the ward point each evening or using the floo network to spend time with his mate.

“What textbook do you want the students to use?” Dumbledore asked him as he accepted the
signed paperwork from Will. Will thought back to his own days as a self-taught student, even
as a professor for the FBI. If one thing was consistent between the two worlds it was the
exorbitant price of textbooks.

“No need for them to buy a new one.” Will smiled at his new boss. “I am sure I will be
leaving in June if the curse has anything to say.” Dumbledore at least had the decency to
blush.

“You’re aware of the curse then?”

“Curses only have as much merit as an individual places on it.,” Will said. “I look forward to
seeing you soon, then.”

“Give Harry my regards when he comes back from his playdate,” Dumbledore said as
Hannibal escorted him to the ward point. When he returned, Harry was back in the house,
Nagini back in her spot by the fireplace, Winston and Hercules freed.

“To another year then?” Will asked as he handed Hannibal a wine glass.

“To another year,” he toasted, clinking the glass against Will’s to solidify the promise.

Chapter End Notes

Do I enjoy making Will the alpha to Hannibal's alpha in that he balances Hannibal not
by using his strength but by using his brain. The fun thing about Hannibal (TV) is that
they are both so good at manipulating the other; Will gently pushing Hannibal in the
direction like a shipmaster while he will simply grab Will and force him to look at the
truth.

Sweet dreams, friends; thank you for reading...

 The Bonds of Loyalty
Chapter Notes

Good afternoon, may a sunny day come over you with a cool breeze. I have an afternoon
snack here to enjoy. For those of you who are here for round two, I changed this special
person's death to better fit the overall Herd Development plot. I hope that you enjoy the
symbolism and wish it worthy of your praise. That being said- murder warning: it's in
the tags...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Severus was in his kitchen, the sound of silence vibrating through the air louder than last
year. This morning, he only needed to make enough food to feed himself. A tapping on the
window drew him out of his blank stupor. Severus turned and saw a familiar white owl with
black speckles and a letter in her claws. He walked to the window with a slice of bacon.

Hedwig accepted the bacon with a hoot, dropping the letter off into his hand.

He opened the letter and scanned it over, sitting down in the chair as he processed the text.

It seemed that the Lecter-Graham household was having an equally as difficult time as he
was finding a formula for the vaccine. Over the summer weeks with Draco, Severus tried
numerous formulas and old potion recipes found in arcane books to no avail. The mixture of
the unicorn blood, Quirrell’s own blood and the Dark Lord’s was too complex to remove to
base units.

He was invited to the Lecter-Graham home in two days' time. He penned back that he would
be happy to discuss his findings.

In truth, it would serve to break the silence of the house. During his first two weeks, he spent
the time meticulously cleaning the house of the dust that piled on for years, removing the
mass of rotting wood planks that needed replacing when he was a child. Magic made it easier,
naturally, but even as the house was cleaned and looked like he could place it on the market
to sell, the echoes of pain were laced within every floorboard.

Draco provided a new distraction from the pain, a cleansing sort of presence. At first, their
cohabitation was awkward- even if Draco was his godson and student, providing for him as a
charge was an adjustment period. Severus was in the habit of skipping meals, due to his
nature and how invested he could get in his studies.

His godson never missed a time to eat.

He wrote back that he would enjoy meeting with the two and discussing how to move
forward with a vaccine. Severus handed the letter to the owl and watched her fly away with a
small smile on his lips.

In the period that Severus waited to speak to Harry Potter’s parents, a standard Hogwarts owl
flew down and announced the death and departure of Mr. Lockhart, the professor chosen to
teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. The morning of their meal, another owl flew down with
a letter announcing that the replacement teacher would be: Mr. William Graham.

Severus knew that either Hannibal or Will killed the scam of a wizard. He did not hold any
guilt for the man’s death. Upon hearing the choice of teacher, if he were a lesser man, he
would have cursed and shouted about how foolish it would be to hire such a fraud.

He almost debated getting Hannibal and Will a thank you present for killing Lockhart. He
wasn’t sure what a proper: thanks for killing my coworker gift would be other than a human.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Severus said as he stood at the ward point, Hannibal standing
with his arm extended.

“It is my pleasure,” Hannibal said, allowing him entry. Severus walked through the ward,
watching it fold closed behind him.

“I also appreciate whoever murdered Lockhart,” Severus chuckled, disbelieving these were
the conversations he was now having openly with another.

“Naturally,” Hannibal said, the house coming into view from the stone path they walked on.
“I couldn’t allow Harry’s brain to be muddled by a fraud such as himself.” Hannibal opened
the door for Severus to pass through. He held his hand out for the dogs to sniff again,
Hercules taking the time to lick him all over, before he was allowed further into the house.

“Will is shopping for items he may need during the year and took Harry with him. I do hope
you understand and forgive us for not all being here.”

Severus waved him off. He could not smell fresh blood within the house. Hannibal moved to
his wine rack and uncorked a bottle.

“I understand the back to school shopping,” Severus said, accepting the glass of white wine.
It was a crisp and dry one that eased into his stomach. Hannibal and Severus, rather than
moving to the kitchen or dining room, Severus followed his host to the living room.

“I will confess that myself and William have not found much success in creating an antidote
or vaccine.” Hannibal sipped his drink, watching fondly as the dogs circled around them on
their beds- Winston still holding onto Hercules.

“I have found the beginnings of results but I am in need of something that would separate the
blood from the Dark Lord, his follower, and the unicorn.”

Hannibal hummed, swirling the wine around in his glass.

“Once the most base components are separated, I may be able to create a potion.”
“I may know of someone that can assist in our cause.” Hannibal said, an odd look on his face
as he looked towards Severus. It wasn’t a look that made him think he was in any danger,
though, he could never be sure. Hannibal smiled, the canines of his teeth gleaming with the
light of the lamp next to him. The man drank the rest of his wine, standing to walk towards
the bottle.

“Let’s eat,” Hannibal said.

Severus didn’t want to admit he was looking forward to the evening. Hunting humans by
swallowing their blood down wasn’t as thrilling as his fellow vampires made it seem. The
person would struggle, scratch at his face as he drained the life from them at the most
vulnerable point. Killing the person, magical or muggle, made it easier for him to feed when
his nausea built to an unbearable level. He would feed on the person, then bag the rest of their
blood for later feedings.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” Hannibal asked. Severus resisted the urge to hiss
at him. Saying nothing even as they walked past the dining room.

“Will we be dining on Lockhart?” Severus asked. Hannibal smirked at him from within the
kitchen. Severus was surprised he was allowed in such a hunting ground. He stood still as
Hannibal walked to one door with a simple slide lock over the door knob. A sense of
foreboding hit him as the vampire as the man held the door open to a dark staircase
descending into the basement.

“It seems we can solve many of our problems today,” Hannibal said to Severus. “How
efficient.”

Hannibal smirked at Severus, watching the man’s stiff reaction to smelling the blood and
sweat that crept up the stairs with the opening of the door. Harry was with Will to avoid any
unsavory interactions with their guest in the basement. His fawn was excited to go shopping
with Will for his supplies.

With no need to beckon him, Hannibal turned to walk down the wooden stairs, knowing that
Severus would follow. There wasn’t anything outrageous in the basement, normally. It was
dark and dank, a slight mildew smell percolating through the air from the mold spores that
grew against the concrete foundation of the house. With magic, it was a safehouse for
activities such as these.

The woman in the basement was naked, chained to the floor with a shackle against her ankle
and a blindfold over her eyes. The fatty folds of her body were scraped from where she tried
to fruitlessly remove the blindfold, skin around her shins bruised from her blind wonderings.

“What is the meaning of this?” Severus asked, his fangs exposed. Hannibal was calm as he
walked around the whimpering woman. Though Severus looked affronted, his posture was
stiff, a predator ready to begin stalking their prey down.
“Primarily, I am concerned with the Dark Mark’s loyalty and your own ties.” Hannibal
watched the woman cower from his voice, unknown to her, shuffling closer to Severus until
the chain pulled her down. “I do not doubt your loyalty- saving Harry has proven that.”

If the sample that Will and Hannibal were looking at gave any indication, it was that Harry
would not have survived the blood he ingested without the speedy help of Severus. The
unlikelihood of Severus being a spy meant to harm their fawn, one playing a long game, was
staggering. The Dark Mark, however, Hannibal was unsure if it could influence his mind.

Severus looked down at the woman, his nostrils flared just enough to take in her fearful scent.
He looked up at Hannibal. The man could tell that Severus was unsure. He believed that
Severus’ sire did not teach him the fine arts of hunting, leaving it to the hybrid to figure it out
by trial and error. He had every reason to be hesitant around Hannibal.

“You ran shortly after the war, and when you could not escape using magic, you found a non-
magical option.” Hannibal was a fan of lancing the wound, letting the infection bleed itself
out with leeches or pressure only to violently stanch it- leaving to scar a painful memory
made right. “You starve yourself, the mark feeds on your exhaustion and fertilizes your own
draught of forgiveness.”

Sevuers bared his teeth and growled, his right hand clutched tight in a fist where the mark sat
tattooed into his flesh. Hannibal could hear the vampire’s heartbeat, could practically smell
the venom no doubt pooling in his mouth.

Hannibal was ready for the consequences of his barbs. He was stabbing a creature with a
mutual food source between them. Further, Hannibal was pulling on the strings of Severus’
long suppressed instincts while forcing him to submit to Hannibal’s seniority. Severus’ eyes
flashed red for a brief moment- an indication of how hungry he must have been.

Hannibal almost felt sorry for the man but the force of Severus’ charge into the back wall
removed most of his regret. Hannibal smiled, his nostrils flaring. Severus braced and struck,
Hannibal blocked with his left hand, spinning around like a dancer. He grabbed Severus and
pinned him to the wall, pulling his arm back enough that he felt pain but did not dislocate the
joint. Severus’ head was turned to face his dinner, who was panting and sweating- the scent
of her only increasing with her fear. All the while, the fight brought forth a bloodlust that
Severus had long ignored.

Severus closed his eyes from where Hannibal pinned him to the concrete wall, shaking his
head as he denied his instincts.

Hannibal felt his feathers grow along the length of his spine as he growled in Severus’ ear,
shoved him off the wall. If the spar was between Hannibal and Will in their pelts, it would be
akin to Hannibal putting his teeth over Will’s jugular- mocking the kill strike. The
admonishment only served to make Severus snarl.

The air changed, a new spice of anger laced through the air. He was snarling now, lips pulled
back, body hunched for the charge.
“You are emaciated, Severus,” Hannibal tried, not wanting to throw the man into a blood lust
feeding. He made no move to strike the vampire or approach. Hannibal could see the pearl of
venom that hung from the tip of one fang. “Can you not smell the hunger of your own
venom?”

If Severus was searching for absolution when he was younger- he was searching for it now.
Where the Dark Lord tied the man down, Hannibal hoped to liberate him. The woman’s
cheap perfume had worn off with the scent of her sweat and fear. She was cowering on the
ground in a whimpering mess, Severus looking between the two.

Hannibal rolled his eyes.

If it must be done the hard way, then so be it.

Hannibal shifted into his pelt, his antlers towering over all of them, scraping indents into the
ceiling that he would later have to fix before Will found them. Hannibal walked to their prey,
the one that named her dog Ripper, and introduced himself to her.

She was whimpering, aimlessly wandering at the end of her chain, now tangled around her
legs- leaving them further bruised and disoriented. Hannibal struck at one of her legs with his
hoof, shattering the bone until it pierced through the flesh. Severus flinched at her scream of
pain.

When the vampire did not move, Hannibal dragged her closer to Severus with his teeth
piercing her arm, chains dragging behind her. Hannibal dropped her begging form in front of
the potions master with little care for her health.

“I am not young,” he said in an absent voice. It was true that Hannibal would bring Harry
half-alive deer or geese for him to kill, easing him into the hunt when he was a young fawn.
Each time Harry successfully killed something, he would bring a creature back closer and
closer to life. While Harry was good at hunting live creatures with his parents, he still
hesitated over the kill strike.

Severus’ hand was over his nose yet his eyes were trained on the puddle of blood growing
wider and wider. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of the room. Hannibal kept his
movements slow as he walked behind the vampire. They were two separate predators that
hunted the same food source.

Though Severus did not know, his magic was pulling at his own skin, searching for an
opportunity to be forgiven. In a slow, practiced movement, Severus removed his outer coat so
that his arms were free. The Dark Mark shone brightly against his pale flesh, almost sewed
into his forearm with intense dark magic.

Hannibal nudged Severus forward with his snout to prompt him to feed.

That seemed to be the last straw.

Severus rushed forward in a blur of speed, pouncing on the woman with his hands around her
body, holding her closer to the ground as his teeth sunk into her jugular. She shrieked in pain,
a gurgling sound punching through the air as she was eaten at her most vulnerable spot.

Blood that had pooled around her large body from the injury Hannibal gave her leg smeared
over his Dark Mark. His shadow towered over Severus on the ground, his hands clenched so
tightly along her collarbone it was going to snap.

Hannibal watched with his shadow over Severus as Harry's former aunt stopped struggling,
her heartbeat slowing before her eyes glazed over. Severus’ face was still buried in her neck,
sucking away the last reserves of her blood with eyes fluttering in the back of his head.

Severus dropped her body on the ground, sitting back on his legs, eyes oddly blank. Hannibal
could see the blood covering his Dark Mark. Before the vampire could realize, Hannibal
snapped his jaws around Severus’ Dark Mark. The vampire cried out in shock, one hand
pressed against his muzzle to pull away. Hannibal clamped his jaws hard enough to pierce the
flesh but not damage his bones.

Hannibal released the vampire from his jaws, licking the interesting taste of blood that
remained around his teeth. Severus brought his arm to his eyes in a dazed expression, blood
still around his teeth and running down his throat.

“The magic is still there,” Severus finally said, his eyes hazed over as he looked at the wound
bleeding over his Dark Mark. Hannibal huffed, shaking his feathers out. Hannibal observed
the wound healing over, blood staunched from where he bit down. While the wound had
closed, Hannibal had no doubt that it would be tender for several days before scaring over the
Mark completely.

Bleeding out would be counterintuitive for the vampire- it was his food source after all.

Severus picked himself off the ground with little concern for the body of the woman as
Hannibal shifted back into his suit. Severus removed the blood from his body with the same
charm they taught Harry.

“You sold your soul to the devil,” Hannibal said, draping Severus’ cloak over his body to
keep the chill of the cellar from him. “Consider your debt paid.”

He helped Severus back upstairs. While the man was recently fed, psyche magic that
Hannibal performed could be taxing on the subject.

“That woman was related to Harry,” Severus said as Hannibal closed the door to the cellar.

“An in-law, yes; I will deal with the body of Marge Dursley later,” Hannibal said. He passed
the man a glass of water, not wanting the wine to muddle the blood within him. Severus took
a sip of the wine, his eyes still glassy. The man was in shock, making him malleable to
Hannibal moving him so he was sitting in the living room.

Hannibal grabbed the medical kit and began bandaging his arm. With Severus in shock, his
sleeve was easily pushed up. Hannibal cleaned the wound first with a disinfectant. While he
did not have venom as Severus did, the human mouth contained thousands of bacteria which
only increased as he ate in his other form.
 Severus didn’t flinch as the alcohol poured over the Dark Mark. Hannibal inspected his teeth
marks. The holes had closed up but the flesh was still tender to the touch, though Severus
may not feel it yet. He dabbed the wounds dry, removing the last of the dried blood from his
mark. The Dark Mark, once a distorted snake eating its own tail through the skull was
arguably more ugly. Now, it was broken up by a puncture wound.

As he was bandaging the wound, Severus came out of his shock.

“What did you do?” Severus asked, looking down at his arm, clenching his hand as he tested
his fingers.

“I didn’t do anything,” Hannibal said, pushing forth the same magic he did when he first
noticed the horcrux in Harry. Hannibal could feel the same pull within Severus, though the
magical signature around his arm was numb where he could feel the horcrux within Harry.

“You did,” Severus said, turning the now wrapped arm around. Severus inhaled slowly,
sitting up as he drew in breath. “Do you need help with cleaning up?”

Hannibal smiled.

Chapter End Notes

To those of you who have asked for Severus to be adopted, this is the beginning of the
Herd. Hannigram is still a tight knit family but they will have to expand their trust to
overcome the trials before them. Thank you to all who have offered support in kudos,
comments and clicks. I will see you soon! I am very excited for this year. I have it
plotted out and ready to launch; it is going to be so fun.

Enjoy lunch!
 Between Mothers
Chapter Notes

Hello friends. I am not feeling that great, fear not, I've made meals in advance to pop
into the oven and serve up. This little chapter didn't fit *anywhere* with the larger
chapters but needed to be added so another one will be served tomorrow.

I do hope that you enjoy this little snack

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal was cooking the last meal they would have within the Italy house. Their territory
would be protected with the wards both adults laid on the land while they were gone in
England. Occasionally, one of them would check on the house, reward the area, but for the
most part, the house would be free of people.

Will was outside in his human flesh walking the grounds. To his left came a rustling sound.
He looked for the sound, catching Nagini making her way back from hunting. Judging by the
bulge in her stomach, she managed to catch a rabbit earlier in the night.

He approached the Dark Lord’s familiar. She coiled around herself, waiting for him to speak.

Though Will could not speak Parseltongue, he could see the human-like intelligence within
Nagini that other Death Eaters must have ignored. Will was unsure if her intellect came from
the horcrux.

“Hello, Nagini,” he greeted as always. She hissed at him, acknowledging him rather than
anything threatening. Her tongue hit the air, scenting him for any distress. “We’ve received a
warning that something is going to try and hunt Harry while he is at Hogwarts.”

She reacted how Will expected her too. She hissed, coils tightening around her body, lifting
her slightly. While Will knew she was angry, he could tell that it was not directed at him.

“I will be teaching at Hogwarts this year,” Will said, beginning to walk back to the house.
She followed next to him at the same pace he walked. “Harry will need protecting when I
cannot see him.”

Nagini dipped her head once, slithering off to the side of the house. Will looked up, seeing
that Harry left his window open to allow the summer breeze to pass into his room; Nagini
would no doubt climb into the window and burrow into Harry’s trunk.

Judging by the smell coming from the house, dinner would be ready soon.

It was time to collect his fawn.

Chapter End Notes

It's because of your support that I continue onward. A special shout out to
GiiGii_kytchwytch who has given me so many soft and joyful feeling in regards to
writing this story for all of you. Thank you, my dear, for your support and love both in
this story and the past ones!
 Making New Friends
Chapter Notes

*pops champagne*
"Ninty-eight, ninty-nine, one hundred! Oh Roger, One hundred puppies!" ~101
Dalmatians
Hello guests, thank you for sitting at my table. Today is an auspicious occasion as this
fic has, once again, hit 100k words. It is by your support, that I have made this happen.
My dearest readers, you do not understand how much I love writing for you. I till the
land of the wounds of two worlds. I sow the seeds of foreshadowing for you, hoping that
some might be able to sniff and hunt for these seeds before they give their full fruit. I
water and fertilize by pouring in sub-plots that I didn't think I would ever make. And
each time I harvest a chapter, prepare and cook it for you, I grow so happy when it
comes to your table.
Thank you so much for being here with me on this adventure once again. Please enjoy
Will Graham teaching in class. I will say that, in regards to chapters of Will teaching,
not many. The problem lies in that there are so many poor DADA teachers and I don't
want to botch the plot. I do think that you will enjoy the other scenes that I have added.

...this is 100k so there is a treat for me as well. As much as I *love* (and I am sure that
you know) writing Severus; there is one other person that I do love to torture as well-
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Oh, these two really are my favorites.

Let us all enjoy this feast

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“So that’s him,” Draco asked, looking up at the Professor’s table, “your dad?”

Harry nodded his head, eating the food on his plate.

“I’m trying to keep everyone from knowing,” Harry said. “Dad and Father both understand.”

“I hear you,” Draco said, bumping Harry’s shoulder. “I keep Severus close to my chest as
well.”

Before Harry got on the train at King’s Cross, he was worried that his dad would be upset or
hurt if Harry wanted to refer to him as Professor Graham. His anxieties seemed to be shared
by his dad, who pulled him aside to have a conversation on how professional they wanted to
be while at school. Harry was relieved when his dad and father understood the separation. He
was told, however, that Will would treat him as any other student in his classes.
“He doesn’t look happy to be up there,” Draco said. Harry spared his dad a glance, seeing
that his head was low. Luckily, he was sitting next to Professor Snape, both conversing about
something at the table.

“He doesn’t like people,” Harry said. Harry knew that his dad would rather be at the English
cottage with his father, but it was the Great Feast and even Hannibal knew the significance of
the first meal at Hogwarts. Will would be an unconventional teacher as he had a person to go
home to each night. Only for the bigger holidays and occasions would Will eat with the other
professors and students.

“Well, they have that in common,” Draco snickered with Harry. “What do you think he’ll
teach us?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said. He tried asking Will in the upcoming days of returning to
school. His dad said that he would rather evaluate the students during his first classes, then
figure out what he wanted to teach. He referred to the first lesson as ‘Syllabus Week.’ It must
have been some inside joke that only he and Hannibal knew, given that his father laughed
aloud when he heard Will’s declaration.

Harry didn’t have a defense class until his second day of school. Like every new defense
professor, the gossip around him started with outlandish theories and stories. Harry’s
reactions swung between laughing at the stories or pure confusion at what his fellow students
could come up with.

One thing that Will used to help him were blue tinted glasses. He wore them on days that the
family would travel to magical towns, either in Italy or England. The tint of the glasses
helped Will filter the magic that would come with his empathy. Some students thought that it
was to prevent him from hypnotizing them.

They weren’t that wrong.

The rumors carried through the halls as the students and staff exited. Harry could only wait to
see what his dad would teach him on his second day of classes. He would have to rely on the
Weasley Twins, who had the first morning class, for details about what was to come for the
year.

Will was an unconventional teacher when he worked for the FBI. As a professor teaching, he
preferred the lecture form, taking questions only at the end of his classes and allowing for the
rare student to use his strategically limited office hours.

Within Hogwarts, he was the immediate talk of the students. He supposed it was natural, for
the older students, they had a new defense professor every year. The tinted glasses he wore
helped prevent him from seeping too far into his empathy as he overlooked the students for
the first time. Both the Headmaster and Hannibal insisted that he go to the celebratory
dinners with the staff to present a unified body. Students gossiped to themselves, eyes
looking back at him only to dart away.
As Will had someone to go home to every evening, the dormitory that was given to teachers
was sparsely decorated. His floo network was re-warded by Dumbledore so that he could go
home in the evening to Hannibal. There were nights that he was expected to patrol for
students that had a tendency to break curfew.

Severus was a pleasant force to sit next to. He too had extended senses that allowed him to
hear the conversations of students above the din of the Great Hall or see the money being
exchanged under the table as they took bets on him. The two collectively rolled their eyes at
the students.

The first class on the roster were the Third Years: Hufflepuffs and Slytherins’. From what he
gathered from Harry’s conversations and letters, in addition to the dynamics of the school
during the Great Feast by Severus, he knew these students were an easier group to teach. Will
could hear the students beginning to mill into the room, whispering his name as they sat in
the desks.

Will closed his eyes and remembered the exercises that Hannibal helped him. They practiced
right before he left on the floo. Hannibal centered his frayed nerves by simply holding his
skull between warm, familiar, palms. While Will could no longer feel Hannibal’s warmth on
his clothing, there was the lingering aroma of Hannibal’s scent that he could latch onto.

“You look-” Hannibal trailed off, his hand on Will’s tie, straightening it with careful fingers.
Will blushed at the flattery as he leaned forward and took Hannibal’s lips to his own. “Heart
tonight?”

Will hummed, knowing that Hannibal was eager to present Lockhart’s heart on a dinner plate
as Will taught his first class. Even in death, Hannibal could find ways to continue to insult
people- it was a rare talent.

Will opened his eyes, readjusted his glasses, then stepped out to the classroom.

The two houses were sitting on opposite sides of the room, no students intermingling in the
middle.

He figured he would have to change that at some point.

“Good morning,” he said, awkwardly sitting back on the table of the desk. God, were all
teachers this awkward when they first started? “My name is Professor Graham. Before we
start this year, I want to see where you all stand, magically speaking.”

Will indicated for them to stand out of their desks. He waved his wand over the air, shrinking
them down simultaneously and moving them to stand on his desk. The students whispered
among themselves, no doubt marveling at his wordless use of magic.

“I know you’ve had a lot of different teachers over the years,” Will said, noticing a familiar
pair of red heads. These were the same twins he and Hannibal encountered after they met
with Dumbledore in the forest. “I want to see where your foundation is, and where we should
repair the holes.”
The twins smiled at each other, a secret connection and ability to communicate that they had
since birth. They seemed to be the most outgoing of the students in the class and trusted each
other's boundaries without needing to speak to one another.

“Who wants to duel?”

Will wasn’t surprised when the twins raised their hands first. The time to engage in sibling
rivalry while in school, sanctioned by a teacher, no set of siblings would pass the
opportunity.

It seemed that dueling in Europe was different from the States. The twins lined up back to
back, counted ten paces, then began firing spells at each other. In America, it was a matter of
who drew a wand faster- duels were often a one spell affair. The other students backed away,
gasping and laughing as the twins traded spells as quick as they breathed.

Will cast a shield around the dueling students, who did not think to cast a spell around
themselves. He let the trading continue, noting that both boys were worried more about the
spell then where it would land, given that they tended to miss the other.

He called for a cease fire, waiting for the two to disengage with each other before nodding his
head to them both. He grabbed the chalk, he hated chalk, and went to the board.

Aim, Direction, Shielding, Silence

“When you cast a spell,” Will said, gathering the students around him, “make sure that it hits
the intended target. We’re wizards, not throwing confetti.” The students around him laughed.
“One of the important things about casting spells when you are an adult is making sure that
the spell doesn’t hit anything else. The direction of the spell, how wide or sharp it is, can
determine if you avoid hitting a no-maj.”

“No-maj?” One Hufflepuff asked with a furrowed brow. Will waved his hand.

“Muggle,” he said. Will pointed to his third word. “None of you shielded. Do you know how
to shield?”

He was met with crickets.

Teaching them to cast spells quietly would come after teaching them how to shield.

Will had his work cut out for him.

The students, by the end of the class, all had smiles on their faces, giving him their thanks for
a fun class and no homework.

“Weasley Twins,” Will said as the other students were dismissed. They walked over to him
slowly.

Judging by their hesitance, it seemed they remembered him from the forest as well.
“There is a saying in American Colleges,” Will began, cleaning the blue tinted glasses that
had done their job of keeping his empathy in check. “If I don’t see it, smell it, or hear it, it’s
not happening.” He put the glasses on, pinning each of them with a look. “If no harm comes
to you or another- I assume that you are both in bed. Do we have an understanding?”

“Of course, professor,” Fred said, putting a hand to his heart. The other, George, seemed to
take his threat a little more serious than his double.

“Thank you,” he said, taking his brother by the hand to pull him out of the room before either
of them said anything else.

By the end of the day, when he walked through the green flames to the cozy living room in
England, Will determined that the students had a patchwork of knowledge, each year
different from the last.

“The number of incompetent teachers is making the subject harder for the older students to
grasp,” Will said as he sipped the whiskey Hannibal brought him. Hannibal sat next to him on
the couch, throwing one arm over Will to cage away his anxieties. “Their foundation isn’t
sound. The younger ones, hopefully, I can give them the foundation they need before I
leave.”

“What makes you so certain the curse is real?” Hannibal asked. Will looked over to him with
a skeptical look.

“You cannot argue the statistics.” Will leaned into his mate.

“You have the power to influence their young minds. You are the sun and they are the
saplings that reach out to absorb your light.”

Will was silent for a while, enjoying the peace as the day teaching was a loud one. He knew
that teaching younger children would be taxing but he had a whole new appreciation for the
profession.

“They need a foundation,” he said. “I think the older ones would like learning it again if they
were taught to do so nonverbally or without a wand.”

“Start them off at the basics while giving the illusion of a challenge.” Hannibal smirked down
at Will. Will laughed at Hannibal.

“I forgot how inefficient the magical world could be.” Will held his hand out, a piece of
parchment smacking into it. “I’ve never been so grateful for paper and computers than having
to make up a hundred tests.”

“For all the magic they have at their disposal, the wizarding world makes things difficult on
themselves by not adapting.”

“The kids are going to be in for a surprise,” Will said, tossing the paper on the coffee table.
“Wait until I show them what a pen is.”

*
Contrary to what Professor Snape might have to say, Harry didn’t sneak out of his dorms
often. Especially now that his dad was a professor of the school. His dad had taught him how
to hunt with his father, no two people could find him faster than they could.

That was why he only left his dorm since he knew his dad was with father in their cottage.

He had heard a strange whisper crawl through the air when he and Draco were making their
way to lunch after potions class. Harry asked if Draco could hear the voice, something that
wanted to kill within the walls. Draco said he didn’t hear anything and Harry left it at that.

It was only when he was laying in bed, tossing and turning in the sheets, that he felt the need
to get out of bed. Harry didn’t have a plan on where he was going, he was actually going to
be content spending the rest of his night sleeping on the couch in the Common room, but
another hiss sounded faint.

Harry gathered his wand and followed the sound. He let his eyes adjust to the dark as he
walked down the halls. He scented each new space he entered, not smelling anyone near him.
Harry only heard the whispering voice once more echo through the second floor.

Approaching a new space, Harry hunkered down and scented the area. He froze when he
smelled blood. Harry listened, not hearing anything shuffling or moaning in pain. He stood
and made careful steps to the scent of blood to the hallway outside of a bathroom.

A girl with a Gryffindor scarf was walking with a blank look over her face. Harry wasn’t sure
she was actually looking where she was going. On her robe were the white feathers of
Hagrid's chickens. Something was off about the way she was moving. The need to find out
pulled at Harry’s curiosity.

Harry let the girl pass him before he moved. He waved his wand around her robe, pulling the
blood and feathers off her clothes without her knowing, the evidence of her kill vanishing
into the air just as his father taught him. Harry didn’t find her appearance concerning,
knowing that he looked like that sometimes to his parents after a messy hunt.

Perhaps she was a creature too.

To make sure they would both be clear of breaking curfew, Harry removed their scent from
the area, following the Gryffindor as she walked away from wherever she came.

“Hey,” Harry said, tapping her on the shoulder once they were far enough from the bathroom
that Snape wouldn’t be able to chase their scent. The girl gasped loudly, flinching as she
turned around to look at Harry with a panicked look on her face. “You okay?” Harry asked.

The girl gulped as she ran a hand down the length of her hair.

“I guess,” she said, not wanting to meet him in the eyes. Harry looked around, smiling when
he found a bench, he sat on it. She looked around the dark hallway, gulping nervously, before
taking the other side of the bench. “I’m Ginny Weasley.”
“I’m Harry,” he said, not giving his last name. Most people in the school knew who he was
before he even gave his name. “Ginny?” He asked, watching her turn to look at him. “Why
were you walking around the second floor?”

Ginny gave a short laugh, her head tilted back and eyes closed.

“My brothers,” she said. Ginny looked at her fingernails, hair hiding her eyes from gaze. “I
know they’re looking out for me, but they are so-” she groaned, rolling her eyes as she made
a strangling motion with her fingers. Harry could understand having conflicted feelings on
family. There were several times that he found it frustrating how many layers Hannibal and
Will made him wear when he was going outside. Sometimes he struggled with knowing
friends versus food versus family.

“Family is weird,” he said with a shrug.

“Percy is like my shadow, he’s constantly making sure I’m doing things.”

“Maybe if you show him a couple of spells,” Harry said with a grin. Ginny laughed at Harry,
pushing his shoulder.

“The twins said something like that too,” Ginny tilted her head, hand coming to her inner
robe. “I was writing my feelings in this...stupid diary.” Harry felt the hairs on his arms jump
with a brushing of magic as she revealed a black banded book. She threw it down on the
ground with such a force that it almost made him angry.

Ginny stood up, her wand suddenly in her hand as she towered over the diary laying
innocently on the limestone tiles.

“I should burn it,” she growled. Harry dove between it and the book before he even knew he
was moving.

“I can take it.” He was glad for the dark that hid his blush for saying something so stupid.
“Uhh,” he tried, Ginny lowering her wand in confusion at his actions. “I mean...If you don’t
want-”

Ginny shook her head no, taking a step back with her wand still raised towards the diary.

“The friend inside doesn’t reveal your secrets,” Ginny said, finally lowering her wand as
Harry took the book in his hands, feeling the warm leather binding. “Fred and George tried so
many things to get it open. It’s secure.”

“Well, if they can’t get in, then it’s Gringotts.”

Ginny laughed at Harry, her eyes still puffy from the tears that must have slipped when she
was talking about her brothers or eating the chickens.

“I guess I should get going before Mrs. Norris finds one of us,” Ginny said. She clapped
Harry on the shoulder in a manner he thought was a Weasley trait. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll see
you around.” She took a couple steps back before turning around to walk towards Gryffindor
tower.
Harry watched her leave, listening further for her footsteps to make it two flights higher than
him. Harry looked down at the book, itching to open the binding. He looked around, knowing
that he had to move before anyone would find him- a cat or Snape. He removed their scent
from the area with the charms he was taught and raced back to the dorm.

Harry slipped into the door and changed out of his robes with incredible speed. He could feel
a connection to the diary the moment he saw it; to reach and connect . Like a call that had
finally been answered. When he touched the worn leather of the book, it was like the feeling
of finally washed over his skin. With a last look to Draco, who was haloed by his blond hair
on the bed, fast asleep, Harry curled under the cover of the sheets with the horcrux.

He put his quill on the pillow, the diary next to it. It was as black as his feathers, well worn
leather that was supple around the opening flaps. Harry opened the binding to the first
yellowing page. The leather flap was lined with sturdy cardboard paper, slightly stronger than
the blank yellow pages.

Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle

Harry ran his index finger over the script. He could feel the magic within the book like he
was touching his own. Almost like koi fish swimming just under the surface of the water-
enough to be seen but not too close to the surface water that it was disturbed.

On the yellow page next to Tom’s name, Harry wrote:

My name is Harry Potter

Harry tensed as the ink vanished from the pages. He knew that this was dangerous, like
playing with his food, but the temptation was too much for him.

Hello, Harry. Came the first response of text. Harry couldn’t tell if the handwriting was the
same as the other side, having vanished as fast as it came. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry was faster this time and there was no mistaking the carbon copy of handwriting. How
did you happen upon my diary?

Harry was confused. He thought those were for girls. He decided to write as such within the
pages, the ink vanished and he wrote a second: I found your diary on the floor of a hallway.

The diary was silent, the ink bleeding into the pages slower than the beginning. Harry had no
doubt that others could feel the magic within the pages as he could. His parents would be able
to feel it, given how Hannibal noticed the horcrux buried in Harry. Dumbledore could also be
another person that might sense the magic in the diary.

What house are you in, Harry? the diary asked. Harry decided to be truthful.

Slytherin, the letters were eaten by the dry parchment.

The most Noble of Houses, Tom wrote back as fast as the parchment absorbed the ink. Why
do you think you were put in Slytherin?
Harry sat back, thinking for a moment. He supposed he could write about almost killing
Quirrel in the forest, sneaking out of his dorm, even being a Ravenfawn. He couldn’t tell the
diary about his parents, their plan, or about Draco. He wrote about the least of evils.

I think it’s because I can speak to snakes.

Harry watched as the ink bled into the yellow page.

I used to tell them to hide when my aunt made me garden. I spoke to them when they got too
close to the cars in the street and to hide from birds that would haunt them.

The magic in the book seemed to reach out to Harry. Not in a way that made him think it was
violent, like the men that Verger sent to their house. The magic rest along his hand as if to
console him.

Do you know what talking to snakes is called?

Playing along with Tom Marvolo Riddle seemed to be working so far. If Harry could appear
as the kid looking up to another in the park, he might be able to learn more about the other
horcruxes.

I didn’t think there was a name for something so freakish.

You are not a freak. Harry could feel the emotion attached to the word Tom underlined, a hot
rod of rage down the center of his chest. The magic in the book thrashed for a moment before
it wound itself back into a coil. Harry watched as the magic calmed when it touched Harry.
He did not extend his own magic out but stroked the soft leather to calm it.

I have it too, Tom wrote, the letters almost lyrical as they bloomed from the yellow pages. It’s
called Parseltongue- the language of the snakes. It’s spoken by those in the Slytherin line.

There was a hesitation in ink, two sentences almost running into each other.

Which makes us family.

Harry wasn’t sure what the best response to that was.

Do you live with Muggles?

Yes, Harry wrote, glad for the change in topic.

Stick with me, Harry. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.

The magic of the diary faded back, the black leather still warm with his temperature. Harry
yawned, a hand coming to rest over his mouth meant he missed the black leather seeping into
his skin and vanishing under his flesh as the ink did on the pages.

Harry wrote: What does that make us?

I guess I’m your big brother.

Harry laughed, a hand covering his mouth so he wouldn’t wake Draco.

I’m the one out here, he wrote, that makes me the older brother.

Harry shut the diary before Tom could write anything else. He bundled it in his backpack and
put it beside the door, away from his bed. Harry quickly went about his nightly routine,
remembering to take his hibernation pills now that Halloween was over as he climbed into
bed.

Will should have known better than to expect a quiet Halloween. As he did last year, Severus
sent a floo call over to Will, summoning him for an emergency staff meeting. Hannibal,
naturally curious, insisted that he come along. Severus greeted them in his private study
within Slytherin common room. Will and Hannibal could both smell that Harry was within
the snake den as they left the room.

“Yeah,” Will said- seeing why he was summoned now that he was standing in front of the cat
suspended upside down in the torch post. Dumbledore was by the cat, his wand creating a
complex series of spells that created a purple hue.

“It’s chicken’s blood,” Severus said, his fingers pulled away from the tip of his tongue. Will
looked over to Hannibal, seeing the slight dip in his head.

“Who found the writing?” Hannibal asked. “Or did they find the cat first?”

“One of the ghosts found Mrs. Norris here,” Dumbledore said, unhooking her tail so she
rested on the levitating pad. Dumbledore tilted his head as he looked at the cat. “She’s still
alive?”

Confusion was shared by each of them.

“Petrified,” Hannibal said, recognizing the paralysis that magic could cause. Will recalled
what Dobby, the house elf said: bad things were returning to Hogwarts.

He took a deep breath as he stepped closer to the writing on the wall. The tang of blood was
lighter than human blood. He had seen the blood and bile of the Angel Killer to the gentle
pictures of the Chesapeake Ripper. With grit teeth, he decided to work his magic.

Will closed his eyes and let the pendulum rock high in his mind’s eye...and drop.

Will was standing in the night, the flicker of the oil lanterns bubbling as torches provided
only light, not any warmth. He walked forward, holding a vessel. But his grip was loose- as if
he couldn’t hold onto the vessel itself. With a foggy head, he dipped his fingers into the
blood. It was sticky as it ran down his fingers, touching the dark color of robes.

Distraction was not an option. There was someone watching and whispers closing in. My arm
is heavy as I paint my message, the weight of it absorbing my will. Something is moving me
but it shields another threat. Suffocating.
Will gasped, a hand near his throat as the other hovered above the letters in blood. He stepped
away.

“Somebody’s magic is being stifled,” he said. He felt a hand come around his shoulder, the
warm scent of home wrapping around him. “It’s suffocating.” Will said.

Severus was looking at the only exit the person could have taken.

“The blood trail leads to a puddle and then stops,” Severus said, kneeling by the accumulated
puddle of chicken’s blood. There were no footprints that they could use, only faint streaks
that indicated the student wore an outer cloak to keep the chill from where they slaughtered
the chickens.

“This was a student,” Dumbledore said, noting the height of the writing. It had to be a
younger year student. One that was around Harry’s age.

“The scent disappears with it,” Severus said. Will and Hannibal shared a look. They both
taught Harry a series of spells that would remove blood from the air and off clothing.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR,

BEWARE.

“The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a student died,” Dumbledore said, he
looked towards the bathroom down the hall. “Killed with the gaze of a basilisk- contrary to
what the Board thought.”

“Can the beast with eyes that petrify a body take the will of the mind?” Hannibal asked, his
hand hovering over Mrs. Norris. She was faintly breathing, walking on the edge of life and
death.

“Or does the Dark Lord walk with us again?” Will asked. Severus sighed, a hand coming to
grip between his brow.

“Regardless,” he said, “I will begin to brew mandrake solutions.” He looked up at

Dumbledore. “Sprout should grow an abundance of mandrakes as well.”

“How fun,” Hannibal said, remembering the screeching plants leaving him with several
headaches.

Will and Hannibal were both paranoid about the danger that lurked in the school. Neither of
them flinched at the opportunity to patrol, searching for either wayward students or the
creature.

“We should check on Harry in the morning,” Will said, the dark swallowed around them as
they climbed down one of the twisting staircases.

“In a few hours you mean?” Hannibal chuckled, keeping his voice low enough he didn’t
wake the portraits. They rounded a corner, checking in ajar doors for students as they scoured
the dark. “I think a run through the Forest would be entertaining.”
 “It will also give us a moment to make sure he’s not getting into too much trouble.”

Hannibal transfigured his pocket square into a sheet of paper, writing a letter for Harry to
meet them in the forest with a timer to go off when they were done with the patrol. Hannibal
sent it off, a starling bird fluttering through the dark until it would find their fawn.

“Will you be alright to teach during the day?” Hannibal asked, cupping Will’s face in his
hands. Will smiled, knowing that Hannibal would be able to feel it along his thumbs in the
dark.

“I’ve taught on less sleep,” he laughed. “And there is always coffee.”

Chapter End Notes

There goes Dumbledore, casually re-warding the DADA floo room to Hannigram
household and will Hannigram take away something as powerful as a backdoor key to
Hogwarts...no...manipulation from these adults?
Meanwhile, Harry, being the innocent idiot that he is, sees Ginny and is like: nope,
shouldn't report this to dad at all...
I like the idea of Will only using his empathy in the magical world if it comes to his
family being threatened.

Brother banter begins...

Thank each and every one of you for swallowing one hundred thousands words all over
again. While this is the second time around, I hope that the story does not lose its flavor.
Thank you for your support and feedback! I will be seeing you all soon!
 Dying to Meat You
Chapter Notes

Hello guests- it is certainly early in the week but many haters came at me today at work.
I fought them off, but I also developed a mild 'fuck it' attitude.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry brushed something off his hair. He groaned, shifting in the pillows as the buzzing
picked at the strands of his hair. He huffed, picking his face up from where it was buried in
the blankets to swat at it.

“What?” he said, rolling onto his side. He blinked the haze out of his eyes to see a paper bird
flapping its wings above his head. He snatched the bird, the outer edges crumpling outward
to reveal his fathers handwriting with instructions to meet them outside.

It dawned on Harry that they were inviting him for a hunt. He leapt out of the bed, keeping
his enthusiasm quiet as he changed into his robes and packed his backpack. He checked to
see the diary was still safe within before he left the entire bag behind.

Harry saw his dad standing by the lip of the gateway that would lead to Hagrid’s hut. He ran
to his dad and took him into a hug.

“Good morning, Harry,” Will said with a warm smile. Harry beamed as the man led him to
the grass, dew beginning to seep through the material of his shoes. Will shifted before he
reached the end of the clearing, Harry following suit immediately. He bucked next to his dad,
seeing his Father hiding among the shadows of the treeline.

Harry nuzzled his chest, preening when he felt two noses scenting over him. He heard the
clinking of their antlers over his head. Hannibal reared up, kicking his forward legs to excite
Harry before he launched forward into the forest.

His longer legs made it easy for him to keep up to the pace of Will and Hannibal. Harry
smiled as they weaved along the dark trees, the sound of birds and insects beginning to wake
as the dawn crested the horizon. The three slowed as a scent cloud caught on each of their
muzzles. Harry sniffed the wind, feeling the cold air enter his nose as the musky scent of deer
filtered through.

Harry felt a nose nudge the side of his neck. Part of learning to hunt was scenting down the
prey. Harry could feel his feathers rise towards his neck, almost pointing in the direction of
prey. He cantered, checking to see that his parents were following his lead.

He could smell that it was an older doe they were chasing, lacking the musk of a stag. Harry
stopped briefly to smell the tracks that were smashed into the soft ground of the forest. He
watched Hannibal stand next to him, their feathers reaching out for each other as Will walked
further around the ridge.

With Will broken off from their hunting party, Harry and Hannibal cantered together to hunt
down the herd. Harry could see the deer with his eyes. He felt his heart beat faster within his
chest as he and his father raced into the clearing, spooking the sleepy deer.

As they darted from Harry and Hannibal, Will pounded on the doe. Harry rushed to meet his
dad, who had the bleating creature between his jaws. Hannibal grabbed her muzzle to
suffocate her, dragging her to the ground as Will kept pressure on her neck. Harry dove under
his parents to grab the doe’s jugular. Blood poured over his pelt as they took the doe down,
letting her body rest on the ground.

“Good, Harry,” Will said, licking the blood off Harry’s feathers. Harry nuzzled into his
chest, relishing in the feeling of being in his pelt within the Forbidden Forest. Hunger grew
within his belly and he dipped his head to doe, tearing into her pelt with his teeth.

It was normal that his parents gave him a moment to feast on whatever they brought down.
When Will nor Hannibal tucked into the warm flesh, he picked his head out of the body.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked, his feathers standing taller on his barrel as he looked
around the forest. Hannibal moved forward, nuzzling his pelt with his nose.

“Not quite, fawn,” Hannibal said. He moved his nose to where Harry was hoping his antlers
would grow in. He sniffed around the feathers, licked the blood off his brow. “Have you
heard anything out of the usual?”

“No,” Harry said, watching Will as he began to tear at the doe. Harry looked back at
Hannibal, who pushed Harry back to his morning meal with a leg. “Why? Has something
happened?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal said. “But you haven’t seen anything out of the usual?”

“Not for Hogwarts.”

Harry pulled his teeth back in a smile as Will snorted into the doe’s body. Hannibal pushed
Harry aside playfully, putting his face into the center of the doe. Having eaten his fill, Harry
yawned and laid down so he was touching Will’s legs. His parents continued to eat the doe,
breaking the bones that were larger than he could wrap his jaws around.

The light of dawn was beginning to crest over the horizon, sun’s rays bleeding down from the
treeline. Harry yawned from where he was laying on the ground. He startled only slightly
when he felt Will bed down next to him, licking the rows of his feathers. The rhythmic
movement of the grooming settled his mind, pushing him to a near sleep state.

“When do you think my antlers will come in?” Hannibal huffed from where he was taking his
last tastes of the doe. He pulled his maw out from the doe, licking the long teeth along his
lips. He nuzzled Will as he moved around to where Harry was laying. He knew that they
would have to go soon as Will and Harry both had a morning full of classes.
“Soon, fawn,” Hannibal assured him. “Magical ability allows for more points or stronger
antlers. You’ll get them one day.”

Harry curled along the length of Will’s stomach, finding the warmth of his feathers inviting
as his father burrowed down on the other side of him. His parents scented him, grooming
over the tops of his feathers as their antlers hung over him. When he felt Will poking him to
stand, he grumbled but rose to his full height.

The dawn had painted the sky a golden orange, dew drops reflected on the ground as the
birds of the forest came to life. Insects chipped around them as they made their way to the lip
of the forest. They were still safe within the tree’s protections, hardly able to see the school.

“Go back to your dorm, Harry,” Will said, grooming over the length of Harry’s feathers one
more time. Harry pulled away from the grooming now they were closer to the school. “Don’t
worry about Severus. He knows you’re here with us.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, breathing out a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to sneak past
his Head of House. Harry trotted ahead of his parents, figuring that they would want to have
a moment to scour the forest for any danger. He shifted before reaching the last trees, pulling
his clothing over his flesh to keep away the November chill.

He looked back at his parents silhouette watching him, waved once, then raced to the school.

“Where were you?” Draco asked as he came out of the bathroom wearing only his pants.
Harry went to the mirror, checking over his reflection for any forest debris he may have
collected.

“Dad wanted to talk to me about something before the day started,” he said. Harry brushed
his hair again, making sure to pull the twig out of the bristles. He grabbed his backpack when
he saw that Draco was ready with his own. “Breakfast?”

After returning from the Yule holiday, the first thing that Harry checked on was the diary.

He often thought about telling his parents about Tom and the horcrux but every time he got
the courage to tell them, something came across his path that distracted him from the task. It
also weighed on him mentally as Tom was a good listener.

He didn’t seem evil within the pages.

Since he was in the depth of winter, he was taking the pills his father provided him. The
hibernation instincts were not as bad as last year but Hannibal only thought that because Will
was with him at school.

Harry was writing to Tom in the diary, sitting alone on one of the stone benches along the
hallway. Draco was going to meet up with Harry in the Great Hall. The hallway was busy
with students making their way down to the Great Hall for dinner.
“Good evening, Harry,” he heard. Harry snapped his head up, smiling at the Headmaster as
he closed the diary in his hand, cutting off whatever response Tom had written him. He put
the diary in his bag, shouldering it to walk next to his teacher.

“Seems like yesterday a boy like you was writing in a book like that.”

“Writing things down helps me,” Harry said, recalling Tom giving that excuse within the
pages.

“We should always take care to protect ourselves,” Dumbledore said as they made their way
to the Hall. “But it is wise to remember the council of friends.” Harry nodded his head with a
smile as he went to the Slytherin table. He looked to see that his dad must be enjoying
another meal with his father as he was missing from the table of teachers.

“What took you so long?” Draco said, sliding over to let Harry sit next to him. “I almost had
to give your spot over to the twins.”

Harry shivered next to Draco while he poured himself some water from the available pitcher.
He supposed that, eventually, the same symptoms would come back. He debated reaching
into his bag for the jerky that sat within a spelled bottle but thought better of it when he
wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“You’re still cold?” Draco asked, a pale brow raised. Harry tried to hide his shivers, but
Draco saw through the guise. He rolled his eyes with a smirk on his face as he removed his
outer robe and tossed it on top of Harry’s head. Harry laughed as he covered himself.

“Thank you,” he said, close to Draco’s scent within the fabric. It still held the echo of warmth
coming off his body.

“Now you can make it through dinner,” he joked. Harry and Draco finished dinner quickly.
Both were excited for the weekend ahead of them, hoping that the spring cold would break
enough so the entire group could socialize outside rather than share quiet whispers in the
library.

Draco and Harry eventually found themselves huddled on Draco’s bed, trying to figure out
Professor McGonagall’s transfiguration homework over their textbooks. Draco was running
the quill over his lips as he tried to read the words in the book.

“I think I’ll try again in the morning,” Draco said, throwing his quill down in frustration.
“I’m going to take a shower.” He grabbed his warmer pajamas from where he put them under
the pillows.

Harry rolled off his friend's bed to flop onto his own. He looked over and watched Draco
enter the bathroom. Draco would take longer, much longer, in the shower than Harry did. He
once tried to explain the routine to Harry, who looked at him with boggled eyes.

Hearing the water turn on, Harry pulled the diary from his bag. He opened the pages to where
he inserted the quill when Dumbledore caught him. The ink had long since faded into the
yellow pages.
Hello again, he wrote. Harry noticed that the diary always responded to him quickly, the
magic warm and welcoming against his own. Their sudden departure did nothing to stop the
quick response from the horcrux.

Hello Harry. What had you leaving?

A professor was asking me if I was on my way to dinner.

It’s late evening then? Tom asked. Harry absently nodded his head as he reinked the tip of his
quill.

Yes. I was working on a transfiguration assignment.

A tricky form of magic, he wrote. There was a pause as the ink faded from the paper. Would
you like to come closer and talk, Harry. I’m dying to meet you.

Harry laughed as he looked at the fading black script.

How would we do that?

Simple enough, really. Tom wrote, the letters excited as they faded faster. All you need to do
is continue holding the diary.

Harry wasn’t really sure going to speak to Tom was a good idea. He knew that the diary was
a horcrux and that was dangerous itself. Harry knew that Draco would be out of the shower
soon so somehow folding into the diary would be dangerous if he found out.

He didn’t get a chance to make up his mind.

The magic within the diary became hot, a heat that echoed through his forehead. Harry, with
his hand on the black leather, watched a golden light come up to wrap around his neck and
flash bright enough he needed to close his eyes.

He groaned as he rubbed the light away, the air around him stale and stagnant enough it hurt
his senses. He sneezed.

“Bless you,” a voice said. Harry lifted his head sharply to see a young boy standing in front
of him. Harry looked around, not seeing Hogwarts. “It’s okay, Harry,” the boy said, putting a
hand on his chest. “It’s me. Tom.”

Harry swallowed a thick throat as he took in his surroundings. Tom was wearing a Hogwarts
uniform, same as he was, with a green tie tight against his neck.

“Where are we?” Harry asked as he looked around the rest of the room. There was a thin bed
that had certainly seen better days if the tufts of fuzz coming out the sides were any
indication.

“A place I hate,” Tom growled, flopping back onto the bed with his arms crossed at the chest.
“Wool’s Orphanage,” he said, waving a finger between the two of them. “We have that in
common.”
The bed made a squeaking sound as he sat, blue sheets exposing their threadbare sides. Harry
turned his head to see a charred wardrobe within the room, next to the door that seemed to be
more of a sketch then an actual exit.

The diary was innocently sitting on top of the pillow, protected by Tom Riddle.

“It’s the way out,” Tom said with a smile as he noticed Harry’s look. Harry turned his head,
trying not to give away his anxiety. He took a step forward in the diaryscape. The ceiling was
impossibly tall. It looked like the slates on the side of his room went up and up until they
faded color and wood appearance where they turned a dull grey.

Harry walked to the window, standing on floorboards that matched the boards on the side of
the wall, creaking with each step. Chipped green paint fell off the bars that surrounded the
glass window. Outside there was brown grass in the yard, a couple of broken toys and
deflated balls within an iron spiked gate.

Beyond the gate was the same white void that existed over the ceiling.

“Please don’t go yet,” Tom said, getting Harry to turn his head and regard the older student.
“It’s lonely in here.” Tom picked up the diary from the pillow it was resting on, putting it in
the space between his crossed legs so he was practically sitting on it.

Tom pointed to the ceiling sky.

“It cycles through,” he said absently, his back resting against the slates of wood. Harry
examined the floor. Small patches of the ground were absent from the wood image, instead
looking more like the grey London day.

He saw nothing beyond the bars beyond the brown grass, no outline of a building, hint of a
shadow. Harry put his hand up, feeling some resistance from the glass before it yielded to his
pressure.

“I wouldn’t,” Tom said. Harry didn’t listen to him as he reached further for one of the iron
bars. The moment his flesh came into contact with the bar- a shock traveled up the length of
his arm, blasting him back about a foot to where he was sitting in front of Tom.

“Ow,” he hissed, shaking out his hand from the pain.

Harry’s feathers twitched in fear. He knew he had to be careful as Tom was the one in his
territory. Harry did not know how much Tom could manipulate the diaryscape around him.
He slowly approached Tom, taking account of anything that might make the man upset as he
approached the bed.

Tom tilted his head in a confused manner as Harry sat down next to him, his back pressed
against the same fading wall as Tom’s. While he wasn’t pressed up against the boy, he could
feel that Tom was colder than Harry- perhaps as cold as he was during his hibernation
symptoms.
“How long have you been here?” Harry asked, resting his head against the wall so he could
look into the sky ceiling. Tom sighed, shifting a bit on the bed, no doubt clutching the diary
close.

“Long enough for me to forget what it looks like outside those bars,” he said, nodding his
head to the image. Harry looked up to the ceiling. It seemed to forget what its original design
was as well. Harry looked up at Tom when his hands came to Harry’s shoulders, nails digging
into his flesh through the robes he wore.

“I need to escape Harry,” Tom said, his tone desperate as eyes looked over his face. “You
provide that with your words,” he said, collecting himself as he sat back, freeing Harry from
his grip. Tom stood up from the bed, the diary within his hands. He stroked the outside
binding, looking at the leather with reverence.

“Thank you for being the vessel of my entertainment recently.” Tom knelt to the ground, one
of the larger patches of grey space. Harry looked closer.

There was no mistaking the familiarity of the carpet that was stitched into the Slytherin
common room. Where the grey space was, color began to bleed in the little space that was
offered, the pattern of the carpet coming through to mold with the wood of the diary’s
horcrux.

He looked up, hoping that the sound of his heart beating in his chest was not as loud as the
echoing in his head. Tom was standing above him with a smile on his face, the diary stretched
for Harry to take. Harry eyed it skeptically as he stood up.

“I’ll hear from you soon?” Tom asked. Harry was almost surprised at how the boy wanted to
talk to Harry more. Harry smiled at him, his hand coming to rest on the diary.

“Yeah, Tom,” Harry said, beginning to feel the magic come to his hands. “I am your older
brother after all.”

Tom chuckled, his head hanging low.

“I’m the one that is older than you, second year,” Tom said in good nature. Harry watched as
a golden white light burst around his hands from the diary’s center, the image of Tom pulled
away with a sound of distant laughter.

With a huff of his breath that felt like apparition, he was still sitting in his bed, the pages open
to the middle. Harry flicked through the paper, seeing no ink or marking that indicated he
spent time within the diary.

Will and Hannibal would want to know about the experience he had with the diary. He just
didn’t know how to bring it up to the two.

...He supposed it was late and they were both at the England home.

In their wisdom, Harry felt the feathers on his neck begin to prickle, and rise with instinctive
hesitance. Harry lifted his gaze off the diary that Tom was held in as he heard the pipes shut
 off- Draco had finished his shower.

Not wanting his friend to find it, Harry stashed the diary in his bag. For good measure, he
placed it by the door.

Harry tended to his own night routine, taking care to get in his pajamas and make the bed
with the heated blanket that Professor Snape provided for him once the season started. Harry
got into bed as Draco emerged with a cloud of steam from the bathroom.

“Don’t give me that look, Potter,” Draco said, pointing at Harry. Harry didn’t understand how
people like Draco and his father could take such long showers or use so much hot water.

Burrowed under the layers of blankets, Harry still shivered. He yawned as Draco cut the last
candle, plunging them into the dark room.

“I can hear you shivering from here,” Draco said, cutting the silence of the dorm as Harry
tried to force himself to sleep through the shivers. Harry tried to still his body. He flinched
when he felt something poke his side. He looked over to see Draco standing on the other side
of his bed. “Hurry, Potter,” he said, shivering himself in the cold.

Harry rolled over to the far side of the bed, lifting the warm covers open for Draco to slip into
bed.

“By the gods,” he cursed, both moving closer and further from Harry, “you’re like ice!”
Harry laughed, shuffling closer to his friend in the bed so he could better leech the heat from
him.

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said, hoping that the dark could hide the blush accumulating in his
cheeks given their proximity. This was the closest the two were since the kiss they gave each
other on the last day of first year. Neither of them said anything about it or felt the need to do
it again.

Harry ducked his head down- face aflame as he felt soft lips press against the side of his scar.

“I don’t think I’ll mind doing this every night for the rest of winter,” Draco murmured, sleep
beginning to crawl through both their bodies. Now that Harry was warm, he could feel
himself molding into the mattress, his body pressed against Draco’s.

Eyes met in the darkness of the bedroom. Harry leaned forward a bit, pressed his lips against
Draco only for a moment, then pulled them away. They didn’t kiss often, this their third
shared between the two.

“Still,” Harry said, his eyes closed and body drifting further away from consciousness.
“Thanks, Draco.” Harry heard a sleepy sigh come from next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter End Notes

Has Tom gone insane within the diary as only half a soul with traumatic teenage
memories and no, as Hannibal said: paddle? I'll leave it up for debate if you desire.

Hannigram cuddles: yesssss....Sweet dreams, y'all- its time for you to get some sleep.
 A Nestmother's Duty
Chapter Notes

Wake up, my friends, it is time to enjoy a new day.

I have for you another short chapter featuring Nagini. This chapter is an extension of the
Between Mother's chapter- only this time, from her POV. I hope that you like the
change...There is something about a manipulative family that I like writing with the
dynamics.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Nagini could smell the horcrux that held her hatchling. her first hatchling. With the two
humans asleep, she krept from under the bed to where she could smell the book. At the end of
the room, towards the door, discarded and alone...her hatchling was so cold and shuddered
when her own magic touched him.

Quiet as she could, Nagini pulled the horcrux from her other hatchlings bag and curled
around it, hoping that her heat would seep into the pages and into his mind. Within her scales,
she could feel magic that wasn’t her own hum.

Curious, Nagini slithered to Harry’s bed, keeping to the edges of the sheets. A normal human
would have sensed a predator such as her and tried to fruitlessly escape. Her hatchling,
though human shaped, had grown used to the presence of predators watching over him and
thus, did not stir as she spread herself over him.

Nagini shifted the book until it sat against his warm beating heart. The magic of the three of
them hummed at a higher frequency, as if trying to merge into one body. There was a quiver
of life within the vessel, the first one that she encountered wasn’t merged to the flesh of
another as she and Harry were.

Unblinking eyes watched the other nestling in his bed, warmly tucked in the sheets and
sleeping. The nestling smelled of her hatchling, his scent was even on the bed. They would
often share each other's warmth in the winter months. Nagini supposed it made up for the
species' lack of hibernation. She would remain intertwined with her hatchlings as long as she
could to allow for their magic to begin to settle.

In the morning, once the students were gone to their classes, she would have to crawl through
the pipes to greet the Great Serpent and speak of a higher plan than killing muggleborns.
Nagini had heard the Serpent speak to Harry who went out and found the largest source of
her hatchling's soul.

After all, if the familiar man-eater went to the trouble to ask Nagini to protect
his...fawn...then he would extend the same courtesy as the nestmother to her hatchlings.
Chapter End Notes

Take some time to enjoy the sunshine wherever you are, drink some water, eat more
foods. Take care of yourself, my dear, because I relish having you at my table.

Until next time.

 A Fresh Set of Eyes
Chapter Notes

Good afternoon friends! I know that the last chapter was a shorter one but it seemed that
you enjoyed it! It thrills me to know that Nagini is an important part to some. I have a
longer chapter, to make up for the brief meal and am *very* excited about showcasing
it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The heat of summer was beginning to make itself known as the days grew longer and longer.
Harry and his friends were all enjoying the classes that his dad was teaching. So far, it was
only Draco that knew Professor Graham was his dad.

He was saving that surprise for the train ride home.

With finals approaching, more students found themselves in the library for longer and longer
periods of time. The hallways filled with students collaborating on projects, papers and
quizzing each other on topics that might come up in a final exam.

The times that Harry could write in the diary were becoming far and few between. He could
tell that something was different with Tom, not the anger he felt when they first met but he
could tell that Tom seemed lonely. He stretched conversations out until they were almost
repetitive, attempting to get Harry to talk about different subjects.

Nights that Harry had a hard time sleeping, he spent writing in the diary. Draco moved back
to his own bed after the winter months ended. Occasionally, one would climb into the bed of
the other. Tom had brought up the topic of the Chamber of Secrets as spring came.

It was apparently a secret room that Salazar Slytherin built beneath the school. Tom wrote
that the entrance to the Chamber had been lost for hundreds of years, telling him that
Dumbledore didn’t even know where it was. Harry found the entire thing fascinating as he
learned about the Basilisk that rested down there.

Harry looked around the corner in the night, listening for any footsteps that would echo
through the hall. He walked back to where he found Ginny and removed the chicken feathers
from her, turning the hallway as per Tom’s written instructions.

He entered the girl’s bathroom, feeling a bit off about being in a place not meant for him. He
pulled the diary from his pocket, the quill pressed between pages in a familiar way of
carrying it.

And all I have to say is: ‘open?’ Harry wrote, standing in front of his reflection over a sink.
He did not smell any snake pit coming from the bathroom. He could only scent the cleaning
supplies that Filch used around the place.

Yes, Tom wrote back. Then you ask for stairs. Or, you can slide down into a pile of bones.

How do I get past the Basilisk?

You don’t, came the response, almost like a chuckle. She will come to you, scent you and
leave. Since you are with me, she will smell my magic. No harm will come to you but you
must keep your eyes closed as you enter the Chamber.

Harry nodded his head, reading over the instructions that were still visible on the page. He
closed the diary with the quill still between the pages.

“Open,” he hissed to the mirror, watching his lips contort over the strange syllables. He took
a step back as the porcelain began to slot against itself, the sink falling into the ground. An
empty hole revealed itself. “Stairs,” he hissed, watching them in fascination as the hole
plugged itself for a moment, then dropped down in slotted thunks that reminded him of the
moving staircases surrounding the school.

Harry looked behind him for a second, to the door that he could go find his parents and
explain what he found and how he found it. The book in his hand grew hot, as if it were
pulling him like an excited child deeper and deeper into the school.

He took his first steps down the staircase, walking deeper into the colder part of the school.
With his robes on, he could feel the chill seep past the fabric until it reached his skin. A draft
passed through the spiral staircase, regurgitating the scent of decay.

Harry stepped down onto old bones that snapped under his weight with a little plum of dust
sprouting from them. Harry covered his nose with his hand, the smell of dust collecting in his
sinuses. He stumbled out of the snake graveyard to where he saw the large circular door.

“Open,” he hissed again, coughing the dust out of his lungs. He could hear the locks on the
door pop open for the first time in half a century. The door swung open, a new draft of
cleaner air coming through. Harry could hear water dripping from all sides of the Chamber as
he entered. The moment he was past the bones, he closed his eyes.

It wasn’t long before he could hear the vibrations of something coming closer to him. His
instincts screamed at him to run in the other direction as fast as he could. The teachings of his
parents prevented him from running, knowing that it would only serve to mark him as a
predator to the great serpent. The vibrations in the floor came next, almost like a scraping
along the floor.

“Another human enters my Chamber,” a deep hiss came. Harry stayed very still as he tried
to calm his heart pounding in the bones of his chest. He could hear the snake surrounding
him.

“Hello, Great Serpent,” Harry whispered. With his eyes closed, Harry bowed low at the
waist in respect.
“A speaker, then?” Harry heard the Basilisk approach him from the front. Though he could
not see, Harry could feel the room around him shrinking. “Your heart beats fast, hatchling.”

“In your great presence, it would,” Harry said, the feathers along his arm itching to burst
free. “I am not ignorant enough to think you could kill me with less than your gaze, Great
One.” The Basilisk hissed in a way that made Harry think she was humming.

“Do you think you can charm me like the common snake?”

“I would think myself a fool to compare your glory to a common snake.”

The silence that came after his statement was more terrifying than talking to the creature. He
could feel his chest tightening with panic as the silence stretched longer. Harry desperately
hoped that it wasn’t showing.

“Open your eyes, Harry,” a new voice said, practically booming through the Chamber. Harry
gasped, eyes widening as he spun to look at the familiar face, ignoring the gaze of the
Basilisk. Tom was standing there with a smile on his face. “You did beautifully.”

Harry took a step back on instinct. He stopped when he felt the fleshy warmth of the creature
behind him. Oh, this was not his intention when he opened the Chamber.

“Calm, Harry,” Tom said, his diary clutched in pale fingers. Harry looked around, trying to
get his bearings, but the body of the Basilisk had completely surrounded him. He would have
to climb over the creature to make it anywhere else in the Chamber and hope he wouldn’t be
crushed as he climbed.

“How?” Harry asked, looking at Tom. The boy did not seem to be all there, his body was
more of a mirage, much like the floorboards within the diary.

“Ginny Weasley told me all about you, Harry Potter. You and your fascinating history,” Tom
said, taking a small step closer to Harry as he held the diary up in the other hand. “At first,
outrage, how did you as a baby manage to kill Lord Voldemort and escape with nothing more
than a scar.” Tom reached out and touched over the wound on Harry’s forehead.

A slight spark of magic met the mirage’s fingers.

“Imagine my surprise when I find the scare hides something...something precious to me.”
Tom put one of Harry’s hands over the diary, the faint pulse of magic within it echoing to the
same vibration as the one within his skull. “A horcrux, just like this one...Lord Voldemort is
my past, my present, and our future.”

“Tom,” Harry said, his tone quick and quiet. The hand came up to his scar again, the magic
echoing in a way that made his body feel warm and heavy. He stumbled, putting his arm
against the Basilisk’s body to support himself. He looked and saw that Tom was trying as best
he could to help Harry, a translucent hand attempting to keep him upright.

“Hush, my horcrux,” Tom whispered as his eyelids grew heavier, his legs turned to lead.
Harry felt the dampness of the ground begin to seep into his uniform. “Rest now, Harry. I’ll
keep you safe, little brother.” Harry could no longer fight the pull of whatever magic was
entering his body.

Tom tsked as he picked up the wand Harry dropped. He hummed as he felt a familiar pulse of
magic rush over the shard of horcrux he represented. He waved Harry’s wand over him,
removing the water that soaked into his uniform and heating him.

“Are you pursuing a higher plan?” The Basilisk asked. Tom chuckled as he ran a hand
through the pages of his horcrux, feeling as if he were running a hand down his own spine.
Tom left Harry in the safe coils of the Basilisk so he could pick up one of the bronze ritual
knives stored.

“I shall reunite the horcruxes to make myself a human body. Harry will remain my
horcrux and become my protege.”

“If that is your wish,” the Basilisk said, beginning to move herself away from the two of
them. Tom knelt down next to Harry, brushing one of the stray locks from his face. He put
Harry’s wand in his right hand, the left holding the center of the diary.

Tom put down the wand and took Harry’s hand. He placed it in the center of his diary, feeling
the resonating magic echo within himself and have the call answered by Harry’s horcrux. He
sliced into Harry’s skin with the blade, letting his blood bleed into the center of the pages.
The hand he was holding his horcrux with materialized, blood coming back into his veins
long enough that he could cut his own hand.

Tom bled over Harry’s scar, covering the raised flesh with his own blood.

With Harry’s blood mingling within the pages of his horcrux and the scant blood that Tom
could bleed on Harry’s scar- their connection to the physical world was faint. Tom closed his
eyes as he felt his magic begin to slip into Harry. It wasn’t all that different from the magic
that Harry had fed Tom as they went through the year. Harry’s magic connected so well with
his own, Tom originally thought that Harry was magically powerful and little else. But when
Harry began to feed him with his words, spend more time with him in the ink of his pages,
Tom suspected that their connection was something more profound.

When Harry landed in his diary, a feat that dear Ginny Weasley would be unable to survive, it
confirmed that Harry Potter was his horcrux.

Tom smiled as he opened his eyes, looking up at the stone ceiling that was eroded by the
water that surrounded him. He tested the dexterity of his fingers, of Harry’s fingers, laughing
in fascination as he felt them move to his will.

“I’ll be careful with you, Harry,” Tom said as he put his legs under him. He ran a hand
through his head, marveling at the unique texture of Harry’s abundant black hair. His uniform
was pressed, tie tight against his throat as any self-respecting Slytherin would wear.

Tom closed his eyes and listened, tuning out the sound of the Basilisk nesting once more. In
the depths of his mind, he could feel Harry’s magic. It was warmer than his own- whole with
a little extra soul woven deep in his magical core. For now, his magic was peaceful and
content. It recognized Tom’s magic as he had nurtured such a small shard for the most of his
life.

He would need to release Harry soon. Given that Tom was an extra half of a soul poured next
to Harry’s own- his skin would begin to break at the seams if Tom remained a parasite for too
long.

“I won’t let that happen, Harry,” Tom said, wrapping his hands around Harry’s body to
squeeze in a mockery of a hug. While Harry’s consciousness was sleeping, Tom knew that
Harry’s magic would feel the warmth of Tom’s comfort. “I’ll take care of everything. You
only have two more days of school before summer.”

Tom put his diary in Harry’s backpack and took the wand in his hand. He could feel the pulse
of the same phoenix feather in Harry’s wand.

“Brother wands, Harry,” Tom said with a laugh. Tom walked out of the large circular door
and closed it behind him, making sure that no one could enter the Chamber.

“We won’t have to be alone anymore, Harry,” Tom said, a little winded as he finished
climbing the last stair to enter the girl’s bathroom. Tom looked at the face of Harry looking
back in the reflection. He smiled, practicing the motion and what it felt like for a moment.

He turned when he heard something coming close to him.

Not wanting to risk exposure, Tom ran out of the girls bathroom. He turned the nearest
corner, the excitement of the chase seeping into his pores. Tom could feel the blood pumping
through his body as he took the stairs two at a time to make it to the dungeon.

The heels clicking behind him faded to the distance as he descended the spiral stairs to
Slytherin dorms. Feeling that he was safe, Tom chuckled as he pushed the door open. The fire
was burning low in the fireplace, embers keeping the dorm warm. He walked to Harry’s dorm
and pushed the door open.

His roommate, Draco Malfoy, the grandson of one of his own original Death Eaters, was
sleeping peacefully in the bed next to Harry. Tom could feel the exhaustion of the ritual
beginning to set in. He yawned as he got changed into Harry’s pajamas and folded himself in
the sheets, shivering a bit when the cold comforter covered him.

Tom shifted in the bed, the sheets warmer than he remembered. He startled when he opened
his eyes, seeing the Slytherin dorm room around him with more clarity than he could
remember having.

“Morning, Potter,” a sleepy Malfoy said as he towled his hair. Tom shivered as the blankets
fell around his waist. He returned the greeting with a yawn as he tried to rub the tired feeling
from his eyes. He groaned as he made his way to the bathroom, relishing in the hot water that
was in the pipes of the school.
Tom stepped out of the shower and felt the warmth of the water be evaporated from his skin.
He grabbed Harry’s wand and traced heating charms over his skin. He watched the droplets
of water vanish from his skin. Tom changed into his uniform, still shivering.

Since Harry picked him up in November, he had been observing Harry to better become him.
Harry was kind to most of the people that he met, interacting with those outside his house.
His favorite professor was the Potions Master, Severus Snape but Tom noted that Harry held
something of a fond feeling for their new defense professor Graham.

Anytime the diary was near Harry, Tom would be able to observe the outside world as if he
were a ghost. Though, there were limitations. If Harry left the diary alone for too long, Tom
would fall back into the Wool’s confinement. Harry had a tendency to keep his diary in his
backpack, by the door, during the evening. This prevented Tom from being able to observe
Harry or interact with the world around him.

It was frustrating to have freedom so close to his hands and then to fade away as Harry
walked away.

“Hey,” Draco said, getting Tom’s attention. He looked at the blond, who held up a brown
bottle. He shook the contents, a deep rattling sound coming from whatever was inside. “You
forgot these,” he said, tossing the bottle. Tom caught the bottle in his hand, looking at the
contents.

“Thanks,” Tom said, picking one of the pills. It had a slightly grey in color, it had no marking
or letters to indicate what it was. Tom had not seen Harry take these pills, but if Draco
remembered that Harry was taking them, then this was part of his routine.

“For your atomic, no, that’s not right, anemia,” Draco snapped his finger as he remembered.
Tom was skeptical of the pill and would look into it the moment that he was free from
Hogwarts. He put the pill on his tongue and swallowed it down.

“I can’t believe we’re almost done another year,” Draco said as they walked with the rest of
the Slytherin house to the Great Hall for breakfast. Tom was almost salivating at the
opportunity to taste food again.

“Just two more days left,” Tom said, taking a set and diving into the eggs and juice on the
table. As he ate, Tom pulled the jacket around him tighter.

Other students around him were speaking of the different professors giving out tests, last
minute additions added to essays and others quizzing each other in a rapid fashion. Harry
wrote in his diary of the teachers that were giving out tests versus the ones that had them
writing essays. Tom helped Harry on a couple of essay topics when they were conversing.

He was confident that he could take a test for Harry. After all, he was older than Harry and
had gone through the Hogwarts curriculum already.

Tom passed through the day as Harry with, in his opinion, flying colors. Charms had their test
of the year, which Tom took in Harry’s stead, making sure that the boy would not fail the
exam. Seeing an older Minerva teaching transfiguration brought back some memories. At
first, he was jealous that the woman was in a teaching position when he could have taken the
helm of the Defense position years ago.

Holding a grudge in the final days might alert McGonagall, and therefore, Dumbledore, of
his possession. He kept his head down and took McGonagall’s test without complaint. Tom
wrote Harry’s name down on the top of the paper, sparing the occasional glance to the
teacher, making sure she wasn’t onto him.

“Ugh,” Draco said, rubbing his temples as they walked out of the classroom. “Only Graham’s
test now.”

“Sly bugger, he is,” a new voice came. Tom and Draco found themselves flanked by two
redheads, hands coming over each of their shoulders.

“He’s gotten pretty far in the year without something horrendous happening to him.” The
other twin said. They both were in Slytherin robes but held the same familiar traits that
Gryffindor’s carried. Draco laughed as they walked along to the defense classroom.

“Good teacher,” said one.

“Hate to see what drives him away.”

“How was his test?” Draco asked. The twins tossed their heads back and laughed in the same
tone, as if they were one person existing in two bodies.

“He gave us a lesson, decided not to test.”

Tom felt himself sigh with relief. While he knew he was able to get Harry through another
exam, he would rather not have to drag Harry and his body through another one. He was
growing tired and desperately wanted to sleep in the warmth of the sun outside.

“Well,” the first twin said, breaking his hold off Tom’s shoulder. “We best be off.”

“Got to stuff all the toilets with clinging goo before Filch can forget about us.”

“We can’t have that,” Tom said with a smile. The twins winked at him as they sauntered off
to cause chaos. Draco and Tom climbed up the staircase and pushed open the doors to the
defense classroom.

Harry was talkative when it came to his classes. He would tell Tom what potions he was
brewing in class, charms studying in class or spells that he was working with in
transfiguration. Defense classes were rarely written about. He only told Tom that he was
passing the class and the history of Hogwarts having trouble keeping a consistent professor.

Other students filed around him, taking their usual seats with heads buried in their books. A
nervous energy pooled around the class, the same anxiety that every student carried before a
test. The windows were open, letting in the bright rays of summer and the heat into the room.
Even so, Tom still shivered in his chair.
“I don’t know why you can’t ever get warm,” Draco said, draping his green Slytherin scarf
over Tom’s head. That was the other thing that was new to Tom- casual intimacy. Tom had
slept with numerous people when he was in Hogwarts but it was never for something like
love. Tom did not have any friends while he was at Hogwarts. He might have said there were
students that he worked amicable with but never a friendship.

He blushed as Draco finished dressing Tom. The shivers were still under his skin, but the
scarf kept him a bit warmer.

“Thanks,” Tom said slowly, testing the words on his tongue. “I’d like to be enlightened as
well.” he shivered again as if his chills were mocking him. He picked his head up when he
heard the door swing open.

Professor Graham was wearing what looked like muggle attire. The outer jacket was cut off
at the waist, preventing it from being a robe. His shirt was tucked in, a tie snug against the
crux of his throat. Thick, blue tinted glasses covered his eyes as he looked at each of the
students with a smile. Professor Graham stopped walking when his eyes landed on Tom’s.

Tom stilled himself, keeping his eyes in contact with the professor. His heart found itself
giving away his stress. He had numerous spells around the diary that kept it hidden from all
kinds of people, there was no way that Professor Graham would be able to tell anything was
different about him from his next student.

“Professor,” one student asked. Tom relaxed back in his seat when Professor Graham broke
his eye contact to look at the other. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Professor Graham walked in front of the desks with a tired smile on his face.

“As it is almost summer break,” he smiled when the students let out a variety of sounds,
excitement and distress. “I decided to take the last days a bit easier.” Tom sighed in relief
along with the other students around him. Professor Graham waved his wand, silent magic
casting the objects on his desk to lay out in display.

“Part of defense is your ability to adapt to the no-maj world,” Graham said. He was an
American and used the term no-maj over muggle. As an American, he had more experience
merging non-magical and magical objects than the English community. The number of
muggles in America far outnumbered the number of wizards even when he was a child.

Professor Graham stood in front of the objects on the table. He took off his tinted glasses.
Tom looked at his eyes, seeing no shimmer that indicated he was a creature hiding his status.
Tom didn’t think that the glasses were to keep the sun out of his eyes. Being inside, he
wouldn’t have to worry about the sun’s rays.

“The muggle world is very different from this one,” he said, putting the glasses back on his
face. “They outnumber us and their technology is, arguably, far superior to magic.”

Tom felt conflicted about what this teacher was speaking about. While he looked like one of
those muggle sycophants that Dumbledore attracted, he did not speak about them in some
relevant light.
“Since it is not required for students to take a Muggle Studies class,” he rolled his eyes. “I
will be teaching you some of the methods to adapt and blend into the non-magical
environment.” With an embellished flick of his wand, Professor Graham removed the black
cloth from the table.

“What I am wearing is considered work wear. Just as there are formal and casual robes in this
world, the muggles have their own fashion.” He walked to the objects on the table, explaining
how a pen acted as a replenishing ink quill.

“At least the muggles aren’t completely helpless,” Draco muttered to him. Tom nodded his
head, watching as Professor Graham picked up a vial of blood.

“Blood,” he said, “has numerous uses in this world. The same applies for the muggle one. I
previously worked for a Muggle American crime unit that used blood as the key point in their
investigations.” He paused as he set the vial back down on the black cloth. “Muggles have
the technology to look into blood and see what makes us. The structure that we cannot see
with the naked eye.”

“Big deal,” a Slytherin student said, one that Draco rolled his eyes at. “It’s not like the
muggles have been to the moon.”

Professor Graham furrowed his brow and looked over all of the students.

“They,” he said carefully, “muggles have been to the moon.”

He openly laughed at them when the pandemonium broke. Many of the Slytherin students
protested that it couldn’t be possible for muggles to make it to the moon.

“Looks like I have my work cut out for me,” he said, a pained smile on his face as he began
his lecture, starting with the moon landing. Tom watched in an angry form of awe as Graham
showed the class other things that the muggles used. The second thing that caused a lot of
ruckus was the cell phone. Tom humored the man, nodding his head along when Graham
explained he could talk to anyone in the world using the small brick.

“We are all capable of great violence and compassion not as magical or muggles but as
humans,” he said. He sat back on the table, legs crossed at the ankles. “One man managed to
massacre about eleven million of his own people based on their religion.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” the Slytherin said.

“As stupid as fighting each other over blood purity and status?” he asked the student with a
smirk, watching as he sat further into his chair after being called out. His blue tinted glasses
looked up at the clock. Tom was surprised with himself, he found that he was more invested
in the lesson than anticipated since the class was almost over.

Professor Graham seemed to be happy leaving his statement as his final point. He clapped his
hands together with a smile, the other students around him rising out of their chairs to escape
to summer.
 “Enjoy your summer, kids,” he said, laughing as many of them cheered as they jumped from
their seats, shoving their supplies into their bags. “Mr. Potter, please stay after class to discuss
your last paper topic.” Professor Graham sauntered back into his office, leaving the door half
open.

“See you later, Harry,” Draco said. He smiled as he left with the other students, the room
falling silent. Tom sighed in the classroom. He checked on his horcrux in the bottom of the
bag. The magic was still strong in the pages, preventing him from harming Harry.

Tom swung his bag over one of Harry’s shoulders. He walked past the muggle objects on the
table.

“You wanted to speak to me, professor?” Tom asked, pushing open the wooden door. He
turned his head when he noticed something moving closer to him. Hands wrapped around the
front of his neck, tilting him back so he was braced on the attacker. Something pricked the
edge of his neck, a cool sensation blooming around the wound.

Tom whined as his legs went numb, head going fuzzy. He heard a man hushing him in
comfort as his vision began to fade out. He could feel the hands that caught him loosen their
grip, coming around his body to lay him on the ground.

The last thing Tom could see were the icy, glaring eyes of Professor Graham behind blue
tinted glasses.

Chapter End Notes

To me, Tom acts a little like a Pied Piper- someone who offers choices that people
wouldn't choose by banking on his charisma to gain followers. In Harry's case, I imagine
that the horcrux is also singing to him, like a siren, pulling him further away from safety.
 Separation Anxiety
Chapter Notes

Hello guests,
This chapter feels like I am posting it at the right time in my life- I just had to cut out a
toxic friend. It sucks but was a long time coming... I thank each and every one of you
that reads this and supports me as I went unsupported by someone close. There is a
wonderful community of people here on AO3 and I couldn't have fathomed writing this
story again without you.

Anyway, Angry mama and daddy to the rescue. Then there is a little Drarry moment-
spicy warning, maybe? I've done the extensive research. They are twelve going on
thirteen- don't like; don't read

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will could say he was having an interesting year.

He was teaching again, magical children, this time. The first thing that he did away with was
the use of parchment. Will found it useless and tedious to work with. During the evening with
Hannibal, after grading through student’s papers, he would type his own on a computer and
print out worksheets for them to avoid using parchment.

He also hated chalk. The ease of a whiteboard was something he didn’t think he would envy.

The tinted glasses Will wore helped him funnel out the residue magic that the students carried
with them. Empathizing with the kids, youngest or oldest, was a welcome change from
dipping into the minds of killers. Several of the rumors the students created for him circled
around his glasses. They ranged from him able to hypnotize other students, which wasn’t that
far from the truth, to able to kill him with a single look.

Will looked down at his left hand, the palm sliced through to the bones from when he
ambushed Harry. Whoever was possessing him still held Harry’s instincts to flare his spotted
feathers in defense. He pointed his wand at the wound, hissing as it glued itself back
together.

“Well,” he said, grabbing the needle he dropped to the ground after Harry cut his hand. “Now
we know why the Basilisk stopped hunting.”

Will wasn’t sure how this happened. He and Hannibal both hunted with Harry the morning
after they found Mrs. Norris. Both of them determined that he was safe. Harry didn’t smell
any different than normal, perhaps smelling more like Draco as their relationship was slowly
progressing, but nothing that caused them immediate concern.
On the nights that Will had to stay overnight for patrol duty, Hannibal would take to the
forest and scout the area as well. While Hannibal wasn’t allowed in the school without an
escort, there were no rules about him within the forest. As far as anyone knew, he was just a
deer in the woods.

Will enjoyed the times that he and Hannibal traveled to the woods at night. After taking
Harry into the forest, Will invited Hannibal within the trees just the two of them. They hunted
in the forest, the trees thicker and more magical than either had ever experienced.

It was a March evening that the two took to the forest in their pelts. They took down a doe to
feast on, sharing the deer between them, when a new scent of blood trickled through the
forest. Will remembered that he nudged Hannibal in the direction of the blood to see if he
could better scent it. With a kill sitting below them, neither could tell what the blood was
coming from. The two cantered along the trees, following the scent of blood with the anxiety
that it could be the basilisk harming a student.

Instead, they found a young first year in blue pajamas and her outer cloak. Hannibal and Will
were both worried for the girl as she stumbled onto a thestral nest. As they were about to
shift, they were surprised to see her reach into her pockets and pull out raw meat.

“Luna Lovegood,” Will said, watching as she tossed the meat towards the alpha thestral with
a smile on her face. The creatures did not seem to be in distress, shifting or getting between
Luna could startle them. They watched the alpha step closer, his beak nose dipping down to
scent the raw meat, before he inhaled it.

She laughed at the death creature, reaching into her pocket, she held the meat in her hand this
time. The thestral flapped his wings at her once, then took the meat from her palm, allowing
her to touch the leather skin of his skull.

The two Ravenstag watched over her feeding the thestrals until she ran out of meat. Will was
worried that the creatures might react negatively but his fears were unfounded. Once the
thestrals realized she was out of food, they licked the blood off her palms and continued
deeper into the forest. As she watched them, her eyes scanned the forest.

Luna stilled as she looked at them.

“She cannot see us with human eyes this far back,” Hannibal told Will, watching her.

“She’s looking right at us, Hannibal,” Will said, “Luna is not blinking.”

“The vision of humans is too weak in such dim lighting.” Hannibal was still unsettled by the
fact that the first year Ravenclaw was gazing right at them both. Her eyes darted between the
two.

Hannibal and Will both found themselves in the uncomfortable position of being caught.
Their ears were pointed forward, feathers raised and standing tall, waiting for the younger
girl's response. When she moved, she gave them a hobby curtsey and looked to the castle.
“I guess I should go back to bed?” She shrugged her shoulders as her voice, quiet as it was,
cut them through the night. She waved to them both, turning away to skip back to the castle,
singing herself a tune to carry her strides.

Will remembered he stomped the ground twice to warn Hannibal of his charge that initiated a
long spar.

After that night, they had both thought their fears of the Chamber and the Basilisk were over.

“Clearly not,” Will said. Will was an expert at keeping calm. Having worked so long with
Jack, Will was able to compartmentalize his panic at seeing something else within his son.

Kidnapping Harry was surprisingly easy. Will knew he would have a limited time to load the
syringe with the proper amount of sedatives, but Hannibal would want to interrogate Harry so
a smaller dose was the best option. Will grabbed Harry’s bag, tipping over the opening so his
papers and books could spill on the desk.

The horcrux was impossible to miss.

“Damn it, Harry,” Will growled, hovering his hand over the object. He could feel the magic, a
coiling mass that was wrapped around Harry. Will put Harry’s things back into his bag with a
spell and lifted it over his shoulder. He reached for Harry next, taking care that his fawn’s
head would not smash against anything.

He grunted as he grabbed a handful of powder, throwing it into the fire, he called for his
mate.

“What has he done this time?” Hannibal asked, stepping away from the kitchen. When he
saw Will holding Harry in his arms, Hannibal moved to Will, his hand coming to rest over
their fawn’s forehead.

“He’s being possessed by a horcrux,” Will said, shifting Harry in his arms as the dogs jumped
around to greet them both.

“I wonder where he found it,” Hannibal said as he rooted through Harry’s backpack for the
diary wrapped in leather. “You have to return to the school,” Hannibal said, putting his arms
under Will’s own so he could begin to shoulder Harry’s weight. Will looked up at him, his
expression startled. “You must not allow yourself to become a suspect. Return to the school,
go about the evening as usual.”

“Do you know what to do?”

“I have some ideas,” Hannibal admitted, taking his fawn from his mate. “Go. I will return
him by nightfall.”

Will didn’t look pleased, but he knew that Hannibal was right.

“I trust you,” Will said, nodding his head.

Will brushed his fingers over Harry’s scar one last time, then was swallowed by the green
flames.

“What have you gotten yourself into now, little fawn?” Hannibal said as he walked back to
the basement. He popped the door open with his foot and maneuvered down to the concrete
basement. There was a flat table that he put Harry on, transfiguring it until it morphed to a
chair one would commonly see in an execution chamber.

Hannibal could tell that Will did not inject Harry with a lot of sedatives. He was likely
panicked at seeing his fawn possessed by something else or only had a small margin of time
to put medicine in the needle. Either way, this worked to Hannibal’s advantage. As Harry
began to stir, he could finish gathering the rest of his supplies.

He transfigured a chair in front of the one Harry was bound to and sat down.

“That’s strong stuff,” his son said, the tone off with the misplaced laugh. Hannibal watched
the possessor clench his son’s hand around the arm of the chair, subtly testing his bonds
before he opened his eyes or showed more coherency.

Hannibal closed his eyes to better reign in his anger; he would not hurt his fawn to get the
possessor.

“It did the intended job,” Hannibal said. He picked up the diary, feeling that the magic was
around Harry and not capable of attempting to strangle him. “What is your name?”

“Do you think I would really give you that?” His son’s voice hissed, looking up only high
enough his eyes peered through dark hair. Hannibal ignored the man’s rude behavior. He
reached for the diary and opened the flap.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” he read, closing the diary. The horcrux lifted his head when he saw
his vessel being mistreated. Tom shook Harry’s head erratically, pulling at the bonds with a
drugged might.

“What do you want?” he asked, head hanging to the side when he finished fighting against
the binding.

“I would like my son back in one piece,” Hannibal confessed. He tilted his head when he
heard Tom laughing, a depressing, manic sound escaping his lips.

“Your son is an orphan,” Tom panted. It was the first time he was able to hold eye contact
with Hannibal. He was becoming more coherent and with it came his mania. Half of an
erratic soul, so assure of its claim to truth.

Hannibal chuckled at Tom’s statement.

“I imagine that Harry was attempting to gain information on your remaining horcruxes by
trying to befriend you.” Hannibal watched something he wasn’t anticipating. He watched
Tom, in Harry’s body, pull his head back, looking to the side in confusion.
Tom was unbalanced, he blinked several times in confusion, mildly shaking his head as if the
truth settled in his mind like sand on the shore- heavy and thick; impossible to miss.

“He lied to me,” Tom whispered, the remorse evident in Harry’s voice. He looked back at the
vessel of his horcrux, the scent of fear began to set in the room.

“We are aware of them,” Hannibal said, his hand resting on the warm leather of the horcrux.
Tom stiffened in his chair; Hannibal was unable to tell if it was because Tom could feel the
residual heat from his hand on the leather or the threat of his hand alone. “Along with the one
imbedded in his soul since the murder of his parents.”

“Remove me by force and he dies,” Tom hissed, pitching forward in his chair to growl at
Hannibal. Harry’s feathers flared along his neck. Hannibal knew that Tom could not see his
reflection, but the secret of Harry being a ravenfawn was something they wanted to keep the
Dark Lord from knowing.

“Give him back,” Hannibal growled, feeling his own feathers begin to prick at his flesh.

“He’s mine,” Tom hissed, the sound almost like parseltongue. His eyes were no longer green,
red bleeding through his natural scalar of Harry’s eyes. Tom shook his head, Harry’s feathers
dropped back to their keratin locks.

Both were aware they were at a mutual impasse. Hannibal would not harm his fawn and Tom
Riddle would not allow for harm to come to his horcrux. He knew that this was the largest
piece of horcrux any of them had encountered so far. Judging by the age of the book and the
pre-adult handwriting, coupled with the fact that the horcrux was fully capable of existing
outside of its vessel, if Hannibal tried to remove it by force he could hurt his fawn.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” a timid voice came. Hannibal looked at Tom, watching as he sat
up and calculated his own next move. “The longer I stay in Harry, the more his magic
suffocates.” Hannibal recalled that Will said magic was being suffocated when he stood
before the painted wall of chicken blood, warning the enemies of the heir away. He was
surprised to see that Tom, in his own obsessive way, cared for Harry.

“Honestly,” Tom said, the same sad laugh echoing through the basement. “I have no wish to
harm your...your son.” He struggled over the term son. Hannibal wasn’t sure when Harry
acquired the horcrux but it was clear that, while Harry’s intention was to befriend it, he might
have fallen for his own trap.

Harry reached out...and connected in his own magical field of mycelium.

“What proof should I accept?”

“My word along with the fact that I do not control Harry the same way I controlled the
original girl that found me.” Hannibal did not flinch at Tom’s anger, only finding the flames
of his own fanned. “I have no proof you would kill me should I free Harry as I planned.”

“You’re using my son as a hostage.”

“You’re using my horcrux as insurance.”

The two sat in the silence of the basement, both debating on the best way to proceed with the
most gain.

“It was our intention to kill you, regardless if we collected the horcruxes individually or
reunited them to kill you in the flesh.” Hannibal would have smiled if the situation was
different when he saw Tom nod his head at Hannibal’s statement. He inhaled slowly,
disbelieving himself as he spoke the words: “Perhaps we can find a compromise.”

Silence followed Hannibal’s offer but it was the best one that Tom was going to get and he
knew it. Tom was sitting differently in the chair than Harry would have. His eyes were cold
and calculating, posture rigid that showed fear but held upright with a bout of youthful
overconfidence.

“My intention is not to harm Harry,” Tom began, his hands still trying to pull free from the
metal binding. “I was going to use him to collect my other pieces, create a new body...”

Hannibal remained silent, letting the horcrux speak for itself. Tom threw Harry’s head back,
his black hair exposing the throbbing scar on his forehead.

“I will swear upon my magic to leave Harry in peace if you swear upon your own to make me
a body in a years’ time,” he offered.

“Half a soul is half a promise,” Hannibal retorted.

“And half of my soul is half of my magic,” Tom said, leaning forward again to look at
Hannibal. The erratic movements he had in the chair reminded Hannibal of the people who
spent too much time in isolation. His eyes caught onto any micromovement, eyes adjusting
harshly to any light. “I cannot afford to lose that.”

Tom smiled, another manic one that split Harry’s lips over his teeth.

“I will inhabit Harry again and continue with my plans.” Tom grinned with Harry at
Hannibal’s growl.

“Two years’ time,” Hannibal counter offered. “With the amount of trouble Harry gets into
and to allow for the ritual to be done properly.” Hannibal stood up. He would have relished in
the fear of Tom’s eyes if they didn’t come from the body of his son. Tom shrunk back in the
seat, his nostrils flaring, feathers beginning to prick at his flesh with a fear response. “Leave
him peacefully for two years, allow us to gather whatever horcruxes we can, and you will
have your body.”

It was the best offer Tom was going to get. They both knew it.

“Agreed,” he said.

Both Hannibal and Tom could feel their magic bond beneath their skin as the promise sealed
over them. Tom smiled up at Hannibal, looking far too smug for a person tied up in his
basement, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Hannibal watched as the magic twisted around Harry’s arms, flowing out of his elbows as it
pooled back into the diary like black molasses. Harry slouched back into the chair, his head
tipping over to the side.

Hannibal rushed to his fawn, unbinding him without needing a wand. Harry groaned in his
arms, supported by his father.

“Father?” Harry said, gasping for air as if he were held underwater.

“Easy, Harry,” Hannibal said, reaching his hand to peel his eyelids. Harry's pupils contracted
naturally to the light. Hannibal allowed for Harry to get his bearings straight, watching his
son look around the room wildly.

His eyes landed on the diary. A look of horror broke over his face as he looked up at
Hannibal, realizing his situation.

“What did you think you were doing?” Hannibal growled, holding up the horcrux that caged
Tom. He could feel the magic pulsing under his fingertips. Harry ducked his head in the chair.
“You should have told us immediately. Tom could have hurt you in ways no magic or
medicine could heal.”

Hannibal flinched at the tone of his own voice. Though he was a serial killer, he didn’t think
that rage was one of his sins. He kept a level head in most, if not all, stressful environments.
It was when Harry rubbed his eyes that Hannibal realized that he was angry because he was
scared for Harry’s safety.

“How did you get Tom out of me?” Harry asked, pushing away the tears. Hannibal pinched
the brow of his eyes. He gathered his anger and fear, kneeling to console his son.

“He and I came to a compromise,” Hannibal said, lifting his hand to touch Harry.

Harry flinched, pulling his head away, his hands white knuckled on the chair. He was afraid
of Hannibal. The man didn’t want to admit how much seeing his son flinch in fear of him cut
Hannibal’s heart. Hannibal kept his movement slow as he reached for Harry, brushing the
tears away from his face, absently hushing him.

“Had I tried to force him out of your body, he could have killed you.”

“Tom wouldn’t do that,” Harry whispered, his eyes still not trusting Hannibal. “I know it.”

Hannibal would have to trust his fawn’s word.

“He might kill everyone though,” Harry said, a wet chuckle coming from his throat. Hannibal
found himself laughing along with his son. He stood up, taking the horcrux in his own hand.

“You must return to Hogwarts,” Hannibal said, helping Harry stand on his feet. Harry
stumbled in the chair, a hand coming up to his head. Helping Harry up the stairs to the
kitchen took some time as his fawn was suffering from some light headedness.
“Did you tell him about being a ravenfawn?” Hannibal asked, handing Harry a stick of jerky.
He ate it, color coming back to his cheeks.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head vehemently as he took another bite. Hannibal handed him
a second stick.

Hannibal didn’t bother to ask why Harry hadn’t told them about the horcrux. He could feel
the magic of the diary underneath his fingertips, hot with anger, cold and betrayed. It
whipped under his fingers like an angry cat’s tail. Hannibal doubted that Harry meant to stay
on the charade as long as he did, the horcrux being as large as it was, no doubt sung a siren’s
song to Harry’s magic that might have been impossible to ignore.

“Your magic needs to purge,” Hannibal said, leading Harry to the fireplace. “The best place
for that is in school.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his eyes glassy as he looked up at Hannibal. The man sighed as he
hugged his son a bit tighter to his chest. Harry’s nails dug into his suit, clinging to him as he
calmed. Hannibal hushed him, running his hand down locks of his hair until Harry started to
relax in his arms.

“Go now, fawn, before your dad comes to get you.” Harry laughed at his father, wiping away
another tear as he threw the powder into the hearth, shouted for Hogwarts, and stepped
through the flames.

Harry found Will pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. Before he could say anything,
Will had him in his arms.

“Don’t you ever, ever, do that again,” Will said, his face buried in Harry’s locks. Harry
wrapped his arms around Will the same way he did for Hannibal.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Harry said, his legs dangling along Will’s body since the man lifted Harry
to his arms. Will put Harry back down on the ground with a stern expression.

“If you find anything,” Will said, kneeling so he could look Harry in the eyes without his
tinted glasses, “that you think resembles a horcrux- you must tell us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry said.

“I know you didn’t, Harry, but you could have been killed.” Will couldn’t help himself after
telling Harry that, he pulled his son back into his arms.

“How much time passed?” Harry asked.

“About three hours, Draco and your professors think that you are with me.” Will pulled away
from Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. Will opened his office door, many of the sparse books
he put on the shelf by his bag as he was anxiously packing while Harry was with Hannibal.
Harry picked up his backpack, sans horcrux and walked back into the classroom.

“You’ll be okay getting to Draco?” Will asked, he looked at his watch. “Have you eaten
dinner?”
“I ate with father,” Harry said, seeming to have bounced back to his normal self now that the
horcrux was removed. “I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Will held his tongue as Harry hugged him one last time before he made his escape into the
hallways to find his friend. Will stood in the threshold of his office door, his eyes falling onto
the seat that Harry occupied during the school year.

When he walked into the class, fully prepared to take it easy on the students since summer
was only a breath away and the kids were all itching to break free of the homework, Will
stalled as he saw what was in his son. There were deep dark circles that hung under his eyes.
His hair hung limply to his head and his eyes were bloodshot. The way Harry was sitting was
different: the posture was rigid and stiff and his eyes held no familiar recognition of Will as
his dad.

Will shook the thoughts out of his head. He walked to the table that still held the no-maj
objects he showed the class that afternoon. He picked up the cellphone from the table,
tapping its square edges on the table.

“We’ll need to coordinate Beverly and Severus over the summer,” he said to the silence. He
rubbed his eyes with a deep sigh.

Will was glad that he sent along his resignation letter last week to Dumbledore. Whatever
deal that Hannibal made with the horcrux would become their main priority.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s going to be fun.”

“Where did you go?” Draco said, throwing his socks into his trunk.

“I was with dad,” Harry said. “Helping him pack.” Rather than flop on his own bed, Harry
walked to Draco’s neatly made bed and landed on it face first. He could feel his body settling
the exhaustion from the ritual that Tom performed and the possession.

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Draco asked, trying to shove Harry off the bed.
Harry groaned as he was moved, keeping to the bed. The scent on Draco’s pillow smelled
nice. Harry hugged the pillow to his body, smiling at Draco as he climbed on the bed. “Give
my pillow back.”

Harry nuzzled Draco’s neck, a habit that he started picking up after he came back from Yule.
It was odd, but he found comfort in Draco’s scent.

“Vampire,” Draco huffed. Harry moved his head so his nose could bump Draco’s, opening his
lips to kiss Draco. Harry was surrounded by Draco’s scent, laying under him in the boy’s bed
and the source above him.

The kiss got deeper, the questioning probe of Harry’s tongue to Draco’s lips. Draco opened
his mouth for Harry’s tongue, his own beginning to slide around Harry’s in a sensation that
sent a spark down his spine. Draco’s grip slipped, falling closer to Harry. Harry turned his
body so he was the one laying over Draco, continuing to kiss him.

“Harry,” Draco panted, his voice deeper and the flush red over his pale cheeks. Harry leaned
down to kiss at the side of his neck, enjoying the sounds that he made. Draco put his hands
on Harry’s back. He was able to feel his dull fingernails through the thin summer night shirt
he wore.

“Vampire,” Draco said again, pushing Harry away from his neck.

“Not quite,” he muttered. Harry attempted to shift his weight upward so he could get off
Draco and go to bed. He was unaware of how close their hips had come as they kissed. His
attempt to move pushed their hips together in one slow grind.

Both let out a shocked moan.

Harry froze above Draco, his friend equally as embarrassed frozen as Harry. Before Harry
could spew off with apologies, Draco lifted his hand to Harry’s shoulder.

“We should do that again,” Draco muttered, moving his hips up to grind against Harry. Harry
let out another embarrassing noise as he nodded his head, clouded with the feeling of
pleasure. “Pants off.” Draco squirmed to the side of Harry as he removed his clothes.

Draco was always such a neat freak.

They were both naked and flush with embarrassment, blood covering each of their bodies.

“Come here,” Harry finally said, moving to grab Draco before he lost his courage.

It was better with their eyes closed, the feeling had increased with the removal of their
clothing. Harry and Draco both gasped when their bodies touched, cocks rubbing against one
another.

“Damn,” Draco said, beginning to grind against Harry’s hips. “This feels really good.”

“Yeah,” Harry groaned. He kissed Draco again, moaning as they rocked against one another.
Draco’s nails scratched lines down the length of his back, making him dip his body into
Draco’s grinding.

Draco bit down on Harry’s lip. A spark of pleasure seemed to race between where Harry was
bit to where their cocks were touching. Harry braced himself on one arm as the other fumbled
for the both of them. Draco shouted, head arched back. Harry froze, worried that he hurt
Draco.

“Please, Harry,” Draco begged, voice sounded wrecked, “more.”

Harry wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he went with what felt good. He brought his hand
down only to pull it back up. The pleasure was incredible and Draco seemed to enjoy it as
well. Harry leaned down, his arms hurting from excursion, to bite and suck at Draco’s neck
as a clumsy hand stroked them.
 It was sloppy, loose and unskilled but the sensation was perfect as they rutted against each
other.

Both cried in pleasure and relaxed completely when it was over. Harry tipped to the side of
Draco as they tried to catch their breath. After some time, when hearts weren’t thundering,
Draco grimaced as he looked down at his body.

“You made me sticky.” Draco reached over Harry to his bed stand where his wand was
resting. Harry was going to ask if he knew of any spells, but a sound at the door had Harry
instinctively roll over Draco.

He tilted his head when he saw that two pieces of green paper slipped under the door and
hopped to them. Harry had a spell of his own on the tip of his lips, only they stopped at the
foot of the bed. Both papers were origami shaped rabbits. One got on top of the other and
started humping it.

“What the hell?” Draco asked, baffled as Harry. The rabbits only appeared to stop when they
fused into one being and unfolded. Harry reached for the single paper and read:

“Spells useful for the newly,” he paused as he blushed, “sexually interactive children.” Draco
grabbed the paper and read over the spells. Among them were lube, condoms, a quieting and
cleaning charm...even a contraceptive charm.

“Signed, Fred and George Weasley,” Draco read. He tried the cleaning charm out, Harry
waving the scent of them away from the dorm like he would a blood puddle. “We are never
going to hear the end of this,” Draco muttered, laying next to Harry under the sheets of the
same bed.

“Something tells me we will survive,” Harry said. Harry began to burrow down next to
Draco. He wouldn’t see his friend...boyfriend...for another three months.

“Hey Harry?” Draco hummed. Harry lifted his head a bit, eyes drooping as he looked at him.
“It almost looked like you had feathers for hair when you vampire-growled over me.”

Harry huffed a laugh, flopping back on the pillow.

“Not a vampire,” he mumbled. Draco yawned beside him. Both curled to each other as the
natural effect of living in a dungeon began to chill the room. They fell asleep, warm within
the nest of blankets.

Chapter End Notes

Pursue what you love and know that you are loved. Thank you for all of your love and
support. I will see you all soon!
 A Heart, Torn in Two
Chapter Notes

Hello guests, Welcome back to the table. I have made for you another snack and am
very excited. There is adventure and angsts- you might see where I am steering the
ship...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A knock came to Severus’ door. It was too late for the students to be knocking for his office
hours and too early to be summoned for some emergency a student caused. He stood up from
his desk and opened the door.

“Hannibal, Will,” Severus greeted, opening the door further for the gentlemen. They walked
inside and exchanged their pleasantries. “I imagine something has happened.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, “You won’t have to worry about the Chamber being opened.”

Severus slowed on closing the door.

“It wasn’t a priority anymore,” he said slowly, wondering if the men had come to inform him
that they found the Chamber and killed the Basilisk; he proceeded carefully.

“Harry was possessed by Tom Riddle,” Will said, sitting on the chair. Hannibal walked
around the chair Will sat in, his hand coming to rest on Will’s shoulder.

“Considering that I saw Harry go to bed, I’ll assume that you...handled it?” Severus really
shouldn’t be surprised that Harry managed to cause some trouble this year. He watched over
the boy like a hawk in November, even watching over Harry as he walked around at night
during December. As the boy’s Head of House, it was his responsibility to look out for the
students. It mattered not if his parent were a fellow teacher.

“The parasite was removed,” Hannibal said, now sitting in the chair with one leg crossed
over the other. “It was the largest shard we’ve encountered so far. Able to manipulate the
outside reality.”

Severus flicked his wand, summoning the brandy and three glasses. He poured them a
generous serving and sat back in his chair with the glass in his hand.

“In order to free Harry,” Will said after taking a sip of the scotch, his voice raspier with the
liquor. “We had to agree to make the horcrux a body.”

Severus couldn’t help himself as he laughed.

“William and I shall have several contingencies in place for that time,” Hannibal said,
breaking Severus’ laughter. Ever since Hannibal bit the Dark Mark and the wound scarred,
the fear he had whenever he looked at the ink had lessened.

It was a mangled looking injury; where Hannibal’s teeth pierced his flesh left behind pink
and red welts that broke the image of the Dark Mark.

The fear of the Dark Lord’s return was lingering, yet always present. These men were not the
type of people that would sabotage the ritual either; they would complete the task, then kill a
fully fledged Dark Lord.

“We would like to commission you to create us an antidote over the summer,” Will said,
nodding his head along with his mate as he spoke. Severus leaned forward when Will held
out the sample they took from the day Harry bit the Dark Lord.

He had used his own sample after pouring over the caldron, trying to find different ways to
separate the numerous components of sludge. Severus picked up the vial of dark blood in his
hands, tipping it to the side and watching the blood slide down- a faint silver shimmer from
the unicorn blood.

“What would you have me do?” Severus asked. Hannibal’s lip lifted in a smile as he swirled
the scotch in his glass, the aromatics surrounding the three of them with the heady scent of
oak.

“It would be rude for us to ask you to cross the ocean and research something pertaining to
myself and my family without funding you.”

“An educational sponsorship,” Will clarified. Will picked a small file out of his pockets,
enlarging it on the table. He slid Severus over the file for him to look at. It was all very
muggle, different notes typed rather than written on the sample, precise measurements for
other ingredients and theories written in the margins.

“I have a friend that took a look at the sample,” Will said, pointing to the blue ink scratched
along the pictures of the single drop of blood Will must have given his friend. “She was able
to separate the unicorn blood from Quirrell’s using a machine.”

“She’s a muggle,” Severus asked, turning the pages. He saw the two units separated, the
darker blood sat at the bottom of the glass vial while the unicorn blood clung to the top.

“We believe the two of you will be able to come up with a solution,” Hannibal said. “Your
experience with muggles coupled with your own unique medical knowledge is most helpful.
We would provide you a magical safe house fit in the middle of a muggle town for
convenience.” Severus watched Will sip his scotch.

“It also means you can drag whatever kind of human into the house and won’t be disturbed,”
Will added with a shrug of his shoulders. That was one of the things he was still growing
used to: the casual discussion of murdering other humans.

“William is correct,” Hannibal said. “You would be able to hunt to your heart's content.”
Severus chuckled as he set his scotch down, the warm liquid sitting in his stomach before it
would settle into the little blood he had in his body.

“There is no polite way to refuse,” Severus said, his eyes tracking over the sample as his
brain thought of different ways to formulate a vaccine for them all to take. A feral kind of
happiness ruminated over the two sitting on the other side of his desk- perfectly in sync.

They confessed that both were now magically obligated to build the Dark Lord his new body;
neither Hannibal or Will would do so incorrectly. If Severus could get ahead of the Dark Lord
by providing them a vaccine- he would.

“When do I leave?” Severus asked. Hannibal nodded his head to Severus, silently thanking
him for taking the task. Hannibal slid over another yellow folder. In it was an international
floo network ticket, the keys to the safe house they were talking about along with an address
he would live at. Will slid him over a small burner cell phone.

“It will work when you get to the States,” Will said. They all knew that the muggle
technology wouldn’t work inside the castle with the amount of magical energy surrounding
them.

“Who will I be working with?” Severus asked. “Is the apartment equipped for the both of us
to work there?”

“Beverly Katz is her name,” Will said, looking up at Hannibal when the man put a hand on
his shoulder.

“We are, at our core, adaptable.” Severus watched Hannibal ignore the look his mate gave
him. “It is fit to accommodate both lifestyles.”

The three discussed the semantics of Severus traveling to America. Several times he tried to
negotiate that the creatures were doing too much for him. Hannibal and Will both insisted
that Severus was doing them a greater service than they could ever repay with money or
lodging. It was close to morning by the time discussions closed and they parted ways; leaving
him with several papers to read over.

Severus shook Will’s hand, making sure to tell the fellow wizard that he was honored to have
a competent member of staff and giving his thanks for the conversations they shared over the
years.

Severus could tell that Will was not used to receiving compliments that were genuine as he
ducked his head and the smell of blood rose to his cheeks. Hannibal shook his hand one more
time and the two left, no doubt to use the floo network that Albus set up in Will’s office.

He collected the glasses from the table, the scotch drying in the bottom of the cup. It was
only when he went about cleaning the glasses that he realized he would have to tell Draco he
wasn’t able to watch him over the summer as he did last year.

Severus flopped back into his lounge chair, the alcohol beginning to settle in his blood and
fog his head.
“Fuck,” he said, putting his elbows onto his knees so he could pull his hair.

Severus didn’t get much sleep. He distracted his anxiety by packing his bag. He made sure to
include all of the notes he took from the sample he used, his failures, theories and findings.
Severus tossed several books that wrote on all the uses for unicorn blood in resurrection
spells or rituals. Books and obscure scrolls were protected with spells before he placed them
in his bag.

Clothing was the last thing he added. He didn’t have much in the way of muggle clothing.
While he did study with his vampire, he wore his robes since the man knew of the wizarding
world. He burned the clothes of his youth after the Dark Lord marked him. He chose the
pants that could pass for slacks, tighter shirts that men favored.

By the time that he was done packing the things he might need while studying with a muggle,
Severus found that it was dawn. While it was the last day of classes, he did not find himself
in the mood to go to the Great Hall. Today, he only had to oversee the two last term tests
before all of the children were free.

His anxieties were rising with the students. Severus passed the student’s their written tests,
the practical exams done last week. It felt like he had watched every grain of sand fall into
the glass before the students left, each cheering as they exited the room.

Severus closed his eyes as he heard Draco slam open his door with an embellished shove.

“The answer is yes,” he said, bowing at the waist as he moved closer to Severus, the draft
pushing through the door to meet his nose, “mother was very happy to have me learning
with-”

“Draco Malfoy,” Severus said, standing out of his chair to growl at his godson. The draft
brought forth a new scent in Draco, familiar, but new on him. “Did you have sex with Harry
Potter?”

The blush and the flinch was enough of an answer.

The scent of Harry’s musk was still on Draco- even past the shower he tried to take. Draco
must have anticipated Severus’ increased sense of smell if the amount of soap saturating his
scent indicated. Clearly, he didn’t remember to add a perfume.

In truth, Severus didn’t think he would be able to tell such a subtle scent if he didn’t spend so
much time with his godson. He put a hand to his brow, knowing that his conversation was
going to have to wait as a new one took priority.

“Sit down,” he said, inviting Draco into his private study. When he sat down on the couch, he
saw that Draco had not moved from the classroom. He flicked his wand at Draco, a hook
pulling him along until he tumbled onto the couch. “No, you don’t get a choice in this,” he
said, casting a charm to keep his godson from escaping.

It was a painful thirty minute conversation for the both of them as Severus explained sex
safety from consent to diseases. He emphasized that male wizards could get pregnant and
placed a particular point on creature status sometimes transferring when first having sex.

While Severus didn’t reveal the Herd’s secret, Draco’s embarrassment made the comments go
over his head. By the time the conversation had ended, Draco was purple in the face.

A moment of awkward silence hovered over the two of them. His godson exhaled harshly,
tapping his hands on the table.

“So can you get to the real reason you called me here?” Draco asked, trying to change the
subject to anything else. The little blood that was in Severus’ cheeks drained as he recalled
the reason Draco entered his office.

There was no easy way to disappoint his godson.

“Draco, I won’t be able to watch over you this summer,” Severus confessed, figuring that
removing the hurt would work best if he didn’t pause. He watched his godson’s face shatter,
and could hear his pounding heartbeat.

Severus steeled himself as he continued, knowing there was no way he could ever justify this
betrayal to Draco.

“The Dark Lord-” he was cut off by Draco, who stood up with enough anger it burned
through the sticking charm he placed on the boy.

“Why is it always the bloody Dark Lord with you two!” he shouted, his back turned to
Severus. “I thought you cared.”

“I do, Draco,” Severus said. “I care enough that I want a future that doesn’t involve you
becoming a child soldier as your father, mother, and I were forced to.”

“It’s not fair!” he screamed, red in the face, tears collecting in his eyes. Severus waited for
Draco to calm a bit. When the boy’s fists released, he took gentle steps to his godson.

“It’s not,” Severus agreed, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. He could feel the hitching in
his breath. Severus moved slowly as he brought Draco into a hug. “And I wish I could take
you to America with me, but it wouldn’t be safe for you there. I can’t leave you in the house
alone.”

Draco rubbed the tears off his eyes, attempting to collect his emotions.

“It wouldn’t be any different than the Manor.”

“It would, Draco,” Severus said, looking his godson in the eyes. “I don’t know how
dangerous this will be. I need you to stay with your mother, where you will be safe.”

There were several things that could go horrifically wrong if Severus misstepped or Beverly
stretched too far. Severus would need to be careful, with his magic and his condition. The
woman would naturally be suspicious of him and want to know more of his ‘obscure’ studies.
He could not risk Draco’s safety for their selfishness.
 “For how long?” Draco whined- unbecoming of his upbringing but a sign that Severus took
he felt safe enough to show his emotions.

“I will come back as quickly as I can.”

Severus couldn’t bear to look at his broken godson, knowing that he was the one that broke
him. Instead, he took Draco into a hug, holding him close to his heart.

Chapter End Notes

Alt- title: Adventure and angst

Lots of fun stuff in here for me: Severus being a positive male influence on Draco- yet
having to give a two-for-one bad conversation. I am very hype- the next couple of weeks
are looking fun!

Thank you all for the continued love and support that you show.
 Protruding Antlers
Chapter Notes

Good morning, guests! The universe told me that you needed to be fed with good vibes
this morning.

This chapter kinda wrote itself- little smut, some fluff.

Thank you for all the continued love and support!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal ran his hand over the stone lip of the window, looking out the glass at the Hogwarts
Express growing fainter and fainter in the distance. Harry was on the train along with the rest
of his friends.

“It was an interesting year,” Will said, putting his books into the suitcase. Hannibal turned to
look at his mate, standing in the middle of the classroom that once held the boisterous voices
of eager students jumping at the opportunity to learn from Professor Graham.

“You certainly have a different mentality when you teach children.”

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t have you then either.”

Hannibal smiled at Will, sitting on the back of the desk he taught at. Will walked to him,
waving his wand around the room so his bags would pack magically.

“Thank you, Hannibal,” Will said, putting his hand around Hannibal’s head to kiss him.
Hannibal opened his mouth to Will, feeling his tongue sliding into Hannibal’s mouth. Will
stepped forward, forcing Hannibal to put more weight onto the desk to balance.

“Professor Graham,” Hannibal said, feeling a bit flushed. Will smiled against his lips, saying
nothing as he pushed more of his weight against Hannibal, bucking his hips to grind against
Hannibal’s.

Hannibal was surprised, with both his mate for being so bold and himself for finding it so
attractive.

He didn’t complain or stop Will when a questioning hand came to his belt. Hannibal caught
his lips, his hands coming to grip Will’s shirt. Will hummed in his mouth as he unbuckled his
belt. Hannibal gasped as a calloused hand gripped his cock.

“William,” Hannibal said.

“Shh,” Will said, a coy smirk on his lips as he stroked Hannibal with firm and steady pulls.
“Just let it happen.” Hannibal tossed his head back, eyes closing as he felt Will nibble at the
side of his neck.

They were both considered fully clothed, though Hannibal tried to change that by getting his
hands under Will’s arms. Rather than sit up as Hannibal expected Will to, he growled in
Hannibal’s ear. Will took Hannibal’s hand by the wrist and put it on the edge of the desk.
There was a glint in his eyes that promised so many beautiful things.

“We both know you were that prep boy who followed the rules, no matter how many people
you killed or manipulated,” Will whispered in his ear as his hands unbuttoned Hannibal’s
shirt. Will pushed the sleeves down Hannibal’s back until they pulled his shoulders back by
his elbows.

It wasn’t often that Will topped. Anytime that he did- it left Hannibal limping.

“Leave it to the country boy to dirty him up.” Will reached under Hannibal to pull his pants
down. He spun his wand in his hand, a vial of their contraceptive lubricant smacked into his
hand. Will dipped his fingers into the glass, then moved them to Hannibal’s opening.

“William,” he moaned, arching his back. His eyes naturally fell on the door, heat coming to
his cheeks. In the back of his mind, he briefly wondered if he would be able to summon the
wrath to kill whoever laid their eyes on Will’s naked body, even if it was Hannibal that would
be taking it.

A second finger entered him, twisting around until it found his prostate. Hannibal huffed as
the breath was knocked out of him. He lifted his leg higher, wrapping it around Will’s hips.
He wasn’t even unbuckled, all of his attention was focused on him.

Will pitched his upper body forward so he could mouth Hannibal’s neck. The stubble grew
out further since his last shave. It brushed against his collarbone, a contracting pain to the
pleasure of Will’s third finger.

“So naughty,” Will taunted with a laugh as he sat back up. Will was flushed with arousal,
beads of sweat pricking his brow line, the curls beginning to cling to his face. Will pulled
away from Hannibal, moving his fingers against his buckle.

Hannibal forced himself to watch the spectral image of his mate step closer to his half clothed
body and take him on the desk of a school room. Will put a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and
slammed into him. Will chuckled cruelly as Hannibal lost eye contact, tossing his head back
as he moaned.

“We don’t want to get caught,” Will said, putting a finger over Hannibal’s lips. The man
retaliated in the way he knew best, biting down on his finger. Will bucked forward with the
pain. Will pulled his finger out of Hannibal’s mouth, both hands gripping his hips hard as
Will fucked him on the desk.

Will moved his hand so he could scratch a line down his stomach.
“God, Hannibal,” Will whispered, his head down as he thrust with steady, harsh movements
that caught his prostate so wonderfully. “Do you have any idea how hot you are?”

Hannibal gulped at the term. He had been called many things, even hot, but hearing it from
swine was easy to dismiss. Coming from Will’s mouth...had him holding back numerous
expletives.

“Will,” he said, his mate's name almost like a curse. Will smiled, evil with teeth, as he thrust
harder, rougher against him. Will was pushing and shoving him towards an orgasm, taunting
him closer with every thrust. It was impossible not to be consumed by the sensations as Will
tried to move the desk across the room.

Hannibal bit his lip as Will’s hand moved back to his cock, the grip too tight to be focused
solely on pleasure. Hannibal came with a choked off shout on the desk. Will moved faster, a
hand bracing his body against Will’s hips. Euphoria had crashed over him, leaving him pliant
as Will continued to thrust.

If Hannibal was affected by their environment then it was certain that his dear William was as
well. The overstimulation rocked his body, making him flinch to and from Will in a dance
they would forever find a floor for. Hannibal smirked as Will moved his body.

“Please, Professor Graham?”

This time, Hannibal was the one groaning a husky laugh as his words triggered Will’s
orgasm.

“You’re impossible,” Hannibal finally said, panting against Will’s lips as the man rolled off
him.

Will smiled dumbly at Hannibal as he sat up. If Will looked disheveled, then the state of
Hannibal’s clothes were irredeemable. Will took his wand in his left hand and traced it along
Hannibal’s skin, his flesh pricking as a cleansing spell refreshed his body. Will moved his
wand to his clothing, a warm sensation spreading throughout the fabric to clean and press it.

As it was rare Hannibal found that Will tended to be quiet after he topped. Hannibal privately
thought that topping was a more empathetic experience for Will. With women, he would have
been expected to be the top naturally. Will had admitted that he found men attractive but
never approached them. His southern routes naturally closeted many people, his profession as
a police officer, then as an FBI agent; it continued to push him away from intimacy.

Hannibal was still as Will buttoned his shirt back up, the fabric cleaned and pressed as it was
in the morning. Will tied Hannibal’s neck tie with steady fingers, sliding the broach to his
neck until it rested on his adam apple. Will leaned forward to kiss Hannibal, his swollen lips
were gentle as he connected to Hannibal.

Will pulled his lips away with an uncharacteristic snarl, his head already turning to the door.
The door to the classroom slammed open on its hinges, a woman smelling heavily of sherry
laughed to herself as she stumbled in.
It was only when Will relaxed and moved away from the desk that Hannibal put his feet
under him. He was glad that the woman was drunk as she wouldn’t remember the stumble he
initially gave as he tried to walk.

“Sybill,” Will said, moving closer to her. She smiled drunkenly at him, her eyes hardly
opened as she touched his shoulder. Hannibal, having straightened his posture to
accommodate the limp, said nothing to the already confused woman.

“Leaving so soon?” she slurred, waving off his arm as he tried to guide her out of the
classroom. Hannibal walked behind Will, allowing him to navigate his coworker. For a
moment, Hannibal could see into Will’s fears. If he remained in the magical world, Hannibal
thought that Will would be in the same state. Even if Sybill Trewlawny could hardly predict a
prophecy, her bloodline would burden her with that knowledge.

Hannibal saw the potential in Will when he was still working for Jack at the FBI. he could
see the similarities between the two magical people as Sybill dropped a glass bottle on the
floor, watching it shatter with empty eyes. Hannibal waved his wand, recovering the bottle
and the liquid.

As he went to hand it back to her, she turned to Will with a clarity that only magic could
provide.

“The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! The Grim!” She panted as she gripped
Will’s biceps in her hands. “My dear boy, it is an omen- the worst omen- of death,” her eyes
rolled into the back of her head that had Hannibal worried she would drop on them both.

Only, the prophecy seemed to clear her of the alcohol. She looked around, eyes clear from the
sherry.

“Well shouldn’t you be on your way?” she asked, stepping away from him as if nothing was
of the matter. She took the bottle of sherry from Hannibal’s hands and walked away from her
in a way that could pass a sobriety test.

“She’s like that,” Will said to Hannibal.

“The Grim is a legend that takes from the real events of burying a dog in a recently
consecrated graveyard,” Hannibal said, walking back with Will to his former office.

“To bury a loyal dog in a graveyard,” Will added, picking up two of his suitcases, “to carry
the souls to the underworld.”

“Sybill might have stumbled across our heritage.” Hannibal grabbed the last suitcase, a
handful of powder in his hands. “Unless she’s translating the prophecy literally- I don’t think
our house can accommodate another large dog.”

Will rolled his eyes.

“We have enough room for at least fifty dogs.” Will laughed at Hannibal’s expression, going
further to wink at Hannibal. “I’ve already run the numbers.”
*

Harry waved to his friends from the top of the hill, his backpack on his shoulders and suitcase
in his hand. He lifted it and trotted down the hill as best he could without tipping over.
Hermione laughed at him from where she was standing next to a snickering Draco. Neville
was kind enough to climb up to meet Harry halfway up the hill and help him carry his bag to
the train.

“We do have magic, you know,” Hermione said, flicking her wand to make his bag float from
his and Neville’s hands to the storage compartment. Harry shrugged his shoulders, patting
Neville on the back to show his thanks. “I thought you would miss the train.”

“I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to you then,” Harry said, boarding the train behind
Neville, who was searching for an empty compartment. A light rain passed over the school as
the students boarded the train. Neville opened the window to let out the humidity of their
compartment. He took his wand and whispered a charm that removed the droplets from
them.

“Wicked trick,” Draco said, sitting next to Harry. Neville blushed in embarrassment as he sat
next to Hermione. Harry took the natural seat next to Draco.

The train ride was a long one, progressively getting more and more rainy as they approached
London. They were animatedly talking about the year they had, Harry omitting some of his
encounters. Harry and Hermione were of the same mindset that they should all complete their
summer work as quickly as possible. Draco and Neville both rolled their eyes at how stupid
that idea was- claiming that homework in the end of summer was better since it got them
used to school.

Their conversations dipped significantly after they ate all the sweets they purchased from the
trolly cart. Draco was the first to fall asleep, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder. Hermione
and Neville were not blind to the budding relationship between the two boys.

In a whispered demand from Hermione, a stuttering one from Neville, had Harry assuring
they wouldn’t do anything weird. Hermione yawned as she bundled deeper into her sweater,
making herself comfortable against the side of the booth. Neville sprawled out on the other
side, his legs stretched in the middle of the compartment.

Harry shifted himself and Draco into a more comfortable position so he was laying down the
length of the booth, Draco leaning over his front. With steady fingers, Harry stroked Draco’s
blond hair, nails gently treading along his scalp. Draco hummed, rubbing his face deeper into
his chest with a small smile gracing his pale lips.

The same yearning seemed to come upon Harry; wanting so desperately to reveal himself to
Draco. Harry refused to let himself imagine what it would be like to have Draco know his
secret. The hardest thoughts to ignore, the ones that he pushed away with as much force as
possible, were the images that drifted across his mind of Draco in his own unique pelt of
feathers.
In moments like those, Harry reminded himself that he was lucky to have parents that love
him. That there was no use in asking for more.

His father told him that greed was ugly. Harry would not be greedy for wishes.

Harry must have fallen asleep with the gentle rocking of the train as it passed through the
cows grazing on the pastures. He jolted to the sound of a whistle, houses closer together with
signs of muggle roads cutting through the illusion over the train.

When the group arrived at the station, Hermione gave them all hugs goodbye and left first for
the portal to the muggle world. She waved to them as she waited her turn to walk through,
her bags neatly stacked, no doubt heavy with books.

Neville’s grandmother made herself known to them before the boy even had to worry about
finding her. She was much taller than the three of them, almost imposing with the furs that
she wore. Neville bid them a quick and quiet goodbye, following after her.

Harry looked around for his father. He came to the realization that his father was likely
testing him.

It was like a hunt, only there were people around him with their own unique scents rather
than trees or wildlife. Harry grabbed Draco’s hand with a smile, excited for the challenge.

“Let’s find my father, then we’ll find your parents.” Harry pulled Draco along before he
could protest.

“How are we going to find them with everyone here?” Draco shouted to Harry, resisting
being guided along only marginally. Harry stopped on his heels, surprising Draco to the point
he bumped into Harry. He ignored Draco’s look to close his eyes and inhale deeply. He
smiled, almost losing concentration at Draco’s: “What are you doing, vampire?”

He could smell the number of students that walked off the train, smelling of the fabric along
the seats and the Scottish seawater. Many of the parents smelled of ink and paper, lingering
tones of the city attached to them.

To his left came the scent of rich, copper blood. Harry had his heading.

“I think he’s over here,” Harry said, weaving through the students as if he were a leaf drifting
on the wind. Draco laughed as Harry took him through and around the students by his nose,
pulling them in different directions. His father was playing with Harry now, leaving his scent
in one place, then another to throw him off.

Harry pursued with a grin, pulling a slightly confused but laughing Draco behind him.

“Father,” Harry barked with a laugh, knowing that Hannibal was hiding behind the brick
pillar. Harry hugged him around his torso, grinning when he heard his father laugh.

“Hello, Harry,” he said. Harry pulled away from his father and grabbed Draco’s hand.
“This is Draco,” Harry said, presenting his friend to his father with a smile. Harry had no
doubt that his father knew who Draco was, but he felt like the formality would help Draco.

“Hello, sir,” Draco said, stretching his hand out. Hannibal met him halfway, shaking his hand
once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy.” Hannibal looked up, scanning along the students and parents
that got off the train. He was looking for danger the same way he did before letting Harry
hunt in the meadow. “Shall we go hunt for your parents?” Hannibal asked, a knowing smile
on his face. Harry’s eyes widened a fraction at his father’s pun. He relaxed when he was
given a wink as Draco turned his head to search for them.

“Let’s go, fawns.”

If Will was there, Harry had no doubt Hannibal would have been glared at or elbowed.
Luckily, Draco didn’t hear Hannibal’s comment as he was focused on finding his mother.
Hannibal removed his wand from his muggle suit and shrunk both of their trunks.

“Thanks!” Draco said, taking his pocket sized trunk in his hand.

Hannibal lead them through the crowd of people, Harry and Draco sticking close to his side
as people parted from Hannibal. Harry was glad that he was not the one leading the hunt- he
was only just starting to scent follow one person in public as today’s test proved. He wasn’t
confident in his skills of finding Draco’s parents on his friend's scent alone- able to follow
familiar scent markers.

Harry tried to follow along with his father’s skills as the man cut a path to Lord and Lady
Malfoy. The two adults were standing as regally as they could amongst the sea of children
towards the compartments by the engine.

Lady Malfoy visibly brightened when she saw her son, walking briskly over to her only child
with arms open. In contrast, Lord Malfoy walked slower, an air of superiority surrounding
him. Hannibal allowed for the man to look him over with poorly held scorn, taking the image
of a muggle man at face value. It was only with a small sneer that he held his hand out.

“Lord Malfoy,” the man introduced. Hannibal nodded his head once, taking the pale hand in
his own. He was not a petty man that would squeeze the bones in some callous display of
masculinity.

“Doctor Lecter,” Hannibal said, showing no emotion to Lord Malfoy’s scorn. Instead, he
looked to Lady Malfoy, who was now standing as she was done hugging her son. Her left
hand was holding Draco’s right.

“An honor to meet you, Doctor Lecter,” Lady Malfoy said. Her honesty was refreshing to
Hannibal. While she might hold some animosity towards the muggle population, she clearly
recognized his professions title and the power that it held. While Lord Malfoy was a
disgusting fly that he could easily swat, Lady Malfoy seemed to have that same potential he
saw within Bedelia and Margot.
“Hello, Lady and Lord Malfoy,” Harry said, dipping his head a bit to the adults. “I’m Harry
Potter.”

Hannibal preened at the shocked look on Lord Malfoy’s expression. Harry seemed to have
picked up on his habit of rocking the boat. Lady Malfoy smiled down at Harry, not surprised.
Hannibal observed that Draco was looking up at his mother with a hopeful expression. He
was hoping that their introduction go over smoothly as much as Harry was.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, bowing her head slightly to Harry. Lord Malfoy cleared
his throat, getting her attention. She smiled at them, expression hiding her displeasure from
the children. “If you would excuse us, we must be going.”

“Bye Draco,” Harry said, clearly wanting to reach out and touch Draco one last time.
Hannibal noticed that Draco had the same body tension, wanting to move forward while
knowing he couldn’t. Both boys refrained giving into their desires.

“See ya, Harry,” Draco said, turning away as he walked with his parents on either side of
him.

“You’ll hear from him soon,” Hannibal assured, turning towards the other portal to go back
home. His son looked discouraged as they passed through the portal to the muggle side of
London. “You did very well on your first hunt like this,” he praised, lifting his fawn’s spirits.

Harry looked up at him with a half smile on his face, pushing his bars of the turnstile to exit
the station.

“Really?”

“You found me very quickly,” he said, reaching for Harry’s hand as they parted from the
majority of muggles. Harry took his hand, understanding that Hannibal was searching for an
apparition point.

“Thanks, father.”

It wasn’t long until Hannibal found a pathway with a down CCTV camera. He apparated on
the grass right outside the patio, the dogs jumping up in surprise at the arrival of Harry.
Though they got to see him a few days ago when Hannibal removed the parasitic horcrux,
Harry didn’t interact with them.

“We need to have a conversation, fawn,” Hannibal said, sitting down on one of the rocking
chairs. “You’re not in trouble,” he assured Harry when he immediately stopped petting the
dogs. Harry timidly moved to his father, sitting in the other chair with a cautious expression
on his face.

“Your dad and I are aware of your growing relationship with Draco Malfoy.” At Harry’s
blush and duck of his head, Hannibal waited. “We do not care for whom you care for, Harry,
you know this.” Hannibal waited until Harry felt confident enough to look back up at him.
“There are things that I must tell you, as your father, to prevent you from doing anything
overly dangerous.”
“Please don’t,” Harry said, shrinking back into the chair as he realized the embarrassing
conversation they were about to have. Hannibal chuckled.

“You can either hear this conversation from me or your dad. I would like to tell you that your
dad would rather not give this conversation but if you feel more comfortable hearing it from
him…”

Harry just nodded, curling himself into the chair as if he could escape.

“With magic, there is still the change of two males getting pregnant. Various forms of birth
control are available to youth. Your dad and I will restrict none of these to you.” He waited
for Harry to look in his general direction before continuing. “As a Ravenstag, you have the
ability to sire and carry a fawn yourself. Contraceptives are a necessity until you and your
partner decide to have a fawn.”

Teenagers did stupid things when they felt isolated and alone under the burden of
unimaginable responsibility. Harry did something stupid and reckless when he tried to
connect with Tom to find horcruxes due to the legacy of his Boy Who Lived. Hannibal took
Harry’s hand, making sure that if he took anything from the conversation today, it would be
that, no matter what, Harry could tell his parents the things that terrified him with the
assurance they would shoulder his burdens.

“If you or your partner ever come to the realization that one of you is pregnant prematurely,
come to us. You never have to keep a child that you are not ready for.”

Harry nodded his head rapidly, getting ready to move from the chair. Hannibal laughed as he
gripped his son’s wrist.

“We are not done yet.”

Harry groaned as he sat back down, resuming the curled position he took at first.

When Hannibal and Harry finished talking about the fine arts of consent, healthy
masturbation habits, proper lubrication for male and female intercourse, and the danger of
STI’s, Hanniabl allowed for Harry to retreat to his room until dinner was ready. Hannibal felt
rather proud of himself for how the conversation went.

Hannibal greeted his mate by the door when Will walked through the door, the last of his
bags in his hands.

“I’m free,” he said, his hands resting on Hannibal’s chest. “Is Harry hiding?” he asked with a
smile, knowing of the conversation they were going to have upon arrival.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, kissing his mate. “You’ve come a long way from how cross you were
in the beginning of the year.”

“Draco’s a good kid,” Will said, resting his head against Hannibal’s chest, no doubt hearing
the beating organ beneath his bones. “Should I coax our son out of his self-imposed exile?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hannibal said, watching as Will walked towards the stairs. He turned
the kitchen, saying: “I had a hand in that as well.”

There were a couple of minutes that Hannibal couldn’t hear footsteps. Then, Harry and Will
both made their way down stairs, Harry less embarrassed about their earlier conversation.

“We’ll go on a run after dinner, Harry,” Will said, summoning their fawn to the table.
Hannibal made them a light dinner, knowing that Harry was always eager to shift after
coming back home from Hogwarts. Harry was capable of going without shifting for several
months. If Harry suppressed his nature by not eating human or going years without shifting,
his mental state would deteriorate. He had nothing to worry about while at Hogwarts.

Their son was simply anxious to get outside and prance in the sunset.

Will must have been anxious to shift as well, given that they both ate their dinner with an
unusual ferocity. The dogs ran around the house, Hercules about the size of Winston now.
Harry shifted into his feathers, giving them a good shake as Will transformed next to him.

Hannibal was the first to see the difference in Harry’s form. He walked over to Harry, a
strange kind of pride in him. Harry was the unintentional continuation of the Ravenstag, a
blessing of magic that his line could be revitalized with a new bloodline that so closely
reflected his creatures traits. Will noticed it too, nuzzling along the pure black feathers along
Harry’s barrel and shoulders.

It was only two days ago that Harry had fawn feathers. The sharp white barbs had cut through
Will’s hand when he sedated Tom. Trading feathers for antlers signaled that Harry’s magic
was beginning to stabilize.

That he was closer to being able to perform the ritual to remove the horcrux within his
magical core.

Hannibal reached out to hold his fawn’s skull in his hands, petting the soft feathers of Harry’s
brow as his fingers trailed to the black nubs that were growing from his crown. Harry had
transformed into a Ravenfawn after surviving the trauma of Mason Verger. Hannibal couldn’t
tell if Harry lost his feathers because Tom traumatized Harry or if it was the connecting of
two souls that allowed his magic to settle.

Harry bleeted as he bucked away from Hannibal, racing to the nearest patch of water where
he could look at his reflection.

Will nudged him with his nose. Hannibal smiled, feeling conflicted. Harry growing antlers
was a good thing, he was beginning to turn into a healthy teenager, felt confident to share this
moment with them. Yet, the growing of his antlers only served to show them that the threat of
the Dark Lord was ever evolving.

Hannibal shifted to his pelt, burrowing his nose into the comforting smell of his mate. There
was no way that either could comfort the other with words. They could only brighten as
Harry trotted to the two of them with a prance in every step and hunt well into the night to
distract themselves.
Chapter End Notes

I am a firm believer that as tough and menacing as Hannibal is, all he wants is soft and
fluffy love. Additionally, would Hannibal pass up an opportunity to have sex with his
mate in his classroom- no, he wouldn't. Sybill is what I imagine what Will would have
turned into if he remained in the magical world so I wanted to touch on that before
Professor Will leaves Hogwarts and it gave me an opportunity to use some lines from
POA.
 Hunt No. 1
Chapter Notes

Hello guests,
This week, we lost one of our own at the table: Helen McCrory who played the regal
and elegant Lady Malfoy in the final Harry Potter films. She was a woman of grace and
fortitude. I shall honor her in the story that I weave for you.

Thank you for joining us- enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will retrieved the warded curse box that contained Tom- their sentient horcrux. The box was
made of iron, raised metal keeping Tom from influencing Harry. Hannibal was working on
the circles of salt.

Harry was standing within one, Nagini calmly coiled in her own circle. Her eyes were
watching Will’s every step. He was only mildly concerned with her obsessive watching,
recalling that she did the same to Harry when she first found him. Will supposed that one of
Nagini’s purposes was to protect the shard of the Dark Lord, a horcrux more than a person.

“Stay in the circle until I break it,” Hannibal said, moving away with the bag of salt. He met
Will at the point of the basement. He poured the salt around the box, then stepped back to the
center of the altar. Will opened the latch that the diary was stashed in.

He picked up the leather book, able to feel the magic beneath his fingertips. It reached out
along the length of where his flesh connected to the leather binding, probing his magic. Will
had a strong magical core and while he was used to empathizing, his resistance to magical
probes has increased since teaching children with unstable auras that tried to latch onto him.

Since Harry had his antlers, his magical core was stable enough to scry for the hardest of
horcruxes. Hannibal was the one with the knowledge of how to perform such a ritual without
killing any of them. He expressed that he or Harry would be tired after the ritual was
complete, but they will have gained another obscure horcrux without having to leave their
home.

The problem with such a ritual was it was difficult to replicate without disaster on the soul.

Will nodded his head, standing near the diary and away from his fawn. Hannibal was
standing over a clay bowl that was filled to the brim with water that Will collected from the
stream. Will grabbed the incense that was wrapped in cloth, burning the end. He allowed the
scent to permeate around the room, blinding their senses so Hannibal would be better focused
on his task.
Walking around the diary first, he waved his hand around the book. Nagini was next. She
hissed at him, raising her body to show she was unhappy, but did not move to strike him.
Harry sneezed when it was his turn to be blinded at the nose. Continuing around the circle,
Will made his way to Hannibal.

There was steam that was beginning to bubble from the clay. The flames had to be carefully
maintained as they performed the ritual. If the heat got too high or dipped low suddenly, it
would slip and boiling water would fall on all of them.

Hannibal’s nose wrinkled as Will washed him with the incense. Hannibal had his eyes close,
lips muttering lowly over the water. Will walked back to where he first stood and put out the
incense as his mate reached for one of his scalpels, nicking the side of his wrist so an even
stream of blood fell into the water.

The incense reacted to Hannibal’s blood. The steam that pooled from the clay pot mingled
with the smoke that Will circled around them. The diary seemed to corral the cloud of
incense, a tube of smoke and steam connecting to the clay pot Hannibal chanted over, his
wand now in the hand he cut.

Nagini was next to have the smoke surround the salt circle, lifting a plum of scent to the clay
pot. Harry’s came from all around him in gentle wafting movements, almost dancing to
where his funnel of smoke was the most consistent in the pot.

The diary sparked an ugly shade of green, but remained within the salt. Will watched the
steam change color, a cool grey to a dark yellow. Sparks of yellow coupled with black ashy
plums of smoke burst from the clay pot. Will could only watch as Hannibal reached his wand
into the clay pot, past the water line.

Hannibal repeated the foreign spell, causing sparks from Harry and the diary to pop within
their salt circles. He pushed his hand deeper into the water, smoke almost wrapping around
Hannibal’s neck as he hissed, gold coins falling out from the clay pot. The coins spilled over
the alter, running down until they hit the salt circle.

Hannibal ripped his hand away from the water, wand in hand with the handle of a golden
goblet hanging off it. Will forced himself to remain still, knowing that if he rushed to his
mate before he closed the ritual it could kill them. Hannibal let the goblet drop next to the
coins that spewed from the clay pot. He waved his wand, all of the salt summoned in a high
arch from the horcruxes and pointed it into the clay pot.

The salt suffocated the black smoke and steam, forcing the water to calcify within the pot.
The clay pot morphed into itself, then shattered on the ground.

Will took his cue and rushed to his mate. Hannibal stumbled, his weight coming to rest in
Will’s arms. Will looked up to see that Harry was still standing, talking to Nagini.

“It’s safe to touch. Transport only,” Hannibal whispered, curling his right hand to look at.
Will cursed when he saw the burns that Hannibal sustained through the ritual. “It needs to be
locked in the diary’s box. The magic is toxic.” Will ran his wand over Hannibal’s flesh,
watching the worst of the injury heal.
This would need more than spells. Will nodded his head for Harry to follow him up the stairs,
helping Hannibal. The cup and diary could wait while he attended to his mate. Will left
Hannibal on one of the chairs, hunched over the sink as he grabbed the medical kit.

“Help me, Harry,” Will said, instructing his son to open up the burn packet. “Grab the dittany
from the medicine cabinet,” Will added. Harry trotted off, giving Will enough time to dress
the wound with the burn solution no-maj made. It would make the wound look worse than it
was, coming together with the blood to form a cooling scab.

Harry came back with a bottle, gasping at the sight of Hannibal’s burn.

“It will heal, fawn,” Hannibal said, hissing as Will poured the dittany down the length of his
fingers. “Steam burns look worse than they are,” he assured Harry.

“Harry, go heat up the leftovers from last night,” Will ordered, not wanting his son to
needlessly worry as he went about inspecting the areas that were burned. In reality, Hannibal
was right. With a mixture of magical and no-maj solutions, Hannibal’s hand would look as if
nothing happened by the end of the week. “Don’t argue with me,” Will said, anticipating his
mate’s protest.

In the end, Hannibal wouldn’t eat any of the leftovers. Will noticed that he was losing
consciousness, beginning to fall into a restorative magical sleep. Will heard that Harry was
anxious in the kitchen and would panic if he saw his father unconscious.

“Rest,” Will ordered, kissing his mate’s brow. He heard Harry thundering up the stairs as
Hannibal’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He allowed Harry a brief glance; long
enough so the boy could see he was alright, brief to avoid detection of a deeper sleep.

“He’s sleeping off the exhaustion,” Will reassured Harry, pushing him out of the room so he
could shut the door. Will instructed Harry to eat as much food as he thought he needed as he
went to the basement.

Nagini was hovering around the Cup, watching Will move to the diary. He walked past the
black book to grab the box.

“Behave,” he said, moving to the snake. Rather than reach with his hands, Will caught the
edge of the cup with his wand. Under the watchful gaze of Nagini, he put the Cup into the
box, sealing it with the latch. “Thank you,” Will said, not being foolish enough to pet the
snake. Will stood with the box in one hand. He reached out and touched the diary.

Will put the objects on the kitchen table in front of where Harry was sitting, the casserole
dish on the stove.

“How are we going to make Tom a body if summoning a horcrux took so much out of
father?” Harry asked, stabbing another chunk of meat. Will noted that Harry’s fingers were
black with feathers, his hair a full mane of them.

Will didn’t have an answer for Harry. He looked between his son and the three horcruxes in
the room. Harry yawned, his teeth rows of sharp points as a hand came over his mouth. It
seemed that now he was fed, Harry would slip into the same exhaustion as Hannibal had.
Will tucked Harry into bed, watching that Nagini slipped into his room, curling under the foot
of his bed.

He walked back downstairs and sat in front of the diary.

Will reached out and opened the diary to the leather cardstock.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

“Hello, Tom,” Will said, stroking his hand down the center of the page. He did not feel any of
the magic. Will wondered if the horcrux was equally exhausted as Harry and Hannibal or if it
was cautious of him. He had felt the magic within the diary during the ritual- he knew what it
felt like.

The diary was not reaching out to connect to Will.

Will picked up a quill and dipped it in ink.

Hello, Tom. He wrote. Harry explained that the ink would seep into the pages and then
respond. The ink sat on the page, drying as if it was a normal piece of paper. Then, gradually,
the magic reached for the ink and absorbed it until the pages were back to yellow.

A new flick of magic touched his fingers- so closely resembling Harry’s he felt his heart
catch a beat within his chest. The magic only grazed his own for a brief second; distrusting of
his intentions. Will tried not to think of it as a stray dog trying to scent his fingers yet too
afraid of pain to touch. Ignoring that thought only brought on the very tangible memories of
Harry flinching away from the both of them when they first adopted him.

We collected a horcrux, he wrote. When it came to the diary, Hannibal wanted nothing to do
with it; at the suggestion of keeping Tom informed, Hannibal thought it best to lock the diary
away. Will thought otherwise. If the horcrux was left alone after being awoken for so long,
it’s sense of perception may be warped. If that was the case and it heard nothing of their
progress, then Tom might possess Harry.

The pages did not respond to him.

It is safe with Nagini, Will waited, wondering if talking about the familiar would prompt a
written response. There wasn’t even a prick of magic.

“Do you even know Nagini yet?” Will asked aloud. He closed his eyes, letting the pendulum
rest in his head. There was nothing for him to empathize with yet, a clouded void as he held
the quill in his hand. Will opened his eyes and looked at the quill. It was a feather from one of
the local birds that Will found fishing one day. He didn’t see the need to buy something like a
quill, and if he had too, there was no sense as birds shed their feathers often.

Will stood up and walked to Hannibal’s office. He pulled open the drawer and lifted the false
bottom. Resting within was a folded black cloth. Will unwrapped the cloth with reverent
fingers, almost shaking at them. Within were Harry’s white fawn feathers. He picked up a
medium sized one, moved it to the side, wrapped the others, and returned the drawer to its
natural state.

Back at the diary, Will took a deep breath as he lifted Harry’s fawn feather by the calamus,
the only safe place to pick up the white fawn feather. With his left hand, Will reached his ring
finger towards the curling vane. It sliced his finger, a well of blood flowing down the white,
bony rachis in the middle of the feather.

Will opened the diary.

We have ideas for the ritual: collecting the horcruxes, performing it where Hannibal
interrogated you, Nagini’s scales

The diary absorbed his words written in blood. There was a response, magic coming as if
tracing the words he wrote on the other side of Harry’s quill. Will’s hope was Tom would
give a response if he could be tempted by the touch of Harry.

Will pulled the quill away from the diary, waiting to see if he needed to write more. The last
thing that he wanted to do was expose their secret to the Dark Lord. If Will could bait the
hook with an echo of Harry’s magical signature, he could lure Tom closer to the diary’s pages
so long as he yanked the line before he bit.

His hands were resting on the pages of the book, eyes glued to the center of the book.

A black, cold iron cauldron- large enough that Harry could fit in. Harry would not be the one
in the cauldron- he was standing to the side, the image a perfect copy of the basement
Hannibal interrogated Tom in, where Tom invaded their home using Harry as a trojan horse.
There was a vague image of the Cup next to Harry, a coiled mess that looked more like yarn
than snake next to the Cup.

Will felt his head twitch, eyes still connected to the diary.

There were three people. It felt like an episode of his empathy- though as if it were a dream
in the waking world. He walked into the house of three, two older, a couple dining with their
son.

Betrayal and anger washed over him. Affluence and wealth seeped through the edges of the
dining room. Brilliant crystals hung in a chandler over their heads. The older muggles, filth,
his grandparents were outraged and demanded to know who he was while the younger man
sat at the table resigned.

Two flashes of green illuminated the room- a gushing feeling of euphoria rushed through his
body as he turned his wand to the third and final rabbit sitting at the table. Only, this prey
was different; he did not run or plead, merely sitting at the table looking oddly resigned, like
pain that was about to be released.

While the euphoria of a kill with magic seeped into his magic, there was a hollow feeling. He
even went back to the tombstones, after they had been buried into the ground with flowers
frosted and decayed on the marble.
Then there was only an image of Harry, so brief, it felt like the passing of wind coming with a
train. It encompassed all of Will, warmth and comfort so fleeting and so ravenous for more.

Will blinked away from the diary, pulling his fingers away from it to fumble for the phone in
his pocket. There was the fading image of an address printed into the back of his head- Will
absently typed in the address to the search box.

It was a cemetery.

He put the phone down and looked back to the stairs, where his mate was sleeping off the
effects of a spiritually intense ritual. Even if a Ravenstag could survive the blast of a killing
curse, it was only in their pelt. Hannibal performed the ritual with his hands and would need
to do the same when making Tom a body.

Will would do what was necessary to protect his mate and the little herd they had.

He checked on Hannibal, leaving Winston and Hercules in the room to watch over him.
Nagini was watching dutifully under Harry’s bed, now accepting the single stroke over her
head from Will when he thanked her for being a good guardian of the house.

Will stepped into his work boots that he would need to throw away after leaving the house.
He grabbed his coat and shovel, ready to walk out the back door.

Something made him look back at the diary. Will closed the door and went to the black
leather book.

Will opened the inside leather flap of the diary where his intent was to photograph his name.
He paused when he saw that, below Tom Marvolo Riddle’s name, scrawled into the pages
with ink years old, perfectly preserved, was the chicken-scratch like handwriting of his fawn
in sanguine ink:

brother

Will apparated to the cemetery with a crack, the diary resting safe in one of his pockets. He
dug at the dirt in the ground, his mind blank as it processed the only word that Tom was
willing to share with Will; a word that wasn’t written by the horcrux, but by his fawn.

“Yeah, Harry,” Will said with a huff, pushing his sweaty curls back as he cracked open the
first coffin. “You’ve really complicated matters.” It was Tom’s paternal grandfather. Will
looked at the bones, debating on which one he needed. He picked the small ring finger, doing
the same to the wife. He would only need a small sample of his grandparents.

On the third and final grave, the soil seemed almost frozen through. With each stab to the
ground, Will’s shovel met resistance. He looked up, almost growling as dawn was fast
approaching. He pulled out the diary and Harry’s feather, pricking his finger. Will was getting
tired, the grave robbing was beginning to weigh on him. He decided to write to Tom what he
growled into silence towards his fawn:

you’re complicating matters

Will didn’t bother waiting for a response, putting the diary back into his jacket. He picked up
the shovel and, with extra force, slammed it into the ground.

The soil gave way, soft and moist with earthworms.

Will laughed, pausing again, he plucked the feather, still wet with his blood.

Thank you, Tom.

Hannibal taught him that, sometimes, manners could get him further than misery.

Dirt that manipulated easily under his spade made backbreaking work easier. Will finished
shoveling the dirt away from the coffin as the first light of dawn cut through the night. Will
knew that he needed a larger sample of bone from the father. As it would be the only part of
Tom’s original genetic material, Will would take the femur.

He shuffled out of the grave, taking care not to stumble into the other holes he dug. He was
glad for magic. Will pointed his wand at the dirt, watching it funnel back into the graves, the
grass growing back as if it was never touched.

Will apparated back to the house, stumbling when he landed in the grass. After taking a
moment for his pain to settle, Will got back to his feet, carrying the bag of bones to the
kitchen. He grabbed the warded box containing the Cup.

He put the bones down first, the iron box down next. Will reached for the diary and found
that the leather was warm under his fingers.

He turned over the diary and felt a wave of loneliness crash into him like a violent wave of
the ocean coming up to the shore. The seeping cold seized his heart, slats of broken
floorboards, tall imposing walls that could never retain heat. Numbness was a natural
defense.

Will shook his head, the spell broken. He put the book down, no longer feeling the diary
against his flesh. With a wince, Will removed the dirty flannel he took as he robbed the
graves of Tom’s family. Will folded the shirt, then wrapped Tom’s diary in the worn shirt that
held his own scent and that of death.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, Will stripped himself of the clothing he wore, pointing his
wand at all of it, watching them transfigure into a pot of flowers. There were several potions
that Will uncorked with his teeth, pouring them into the large tub that connected to their
master bedroom. Will filled the tub halfway with water, making sure that there was drinking
water and some of the jerky the family now took to eating. Stripped, Will walked back to the
bedroom and took his mate in his arms.

Carefully, Will slipped himself and mate into the tub so Hannibal would be propped by his
chest. Both sighed in pleasure as the warm water seeped into their injuries.

The water and potions would sink into his flesh and remove the scent of the grave before
Hannibal would wake. It would heal the bruises and strained muscles on his body while
 rejuvenating the nerves in Hannibal’s. Will took care to make sure his mate’s injury did not
fall in the warm water.

A moment of coherency came over Hannibal, who moved forward to rest his head better on
Will’s chest within the tub.

“This is why I love you,” he mumbled, the potions already doing their job to repair any
damage. Will chuckled, running his wand over Hannibal’s hair so he could wash it with his
finger. “Why do you smell like dead people?”

“We’re serial killer cannibals,” Will said as he started to massage the thoughts out of his
mate’s head, not wanting to concern his sleepy mate with thoughts of rituals until the
morning. “We always smell like dead people.”

Hannibal could only hum as Will worked over his scalp, manipulating him back to sleep and
away from worry.

Chapter End Notes

When Will is protective, but sneaky about it- ugh, something good to the soul. I like
imagining Tom, in the diary, getting scolded by Will and, while he is upset he still does
what Will wants him too. He needs guidance...

Thank you for dining. I will see you next week for the moment that I've been waiting for
since Chapter One!
 The Odyssey of the Half-Blood Prince
Chapter Summary

Taking the task of traveling to America, Severus Snape works along side FBI Agent
Beverly Katz to find a cure for the adverse effects within the Dark Lord's blood that
once poisoned fawn Harry in his first year after bravely defending a young unicorn.

Chapter Notes

Hello my loyal fans! Today, I am bringing you the largest chapter of the Venison
Special.
It is this chapter that inspired the entire story to be revised and worked on. I thought of
something small that once again breathed in a passionate fire to the muse. I am so
honored to present this chapter to you and so very proud of it as an author. This is one of
those chapters that I really put my soul into as I wanted to explore the depths of
Severus’ trauma and how he might heal from it.

I do believe that it is going to feed you well; hence, why I am posting early in the week
so you have time to digest.
I do hope you enjoy this; there is a wild ride ahead.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Severus tapped the edge of the parchment with the feather of his quill. He was standing
inside the bustling international floo network in New York City. Witches and Wizards bustled
around him, their outer cloaks billowing behind them as they showed their documentation
and their ticket.

They were ushered along into a floo chimney and sent off with a puff of green smoke.
Severus had already left Spinner’s End open for Draco, stocking it with food that the boy
could eat.

He read over the words he wrote one more time, looking over for if he needed another draft.

Dear Draco,

I write this letter painfully. Last summer, I enjoyed your company at Spinner’s End, teaching
you more subtle ways of herbology and botany to aid your potion skills. I was very much
looking forward to another one of your stays. Yet, as I am sure you know, the Dark Lord is
approaching. I am pursuing my own lead to help us survive. I must travel to America this
summer and spend every day searching for anything that could prevent the Dark Lord
causing us more harm than good. I know that you relied on our time together, I am sorry that
I am letting you down. Though I cannot be with you in person, I have bound several books
together and rewarded my floo network for you to use. Your mother has agreed you are
allowed at Spinner’s End every day you choose so long as you return for dinner.

Stay safe, Draco.

The evidence of his numerous drafts were scattered around him in crumpled messes. He
looked down at his watch, knowing that soon he would exit the building to find a muggle
apartment. Severus grabbed the wax seal, watching the wax coil into a circle around the note.
He burned the other drafts of the letter and watched as the ashes rose to the air.

Severus grabbed his single bag, more books than physically possible within the satchel.
There was more traffic within the New York Ministry than he ever saw within London’s. He
walked to one of the mail drops.

“International, London, Ministry of Magic,” he said, handing the letter to the woman behind
the counter. She stamped it, tossed it in the box marked EUROPE. Severus paid her and then
walked to one of the secure apparition points.

“Know where ya headed?” the man asked. Severus looked over the address that Hannibal and
Will gave him for a final time.

“No idea,” he said, popping away before he could get a response from the man.

Severus landed in the middle of an unlight apartment. The living room was fairly generic, a
table in the middle, sitting behind a plush couch. On the wall was a mounted television, the
remote for it on the table. Severus walked to the light switch and flicked it on. He put his bag
down on the ground and began to look over the domain.

He pulled back books, looked under tables, ran his hand under the drawer within the kitchen.
Severus smiled as he plucked one bug. He put it in a mug and continued to look for others.
There were two bedrooms in the apartment. Severus wasn’t sure why Will or Hannibal
thought he would need two rooms, but he said nothing.

There were no electronic bugs within the bedrooms or bathroom.

“I appreciate your concern,” Severus said, smashing them with his pestle he used for mashing
herbs.

Now that his sweep of the rooms was completed, Severus put his bag in the smaller of the
rooms. He unpacked his clothes, hanging his outer cloak that resembled a long trench coat
into the closet, his other clothes finding their ways into drawers.

Severus went into the kitchen and opened up the fridge only to immediately slam it closed
when he found what it was stocked with. After a moment to collect himself, he opened the
fridge.
In it was a single bag of blood- O negative and a strip steak of what he knew was human.

“What would have I done if she saw this?” He asked to the shattered recording devices.
Severus closed the door and decided that his best course of action would be to stock the
fridge.

With things that wouldn’t get him immediately arrested.

He returned with several bags in his hand and went about unpacking them. Severus took the
meat out to come up to room temperature. With the bottle of milk and juice he bought,
Severus boxed the bag of blood in the corner of the fridge.

A knock came to his door just as Severus finished drying the dishes. He had eaten all of the
human flesh, feeling sufficiently fed for having another human in his proximity. Severus tried
not to feel nervous as he opened the door.

“Hi!” the woman said, holding out her hand. She was smiling, a warm presence around her.
Dressed in an outer vest with bright yellow letters: FBI.

“Nice to meet you,” Severus said, shaking her hand. He let her into the apartment. When she
passed him, he picked up the scent of a dead body on her; killed and rotted away.

Severus was warned by Will of her profession. From the stories they shared privately in
classrooms, Will told him of the horrors that muggles could commit without the use of
magic.

“Nice gig,” she said, shuffling the bag over her shoulder. “So how do you know Graham?”
Severus heated the kettle, putting it on the stove to give his hands something to do as he
talked to the muggle.

“Work colleagues,” he said, reaching for the blank mug in the upper cabinet. Beverly walked
to the small kitchen table he finished eating at. “We found that your separation of the sample
might be able to help me with creating a vaccine.”

“Got to love the Centrifuge,” Beverly said. Judging by her raised brow, she could tell he was
at a loss for what she mentioned. “It’s the machine that spins blood- separating the red from
the white blood cells.” She set her bag down on the ground and pulled out a yellow folder.

Severus walked over to her with a mug of hot tea.

“Hey, Severus,” she said, smirking as she took the drink. “You want to tell me what we’re
working with?”

“It’s classified,” Severus said. He set his mug down on the counter.

“Well, I know all about that,” she said, eyeing her own outer jacket. Mentioning it, she took
off the shell and let it rest over the chair. The color yellow was a warning, much like how
frogs were spotted bright colors, she was dangerous. “I was able to separate the heavier
qualities,” said Beverly, pulling a picture of the vial to the center of the table.
Along the sides of the glass were the silver specks of unicorn blood in the still photograph.
He held the picture closer to his eyes, finding that the still image allowed his eyes to not
strain to find details on a moving one.

“These silver bits here,” she said, pointing to them with a pencil, “have a pretty light density
but their molecular structure clings to this black sludge. I had to run it through the centrifuge
twice before they began to split.”

“They tend to connect due to their nature of healing cells from within.”

Beverly took a sip of her mug, excitedly moving the papers around.

“That’s what I found too. I found that the blood within the sample is deteriorating from the
inside,” Beverly hummed. “Almost like cancer on a cellular level.”

That would make sense. With two souls so close to each other, that of the Quirrell and the
Dark Lord, the body would begin to split. He had no sympathy for Quirrell but could imagine
that the months he taught the children were painful and confusing ones.

“Typically,” Beverly said, sitting back on the chair, “the worst part of the sample is the part
you have to work with.”

“You’ve separated it,” Severus said, “When I extract the blood from the silver flecks, we can
begin to create the antidote.” Beverly reached down into her bag with both hands. She heaved
a circular machine and set it on the table.

“Sample is in there,” Beverly said. She showed him how to turn the machine on, giving him
the instruction manual in case he got confused. Beverly pushed the buttons she showed
Severus and they listened to it whir.

Severus and Beverly waited for an awkward seven minutes before the machine blinked that it
was done. Severus hovered over Beverly as she extracted the tube from the machine.

“Amazing,” Severus said, seeing that the blood sample had completely separated in three
different parts. Without saying anything, Severus went back to his room. He checked to make
sure that Beverly had not followed him before he summoned his extraction kit.

He came back to their station and pulled out his pipette. He extracted the top blood sample,
more healthy looking than the black sludge within the bottom of the vial. Severus took the
second pipette and extracted the sludge, watching it clump into the vial that Beverly held for
him.

“Thank you,” he said, finding it odd that someone could help him without needing
instruction- especially a muggle. Beverly took the vial next. She had removed Q-tips from
her bag and a smear sample plate. She reached the cotton swab into the vial and smeared up
the unicorns blood, wiping it on the plate.

Severus huffed a laugh. He had wasted all of his sample trying to separate the blood from the
unicorn from the Dark Lord. Here was a muggle woman who brought over a piece of
equipment that could do it in seven minutes.

“You have no idea the breakthrough that you helped me with,” Severus said, drinking the last
of his tea in a parody of a celebratory drink. His tea was still warm; how many mugs and
teacups did he throw against the wall in frustration?

“Well,” Beverly said, “this is all super suspicious.” She waved her hand over the experiment
on the table. “But if Graham trusts you...” she shrugged as she let the statement hang.
Severus thought the same of her, he did not trust her, but he knew that he could trust Will
Graham’s judgement on a person.

Beverly checked her watch.

“I’ve got work tomorrow,” she said, putting her shell back on. Severus helped her lift the
machine back into her bag. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Chinese or pizza?”

“What?’ Severus said, following Beverly as she walked and talked her way to the door. She
laughed at him, opening it for herself.

“I’ve got to return this to HQ before anyone notices it missing. I’ll pick up dinner tomorrow.”
She shuffled around, reaching behind her. “What’s your number?” She asked. Severus stared
at her, trying to figure out what she was talking about. When it dawned on him that she was
asking for the number of the phone that Will gave her, he hesitated.

“I don’t,” he huffed, sounding stupid, “I don’t think I actually know.” She tilted her head at
him, suspicious. Severus had to be careful not to seem too out of place that she would
abandon him- thinking he was a stalker or investigate why he didn’t know of modern things.

Severus slowly walked backwards into the apartment. He walked into the room and rooted
around for the small phone that Will gave him. He powered it on, opening the inside.

There, written on a piece of paper was a phone number. Severus looked at it as he walked
back to Beverly, memorizing it.

“Wow,” she said, “you’re old school with a flip phone.” Severus wasn’t entirely sure what the
proper response was to not arouse more suspicion than already there.

“It does the job,” he settled for, holding out the paper. She looked at the numbers on the
paper, typed something in her phone. After a second, his own pinged an alert.

Hi- it’s Beverly Katz.

Severus looked up at her, then moved his fingers on the buttons, too tiny for his fingers to
really click.

Hi- it’s Severus Snape

Beverly laughed when her phone chimed.

“I have your number, but thanks,” she said. “Catch you tomorrow?” she asked, already
backing away from him. Severus watched as Beverly walked down the hallway with her keys
jingling on her finger until she turned around the corner. He closed his door and went to the
window, waiting to see if she would walk out the side.

Severus closed the door and walked back to the split sample. Smiling, Severus picked up his
wand. He moved the objects from his kitchen table to the larger bedroom. There was nothing
sitting on top of the drawers. He set the samples down, then went to his suitcase.

He removed his cauldron to the side. His mortar and pestle came next, an extra crucible to the
side. He set the test tubes with the separated samples in a tube rack.

The first step would be to extract the essence of the Dark Lord’s inherent venom from his
blood. Severus removed a single drop of the congealed blood and set it on the crucible. He
levitated the stone and set a continual flame underneath it.

He tailored the flame so that the blood would begin to dehydrate. As stiff as the liquid was,
he would only be able to work with the blood once it dried.

Severus worked well into the morning. He probably could have fallen asleep in the bed
across from his potion station, but working with the Dark Lord’s blood required constant
attention- even if it was just the fear of the Dark Lord keeping him awake.

Using a glass rod, Severus pushed the blood around, pleased to see that there was only a little
bit of water that needed to evaporate before he could move to the next step. In the meantime,
Severus took the smear sample of the unicorn's blood and submerged it in vodka.

It was a cheap alcohol that worked surprisingly well with unicorn blood. The clear vodka
would turn to a bright silver once the blood had worked through the liquid.

His nostrils flared naturally at the scent of burning iron; the blood was ready.

Severus removed the crucible from the heat and looked down. Within were chips, flakes of
the Dark Lord’s blood that he could rehydrate as he needed to use for the antidote without the
bite of venom.

Days went by in the apartment. Severus became a sort of hermit within the two bedroom
community. His neighbors nodded their heads to him, sometimes muttering a quick hello, but
were too busy to strike up a conversation more than that.

He hadn’t needed to go grocery shopping since the first day. Since he ate human flesh, he
found that he was able to go longer without feeding. If Severus supplemented his diet with
other meats, poultry, bovine, vegetables, he could stretch the feeding times and his own
groceries.

Beverly didn’t come by every night. She had a life outside of the work they were doing on
the side. Severus began to ask about what she did for the FBI as they worked over the
sample. She explained her part in the job with graphic detail.
“You would not believe the day that I had,” Beverly said, kicking the door closed with her
heel. Over the days Beverly proved her competence in her craft, he’d unlocked his front door
before she arrived, not wanting to move from whatever he was doing.

The smell of grease and dough came from within a colorful red and green box that decorated
the front. After tossing it atop the counter in the kitchen, she popped it open and grabbed one
of the slices of pizza.

Beverly moaned as she ate it, taking a larger bite.

“Sorry,” she muttered, a hand over her mouth. Her nostrils were flared, eyes glued to the food
she was eating. Severus could understand hunger like hers; he reached for his own slice. It
had been years since he ate any pizza, a lifetime ago. “This woman, right?” Beverly said,
finally swallowing the wad of cheese.

She flailed her hand.

“We found this guy in the woods with bees,” she pointed to her head, “growing inside his
head. An entire hive, fully functioning Queen where his cerebrum should be.”

“Was the Queen relocated?” Severus asked. The honeybee population was surprisingly
important to a potions master. Bees were one of the few species that could interact safely
between muggle and magical plants.

“Oh yea, Price found her and took her to a man made hive.” Beverly picked up another slice
of pizza, tossing the crust in the trash can. “Anyway, then we find this guy, with a hive in his
head!” she said, sounding a little manic. “Totally alive and walking around, blind and
lobotomized.”

Beverly sat back on the edge of the counter and took smaller bites of her pizza, eyes falling to
the grey colored backslash.

It was an interesting thought experiment, Severus supposed, to cut away the unnecessary
parts of the brain and replace it with a different kind of hive.

“And I thought the mushroom man would be the worst of the nightmares.”

“You have nightmares?” Severus asked, finally going for his second slice of pizza. The
muggles had improved their art from the last time he had it with Lily as a child. He bit into
the crust, the oil from the cheese bursting over his tongue.

“I mean,” she said, making a vague gesture with her pizza. Beverly reached into her pocket,
not letting go of her food to do so. She slapped a box of cigarettes on the table, watching his
expression carefully “You don’t catch serial killers without losing sleep. Sometimes, it’s
looking over files, other times…”

Severus knew about the other times. Those nights when he would wake in his bed, too
petrified even to sit up as the images of the crimes he committed played themselves like a
misty reel. Tobacco was not something that doctors or healers would call: relaxing, yet it
opened the blood flow to the brain and the nicotine could relieve anxiety if taken in small
doses.

Addicts rarely took small doses.

Beverly chuckled at him, pointing to him after hunting her third slice of pizza.

“Looks like you have burned the midnight oil,” she smirked, popping her hip on the counter.

Severus looked down and blushed. He was wearing the same clothes as did the night she
came over last...three days ago. They were wrinkled at every part, strained on the front and
edges of his sleeves. He did not even want to think about what his hair might look like after
staying over a cauldron for three days..

“I’ll take a look at the sample, see if we can begin the oxidation process on those flecks,”
Beverly said, tossing the last piece of pizza crust in the trash. “Go take a shower,” she
ordered as she pocketed her cigarettes.

Rather than say anything about his appearance or, Dark Lord forbid, his smell, she pat him
once on the shoulder, squeezing him a bit with her nails as she passed him to look over the
notes he left for her review.

Severus grabbed a fresh set of clothes and his towel, not sure about leaving a muggle in the
apartment alone; especially one where her job was to expose people’s secrets. On the other
hand, he couldn’t just cast a spell to wash him until she left. Caught in a conundrum, Severus
sighed as he closed the door to the bathroom.

In reality, he was glad that Beverly showed up. Severus would admit that he had a habit of
working himself to exhaustion. Since his partial transformation, he didn’t need as much sleep
as the average human. He could stretch himself for a week before his body would completely
shut down on him. Normally, Severus took the time to fall asleep every other day.

Sleeping once a night was no longer an option for him.

Refreshed physically, the exhaustion of the potion binge beginning to set in, Severus stepped
out of the shower. It was when he was toweling down that he realized that the shirt he
grabbed did not have long sleeves.

He did not have his wand in the bathroom, it was in the bedside table drawer under a book.

Severus, with his pants on and shirt in his left hand, stared at the right one.

There was the scarring of the bite that Hannibal gave him. When the Ravenstag bit Severus,
he felt the bone under his teeth begin to give under such strong jaws, the flesh was pierced
and shredded as he let go of the arm. Severus had thought the creature was going to bite the
arm off.

He wouldn’t have complained all that much to see the Mark gone.
The ink was still under his flesh, magic waiting dormant like a bomb that was unarmed but
always charged. With the scaring, he was able to look at the snake and skull for a longer
period of time before he felt like vomiting. He traced his fingers on the firmer flesh of the
scars cutting the one eye socket, slicing the snake into three pieces.

With each choice that he made regarding Harry, another chain was severed from him and the
Dark Lord. With Dumbledore, the man in his age was no longer proactive when it came to
threats. Severus knew the man was vigilant in his search for the Dark Lords whereabouts yet
nothing came of his queries. Hannibal and Will were different; they did not hesitate for the
kill strike if it came across their path. They were, in no way, foolish hunters either.

It was only after a revelation came upon Severus; that he could actively work against the
Dark Lord. While he took that step mentally, the physical tattoo still caused him shame.

Severus could make it to the bedroom to grab a different shirt before Beverly would see the
Dark Mark. He put on the shirt with shaking hands, his anxiety mounting when he had to
grab the door knob. He looked behind him, feeling oddly like a schoolboy sneaking around
again.

“Hey, Severus?” Beverly said. He flinched at her tone, it had one of confusion laced with
concern, her voice pitching as she asked for him. She had found something magical; there
were more questions behind the one she asked.

Not sure what she could have found, Severus did not have the time to get a shirt and too tired
to transfigure the fabric properly down his arms. He needed to control whatever she stumbled
upon.

Walking into the living room, he found Beverly looking between him and the window.

“I think,” she said with a disbelieving laugh as the bird fluttered by the latch of the window.
“That he wants to come in.”

Severus tried to think of a reason that a muggle could understand. There was an owl, with a
blue ribbon wrapped around its neck that marked it as one from the American Ministry, with
a scroll wrapped around its leg. The owl would not leave until it delivered its message as they
were trained to do. The moment that one of them opened a window, it would fly to Severus.

Beverly took slow steps to the window, flinching a little when the owl flapped its brown
wings.

“What’s a screeching owl doing out here?” Beverly said, now curious about the creature. The
need to investigate pulled her closer to the window.

“Don’t,” Severus said, wincing when she looked at him. “What if it has a disease?” He asked,
desperate to take some control over the situation. Her natural curiosity won out.

“I don’t think so,” Beverly said, looking back at the owl. The brown eyes were on her, his
head cocked all the way to the side as he looked back at her. “He’s got a collar. That’s weird,”
she muttered. “Whatcha got there?”
Beverly unlocked the sliding window.

Severus was not able to stop her from opening the window. The owl flapped his wings,
hovering away from the window. The moment that she opened it wide enough, the owl dove
through the slit with expert precision of an aerial hunter.

And of course, because Severus had been in the wizarding world for so long, lifted his arm
for the owl to land on as if it was the most natural thing for a muggle to do.

“Okay, who the hell taught the owl to do that?” Beverly asked with a laugh, slowly
approaching Severus and the bird. The owl fluttered his wings, irritated at them both for
being kept outside. Before he could say anything to her, Beverly walked back to the kitchen
and opened the pizza box. She tore the crust off one of the slices of pizza and came back.

The owl lifted his head.

“Can I take that?” She asked, reaching the bread stick towards the bird. The owl pecked at the
bread, attempting to tear the stick from her hand, but the scroll around his leg prevented him
from grabbing it. Severus lifted his hand to grab it. One of the sharp talons scratched his
finger, but he was able to pull the knot free and the scroll with it.

Free of burden, the owl screeched at Beverly, grabbed the bread, and took off through the
window.

Severus was glad. Normally, a muggle wouldn’t be able to see the owl with the amount of
spells and charms around the collar. But since Severus was with Beverly, she was able to see
through the magic. It was a charm meant for families that lived with muggles and magical
people. England used them as well and there were very few instances of a muggle learning
about magic through an owl.

“Draco,” Severus whispered, recognizing the handwriting of his godson immediately. He said
nothing as he walked to the couch and sat down, running his fingers over the seal.

“You alright?” Beverly asked, sitting on the chair to his right. He startled out of his thoughts
and looked at her, not knowing what to say.

He didn’t want to open the letter. He didn’t want to read what it said. He knew that he
disappointed Draco, even if his godson claimed that he understood his reasons for leaving.

“My godson lives in a pseudo-neglectful house,” he said, the words tumbling out of his
mouth as he turned the parchment. It’s not like she would ever meet Draco, understand their
world, even the sample she was working on.

Beverly Katz was completely oblivious without needing to be obliviated.

“Normally,” he said, holding up the scroll for her to look at, “I watch over him for two
months.”

“But you’re here,” she said, sitting back in the chair.

“But I’m here.”

There was no ambient noise to cut through the silence as truth and doubt wared in his hands
over the seal. He would not open the letter, but that did not stop the fighting.

Severus looked up when he saw Beverly shifting on the chair next to him, confused by what
she was doing.

“Sacrifice is never without pain.” Beverly lifted her leg onto the table, slamming it down
with a force that made him think she was somehow angry at a limb. She rolled up her pant
leg and pushed down her sock, twisting her leg inward to reveal a long, ugly scar. It started
on the outer ankle, climbed in a jagged way up the length of her fibula, cut across her outer
tibia only to cut off at her knee.

“That looks like it was painful,” Severus said. In moments like these, he was glad for the
spells and potions that were available to the wizarding world.

“Believe me, it was,” Beverly laughed, tracing up the red and blue splotches. “I took one look
at my leg, twisted all the way around, and passed out.” She pushed her hair back as she
leaned in the chair, the wound still exposed. “Woke up three days later in the hospital with
tubes all over my body, my leg hanging in the air with this clamp over it.”

“How’d you do it?” he asked.

Beverly hummed, looking down at her healed injury.

“I was a cross country runner, a really good one,” said Beverly, her eyes bright as she told
him. “I was at a competition in Utah, running through the Mount Olympus Wilderness. We
were qualifying for the Olympics.”

Severus knew of the Olympics. The Wizarding World had their Quidditch Cup, their Tri-
Wizard Tournament, but nothing compared to the colosseum like battle of the muggle
Olympics; where the best of the best represent their country in a competition of their passion
against other countries. Where muggles competed against the world, not some local players.

“Nothing was wrong with the trail, perfect conditions to run. I had trained, felt ready to go,
fully stretched and had already walked the trail two days prior.” Beverly pulled her leg back
so she could look at the full wound. “I stepped on the wrong patch of dirt at the wrong speed.
There was nothing I could have done.”

She pulled up her sock, then unraveled her pant leg.

“I had to relearn how to walk,” she said. Beverly hung her head, then moved to the couch so
she was sitting closer to him. “My point is, pain is part of life, and so is disappointing others,
ourselves.” She put a hand on his arm. He looked down at the letter Draco wrote him.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t find something out of it.” Beverly nodded to the letter. “He’s
alone right now, and if your work is classified to me, then I’m guessing he knows it’s
important too?” Severus found himself nodding along with her words. “He wants to talk to
you.”

Beverly pat his arm once, then stood.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she said, walking away to the door. Severus looked to the pizza as
she put on her FBI shell, a strange pulling coming from his chest as he looked around the
room.

“Wait,” Severus said, standing. He put the letter on the coffee table. Moving quickly, he
grabbed one of the blends he made of Chamomile tea that he moved into the cupboard with
the mugs and teacups. Severus took some of it and put it in one of the pouches. Without
saying anything, he walked past her and into his bedroom.

Safe from view, and a quick flick of his wand summoned a Dreamless Sleep-Restorative
potion. He put two drops on the chamomile flower buds with a pipette, knowing that they
would marinate fully in the buds, saturate through the rest of the tea leaves, then seep into the
water when Beverly would brew a cup.

“Drink this, before bed,” Severus said, holding the pouch out to Beverly. Dark eyes looked at
the tin for a moment, then up to him, regarding him. Severus wouldn’t dare enter the mind of
a muggle, especially one of the FBI; it was likely her profession taught her skills of an
occlumens and would sense a magical influence.

As a muggle, Beverly was naturally hypersensitive to magic.

Whatever she was thinking seemed to approve of his offering, taking the tin with a slow
hand.

“You make your own tea?” She asked, a brow raised with a small smile on her lips. Severus
shrugged, a blush finding its way to his cheeks.

“British?” he said. Beverly laughed, tossing her head back. Her stance relaxed, no longer
prey like; ready to bolt or fight to the death.

“Thank you, Severus,” she said, dipping her head slightly. Severus opened the door for her,
catching the scent of pizza and his tea beginning to mingle with her own. “Sweet dreams,”
Beverly winked, shaking the tin of leaves as she turned to walk down the hall.

He closed the door with a click- his mind oddly blank.

Severus packed up the pizza, checked on his notes, then looked at the note that Draco wrote
him.

In order for international mail to be delivered to him, Draco would have had to go to the
Ministry of Magic. Draco either snuck out using Spinner’s End or went with his father.

Uncle Sev, Draco wrote:

Our garden has overgrown again, same as it did when we worked on it over Yule.
They had spent most of Yule tending to the garden. They redug the natural irrigation that ran
through the green house. Severus showed Draco how to set wards, teaching him that they had
to be balanced on a mathematical scale. Draco would be able to dig out the irrigation channel
but not yet capable of performing the spells to reset the wards that monitored the ecosystem.

I don’t think that I thanked you for letting me visit during the day. Even though I am alone,
it’s better than the Manor. Mother has hosted many teas but you know how those are.

Yes, the careful talking of women. Speaking in code amongst themselves about their
husbands affairs- monetary or otherwise.

The garlic was ready for harvest. I thought about sending you some as a joke since your
spending time with a muggle. I didn’t want to expose you though.

“Believe me, Draco, you did not accomplish your goal.”

Severus was glad that Beverly did not open the letter. So far, the only thing that was odd
about it was the use of Yule over Christmas.

I sent some to Harry. Did you know that his father, not Professor Graham, is a doctor but still
a wizard? How strange is that? I didn’t know that wizards could go into the muggle world
forever.

Severus supposed that Draco was getting used to the idea of muggle exposure in a different
light. Where his father despised them- thinking the muggles nothing more than rodents to be
exterminated, Harry was subtly showing Draco the muggle world in a way that mixed his
own world.

Perhaps, Harry’s influence would better influence Draco on his mixed view of muggles.

Thank you for sending me the books too. I read them in the evening after dinner.

When Lucius was home and spouting his conspiracy theories and xenophobic views ranging
from muggles to magical creatures. Even creatures like vampires.

I hope that your research is going along well. I hope that you come home soon.

Draco

Severus looked back at the notes he sprawled along the table. He tried to look at the
formulas, new ones with potion ingredients written on the side. The words didn’t seem to
make sense to him though. He read the page over twice, and yet, couldn’t recall a single word
that was written.

He growled as he gave up and crawled into bed- the binge taking full effect over his body.

Will cursed as the phone cut off, no longer ringing. He dropped his phone when Buster and
Hercules got underfoot. One of the dogs, or himself, it was hard to tell, kicked it under the
couch as it was ringing. He attempted to get under the couch, but the other dogs jumped into
the fray.

Now that they were playing outside, Will moved to the couch, got on his knees and grabbed
his phone, brushing the dust off.

“Shit,” Will said, seeing that Beverly called him. She left a voicemail. He clicked on it.

“Hey, Graham. Status report, I guess.” She paused, sounding like she was getting out of her
car, keys jingling in her hands. “Things are going well. Still have no idea what I’m working
on with Severus but that’s not why I called.” She opened some kind of door, her footsteps
echoing through the chamber of a stairwell.

“Severus is kinda...weird isn’t the right word but it’s like, if he asks for something, it finds
him. Like, tonight an owl came into the apartment. Who uses owls as mail transport?
Completely domesticated. I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired. You missed a good case- I’ll
never think about the phrase Hive mind the same way again. Alright, see ya, Graham.”

“Severus better tell her soon,” Hannibal said from behind him. Will flinched at his mate’s
ability to sneak up to him still.

“He is going to be in for quite the surprise.” Will nodded, deleting the voicemail. There
wasn’t much that Will or Hannibal could do for either of them. They were across an ocean-
the truth was out of their hands.

Severus worked himself into the ground when June turned into July. For some reason, the
start of July with no more answers threw him into another binge. He thought of Draco as he
scoured over books, creating equations that did not add up.

He showered and slept through the third day of July.

Severus made himself presentable for Beverly, knowing that she would come over later in the
evening. She was off today, for some reason, given that it was in the middle of the week.
Severus opened his fridge, his stomach growling.

He would need to go to the store.

Severus dressed in black- which was, admittedly, a poor choice for July in America. He was
used to the temperate July summer in England. In Virginia, the summer was hot and humid.
There was air conditioning in the apartment that ran on full blast now, constantly keeping the
air cool. He despised going outside, not because the sun would burn him to ash, but because
the sweat would pool over him like a lacquer.

There was a holiday sale going on in the supermarket. Everything was on sale. Severus
walked to the open meat counters, relishing in the cool air that was pumped onto the meat
and fish.
Feeling a bit happier, Severus decided to make dinner for Beverly. The idea of fish and chips
came to him as he looked at the cod on sale. Choosing some flanks, Severus walked back to
the produce section to grab a bag of potatoes and picked up some string beans.

When Severus was putting the food in his fridge, his stomach growled.

Then came the lingering taste of his venom.

He closed the fridge door with more force than necessary.

If he went without eating, he could potentially run the risk of eating Beverly. Sure, he had
gone for months without feeding in the wizarding community, but they had magic that made
them more difficult to hunt. Only, due to that, they were more delicious when he could sink
his fangs in them.

There was still a bag of blood in the fridge, hidden behind the milk carton.

Severus drank a third of the blood, finding that he didn’t feel like he had to drink more than
that. He shrugged and closed the bag with a spell, re-casting the preservation charm that
would keep it from rotting.

When dusk came, Severus noticed that many of his neighbors had left the apartment, carrying
baskets and taking jovially as they made their way to the local park. He didn’t see a local
faire come into town.

He made sure that the air conditioner was still running before returning to the notes he and
Beverly made over the weeks.

The doorbell rung.

Severus thought that was odd, normally she knocked on the door or opened the door. Severus
took to keeping it unlocked when he knew she was coming over since he would sometimes
have to wrap up a potion.

He opened the door, ready to greet her, to find that she was moving forward, her arm holding
something. Severus was surprised by the sudden attack, unable to defend himself from the
clicking sound that attached itself to his neck.

The electrifying jolt that ran through his body seized his muscles, making his knees fall to the
side as his eyes rolled back into his head, Beverly still holding her device on his neck.

Severus jolted awake. He was still in his apartment- the scent of himself and Beverly ripe
around the walls. Though the room was dark, illuminated only by the lights coming from the
half drawn curtain, he could see better than a normal human.

“Severus,” Beverly said, walking around the chair. “I have a very sharp knife behind you and
you are going to tell me why it feels like I’ve been hallucinating for the past month.”

Judging by the way his hand throbbed at the fingers, the bonds around him were tight. He
looked down at them and found surprisingly soft and supple leather, plush fur around the
edges to keep from cutting him. There was pressure on his ankles that kept him tied to the
chair.

Beverly circled him like a vulture.

When she came back around, there was the knife she spoke of. It was one material, looked to
be perfectly balanced and the sharpness could be seen by the glint of the blade. He swallowed
and looked up at her. In moments like these, it was best for the person with the control to
begin the torture session, see what they want, and work until he secured his freedom.

Beverly did not cut him with the knife, instead, put it to her side as she walked to his
journals. The ones with magical notes in them. Beverly looked at him before she picked up
the book, her eyes searching for his nervous expressions.

“You left this out the day the owl came.” She didn’t open the flap. “I understand a science
binge as much as the next person. This is a strange kind of science.” Beverly opened the
book, knife still in hand, to a page.

“Chamomile tea really helped. I took it to the lab and found two flower buds were not like
the others.” She showed him one of the pages, the word: unicorn blood underlined. “The
problem is you,” she pointed the knife at him, now walking closer.

Severus' heart was beating fast in his chest. Normally, he was calmer than this. Now, his heart
was beating in his chest, following the path of the knife, staying silent now that he had
information.

He was out of practice.

“You, Severus Snape, actually know science. We’ve had conversations of complex
algorithms and the way the body works. But how does a man of science not know science?”
Beverly Katz stopped, the blade held near his chest, no where close to actually cutting him
but the anticipation was its own threat. “The cell phone you don’t know how to use, an owl.
This sample,” she pointed to it.

The knife moved from the sample up his fingernails, the blade scraping atop the knuckles of
his fingers. Beverly applied some pressure on his arm, enticing him to turn his palm upward
to avoid getting cut. He gasped at the sensation of the blade’s tip graze over his tattoo and
through some of the puncture scars.

“What religious cult are you in?” Beverly pointed the knife down at his right arm.

He gasped, remembering that he hadn’t changed into a longer sleeved shirt before he had to
take care of the owl Draco sent. Beverly had put her hand on his arm, he was too caught up in
the letter to realize his flesh was bare to her eyes.

“Why did you look at the tea?” Severus finally asked. Beverly took the knife away from his
scar.
“You took a tea tin,” she said, “into your room and I had a surprisingly good amount of sleep.
I was looking for traces of rohypnol.”

Severus wasn’t sure what rohypnol was but he did put something in the tea that made her
suspicious.

A bang shook the room around him, the sound making him flinch. Severus looked around,
startled as the pops and bangs began to pick up.

“Fireworks?” Beverly asked. “Do you even know what today is?” She walked away from
Severus to open one of the curtains. Indeed, there were fireworks of red, white, and blue,
decorating the sky. She let the curtain fall. “Independence Day.”

“You used the cover of the fireworks to torture me?” Severus asked. He was stunned at her
cunning- giving a little laugh as he looked up at her. He was still in the apartment and she
could torture him as long as the fireworks continued to blast through the night.

Rather than look apologetic, she walked closer to him, the knife now touching the small
patch of flesh that was exposed from his shirt. Severus held still, throat swallowing a ball as
Beverly stood over him; the fireworks able to cover the sound of his potential screams.

Severus needed her- it was Beverly that was providing breakthroughs and he could not lose
that.

“I’m a wizard,” he said, surprised that his voice was almost a whispered rasp.

“What?” Beverly asked, pressing the blade expertly so that he could feel pressure yet have no
split in his skin.

“Wizard,” he said, louder this time as he looked up at her. “I’m a wizard.” Much to his
surprise, she did not falter at his odd answer. Instead, Beverly shifted the blade from pressed
to his chest to right under his chin, forcing him to lift his head higher than comfortable.

His breath hitched as he looked up at her.

“Tell me the truth, Severus,” Beverly said, a dangerous smile on her lips. She was not wrong
to be skeptical of the answer. The only way that he could prove his claim to truth would be to
show her. He took a slow inhale, breathing in the scent of gunpowder, leather, the echo of
dead bodies, and her own natural aroma as he gathered his magic along the bonds she
strapped him in.

Severus lifted his hands slowly, keeping his eyes on hers as they came into her peripheral.
Her eyes shifted minutely, a mistake for prey as she looked down at his hands. With expert
balance, Beverly kept the blade resting against his flesh as her eyes dropped.

The cuffs were not damaged or unlocked. They were in the same condition as they were
around his hands, Severus simply made his hands shift around them like water.

Beverly took the blade away from his throat, Severus stood up, then walked forward as her
eyes were on the cuffs she wrapped around him.
He made an impulsive decision then.

Severus moved faster than a typical human. He grabbed Beverly and put her in the chair,
hooking the cuffs around her.

“I know, this looks bad,” he said, standing away from her as the fireworks cast a blue light
over her profile. She was smiling at him, sitting back in the cuffs as if she was the one that
still held a knife to his throat. “You are not wrong to be suspicious of me,” Severus said as he
walked away towards his bedroom.

He came back with his wand and showed it to her. She raised her eyebrow.

Severus swished and flicked his wand, levitating her chair. Beverly gasped as he carried the
chair to the kitchen. He set her down so she could observe him make dinner with magic as his
sous chef. He tried his hardest to ignore her presence as pots hovered around him.

Getting the oil in the pan was no harder than pointing his wand at the bottle. He moved to the
fridge and pulled the fish and green beans out with magic, letting them carry around the
kitchen until they landed in a pot. The fish dressed itself in flour then swam into the oil. The
chips were cut over the oil, falling next to the fish.

As the food cooked, he pointed his wand at the glasses and plates, watching as they rolled
through the air until they sat at the table neatly. Severus walked around Beverly without
speaking to her, putting the food down.

He circled around her the same way she did. A bright golden firework burst behind her.
Severus removed the bonds from her ankles first, watching her for any movement that might
have his jaw shattered. Slowly, he unbuckled Beverly’s wrists, holding her hand to help her
stand.

“Thank you,” she said as she took her seat, eyes never leaving him.

“You have questions,” Severus said, serving himself chips. He passed them to her, taking the
green beans that were offered.

“Well, you’re not lying.” Beverly laughed as he smiled a bit. Severus was glad she had a
level head, not spouting off like a faucet as most muggles did. “I’m guessing that we’re
looking at some magical illness then.”

Beverly moaned when she ate the fried fish.

“Yes,” Severus said, taking a bite of his own food. “A blood borne disease.”

“I’m guessing that I won’t be able to understand some of those formulas I saw unless I
understand...you,” she said, waving a chip at him. Severus smiled as he ate some of the green
beans.

“We can fill in the gaps of the others missing materials.”

“Oh my god,” Beverly said, sitting back in her chair with the same smile she had when he
was tied up. “You’re a teacher.” She took a victorious bite of her fish when he tried to deny it.
“No one else talks like that. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Graham has some of the same
phrases.”

“I’m a potions master.”

“What’s that like?” Beverly asked.

And so they started to talk, perhaps the first real and honest conversation that Severus had
with Beverly since he met her. He told her about the magical world and about Hogwarts. He
told her about Draco- that his father worked for the government and was not home often.

Severus looked down at his covered arm.

“You weren’t wrong about the cult either,” he said. “I’m working to,” he struggled to think of
a word for what he was doing, “decommission the leader.”

Beverly was quiet for a moment.

“You’re not going to chop up his body, are you?”

“No,” Severus said, “Why would I do that?”

“I work with the gifts that serial killers leave behind. You were in a magical cult, I don’t
know what you might do.”

Severus laughed at her. She had no idea the kind of predator he was, magically- he was once
obligated to slaughter any muggle that came across his path. As a human, she was easier to
hunt, muggle- even easier. And yet, she was calmly sitting across his table, eating the meal
that he made for her.

“Now that I know about your big secret,” Beverly said, wiping her mouth with the napkin
now that their plates were clear, “want to take a look at that antidote?”

Since Beverly learned about Severus’ magical ability, they made even more progress. Now,
with Severus using magic to create potions for the vaccine, Beverly could work on splitting
the sample down. They worked together quietly, able to walk around one another without
needing to be asked.

Of course, they spoke about what they were going to do as they ate dinner before proceeding
with the experiment.

Beverly had taken to staying later and later in the evening. She was fascinated with magic
and what they were doing together, adding her own interjections of physical theory to try and
explain magic. The conversation this night was next to none as they were beginning to
introduce the active infection of the Dark Lord’s blood to the first antidote.
So far, they were interacting without smelting the cauldron as all of Severus’ past attempts
went. He watched over the liquid with anxiety in his stride, pacing side to side. Beverly was
sitting on the couch, one of his potion books in her hands and a mug of tea by her side.

He looked down at the timer.

Severus turned off the flame and looked down past the fumes.

The solution was still blue. It was stable. He called for Beverly once, then looked for her.

She was on the couch, the book sitting on her lap. Her face was hanging to the side, resting
against a pillow in the depths of sleep. He looked at the clock beside the timer- three in the
morning. Severus checked over the potion, knowing that it would need four days to cool
before they could begin to concentrate the liquid.

He flicked his wand over Beverly, she floated into the air. Severus put her down on his bed,
not needing it for the evening. She muttered something unintelligible as she shifted in the
sheets.

Severus catalogued his entire process, making sure that if he ever needed to make some of the
vaccines ever again, he would be able to replicate it perfectly. He cleaned up the tossed aside
notes they made earlier, putting them in the trash.

Morning came and he heard Beverly wake before he saw her. An alarm went off on her
phone in his bedroom. Not really knowing what to do with himself, Severus went into the
kitchen and looked at his supplies. Eggs were easy enough.

“Thanks,” Beverly said, pointing to his bedroom as Severus poured the eggs into the pan.
“Did you not sleep? Do wizards need less sleep?”

Severus laughed, a little nervous about how she would react to finding out his nature. So far,
neither the muggle or wizarding authorities came to his door with questions. Beverly hadn’t
alerted anyone so far, he didn’t think she would after he left.

If he told her that he hunts humans, that would probably change.

“I didn’t sleep; it’s not a wizarding thing,” he said, handing her a plate of eggs. She smiled as
she took it, handing him a fork.

“Just something you do then?” she asked between bites. Beverly put her plate down to go to
the little coffee machine. Severus did not drink coffee as American’s did, nor did he
understand the machine.

“After we concentrate the sample- we can begin experimentation,” Severus said as Beverly
put sugar in the mug, coffee spitting into it. He took a bite of his eggs. “I’ll be the subject.”

“How long will it take to concentrate that much?” Beverly asked, waiting for the coffee.

“About a week of concentrating once it cools.”

“We’ll have to quarantine you,” Beverly said, opening the fridge. “The large bedroom would
probably be the best place for that.” Beverly pulled the milk out of the fridge and uncapped
it.

The smell of rancid milk hit his nose first, she lifted to scent it.

“Ugh, Severus,” she said. Severus looked at the carton, remembering that it was the one that
was hiding the blood. Beverly looked back to the fridge, either to shut it or put the milk away,
he didn’t know.

She dropped the carton when she saw the blood bag, half empty. Beverly reached for her hip
in a natural movement that came with her profession but she didn’t have a gun on her hip.

“I’m a vampire,” Severus said, holding his hands to his side. “You know about the unicorn
blood. Some magical people have this virus in them.”

“You’re creating a vaccine to help you eat other people!” She shouted, pointing at the blood.
Severus was still, unsure of what to do.

“Yes,” he said like an idiot.

Beverly laughed, a hand coming to her head. She slammed the door shut, rattling the
refrigerator,, the blood still untouched, the milk spilled over the floor. Severus did not
approach her. He slowly moved his wand over the puddle of rotting milk, transfiguring them
into flowers, the carton into a glass jar. He put the flowers in the sun.

“You are the strangest man,” Beverly said in a raspy tone. Severus turned away from the
flowers to look at her. A moment of clarity came over to her in a wave. She walked to him
with a powerful gait, face almost angry. She grabbed his shirt and backed him against the
table, bending him painfully at the waist so his kidneys were pressed into the wood. “Are you
the Chesapeake Ripper?” she growled, her teeth bared.

“The what?” he asked, turning his head as his hands came up to his side in the same
surrender he showed her on the Fourth of July. She looked over his face, eyes hard as she
observed him. Beverly relaxed.

“Nevermind,” she said, letting him go. Beverly straightened out the shirt he crumpled. With a
harsh exhale, Beverly sat down in the chair. Severus flicked his wand, summoning a vial.

He rarely did this. It didn’t hurt, but it reminded him of the inhuman parts he would never get
back.

Beverly watched him open his mouth and move the lip of the glass to his canine tooth. He
pressed the edge of the vial underneath it and pushed forward.

He closed his eyes as he felt the venom release from his fangs, the glass becoming wet.
Severus found that when he milked the venom from one fang, it would prompt the other to
collect as well. He did not need to milk the venom from his fangs as fully fledged vampires
needed to- hence their large coven size. He moved the vial to the other. Severus did not
produce as much venom as a typical vampire did either, nor as strong.

He swiveled his wand around the lip of the glass, contorting it to close against itself. Beverly
took the glass from him when he stretched his hand out to her.

She held the venom up to the light, watching it slide with the pull of gravity.

“I’m guessing you’re not a typical vampire either, hey, Sparkles?”

“Sparkles?” Severus asked.

“Oh,” she smiled as she stood up, putting the venom down. “I know what movie I’m going to
torture you with tonight- Twilight.” Beverly made her way over to the cauldron. “Ya
coming?” She asked.

“Aren’t you concerned for your safety?” Severus asked, still standing where he milked the
venom from his fangs. Beverly rolled her eyes at him.

“Considering we’ve been coexisting peacefully, no.” She waved him over. “And that blood is
bagged so it’s not like you’ve got a person in a freezer.” She looked up at him, her eyebrow
raised. “You don’t, right?”

“No,” he laughed, his heart feeling light as it pumped blood around his body.

After a horrible movie, Severus demanded that they spend some time looking at the sample,
claiming that he needed something substantive to wash out the stupidity of the movie. When
they were half way through the afternoon, Beverly packed up her things and left the
apartment, thanking Severus for allowing her to sleep in his bed.

Severus said nothing of it as she left, now watching to make sure she made it to her car
before going back to his apartment.

Later that night, or perhaps, earlier that morning given that the sun was rising, Severus finally
put himself to bed, practically dragging himself to the smaller room and falling onto his
sheets. His head cleared a little, the thoughts that occupied his mind no longer swirling
around as his body relaxed into the sheets.

Severus hummed into the pillow, the scent of Beverly rich and intermingling with his own-
the vampire was too tired to notice that it was her scent that sent him off into a peaceful night
of dreams; for had he noticed, his mind would no doubt be occupied once more with thoughts
of anxiety.

It was the first day of August and Severus had the first sample ready to go as soon as Beverly
arrived. He had transformed the larger of bedrooms into a magical quarantine dome, the same
one he encased Harry in when he came in with symptoms of poisoning. There was a
bathroom that he could use if he needed and Beverly would provide him food.
She let herself in through the front door. Severus looked back at her when he was hit with the
scent of blood. Rushing to her side without thought, Severus looked her over as she held her
hand over her ribs.

“It’s fine,” Beverly said, huffing a pained laugh as she sat down, “really.”

“You’ve cracked several ribs,” Severus said, able to feel the bones shifting more than natural
under her shirt. He drew his wand and wrapped it around her torso, a silver webbing
connecting around her body. She winced as she sat up to poke at the magic.

Severus went to the guest bedroom and pulled out his potions kit, then walked back to her
side. He kneeled by the couch she laid on. “May I inspect the injury?” Beverly nodded her
head, teeth grit thought the pain. Severus pointed his wand at the center of her shirt, almost
zipping it open.

His gaze was clinical as he looked at her blue and yellow bruises.

“What happened?” he asked, noticing that she was scraped along the broken bones. It looked
like she had been dragged.

“Almost kidnapped,” Beverly said, rolling her head to the side. “Had to jump out of a car.”

“Shouldn’t you be at a hospital?” he asked, knowing that she would not be able to discuss
any classified information from her job.

“They cleared me. No ruptured organs,” she panted. Severus opened his bag and pulled a
salve from his bag. The wounds were wrapped in white muggle bandaging but the scraping
could be seen through the tape that held it to her flesh.

With careful fingers, he removed the tape from her, exposing the vastness of her injuries.

“You could have called out,” Severus said. Beverly huffed a laugh, wincing as the last of the
bandage came off.

“And miss this?” she panted as his fingers inspected her ribs, pushing along the bones and
making note of where the pain showed. “Today is testing day.” Beverly sighed in relief as he
spread some salve over the scrapes.

“This should help the bruising,” Severus said, adding more paste to her other side. There was
a wound on her head towards the side that was facing the couch. He lifted his hand to her
face, eyes on the dried blood that was flaked in her hair. With tender fingers, he touched her
scalp to rub the salve over her, brushing her hairline as he did.

His eyes only needed to shift marginally to see Beverly’s entire face. She was watching him
with something new in her eyes, like she had found something a piece of a puzzle. Severus’
eyes acted on their own accord, looking down at her lips as they seemed to be the only thing
that wasn’t injured.

“You should nap,” he said, pulling away from her, his wand zipping her shirt back together.
“The bruising will heal within the hour. Then, we proceed with the injection.” He went into
the kitchen as she leaned back, unable to move due to the pain to chase after him.

Making tea put his mind at ease. The rhythmic motion of boiling the water, measuring the tea
within the mugs, waiting for the water to boil. As Severus waited, he reached into the potion
bag for some Skelegrow, adding three drops into Beverly’s tea.

“Drink,” he said. Beverly raised her eyebrow at him but took the mug. With the small amount
of potion in her tea, and the large amount of honey that he added, Beverly did not taste the
potion. Either the numerous potions or the events of the day began to wear on her. Severus
took the mug from her hand before she could add burns to her list of injuries, pulling the
blanket back over her body.

While she should be resting in a bed, moving her while the potions and salve worked might
cause further harm. He sat in the chair next to her, monitoring her breathing as she healed.

He could smell the potions working on her body. Though he could no longer see her wounds,
he could smell that the blood was changing, no longer fresh, more scab like. A half hour later,
Beverly let out a deep sigh, the pain that her ribs caused finally subsiding as the Skelegrow
worked.

There was a strange sense within him. Severus watched Beverly breathe peacefully on his
couch, at ease for the first time since whenever she leapt from a car. Rather than cancel their
appointment, Beverly still came to his apartment. He could have easily given himself the
injection and catalogued his own responses.

It seemed that Beverly was as eager to learn if they were successful as he was.

It was his intention to let her sleep for forty minutes, but he did not move to wake her until
two hours passed.

“We really doing this, Sparkles?” She asked as she sat up, folding the blanket over the edge
of the couch.

Severus sighed with an eyeroll.

“I can’t believe you made me watch that ridiculous movie.”

“And I can’t believe they made five.” Beverly said, lifting up the hem of her shirt to look at
her flesh. It was no longer scraped or bruised. The bones within her body were knitted back
together as if nothing happened.

“Thank you,” she said, standing slowly as she rolled down her shirt. Now that she was no
longer injured, Severus was pleased to see she was back to her jovial self, clapping her hands
together as she inspected the vaccine.

Beverly had off for two days, long enough that she could watch over him and document any
adverse reactions. She hesitated when she looked at the needle with the vaccine in it.

“As ready as you are,” he said, rolling his right sleeve up. He hesitated over which arm to
choose, but his veins really were better to get on the right arm than the left.
Severus tried not to look at Beverly when she injected him, not wanting to see her looking at
the Dark Mark.

A bandaid slid over his veins and he put himself into the quarantine room.

He could feel the solution in his body immediately. As he was a vampire, it would run
through his body slower, take about seven hours to circulate his blood stream, but he would
be able to tell if it worked faster due to his nature. He would be able to tell by scent alone if
his body was protected.

“Hey,” Beverly said, catching his attention from his thoughts. “Is your tattoo moving?”

A wave of cold dropped over Severus. His breath caught in his throat as his legs gave way.
He could hear Beverly shouting at him as he dropped to the ground, his left arm clutching the
right as he tried to look at it past the scars. His aborted breaths put black spots over his
vision.

He couldn’t tell if it was moving.

“Severus,” Beverly shouted, followed by a dull thud sound. Severus turned his face to look at
her, seeing that she was trying to get to him through the shield, but met its resistance.

“I’m okay,” he said, sitting up as he slowed his breathing. “Just talk about something else.”

Beverly sat down next to him, as close as she could against the bubble.

“Well,” she said, “I guess I do have a lot of questions, and now that you’re trapped here…”
Severus gave her a small smile. She sat up a little, excited to have him at her mercy. “Okay,
so if I were to become intoxicated and you then drank my blood- do you become
intoxicated?”

Severus laughed out loud, the sound echoing through the bubble as he tried not to look at the
tattoo or the scars around them. While he did not want to contemplate eating Beverly in such
ways, he had thought of the logistics once himself.

“Hypothetically yes,” he said, “but the alcohol would have to have enough time to get
through your bloodstream and then I would have to eat enough to get drunk.”

“Can you become intoxicated?” Beverly asked. Severus focused on breathing, his mind taken
back to the days that he experimented on himself and his new condition; trying to find an
equilibrium.

“It takes some time and either a high proof or a lot of it.”

“What about other substances?”

“In theory- it would work the same way.” Severus thought about it. “However, inhalant
toxins would affect me as greatly as a regular human.” She nodded her head, eyes absent as
she thought of other questions. She perked up, a new one about to come his way.
“Do different blood types have different tastes?” Beverly asked, shifting her weight to better
look at him. Severus noticed that the pain in his chest had lessened with the close of his
panic.

“Yes,” Severus said. “A blood type tends to have a more grassy taste, for whatever reason
and O blood types taste more meaty, like cow. B blood has a gamey quality and AB has
echoes of the ocean.”

“It’s funny. A lot of people who have A blood tend to be vegetarians,” Beverly said. “Do you
have a favorite blood type?”

Severus looked down at the ground. Beverly was asking questions about his condition, not at
all afraid of her safety or the safety of those she wore a badge to protect. Severus had to
know; he had to ask, even if the information would only serve to harm him.

“How are you okay with this? Given that you’re FBI…”

Beverly breathed out a heavy sigh. She tapped the leg that she broke running.

“You’ve grown on me,” she said. “You haven’t done anything to me. You don’t look or act
like some of the people we are trained to catch. And if you are magical...you have your own
government that is supposed to catch people like you- killers.” Beverly shrugged her
shoulders as she spoke. “I can’t catch you without evidence and present you to the FBI-
they’ll think I’m crazy. And I don’t know enough about your world to take you in. And then
what? A non-magical in the magical world?”

Beverly looked up at him with hard eyes, as if she was the one that was in the cage.

“Sometimes, it’s safer to stay quiet.”

The silence came over the room again. Severus noticed that she had both her hands over the
pants leg that hid her scar. Severus must have ripped his sleeve down in his panic. He could
feel the adhesive of the bandaid on his elbow.

“I tend not to drink AB blood,” Severus said, attempting to get her to smile again. She looked
up at him, curious. “It’s a little like lactose intolerance. Mucus folds around my throat,
vomiting.”

“You have a full regurgitation response?” Severus nodded his head to her question. “Could
you digest it if you had to?”

“If I must, but it wouldn’t be pleasant in the long run,” he said, waving his hand over his
stomach. He recalled the amount of times he got sick before he realized it was the scent of
some people that made him ill.

When it came to eating humans, however, it didn’t matter what blood type they were. Severus
had an idea that it was the way the blood proteins were gathered. In liquid form, they hit his
stomach acid harder. In solid flesh, his stomach acid would digest the blood at its own pace.

“Can you survive on blood substitutes?”

Severus would have never thought about consuming human flesh; blood was taboo enough.

“For a period of time, about six months before a blood lust will begin to set in.”

“So you have to eat human?” Beverly asked.

“It’s one of the limitations of magic.” Severus looked at the muggle woman. She never
claimed to understand anything about magic. What made Beverly different was her ability to
listen and accept that she may never understand the magical world Severus lived in. “Many
spells, potions, rituals, they all have to be followed to the letter. No substitutions or
mistakes.”

He lifted his arm, the sleeve still attached. Beverly was smart enough to be able to recall what
lied beneath the fabric.

“I know that this will work because the formula is correct. It was a matter of separating the
ingredients to move onto the basics of vaccine or antidote creation.”

Beverly sat back against the wall, looking at him but saying nothing.

“What if you put a werewolf on the moon?”

Of all the questions or responses that Severus expected from Beverly, that was not one of
them. He burst out laughing, feeling the muscles in his body cramp. He looked and saw that
she was laughing along with him, seemingly in equal pain with joy.

A few hours passed like that, they both seated on the floor, asking each other questions about
their world. Severus found himself fascinated with the way she could look at things on such a
small, microscopic, level. She pulled out her phone and showed him pictures, videos, all at
the touch of her fingers.

Eventually, he caught her yawning.

“Go to sleep, Beverly,” Severus said, standing up. Beverly followed him, both wincing at the
pain that went through their bodies from sitting on the hard floor for so long.

“Holler if you start dying or something,” Beverly said, walking away from him.

“Beverly, take the bed,” Severus said, moving to the edge of the barrier. It shimmered in
warning at him.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“The couch is hardly comfortable and there’s a bed here.” Beverly smiled at him, walking
close to the barrier- it flared at her proximity, almost rippling enough that her face was
obscured.

“Thanks, Severus,” she said, backing away and into his bedroom.
Severus got ready for bed. He listened for Beverly as he laid down in the sheets. She was still
in the bathroom, taking a shower. He grabbed one of the journals by the bedside so he could
document his symptoms.

So far, the only thing he had noticed was some pain in the injection point and mild swelling.
He supposed that was because he injected it into his bloodstream as opposed to his muscle.
He did not have enough blood to sufficiently test the vaccine if he put it in his arm.

Severus couldn’t help that his hearing improved with his transformation. He listened to her
get into the bed, and then her breathing evened out, deepened. He closed the journal and set it
to the side. He flicked the light off with a wave of his wand.

Severus woke slowly. His head felt foggy and his joints ached. He picked his head up and
looked at the clock.

He documented his time of wake at 13:00. He only slept into the afternoon after a serious
crucio session.

He stumbled his way into the bathroom first, stepping into the shower. His body cooled under
the water's spray. Severus washed himself down, toweled and went to the barrier where
Beverly was pacing.

She noticed him, reaching for the shield. It bubbled around her hand- pain free on her side of
the shield.

“Jesus, Severus, I told you to call me if you started dying,” she said, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff.” He hardly had enough balance to pull the chair to
sit in before he fell on the ground.

“Well, I don’t know what that is, but it’s not great.” She darted to the other side, trying to
look him over. “Do you need anything?” she asked. Severus and Beverly both looked at the
supplies that they moved into his bubble. There was food that wouldn’t perish but keep him
full available along with some apples and other such produce.

Beverly tilted her head at him, then walked away.

Severus could not take any potions to alleviate his symptoms. He needed to document them
all, even at their most painful. The only thing he could do was feed his body to burn the
reaction. He didn’t notice her return to the shield, startling even when her appearance was
slow.

“Here,” Beverly said, back at the barrier with the bag of blood in her hand. Severus looked up
and shook his head. He had only ever fed in front of Hannibal. The meal that he shared with
Will and Harry after the boy was poisoned hardly counted. He shook his head. “You need to
feed, Severus. I can see it.”
“Beverly,” he said, putting a hand to his fangs. He could smell the blood in the bag but it was
not what pulled at his venom.

“It’s okay, Severus,” She said, putting the bag to the barrier. The barrier could pass inanimate
objects through it- designed so that neither Severus nor Beverly could pass through and risk
infection. “You can trust me with this.”

Beverly Katz, muggle of the FBI, pushed the bag of blood through the shield to Severus.

Severus stopped the bag with his hand and lifted it up. He watched her as he opened the bag,
searching for any sign that she would run or try to harm him.

He knew that, if she pointed a gun at him and fired, the bullet would pass through and kill
him.

Severus scented the blood and found that her aroma filled his nose more than the oppressive
copper fumes of the bagged blood.

He put his lips to the bag and slurped it down. It was a disgusting process without something
like a straw but his body was starving. It was almost as if Beverly couldn’t help herself from
watching. She observed him the same way that she might observe a wolf taking down an elk,
her eyes agape with something between fear and awe.

Severus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a savage way, exposing his full nature
to her from behind the shimmering, glass-like barrier.

“You’re creating this vaccine for yourself. Does that mean you can catch blood borne
illnesses like hepatitis and HIV/AIDS?”

Severus would later say that he was caught in a moment of weakness; she fed him and he was
ill with the vaccine symptoms.

“Only if we are starving,” he said. “We wouldn’t eat something that is diseased any more
than you would eat meat that turned green.” Severus might have been able to recover if he
left it at that. Instead, he continued, “While you can see it, I can smell it.”

Beverly smiled something feral.

“There is reason to believe you are creating this virus for some other creature then? One that
also eats human?”

When Severus had nothing to say with his bloodstained lips, Beverly’s triumph was evident
in her posture; she stood up higher, her smile becoming devious, like she sank her teeth into
long awaited prey. She started to clap her hands slowly- only for herself.

Severus growled, in a literal and metaphorical box. She laughed freely at him, turning her
head, she had the audacity to wink. Severus went back into the bedroom to document his
symptoms, not because she cornered him with some basic interrogation tactics.
Writing in the journal distracted him from thinking about how she made him feel. Severus
wasn’t intimate. He was friends with Lily and did love her romantically. He threw himself
into a physical relationship with a vampire that morphed into a one sided attraction. For
thirteen years, he did not seek anyone out, barring himself from the company of anyone other
than colleagues.

Then, Harry went and bit the Dark Lord and he found himself swept into a family of fellow
killers, feasting on the flesh rather than the fluid. Now, he was spending a sabbatical with a
muggle woman that was smart, witty and cunning. Who had managed to knock him out and
plan to torture him if he didn’t talk.

He was a spy that survived the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Yet, someone without magic laid
a trap that he could not cut.

Beverly managed to coax him out with the promise of trying another food. Given that she fed
him such delicious pizza, he supposed he could stow his pride to try whatever item she
scavenged from the store.

“You drink blood,” Beverly said, pushing a pint of ice cream across the barrier with a spoon.
Severus opened the top of the container, glad that it would cool his mild fever. He took a
bite.

“This is amazing,” he moaned, looking at the colorful packaging of Ben and Jerry’s.

“It is one-hundred percent culturally acceptable to eat the entire pint in one sitting. That’s the
best part.” Beverly said, taking another bite of her pint. Severus ducked into his own,
moaning with each bite.

“What about menstruation blood?”

Severus choked on his spoon.

“Beverly!” he growled, looking at the ice cream that fell to the floor. She was giggling from
where she was seated on the floor. He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “The Dark
Lord had more mercy than you,” he said, pointing the spoon at her.

He realized his other mistake then, when she furrowed her brow and tilted her head. Beverly
Katz was an FBI agent, she was as mentally fit as she was physically. Her eyes fell on his
arm, even though it was covered with a shirt, Severus knew was piecing some things
together.

To his surprise, he didn’t receive any questions. Beverly sat back and ate her ice cream as if
he didn’t say anything.

“I made a mistake when I was a kid,” Severus said, eating another spoonful, not looking at
her. Beverly hadn’t alerted the authorities when he drank the blood earlier. She could have
recorded him and taken it to the muggles she worked for. Severus would return to England
and they wouldn’t talk ever again. She could say nothing to her muggle friends and be
believed.
“I did so many things I’m not proud of for a magical killer.” He rolled up his sleeve and
showed her the tattoo, the scars, the band aid still over his arm. He pointed at the bandaid.
“And I can save a lot of people if I get this right.”

He could save his godson and Harry from having to be the soldiers of youth. He could save
Hannibal and Will from infection when the time of the slaughter came upon them all.

Severus could see why it was easy to eat an entire pint of ice cream.

“You think you’re the first ex-gang member I’ve had to talk to?” Beverly asked, shoving
another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She winced, moaning in pain as the brain freeze
set in, Severus laughed at her pain, taking smaller bites that didn’t cause him harm. “You’re
not a bad person because you fucked up, Sparkles.”

Severus glared at her hard enough she laughed. He didn’t know how that was possible as the
glare had Gryffindors of all ages cower.

A cheery ring came over from Beverly’s side of the barrier. She looked up at Severus.

The testing time had finished. Severus walked to his room to grab the small vial that would
test his response. He walked to Beverly. Floating the vial with a spell, Severus cut his finger
and let a drop of blood fall into the vial.

If it turned white, he didn’t have to worry about the Dark Lord’s blood from ever harming
him.

If it exploded, then he and Beverly wasted ten weeks of research time.

The barrier rippled between them with energy like a river as the blood began to shift within
the fluid of the vial, spreading out like vapor from a hot cup of tea on a cold day.

“Severus!” Beverly said, jumping up and down from her side of the barrier. He gasped a
breath, blinking his eyes as he looked at the floating vial.

He removed the barrier and rushed to his partner. Severus lifted Beverly into the air as he
laughed with relief.

“Amazing!” Beverly said, looking at the vial from where she was embraced. Severus realized
what he did without thought and put her down, making sure she had firm legs before he
removed his support. To ignore his actions, Severus went to the vaccine, the cobalt blue color
tinting the cauldron.

He poured out seven vials, dividing the solution evenly between them all. Severus wrapped
the glass in more spells than he thought he knew: preservation, containment, travel. He
covered them in protection spells.

Severus could return to England; return to Spinner’s End where he might be able to teach
Draco about the importance of the overlooked goat’s eye in potions.

“Why seven vials?” Beverly asked beside him; rightfully so.

“It’s arbitrary, really, but so many magical people believe the number seven to be powerful so
it becomes powerful.”

“All because of intent?”

“Exactly,” he said, putting them in a box. Severus looked around.

When he came to the apartment, he was skeptical of living in America or working with a
muggle. Now, the apartment looked lived in, papers around, mugs of half drunk coffee and
tea laying around. Beverly’s FBI shell was resting over the arm of the couch rather than
hanging on the coat rack by the door. The carton of milk that he transfigured into a vase for
flowers was still sitting on the table.

None of these little things were at Spinner’s End.

“Now you go home?” Beverly asked, stepping away from him, seeming to have her own
moment of contemplation.

“Yes,” he said curtly. Severus pulled his wand out of his pocket. He circled it over his head
twice, causing the outer things to straighten. He poked his wand at the chairs to fluff them,
the carpet to remove the dirt that accumulated.

Around them, dishes washed themselves, sorting back into their shelves. Though Beverly
could not smell it, the scent around the room was removed. Severus pulled their scents from
the chairs, the bedrooms that they both slept in, the bathroom until it smelled faintly of
lemon.

“Wow,” Beverly said, looking around at the generic apartment once more. Severus had one
suitcase sitting next to his legs. “I guess moving for your kind is a lot easier than a large pizza
and a case of beer.”

“Magic does have it’s expected advantages,” Severus said. The only thing that didn’t pack
itself up, sort back into drawers or get poofed away was Beverly’s FBI jacket. She grabbed it
when it floated near her.

“Well, when does your plane leave?”

“Plane?” Severus asked, a high brow on his forehead. He smiled as he walked to the little
fireplace. It wasn’t a real one, more bricks with a parody of wood. Severus inspected the
small fireplace when he arrived and made some...adjustments.

“What the fuck is it with you people and the god damn chimney!” Beverly said, running in
front of him. She grabbed the fire iron and poked it to his chest in a way that reminded him of
Independence Day.

“It’s a floo network,” he said. Beverly didn’t move back or put down the iron. Severus rolled
his eyes and took the iron in his hand, lowering it from where it was pressed into his chest.
He backed up and sat down on the couch. “It’s a way that wizards travel,” he said, making
room for her when she approached.
Severus explained as best he could, how the wards worked on a floo network. Beverly then
launched into her own story, one that featured Harry. She explained that he called her in the
middle of the night, then climbed into a chimney.

“It was probably accidental magic,” Severus said, “when children are young or under a lot of
stress or trauma, their magic can act as a buffer between them and the threat.”

Severus and Beverly shared a soft laugh, the conversation closing. He looked at his bag and
at the floo network. He snuck a look at the woman and blushed when he found that she was
looking at him too.

Beverly closed her eyes and ran a hand through her head.

“Alright,” she said, almost to herself. “Full disclosure: I think we have a connection and I
want to have good-bye sex. Please do not feel like you are under any obligation-” Severus cut
off her statement with a kiss. He leaned forward, a hand coming to the wave though her hair.
Beverly put a hand on his chest and moved upward, her body coming onto his lap so she
could grind into him.

“Yeah?” she asked, her hands resting on the bottom of his shirt buttons.

It was such a bad idea, Severus knew it, but the thrum of her heart, her scent on top of him.
She had outsmarted him numerous times in their weeks together. He thought that he would
loath his time with a muggle woman, one that worked for a high operations law enforcement.

Severus could smell it in her, her blood was spicy and he was lulled to it.

“Yes,” he said, bucking a bit as she chuckled and moved up his buttons slowly. She ran her
hands up his stomach, pressing into the bones and pale muscles. One hand rested in the center
of his sternum, she leaned forward, her mouth coming to his ear as her other hand tilted his
neck back, palm on his windpipe. Beverly increased her pressure on her palms- if he were a
normal human, his cartilage would have already caved in. His cheeks flushed with the blood
that he had, Severus gasped as his cocked throbbed in his trousers.

“There is one thing I’ve got to know before we do this,” Beverly bit the shell of his ear as she
spoke, sitting up to look at him in the eyes. Her hands were still applying the same pressure.
He groaned at the sight of her. “Are you going to eat me?”

“No,” he gasped immediately.

“Good,” she said, pulling off his sternum. The air rushed freely in his chest but was still cut
off at his throat. Severus could speak, so he could breathe, but the sensation left him
breathless. Beverly surprised him by stepping back.

She stripped herself down to her underwear quickly, peeling off her lingerie to leave in a pile
on the floor. Moving slowly, Beverly sat with her back against the arm of the couch. Severus
blushed on her behalf of her lack of shame- she threw a leg over the top of the couch, the
other hanging off the side to fully expose herself to him. He salivated.
“Strip,” Beverly ordered, reaching a finger to comb her hair.

Severus removed the rest of his shirt, tossing it to the chair on the other side of the room. He
removed his trousers, not bothering to fold them. He felt exposed, his skin pale with the lack
of blood. Before he could find shame, she pulled her finger in a ‘come and get me,’ kind of a
way that had him hypnotically moving.

“What do you want, Severus,” she asked him, running a hand through his own hair. In the
time that it took him to undress, she wrapped her own hair in a braid.

He didn’t want to think too deeply about the indications of that.

Severus put his face between her breasts, he could feel the thrumming of her heart through
the protective bone. He placed a kiss in the center.

“I would like to eat you,” he confessed, laving at her soft flesh in explanation.

“I’d like that too.” She arched her back a bit, inviting him lower.

Severus moved downward, scenting along her body. Beverly had tight abs, her legs strong
from all the running she must do in order to keep up with the criminals. Severus had to close
his eyes and swallow some venom when he scented her cunt.

“If it’s too much,” Beverly said, pulling her legs back to sit up. Severus grabbed her before
she could go too far and pulled her body to his face. Her laugh at his rough behavior quickly
turned into a moan as he licked a long stripe up her labia. He pushed her open a bit, her legs
already splayed from where she put them.

“That’s good,” she praised, her hand pulling his hair.

Severus moaned into her clit as he sucked. Her juices were running, she wasn’t near
ovulation or a period. He wouldn't have to worry about falling into a bloodlust or have her
needlessly fear children. Severus moaned at that, moving his hand around her thigh so he
could play with her clit as he tongued into her hole.

Beverly gasped, arching back over the couch. Her scent was falling down his chin as she rode
his face. He found a spot on her clit that heightened her scent. He turned his tongue in her
settling for a slow thrust as his fingers rubbed her vigorously.

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, a hand over her head as the other kept him still. “Severus,” She
moaned.

He could smell her release before it washed over her. Her blood was coming as close as it
could to her skin, a whole body flush as she sweat. Beverly’s heart thundered in her chest,
propelled by her lungs. Severus dined on her, drawing her release out with slow thrusts of his
tongue and circles on her hood.

Beverly started laughing as she came down, Severus’ face wet with her release. He couldn’t
help himself from licking his lips- his hunger finding satisfaction with her. This is what he
feared would happen.
Severus satisfied her, he summoned his cloak, intending to put it over her and take her to the
bed, but when he turned to do that, she was already shaking something in her hand.

“No need to be shy,” Beverly said, taking the coat from his hand. “Unless you want it as a
napkin.” His facial expression had her chuckle. She pushed him on the couch and sat back on
his lap, this time, both completely naked and she wet with release all over her torso and
thighs.

Severus gulped, his hands coming to rest on her hips, cock standing against her stomach.

“Do you want to do this?” She asked, slowly grinding her body against his.

Severus knew he would have regret either way. For the first time, he took the Gryffindor
approach and kept saying “yes.” Beverly tore the foil off the condom and unrolled it over
him. Severus moaned as she stroked him. She reached for him, moving her body over hers
with a hand planted on his chest.

He sat back and let her brace herself against his sternum again- succumbing to the image of
her pleasure.

“You’re so good, Severus,” Beverly said, leaning forward to kiss him. In a tender moment,
Severus reached up to cradle her head, keeping his kiss gentle as she fingered herself. When
she pulled away from the kiss, it was with a hooded smirk. Severus arched his back as she
thrust against his cock, grinding up his length.

She leaned down to kiss at his neck. He turned his head to the side, giving her more room to
bite at his left pulse point. He didn’t expect something instinctive to bubble up inside him
when her teeth came over his neck.

Severus grabbed her hips, pushing her away from him as he breathed heavy.

“Hey,” she said, trying to calm him. He could feel her run her hands up the length of his
arms, unintentionally spreading her slick over his limbs.

“It’s a dominance thing,” he said absently. Beverly didn't stop rubbing him, her hands trailing
up to his shoulders. She pressed deeper into the joints, her sticky fingers acting as the
strangest massage oil.

“Did you like it or would you want me to avoid that spot?” Severus looked up at her, the
strength of his fingers loosening their grip from her pelvic bones. He looked down at them,
seeing this while his nails did not dig into her flesh, there would be bruises. “I’ll be alright;
we’ll avoid that spot,” she said.

Beverly rolled her neck and slid a little closer to him.

“We’re celebrating. You should get what you want, Sparkles.” Severus didn’t know why she
kept calling him that, but seeing her amused at his expense made him lean forward to kiss
her. It was sweet until she reached for his cock and sat down on him. “Oh yeah,” she said,
throwing her head back as she took him down in one strong movement.
Severus groaned, running his hands up the length of her torso to distract himself from her
heat. His hand stopped at her left breast, he massaged it, bringing the flesh to stand higher as
her heart thundered in her chest.

Beverly’s hand landed on his sternum, pressing into the bone, she began to ride him. her
movements were sturdy, lifting thighs that squeezed his cock as she released him only to slam
back down onto him with an arched back.

Severus leaned forward to embrace her, his arms over her spine to help bounce her. Beverly
moaned as she rocked her hips against him.

“Ah, Beverly,” he moaned as she raked her fingernails down his spine.

Each mark was another possession. Severus could smell himself on Beverly and Beverly
within his skin. Her sweat touched every part of him that her hands or legs could not. She
was everywhere as she moaned- it rang through his head, the image of her panting and
flushed was tattooed deeper into his memory than the Dark Mark could ever reach his body.

“Come on, Severus,” she panted, shoving him against the couches back. He groaned, the
image doing things to him that he hadn’t experienced in years. “Be good and give it to me,”
she growled, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him.

Severus could no longer hold himself back. He gripped her hips and pulled her to him, sitting
her as he came in the condom. The intensity in Beverly’s gaze broke as Severus moaned. She
joined in, circling her hips on his cock best she could through his grip.

They were both leaning against each other, panting in the same space of air, with Beverly’s
hand still resting on his chest.

Beverly laughed as she slid off Severus, sitting next to him in a heap of debauchery.

And now came the awkward part. They were not going to stay together- there was no drink
that came or moving to the bedroom to sleep until the morning sun rose with them both in the
sheets. Now came the part that both would look at each other as they tried to find each other’s
clothing only to disappear while saying something stupid like: see you later.

Beverly was the first to move. She stood up, completely bare and grabbed her jeans, slipping
them on without any underwear. She balled them up and stuffed them in her pockets. She slid
her shirt on without her bra. Her makeup was smeared, lips puffy and swollen from where he
kissed them.

“You’re easy to talk to, Severus,” she said. Now that she was clothed, he felt embarrassed,
beginning to shift around to grab his clothes. When he looked up at her, she shrugged. “You
don’t technically exist so I can talk about cases with you. Cases like the bee lady.”

She picked up the jacket he was going to wrap around her before she climbed on his lap.
Beverly circled him in the same way she did on the Fourth, this time helping him put his
cloak on rather than pointing a knife at him.
Severus could smell her on him; he was coated in the scent of their euphoric release. She
snapped his cloak onto his breast, smoothing the fabric down his chest. While logic told him
that she wasn’t scratching her fingernails down the red lines of his chest, he felt the echo of
her scratches beneath the layers of fabric.

Before she could say anything, Severus reached his hand out, her FBI outer jacket floated
into his hands. He didn’t know what came over him, to assist her into the jacket, circling
around her, leaving the last marker of his scent over her body.

When they faced each other, their fingers twitched along knuckles, both asking for
permission to slot together. They moved as one, two pairs of calloused, violent hands coming
to grip each other gently.

“If you ever want to talk about what keeps you up at night,” she squeezed his hands one last
time. “You can give me a ring.” Beverly hesitated for a moment, then leaned up to give him a
brief kiss. She gave him a smile as she left the room, door closing behind her softly.

Severus stood in his cloak, in the heat of summer for several minutes. He finally looked down
at the couch and blushed at the drying evidence. After completing another set of deep
cleaning spells around the apartment, making sure that every scent was removed, even the
lemon one that was commonly left behind. He locked the door behind him and walked down
the same hallway she did.

He could still smell her.

Severus followed the trail. It got faint, muffled with the scent of gasoline, but his own scent
was still on Beverly and it was impossible to lose your own marker. Severus ran for several
miles, the case shrunk to fit in a hip pocket until he stopped at another apartment complex.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. Severus saw her car parked in the lot with the
others, her smell fresh.

Several hours passed with him hiding in the tree line like a stalker. He didn’t know which
apartment was hers, but eventually the entire building darkened as the muggles went to sleep.
Severus followed her scent trail, fainter now that time passed. He went into the stairwell, glad
that she did not climb into the elevator.

He unlocked her door with a silent alohomora.

In the time he stood outside like the creeper so many of his students accurately predicted he
was, Severus decided he would hand her the rest of his chamomile tea. He laced the tin with
the dream potion, writing instructions that she should only take a dose on hard nights or the
nights that her mind would not quiet. He walked into her apartment and put it in the kitchen.

It was his intention to leave but he saw that she had one of the same fake fireplaces that was
in his apartment. He listened for her, sighing in relief as her breathing was deep. Severus
walked to the fireplace and began to cut small wards into it. He laced the fake wood with
warning charms that would summon him if she needed help or if they sensed danger.
 There were some things that Severus learned as a Death Eater that were actually useful,
though shameful on how he learned them. A witch that dabbled in experimental alchemy and
runes taught him how to ward a fireplace into a floo network. One of her experiments met a
violent end.

Where she failed; Severus triumphed.

Silently, Severus carved the runes into the sides of the wood, along the gas pipes that would
act as the fire agent to the floo network. It was tricky work that had a few beads of sweat drip
onto the wood, but worth it for his peace of mind.

Severus walked out of her apartment and locked it behind him. He made sure to walk outside,
far away from her complex before he apparated back to his empty apartment. He summoned
a packet of floo powder and sprinkled it on the stones. The fake wood flared with green
flames.

He stepped through, his first stop, New York’s ministry, then London where he would drop
off the samples, and finally, collect his godson.

After a shower, of course.

Chapter End Notes

First, you have made it to your destination. Please feel free to rant in the comment
section about how *ridiculously* large this chapter was. OMG- I was so tired when I
was done hence, attributing Severus potion binge to my writer binge for this chapter.

I do believe that, based on Canon!Draco's reaction to the Dark Mark that it would totally
cause them trauma to look at. I wanted to explore that with Severus even if he knows
he’s part of a herd; that pain will live with him forever but he has the support of others
to help him along the way

me giving Beverly a backstory as a Olympic Athlete; yes, fucking fight me, yo- I’ll eat
you alive.
Beverly: this is erotic
Severus: this is a normal torture session...I’m out of practice keeping my cool (denial)
Severus: thinkin he has to approach the situation as a spy. Impressed that Beverly can
torture him in his space using sound as cover. A little in love.
Is it the diary or the vaccine? the world may never know.

So yeah, I did the thing. I am practically shaking with happiness. I have literally been
waiting for so long to share this all with you. Please, I do want to hear about what you
thought- I really stretched for this one and I hope that it showed in the characters.

Sweet dreams everyone, enjoy your food coma!

 Sass and Salt
Chapter Notes

Hello guests,
I am so very pleased and grateful that you loved the last chapter. Severus and Beverly
were so fun to write; I feel like their sass and salt fit perfectly together. Beverly was a
charm to write with Harry, how she took care of him when Hannigram was still flying
over to get him; back when he was a little baby fawn. Some of you asked if the blood
that Beverly took during the Verger Incident would come back- this is that moment.
There will be a time for more shenanigan's with Bev/Sev later.
This chapter here is a little extension of the last chapter while setting up what I am going
to call ACT TWO; I'll explain more at the end notes.
Thank you for your support and love! It is with selfish glee that I give you just a little
more Bev/Sev

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Even though three days had passed since Severus left the States, Beverly was still pleasantly
sore. She smiled as she stepped out of the shower, turning her back to the steamed mirror
where the scratches were fading. There were bruises on her hips that showed she had a good
time.

The bruises that were the result of her kidnapping had healed in a matter of hours, making for
an interesting set of lies to Jack, Price and Zeller. Ironically, what saved her was the
delicious, vicious, sex that Severus gifted her.

In truth, Beverly enjoyed her time with Severus. Sure, the first month was a bit of an acid
trip; something was off about the man the moment she walked into his apartment.

It was so generic, even if he was coming from England to research something. The walls
were a cream color that screamed the apartment that was once used as a showroom. The
moments that she was left alone, Beverly noticed that the furniture wasn’t owned. This
wasn’t unusual for a teacher doing a sabbatical across the country but he didn’t know science
in any traditional way. Followed by the fact they were conducting the experiment in an
apartment complex like serial bombers.

Beverly’s initial thoughts of a bomber were eradicated when the owl flew into the apartment-
clearly domesticated by the collar on its neck and Severus was used to interacting with such
birds as he held his arm out for the bird to perch on. Severs was stunned by the owl,
muttering a name of a constellation: Draco.

When she saw the cult tattoo with additional scarification laid over within the last one to
three years- Beverly needed answers.
Severus Snape was a suspicious person.

In all honesty, Beverly might have snapped a little when she put the stun gun to his neck and
tied him up using her....equipment. The whole time she circled him with the knife, she had to
remind herself that he could have been a cult leader, serial killer, or a mad scientist building a
disease.

Beverly found her mind nearly slipped into a scenescape on the Fourth of July- Severus just
responded so beautifully to her. Severus was quiet when she spoke, not making demands or
taking back to him; waiting only until he was prompted to speak. Beverly adored finding the
few men that had a submissive side to them- it always made things more interesting.

They certainly turned out to be this time.

In an erotically confusing display of literal magic, Severus stood up from the chair, the supple
leather cuffs still locked tight as when Beverly put his unconscious body in the seat. Severus
moved faster than Beverly could track with her eyes and she found herself trapped in her very
own web.

When Severus backed away from her, Beverly had a moment of fear and dread wash over
her. Did she make a life costing mistake by not telling Jack who she was meeting or her
suspicions of him. Beverly pulled on the bonds uselessly once if only to test them; she knew
her equipment well enough to know she could not escape the leather without a blade.

When Severus came back with a stick, she almost laughed.

Science is based on repeated evidence- that is what makes it perfect. Observation is the only
way to record evidence. Severus gave a practical demonstration to the claim he made while
still tied in the chair.

Severus Snape had magic.

With each passing second, Beverly felt herself relax as she watched Severus perform a literal
magic show as he made fish and chips; she felt the evidence snap into place. Magic explained
the owl, the parchment and the wax seal. It explained why Severus had a flip phone, why he
didn’t know his phone number.

In a way to ignore her, likely stupid stairing, Severus lost himself in making dinner. Beverly
turned her head as she realized something- that he knew of some things about her culture and
world; a hybrid of sorts.

Though it was clear he spent most of his time in the magical world.

Beverly forced herself to remain calm when he approached her. Then, a different set of
thoughts crossed her mind when Severus kneeled. His eyes never left her own, body tense to
flinch away if she made to strike.

Now, Beverly took note of everything he did, running each action under a microscope. She
noticed as Severus unbuckled the bonds around her ankles, that his fingers were colder than
normal. His eyes did not leave hers as he moved to her wrists, operating more on touch so he
could watch for whatever strike she might throw.

Severus stood away from her in the chair only to extend his hand. Beverly took it and
thanked him for the meal he made.

The days went on. With his secret exposed, they suddenly could talk to each other and make
progress. Severus’ frustration all but dissipated and Beverly found herself opening up to a
fellow person...human for the first time.

It was clear that he was traumatized by whatever was on his arm- the scars or the tattoo. Ever
since the owl, he had worn long sleeves. When she looked back on her memories, Beverly
couldn’t find a time before she learned of his magic that Severus wore anything shorter than
his wrist- even in the heat of July.

Beverly was never one to cry over spilled milk. She certainly snorted at the rancid milk but it
was what the milk hid behind that made her scream in the kitchen. Dread caught in her throat
once again, legs pivoting to face the threat as her mind took in what her eyes saw.

A bag of generically packed O negative, human, blood.

Instinctively, Beverly reached for her hip. Only, she wasn’t on duty, she didn’t have her
weapon.

As Severus did in the chair, he confessed immediately, his hands in surrender at his side. This
time, Beverly did not get tied to a chair. Their screaming match was brief, thankfully, because
the neighbors were sure to call the police if they were shouting about drinking people’s
blood.

Beverly was able to believe the wizard claim only because Severus demonstrated. It seemed
like a far stretched for him to claim he was a supernatural creature as well. Beverly should
have known the man was of his word. After, what she later learned was called transfiguring,
the spoilt milk into a vase of flowers, Severus held a glass vial up to his canines. Sure
enough, like a snake, his tooth slotted forward and a clear liquid slid down the side of the
glass. He repeated the process on the other tooth, capped it, and handed it to her with his eyes
on the ground and face blushed red.

Beverly weighed her options against her morals, knowing that curiosity was leaning on the
side of secrets. She supposed she would have to figure out if the image on his arm was linked
to him being a vampire or if there was something larger going on.

“Alright, what the fuck,” Beverly said, looking up when she heard something tapping on her
window. There was a white snowy owl perched on the tree branch that rested across her
window. It was staring at her, head tilted to the side. Beverly walked to the window.

She had to remove the screen over the window before she opened the door, not wanting the
bird to crash into it. This one was different from the other one that came to Severus, the one
that Draco sent him. This owl had no collar, and was patient as she opened the window all the
way. She fluttered into the room, perching on the chair, extending her leg to Beverly.
“Thanks,” she said, careful to not cut herself on the bird’s sharp talons. The bird squealed at
her and flew outside. She didn’t fly far, tucking herself into the brush and darkness the tree
provided. As Beverly went to put the screen back over the window to keep the August heat
out, she looked at the bird.

Beverly set a tin of water outside for the owl and bread next to her window.

The owl didn’t move from the perch, but did hoot at Beverly as she closed the window for the
second time.

Now that the bird was safe, Beverly moved back to the letter. Her name was written on it in
childish handwriting.

Beverly,

Thank you for making me a vaccine. I really needed it because I got so sick. It’s a long story,
but you got to meet my potions Professor!

PS: sometimes, I hold up Toaster Strudels just to watch father twitch in the grocery store.

Love, Harry

Beverly’s mind was oddly blank as it came to a conclusion.

“Holy shit,” she laughed, sitting back in her chair as she read over the note, then thought
about the things that Severus revealed to her. “I think that little Bambi might have eaten
Verger.” Beverly mindlessly made her way to the freezer and grabbed the colorful box.

She popped a strudel into the toaster, as was instructed. As the treat cooked, she grabbed her
laptop and plugged it in to charge, having a feeling that she would be there for a few hours.
When it popped out in a joyful explosion of aroma, Beverly absently made her way to the
table. She traced a packet of icing.

As the icing melted, Beverly looked for the Verger case file. Pulling it up, she reviewed the
pictures and the images Price and Zeller were able to create out of the body using computer
imaging and molds Beverly cast. The teeth were carnivorous, jagged and meant for tearing
into the hull of prey, ripping and shredding meat.

The closest thing they could find to a bite mark was a wolf, but even those prints were only a
sketch in comparison to the actual teeth that shredded their way into Verger’s heart. The jaw
was narrow as if the predator was meant to spear prey. Zeller suggested that the creature may
be some kind of fox, as they were prone to leap on top of prey burrowed in the earth facefirst.

The theory didn’t come close.

Of course she was suspicious of Harry. It was her, who he first called.

Beverly debated not answering the phone, as she didn’t recognize the phone number. At the
sound of his panicked voice, Beverly felt all the hairs on her arm rise with fear. Children that
were prone to the violence of killers left the worst scars for everyone involved.
Beverly was glad she picked up the phone; the FBI was able to uncover much of the Verger
family sins.

Severus emphasized that the vaccine they created was for species that hunted wizards. It
wouldn't be a far stretch for that to extend to non-magical people such as herself. All humans
were prey to this creature. He didn’t mean too, caught in a moment of weakness after feeding
on human blood. Beverly pried him when Severus was distracted and got the information that
the vaccine was for a different species that hunted humans.

And Severus gave Harry one of those vaccines.

“How much stock am I going to put into this?” she asked no one. The owl, Harry’s owl, was
sleeping in the tree.

With her codes as an FBI agent, Beverly had easy access to a host of confidential travel
information. She could tell that Will dropped off his rental car at the airport, the signature and
timestamp matching the amount of time it would have taken the family to travel from FBI
HQ to the airport.

Clicking around, scrolling through contact lists, one access code conversation with an airport
receptionist and Beverly found that neither Hannibal nor Will checked into their flight to
London, from where they would have taken a plane to Italy.

Beverly opened a new tab, going through the Veger file. She clicked on the recording of
Harry’s interview with Price and Zeller. “It was the Ravenstag,” Harry had said to explain
the bite marking in Mason Verger’s body. “It was magic!”

Beverly had destroyed the blood they took from Harry. They were testing him for any blood
borne diseases he might have contracted while biting Cordell or sliding through a mess of
Verger’s blood. All tests came back negative, thank god, and she destroyed the remaining
samples. There was no way she could look at his chromosomes without a fresh sample.

“Harry was telling the truth,” she whispered. He had magic all along, just as Severus said as
he explained Harry’s feat of sliding down the chimney. Beverly didn’t think about his answer
when she was sitting on the couch; admittedly more occupied with her curiosity of the
magical world and trying to get in his pants.

There were no results for Ravenstag in google, only pictures of deer and ravens. Beverly
changed her search- googling an image of deer skulls. Several came up across the page, she
scrolled through the x-ray pictures, searching for anything that might look like the bite mold
they crafted from the hull of Verger’s chest.

Beverly finally reached for the strudel, gone cold as two hours passed since the owl delivered
the message. She bit down on it- finding no answer within the filling.

She supposed that it didn’t seem like that far of a stretch. If Severus was turned from a human
wizard to a vampire while retaining his magic, then it seemed completely reasonable to
believe that some wizards could turn into animals as well.
Even a child who cast accidental magic under a traumatic environment.

Severus gave Harry one of the vaccines; by his own admission, to prevent human, blood-
borne illness from harming creatures

The image of a deer skull on her computer seemed narrow enough to reach into the hull of a
human chest if the creature had teeth meant to shred flesh away from bone.

Something that might be named a Ravenstag in a world Beverly Katz had no way of
accessing or investigating.

At least Beverly had something to eat as more answers came to reveal themselves like cards
flipping over on a table. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she gave a soft gasp.
Numerous bodies with irregularities came to mind. There were cases with holes in them;
killers that were pinned or buried for their hubris, not as a courtesy to the FBI.

“Oh,” she said, putting her elbows on the table to grip the back of her head. A bubbling
laughter forced her back up onto the chair, giving her a sense of vertigo along with horrific
revelation.

As she laughed, the manic sound echoing through the silence of her apartment, Beverly stood
up to walk to the kitchen. Her hands shook as she reached for the tea that Severus felt the
need to break into her apartment to deliver. The mug came next, worn on the handle where
her fingers sat and stained from years of coffee being left cold.

Beverly measured a larger than usual serving of tea into her mug.

Severus, for all the magic that he claimed to have, did not notice that Beverly had a camera
on her doorbell and over the threshold of her door. Of course, she recognized his handwriting
on the tin, but she still checked the footage of him breaking into her apartment, leaving the
tea, then going to her fireplace.

“You’ve certainly made my life more interesting, Severus,” she said before taking a large
enough drink of water that she could ignore the pain. Beverly’s thoughts were racing, beyond
her capacity to control or stop them now.

Humming, Beverly felt her stomach begin to tingle with whatever sedative Severus added to
the chamomile flowers. While her thoughts wouldn’t settle, the tea would force her mind to
comply and sleep.

Beverly needed to get to bed before her head hurt for more reasons than grappling her
morals.

Severus stumbled his way through the Ministry of Magic, pushing past the door that
separated the international floo stations to the local ones. He didn’t bother checking the time
as he went to one of the apparition points within the building. With shaking hands, he
gathered the floo powder and tossed it into the fire, shouting for his residency.
When he landed in a tumble, Severus noticed the little clock above his kitchen. He was glad
that the time zones lined up as they did. It was night, so Draco was home with his mother.

Severus went into the bathroom and showered. Beverly’s scent was still fresh on his body and
saturated into his flesh when he waited outside her apartment. Severus removed his clothing
and pointed his wand at them, debating burning them. The spell was on his tongue but he
couldn’t find the voice to cast it.

Rather than waste more time, Severus climbed into the shower to scrub himself down with a
scent powder that magizoologist tended to use when dealing with hormonal creatures. The
powder was used to remove every scent on a person, natural and that which a wizard would
pick up at a facility.

Once Severus smelled of nothing. He turned off the water and removed the paste from his
body. He cleaned the shower, with a flick of his wand so the powder would not fall on his
body.

Then Severus showered using his products, saturating his body back in his natural scents. If
Severus showed up to a Ravenstag herd’s home smelling of nothing they would immediately
be suspicious. He wanted to avoid having to explain that he...fucked his formal coworker’s,
formal coworker. Hence, the double showering.

Before he rushed out the door, he realized that his hair was still wet. That would arouse
suspicion from them as well. Though it would delay him, Severus went into the kitchen to
find food. He opened the cold unit to find that Draco had eggs stored within. He took two and
a cast iron pan; allowing some of the oil to splatter onto him to better cover him. He ate the
food slowly, drawing out the time.

Making sure to clean all the dishes and the evidence of his return, Severus picked up his bag
and apparated back to London.

It was about five in the morning.

He knew that Will and Hannibal would not mind being woken up at the early hour. In muggle
London, he picked up his flip phone, better at using it since Beverly taught him a couple
tricks.

“Good morning, Severus,” Hannibal said.

“You sound oddly awake for five in the morning,” was all he could say. Severus looked up at
the sky; the dark blues beginning to lighten only enough to hint at dawn.

“Hmm, long distance floo travel can leave some disorientation. Remember that we live in
Italy, time zones put us at seven in the morning.”

Severus leaned his head against the brick wall, breathing in the cool night air.

“Right,” he rasped, jumping when a cat yowled at him. “I’ve got the vaccine. I can be at your
ward point in,” for whatever reason, Severus checked his watch. “five minutes.”
“Severus, I don’t think that you are in any condition to apparate.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Severus said, hanging up the phone. He took a deep breath in and
centered his magic in the dark. He ignored the scent of the cat that scared him, the garbage
the cat was rooting around in now.

Outside of the Ravenstag’s territory was a long stretch of gravel road. The road was fenced
with an ominous line of white trees that expanded into a yawning, misty forest. The only
thing that hinted of a house at the end of the road was a mailbox.

He drew the image into his mind as his magic sparked along his body; Severus stepped
forward and felt the pull consume him.

He stumbled a bit, but landed on his feet, kicking the gravel along. Brushing himself off,
Severus reached into his bag for a pain potion that would restore his cells a bit. He coughed,
the minty flavor burning his throat. Severus didn’t have to wait long for the potion to kick in
or to find Hannibal outside the misty ward point.

“That was reckless,” Hannibal said, inviting him in. Severus didn’t have anything to say for
himself, knowing that the man was correct. Rather than justify his actions, he remained silent
as they walked.

Hannibal was quiet as they walked through the meadow to the house. It was early in the
morning, the birds still out for their first hunt. The dogs were outside, running off their excess
energy. Hercules was easy to spot, his three heads playing with a ball as the brindle dog stood
near him, tail wagging slowly.

“Wow, did Jack have you looking at cases?” Will said upon seeing him, a cup of coffee in his
hand. He handed it to Severus. It wasn’t his preferred drink but the caffeine would help take
his headache away.

“No,” he said, putting the suitcase down. “But Beverly did say that you missed a woman who
put bees into a person's brain, so?” Severus shrugged, a habit he might have picked up from
the woman. He pulled the box of samples out of his suitcase.

“You did it?” One of them asked, Severus couldn’t be sure- their voices were echoing in his
head.

“ We did,” Severus said with a nod. The two men smiled at him.

“Thank you, Severus,” Hannibal said, knowing it was the man as Severus looked at him.

“You have no idea what this means for us,” Will said, looking at the box. Severus opened the
top of the box.

“We were able to make six samples after I tested one. Symptoms are mild, pain on sight
injection, mild fever, fatigue.” Severus knew that they would be eager to take the sample and
would not notice his growing symptoms. Will was first to draw a needle, already loaded with
the dose of vaccine. Hannibal extended his shoulder and allowed Will to inject him.
Hannibal was quick to repeat the process with Will, smiling as he took the two empty
syringes.

“We will give Harry his after breakfast,” Will said, holding one of the sheathed needles up to
inspect, rolling it in his fingers.

“You must join us,” Hannibal said, standing as he put the needles in a sharps box. Severus
stood and put a hand to his chest.

“I thank you, but must refuse,” he said. “I have to get Draco.” Will sat up straighter in his
seat.

“What do you mean? Is he hurt?”

Severus supposed that Will would be more protective over Draco than Hannibal as the man
had time to bond with his godson over the school year as his defense teacher. Severus shook
his head, backing out of the house as the two predators followed him.

“No,” he said, backing down the patio stairs. He knew that running would prompt them to
hunt. Though, now with more space, they could circle around him. “He’s alone...all the time.”
The two stopped moving around him, though each on the opposite side of him. Fighting them
would be impossible, running from them would be a challenge. He did not know how fast
they could run.

Will looked at him, no longer positioned to strike.

“Harry said that Draco spent time with you last summer,” Will said.

“Eight weeks,” Hannibal added, forcing Severus to turn his head.

“You can see now, why I must go?” He asked them, hands at his side to show surrender. Will
took a step to him, causing him to turn on the predator that moved first. Will stayed still, then
took another step closer. Severus relaxed slightly, still cautious around them both.

“I will take you there,” Will said, turning to walk to the path that was outside the wards,
leaving no room for argument. Will nodded his head to Hannibal, the man smiled at his
mate.

“Thank you, Severus,” he said, bowing fully to him. “We will have to have dinner some other
time.”

“Sounds lovely,” he said, following as Will walked away from them both.

They were in the meadow when Will looked at Severus.

“How was Beverly?” he asked. Severus' smile could be mistaken for a grimace as the sun hit
his eyes.

“She tazed me,” he said. Will put a hand on his chest, stopping Severus from moving
forward. There was a look of disbelief on his face that had Severus laughing.
“She tazed you?” Will asked, putting his hand down.

“She tazed me,” he assured, drawing himself up and continuing to walk. Will caught up with
him this time. “When Beverly wasn’t tazing or threatening me with a knife, we worked pretty
well together.”

Will groaned into his hands as they crossed the ward point. He said nothing as they crossed
onto gravel.

“I need you to picture the place in your mind,” Will said, kicking the gravel.

“Of where?” he asked, confused again. Will didn’t look at him in the eyes but he took
Severus by his biceps and gently applied pressure to try and ground him.

“I need you to think about all the details of where you need to go. Either to get Draco or
where he’ll be.”

Draco Malfoy would be at Malfoy Manor. Where Severus ate one of the peacocks that
continued to chase him. It had pecked at him as a child, chasing after him since he was
always afraid of the bird. It was one of the first things that he killed when he transitioned to a
vampire that wasn’t human. He remembered the bushes where he killed the bird, right outside
the path.

Calloused hands took his face and made him look the man in the eyes. His eyes were crystal
blue and held him strong. There was no probe that came of occlumency as he expected,
instead, Will’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Will’s hands tightened and they were
apparating.

“Why are we in a bush?” Will asked, stumbling over one of the hedges.

“I killed a peacock here. The little shit had it coming,” Severus growled, freeing himself from
the bush. He heard Will laughing behind him as he moved to the front door. He looked back,
seeing that Will had escaped from the brambles but remained in the shadows.

He debated on pounding on the door once more, impatient to collect his godson. Much to his
delight, it was Draco that opened the door. The boy was dressed, sleepy, but in clothes that
were not pajamas.

“Severus?” he said, perking up immediately. Severus reached for him and hugged the boy to
his chest. He stood up rather quickly, a hand still wrapped around Draco, he leaned his head
into the Manor.

“Narcissa!” he shouted, pleased to hear that his voice carried through the halls of marble.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, attempting to escape. Severus kept his grip on Draco
tight to his side.

“I’m kidnapping your son! He’ll be fine,” he shouted, closing the door behind him with a
slam. Draco looked back at the door as Severus dragged him to Will, who was standing there
in the bushes.
“That’s one way to do it,” Will said, shaking his head at the two.

“Professor Graham?” Draco asked, looking between them. Will chuckled as he walked closer
to Draco.

“He’s experiencing the after effects of long distance floo travel: disorientation,
confusion...limited impulse control. He just needs to drink a lot of water and sleep it off. Do
you know where we can do that?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, looking up at Severus. The man put his hand to his head, his eye
beginning to throb. “Spinner’s End.” Severus couldn’t speak to tell Draco what to do, only
watch as Will got down on his knees to better look at Draco.

“Picture it in your mind,” he said. Draco closed his eyes and concentrated. He nodded his
head. “Wait until I tell you to open your eyes.” Will reached his hands up so his fingers
touched Draco’s temple. Severus didn’t know what was happening but could understand that
he needed to hold onto Draco and Will.

“Open your eyes,” Will said.

He pulled them along into the kitchen of Spinner’s End, looking as Severus left it: untouched.
Before Severus could thank Will for his help in collecting Draco, he was turned away from
the living room to the stairs.

“You’re going to bed,” Will said, pointing to the stairs as he pushed Severus’ back- clearly
not willing to negotiate with him on the matter. Severus looked back and saw that Draco was
in the kitchen, by the kettle. After herding Severus up the stairs and to his room, Will stood
guard over Severus’ door to make sure he got into his pajamas.

In reality, Severus had a hard time gathering up the shame for the assistance of the other man.
He could feel the weight begin to drag down his body as he left the bathroom, practically
falling onto Will as his head spun.

Will helped him land onto the bed. He heard the door to his room creak open and tried to rise
to meet whatever threat might approach his territory. He relaxed against Will’s pushing when
he saw that it was Draco that entered the room, holding a mug of tea in his hand.

“Thanks for getting me,” Draco whispered, holding the mug out. Draco’s fingers were
warmer than his. Severus’ throat had dried up since Will apparated all of them to Spinner’s
End. While he couldn’t talk, he did squeeze Draco’s hand after taking the tea mug.

As he was about to drink the tea, the plums of steam rose to his sinus and he could smell
what his godson put in the glass. There was a heavy scent, valerian, that Draco almost was
able to cover the scent of using honey. The tea would have naturally made him drowsy; the
added valerian root, coupled with his exhaustion, would likely have him sleeping for the rest
of the day.

He shifted his gaze up to Will, who was standing behind Draco, therefore, able to smile freely
at Draco’s antics having clearly noticed the additives floating in his tea.
 Severus drank the dosed tea without tasting it, giving his godson the illusion of success.
When he looked at Will, who moved to take the tea cup, he had a soft smile on his face.
Draco didn’t deserve to be robbed of his victory.

The sedative effects set in quickly, warming his stomach and moving along his muscles until
he was practically folded into the bed. Heavy eyelids tried to remain open so he could see the
devious little smile on Draco’s lips.

Will put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, nodding his head to Severus in a way that told him the
man would watch over Draco while keeping their little secret.

“Good job, Draco,” Will said, only reinforcing Draco’s resolve.

Severus couldn’t find himself mad at Draco for dosing his tea; he drifted off with a sense of
pride, knowing that the knowledge they explored together had taken root in his mind.

The urgency of giving Draco a vaccine would have to wait until Severus woke in the
morning.

Chapter End Notes

Beverly, she's what Hannibal might call: a smart cookie... (evil giggle; I know why he
does it)
Draco is such a cutie and I love him and you cannot convince me that Severus wouldn't
totally play dead for Draco when they are in private just to see him smile. Will also
100% approves of a) Draco drugging Severus and b) Severus knowing what Draco is up
to and drinks it anyway.
Ugh, writer feels.

Onto, other news:

I am going to take a hiatus. (le gasp! outrage!) Fear not- I am not going anywhere. I
need time to write a more complete story. My mission with Venison Special was to write
a more complete story. If I start releasing now, I will take away from the plot moving
forward. So, I will see everyone in six weeks. June 4 I will return.
Each and every one of you has given me never ending support and kindness with this
story. You took a leap of faith with a crossover and by your power, arrived with me here.
Further, Severus is such a butchered character in the HP canon and I thank all of you for
trusting me to feed you.
I need this hiatus to build you the best story and meal. RSVP: the table will be set when
you arrive. I love each of you and thank you so much for coming on this adventure with
me. Please, set up camp- make a fire and roast some marshmallows, sing a jaunty toon,
tell a ghost story, look out for a Ravenstag.
 Meanwhile...
Chapter Notes

RINGING THE BREAKFAST BELL AS LOUD AS I CAN Good morning, guests!

the early bird gets the worm and we are in need of many! Happy Friday! You all deserve
a treat for how hard you've worked these past weeks. Thank you very much for the
hiatus (deep bow) I was feeling a little burnt out and it showed in year three. It was
much needed and oh, the harvest is bountiful.

This chapter takes place sometime during Severus' time in America with Beverly. It's
important for the future...

Please take a seat in the sun that shines from within and make sure that you all eat a
healthy breakfast to get you through the end of the week. Thank you for feeding me with
your comments, love and support during my hibernation.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal smiled fondly at his fawn, fast asleep on the side of his head over the homework he
was determined to finish. He slowly approached his fawn, putting a hand on his shoulder to
wake him.

“You can finish it in the morning, Harry,” Hannibal said, leading the teen up the stairs. He
yawned, jaws stretched wide. Harry said a sleepy goodnight to Hannibal and Will before
falling into bed.

It was only when Hannibal went downstairs to collect Harry’s homework that he noticed the
writing.

The letters were more curled, almost like cursive into one another, yet it was clear that Harry
was writing from right to left. The ink was smeared to the side of the parchment he was
writing on. At first, Hannibal briefly thought that Harry had somehow learned Arabic, but the
letters did not match the language.

“That could be a problem,” Will said, looking over Hannibal’s shoulder to look at Harry’s
homework. “Parselscript,” he determined, then taking a sip of the whiskey in his glass.

Hannibal seethed, looking at the door that led to the basement.

“Harry wasn’t able to write in Parselscript,” Hannibal growled, feeling his instincts beginning
to rise to his flesh. Will walked around to the couch as he hummed, beckoning Hannibal over
to the cushion next to him. Will took a relaxed look at the parchment.
“Perhaps,” Will said, his eyes tracing over the script, seeing the patterns of the language but
had no Rosetta Stone to translate. “Harry may have had this ability his whole life.”

“It’s only manifested since he was removed from the horcrux’s influence,” Hannibal said, his
intense gaze offering no translation to the text.

“Harry is under its influence,” Will stated, putting the paper on the table. “He’s had the
horcrux for longer than he’s had the ability to talk, Hannibal.”

Hannibal reached for the parchment again, finding now words that he could begin to
deconstruct the language.

“If he can write in Parselscript,” Hannibal said. “Harry will be able to cast spells using
Parselmagic.”

Magic that relied on the old ways of chants or languages were always more powerful spells
against an opponent, like whiskey aged in a barrel for ten years versus three. But like that
aged whiskey, it had to be used in moderation and could exhaust the caster physically.

Hannibal stood up, walking to the basement.

His path was blocked by Will, standing guard over the door to the horcrux cellar.

“If you kill that diary,” Will said, putting a firm hand on Hannibal’s chest as they glared at
each other. “It may kill Harry.”

Hannibal paused at that, his eyes looking for a moment to the stairs that Harry walked up
only a half hour ago. Will turned the palm that he put on Hannibal’s chest. Though the wound
had sealed with the aid of magic, Hannibal recalled Will telling him of the injury.

“If Harry had his fawn feathers during his possession and lost them after the horcrux was
extracted,” Will said, pushing Hannibal with enough pressure that he was forced to take a
step back. “Then it would be safe to assume that the horcrux, rather than harm his magical
core...balanced him.”

“That is not the nature of a parasite,” Hannibal said, his lip quirking up to expose his teeth
even as he took the palm that Will’s hand was sliced into, tracing over the largest of lines
decorating his palm. “Why do you defend the horcrux?” He asked, tilting his head. Hannibal
watched for Will’s signs of nervousness, darting eyes, swallowing his throat, running away or
deflecting the conversation.

Will nodded his head to the door.

“That horcrux down there?” he said, “contains half of the Dark Lord’s soul. An echoing shard
exists within our fawn’s.” Hannibal could see what Will was trying to do: distance himself
from the horcrux by calling it the Dark Lord while pulling at Hannibal’s creature within-
referring to Harry as a fawn rather than a son would force him to submit to his nature- to not
harm anything that may harm his fawn.

William was a clever mongoose.

“If it’s integrity is damaged or harmed, either the largest or the others, then Harry’s
resonating horcrux might…” Will didn’t have a word for what might happen in his mind,
instead, giving a vague hand gesture that mimicked an explosion.

Hannibal supposed that it may be possible that harming one would set the others off into a
more defensive mode. If the horcruxes worked like a field of mycelium, able to communicate
with each other without touch, then even isolating the horcrux would cause Harry pain.

Neither he nor Will were able to communicate to the horcrux the way that Harry did. When
they asked Harry more about it, his first encounter, he explained that Ginny Weasley, a quiet
girl from Gryffindor, had used it as a diary.

With that information, it seemed that the only people that were able to write in the diary and
see a message were children. Though, Will had displayed some empathetic abilities that
allowed him to...read the horcrux.

“Hannibal,” Will said, pulling Hannibal away from his thoughts and schemes, “we made a
deal with the horcrux...with the Dark Lord.”

Will had a point- that they had a promise brokered by magic to uphold. If the Diary or the
Ravenstag's would compromise the deal, they had no idea what the consequences might look
like. Soul magic was complex and vague- it’s study tended to end up with several people
dead or magical killers doing their own research on the matter as the Dark Lord did.

“We might have to teach Harry how to carefully harness the abilities that he’s discovering.”

Hannibal could only nod his head at Will, knowing in his core that this was the best option
for their fawn.

“Old magic can feel like the release of a dam,” Will said from where he and Harry were
sitting on the dock with their legs dangling over the edge of the pier into the summer water.
Will reached his hand forward, pushing the leaves that landed atop the water with a stick to
one of the little streams that fed into the river.

Will pushed more and more leaves to the little stream, blocking the natural flow of water.

“See how the water is trying to find a new path?” he asked, pointing to the little dam that he
made. The water was blocked, beginning to try and overflow.

“Yeah?” Harry said, scratching his scalp in confusion.

“Parseltongue is going to work like that for you,” Will said. “There is no block on your
magic. You’re beginning to discover it.” Will pulled back some of the leaves, pushing them
into the larger body of water to float away.

“So, the more that I chip away,” Harry said, observing how the water was able to trickle
through as it naturally did before Will clogged it once more. “The more magic I discover?”
“Partly,” Will said, sitting back as they watched the smaller dam try and push the leaves
away. They observed the water climbing up the other side of the dam. The leaves began to
move back into the larger body of water on the pier, pushed by the force of the water behind
it. “You must remember that these abilities don’t inherently belong to you.”

“They come from the horcrux attached to my soul,” Harry repeated, putting a hand on his
scar. Will gave him a smile, both genuine for his son’s intelligence and pained for the
experience that put it there.

“Correct.” Will pointed to the dam with his stick, waiting for Harry to watch. “If you ignore
these or discover them too quickly, you run the risk of overloading your magic.”

Will pulled the dam away in a sharp movement, the water that sat behind the leaves burst
through and rushed to the lake with more speed and violence than normal. Will watched
Harry observing the water, his eyes making connections over the leaves and the stream that
fed the lake.

“I got my antlers because Tom possessed me, didn’t I?” Harry asked, kicking his legs slowly
in the water as the leaves freely floated in the lake. Will sat back on his elbows as he looked
over the water.

“It’s likely,” Will said. “You have this defensive response,” Will said, concentrating on
bringing his feathers to the flesh without a full transformation. For Hannibal, even as it was
rare, bringing his feathers to his skin seemed natural and easy. For Harry, it was as natural as
breathing.

Will looked down at his arms and could see the black feathers covering his flesh like they
were the hairs on his arm. He ran a hand through his own hair, feeling some feathers peaking
through his curls.

“You tend to flare your feathers when you are surprised or panicked, like a white-tailed deer
raising their tails.” He flipped his palm over. “Tom was able to flare the feathers on your
scalp. One of your fawn feathers cut my hand.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, picking his feet out of the water to curl into a fetal position. Will
leaned up and put a hand around his son.

“I didn’t tell you this to remind you of a misdeed,” Will said, pushing Harry’s shoulder a little
to get a laugh. “Two days later, you had antlers.”

“Like how I transformed at Verger?” Harry asked, his head tilted to the side.

Will knew that it wasn’t like that, despite what Hannibal might think. While Will’s
conversation with Tom in the diary was one sided, he did experience the soul in the flesh
through Harry.

Tom was as curious as he was terrified of the muggle world. During his lecture of blending
into the muggle world, Tom was his most focused student, watching through Harry’s eyes as
he learned. Harry took more notes in his class being possessed by Tom than he did any other
time of the year.

“No, Harry,” Will said, shaking his head. “No matter what your father might say, I think that
your magic finally found balance.”

They looked at the stream, now calmly pouring water into the lake with nothing obstructing
it’s path.

“I think,” he said slowly, watching the leaves almost form a circle on top of the water. “That
you’ve been balancing Tom’s horcrux for a long, long time.”

Will remembered the stifling trance of the student, Ginny Weasley, that was possessed and
made to kill chickens, then paint blood on the walls. After Will left Harry in Hannibal’s
capable hands, he empathized with the horcrux and his son. Will went back to his classroom,
closed his eyes, and let the pendulum swing.

Tom was not suffocating Harry like he did to Ginny Weasley. He was cautious, nervous and
excited all at the same time- like a dog that was taken from a puppy mill and put on grass for
the first time. Tom did not seem to be aggressive towards Harry or the other students. There
was an obsessive need to protect and possess that went beyond physical possession.

The matter of Will using one of Harry's feathers to communicate with Tom was another
topic.

“Harry,” Will said, “Hannibal and I still don’t know how you changed into a Ravenfawn. It
shouldn’t have happened just as you should have died when the Dark Lord shot the killing
curse at you.”

It was horrible for Will to think about- his son dying. There were billions of people all around
the world, muggle and magical, with children fighting a host of problems. Will had gazed
upon numerous bodies the FBI presented to him, knowing that there was always going to be
another. Yet, thinking of Harry as a baby, being threatened at wandpoint, pulled his feathers
closer to his skin.

“Trauma has a way of exposing magic to children, like what happened at the Verger Estate,”
Will said. “Did you ever feel threatened by Tom?”

Harry sat back on the pier, mirroring the position that Will took as he thought.

“No,” Harry finally said, almost like a question. Will looked at Harry, seeing that the boy
almost didn’t want to admit it, like he would be struck for giving an answer that Will didn’t
approve of. “He seemed…”

“Lonely?” Will asked. Harry nodded his head, not looking at Will. “Criminals are allowed to
feel lonely.” Will turned his head to look at the house. Hannibal was hunting, something he
would do when confronted with something he didn’t want to deal with. Will thought that it
soothed Hannibal that he could provide for his family when he could not protect it. “Just look
at your father.”
Harry laughed, tossing his head back on the pier. They sat in a moment of peace, listening to
the ambient sound of the river flowing around them, streams adding to the massive body of
water.

Will sat up, leaning forward so he was folded over his knees to put his hands into the water.
The cool liquid wrapped around him, embracing him with a cool hold. Concentrating, Will
manipulated the water so he could hold a wet ball in his hand. Harry smiled at him, reaching
his finger to poke at the water- watching the water bend around his finger while keeping
shape.

“I want you to use the aguamenti charm; collect the water in your hands.”

“Shouldn’t I have a wand?” Harry asked, already shuffling forward to get his hands in the
water.

“I want to break the dam without your wand. If there is too much power, it could run the risk
of snapping your wand.” Harry nodded his head as he dunked his hands in the water, now
laying on his belly over the edge of the pier. “Use parselmagic,” Will ordered, his wand to his
side in case he needed to intervene.

To the casual observer, Harry was just playing with the water, allowing the currents to move
around his fingers as he swirled them. Will could see that Harry was concentrating, his hands
were following the flow of the water rather than aimlessly playing. His eyes weren’t closed,
but looking into the depths as his hands were obscured by the water.

Harry hissed, the sound butchered with his human tongue.

Then, he shifted his weight, a magical burst flowing into the water and splashing them both
with the explosion.

“Hold it, Harry,” Will said, putting a hand to Harry’s now damp back as water bubbled
around them, the leaves on the surface circling around the lake like it was about to be
engulfed by a hurricane. “Gentle, Harry, direct the magic.”

Harry said nothing, his body still laying on the wood, his hands plunged into the water. Will
spared a cursory glance around, not seeing his mate, who would no doubt disapprove of
Will’s teachings without him. Hannibal feared the horcrux in Harry’s soul and, now, the
abilities that were exposed because of Tom’s possession.

Hissing again, the water around them calmed. There were ripples on the lake, larger waves
than normal crashing over the natural barrier of soil and stone. Harry panted as he sat up, his
right hand coming out of the water first to better balance himself and the ball of water he was
able to gather.

“Look,” Harry said, panting from exertion, “I did it.”

Harry said the very same words when he sank his teeth into the goose as a fawn on their first
hunt as a family of Ravenstag. He wore the same proud expression on his face, smiling as he
looked at the magic he cast.
 Will leaned over and wrapped himself around his son. His arm came under Harry’s to hold
his son’s hand, holding up the ball of water he collected using magic passed along to him
through a horcrux.

“You did it, Harry,” Will said, smiling as he looked at the lake’s water and the sun setting
over it.

Chapter End Notes

Happy Birthday to AlicAlrres! Thank you for dining with us, a toast to you!

Thank you all for joining me again at the table (bows)

 Blood, Chocolate, and Deception
Chapter Notes

Good afternoon, might I say, it is hot as fuck outside- please stay hydrated with that
crisp water.

Please enjoy Harry's first encounter- and look, he hasn't even made it to Hogwarts yet...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Come on, Harry,” he heard Will shout from the bottom of the staircase. “We don’t want you
to be late.”

“Almost ready,” he shouted, tapping the quill on the paper. Over the summer, when Harry
and Nagini were talking, the snake mentioned an offshoot of Parseltongue, a script version
that wrote slightly like Arabic with the curling letters.

It didn’t come naturally to Harry in the dead of night. But he managed to learn to better write
the language by copying his charms textbook into a notebook, getting a feel for the way the
letters moved themselves.

“Can you take this to Tom?” Harry asked Nagini, who was coiled all over his body on the
chair from where he was sitting. Her head was perched on top of his own, nose through the
stalks of his hair to look down at the paper.

“Are you trying to mend the bond between your nestmate?”

“Yes,” he hissed. Neither Hannibal nor Will allowed him to touch the diary, even after the
ritual to see if Tom was alright, if he was just as weak as Hannibal or himself. Nagini had
roamed down into the basement to Hannibal’s displeasure and was often found curled around
the book.

Though she was not a rattlesnake, she was always watching over it when not hunting or
watching Harry.

“My hatchling will feel the words, your regret as well.” She nuzzled the side of his face with
her cheeks, moving to the paper. “My hatchling has not ever had a nestmate nor a friend.
He will want you back.”

“You’re not coming to Hogwarts,” Harry said, knowing the truth of the snake. She squeezed
her coils around his body in her version of a hug.

“He will need protection from the loneliness of the Diary.”

Harry folded the note in two and held it to Nagini’s mouth. Wide jaws unhinged to reveal
lines of teeth, two massive fangs that would drip with venom when prompted. He placed the
note on her tongue, careful not to knick his finger. She closed her jaw, secret hidden behind
teeth that not even Hannibal would want to pry open.

“Maybe this is a start,” he said, picking up the suitcase that held all of his school supplies.
Before either his dad or father could call him, Harry left Nagini in his room, petting goodbye
to the dogs as they circled him around the door.

His father was standing in the grass, the same paper in his hand that they got with Harry’s
supply letter. The news of Sirius Black’s escape did not reach international level, so none
were aware a suspected mass murderer was on the loose.

Hannibal and Will both looked into the case and debated how someone could kill twelve
muggles and a wizard with one curse. Harry watched them debate the case over dinner,
noting that they both concluded some piece of the puzzle was missing from their view.

Though, there would be new challenges at Hogwarts this year- the dementors that surrounded
the school.

“I’ll be alright, Father,” Harry said, taking his attention away from the paper that had been
creased over, coffee circles stained into the advertising section. His father wore an expression
of disapproval on his face.

“It’s a feeding ground,” Will said over him as they walked through the meadow.

“Children’s magic is enticing to them. I doubt they will be able to resist the temptation to
feed on straying children.”

“Ravenstag can harm dementors, right?” Harry asked, trying to reassure him.

“Yes, but in the pelt,” Hannibal said, reminding Harry.

“Only a patronus can fully banish a hoard,” Will said. Harry was getting familiar with that
term. The two had told him it was a complex light magic spell that took the caster’s happiest
memories and manifested them into a pure corporal object typically in the form of an animal.

“We’ve prepared you the best we can,” Hannibal said, holding the wards back as they crossed
over onto gravel.

“I’ll stay away from him,” Harry said in the same monotone voice he gave when repeating
Beverly’s phone number years ago. Harry smiled towards his Dad a little. “It’s not like I live
with killers, or anything.”

Hannibal almost looked offended at Harry’s statement as Will laughed at the quip. When his
Dad’s laughter subsided with a clearing of his throat, he took Harry’s hand.

“Let him be an overprotective father, Harry,” Will said. Harry winced a little as he looked up
at his Father.
“Sorry,” he said, holding out his hand in an invitation to join him with Will. Hannibal would
never refuse an opportunity to hold them close.

When Harry arrived at King's Cross station, stepping out of the muggle alleyway with his
parents, a scent drifted past all of the strangers that entered the building with him. It was faint
and lingering, getting covered by other people but he knew that scent.

Harry touched his nose.

“I think I can track Hermione,” he said absently.

“Very good, Harry,” Hannibal said, pausing in the middle of the walkway to put a comforting
hand on his shoulder. Harry smiled as Hannibal looked around the station. “You are
beginning to recognize the scent of your friends. They will be easier to find as you grow
more familiar with them.”

They crossed over to the platform with a fluid movement, walking to the train. Harry looked
out for his friends, following the path that his nose found.

Hermione was standing with Neville by the train. Hermione spotted Harry and waved her
hand, then tilted her head when she saw that Harry was with Professor Graham.

“Go on,” Will said, hugging Harry close to his chest. Harry pulled away from Will and
moved to hug Hannibal.

“Stay safe, little fawn,” Hannibal said, scenting him one last time. Harry pulled away from
his parents with a hug to walk over to his friends beckoning him closer. Harry loaded his
trunk next to Neville’s and boarded the train, giving one last wave to his parents.

“Professor Graham is your Dad?” Hermione asked. Neville, who was leading the three to try
and find a compartment, looked back at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his head. “We didn’t want to make it...weird?”

“My gran would never let me hear the end of it,” Neville said, pushing past some students to
cross into another car. “Draco,” the Gryffindor called out from within the train. The group
approached the pureblood holding a car for them. Harry’s stomach fluttered at seeing his
fellow Slytherin walking towards them.

Neville moved out of Harry’s way so he could hug his friend, pulling in his scent.

“I missed you,” Harry said.

“I missed you too, vampire,” Draco laughed at Harry’s muttered: ‘not a vampire’ statement.
He looked at the others, saying hello to Neville and Hermione. “This is the only one I found
but it’s occupied.”

The four quietly piled into the train car on the caboose.
“Must be a train hand,” Draco said in a low voice to not disturb their sleeping companion.
Naturally, Draco took the seat next to Harry.

“Who is he?” Neville asked. Hermione pointed to the trunk rack that hung over all of them.

“Remus Lupin,” she whispered, making herself comfortable next to Neville.

“Did you hear that there are going to be dementors at Hogwarts?” Neville asked, sliding the
door closed so no other students could enter. The train rocked into motion, beginning to pull
out of the station.

“Father says it’s for protection,” Draco muttered, looking out of the window as the train
began to pick up speed. “For security.” Harry wasn’t sure if the others could see the haunted
look Draco was trying to hide by looking down at the floor.

“Is Sirius Black really that bad?” Hermione asked. “I tried to read about him but…”

“Well,” Neville spoke up, “my gran told me that he was a big supporter of...well...and after-”
Neville struggled on the word while trying not to look over at Draco to address the elephant
in the room.

“The Dark Lord,” Harry added, giving a side glance to Draco and squeezing his hand to offer
support. He figured it would be especially hard for him to hear the name of the creature that
got his father in so much trouble. Especially after spending the summer with the man instead
of his godfather as he wanted.

“Yeah,” Neville said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, Black apparently went
mad and killed a bunch of people. He killed one of his friends too, that he knew at school,
leaving behind only a finger.”

Harry sat back on the chair with a flop. He heard as many arguments from his parents over
dinner, head bouncing between the two arguing what they could find from the case.

“Sounds like a fairy tale to me,” Harry said.

“Black didn’t get a trial,” Draco added in a dull, monotone voice that Harry would get if he
were repeating things back to his father and growing tired of it. “Sent straight to Azkaban.”

“Azkaban?” Harry and Hermione asked at the same time. “What’s that?” Hermione asked.

“A wizard prison,” Draco told her, not able to look at any of them. His hands were clenched
in fists, jaw tight with frustration and anger. “No one has ever escaped before. It’s where the
dementors guard the cells and the worst of people.”

“The guards are coming to Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, looking out the window in fear. “I
thought they could suck your soul out.”

“They can,” Neville said, curling in on himself. “Apparently, Black, before he escaped, was
heard saying.” Neville paused to look at Harry, who gave a shrug. “He’s at Hogwarts.”
Draco’s attention was firmly glued to the cattle that were grazing outside as the city
disappeared across the grey fog that hung over London.

“Another eventful year for me, then,” Harry muttered, trying to catch Draco’s grey eyes.

The trolley came over to them, sparse in supplies since they were in the back. Harry offered
his thanks as he took some chocolate frogs, hoping to entice Draco into talking by using
food.

Before he could enact his plan, the train lurched to a full halt.

“We’re not near the school,” Hermione said, looking outside at the now raining landscape.
She reached for the window, pushing it closed to keep the water out

Harry went to the window, looking around for anything that might have been in the train's
path that would cause such a sudden stop, but only saw the impending storm they were
heading towards.

Harry’s hackle-feathers rose. He turned to the door, his wand in his hand.

“Something is wrong,” he said, keeping his jaw shut so he wouldn’t growl. Draco, Neville,
and Hermione all turned their attention to the door. They could not see through the glass, the
natural misting preventing them from viewing anything other than a profile.

Harry could smell the undertone of fear beginning to permeate over the air- it was rancid that
made his nose curl. The air of the train dropped, his feathers curled around his spine and ribs
to keep the chill out.

“Look,” Neville whispered, his finger pointed at the window that showed outside the train.
The group moved to the window where they could all see the frost that was clinging to the
glass.

“Dementors,” Neville and Draco whispered, pressing their backs to the glass. With the
announcement of the creature, the fear spiked higher. It surrounded Harry’s senses in the
small compartment, wishing that the window was open just so he could get some fresh air to
purge the smell of fear.

Harry growled quietly as a figure stood outside their door. They could only watch as the
claw-like hands reached for the glass, scraping three lines down to where the doorknob was.
Harry was at a loss for what to do. His parents told him to avoid Sirius Black and the
dementors at all cost- not to confront them in either form; that he was to run if he came close
to a dementor.

The door opened.

The dementor was black as if the skin had once burnt to a crisp. It carried the scent of mold
and rot along it like the hooded cloak that obscured its face had trailed through the filth of
Azkaban. Looking without eyes, it rasped a rattled breath to Hermione and Neville. The two
whimpered, stepping away from the creature as they made themselves smaller.
It hovered towards Harry, coming closer. Rather than snarl at the creature, Harry could feel
his knees beginning to give way underneath him, his eyes flutter towards the back of his
head. His skin prickled with a cold sweat, the feathers along his spine and ribs retreating back
to flesh as his head became heady and confused. The grip on his wand loosened until he felt
it slip from his fingers.

Harry could hear, as if it were through one of the tunnels, his friends shouting his name as
hands came to grip the side of his body.

But he could hear a woman, screaming with fear, the sound of feet pounding on solid wood.
Hands were gripping him tight, terror pungent on his nose, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was
real or in his head. He heard the woman scream his name as he dropped to the floor.

The trance was broken by a bright, white light that caused Harry a whole new type of pain to
bloom in his eyes. Harry gasped as if he hadn’t been breathing while under the dementors
trance.

The man, Remus Lupin, was standing protectively over him and in front of his friends, wand
pointed at the creature as it screamed and ran from the light. It screeched as it tried to escape
from the compartment, cracking the glass of their door as the white light chased it away.

As the light passed, Harry watched as his vision went from spots to focus on the man that
stood above him. The man was heavily scarred, wore ragged clothes that gave Harry the
impression he was wild. Harry tried to pick himself off the ground, catching the man’s
attention.

“Up ya get,” he said, reaching for Harry where he was grabbed with one large hand by the
armpit and lifting him onto his feet. Harry looked at the man up and down; Lupin was
stronger than he appeared.

“Here,” he said, rummaging around in his suit pocket. He pulled out a chocolate frog, the
seams of the packaging slightly worn. “Chocolate helps with the shakes.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered, holding his scar as it throbbed behind his head.

With the help of Draco and Hermione, Harry was sitting back in one of the plush chairs. The
scent of fear was still consuming the train compartment. With clumsy hands, Harry reached
for the top of the lock, not coordinated enough to lift it. Hermione was kind enough to help
him by popping the window for him enough that he could breathe, the room could air out,
and they would remain dry.

“I’ll be having a word with the conductor about that dementor,” Remus said, reaching above
their heads to grab his trunk. “Sirius Black wouldn’t use the train to get to Hogwarts
anyway.” Remus looked back at Harry and the other students, standing on the outside of the
train compartment with his hand on the door. “Eat the chocolate- it helps.”

He shut the door after that, the outline showing him fixing the scrape the dementor left on the
glass.
“Did you hear that scream?” Harry asked, beginning to get his bearings back. Draco took the
package from Harry when he struggled to open it. He snapped the legs of the frog off without
sympathy, handing one to Harry.

“Dementors,” Draco said as Harry ate the candy. “They suck the happiness right out of you-
leaving behind only the worst of memories.” The blond took the other frog leg and began to
munch on it with small bites. Harry smiled, glad to see that Draco was at least eating.

Harry was still woozy as the train rocked forward. He sat closest to the window, glad that the
wind could fall on his face. Draco sat next to Harry, Hermione offered some of her water.

“Thanks,” he said, taking her offer. He passed it back to her as the train began to move again.
The compartment was silent. None wanted to speak to the other after what happened. Harry
found his eyes drifting shut at the rhythmic movement of the train.

He felt a hand on his shoulder squeeze him awake. He opened his eyes to see Hermione and
Neville looking at him and then to the door.

“We’re here,” Hermione said, helping Harry stand. “Come on.” Immediately, Harry noticed
that Draco was no longer in the train compartment with them.

“He ran off,” Neville said, sticking close to Harry as they and the other students filed out of
the train. Harry swallowed a dry throat, but followed the flock of students to Hogwarts.

Harry could figure out what was wrong with Draco when they were alone.

There was a moment of hurt that hit Harry when he saw that Draco was sitting with Crabbe
and Goyle. Sighing, Harry made his way to the twins and forced his way between them.

“Hello to you too,” Fred said, rubbing Harry’s hair. George was next to ruffle his locks with a
smile, bumping his shoulder with his own.

“Looks like we have a lovers' tiff, George,” Fred said, leaning over Harry to whisper to his
twin.

“It’s got to be his father,” George said, looking down at the table at Draco with his head hung
low, face scrunched in a way that made Harry think he wasn’t happy.

“Shouldn’t have to worry about it, Harry,” Fred said. “You’ll figure it out.”

With the sorting finished, Dumbledore announced the typical rules of not going into the
Forbidden Forest. He introduced Remus Lupin as the next Defense Against the Dark Arts
professor, then clapped his hands together and the food appeared on the table.

“What’s your bet?” George asked.

“On what sends him out,” Fred clarified when Harry gave his twin a confused look.

“How am I supposed to guess?” Harry asked them both. “The first one was murdered and the
second one left without harm.”
“What’s this about Professor Graham being your daddy?” They put one arm over each
shoulder, forcing him closer as they probed him with questions.

“Yeah, why didn’t you say anything?”

“We saw you at the station with him.”

Harry blushed and ducked his head, explaining to the two that he didn’t want to be favored
over the other students he was with. The two didn’t seem upset, more looking for an
opportunity to rile him up.

“Don’t worry about dear Draco, Harry,” Fred said, scooping numerous helpings of the
mashed potatoes onto his plate. “He’ll come around.”

“And with your growing knowledge of the bedroom, it’ll be any day now,” George said,
taking a bite of his sausage with a smile. Harry blushed and ignored what the two were
implying.

“Excited to go to Hogsmeade?” Fred asked. Harry looked between the two with a confused
expression.

“Hogsmeade?” he asked. Fred and George stopped eating, both looking over Harry’s head.
Harry looked between them, seeing that they were almost talking to each other with their
eyes rather than voice.

“I guess it would make sense,” Fred said to his brother.

“Black is trying to kill the little tyke,” George said, putting a heavy hand over Harry’s head
like he was a baby.

“But to restrict good old’ Hogsmeade,” Fred sounded wounded, putting a hand to his heart.

“What a cruel man, old Dumbledore is.”

“What are you both talking about?” Harry asked as his head started to ache again from
looking between the verbal sparing match happening over his head. They both stopped
talking and looked down at him, then back at each other.

“It seems that good man Dumbledore is playing his tricks again.”

“With Black running around,”

”-no doubt trying to kill you.”

“Dumbledore probably thought it best for you to not know that third years, on certain
weekends,”

“Are allowed to go into the town just outside of the Hogwarts boundary,”

“But you need a signed parents permission form.”

“It’s clear that Dumbledore didn’t send it out to your parents,” Fred said.

“Probably prevent you from being killed,” George said, rolling his fork in his hand as if it
were no big deal. Fred and George both leaned in on either side of him.

“We’re going to help you out,” Fred whispered. Harry felt something touch against his thigh.

“Take that invisibility cloak you have-” Harry gasped at the mention of his cloak.

“And use this to get through the tunnels and into town.” The twins pulled away from Harry
and continued to eat with prideful smirks on their faces.

“Point your wand in the center and say,” Fred leaned close to Harry, covering his ear with one
hand. “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”

“Snape and Dumbledore can read lips,” George said casually. He picked up his goblet and
toasted the Headmaster. Dumbledore smiled at George’s antics, lifting his own goblet to
return the silent toast.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked Fred as the other ginger took a sip of his drink.

“Well,” Fred said, lifting his goblet closer to his face with a self-righteous smirk on his lips,
“I can tell you Snape hasn’t been staring at my lips because he wants to kiss me.” Snape, who
was watching their antics, coughed up his drink from the teachers table, Dumbledore giving a
hearty laugh as Fred gave the dower professor a shit-eating grin while Harry tried to control
his laughter.

“They are always watching, Harry,” George leaned in to say. “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Learn to talk with your teeth,” Fred said, demonstrating with his voice in a growl.

“Or learn to communicate through eye contact,” George added. He looked down with a
furrowed brow. “Though few can accomplish that without a twin.”

“We’re getting off topic,” Fred said, waving his hands. He turned away from the teachers so
they couldn’t read his lips. “When you are done with the map say mischief managed.”

“And poof, all gone,” George said. Harry grinned at the twins, the parchment on his lap
hidden only by the table.

“Thanks guys,” Harry said, sliding the parchment to George. He clenched his teeth, smiling
at him. “But I don’t want them to think I have it.”

“Awww, look, George,” Fred said, cupping his hands to his heart. “He’s learning.” Harry
threw his head back and laughed at the twins.

Fred and George left the Great Hall, separating at the corridors to run in different directions.
Harry smiled at them, watching as Professor Snape chased after whichever ran down the hall
closest to him. As the first year Slytherin students trailed after their prefects for the Hogwarts
tour, Harry watched Draco walk along with Crabbe and Goyle.
Holding open the door was Snape, ushering the other students in. Harry waited to the side,
catching his professor’s eye.

“Mr. Potter,” the vampire said, “please turn out your pockets.” Harry did as the man asked,
turning them until they hung from their inverted seams. “I know they gave you something.”

“They did,” Harry said with a nod.

“What was it?”

Harry shrugged.

“It felt like parchment but I never looked at it.”

“Where did you hide it?” Snape asked, taking a step closer to Harry. There was a raised
eyebrow and a glare blooming on his face.

“I don’t have it. I don’t know where it is.”

“I doubt the twins would give you nothing,” Snape said.

“I think they would if it would confuse the both of us,” Harry admitted. He smiled up at
Severus as innocently as he could. The man pinched his brow as he sighed, waving Harry
off.

Harry went to his dorm, the same one that he shared for two years with Draco. The teen was
sitting on the bed with a newspaper of Black’s face on it, crumpled in his hands. The edges
were curled from the amount of times Draco must have held it in frustration.

“What is it, Draco?” Harry asked, setting his bag down onto his own bed. Draco did not look
at Harry, only giving a shake of his head. The paper crinkled under his fingers as Draco tore
at the edges with his anger. Harry walked slowly to his friend, sitting on the bed next to him.

“He wasn’t a Death Eater,” Draco whispered, almost inaudible to Harry. “I heard father
talking,” Draco heaved, throwing the paper to the floor where it fell face down. Harry slowly
moved his hand over to Draco's, setting it on top of his fingers.

Harry remembered that Draco spent the majority of his last summer with his father. Draco
and Harry exchanged a couple of letters the past summer and while Draco didn’t comment
that he missed his time with his godfather, Harry could read it in the letters sent. Without
Professor Snape, Draco was subject to whatever Malfoy Senior said or did.

“Black wasn’t a spy for...for him,” He said the Dark Lord’s euphemism with such rage and
hate, Harry grew angry on Draco’s behalf. “They sent an innocent man to jail while my father
walked free.” Draco said, putting his hand to his eyes.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, rubbing up and down the length of his spine. “None of this is your
fault.”
“Pettigrew was the spy, Harry,” Draco sobbed, looking up at Harry. “He was your parent’s
friend. And Pettigrew betrayed them for him.” Draco had his hands in fists, body almost
shaking with rage. “And the worst part, Harry, the worst part is that no one would listen to us-
we have no proof other than our word; who would listen, Harry?”

Harry looked down at his hands and thought about what Draco said for a moment. He inhaled
slowly, knowing that he would need to stow his own rage to help his friend.

“A person born blind doesn’t miss seeing.”

“What?” Draco asked, turning to him with confusion that broke through the anger.

“My point is,” Harry said, “I can’t miss what I don’t remember having.” Harry stopped to
swallow a wad that constricted around his throat. “I don’t remember my mother or my birth
father.” Harry ran a hand through his hair as the emotions welled within him. “In fact,” he
said with a pitiful laugh, “on the train, when that dementor was there, it was the first time that
I heard my mother.”

Harry felt a tear run down his cheek. He brushed it off with a hand.

“She was screaming, screaming for me.” Harry looked up at Draco. “I don’t want to
remember that.” He took in a deep breath. “I have a family,” he said, taking Draco’s hand in
his own. “I have a Father and a Dad that love and protect me.”

Harry reached over to brush Draco tears that fell down the length of his face.

“Remember what I told you in our first year?” Draco looked down at their joined hands. “I
told you that your father’s faults are not your own.” Harry laughed at himself. “I’ll listen to
you, Draco.”

Draco gave a wet laugh, his hand pulled away from where they were joined to push away the
tears that were beginning to dry on his face.

“How can you be so perfect?” Draco asked.

“I know?” Harry said, getting Draco to laugh. “I am a true treasure.” His friend laughed
again, head held a little higher than when Harry first walked in. “Come on, I’m sure none of
the teachers will go easy on us tomorrow for class. We should get some sleep.”

Draco stood up from the bed and went to his trunk sitting at the end. He pulled out his
pajamas and set them on the bed.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Draco said, holding his things as he walked to the bathroom
they shared. When he got to the threshold, Draco turned and looked at Harry. “Thanks, he
said, blushing red as he retreated into the bathroom.

Harry went to his own trunk and changed into his pajamas. He heard something slip under
the door. It was a parchment rabbit, the same that Fred and George charmed under the door.
The rabbit hopped up his trunk and onto Harry’s bed.
 Go to the third floor. Men’s bathroom in two days. Second stall to your left. Stand on
the lid and remove the loose brick. Inside is the parchment ~Fred

Also, there are many of these drop boxes throughout the castle. Try to find as many as
you can ~George

Harry shuffled his things around until he found his cloak, petting the water like fabric as it
shimmered up at him. He pulled out his books to get his bag ready for the first day of classes.
The last thing he pulled from his bag were the Hibernation pills his father continued to make
for Harry. He yawned into his hand as he finished getting ready for the morning.

“Hey,” Draco said, fresh out of the shower, standing by the side of his bed. Harry looked up
at his friend, seeing the blush went all the way from his silver eyes to below the night shirt he
wore. “Could you…” Draco shook his head as he pulled back the sheets of his own bed.

“Sure, Draco,” Harry said, moving off his own bed to walk closer to Draco.

Neither said anything as they crawled into the bed that was growing too small for the both of
them to fit. Harry didn’t complain at Draco’s proximity as he pulled the duvet over them,
snuggling close into the sheets to begin another year.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for joining me on this feast. If you leave a comment on the feast- it tells me
what feeds you the most within.
To those of you wondering if Parselmagic will come into play with Harry- yes...
Peace
 Lay the Shroud
Chapter Notes

tired, writing is hard...

eat these fish flakes (sprinkle sprinkle) [lands on water surface]

See the end of the chapter for more notes

With the first years all settled in bed, the Weasley Twins received their annual threat to
behave, Severus could go to the Headmaster’s office.

Severus scaled the stairs with the same speed he always did when there weren’t students
around. He shivered when he reached the top of the stairs, not from any sweat he
accumulated. The warmth of the castle had seeped into the walls yet the natural stone kept the
school at a comfortable temperature.

“Odd,” he said, looking at the raised hairs on his arm. He ignored his body shiver to walk to
the office door.

“Enter,” he heard. Severus walked into the room. It was still in its usual chaos- books and
scrolls scattered around the room with Fawkes watching over his master. Severus looked out
the window when a breeze came, the tang of a summer storm approaching them.

It would be difficult to tell if the storm was caused by the dementors or not. Severus expected
a very numb fall, a dreary winter, followed by an equally rainy spring.

How lovely...

“What can I do for you, Severus?” Albus asked. Severus took a seat in front of the
Headmaster.

“Why did I not receive a Hogsmeade slip from Harry Potter’s parents?” Severus asked. He
would be the first to admit that the slip...slipped his mind. Severus was so caught up in the
summer with Beverly, his every thought consumed with making a vaccine.

The few thoughts that slipped through his head always landed on his godson.

“I did not send it,” Dumbledore said. Severus took a moment to collect his frustration.

“Why not?” Severus asked, holding back the growl in his throat. Dumbledore sighed and sat
back in the chair, his attention on the brewing storm outside.
“I mean to protect him,” he explained. Severus put his hands on the armrest to have
something to sink his fingernails into.

“That is no longer for you to decide,” the vampire said after he calmed.

“There is something inside Harry that the dementors fed on,” Dumbledore said. “I know not
what it is, yet out of all the young souls that were in that train compartment, it chose to feed
off Harry. Both Draco and Harry were exposed to trauma at the hands of the Dark Lord,
surrounded by death, and yet, the dementor hunted for Harry.”

Severus wasn’t sure what might happen if a dementor managed to sink its teeth into a
Ravenfawn like Harry. He supposed, as two death creatures, they would fight the same way
that he and Hannibal once did.

“I am trying so desperately to protect him,” Dumbledore said, his attention now on Severus.
“I cannot confess to you the mistake I made by putting him in the hands of his muggle aunt.”
The man was old and carried the pain of his mistakes on his back, alone at the top of a tower,
power all around him and no one that would listen to him.

“Not a single day goes by where I do not find myself regretting that decision.”

Old eyes looked at Severus, wrinkles around the creases. Dumbledore meant well but the
muggles had an accurate saying of hell’s road paved with the best intentions.

“Let Harry and his parents have the right to choose,” Severus said after several minutes of
thought. “It is your responsibility to protect him within these walls. It is theirs to know and
choose what is best for him.”

Dumbledore’s stoic face broke into a smile, his eyes twinkling a bit at Severus.

“You’ve become wise,” Dumbledore said. He sat back in his chair and waved his wand. A
Hogsmeade slip floated over to the desk where Dumbledore snatched it. Severus rolled his
eyes at the man as he folded the slip, put it into a letter and stamped it with the official
Hogwarts seal.

Fawkes beat his wings and flew over to Albus. The bird took the letter between its beak with
a trill. Fawkes expanded his golden and red wings, beating a wave of heat around the room
before he burst away from sight in an array of sparks.

Seeing Harry’s Hogsmeade slip settled, Severus took Fawkes departure as his cue to leave.

“Good night, Albus,” Severus said, knowing that Harry’s signed permission form would
return to one of them shortly. He walked the length of the room quickly, looking forward to
laying in his bed and letting the stress leave him for a brief moment.

“And a good one to you as well, Severus,” he heard Dumbledore say. Severus shut the oak
door quietly behind him.

Descending from the Headmaster’s office was uneventful as he heard no whispering or

rushing footsteps of children out of bed. It was only as Severus passed the Great Hall that the
hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He did not slow his pace, only his direction,
turning sharply around one of the pillars.

Severus waited, his wand held at the ready for any attack that his instincts felt the need to
warn him about.

The only thing that settled his nerves was the sound of knocking against glass. Keeping his
wand in hand, Severus stepped around the cover of the pillar.

There was Remus Lupin in one of his moth-ridden suit jackets. Like Severus, the man should
know how to track scents and move quietly. The man did not have his wand in his hand,
palms open to show he was hiding nothing.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Lupin said carefully. Severus knew he would have to navigate the
werewolf when Albus informed the staff on who had filled the Defense position since Will
Graham left. It seemed that the man wanted to approach the situation with a level of
formality.

“Professor Lupin,” he said, following along with the man. He looked like he wanted to
shuffle around, always the most calculated of the Marauders.

“I,” he rubbed the back of his head in a familiar habit that he still held onto since they walked
these halls with colors on their robes. Severus found himself growing frustrated; he had to go
behind Dumbledore and make sure the man was doing his job, now he was approached by the
very man that nearly killed him as a teen- wasting his time.

“Harry,” he winced, gauging Severus' reaction. “The dementors. They...fed off him.”

Severus knew as much from what Draco and the Headmaster told him. For the first time, he
had more information than the both of them. Severus was sure his fears were shared by the
boy’s parents; that the horcrux within him would tempt the dementors.

“I was made aware,” he said. There was the matter of the word choice that Lupin used: fed.
Severus had little doubt that the werewolf, at the very least, sensed something other about
him since they were children. Their diets had changed; Severus required to feed off humans
and Lupin forced to hunt when transformed to sate hunger from transformation.

“Oh,” the man said and though Severus could not see it, he could smell the blood that flushed
to his cheeks in embarrassment.

Severus rolled his eyes, more tired than anything at this point. The first day of students
always brought on more mental stress than he prepared for; students moved back in, dealing
with the homesick children that relied so much on their individual tutors and parents support
only to wake and start classes in the morning.

Though he was a nocturnal creature, he was growing weary.

“If that is all, Lupin,” he said, waving his hand as he turned around to walk to his quarters.
“Wait,” he called, voice echoing through the halls only to be hushed by a series of portraits.
“I need your help.”

“ My help?” he asked, that old anger starting to boil back within his chest. He turned on the
man, his fingers clenching around his wand with a little more pressure.

There was a line of moonlight that filtered through the clouds of darkness that the dementors
brought with them on their nightly patrols. He looked back up at Lupin, realizing what he
needed help with.

The acidic taste of his venom hit his tongue, an embarrassing defense response if Lupin’s
nose was able to pick up on. The monster that sat under the man’s skin, a gaunt and horrific
wolf caught under human flesh, had returned. As an adult, the werewolf was no doubt bigger
than when Severus faced him as a child.

Severus would have vehemently objected to Remus Lupin’s return to Hogwarts. Primarily, he
wasn’t sure how he would react to seeing the werewolf; his concern went beyond trauma- to
the instincts that might rise as a partial vampire. Severus would have objected to Lupin’s
tenure when Black escaped- was it fate or something else that brought the three together?

Yet Severus spent his summer in America and wasn’t present for any of the meetings. While
he was in Spinner’s End, Severus neglected his Hogwarts tasks to make up for the time he
missed with Draco. The news was surprising only to Severus by the time he made it for the
last staff meeting.

He didn’t expect to be so violently confronted with the lost friendship of Lily Evans that day.

By then, Severus was in no position to object; only adapt.

He swallowed his venom, tongue probing at the back of his teeth.

Beverly was afraid of him when she saw the blood in the apartment fridge. She reached for
her hip, more than willing to kill him if the gun was as attached to her as a wizard to his
wand. When Severus explained his nature, and showed it to her in a controlled setting,
Beverly relaxed.

Severus sighed, putting his fingers on his brow to relieve the ever mounting pressure.

He could deny Remus Lupin the wolfsbane out of youthful pettiness...he could picture it;
Dumbledore coming down to his potions room without invitation and demand that of
Severus. If Severus denied Lupin wolfsbane, he would neglect the open door to the wolf
preying on another unsuspecting, foolish student like he was as a child.

The moonlight flickered with the passing of a dementor over the night sky, drawing both their
attention to the creature.

The dementor looked at the both of them, Remus raised his wand while Severus erected his
occlumency shields. They stood side by side, waiting for the creature to lunge from where it
hovered in the air. Severus could empathize with its hunger; a soul eating creature tempted by
so many young and untainted morsels.

The creature moaned as it floated away from them, the trail of darkness leaving the path open
for the moon to separate the two creatures.

Severus’ eyes were still watching the dementor, sensing for others that might attempt to
ambush them. He could feel Lupin’s gaze on his shoulders, practically burning a hole through
the side of his head.

He turned around, the cloak sweeping in a dramatic arch behind him.

“I’ll have the wolfsbane to you,” he said as he walked further from the man. “And don’t
expect to teach after your transformation, I have to keep Professor Graham’s influence in
them for as long as I can. Something must come from these students,” he dismissed walking
further away, unsure if his speech was for himself or Lupin.

Though Severus was too far for human ears to pick up on it, Lupin’s soft thank you did drift
with the next gust of wind.

Will scented the fire before the phoenix came to him. Removing his hands from the paint of
their artwork, Will backed away from the canvas as the bird burst into the scene with a bright
explosion of flames. The arrival of the creature stirred some fight back into their prey; not
enough to escape. his and Hannibal’s work as the bird came to the scene in a bright explosion
of flames.

“Hello Fawkes,” he said, reaching his hand to brush back the feathers of the bird. The bird
trilled at Will, head tilting to the side as black beady eyes looked behind Will. He plucked the
letter from sharp talons and pried it with bloody hands.

Of the things that Will and Hannibal had packed on them, a pen wasn’t of their top priority.
As Will rummaged around their supplies in search of a pen, Hannibal changed his inspiration
with the arrival of the phoenix. Not that the man noticed, but Hannibal removed a section of
his liver.

As Will signed the paper, the blood that ran down his fingers making it complicated to keep
from staining the parchment, Hannibal lifted the sliver of liver towards Fawkes. The great
creature’s plume feathers lifted upright as a puff of hot air exhaled on Hannibal’s fingers.

“I will slaughter Dumbledore myself, good intentions or not, if he tries to manipulate Harry,”
Will growled, picking the scalpel back up. One of the last things that the man, Prometheus
now, would see before his death was one creature of resurrection feasting on his own liver
provided by a Ravenstag.

Hannibal gave Will one of those rare smiles that only showed themselves on a hunt like this,
full of teeth and eyes brimming with murder in the blood red iris.
“My beautiful mongoose,” Hannibal said, watching with rapt attention as Will severed the
man’s Achilles tendon, “I would give everything to see you hunt such power.”

The man on the ground could only whimper at the two above him as their attention turned
back to him.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry said, slipping his sweater over his head. Draco was still in bed,
bundled in the blanket and groaning every time Harry tried to get him out of bed. He walked
behind Draco’s bed then grabbed the covers and pulled them off. Draco shrieked in outrage
as Harry laughed, reaching for the pillow. Harry ducked out of the way, reaching for it.

“Come on,” he said again, throwing the pillow back at Draco, “I want to see what Hagrid will
have for us in Care.” Then his stomach rumbled. He clutched it and looked back up at Draco,
“And I’m hungry.”

Harry went back into his trunk as Draco got in his uniform. He pulled the pills his father
made for him free and slipped one in his mouth along with a chunk of jerky to hold him
over.

“Alright, vampire,” Draco grumbled, looking back at his own bed as the two left the door.

Breakfast was an easy affair. Students were still milling into the dining room by the time that
Draco and Harry were both done eating.

“At least Hagrid doesn’t give homework,” Draco said, putting his napkin on the plate as
Harry stood up. The other students were talking lively, their books still in their bags. It was
the middle of the first semester, early enough in the year that they weren’t weighed down by
homework. “He scares us with his creatures.”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly at Draco as they walked away from school to the grounds.
Hagrid looked busy with the pumpkins that were still average sized. By the time Halloween
arrived, the flourishing pumpkins would be almost as wide as Harry was tall.

For the end of summer, it was still quite chilly out. The sun was shrinking, bright patches
warming the air, but there was a chill within the wind that Harry couldn’t remove from his
body. He wondered if it was the dementors' influence.

“Looks like an early winter,” Draco said, bundling up in his scarf.

“Let’s hope not,” Harry said, looking up at the clouds. The last of the students milled past
Hagrid’s Hut, Harry and Draco filing among the students.

“Mornin’” Hagrid greeted. The students replied to Hagrid, shuffling their bags on their
shoulders. The giant waved them closer to the lip of the Forest. “Come on!” he shouted,
turning to the forest as he entered the lip, Harry the first student to follow after him. “Very
fun class I got fer ya,” Hagrid said, picking up a string of dead ferrets that were nailed to a
tree.
“I told you we were going to die, Potter,” Draco said with a smirk. Harry playfully pushed
him as the two walked into the forest, passing the first line of trees. The group wasn’t far in
the forest, only beyond the sightline of the castle but Harry could still smell the life of the
forest. He could smell the fertile and rich soil beneath their feet, the sap that was flecked on
the sides of the bark.

“It’s really quite beautiful,” Draco said, looking up at the tree canopy. Harry blushed as he
turned his head, catching Draco’s eyes, only for them to dart away.

“Come on! Gather round so all can see,” Hagrid said, making a circular motion with his
hands to get the students to surround him. Harry walked in the middle of the group.

Hagrid turned around and gave off a quick series of whistles. It was a beautiful creature the
size of a horse, though rather than dapple grey hair, familiar feathers lined the coat. What
caught his attention, the feature that differed from his own feathers, was the great wings that
folded neatly along his barrel. Down the length of his legs, growing fainter in coloration,
changed to a bright yellow that resembled the talons of an eagle.

In a prideful display, the creature reared his head back behind their professor.

“This is Buckbeak,” Hagrid introduced. The animal gave a chirp, rearing a bit as he
recognized his name. Hagrid tossed Buckbeak a dead ferret that the creature took in his jaws,
swallowing the dead prey whole. “He is a hippogriff. Bright animal, he is,” Hagrid said.
Buckbeak screeched at the children, his feathers flaring out a little to scare most of them.

“Who wants to pet ‘im?”

Even Harry gave Hagrid a dubious look. Unfortunately, he was unaware that the students
around him took several steps back, giving the impression that Harry walked forward to
volunteer..

“Atta boy, Harry,” Hagrid said, walking to Harry so he couldn’t retreat to his fellow students.
With a large hand placed on his back, Hagrid pushed Harry closer to Buckbeak. Harry looked
back at Draco who gave a shrug with a smug smile.

“Scared, Potter?” He asked. Harry rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Now,” Hagrid said, getting Harry’s attention. He looked at the hippogriff fluttering his
wings in agitation. “All yer got to do is look him in the eye and bow,” he said, pointing to
Buckbeak. “If he bows back, ya can pet him.”

Harry could see that the creature was looking him over, holding his head higher than Harry
was tall. He swallowed the ball that caught in his throat.

“And if he doesn’t?” Harry asked, almost turning his head to look back at his professor but
stopped when Buckbeak snorted.

“Well…” Hagrid didn’t give him an answer, instead, backing a little away from Harry.
Harry nearly made his mistake twice as the students behind him whispered only to flinch as
Buckbeak hissed. Harry gulped but took a step forward. The hippogriff shook his head at
Harry but maintained eye contact with the wizard. Harry carefully extended one foot forward
as if he were in his own feathers and bowed low to the waist, keeping his eyes trained on the
yellow ones.

He waited on baited breath, body ready to run away towards Hagrid if the creature decided to
charge him. Buckbeak gave another chirp, feathers on his neck rippling, then returned the
bow. Harry released the breath he was holding in his lungs.

“Now, ya can pet ‘im,” Hagrid said. Harry stood up slowly, keeping his movements
predictable as he walked to Buckbeak. Harry reached his hand upward first and let Buckbeak
initiate the touch as his Dad taught him to do with dogs.

Buckbeak fluttered the feathers along his wings before stepping forward into Harry’s palm.
The feathers of a hippogriff were different from his own as he pet the new texture. They
folded over his fingers like water through river rock. Hippogriff feathers were softer and
lighter to allow the breeze an easy path to flow.

“He’s beautiful,” Harry said to his teacher standing over him. Hagrid nodded his head,
patting Buckbeak’s back. Buckbeak responded a bit to Harry’s petting and praise, his feathers
rippling from crown to tail.

“Ain’t he?” Hagrid laughed. “I think he’s ganna let yer ride ‘im,” Hagrid said jovially, hands
already coming around Harry’s waist. Buckbeak chirped, already spreading his wings wide.

“What?” Harry asked, flinching when he was hoisted off the ground and onto Buckbeak’s
back. Harry instinctively buried his fingers into the feathers, thighs tight around Buckbeak’s
barrel. The hippogriff parted his wings, beating a breeze around them.

“Hold on tight!” Hagrid said with a smile as he backed away. Harry leaned forward when
Buckbeak reared up, sparing one last glance at Draco before the hippogriff was running
across the ground. Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest as the beast turned to the sky.

He laughed as they soared above the trees. The wind rushed through his hair as the hippogriff
climbed higher and higher into the air. He balanced himself, refusing to look down at how
high they soared into the sky. Buckbeak settled in the sky, riding the winds on his long
wingspan that reflected the colors of the sun around him.

Their joy was short-lived; Harry felt the hairs on his arm rise as a chill came with the updraft.
His hackle feathers rose along his back as the air filled with the dreadful ozone. Buckbeak
must have sensed it too, giving a hard beat of his wings to propel him through the air faster.
The hippogriff shrieked a cry through the silent sky when dark clouds began to approach
them both.

The tunneling effect began again, feeling much like the train. Harry gripped his feathers
deeper into the beast as his head started to feel light. He could feel himself tipping as they
descended. Knowing that he had to balance even as he felt so unsteady, Harry grit his teeth
and buried his head.
Buckbeak curled his wings inward, head dipping down to fly through the trees they came
from. Harry gripped the feathers along his neck as the creature began to dive. Harry put his
head down, trying to block the distant echoing scream.

He groaned as Buckbeak landed back in the circle they took off from. Large hands grabbed
him around his middle before he could tip onto the ground painfully.

“Thanks,” Harry said, his hands shaking from the joy of the flight and the terror of their
landing. His vision of Buckbeak was broken by halos and flashes of light, his ears ringing
painfully.

“Bloody dementors,” Hagrid said, throwing a ferret high into the air.

“Harry,” Draco said, rushing over to them both. Harry and Hagrid were too late to warn him
from rushing near Buckbeak. In his own agitation, the hippogriff reared up on his hooved
legs and struck out at Draco.

Hagrid left Harry to put himself between the Hippogriff and the boy, pushing Buckbeak away
with his large hands. Harry tried to stumble to Draco, but whatever the dementors pulled
from him left his legs shaky.

“Ya should both be in the hospital wing,” Hagrid said, pulling his hand away from the scrape
on Draco’s arm. It was already red and swollen. “Go on,” Hagrid said, directing them away
from the forest to the lip of the castle.

“Come on, Harry,” Draco said, helping Harry lean against him.

Harry wasn’t sure how long it took them both to arrive at the Hospital Wing doors. He was
moved to the bed next to Draco, a chocolate frog shoved in his hand.

“Dementors shouldn’t be here,” Draco said as the matron wrapped his arm. She pat him on
the shoulder, giving him his own chocolate frog before she walked away from them. Harry
absently ate his own frog. “They’d suck the soul out of anything.”

His words made Harry lift his head and wonder...if dementors were creatures that would feast
on souls, then, perhaps, they could suck the horcrux from his own soul. Harry’s musings were
interrupted when Draco sat up higher in his bed.

Harry tensed at his friend's concern. He listened, hearing that a rasping tap sound was
approaching the door.

“Hide, Harry,” Draco whispered, then moving from his bed to push Harry to his own feet.

“What-” Harry said, stumbling over the sheets on his bed as he tried to stand.

“Hurry,” Draco said, shoving Harry behind one of the privacy curtains, drawing it closed.
Though he could not see Draco, he watched the outline of his friend climb back onto the bed.

Since the...incident with Tom and the diary, Harry had grown used to keeping more personal
things in his bag- like the Invisibility Cloak. While having such personal belongings on him
might do him a disservice, it came to his aid as he slipped it over his body.

The doors burst open.

In walked Lucius Malfoy, his cloak a deep blue that complimented the color of his eyes,
giving a stark contrast against the platinum blond he gave to his son. He scanned over the
room with a sharp eye, not acknowledging Draco.

“Father,” Draco said, his tone very different from how he normally spoke. Harry stayed still
under the cloak, knowing that while he was hidden from view, he could still be heard.

“Draco,” his father said. With careful steps, Harry moved around the barrier and saw that
Lord Malfoy was standing over Draco’s bed, his hand unwrapping the bandage.

The white bandage fell to the bedding, leaving behind the scrape. With the dittany, even
Harry could see that the swelling had reduced and the abrasion left behind was beginning to
heal.

“I will have that animal slaughtered.”

Harry felt his hackle feathers line up his spine, curl around the bones of his ribs. He had to
put a hand over his mouth to keep silent. But he got to watch Draco scoff with a roll of his
eyes, hands crossed over his chest.

“There is no use wasting the good of the Malfoy name on some stupid animal,” he said,
looking out the window.

This Draco was different from the one that he knew. This one was cold and indifferent
towards other people- the pureblood image that he no doubt would carry if his father had
anything to say about it. Lucius looked Draco over with a sneer, as if the injury was more of
an inconvenience to Lucius than Draco.

“There are higher things for us to accomplish,” Draco said, looking up at his father with the
same self-entitled look that Lucius had. “Like catching Sirius Black.”

Lucius' eyes widened at the mention of the escaped convict. Before he said anything, his eyes
shifted to the bed next to Draco’s, the one that Harry was pushed out of. Lucius walked
around Draco’s bed, dropping the cane with every other step. The sheets were still crumpled,
Lucius put his hand over the bed, checking for the warmth that was still there.

Even if Harry was out of Lucius’ view, standing closer to the entryway now, he still flinched
as the man lifted his cane to pull back the curtain, peaking around it for any student listening
in. Lucius turned his head and reached for something on the bed.

When he turned to Draco, he was holding the empty wrapper of the chocolate frog Harry ate-
silently questioning where the other student was.

“Some dumb Gryffindor decided to try and lure a dementor,” Draco said, a cruel smile on his
lips. “Discharged before you arrived.” Draco rolled his eyes and flopped onto the back of the
bed.
Lucius looked around the room, causing Harry to shrink back a little; the threat of getting
caught was still present in his heartbeat.

“Perhaps you are right,” Lucius said, tapping his cane on the ground as if it were decided. He
sighed, looking out the door. “Do not be foolish, Draco. Injuries like these can
be...permanent.”

Harry grew angry on Draco’s behalf. Draco was injured and Lucius should be fawning over
his son, checking the injury, not making sure that an animal was killed or that their family
name holds clout with the Wizarding World. On the other hand, Draco expertly navigated his
father, getting his attention away from Buckbeak and onto Sirius Black.

Harry could feel his feathers puff along his back in defense of Draco as his father walked out
of the hospital wing, the rasping cane growing fainter.

When the door closed, Harry revealed himself to Draco.

“I’m sorry, Harry-” he said, back to his normal self.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Harry said, walking back to Draco’s side. Harry flopped on the
side of Draco’s bed. “You got him to not kill Buckbeak.”

“Sirius is innocent,” Draco said, rubbing the palms of his hands. Harry shrugged his
shoulders.

“Yeah,” Harry said, wondering more about his parents' supposed traitor, “but you knew that
your dad would probably get a promotion if he caught Black.” Harry looked down at the
discarded bandage that Lucius removed and didn’t bother to replace.

Harry gathered Draco’s bandage and carefully took his hand, wrapping the wound once
again, spreading the excess cold dittany over the scrape.

“We should go see Buckbeak after curfew,” Harry said, circling the bandage around.

“Why?” Draco asked, looking at him with bewilderment.

“Because you shouldn’t be afraid of him,” he said, finishing with the bandage. The mild
adrenaline kick that Lucius provided was beginning to fade away, the drowsiness of sleep
setting in. Harry moved back to his own bed, laying down on it to look at Draco.

Draco’s nose scrunched in confusion.

“Fine,” he relented. “But we’re taking the cloak.”

Harry yawned into his hand.

“Of course we’re taking the cloak.” He yawned again, his eyelids heavier, “how else would
we sneak out?”

*
“Hurry,” Harry said, holding the shimmering curtain for Draco to slip under. With Draco so
close to proximity, Harry linked their fingers together as he navigated the darkness of the
castle for them both. Draco silenced their footfalls on the concrete that would echo through
the halls, eyes watching for any portraits that would give away their position.

They found their ways to Hagrid’s Hut quickly. Harry snagged a ferret and pulled it into the
cloak.

“Gross,” Draco muttered, shying away from the dead animal. Harry and Draco could both
hear the rustling of Buckbeak in the same place they had class in.

“What is he doing?” Draco asked. Harry watched Buckbeak walk to the trees and rear up on
his hind legs, scraping his hooves down the bark. When the two got closer, Harry looked to
one of the trees and saw there were some claw marks left behind on the tree’s surface.

“I think he’s marking off his territory,” Harry whispered from under the cloak. He recognized
a similar pattern of his parents scraping their antlers against trees. Harry let the cloak slip off
his and Draco’s shoulders.

Buckbeak perked up at their sudden arrival, feathers puffed outward to make him look
bigger.

Harry reached for the ferret and tossed it to Buckbeak with the same motion that Hagrid did.
He hoped that the food would prevent Buckbeak from being angry at their appearance or for
bothering him. Buckbeak caught the peace offering and swallowed it down, chirping for
more.

Smiling at the creature, Harry bowed. Buckbeak shook his head, then returned the motion. He
walked to Buckbeak and pet the feathers on the creature’s neck, smoothing them out.

“Your turn,” Harry said with a smirk. “Scared, Malfoy?” He mocked.

Draco bristled at that. He looked over at Buckbeak and gathered his courage. Draco stepped
forward once, maintained eye contact, and bowed.

There was a tense moment when Buckbeak looked over Draco. For a brief second, Harry
feared he might have to shift to break up a fight between the hippogriff and the wizard. His
worries were saved as the feathered beast returned Draco’s bow.

Draco smiled as he approached Buckbeak, who reached his head forward to meet his hand
outstretched hand.

“Wow,” Draco whispered, rubbing the brow of Buckbeak’s feathers. A wave of envy passed
over Harry- at the attention Buckbeak received from his friend. Draco moved to the other
side of Buckbeak, smoothing the feathers as the creature stood, preening under their
collective care.

Harry looked away, reminding himself of the reasons why he couldn’t reveal his secret to
Draco. Unintentionally, his fingers clenched the feathers of Buckbeak’s coat. The hippogriff
snapped at Harry, but with the same kind of pain that Winston would give Hercules when the
Cerberus was being naughty.

“Sorry,” he apologized, smoothing out the feathers he ruffled, working the fingers deeper to
massage the area.

“He treated you like a hippochick,” Draco chuckled, gently moving his fingers to Buckbeak’s
wings.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, blushing.

“Hippochick,” Draco teased again.

The two spent time petting Buckbeak as the forest around them grew darker and cooler with
the night in compatible silence as they picked the dirt from Buckbeak's feathers.

“We should probably get back,” Draco said. Harry looked over from where they came and
nodded his head. Walking away from Buckbeak, Harry lifted the edge of the cloak for Draco
to step under.

“There’s something I have to get,” Harry said, leading Draco away from the Slytherin dorm.

“What could be so important that you have to get now?” Draco hissed in the silence of the
hallways, looking around for any teachers. Though Professor Snape was not on duty for
patrol, he was a diligent professor and Head of House, one that didn’t need to sleep as much
as the average person.

Harry turned to enter the bathroom.

“Couldn’t you have waited for two minutes?”

“I need to get something.” Harry walked into the stall that the instructions directed. Harry
stood on the toilet seat, feeling around for the proper brick. Harry ran his fingers along the
mortar of the bricks, searching for any indication that one was not like the others. One of the
bricks shifted when he pressed on it.

Pulling his wand out, Harry removed the brick, wincing as it made a scraping sound.

“Hurry, Potter,” Draco growled, looking behind him after the sound echoed through the hall.
With the brick in his hand, Harry reached for the paper within the drop box. He replaced the
brick and hopped off the toilet seat.

Before his friend could say anything, Harry pointed his wand at the blank parchment.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”

A strange fear gripped Harry as ink blossomed around the middle of the pages in an eerie
fashion. Yet, his magic did not respond to the parchment like it did to any of the other
horcruxes. A crest grew over the centerfold of the parchment: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and
Prongs present: The Marauders Map
“Harry,” Draco said with a voice with awe, taking the pages into his hands. “This is a map of
Hogwarts.” He flipped open one of the parchments flaps to further inspect it.

Well...if it was only a map of Hogwarts and not a horcrux, then there was no real need for his
parents to know?

“Look,” he said, pointing to one of the pages. “That’s us.” Draco looked at Harry, the map,
then Harry. “Take three steps back.” Harry did as he was asked. “It moved with you.”

Harry took the map and repeated the experiment with Draco, seeing that the footsteps moved
with the boy in real time.

“I bet it shows everyone,” Harry said, looking around the school on the paper.

“Let’s see what it can do when we go back,” Draco whispered, throwing the edge of the cloak
over Harry’s head. Harry and Draco watched in fascination as their ink footprints moved
together. Both of them froze when they saw that McGonagall was patrolling the very area
they were entering.

She walked past the frozen teens, petrified by the implication of her wrath. On the map, they
watched her walk away, closer to the Hufflepuff dorms. Draco tugged Harry’s arm in a
wordless command to go back to their own dorms.

A new name came across the side corridor that they were walking down.

Peter Pettigrew

Harry and Draco both froze, watching the dot come closer and closer to them. Draco drew his
wand, ready to strike. Harry could feel his feathers bristle, but couldn’t smell anything amiss.
The dot with the rippling name came closer to them, within eyesight of the darkness.

But the name only passed them by. Harry and Draco both turned with the name, looking
down the hallway for a person that wasn’t there. The map’s dot eventually walked off the
page.

“It had to be a mistake,” Draco said, his voice dulled. Harry nodded only once.

The walk back to their dorms had changed since the strange name. In their ignorance, they
had enjoyed the thrill of anticipating all ambushes. It was only when they found themselves
in the dark with a danger approaching that none could see...the game lost its joy.

Harry’s father would say there was a lesson in that.

With the aid of the Cloak, Harry and Draco snuck back into their dorms, taking care to keep
the iron from making any noise as they closed the door.

“Mischief managed,” he said, both watching as the ink faded on the pages until the
parchment was just that-a bundle of awkwardly folded wrapping.
 “Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Draco said, pulling the covers over Harry on his own bed.
Harry briefly thought that it was Draco trying to convince himself. “You saw it, there was
nothing there.”

Harry yawned as he put the map on the bedside tale, hoping that it was the case.

Chapter End Notes

Feel like Severus has grown enough to help Remus out...will continue; Couldn't help the
Prometheus reference- Hannibal (TV) and Harry Potter have so much Greek stuff mixed
in there.

Good night, friends

 Snowballing Thoughts
Chapter Notes

Good evening humans,

join me on an evening cap. I know some of you *really* (and I do mean that) hate
Dumbledore. Totally fine by my standards, but I'm asking for another chance like you
took on Severus

Regardless, enjoy...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Moments of silence in the following week drew Harry’s mind to the map he and Draco
retrieved the previous night. It snowballed from there... He thought about his parents, the
ones that birthed him, and the family that he might have had if not for the Dark Lord or Peter
Pettigrew. He thought about Sirius Black, the supposed man that exposed his family’s home.

His thoughts took him through the day in a daze. During classes, he wasn’t as studious as
normal. Luckily, most of the teachers didn’t think anything of it. Professor Snape held him
back after potions class though, asking if Harry’s hibernation was causing him the head fog.
He thanked his Head of House and expressed that he had a lot on his mind.

Draco was finishing up with his evening routine in the bathroom. Harry leaned over the side
of his bed and reached for his trunk where all the spare paper he kept was stored. He ate some
of the jerky while he pondered on what to write.

“Why is this so difficult?” Harry asked the parchment, quill in his hand and awaiting his
actions.

Headmaster Dumbledore,

From the rumors around school, I’ve heard that Sirius Black was once a friend of my parents.
Since you were Headmaster when they were students, would you be able to tell me about why
they betrayed my family?

My parents cannot provide me with answers. I hope that you might be able to.

-Harry Potter

While Draco was in the bathroom, Harry went to Fred and George. They had a dorm alone,
the other Slytherin’s were smart enough to not dorm with trouble making twins. With the
parchment in hand, he sought them out for the spells that would transfigure his request into
one of their courier rabbits.
By the time the two red-head’s taught him the spell, Draco was out of the shower and piecing
together what was going on as Harry released the paper to Hogwarts hallways.

“How will it make it up the stairs?” Harry asked the twins, watching the rabbit hop down the
hallway.

“The way you folded the paper helps,” Fred said, working on his own small rabbit.

“We laced the bugger with a bunch of charms too,” George added, tongue pursed between his
lips as he added charms to the paper Fred worked on.

Harry sat down with the two of them as they studied their intermediate charms books. Harry
was in the process of his own paper. Draco, in a somber mood, joined the three of them in the
Common room as other Slytherin’s worked or slept within the chairs.

Time within the Common room hazed over as they continued their work, only looking up
when a student would enter the study space. Candles dripped with wax, forming a pool
around their papers and books.

Harry jarred his hand when he felt something nudging the hem of his pants. He looked down
at the pulling to find the same rabbit he transfigured, looking more marked with ink than it
left. Cradling the rabbit in his hand, Harry lifted the note to the table. Fred, George and
Draco, frustrated with their studies, took Harry’s welcome distraction.

The letters were scrawled onto the back of the parchment in more elegant handwriting than
Harry’s.

“If your studies permit, I would be able to speak with you on the matter of your parents right
now,” Draco whispered, looking up at Harry with a mixed expression.

“Fan of chocolate frogs?” George trailed off, his twin pushed his shoulder.

“It’s the code,” Fred said. There was a moment of silence between the two, then identical
grins bloomed over their faces. “Thanks for that, Harry.”

“I hope you get the answers that you’re looking for,” Draco said, head buried back into his
charms book. Harry looked over at Draco, knowing that Draco was still thinking about his
father. George pat Harry on the back and nodded his head while Fred put a hand on Draco’s
shoulders. Reluctantly, Harry packed his bag.

“Hurry back, Harry,” Fred said. “We won’t do any charming homework without you.”

“Yeah,” George added, both trying to get Draco to get out of his funk. “We can’t do this
without you.”

Harry smiled weakly as he left the common room. He walked up the hallways, passing the
students that were walking from the library. He kept the note that Dumbledore wrote to him
in case any teachers, especially Professor Snape, cornered him for being out near the start of
curfew.
After climbing the numerous staircases, Harry stood in front of the griffin that guarded the
office. He looked down at the note.

“Uhhh,” he said, looking at the bronze statue. He read through the note again and recalled the
twins' words. “Oh, chocolate frogs.”

The staircase had a series of clicking sounds, then started to move in a spiral motion. Harry
rushed for the stairs before they were blocked off by the wall. He rode the magical elevator,
staying away from the stone wall that might scrape him.

It stopped before a large oak doorway. Harry knocked on it twice, hardly applying any
pressure on the wood as the door swung open. Headmaster Dumbledore waved him in, his
other hand flicking letters on some parchment as an envelope floated around him.

“Hello, Headmaster,” Harry said, walking into the office.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore said, writing something down. “Forgive me, but I must
finish this letter before we begin our discussion. Please, take a seat.” Harry nodded his head,
taking the chair that was offered to him as he looked around the office.

He noticed the phoenix sleeping on the perch. It was Fawkes, the same phoenix that took one
of his fawn feathers. Harry stood up and walked to him, concerned that Fawkes was in pain.
Gone were the brilliant plums of crimson feathers. His eyes were milky and drooping with
tears that dried before they fell from his beak. Fawkes perked up a bit when he saw Harry, but
didn’t do anything else.

“Fawkes is getting ready to burn,” Dumbledore explained from his desk, signing the
parchment with an embellished flick of his quill. He sighed as he sealed it with some wax. He
pushed away his inkwell and quill as Harry returned to the chair. “If Fawkes keeps up with
his pattern, it shouldn’t be long now.”

Harry could only nod his head, not really understanding the subtitles of the phoenix species.

“I am sure you have more questions than you might know,” Dumbledore said. “And I believe,
when I answer the ones I can, you will only have more.”

There was only one question that sat in Harry’s mind, if for no other reason then to find more
information on what made Draco so distraught.

“I want to know why Sirius Black wasn’t given a trial first.” Harry said, shrugging his
shoulders as he sat back in the chair. Dumbledore mirrored Harry, only changing to swirl his
wand around. Two tea cups floated their way over to him with saucers. Dumbledore cast an
aguamenti charm into the pot and flicked his fingers to produce a small flame under the pot.

“They were dark and hopeless times,” Dumbledore said as he measured the tea. “Wizards and
witches were killed daily. Along with muggles,” he added. “The Dark Mark hung over
London night; be it a killed muggle or wizard. Hogwarts became a haven for the students
during the school year.”
He chuckled, a sound without joy, as the Headmaster looked away from Harry. When his
gaze landed back on him, blue eyes were wet with tears.

“Students feared they would receive a letter that their parents had been killed. Many of them
did.” Dumbledore looked out the window.

Absently, Dumbledore reached his hand for the drawer by his arm. He pulled out a brown
leather notebook that had frayed edges and papers stuffed within. He opened it, running his
hands. Harry looked up, peaking above the page and saw names, hundreds of names written
down on the paper.

“The Minister,” Dumbledore said, for the first time, sounding angry as he slammed the book
closed. His teeth were clenched as he said the man’s title rather than his name. “In hopes to
limit the amount of death, imposed Martial Law on Wizarding kind. People were supposed to
be indoors by nightfall unless they had an emergency that was life-threatening.”

Dumbledore looked back at Harry.

“I had my doubts over Sirius betraying your father and mother, even killing his friend Peter
Pettigrew. But there was nothing I could do,” Dumbledore said with a slow shake of his head.
“With Lord Voldemort missing, the people were looking for a person to blame.” The
Headmaster folded his fingers together and closed his eyes, no doubt remembering the times
within his mind. “I tried my hardest to get the Minister to see that Black was simply at the
wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dumbledore unfolded his hands and waved his wand, pouring the hot water into their tea
cups.

“However, the Minister was desperate; he vilified Black and locked him away.” Dumbledore
gave a painful smile. “It didn’t help that, as Sirius was pulled away by aurors, he was
shouting that: ‘he killed them all.’”

Harry nodded his head absently, seeing that the hysterical screaming of a suspected murderer
may not bode well for his case. Dumbledore smiled weakly, brushing a tear away from his
eyes before it could collect enough weight to drag down the length of his face. Looking up at
Harry, blinking rapidly, he said:

“I was given a child, orphaned by impossibility, with a prophecy thrust upon his marked
forehead.”

“Prophecy?” Harry asked, tilting his head. His parents never told him anything about a
prophecy. They told him about the horcruxes and the one within him, but they never spoke
about something predetermined. Dumbledore looked surprised, his cheeks immediately
blushing, eyes cast to the side; like he didn’t mean to reveal that to Harry.

The man sat up straighter, an odd tilt to his head. His eyes moved over Harry rather than
looking him in the eye. He reached a hand up to his beard and stroked it slowly as he thought.
After a second, Dumbledore stood up without saying anything to Harry.
Not surprised by the Headmaster’s sudden movements, Harry watched as he perused the
bookshelves only to point his wand at one of the wooden panels. The bookshelf extended
outward, then fell into the floor much like the sink that opened the Chamber of Secrets.
Rather than a basilisk or horcrux, a stone basin was pushed forward with the sound of stone
scraping against stone. Pressed into the side of the basin were hundreds of glowing vials.

“This is a pensive,” he said, waving Harry closer. Harry stood up from his seat, leaving the
tea behind, and walked to the stone. There was a strange water within, almost between oil and
water with the shimmer that sat under it. “It allows for those that have one to review
memories.”

Dumbledore ran his hand along the sides of the stone, fingers hovering over a specific glass
vial before he plucked it free. Within it was something that looked like white moving string.
It was glowing, slowly shifting within the cloudy substance.

Harry looked up to his teacher for guidance- unsure of how to proceed.

“I was planning on showing you this when you were older, but I think the time has come to
me.” Dumbledore tipped the edge of the vial in. The contents slipped into the pensive’s water
with a plunk . The wizard stepped to the side, allowing more room for Harry to view the
pensive’s powers.

“Dip your head into the water, Harry,” Dumbledore instructed from his side. “You won’t be
harmed.”

With a curious sense of trepidation, he gripped the warm stones with his hands and took a
breath of air. Harry looked at the swirling water as he shuffled closer to the bowl. With one
last glance at his Headmaster, who only nodded him on, Harry gathered his courage and
leaned in closer.

He felt pulled by the water the moment it passed over his face. Harry looked around, trying to
get his balance and found himself in a pub. Dumbledore was there too, but the people that sat
at the booths were mirages rather than tangible people. The only person that was not a hazy
image was the divination professor.

She was dressed in numerous shawls, shivering as if she were in hibernation. Her glasses
were just as round and thick as they were today that gave the impression her eyes were
bugging out of her head. With wild gestures, she spoke to Dumbledore who looked like he
was pretending to be impressed.

Between one sentence and the next, Trelawny's posture changed from the wild motions to
stiff as a board. Large eyes rolled into the back of her head as her spine straightened. Harry
watched Dumbledore reach his hand forward, catching her before she fell off the chair.
Trelawny gasped violently, grabbing her shirt as bright eyes opened.

“The one with the power to vanish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice
defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,
but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the
other for neither can live while the other survives...The one with the power to vanquish the
Dark Lord will be born at the seventh month dies…”

The room around him turned to ink in water, people shifting to the side in a collage of
patterns. Before the panic could settle in his waterlogged lungs, Harry felt a hand grip his
shoulder. He turned and found it was not one of the hazy patrons from the memory. He was
pulled away from the scene and back away from the water’s lip.

Harry sputtered as he breathed some of it in, backing away from the stone. The Headmaster
pat his back as he coughed out the water, his hair and clothing already dry and warm. When
he attempted to stand, his legs felt like jelly, almost giving out from under him. He accepted
Dumbledore’s help back to the chair, taking the cup of tea.

“I tried to warn your parents that they should go into hiding, but they were brave and
remained.” Dumbledore sat in the chair in front of Harry. “Their house was hidden by a
Secret Keeper; to this day, I do not know who cast the spell.” Dumbledore held his cup of tea
in his hand but made no movement to drink from it. “It could have been the thing that
exonerated Sirius Black.”

Harry looked up at Dumbledore as the man finally took his first sip of tea. It was raining
outside, easily the rainiest year that he experienced at Hogwarts, no doubt due to the
dementors hovering above the school.

“We will have to kill each other,” Harry said, rubbing the horcrux in his forehead as he
thought about the diary. “According to the prophecy…”

“If that is how you take it, yes.” Dumbledore said, putting his teacup down on the saucer with
a gentle clink , looking at the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Many of the prophecies given don’t
end up happening. You might have a choice to defy this fate.” Dumbledore gave a sad laugh.
“I only wish I knew of the way.”

Dumbledore looked down at the wand in his hand, running over the bumps along the length
of it. He sighed heavily, an absent hand rubbing his brow.

“I did what I could to keep the prophecy hidden from the Minister. I did what I could to keep
the Wizarding community safe, but at the end of the day, Harry, I am but a Headmaster,” he
said with another pained smile as he waved his hand around the room to prove his statement.

“I thought that Sirius Black murdered an innocent wizard, killed innocent muggles, and led to
the death of another wizarding family. Insurgents and Martial Law were still imposed. You
couldn’t be a child locked away like a weapon to be used only when the moment suits them.
One that would be studied and tortured...

“The only thing that saved you from that fate was your muggle aunt.” Dumbledore let the
statement hang over both their heads like a guillotine. “I gave you to her with the hope that
you would not become a weapon. You needed the closest thing I could give you to a normal
childhood.”

“I understand,” Harry said, looking at the Headmaster. “You couldn’t have known…”
“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore said after a moment. Harry looked down at his hands,
debating asking another question that would no doubt stun him. Harry looked at the pensive
that revealed a prophecy that could be. He looked down at his hands and debated on the
truth.

“When it means ‘mark me as my equal,’” Harry trailed off, noticing that Dumbledore was
looking at him, waiting for his question.

Harry took a deep breath, rubbing the sweat that collected on his palms over his pants.
Dumbledore noticed Harry’s hesitation and anxiety, sitting up straighter as his eyes cleared to
a knife’s edge precision.

“Did she mean the horcrux inside me?” Harry asked, unable to look at the man lest he lose
his courage. He ignored the Headmaster’s gasp as other questions formed in his mind. “Is that
why the dementors come after me? Would a dementor be able to suck the horcrux from my
soul?”

“Don’t even attempt to do that, Harry,” Dumbledore said sternly, causing Harry to flinch.
“There is little known about Soul Magic but a dementor would not be able to control its
hunger. It would seek to feed on the entire soul.”

Dumbledore flicked his wand, summoning a piece of parchment to him while reaching for
the quill he pushed away earlier.

“I am asking Remus Lupin to give you extra lessons on casting a Patronus so you may fight
against the dementors.”

Harry swallowed a thick ball in his throat, sitting back in the chair as he played with his
hands. He felt ashamed. The Headmaster relaxed as he wrote on the parchment.

“There is no harm in asking questions, Harry,” Dumbledore said as he sent the letter off in a
puff of smoke. “It is how we learn. But you must not do it.” Dumbledore stood from his side
of the desk and walked to Harry, placing an arm on his shoulder.

“If you’re concerned I’ll tell your parents, I won’t.” He huffed a laugh. “Unless you start
hunting down dementors.” Dumbledore winked up at Harry.

“No thank you,” Harry said, waving his hand in front of his body.

One of the clocks in Dumbledore’s office chimed quietly. Harry looked around for the source
of the noise, counting the number of strikes.

“I believe it is time for you to return to your dorm,” Dumbledore said. He flicked his wand at
the pensive, magic pushing it back into the cupboard.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Harry said.

“If you have any more questions about your family, Harry, do not hesitate to ask me.”
Dumbledore walked alongside Harry to the door. “I will always be here to listen and guide
you.”
 Harry smiled up at the Headmaster as he stepped into the magical elevator. He waved to
Dumbledore once as he closed the door. The magic started as the door clicked against the
hinge, twisting to drop him to the first floor.

He yawned as he walked back to the dorm, feeling lighter. While the answers he received
didn’t help him or Sirius Black, it let more pieces in the puzzle fall into place. Hopefully,
when the time presented itself, Harry could ease some of Draco’s fears with the information.

The shock of the cold iron in his palm made Harry realize he forgot to tell Dumbledore that
the Weasley Twins knew of his office password. With the Slytherin portrait hanging open,
Harry figured he would remember to tell the Headmaster in the morning.

Chapter End Notes

Poll: Will Harry remember to tell Headmaster Dumbledore about the Twins having
access to his password? I have plans for Dumbledore- they are evil...no spoilers

Thank you for reading. Feel free to have second drinks in the comments with me!

Sweet dreams~
 Godfathers' Teachings
Chapter Notes

Hello guests!

I apologize for the late post. Work is becoming increasingly more difficult to find joy in
and my Friday nights are spent literally falling into bed. I think I'll start posting on
Saturday...

Here's your meal to go!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Mr. Potter.” Harry froze at the sound of his Head of House’s voice coming from one of the
darker shadows outside of the Slytherin dorm. He felt his fist tighten around the parchment
that Professor Lupin handed him with instructions on his new lessons.

“Hi,” he said, turning around. Harry feared this might happen; already lifting the note for his
Head of House’s inspection.

“I am aware of your lessons with Professor Lupin,” Snape said, stepping from the darkness.
He waved his wand around the two of them, forming a shimmering bubble around them. “I
want you to know that creatures like us...have a harder time performing light magic.”

Professor Snape started a brisk walk in the direction of the Defense Room.

“How come?” Harry asked, following the man, fascinated that the silencing bubble moved
with them.

“Because killing people for food tends to leave stains on the psyche,” he said. Harry, not
knowing what to say about his bluntness, nodded his head. Professor Snape released the
bubble and shooed Harry off to his extra lessons.

With that charming bit of information, Harry found himself at the door to the defense room,
pushing against the noisy hinges.

“Come in, Harry,” the deep voice of Professor Lupin beckoned, waving Harry into the
defense room. All of the tables and chairs were stacked along the sides of the room. In the
middle was a simple looking trunk. The thick blinds that surrounded the room were pulled
and buttoned closed.

Sitting ominously in the middle of the room, was a trunk wrapped in old lacquered wood.
The thick irons were more pronounced than most trunks, and didn’t require such a thick lock
holding it shut. He felt himself naturally stiffen, his feathers not far from sprouting from his
spine.

Noticing his hesitance, Professor Lupin’s lip quivered with a smile that tried to reassure
Harry.

“This is a boggart,” he said, pointing at the trunk.

“Boggart?” Harry asked- only seeing the trunk.

“It is misleading,” Professor Lupin admitted. Large hands came down to pat the cold iron-
stirring motion into the trunk. Around the lip of the wood, black smoke began to waft over
the edge, leaving a cool trail on the floor. Harry flinched back, his wand in his hand. “I was
going to teach this in a couple of weeks, but you’ll get a head start on the lesson.”

Professor Lupin walked behind Harry, moving him closer to the box.

“The boggart tends to take the image of a person’s fear. When the boggart is in a natural state,
we would cast the spell riddikulus,” he said, making the gesture with his own wand. A little
magic funneled out of his wand and hit the trunk.

The tremors ceased.

“This boggart has a couple of spells on it,” he said, a small self-assured smile revealing
sharper than usual teeth. “It will take the form of a dementor. Do not be mistaken, Harry, this
is still a boggart- casting a patronus on a dementor will be more challenging.”

Harry braced himself as the shaking from the trunk started again.

“The spell is expecto partronum,” he said, projecting the spell with his voice.

“ Expecto patronum,” he repeated. Professor Lupin shook his head, yet there was a fond
smile on his face. He approached Harry and stood next to him, putting his hand over the
missing button of his blazer.

“Project your voice from your stomach. The dementor is searching to feed on your soul, you
cannot just say this spell. You have to mean it.”

“Expecto patronum,” Harry said louder this time. Professor Lupin nodded his head slowly,
looking down at the box with an unsure expression.

“Most of the spells that you’ve cast don’t need much thought from the wizard. This spell, the
most advanced magic, requires more emotion to it.” Harry tilted his head at his professor’s
teachings. “The spell itself, expecto patronuem, won’t work against a dementor if there is not
a happy memory attached to the spell. When you shout the spell, you have to almost shout
the happy memory.”

Harry nodded his head, eyes glued to the shaking box. He thought of a happy memory, a
peaceful moment outside in his pelt with his parents during the summer.
“Ready?” Professor Lupin asked. Harry braced himself and nodded. Professor Lupin opened
the box and backed away from the tall, skeletal figure that rose from the trunk.

Immediately, the heat within the room ran cold.

“Expecto patronum,” Harry said, pointing his wand at the dementor. He could feel the pull
within his own body- his energy leaving him. Around, the candles were flicked out, the room
becoming darker as the dementor loomed over him.

“Expecto patronum,” he said again, pushing the happy memory with his words. A bright light
came from behind the dementor, herding it back into the trunk. He panted, his knees dropping
under him as Professor Lupin pushed the dementor back into the trunk.

“It’s okay, Harry,” he said, locking the trunk. With the iron latched shut, Lupin moved away
from Harry and the trunk to his desk. He pulled one of the drawers free and plucked a
colorful wrapping. Harry sat back on his legs, the cold floor seeping into the fabrics of his
robe.

Professor Lupin handed him the chocolate frog.

“Is that drawer filled with candy?” Harry asked as he unwrapped the frog, nibbling on the
legs. Professor Lupin laughed at him, sitting on the ground next to Harry.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Lupin said, both looking at the trunk. Harry felt his energy
coming back to him after the second bite of chocolate. He noticed that the candles were back
to illuminating the room around them.

“Again,” he said, putting the half eaten candy on the side desk.

“It might be a little soon,” Lupin said. Harry shook his head, determined to get the spell right.
Lupin looked skeptical as he approached the trunk. Harry braced his stance, almost as if he
was getting ready to charge with his crown.

Professor Lupin gave him a nod to prepare himself, lifting the trunk’s lid. The boggart
seemed to be more powerful; the room darkened immediately, candles blew out with the
force of the dementor.

“Expecto patronum,” he shouted. He could feel his head fill with fuzz, the sounds around him
becoming more and more distant as the dementor approached him. A cold sweat broke over
his brow. He grit his teeth and repeated the spell.

He could have sworn he felt something shoot from his wand. He lost his balance, tipping
back and landing on the ground, his concentration broken. Fear pooled into his chest as the
dementor crawled over him.

The white light came to save him for a third time, pushing the dementor into the trunk.

Harry grunted on the ground, rolling over on the floor to attempt to stand.
“Again,” he grunted, then broke into a coughing spell. A hand rested on his spine, patting
him gently until the coughs passed.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” Lupin said, handing Harry the rest of his chocolate
frog. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder when he tried to stand, forcing him to sit. “Too
much exposure could hurt you, Harry.”

Harry deflated on the ground, taking a vicious bite of the frog.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Lupin said, rubbing his spine. “This isn't a spell a person learns in
one day.” Harry relaxed under his care, the feeling of another person grounding him. As he
came back, he noticed there was a tremor in his legs and hands. Professor Lupin smiled at
him, handing over another chocolate to Harry.

“Again,” Harry said. He made an attempt to stand only to have his legs give out from under
him. He looked up at Lupin. “After Yule.”

There was something on Draco’s mind, Severus knew this because his godson was pressed
against his side on the couch. There was a log in the fireplace keeping the space warm. Draco
benefited from his cold temperature, claiming that as long as he was pressed against Severus,
Draco floated in perfect warmth.

It was not a traditional Yule log, but there were some familiar things around for Draco- a
small evergreen that they decorated with strings of popcorn and cranberries was outside for
the animals. Within the house was scattered evidence of a gift exchange, wrappers squirreled
under the table for later as ribbons hung over the arms of the chairs.

Severus would never take Draco away from his mother on Yule, lest Narcissa murder him,
but he did manage to kidnap his godson for a night once the holiday passed.

There was a shift in Draco’s breathing, he brought more oxygen into his lungs, propelling his
heart a little faster with his anxiety. Severus took a sip of his drink as he waited for Draco to
speak.

“Did you know we are second cousins?” Draco asked, his tone low and hushed. Draco turned
his head to look up at Severus.

What made Draco’s eyes so brilliantly blue was the undertone of silver in his iris that he got
from his mother and her side of the family. Severus never associated his godson with his
school bully.

There was a different question that Draco was asking Severus. The nature of familiar bonds
was ingrained in most pureblood children- that their family was the only one that could
provide for them. Severus dealt with the consequence of this every time a new batch of
Slytherin’s were delivered to him.

The homesickness was a very violent transition for some of them.

Draco was growing older, more curious and was learning the horrors of the world that
surrounded him at home. Severus wasn’t sure how Draco came upon the information- the
Malfoy tapestry, a passing argument between Lucius and one of his constituents or Narcissa
beginning to probe for a back door out of the Manor.

“I did,” Severus said, taking a longer drink of the cider than before Draco started talking.
Severus couldn’t recall the day he made the connection between his godson and Sirius Black,
the shared blood that ran in their veins. It was when his godson was much younger and far
too innocent for Severus to have made a fuss of it.

Severus found his lip quirking up as he watched Draco repeat his behavior.

“He’s innocent,” Draco said, with no question or room for negotiation in his tone. Severus
exhaled slowly, knowing that truth as well.

Sirius Black is the literal loyal dog; he followed James Potter around and on a whim,
protected his fellow pup in Remus Lupin, and stood over the creatures that were weaker than
him in their little band of misfits. Severus knew Sirius: his tactics, games, and tricks. The
man would never betray Lily or James Potter; would sooner, more dramatically, fall on
Godric Gryffindor’s sword before that would come to pass.

The mark and bite on his flesh burned as Severus recalled his own cowardice and crimes.

“That he is,” he said, both taking a drink of the cider.

Remus Lupin loved Sirius Black, wholly and completely- Severus could see that during the
classes of their youth. The scarred boy always blushed whenever Black would toss a casual
arm over his shoulders or pull him close to share a secret. Severus remembered feeling a
vicious glee at the sight of Sirius Black’s face when the revealed werewolf shouted at him,
nearly exposing his secret with bellowed wrath.

Sirius Black was guilty of many crimes; luring a student to near-death by a young and scared
werewolf was one of them; one that deserved Azkaban. It was not a crime that was worth
thirteen years in the most secure part of Azkaban.

Severus would have surely enjoyed a long stay in Azkaban if the circumstances landed
differently.

“Is he safe?” Draco asked, his hand clenched on the blanket, gaze blank against the fire.

Severus realized that, in this moment, he had the power to permanently influence Draco’s
entire opinion of another person with one swell judgement.

He looked down at the cider, about halfway raised to the lip, a single anise seed floating
around. Then thundering part of Severus, seething in pain, relished in the opportunity to
damage Sirius Black one more time.

He couldn’t afford to be selfish for his godson’s protection.

Was Sirius Black safe?

The same black dog that sat under the pouring curtain of rain for hours on end after the earth
was moved over the coffins of Lily and James Potter- was that dog willing to protect his
family viciously if only they had the courage to ask for sanctuary?

“Absolutely,” he crooked. Draco looked up at him, the scrutinizing gaze firmly looking over
Severus.

“You don’t sound convinced,” he said, raising a pale blond eyebrow. Severus hummed, trying
to remove the pain from his smile.

“My history with all Hogwarts students is complicated at best, Draco,” he said.

Draco leaned forward to put his mug of cider down, leaning back on the couch as he pulled
the blanket further up his body. This winter was not a snowy one that brought beauty to the
countryside; it was one that was damp and numb. Numbing wind cut through every person in
the British Isle, muggle or witch alike.

“I’m scared,” Draco confessed against the sound of the wind and the rain pelting against the
glass, trying to creep in. There wasn’t even a thought as another log added itself to the fire,
engaging the outdoor elements with its own heat.

“I know, Draco,” he said, pulling the curtains back with a flick of magic only after he
lowered another blanket over them. “I am, too.”

Draco looked up at him with a bewildered expression. Severus chuckled, trying to lighten the
situation. If Draco was going to be honest in his fear, the only way to hope his godson would
continue with it would be to offer his own fears.

“There is a spell,” Severus said, his eyes cast to the fire as his mind drifted through the tomes
of memories. It wasn’t like him to slip back into his childhood this often- then again, it
wasn’t often he was forced to confront the monsters in his closet.

He shifted on the couch, prompting Draco to move off his side so he could stand. Draco was
naturally curious and followed after him. Severus walked past the kitchen and into the
greenhouse, slipping on the pair of gloshes. His godson obediently, silently, followed after
him as they walked into the humid room.

Since they were both at Hogwarts for the majority of the year, the plants grew on their own; a
kind of wild magic that aided in darker potions.

Without saying anything, Severus picked a couple of things as he went deeper into the
greenhouse. When he came upon ward points, he paused, taking his wand to reinforce them
for the other half of the year as the rain came down above the dome structure.

“A golem?” Draco said, his voice pitched to a question more than an assured answer.

“Correct,” Severus said, putting the collected items in a pestle. He ground the herbs counter
clockwise, Draco standing next to him as he peered into the mixture turning into a brown
paste.
“This spell can kill people, Draco,” Severus warned, setting the pestle to the side. He covered
the paste with a red cloth, stepping away from the platform they were working on to grab a
doll.

It was simply stuffed, found at a muggle thrift store. For spells like these, animation to a
human-like corpse could be done on common objects. The risk of a golem gaining some
sentience came from charming magical dolls.

Muggle ones didn’t run such a risk.

Draco knew better than to touch something without being told it was safe. It was one of the
first lessons that Severus stressed in the beginning of their study. Severus brought the doll to
the table and began to rip the stitching open from the back with a blade.

As he cut into the doll, Severus explained the subtle nature of a golem.

“Watch closely, this requires a quick hand.” Severus took the edges of the red cloth and
pulled it down the sides of the pestle until it was taught. He lifted the bottom by the edges. “I
need to flip the mixture without letting it stain the rest of the cloth.”

Draco took a half step back, allowing Severus more room to work. It was in times like these
that having the speed of a vampire benefited him.

He slammed the pestle down on the table, the cloth dry as the mixture settled on the bottom.

“Lift the pestle as I hold the cloth,” he instructed, taking the more dangerous part of the job.
Draco wormed his arms under Severus’ and lifted the pestle in a steady motion, allowing
Severus to manipulate the fabric containing the mixture until it formed a vague teardrop.

“This is the heart,” he explained, placing the heart into the doll.

Severus could feel it growing heavier in his hand as he turned around, the transformation
already occurring. He tossed it to the stone ground, the two watching it expand until it was
the size of a woman.

The image was deceiving, Severus did not put much time into the golem so it looked doll
like, patches of stitching or yarm as the hair. Severus wasn’t concerned with what was on the
outside, more on what was within.

Severus knew there might be a time…a time that Draco might need a spell that could kill
someone.

After putting his wand down on the table, Severus turned to face Draco.

“ Sectumsempra ,”he hissed the spell.

“A blood spell,” Draco said, recalling the latin. “I can’t use magic.” Draco looked at the
golem, clearly curious about the damage of the blood spell.
 Severus picked up his own wand and turned it over to Draco. His godson looked up at him,
bewilderment on his face. Every witch or wizard knew that the wand chose the wizard- a
complete synchronization of magical material that reflected the meat within. Wizards could
steal others wands, commit crimes in another's stead, but the magic would fragment.

Severus had known Draco for years, spent time with him as a professor and a mentor...a
godfather. In turn, Draco had taught him things, patience mainly, but they had grown
together. While handing Draco his wand wouldn’t slot together seamlessly, it would allow his
godson to perform the spell without getting caught.

A small, hesitant hand reached out to take the wand. A cold biting heat raced around their
flesh as Draco took Severus’ wand; matching the man’s personality.

The two turned to the doll golem on the ground, Draco holding Severus’ wand awkwardly.
He looked up at Severus for permission to continue. Severus nodded his head, not concerned
about the Trace pinning his godson down for this one moment.

Draco rolled his shoulders back after Severus took a step back, leaving his godson to the
spell. Severus could smell that Draco’s blood was closer to the surface, tainted with
adrenaline and expectation.

“Sectumsempra,” Draco said, pointing Severus' wand at the golem. Severus watched his
spell slice through the bones of the golem’s chest and bury into the flesh within. The golem
jolted enough that it gave the impression of being impaled. If the person was real, there
would be wet gasps for breath, limbs trying to clutch and hold blood within their body.

Draco didn’t move as the bloodstain wrapped around his shoe, looking down at the golem’s
vicerated form as the blood leaked out. It began to decompose, no longer held together now
that it was severed. The scent of stale blood filtered around the two of them, but it was
Draco’s blood that overpowered every scent in the room.

His magic and blood had mixed for the first time to harm another- even if it was a golem, a
puppet for play, it would take away the emotional shock of harming someone. Severus didn’t
know what the future held; he knew the Dark Lord, his tenacity and cunning.

Severus took his wand from his godson’s hand, feeling a spiteful bite of ice magic burst from
his wand in retaliation for serving a different master- however temporary.

“For enemies.”

Chapter End Notes

I'm a firm believer that Sirius and Remus were gay in the books. The amount of subtext
and bickering that they do far exceeds the Lupin and Tonks. I'm not a Tonks hater-
simply reporting what I see. Therefore, Lupin would be an unofficial godfather had
Sirius not gone and made a scene when confronting Pettigrew.
Additionally, I had to get the “Sectumsempra" scene in there if I was going to do this
whole fic over again. as I was writing it, I couldn't imagine what it was like for
Canon!Severus to see his godson dying with the spell that he created- hence that part of
the fic.

On a more personal note, work is really brining me down. I love the staff, but I work in
hospitality which is...less than hospitable...I am so thankful to have all of your support
and love. It really helps battle the bad days away to know that here, my work is
appreciated and valued. Thank you for always being here, for being patient with me as I
write these chapters. Know that I love each and every one of you.

See you next week- much love

 Heart of Fear
Chapter Notes

Hello guests, nice meal for a rainy day. I know this chapter is a bit of a filler but I do
hope you enjoy the spice in the beginning.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal waited by the fireplace, watching the green flames flickering along the wooden
coals that dropped like red blood stains next to the coals. Soft footsteps walked from behind
him, Will’s presence standing next to him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, looking down at the flames.

“Of course,” Hannibal said, the leather handle of his medical bag heavy in his left hand.
“There are only a few explanations for how Ms. Granger can take every class on the
Hogwarts roster.”

“She’s an ambitious student, yes,” Will said, remembering Ms. Granger’s numerous books
and extensive questions. While other students and teachers found her repetitive behavior
frustrating when she interrupted in class, her questions were justified as she was a
muggleborn in a new world so close to her own.

Ms. Granger was more than welcome to ask questions; she only needed to learn when the
appropriate time was.

It only showed the lack of support given to muggleborns attempting to integrate in Britain.

The fire changed color briefly, a flickering of purple and red breaking through the green floo
powder; Dumbledore had opened the wards to their house.

Hannibal looked down at Will with a smug smile on his face as the floo network awaited for
them. Not to be stopped by his mate, Hannibal walked through the flames. Ducking his head
as he exited the flames, Hannibal saw that Headmaster Dumbledore was standing towards the
side of the floo.

“Dr. Lecter,” Dumbledore said, holding his hand out for the man to enter the office. It was
still in the same chaotically organized state as when Hannibal viewed it during Harry’s
parent-teacher conference. Hannibal noticed that some of the orbs that sat on small stilts of
tin were elevated higher, filled with a murky mist and circling around each other.
“Professor Lupin tells me that Harry is beginning to make noticeable progress with the
patronus charm,” Dumbledore said, tea cup floating over next to Hannibal’s elbow to grab.
The man hummed and took the cup of tea, smelling the herbal, fruity blend that the
headmaster decided to brew.

“Yes,” Hannibal said as he remembered the way that Harry told them of his extra lessons
over dinner. “While he was initially discouraged with his lack of success, Harry is quite
determined to master the spell by the end of the year.”

Since Will’s tenure as a professor, their relationship had smoothed out some. Dumbledore had
strong instincts that served him well from the past Dark Lords- the man knew there was
something other about the two of them, perhaps Harry and was wise enough to be cautious
with actions and conversations.

Dumbledore rose from his chair, inhaling to respond when a series of sounds drew both their
attention from the conversation back to the orbs. Hannibal observed the Headmaster rise from
his seat and almost float to the orbs given how quickly he moved.

The man hovered wrinkled and arthritic hands over the orbs, his eyes closed. Wanting to
witness the spectacle, Hannibal waited in silence as Dumbledore muttered with his lips, no
sound exciting. The mist from within the orb rose to the circumference of the glass.

A shimmer from outside the stone windows pulled Hannibal’s attention away from the
Headmaster. A netting of silver lining speckled over the land. Temptation pulled him to stand
from the chair and walk closer to the window. From the high vantage, Hannibal could see
some shifting that was beyond the natural pattern of the clouds.

The dementors were pushed back by the silver stands of the shield, banished to the clouds to
continue a rainy Yule.

Dumbledore was hunched over the orbs on his desk, his back rising and falling with his
panting. Hannibal slowly walked over to the man, curiosity higher than concern. The
wizard’s hands were shaking as he balanced over the objects, peacefully floating as they had
been when Hannibal entered the office.

“The dementors are tenacious,” Dumbledore finally said, standing up to his full height as if
nothing happened. The man walked away from the orbs, stiff in his movements as he went to
the seat behind the chair.

Though his exhaustion was evident, the Headmaster flicked his wand to the teapot,
summoning it over. Hannibal could smell the citrus scent- the effects leaving the drinker
more uplifted and euphoric.

He supposed that the lemon drops were for the students that felt echoes of the dementors
gloom. Hannibal gave the man time to drink his tea- this was England after all…

“I would have thought they would leave with the students,” Hannibal said.
“The Minister is citing that, by the time the dementors return to Azkaban, the students may
return to an unprotected Hogwarts.”

Hannibal tilted his head, his posture looking at Dumbledore while his eyes tried to see if
there were any other strings of protective magic above the school. When he looked back at
Dumbledore, he could see the faint line of sweat that was drying along the edges of his face
from performing such strong magic.

It seemed that someone within the Ministry was slowly attempting to strip the man of his
power. While this piqued his interest, it was not the reason Hannibal asked for a meeting.

“Performing complex spells for underage or senior wizards can damage their magical core.”
Hannibal watched for any micro-reaction the man might have of being called a senior citizen.
Wizards were extremely hubris, Hannibal himself took some of the sin, and were wary of
their mortality.

Dumbledore, however, seemed to take it in stride, nodding his head. He lifted his wand hand
for the both to observe the shaking of his arthritis. He had little doubt the man used potions or
salves to treat the pain that intensified with winter.

“My duty is to protect the students and staff in this facility,” he said, his eyes trailing to the
side, looking at the canopy of trees protecting numerous endangered creatures. “Personal pain
is of little consequence.”

“And what of pain you cannot see?” Hannibal asked. “The brain is a complex network of
nerves. My studies in the Muggle world has given me the opportunity to see how the human
brain operates using magic.”

For all the power that Dumbledore had, at his core, he was still a professor. Like Will, the two
were constantly in search of new knowledge, consuming it as Hannibal consumed flesh. The
evidence of knowledge stored within Dumbledore's brain showed by the sheer volume of
books he scattered around. The man perked up, some of his exhaustion pushed to the side as
he asked what things Hannibal found.

While Hannibal went to the meeting with the intention to remove the course load from
Hermione Granger, the two traded theories back and forth about the extent of mind magic.
Hannibal confessed that the information was biased, only able to scan his brain in the
hospital, but he carried proof within his bag.

“I wasn’t aware of the mental damage that a time turner could produce,” Dumbledore said,
looking over sketches of clocks from muggle patients that had altered brain states.

“These muggles' perception of time and reality were permanently altered,” he said, pointing
to the damaged portions of the brain, then drawing a different line to the healthy brain image.
These muggles had not experienced any time travel; their perception of it had changed
enough for Hannibal to wonder if this would mirror time related accidents.

“I wasn’t aware of long term damage from time turners,” Dumbledore said, shifting some of
the images around on the table. “We, of course, know of the cases where wizards have
extended their magic beyond time, ripping themselves across the continuum, but I didn’t
anticipate time hops to cause further damage.”

“Mrs. Granger’s brain is young and developing,” Hannibal said. “While her studious nature
can be admired, there is the risk of permanent damage.”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Dumbledore said, several books beginning to
pull themselves off points of the shelves, floating to the side where they stacked high. “I will
inform Mrs. Granger of her change in schedule. Do you know of anything that might reverse
damage?”

“Thankfully, I don’t believe there to be damage that can’t be reversed with proper sleep
during the day,” Hannibal prescribed. Dumbledore looked down at Hermione Granger’s time
table, shifting the schedule around as he removed advanced classes.

“During the day,” Dumbledore mused, shifting her blocks around. He paused for a moment,
no doubt pondering which of his professors would allow Hermione to sleep through their
class. “Divination,” he decided. “Mrs. Granger’s can rest then.”

Hannibal couldn’t avoid the cringe, prompting the old wizard to give a weazy chuckle as he
finalized her new schedule. He wasn’t one that enjoyed torturing children but this...prescribed
nap time...would heal whatever underlying damage might have started to crack.

In an ironic turn of events, both Hannibal and Dumbledore lost track of time as they spoke
throughout the evening. After Hannibal stood to bid his goodbye, he took note of the time
and found that he might be the rude one- keeping the man up far past normal hours.

“You have my thanks, Dr. Lecter,” Dumbledore said, his frail hand shaking Hannibal’s. He
showed no non-verbal cue that he was upset at the time of the evening.

“And mine,” Hannibal said, his mind buzzing with different theories that he would be sure to
research once he was back in Will’s arms.

Without much fanfare, Hannibal threw powder into the fire, waited until they changed from
vibrant red to a cool green.

Will was pacing back and forth at the other end of the hearth, biting at his fingernails. When
Hannibal stepped through, he was immediately anxious if something happened.

“ You’re late,” Will said, putting his hands on Hannibal’s chest, checking him over.

Hannibal tilted his head, mildly confused at Will’s reactions to his return from Hogwarts.
When he asked to be informed of Will’s stresses, the man blushed from his collarbone to his
cheeks. He denied Hannibal the information, making the man only hunger for it more.

“I thought you...had a violent disagreement,”

“You have no confidence in me,” Hannibal bantered as they folded into the sheets of their
bed. Will hummed, slotting himself along Hannibal’s body so their heat would be shared
throughout the night. Will’s fingernails plucked at Hannibal’s chest in a possessive manner.
“Every confidence,” Will clarified.

While Harry wasn’t like his father or dad, there was still the human instincts in him that made
him wary of angry people. Within the walls of Hogwarts, Harry rarely experienced people
that were angry at him.

Especially since leaving the Dursleys.

Hermione Granger was a force to be reckoned with.

She stomped over to their groups table in the library, books scattered around Draco, Harry
and Neville. Hermione slammed her books onto the table in an angry huff and took the seat
next to Draco.

“I can’t believe it,” she seethed, not looking at any of them, staring at a point in the library’s
table.

The three boys looked at each other, sharing blank looks that exchanged none were aware of
what stirred her ire. Hermione lifted her time table and slammed it down loud enough to
make the students around them jump or hush her.

Hermione glared them into silence.

Neville was the one that was brave enough to reach for her schedule. Harry didn’t want to
touch the paper, looking over it. Neville and Harry shared a confused look.

“It’s...it looks,” Neville passed it back to Hermione, “normal?” he said with a questioning
tone.

Hermione’s face changed shades, turning from red to a purple.

“I know,” she hissed, her face low to the table as if it could contain her anger. She rooted
around for another piece of paper in her backpack, tearing it with blind rage at the corners.
“Someone wrote to Dumbledore complaining about the state of my brain.”

Hermione smacked her head down on the table, her bushy hair clenched in her fingers as she
pulled at the scalp.

“That I won’t be able to find,” she reached for the paper, practically snarling. “ Circadian
balance if I continue to study.”

Due to Hermione shifting her head back, she missed the look that Harry and Draco shared-
unsure which father might have gone to the Headmaster. Harry didn’t know why his father or
Professor Snape might go to the Headmaster about Hermione’s health; she or Draco would
have told him by now.

“What do you mean? They are your normal classes.” Neville took the time table from her and
looked over it once more, as if it would reveal any further information.
Hermione groaned as she released the strands of hair she clutched in her head. When she
looked up at them, they were pinned by her glaring and clenched jaw. Not wanting to anger
her further, the three wisely remained still.

“I’ve been traveling through time,” she growled, her eyes landing on the time table.

They blinked.

“What?” the three said, earning another set of hushes, though the students turned their
attention immediately back to their books.

“Yes,” Hermione said, sitting up straight as if she wasn’t revealing a great feat such as
bending the fabric of time for something as plebian as extra school classes. Hermione drew
their heads closer together and explained the situation of her numerous classes.

“I couldn’t see myself so I had to develop other ways to get around the castle,” Hermoine
said, still touching her time table in the hopes that it would change back to the original. She
rolled her eyes at their confused expressions. “The nature of time travel prevents me from
seeing another copy of myself- it drives wizards mad.”

Harry raised his hand slowly.

“You went to all those lengths,” he began.

“Risked madness,” Draco interrupted.

“For extra classes?”

“That no doubt had extra homework, '' Neville added to Harry’s argument.

Rather than give any answer, Hermione put her face on the side of palm, eyes going distant as
she reminisced about old classes.

“And the worst part,” she said, emphasizing her pain by crumpling the paper into a ball. “Is
that I have to take... divination.” Hermione hissed the word with disdain and disgust, the
anger boiling back within her body.

Draco, who was sitting next to Hermione, put a slow hand on her back to awkwardly pat
twice. All the while, the three teens remained silent as she fumed in the library, going over
her homework with a diligent eye.

Inevitably, it came time for Harry to leave the group to find Professor Lupin. Carefully as he
could, Harry extracted himself from the table, leaving Neville and Draco to work through the
rest of Hermione’s anger.

He couldn’t say he walked slowly away from the library. Harry knew if Hermione
remembered why he was leaving, for extra lessons, she would follow after him.

Professor Lupin already had the door cracked open for him to enter, the boggart sitting in the
same spot as their usual lesson. The two shared a quick courtesy conversation on how their
breaks were before diving into the heart of fear.

“Expecto Patronum,” he shouted, forcing the magic within him outward with the happy
memory. Even with Yule break, Harry couldn’t even produce a wisp of magic out of his
wand. The darkness in the room was standard with the lessons now. He grit his teeth, facing
the dementor head on. “Expecto Patronum.”

A light came from in front of him, a cord of silver light wrapping around the creature to force
it back into the box.

“Why did you stop it?” Harry asked Professor Lupin, trying not to sound winded.

“You’re getting angry,” Lupin said, sitting on the edge of his desk. He stood up and walked to
the candles, lighting them individually with his wand before moving to the next. “Anger is
not going to help you cast the spell.”

He groaned, throwing his head back. Harry had worked on this over the Yule holiday before
he fell asleep. His father began teaching him the beginnings of making what he called a Mind
Palace. Harry, as this was his first time with such an exercise, was instructed to picture an
apple in his head.

With his father, Harry constructed the apple in his mind’s eye. In the evening, he tried to
make the happy memories more tangible using the same principles from the apple trick.

“It should work.”

Professor Lupin threw his head back and laughed at Harry.

“Magic has little control,” he said, unwrapping his own chocolate frog. “The boggart should
reveal a person’s fear, but we can prompt a certain response. It shouldn’t work but it does.”

“Why can’t I get it?” Harry asked. Professor Lupin drew in a slow breath, thinking about
Harry’s question.

“It’s almost the end of winter,” he said, looking out the frost covered glass. “This is a time
when dark creatures have more power. The dementors, the real ones, are no doubt causing
this gloom.” He pointed to the thick clouds of ice and rain hanging above the school.

Professor Lupin picked up one of the books on his desk, rasping the spine of it against the
wood table as he thought.

“Your magical core seems to be darker,” he said carefully, his posture like he was waiting to
see Harry’s reaction. “Light magic is going to be naturally more difficult for you to cast.”

“I still don’t get why I can’t cast a patronus on a boggart,” Harry said, frustrated with the lack
of success. It wasn’t that magic came easily to Harry. He was not as smart as Draco or
Hermione but he didn’t think of himself as a student that struggled with his schoolwork other
than the average amount. He grew confused on new concepts, but by the end of a class, he
got the spell down somewhat.
“This is the first time you’ve had to cast an advanced spell that pushes intention with magic,”
Lupin consoled. “Doubt will limit your ability to cast.”

Professor Lupin groaned as he sat up, his hand resting on his back.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, sitting up. His professor smiled unconvincingly at Harry,
waving his concerns off. Harry stood up, getting his legs under him before moving to his
professor. Harry reached into his drawer and passed him a chocolate. He hadn’t thought that
the dementor might affect his professor as much as it affected him.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said, taking the treat. “We will have to continue your lessons after
this week ends, I’m afraid.”

Harry nodded his head. He recognized the dismissal and picked himself off from the floor. He
briefly glanced at the boggart in the trunk, knowing that if he asked to go again, he would be
denied.

“Have a good night, professor,” he said before leaving.

Harry bundled his sweater closer to his body as he walked down to the Slytherin dorms. The
chill wafted through the stones of the castle. The rain that the dementors brought cast a grim
nature over the castle.

He pushed open the door to Slytherin dorms, hit with a wave of heat and smiled.

It dropped when he saw that Pansy Parkinson was sitting next to Draco, her hands over his
shoulder to play with his hair. An odd sensation boiled in Harry’s stomach. Draco didn’t look
like he wanted Pansy near him since he darted out of the chair when he saw Harry.

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and dragged him to the dorm.

“She’s become relentless since Yule,” Draco said, taking off his sweater. Harry was glad that
Draco tossed it in the laundry bin since it had her scent on it. Harry removed his own sweater
and passed it to Draco.

“That will ward her off,” Harry said, sitting on the bed with a frustrated huff.

“Jealous, Potter?” Draco asked, smirking. Harry blushed and hid his face from Draco. The
teen moved to Harry, sitting down on the bed. “Hey,” Draco said, getting Harry to look at
him. “If it makes you feel better, she’s a right harlot.”

“Harlot?” Harry laughed, leaning back in his bed. Draco dropped his weight next to Harry, a
hand over his chest.

Harry knew that he was in the middle of hibernation; the only thing that made the symptoms
bearable during the winter were the nights that Draco would cuddle close to Harry like they
were doing now. But Harry noticed that there was something more about this season- that he
liked having Draco smell of himself.

In his bed and sweater, Harry was calm and no longer seated with the feeling in his stomach.
“We should get changed for bed,” Draco yawned. Harry hummed, burrowing his face into
Draco’s neck.

Harry supposed that was a good idea, to get out of their uniforms and into clothing that
smelled like them.

It wouldn’t be long before he was back in bed anyway.

“Much better, Harry,” Professor Lupin said, closing the boggart’s trunk as Harry pushed it
back with the patronus spell. White light had erupted from his wand when he cast the spell.
He smiled as the dementor tried to attack his shield. When prompted by Professor Lupin, he
stepped forward, herding the creature back into the box.

He slammed the lid closed with a snap, Harry dropped the spell, his legs shaking under him.

“Well done,” he praised, patting Harry on the back as he handed another chocolate frog to
him. “You were able to cast a good shield.”

“Do you think it will be enough to prevent the dementors from getting me?”

If magic failed Harry, there was always the option to use his feathers and teeth. Regardless,
Harry still hoped that all the effort he put in over the year would bear fruit by the closing.

“I think that you’re off to a good start.” Professor Lupin looked at his desk, going silent and
stiff. Harry watched the man stand up and walk to his desk, pulling open the drawer below
the one that held all the chocolate frogs.

“Sometimes,” he said, holding something in his hands, “a photograph will spark a stronger
memory…”

He walked back over to Harry, taking a seat on the floor next to him.

“I used to be friends with your parents,” Lupin said, a pained smile on his lips. “I didn’t tell
you so there was no suspected favoritism on my end,” he explained. Harry understood why
the man would do that, after all, Harry didn’t tell anyone other than Draco that the second
year defense professor was his dad.

He handed Harry the picture. It was frayed on the edges, cracked along the picture from years
of use that it had been folded and opened. There were two people in the photo that waved to
him with more enthusiasm than the others.

A man wearing glasses had his arms wrapped around a red headed woman, both swaying side
to side with wide smiles on their faces. It was the first time that Harry had seen his parents.
He had a closer resemblance to his father, the same bone structure of the face, skinny and
wild hair. The only thing that he claimed of his mother’s were her eyes.

“A young memory might be the key to unlocking a more powerful patronus...a memory when
you were young and innocent.”
Harry nodded his head absently as looked at the two people in the photo- almost expecting to
feel something for them. His attention landed on the man next to his biological father.

“Hey,” Harry said, smiling up at Lupin. “That’s Sirius Black.” He pointed to the image of a
younger Black rather than his mother and father. Black was standing next to another man, an
arm swung over his shoulders, laughing together next to Lily and James.

“Whoa!” Harry said again, moving his finger to the final person in the photo. “That’s you!”
The scar over Lupin’s lip was the same one the man had. The Lupin of the photo waved back
at him, the younger Sirius Black winked at the photo Lupin.

Professor Lupin rubbed the back of his head, a blush on his cheeks.

“Yes,” he said, a little bashful as he took the photograph back. “We were quite the...pair in
our youth.”

Professor Lupin walked back to his desk and set the picture back into the drawer, closing it
carefully. Harry realized in that moment, that the loss of his mother and father were not the
same as it was to Remus Lupin. Harry didn’t have the chance to get to know his biological
parents. He knew of them, but they were not his parents as Hannibal and Will were. The two
never held back an opportunity for him to learn more of his origins; Harry never really felt
the need to seek them out.

“The mentality that you approach a situation can help determine the outcome,” Professor
Lupin said, clearly wanting to move from the painful memories. Harry nodded his head. “You
might need the right motivation to get the full patronus, but today was a very good start.”

“Alright, professor,” Harry said. He walked closer to the door, noticing that in the trashcan
was one of the photos of Sirius Black, bedraggled in prison clothing. Above the trashcan was
a calendar, past dates with a red X and a circle around the weekend.

Maybe the defense professor had an event coming up.

“Have a good weekend,” he said, waving to the man.

“I will try my hardest, Harry,” he said. “We will get you to cast a full patronus before the end
of the year.”

Harry smiled as he walked out of the room.

It was a warmer day, finally. The year felt like it was in a perpetual wet season. The sun was
finally able to break through the clouds that the dementors brought with them. Springtime
was blooming in full swing with the breaking of the sun, flowers able to sprout and students
back outside.

Harry looked around the library, knowing that his friends were still in the room from when he
left them. Hermione spotted him, waving him over.

“How was it?” she asked.

 “I was able to produce a shield,” he said. Hermione smiled and clapped her hands, wincing as
students around them hushed her.

“That’s great,” Neville whispered, head still buried in the transfiguration textbook. Harry
pulled out his charms homework with a grimace.

“I told you that you should have done that earlier in the week,” Draco said, putting the final
touches on his own charms homework.

“I’ve got a lot on my plate with these lessons,” Harry said, circling some of the answers he
recognized immediately.

“It’s only an hour out of your evening,” Hermione said, “and it’s not like Lupin is giving you
extra homework.”

“Magic like the patronus can be taxing on a wizard,” Neville said. “Harry probably is feeling
magically tired.” Neville’s statement made Hermione pause, then she began to slowly nod her
head.

As the weeks went on, the three noticed that Hermione grew tired throughout the day. It was
after several days of prying from the three of them, Hermione finally confessed that she took
the prescribed nap times.

With their classes coming to the end of term, teachers were beginning to pick up the amount
of material they expected of their students. The joint Defense class with professor Snape and
Lupin sometimes complicated their homework- leaving the Gryffindors angry and spiteful.

The dementors did not help the mounting stresses of the school. Though they did not enter
the grounds of the school, the persistent rain and storms dampened people’s spirits. On the
days that the sun managed to break through the persistent gloom, students piled outside into
the mud and played as if they were fawns in the meadow.

Though they were surrounded by the gloom of the dementors and the threat of Sirius Black
hunting for something within Hogwarts, Harry tried to keep himself in a positive mindset.

The dementors didn’t need another reason to hunt him.

Chapter End Notes

I tried very hard to make the story work and have Hermione travel through time but it
wouldn't fit so I scrapped it and added the part with Hannibal and Dumbledore.
Remember Dumbledore haters: there is a larger plan at play...

Thank you for all of your love!

 A Serious Revelation
Chapter Notes

Hello again!

I'm going camping this weekend so gather around the fire to banish the darkness of the
dementors. I have brought you all some smores. I do think they will be sticky!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry was unable to tell if it was the constant gloom that was causing his increase in
headaches or that the students were finishing a long week. There was nothing special about
the week, the normal amount of tests, homework and other activities. The Hogwarts students
were a hare's breath away from summer- even if the sunny days were blocked by the
dementors haze.

Even Professor Lupin looked haggard...more so than usual. From the two that Harry had, he
was a mixture of his dad- who tried to teach more practical forms of defense and Quirrell,
though drawn out lectures, they were informative. The days that Professor Snape taught
always jarred the students with his monotone voice.

The clock chimed for their dismissal, Professor Lupin seemed to give a sigh of relief as
students and teachers alike were finished for the day.

Neville broke off from the Gryffindors' to approach Draco and Harry as they finished packing
their bags.

“Do you want to come with me to get Ron’s rat?” He asked, suddenly and out of the blue.
Harry and Draco shared a look. Draco was the first to respond.

“Neville,” he said, “why on earth would I want to do that?”

Neville blushed immediately, looking down at his shoes as he swayed side to side with
tension.

“Because it’s a pain in the ass,” Neville said slowly, “and it might bite Ron?”

“Well, say no more,” Draco laughed, tossing his bag over his shoulder as he walked next to
Draco, leaving Harry to catch up to them. He wanted to ask his professor if there would be a
lesson, but the need to follow after his friends won out over his desire for lessons.

As the three boys were waiting for the staircase to change, Hermione called out to them,
moving past other students to catch up to them before the pattern shifted again.
Harry risked the question when she arrived, all boarding the staircase leading down.

“How was divination?”

Hermione gave the standard groan, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“Like scraping chalk against a harp, Harry,” she said, shuffling around the papers in her bag
to show the glittery covered textbook. The three had seen these reactions often in the second
half of the school year, after her time-traveling ‘privileges’ were revoked.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, stuffing the book with an unusual abuse before zipping it. “So,
where are we off to?” she asked, leading the way down the stairs.

“Hagrid's,” Neville said, pushing around Draco to walk in step with Hermione.

“Oh good,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask him if Crookshanks will get lonely without
that dog friend of his.”

Ah yes, Crookshanks, the cat with a face looking more like a pug and only showed a microm
of affection for Hermione after she rescued him wandering around the Divination section of
Hogwarts. Hermione claimed his intelligence for wanting to escape such a horrid place as
much as she did.

“I mean, we don’t have any cats,” Harry said, not wanting to mention the giant snake and the
shape shifting deer that the dogs had grown to ignore as the years progressed.

“I found that mangy dog after looking for Crookshanks after a bad rain,” Hermione
explained. “Luna Lovegood has seen him too. He doesn’t come near me, but she said that he
once took a turkey leg from her.”

“Any dog would take a turkey leg,” Draco muttered. “Maybe we can solve Ron’s problem...”

“Why would you suggest that?” Hermione asked.

“It’s nature,” Harry said.

Their bickering continued as they walked past the Hogwarts walls to Hagrid’s Hut. Several
times, one or the other was cut off from insults by the grass giving way under them. While it
hadn’t rained recently, the volume of rain and snow over the year had made the Hogwarts
ground almost swamp like.

The door to Hagrid’s hut opened as they came closer to it, he must have seen them through
the open window.

“Quickly now,” he said, ushering them in as he peered up to the sky. “‘Nothr’ bloody
dementor storm comin,’” he grumbled as they all shuffled into the hut and around the table.

The four knew where the rat was before Hagrid even had to go near it. The creature was in a
tightly wound cage made of twigs that had some sheen on them. Whatever it was, the rat
could not escape from it. Harry could smell the anger and the fear pouring off that rat.
“Here ya go,” Hagrid said, plopping the rat’s cage down with a questioning look. “Yer sure
he want’ it?”

“I don’t understand it either,” Neville said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the handle. The
other three pulled their hands away from the near rabid creature. Harry supposed this was
Neville who enjoyed handling deadly plants as much as Draco enjoyed brewing deadly
potions.

“Hagrid,” Hermione asked, petting Fang’s head with both of her hands, “do you know
anything about that dog?”

“Snuffles?” Hagrid asked with a laugh, a hand on his belly. The four exchanged looks at the
name Hagrid gave the lost dog. Harry didn’t think it so far-fetched, given that Hercules was
once named Fluffy.

“Bright dog, he is. Knows when the dementors are comin. Just got no reason ta trust people.”
The half giant pulled back one of the curtains that blocked some of the view. “Not ‘round
much anymore…”

“I think he belonged to someone,” Hermione said, wiping her palms on the side of her pants
when Fang decided to leave her for the bone on his bed.

Hagrid rumbled his agreement as he closed the window, locking the hatch.

“Dementor’s are patrolin’,” Hagrid said, ushering them out with a wave of his hand. The four
scrambled out of their chairs, knocking the table around as they made their way to the door.
Neville had his hand around the top netting of the basket.

The wind battered them as they pushed their way up the hill. Harry could smell the storm that
was coming with the dementors. Though they were above them, high in the clouds, stragglers
were easy prey for any predator.

The rat was screaming it’s head off within the basket, thrashing at the walls, attempting to
gnaw past whatever lacquer Hagrid concocted. Harry caught a glimpse of the rat throwing
itself into the wall, blood and saliva at the mouth from attempting to escape.

Neville dropped the cage on the stone step, having to stop to grab it. Harry could smell blood,
when he saw Neville, his palm was bleeding from the force the rat battered against the cage
to get Neville to drop it. Hermione came to his aid with a rapid spell that wrapped a bandage
around his palm.

“Honestly,” Neville said as he turned to get the rat with his unbandaged hand. “He’s such a
bother.” As Neville turned to face them all, his eyes went wide, face dropped of blood and he
froze.

Harry knew that expression in prey, the moment before death. The cold draft of wind pushed
a new scent, wet dog and mange, sickness...instincts rose along his back as he turned to face
whatever threat Neville saw.
“Grim,” the word came from Hermione. Harry looked at the dog, large and mangy with a
long snout and emaciated body. The hair that clung along his ribs was matted in clumps of
hair gone ungroomed or covered in dirt from living in the wild.

It was snarling as fierce as the rat within the cage, a wide stance with hips dropping back
meant to charge. Harry felt his feathers trail higher, no doubt pushing into his hair. Having
noticed the dog around them, his friends were not focused on the feathers in his hair.

Hagrid was right, there was something intelligent within the dog. He looked at all of them,
Neville the most. Harry felt his lips pull back in a snarl as the dog began to charge him. He
had a spell on his lips, but Neville cried out his name and pushed him to the side before he
could hit the dog.

Neville’s bravery cost him, the dog barreled into the Gryffindor and grabbed his leg, dragging
him back down the hill.

The wind did not stop the three from chasing after their friend. Though, their shouts
awakened the Whomping Willow, the great murder tree of Hogwarts. While Neville tried to
claw at the ground or kick the dog away, he was dragged closer to the tree and slipped into a
hole.

The Willow smacked a branch down on the ground, kicking up dirt on Harry, Hermione and
Draco. They backed out of range, wands in each of their hands and no intentions to get adult
supervision.

“There is always a paralysis point at the base,” Draco said. “If we touch it, the tree will
freeze.”

“Find it,” Hermione ordered, running towards the tree. The branches went for her first,
reaching in a wide arch before coming down on top of her. Hermione anticipated their decent,
casting a strong shield around her that impacted against the branches with a burst of wood.

With Hermione distracting a large portion of branches, Draco and Harry rushed the base of
the tree. Draco was checking over the tree, touching the knots and exposed roots as Harry
cast stinging hexes at the branches that attempted to whip them.

The Willow froze it’s attack, branches grinding to a halt, slowly peeling upward to its natural
state. The three relaxed for a moment, taking in the first real magical battle since the troll in
their first year.

As they collected their breath, Harry turned his head to the screaming rat.

“You really brought that?” Harry asked. Hermione looked down at her hands, as if for the
first time noticing that she grabbed Scabbers after Neville was taken.

“We’ve gone to all this trouble,” she blushed, a hand rubbing the back of her neck in
embarrassment. Harry watched from his periphery as Draco rolled his eyes.
“He was dragged down here,” Draco said, kneeling at the basin of the tree, his hand coming
up with Neville’s blood. Harry looked over the streaks, his heart nullified by the minimum
amount of blood on the roots. Draco looked at the two of them. “Are we really going to do
this?”

Hermione was already shuffling closer to the hole, putting her legs in the roots. She took the
netted cage and settled it on her lap securely as she looked up at them.

“Neville would do the same for you,” she said before sliding down the shute.

“Do none of them have self-preservation instincts?” Draco asked Harry. “The last time
something like this happened, we got teachers.”

The chill of the dementors was growing closer and while Harry could fight them with his pelt
and teeth- it would mean exposing his secret.

And Harry didn’t think himself confident enough to banish the dementors with a wispy
patronus.

“There are dementors,” Harry said, deciding that he was safer under whatever network was
carved into the roots with a rabid dog than soul sucking creatures that would prey on their
fear and vulnerability if they raced to the castle.

Harry slid downward, his body catching the roots and dirt until he landed on the soft ground.
Hermione pulled him to the side as Harry coughed from the impact. She and Harry both
looked up when they heard Draco cursing as he slid down the shute.

Hermione and Harry pulled Draco off the floor. Harry knew there was something wrong as he
turned to look out for wherever the dog dragged Neville. There were far too many conflicting
scents around the carved tunnel to get a proper scent. The wet dog smell coupled with
Neville’s fear tainted blood overwhelmed his senses.

“Why would there be a tunnel beneath the tree?” Hermione asked, illuminating the space
around them with her wand. She inspected the curves of the roof as the three stood up,
hunching their backs slightly to accommodate for the tunnel’s low ceiling.

“It means Hogwarts is hiding something,” Draco said, grimacing as he spread the mud along
his uniform in an attempt to remove it. With the only direction being forward, the three took
steady steps in silence as they searched for any indication that Neville was okay as their
hearts beat in fear for the dog that drug him down.

A strange and dusty draft pushed from in front of them, making them pause as they covered
their mouths or blinked away the particles in their eyes. Roots that were gnarled enough to
cause them trouble walking deeper changed, flattened into the dirt until they looked like
transfigured floorboards.

Claw marks, fresh with some flecks of blood, were layered over older claw marks from a
much larger creature. Harry felt his heart pick up in pace as the three pushed the door open,
following the blood trail into the room.
Before Draco could grab her, Hermione was already rushing into the room blindly.

“Neville!” Hermione shouted as Harry and Draco tried to catch her. The door was shifting as
they went deeper into the room, Neville palling as he noticed it all unfolding.

“No!” Neville said, holding his hand out for them to stop walking closer to him. “Don’t! It’s a
trap! It’s Sirius Black!” Neville pointed. Harry turned too slow, his wand was knocked out of
his hand as the door slammed behind him, the iron lock fusing to itself to keep them all
trapped.

Harry looked back in hope that Hermione and Draco still had their wands only to find them
both empty handed.

A gritty and gaunt looking man had his head hanging downward, matted, dreadlocked hair
covering his face. He was wearing tattered and threadbare clothing that was black and once
white now stained from years of wear.

His head shook before he lifted it, prompting his whole body to shake and quivers. Eyes that
once held life within the photo that Professor Lupin showed him to prompt a happy memory
were faded and milky. He exhaled with a smile, his teeth yellow and black with years of
neglect.

Hermione pushed Harry back, standing in front of all of them before Sirius Black. The man
rotated his head around his shoulders, the bones of his emaciated neck popping
uncomfortably.

“And now we’re all here,” Sirius Black spoke, popping one hip out as he held their wands
between each finger. His voice was hoarse and shaky- as if he hadn’t spoken normally in
years; spending his time screaming…

“Sirius?” Harry asked, putting a hand on Hermione’s arm to slowly step forward. He hoped
what he learned from Dumbledore was right- that the man was loyal to his blood family and
only taken by the Ministry to cover the crimes of others and sweep their neglect away.

The man didn’t seem to hear him.

“To finish what I started all those years ago,” he whispered. To add to the creep factor, which
did nothing to help absolve him of his supposed crimes, Sirius spoke as he twisted his head to
look at all of them.

Harry could understand why Sirius wasn’t given a trial if he spoke like this thirteen years
ago. Nonetheless, he stiffened at the statement. The room was far too small for him to shift in
and have a proper fight without harming his friends in the process.

While Harry knew the man didn’t betray his parents, the reason for him taking Neville was
unknown. Hoping to prompt a response, he stepped around Hermione as he said:

“Why did you kill my parents?”

Draco raised his eyebrow- both knowing the truth since Lucius Malfoy exposed it
unintentionally to his son. Sirius laughed, throwing his head back, arms twitching at his sides
as he laughed.

A blast stopped all their laughter as the fused iron lock blew into the other side of the wall. In
a comical display of disinterest, Sirius Black turned his head to the door as Professor Lupin
stalked into the room. The professor flicked his wand, disarming all of the student’s stolen
wands from the convict to the floor.

“Could’ve just barked at the door...Remus,” he said in a raspy voice, eyes watering as he
looked up at the man holding a wand to his throat.

“I won’t let you kill Harry,” Professor Lupin said, stepping in front of the children. Sirius
bared his teeth as if he were still a dog to their defense professor. Oddly enough, Remus
copied the moment, arching his spine slightly to make himself appear larger than Sirius.

Harry could smell their scents, wet and earth like, colliding before Sirius spoke up again.

“I’m not here to kill Harry!” he shouted, causing all of them to flinch in the change of his
tone as veins popped on his skull.

“You’ve been planning this for years,” Lupin shouted, his wand still pointing at Black. The
two began to circle each other in slow movements.

“I will not deny I’ve been planning on killing for twelve years, Moony,” Sirius said, hands up
in surrender, twitching fingers as his stride shuffled along the circular pattern they danced. “It
will be Pettigrew that dies tonight,” Sirius growled, stopping in the room in front of the bed.

Professor Lupin scoffed, wand still pointed at his old friend.

Harry and Draco gasped, both remembering the name from the map; the intangible man that
crossed their path one dark hallway. Their commotion went unnoticed by the two adults
circling each other.

“Peter Pettigrew is dead. You killed him.”

“That’s what everyone thought,” Sirius Black said, pointing a finger to his temple. “But we
both know that rat could scuttle out of anything.” Sirius Black cursed the name, his eyes
turning to face the cage Ron Weasley’s rat was contained in.

If there was anything frantic about the rat trying to escape before Neville was taken by the
Grim, it was desperate to escape, willing to do anything, sacrifice blood, bone, limbs...

There was a moment of hesitation in Professor Lupin’s body that any predator would have
taken advantage of. Sirius did not, relaxing as the seed of doubt germinated in Professor
Lupin’s mind.

Professor Lupin shook his head as if it would shake the doubt.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, holding his wand back up.

“We saw him!” Draco shouted, moving next to Harry. The two adults looked at Draco, who
took a half step back. “In the map! His name was right in front of us, but we couldn’t see
him.”

“The map never lies, does it, Moony?” Sirius looked victorious, his body shaking with
excitement. He took a step closer to Professor Lupin, stopping when the man only raised his
wand higher. Sirius Black pointed at Neville.

“That rat!” he exclaimed. “Has been the missing piece to this whole puzzle. And tonight, I
will kill him.”

Hermione, Draco and Harry all backed up to Neville, protecting him with their own bodies.

“If Pettigrew is alive,” Harry said, turning to look at the rat in Neville’s cage. “Then that
means you’re innocent.” Though Neville was in shock, his pallor pale and skin peaked with
sweat, he understood enough of what was happening before him to hand over Ron’s rat to
Harry.

In a strange turn of events, the rat was now still; resigned or waiting to spring was unknown.
Harry took the wicker basket by the handle, the weight of the rat oddly heavier than he
anticipated.

Regardless, Harry looked up at Professor Lupin and Sirius Black, his fist gripping the handle
with a tighter than necessary grip.

Professor Lupin regarded the rat in the cage with a skeptical gaze. Harry could admit, he’d
seen rats much like this one.

“Prove it to me,” he said, thrusting his hand holding the basket to the two of them as they
stood on either side of the table. In a cruel action, Harry dropped the basket- the rat squealing
as it toppled over, still contained in Hagrid’s cage.

A moment passed between the two men on the opposite sides of the table, both looking at
each other in a way that reminded Harry of his own parents; how they could communicate
completely through eyes only.

“Ready,” Professor Lupin said, his lips quivering in an odd smile for the situation at hand.
Sirius’ nostrils flared as he smiled with yellow teeth, head nodding faster than normal as his
breath quickened. Professor Lupin leaned down to the scattered collection of wands that
landed on the floor after he disarmed Sirius. He picked up Draco’s wand and passed it to
Sirius Black.

At opposing ends, the two nodded their heads, wands pointed to the basket.

They growled a spell together at the rat, their wand brandishing a bright orange glow around
the creature.

Within the cage, the creature morphed as it grew and expanded. Professor Lupin growled
another spell, his lips curled to reveal his canines as his magic extended the wicker basket
around the growing man’s body in a tight, thorny bind.

A feral rat revealed a feral man, disheveled, fat and twitching in his bonds. His mouth was
scratched and bleeding, cuts around his face from where he attempted to chew his way to
freedom. His hands were covered in blood from scratching at the wood, shaking from the
pain.

“It’s him,” Draco whispered in horror. Harry grabbed his hand, intertwined their sweaty
fingers to squeeze him tightly as to ground his friend.

The rat turned man, Peter Pettigrew himself, managed to turn his body to face upright,
leaving him able to shift his head side to side.

“My,” he stuttered, looking between them with misty eyes. “My old friends!”

Professor Lupin was long since shocked into silence, unlike Black, who seemed to only erupt
when the traitor spoke.

“You are no friend of ours,” Sirius growled, pouncing on the man with Draco’s stolen wand
poised over his eye.

“You don’t know what it was like,” Pettigrew squealed on the table, turning his head away
from the wand pointed at his face. “He would have killed me if I didn’t tell him.”

Sirius leaned down, the wand held perfectly still next to both their faces.

“Then you should have died!” Sirius hissed, spittle splattering on his face before the
emaciated man pulled his face back. He fumed for a moment, his jaw clenched with rage. In a
viper quick movement, Sirius snapped his fist forward to punch the bound man.

Professor Lupin was too stunned to say anything about the abuse to the man in the thorns-
still, stupid and silent.

While Professor Lupin was silent, Pettigrew was searching for any way to escape the
situation he found himself in. His gaze changed after he was punched by Sirius, face pitched
at an awkward angle so he could look at Harry.

“Harry,” he said, a strange amount of reverence in his voice.

It prompted Professor Lupin out of his petrification, making the man snarl as he moved closer
to the rat. The largest of Hogwarts professors crossed the room in two strides, hauling him off
the ground and from underneath Sirius to slam his back on the table, leaving his belly open to
gutting.

“You have no right to talk to him,” their professor said, a hand on his throat beginning to
squeeze.

“Please don’t kill me,” Pettigrew gasped, attempting to curl up on the table he was wrapped
in, the barbs cutting into the parts of his skin that was exposed.
 The two men looked like they were going to do just that, either with magic or their hands,
they looked like men consumed by their wrath.

“If you kill him,” Draco shouted through their rage before they descended upon the bound
man. All attention turned to Draco, who shuffled with tension as he was still holding Harry’s
hand. Sirius looked at them with an odd look, his head turned to the side in a confused dog
manner. “You’ll never prove your innocence.”

The entire year, Draco had carried the burden that his father walked free as another man
stayed chained in a place of dread- an innocent man that did no such crime, forever ruining
his mind and reputation. While Lucius was only Draco’s father, the truth weighed on the teen
as much as the loyalty he struggled with regarding his father.

“Give him to the dementors,” Harry added, hoping that Draco understood the gentle squeeze
to his hand was one of pride. “Then they can have what they’ve been looking for since they
arrived.”

The two men shared feral grins over the whimpering and pleading man. Professor Lupin
nodded, putting one hand under Pettigrew to lift him with hidden strength off the table. As he
went to change the bonds around Pettigrew’s legs, allowing him just enough room to shuffle
around, Sirius Black handed back their wands to them with shaking hands.

“Sorry about the wound,” Sirius said as he handed Neville back his wand, his eyes having a
hard time keeping contact with the teen on the chair. Neville only nodded his head,
manipulated over onto Hermione’s shoulder so they could walk together without putting
weight onto his leg.

Professor Lupin had a tight grip on Pettigrew’s shoulders, his legs free only enough to be able
to shuffle forward along the floor. With a lazy swirl of his wand, the door pushed open to the
tunnel that was only wide enough for them to pass shoulder to shoulder.

“Draco and Harry first,” Professor Lupin instructed, “I’ll go next with this one,” he growled,
shaking the man once that caused him to whimper in fear. “Hermione should be in the middle
with Neville.”

Professor Lupin looked to Sirius Black with a smile, one that looked shy of the moving photo
he showed Harry earlier.

“Bring up the rear.”

Sirius Black snorted, waving the train of students along.

Hands still twined together, Harry and Draco two shared a squeeze before they let go of each
other to lead the way out of the Whomping Willow.

Chapter End Notes

Couldn't resist the chapter title pun! I know some were curious about how Pettigrew
would go over if Ron wasn't in featured- I hope this did the story justice.

Next chapter...you know what's up.

Please let me know what you think! Much love!

 A Grim Transformation
Chapter Notes

Hey y'all. I know I haven't set the table for two meals recently but I had a really good
writers weekend, finally breaking form my block and wanted to celebrate with you.

Have some champagne or bubbly.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The walk to the surface was a slow one. To no fault of his own, Neville needed to take slower
steps with Hermione next to him. The roots that were higher posed a problem for him to get
over with the splint that Professor Lupin wrapped from ankle to knee. Neville pushed
through, gripping the roots above him to pull himself over as Hermione guided him into
stable ground.

The one that made things complicated was Pettigrew, who continued to drag his feet along
the roots. He intentionally stuck his legs into the roots, tripping and taking down some of the
students.

“Do you mind?” Hermione shouted at the man when he whimpered on the ground, leg caught
on another root. She rolled her eyes as she dragged him upward before Professor Lupin.
“Maybe I’ll just cut your leg off,” she muttered, going back to Neville.

Pettigrew moved marginally faster after he was threatened with amputation.

What took Draco, Harry and Hermione three minutes to walk down, took the group twenty to
walk back up. Harry was relieved to feel the chilly breeze pass over his skin- meaning they
were ending their shuffle through the tunnel.

“Remember to touch the paralysis point,” Draco muttered to him as Harry climbed on the
roots to the surface. He slapped his hand on the knot, waiting for the tree to freeze. Harry
could hear the bark of the tree popping upright, then climbed out of the dark hole to a dark
clouded sky.

A breeze came, a warm one this time. He could smell the storm approaching them. If Harry
strained his ears, he could hear a ripple of thunder rumble a warning call to him.

“Potter, help me,” Draco said, holding his hand out. Harry snapped out of his trance, reaching
to grab Draco, who stumbled from the tree- eyeing it warily.

Harry could hear that Pettigrew was planting his feet in the ground again. He tried to look
down, but the angle was awkward. A cool breeze passed over them, making Harry look up.
His feathers began to wrap under his clothing.
There were two threats on the horizon. The first were the dementors that brought the cold
draft of air naturally with them. There was the other threat of the thunder and lightning
approaching them all.

The first drops of rain began to mist Harry and Draco’s faces as they kneeled on the soft dirt,
hands gripping the roots to prepare to help Neville out.

Their friend was pale and sickly, the shock having taken full effect, but he pulled himself
along as Harry and Draco lifted his shoulders to drag him out. Hermione was quick to climb
out of the hole on her own, using the roots to aid her through the dampening dirt. She was
quick to help the boys in moving Neville out of range from the tree.

At a risk of exposure, Harry took off his outer jacket when the rain grew from a mist to soft
pelting. He wrapped it around Neville; the rain would not help his friends shivers. With a nod
to Hermione, Harry and Draco ran back to the Willow, their legs beginning to get stained
with mud.

Pettigrew was shoved out of the hole, Lupin red in the face as he pushed the man. Harry and
Draco both held their wands at the man as he tried to dart away from them. Professor Lupin
put a hand on Pettigrew’s shoulder before he managed to run away.

Knowing that Sirius was the only one within the Willow’s tunnel, Harry hesitated offering his
help. While Harry debated, Draco was the one that dropped his knee into the mud and
extended his hand first. A bony, tattooed hand gripped Draco’s. He heaved, for an emaciated
man, the angle was difficult and the rain was making it harder to grip his skin.

Harry put his knees into the mud, one hand holding onto a branch, the other leaning forward
to take Sirius’ other hand.

When they pulled him free, Sirius Black dragged himself through the mud for a moment,
sitting back on his haunches and gave one laugh. He stood up, shivering in the cold as the
rain soaked through his rags.

“Thank you, Draco, Harry,” he said, either nodding or shaking his head, they could not tell. “I
know this must be uncomfortable for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted.

“You have no idea,” Draco laughed, his arms coming to his side.

A deep groaning had all heads turning to Professor Lupin. Their defense professor was
hunched over, clutching his chest. As the teens stood, unsure of how to help, Sirius Black ran
forward.

“Oh, Remus, no!” Sirius shouted over the rain, coming down harder now. The man swung his
back to the sky, his twisted face getting pelted by the rain. Harry pulled Draco, they were
slipping in the mud towards the Whomping Willow. Moving out of it’s range, they stood next
to Neville and Hermione- nowhere close to the safety of the Castle.
“You have to fight it!” Sirius shouted.

Pettigrew was between the struggling adults and the students. At some point during their
travel, he must have worn some of the binding around the thorned branches. They were
snapped around his knees, allowing him more mobility. He attempted to rush past them, all
noticing that the tree was beginning to come back to life.

Harry growled as he caught up to Pettigrew, kicking his knee out until he dropped into the
grime.

He turned his attention to Hermione, the rain obstructing his vision, as she pulled on him,
higher to the castle with Neville on her other shoulder.

“He’s a werewolf, Harry,” Hermione shouted through the weather, pulling on Neville as she
tried to move him up the hill in the pelting rain.

Harry blinked and looked back at his professor, in a painful bind as Sirius Black tried his
hardest to almost cover the other man’s body.

None of them could see the moon, blocked by the clouds that were charged with lightning
and bellowing thunder. The scent of burnt ozone laid thick over the ground as the rain hailed
over them.

A tighter, wider set of hands grabbed his shoulders. He looked at his Head of House,
Professor Snape, soaked to the bone in rain.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Snape growled at him, his black cloak billowing
behind him like a dementor would. Though Professor Snape could not see it, Harry watched
as Professor Lupin shoved Sirius Black away from him.

The convict tumbled to the ground, shifting oddly, then standing on four legs instead of two.
The dog started barking over the rain towards Professor Lupin. From Professor Snape, a set
of spells lifted Pettigrew into the air, the vines growing wider to keep him bound in the rain.

“We must leave,” Professor Snape said, pushing Harry away from the transformed man.
“Now,” he growled, shoving Harry forward as he dragged a coiled Pettigrew in the air.

The first flash of lightning brightened the sky, thunder cracking down over them.

The sound that followed was more terrifying.

A low pitched howl cut through the din of the rain smacking the ground, the sound of their
feet trying to trudge through mud uphill. It was colder than the chill the dementors wind
brought, even as it touched their soaked clothing.

They all stopped, Professor Snape turned his body, hands extended to shield them as the
warped bipedal stalked towards them with heaving caved lungs.

The transformation looked painful and incomplete. His muzzle was a wolf, his structure
changed to accommodate the wolf, but he was still standing on two legs, his spine arched
forward to hold the entire weight of his body. Harry had no doubt if the transformation was
painful, this morphed, hellish form was even more so.

The Grim, Sirius Black, barked three times to get the werewolf's attention away from the
students before he set in for a charge. Sirius Black growled the closer he got, running from
the side to jump onto the werewolf’s... Professor Lupin’s back.

The fight was pathetically short.

Sirius was emaciated and that caused him an immediate weakness. While Sirius’ other form
was a large dog to a human, large enough to drag Neville down, he was small compared to
his werewolf opponent.

The werewolf tossed Sirius around, toppling onto the ground. He got on his paws, lunging to
push the werewolf back towards the forest. The werewolf used his height to knock Sirius to
the side.

The lightning showed the Grim on his back, then rolling away and down a rocky hill.

With a final huff, the werewolf turned to face them.

Harry witnessed something he never saw before. Professor Snape...he froze. The scent of fear
coming from Harry’s Head of House, Draco’s godfather, Neville and Hermione’s potions
professor, far outweighed their collective fear. They were natural predators, stereotypically,
but the rancid smell pulled his nostrils and urged him to run.

Harry’s friends were in danger...warm memories of all laughing in the library, becoming a
regular nuisance there for other students and Draco, his friend, his mate was in danger.

The beast widened it’s stance, Snape tensed, his hands pressing against Harry, Peter wiggling
uselessly in the air like a spider’s prey. Harry could hear the werewolf snarl at them, weight
shifting to prepare to pounce.

Harry wouldn’t let him get the opportunity. He pushed Snape’s arm out of the way, his own
feathers folding over his body with the gentle wave of an ocean. His feathers slicked the rain
off his pelt with the grace of a raven, his teeth pulled back in a snarl as hackles spread over
his shoulders.

The werewolf was bipedal, two massive legs that were hung up in a grotesque combination of
wolf and man. Even in the rain, Harry could see that there were patches of hair missing from
his scalp, tufts of hair on his arms, legs and spine. The days that Harry spent learning to shift
between fawn and human were painful ones; a torso that was too small to accommodate
larger organs, bones that stretched left his skin with marks that had Hannibal and Will
rubbing oil over until he could shift seamlessly.

Harry was smaller than Remus, even with his crown, but that did not stop him. The werewolf
snapped at Harry, large jaws coming onto one of his antlers. He tried to remind himself that it
wasn’t any different than sparing with his parents.
He dropped his hoof, his foreleg falling into the mud to unbalance the creature. Harry could
not impale his prey as his father taught him- this was the very professor that was teaching
him to cast a patronus. Harry, his antler now free, reared up and struck him on the shoulder
once. He pushed his crown forward, forcing the werewolf to jump back to avoid the sharp
bones.

Harry bared his own sharp teeth when the werewolf took a swipe at his own pelt. He felt the
claws ripple through the tops of his feathers as his hoofs skid through the mud. Harry charged
his teacher, pulling his body to the side at the last moment to not gorge his teacher to death.

The lightning was disorienting them both. In the thick of the storm, the rain was causing the
area to cascade with water, pulling the topsoil over them. The Whomping Willow was
cracking out of it’s paralysis, which would only hinder them both.

Changing tactics, Harry mock charged three times, forcing Professor Lupin back to topple
over the same stones and roots that Sirius fell down. He watched the werewolf scamper off
into the woods before he turned to face his friends and professor.

Harry rippled his feathers to make himself look larger, the fear of exposure racing through
him. Of the group, Professor Snape was the only one that knew of his heritage. They were at
the castle threshold, soaked to the bone and shivering. Harry didn’t have the advantage of the
wind but he could see their fear- the rain had yet to wash it away.

Harry reared up onto his hind legs, thunder clapping around him, then cantered down into the
forest, following the scent of wet dog. There was death clinging to Sirius’ form, different
from the twisted magic that was buried deep within professor Lupin.

The deeper that Harry trotted into the forest, the less impact the rain had under the heavy
canopy. It allowed his senses to amplify. Since Sirius was wet, his scent was heightened but
the dry floor he walked on left scent markers to follow. Harry followed the scent, keeping his
ears open for signs of the werewolf.

At the lip of a pool, Harry stopped. The water was alive with the pelting of rain. There was
death clinging to Sirius as he laid by the edge of the water, back on the gravel to look up at
the clouds so the rain could touch his face. Harry trotted to him, keeping his head high as he
scanned the area for danger before putting his muzzle to the man’s neck.

Black was unconscious and in desperate need of medical attention.

As Harry went to curl his feathers inward to pull his human form, the unnatural chill of a
dementor swept through the forest. He stopped his transformation, feathers expanding his
hackles all the way to his tail as he pulled his lips back to snarl a warning.

Like the glass on the train, ice formed over the pool of water, the rain that hit the ice froze,
making the surface slicker. The colder it grew, rain turned to small beads of hail. Harry
pawed the ground, turning as he heard the groan of a dementor fly towards him.

He braced on the gravel, ducking his antlers to catch the creature in the ribs and tossing it to
the side.
When the second and third approached, Harry realized that they were still under the orders to
hunt Sirius Black down and suck out his soul. He roared when they approached, trying to
grab his body.

To not crush Sirius, Harry moved, rearing, and struck the one in front. He planted his hoofs
and bucked towards the other. He rushed back to Sirius, standing over as a guard. The ones
that came too close to Sirius, pulling at his happy memories with gurgled groans and
whimpers, he ripped away with his teeth.

The creatures cried out, his feathers seeming to almost glow green when their moans hung
from their chapped lips. They could not remove his soul while he was protected in his pelt.

More approached and the method of dodging and striking was only tiring him further. He was
digging himself a well in the gravel that made it more difficult to set for a charge and the hail
was becoming harder around them both. Seeming to sense that exhaustion was setting in, the
dementors grew bolder- grabbing his antlers as they dragged him away.

He was forced to listen to Sirius’ groans and whimpers if Harry strayed too far. The swarm
has surrounded them both. There was no way for Harry to possibly get himself or Sirius out
of the hoard like this.

It left only one thing.

Harry grit his teeth, ground his hoofs and charged the dementors one last time- biting and
kicking, he tossed them away with every weapon his feathers gave him, knowing there was
only a small window to shift and cast the spell.

Thinking of his happiest moments with his family and friends...Harry released his feathers
and shifted.

Cold air hit him immediately. His instincts screamed at him to shift back and run the other
way. Dementors began to swarm him now that he was in the flesh, their presence so much
stronger than the single boggart.

Forcing himself to remember the times his parents taught him to hunt and the joy of being a
fawn with them, his time with his friends studying and the times that were more with Draco.
Harry raised his wand:

“Expecto Patronum!”

A shockwave unlike any other poured through his body. Like his dad teaching him about
magic using the river, the dam over his magic burst with a rush of pure energy, almost
intoxicating him in euphoria. A great, white stag thundered from his wand and galloped
around the dementors. Harry was forced to take a step back to brace himself against his own
released power.

The stag was surrounded by bursts of light that formed a mesh shield around all of them,
passing over their faces with a warm gust that cut through the chill the dementors brought.
The creatures could not pass through the light, screeching as they flew away.
Harry laughed in the rain, watching the ice melt back to water, the rain falling over them in a
curtain as the dementors fled. With the last of them gone, the stag trotted over the water, feet
making no splashes as it patrolled for any stragglers.

“If I make it out of here with my soul,” Sirius rasped, rolling over to his side. He coughed up
water, a hand clutched to his heart as if he could hold onto his soul. “That you should live
with me.”

Harry thought that Sirius Black was an eccentric and confused man; he wasn’t sure why he
was proposing to take care of Harry.

Regardless, Harry huffed his laughter with a great breath over the man’s face, nuzzling the
side of his neck as eyes rolled back into unconsciousness. Harry looked up, not feeling safe in
his human form if there was a werewolf outside and the dementors could return. He shook his
head, letting the motion clear his mind as he shook his feathers.

Walking slowly to the water, he looked down at his rippling reflection to see there were four
strong points mounted on his crown. At the inverted reflection, he raised his head to the
corporeal patronus that approached him. His feathers rippled with happiness.

Where the patronus had wisps of white energy, he had black feathers. The only difference
between the two was patronus had a more pronounced crown than he did. He nodded once to
the magic and it disappeared.

There was very little cover on the lake's gravel. Harry trotted to the treeline, keeping the man
in view. Harry was unsure who would first find Sirius Black, but he didn’t want to risk
exposing his family secret to somebody like the Minister of Magic.

With his pelt protecting him from the rain, Harry forced himself to be still and not pace in the
ground. Sirius was exposed to the rain, even if the dementor's chill passed, he was emaciated
and wounded.

A rapid crunching of gravel had Harry stop pacing. He scanned the area and waited.
Dumbledore was the one that brought light to the situation, rushing over to Sirius.

Harry watched the Headmaster run his wand over his clothing, cleaning and transfiguring
them into something warmer. A bubble formed around him, the rain shielded from his body
as he was lifted into the air.

Dumbledore looked around, looking for Professor Lupin or the dementors, he did not know.
Harry shook out the rain from this pelt and stomped in the mud once, making up his mind.
With his feathers raised, Harry emerged from the shadows that hid him in the treeline with his
head held high.

On the gravel, he stomped his hoof once.

Professor Dumbledore froze as he looked at Harry standing only five strides away from him,
feathers wide and holding his head tall. He let his breath go slowly, turning his head after a
second moment passed and no violence came upon either of them.
 “We should take Sirius back to the castle, Harry,” Dumbledore said, looking over him with a
look of fascination and terror. Harry lowered his head slightly, making it clear that he would
not return if not safe for the both of them.

Dumbledore did not move to attack, instead he relaxed and smiled.

“Peter Pettigrew is alive, proving that Sirius Black did not kill your parents,” Dumbledore
placated. “Professor Snape was also helpful in providing a strong dose of veritaserum to aid
in the interrogation process before the Minister of Magic and several other prominent
ministry witnesses that cannot be denied.”

Harry eyed the man for a moment longer, then shook out his feathers as he relaxed.

“Best we hurry then,” Dumbledore said, flicking a ball of light to hover over them as they
walked through the forest. Harry chose to stay in his Ravenstag form, both as a subtle sign of
power and protection that his human flesh couldn’t afford.

It also prevented him having to talk or explain anything to his Headmaster. Harry could keep
his ears out for any sign of danger as they approached the outer ring of the forest.

Harry should have noticed the attempted ambush before he walked through the crevice in the
ground. He was stuck in his own mind and didn’t notice the werewolf until the beast made
it’s leap.

He got out of the way, knocking the Headmaster and Sirius to the side. Before Professor
Lupin could strike out from his poor landing or Dumbledore drew his wand, Harry snarled at
the wolf as he reared, kicking forward on the werewolf’s shoulder.

The werewolf cried out, cowering as he ran off into the depths of the forest. Harry snorted
once, listening to the sound of his running grow fainter and fainter. They had arrived at the
edge of the forest. He shifted back to his human legs, already waving the dirt and grime off
his body with the same spells that would pull the blood off him after hunts.

“You know,” he said, looking up at Dumbledore as the rain finally passed over the school, the
clouds parting way to a brilliant white moon. “I feel kinda bad,” he looked back into the
forest where his defense professor would be safe for the rest of the night. “But only a little.”

Chapter End Notes

I feel like Draco has really grown and he recognizes that Sirius can help him. this is
literally Draco offering his hand in peace to Sirius in the hopes he will help him and his
mother find safety. Also, as Draco used Severus' wand, Sirius used Draco's wand in the
last chapter to stun Wormtail.

To those that wanted Harry to just say fuck it and start chomping at dementors, I hope I
delivered.
I wish you all the best and love!
 Fallout
Chapter Notes

Morning everyone,

Its been quite the week so lets just forget the silverwear and eat with our hands like
animals.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Professor Dumbledore put a hand to Harry’s back, ushering him under the safety of the stone
walls. The man ran his wand over Harry, pulling the water that rained on him off that left him
behind feeling warm.

“We should get inside, Harry,” the first words that Dumbledore said after Harry struck
Professor Lupin with his hooves. “Your friends have many questions.” Harry swallowed his
anxiety, a wave of clamminess coming over his palms. To distract himself, Harry ran his
wand over the length of his dirty uniform, leaving a pile of mud and forest slick behind in the
grass.

Harry followed his Headmaster up the stairs, knowing they were headed to the hospital wing.
Sirius was floating behind them, keeping pace as they scaled the stairs.

“I’m sure you do too,” Harry said, waiting for one of the cases to turn towards them. The
portraits that were awake were whispering to themselves, pointing at Sirius's floating body.

“Yes,” Dumbledore admitted. “I had my suspicions, but nothing like this.”

Harry looked up at his professor, crossing his arms over his chest as the stairs stopped in front
of them.

“I am not sorry that I kept this from you.” The pricking of feathers rose along his neck and
back, giving him a slightly larger appearance in front of the wizard.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry’s standoff nature.

“I do not expect you to be,” he said, waiting to move up the stairs only after Harry moved to
walk up them. Harry was going to say more to his Headmaster but the chittering of teeth
drew both their attention away. Professor Dumbledore pulled his outer cloak off and
transfigured it into a blanket, wrapping the man within layers of borrowed clothing.

“I would advise you, much like your parents no doubt have, to keep your creature status a
secret.”
Harry didn’t expect himself to be relieved that Dumbledore would keep his family’s secret.
He knew the man was powerful- it made Harry happy to know that the wizard was still
fighting for them.

Even if his family did eat people.

“Your father’s patronus was a stag as well,” Dumbledore commented to break the silence of
their footsteps walking through the hall. The moonlight cast enough light to travel without
the need of the lumos ball. “Harry, rare is it that the universe asks for a second chance...you
are loved and protected by a crowned family.”

Harry smiled as they walked down the last hallway before they reached the Hospital Wing.
Even with the oak doors, Harry could feel the cacophony of footsteps rumbling across the
stone floor.

“What will happen to Sirius and Wormtail now?” Harry asked before the wizard could open
the door to whatever chaos was beyond. The man gripped his wand harder, closing his eyes
as if he were composing his anger. When he opened them, his blue eyes looked over the
floating form of Sirius wrapped in his stasis shield.

“Peter will be taken to Azkaban, an emergency trial will likely take place. Sirius will be
moved to St. Mungo’s to make a full recovery.” He sighed, turning his attention back to
Harry. “He will likely need a dose of veritaserum in lieu of a testimony should we transfer
him to Mungo’s.”

Harry hesitated at the door, not knowing what he would say to his friends. Dumbledore
charged bravely forward, opening the large doors coated in iron without using his wand,
Harry and Sirius following him.

Who drew Harry’s immediate gaze was Professor McGonagall scolding someone surrounded
by other witches and wizards- the Minister of Magic.

The man turned at the sound of the door’s open. Over the years at Hogwarts, Harry began to
notice when people were looking at him or his scar. The man almost dismissed him until his
eyes locked onto something above Harry’s own green ones. Recognizing Harry, the Minster
pushed McGonagall out of his way.

Dumbledore noticed the Minister coming closer to the three of them. With a quick flick of his
wand, Harry felt his legs lift off the ground and carry him until he was sitting comfortably on
a hospital bed, Sirius floating next to him.

To make the claim further known to the Minster, Dumbledore stood between the students and
the Minister with his people.

“We shall speak of this event in my office once I drop off two more wards to your care,
Madam Pomphrey.” Dumbledore said, the matron rushing over between the two new patients
in her care.
“Mr. Potter-” the man began, trying to get to Harry. Dumbledore was pushing him away,
blocking his cohorts with magic. “Mr. Potter!”

“I insist you take your incompetency elsewhere,” Dumbledore said with a harsh tone,
pushing all of the witches and wizards out the doors with a wall of magic as he walked
forward.

“He’s your godfather!” the Minister shouted, red in the face. The room stopped moving, the
cohorts looking between Harry and the Minister. The convict did say that he wanted Harry to
live with him; in the moment, Sirius’ words made little sense to Harry. Now, he understood
what the man was implying.

Taking after his dad, Harry looked at the man and shrugged.

“And?” he said, turning around to confront his friends. Neville was sitting on the bed with his
leg propped up on several pillows. He was looking better, the color returned to his face as the
shock left his body. Hermione was sitting on the chair next to Neville, her clothes dry and
hair dripping at the ends. She seemed the most pleased to see Harry.

Then there was Draco, standing with his back propped against the wall, arms crossed over his
shoulders in a defensive manner, refusing to look at Harry.

Madam Pomphery pushed Harry closer, Professor McGonagall taking Sirius away from him.

“What was-” Harry cut off Hermione’s question with a harsh look, finding it interesting that
Neville put a hand over hers with as much urgency as Harry went to silence her before the
Minister of Magic.

“Let’s have a look at you,” the matron said, running a series of spells over his body. The
Minister and the other officials had left the hospital wing, the door slamming shut with a
sense of finality. “This is a pleasure, for the first time, you are healthy, Mr. Potter,” she said,
giving him a colored lollipop as a reward.

Not needing any medical treatment, she moved over to Sirius Black. The sound of the door
opened as quickly as it closed the din of the group on the other side of the doors. Dumbledore
walked back over to the witches tending to Sirius.

“There is not much I can do here, Headmaster,” Madam Pomphery said, the group of teens
able to see that several spells that she cast over him broke before they could settle.

“I will take him to St. Mungo’s then,” Professor McGonagall volunteered, wrapping Sirius
back into the blankets and levitating him into the air. She walked to the floo network, Madam
Pomphery threw in the ash and the two were swallowed by the flames.

Madam Pomphery went with Dumbledore to deal with the crowd outside her ward, leaving
Harry alone with his friends.

“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. Harry’s voice breaking the silence broke the stoic
face that Draco wore, morphing into something of anger.
“What the hell was that?” Draco growled, his voice hardly above a whisper, finally looking at
Harry with a harsh gaze. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t, Draco,” Harry said, “I promised my dad and father to keep it a secret.”

“What was that?” Hermione asked, cutting the tension between Harry and Draco, who went
back to looking at the side of the room. “I haven’t read about anything resembling that
creature. Unless you’re an animagus.”

Harry shook his head, not finding the words to explain, even where to begin. His hands were
shaking with nerves, clammy at the palms with sweat. Though he was not injured or wet, his
mind still replayed the events in his mind, finally able to come down from the adrenaline
peaks.

“Only old family libraries would have anything on,” Neville stopped, looking up at Harry.
Harry dropped his shoulders. “On Ravenstag.”

“Ravenstag,” Hermione asked, looking at Harry. Harry was going to try and explain, starting
with the fact that he could transform at will but Draco beat him to it.

“Creatures of death that ferry lost souls to the underworld.”

“We don’t do that,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh really?” Draco said, walking closer to Harry. “What about eating people?” He raised an
eyebrow when Harry was silent. Hermione gasped, looking to Neville for confirmation.
“Eating evil? Plaguing the light? Stealing children?”

“We don’t do that,” Harry growled now, standing up to face his friend. They walked closer to
each other, like two stags pawing at the ground as they readied to charge.

“Tell me then, how did you meet your parents?”

Through his anger, Harry thought back to the night he woke up in a hotel room, even the
bedtime stories he used to hear from his father...Harry conceded.

“Okay, so I was kidnapped, but I wanted to go with them.”

“That’s not the point!” Draco shouted, red in the face. Harry flinched at his tone, taking a step
back. Anger twisted him then, taking his hurt. He thought that Draco would have been one to
understand or even give a chance to explain himself.

“Do you get angry at a werewolf for changing in the moonlight?” Harry asked, hand raised to
the cloudy landscape outside the window. He pinned Draco with his eyes. “Or a vampire for
drinking blood?” Draco hid his flinch well to the others, but Harry could see it, the barb
sinking in.

“This doesn’t have to change anything between us,” Harry said, looking at all of them as he
awaited their judgement.
“Harry wouldn’t do that,” Hermione said, looking at Draco and Neville, deflating when they
offered her no assurance. “You wouldn’t, right?”

Harry could only turn his head in shame. Perhaps his parents were right that he should keep
his status a secret to everyone.

“Ravenstag,” Neville said, causing Harry to flinch, “used to be a critical part to old wizarding
communities.” He shifted in the seat as they all looked at Neville. He blushed, stuttering.
“They uh, they would sit between a wizarding community and a muggle one- alone. They
would hunt the muggles that would try and kill wizards.”

Neville grew more confident when he was given the opportunity to speak. He sat up, his
expression excited as he spoke.

“It’s actually quite interesting. The territories that the Ravenstag lived on had very rich and
fertile soils. Mostly for darker potion ingredients like mushrooms due to the omnivore diet. It
gives the soil more rot and extra nutrients normal herbivores wouldn’t be able to do. The soil
alone is the wealth of Gringotts if it’s wild.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information.

“I don’t ever want to think of this again,” Harry said, rubbing his hand over the brow of his
eye. Now curious, Hermione looked at him with wide and eager eyes.

“Is there a large community of you?” Hermione asked, sitting forward as if she were going to
take notes on him. Harry leaned back.

“No,” he said, “It’s just the three of us.” Harry chuckled. “I actually shouldn’t be a ravenstag-
none of us are sure how the transformation happened.” Harry rubbed the back of his head as
the others judged him.

“Well,” Hermione said with a huff, smiling as she spoke, “you’re still our friend, even if you
are a...ravenstag.”

She said the last part of her statement more to Draco, shoving him with an elbow to pressure
him into social submission.

“It was easier to think about when I thought you were a vampire,” Draco muttered from
where he was standing. Harry wanted to get up and go to him, but he could see that the teen
was still upset with Harry’s betrayal. He ignored Draco’s final barb and the pain in his chest it
caused to look at Hermione.

“Hey,” Harry said, breaking the silence that would surely come back and take over the area
until their respective Head of Houses. “How did you know Professor Lupin was a
werewolf?”

Hermione gave her customary groan that they all came to know when she was going to talk
about Divination.
“I had to make this stupid moon chart,” she groaned, reaching behind her for the bag on the
ground. After rooting for it, she laid it out for the other three to look at. Hermione color
coated the homework, then a section that marked the days Professor Lupin was ‘on the
mend.’

Hermione folded the pages and shoved them back into her bag, away from her sight.

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” she said proudly.

The three supposed they could give her the victory after having to survive a semester with
Trelawney. Silence hung in an awkward bubble around them, Harry and Draco avoiding all
forms of eye contact as Hermione tried to mend their bonds.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Harry said, holding up a watery smile. “I’ll go.”

Remaining in the Hospital Wing would have been painful for them all. Harry turned from the
beds with his friends, keeping his head as high as he could. With no medical issue, Harry
pushed open the door, closing it with a soft click behind him.

He sniffled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve as he descended down the stairs.
Rounding one of the last corners before Slytherin dorm, Harry almost spat the password to
the door, slipping through the Slytherin Commonroom.

As Harry rounded the corner of the stairs that would lead to the hallway of his shared dorm,
he smacked his body into Professor Snape, who caught Harry from toppling to the floor.

“Mr. Potter-” he said, as Harry pushed away from him, retreating to his dorm.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied, slamming the door behind him with his back
against the wood. He could hear his professor sigh from the other side of the door, one thump
echoing through the room. Professor Snape made no move to force the door open, both
standing separated by the oak.

“My door is always open to you, Mr. Potter,” he finally said, his voice sounding tired and
disappointed. Harry felt hot tears fall down his cheeks as he listened to his professor walk
away from his dorm.

Wanting nothing more than to shift into his pelt and run away from the thoughts, how he
disappointed his friends, how Draco’s reaction felt like a knife of betrayal, Harry knew he
could not find solitude in the Forest tonight.

Pulling the blinds over his bed, Harry weaved spells around the thick curtains to keep Draco
out, far too emotionally drained to say anything constructive.

Harry knocked on the defense room door, the one that led to the professor’s private quarters.
He walked in when he heard Professor Lupin summon him. The man had his bags and trunks
strewn across the room, some with their lids closed and ready to go, others opened with more
space to be filled.
It looked to be in the same state as his dad’s when he was done teaching at Hogwarts.

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked tentatively as he set foot into the office.

“Harry,” the man said with a smile, ushering him in. “Come in, Come in.” Professor Lupin
winced as he walked into the sunlight, his one eye swollen.

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, pointing to his eye that he must have clipped with his hoof.
Professor Lupin chuckled as he leaned against the one desk.

“It’s no matter,” Lupin said, waving off his concern. He reached into one of the drawers and
tossed Harry a chocolate frog. Coming to expect them when he arrived in the class like a
Pavlovian response, Harry caught the candy that was tossed to him. “I am glad that you were
there to stop...well me.”

“Why are you leaving?” Harry asked, folding back the gold foil of the treat. He brought the
struggling frog to his teeth, satisfying the hunting instinct in him as he bit down.

The man drew in a breath as he flicked his wand at some books, watching them fold into the
trunks.

“The Board didn’t think it wise to have...someone of my nature teaching children.”

It was stupid to think that. Severus and Will taught all last year without eating any of the
students or teachers. He wouldn’t tell the Board that, but their ignorance was foolish.
Professor Lupin was a good teacher.

He took a step closer to his teacher...curious about how quickly Sirius rushed to Professor
Lupin when he was transforming that night. The man immediately knew of Remus’ ailment
and threw himself between the pained wolf and students.

“Are you going to talk to Sirius again?” Harry asked, recalling the photo Lupin showed him
of his birth family. The man blushed, turning around to look at something else. Though his
professor turned his face, Harry could see that the backs of his ears were tinged pink with
embarrassment.

“I…” he stuttered, laughing quietly to himself for a moment, “I believe I’ll pay him a visit
after I drop off my things.” He ran his hands over the one fraying trunk fondly, his thumb
stroking over a very old Hogwarts patch.

“You seemed close,” Harry said. The first and oldest bit of evidence was the photograph that
he shared with Harry. The teen thought he saw it within the Shack but Pettigrew’s reveal stole
whatever inklings he had. Sirius Black, rushing towards Professor Lupin in his moments of
pain... “He’ll need you now more than ever.”

Lupin went on packing his bags, contemplating the words that Harry left him as books and
ink pots toppled into the last of the trunks he had.

“Perhaps,” he said, his gaze caught on the outer grounds of Hogwarts, falling over the
Whomping Willow they all tunneled under the night before. “We both need each other.”
With not much else to pack in the room, Professor Lupin bid Harry a goodbye, making sure
to assure the boy that the injury he sustained was not held against his heart.

“From one creature to another,” he whispered with a wink of his bruised and bloody eye.

Harry’s things were already on the Hogwarts Express with the other students' things, Hedwig
already freed to fly back to Italy. The ride on the train was tense, not as tense as it was within
the hospital wing, but Harry wouldn’t say it was his favorite ride.

Draco didn’t turn cold towards Harry but in the moments they spent together, every time that
Harry thought they were back to normal, Draco would stray away. He tried not to let it hurt
his feelings.

Leaving Hogwarts, for the first time, was relatively welcome. Hermione would try and find
more of his heritage over the summer, but if Draco and Neville were correct, she wouldn’t
find much. Neville didn’t seem as repulsed as Harry thought he would have. In fact, Harry
thought that Draco would be more accepting and Neville would need convincing.

His parent’s must have sensed something wrong with him as they collected him rather than
hunt them down as he did years previously. Harry already said goodbye to his friends at the
station, breaking away from the group before they, before Draco, could say anything else.

When they took both his hands and apparated to Italy, Harry explained what had happened.
That he transformed in the night as Professor Lupin changed into a werewolf. Harry
explained the dementors and how they attacked Harry as he tried to stand over Sirius Black.

They smiled at him when he admitted that he shifted back to his human skin so he could cast
a patronus. Rather than scold him for transforming in front of others that were not family,
they congratulated him for producing a corporeal patronus.

Leaving none of the truth away from them, Harry stumbled upon saying he stood in front of
Dumbledore in his feathers and transformed- leaving no room for doubt that Harry was a
Ravenstag.

He sighed as he finished his monologue, feeling like not only did he disappoint his friends
but now his parents.

“Harry,” his dad said, making him look up before he could become overwhelmed by the
rising emotions within. “We are honestly surprised that we’ve been able to keep this a
secret.”

His thoughts grinded to a halt.

“What?” Harry asked, blinking at the two. His father smiled, sitting back in the chair.

“With the two of you running around in the Forbidden Forest last year,” he said, “and the
other creatures protected by Hogwarts, we were both surprised our secret wasn’t exposed.”

“So,” He said, looking down at his hands, “You’re not angry?”

“This isn’t something worthy of anger,” Hannibal said. “We have plans for such things,
Harry.”

“We are your parents, let us handle the outcome,” Will added. Harry nodded his head, still
not relaxed. When he told them about Sirius, he could tell that they found it interesting, but
their facial expressions didn’t give much else away.

There was another thing that Harry wanted to ask the both of them. The words got caught in
his throat by the pounding of his heart. His parents were silent and waited for him to try
again.

“And Sirius?” Harry really didn’t think much of his birth parents before the Minister of
Magic rudely announced to the entire Hospital Wing that Sirius was Harry’s godfather. Until
that point, Harry was content with the myths surrounding his birth parents. Now that the seed
was planted, he felt the need to ask more questions.

“We won’t keep you from your past family connections,” Will said.

“I have no doubt we will receive a letter from St. Mungo’s Hospital for a visit within the
coming weeks.”

Harry didn’t expect to find himself overwhelmed by the emotions that bubbled in him. His
father and dad both held him close as he decided to hug them than untangle the mess of
emotions within him.

It was only two weeks before the letter arrived. It was fairly generic, simply requesting the
presence of Harry while allowing for two guardians to accompany him as guests. Harry held
their hands nervously as they appartated back to London.

Being unfamiliar with the whole of wizarding London, Hannibal and Will both had to ask for
directions for the hospital. Harry’s nervous tension crested and fell as they arrived at the
hospital. After receiving directions, the group walked over to the unit, signing in while
wearing their visitor passes.

They only waited for ten minutes before one of Sirius’ nurses arrived. The man was wearing
white scrubs and a blue band around his arm that must have marked his specialty.

“Lord Black is slightly unstable,” he explained when Hannibal asked about his condition.
“Which we expected since he spent so long in Azkaban. In the weeks he’s been in our care,
he has never shown signs of violence.” The nurse opened another set of doors, the hallways
longer this time, a confusing maze of pale walls.

“We have to limit the visit to fifteen minutes to not overwhelm him.”

“And his physical recovery?”

“On schedule with the medication and meals. Uninterrupted sleep and proper hydration has
restored him.” The nurse paused at another check in station, recording them as guests and
timing it. “His exoneration has helped him in many ways.”
Another door opened and they were ushered through.

“Lord Black does not initiate touch, nor does he like being touched.”

“Prolonged periods of isolation can do that to people.” Will’s head twitched to the side, he
was wearing his blue tinted glasses again. They were in the section that contained patients in
guarded cells, more comfortable than prisons but still as secure.

They turned one last corner before the nurse stopped at a door. “Lord Black is having a good
day today,” the nurse said to Harry, giving him a small smile. He unlocked the door. The four
stepped through into an interrogation room setting with a door to the left that would lead to
Sirius.

The mirror allowed them to see that Sirius was sitting on the plain grey couch, nervously
fidgeting with his hands, head ticking.

“The tremors are a side effect of prolonged exposure to the dementors,” the nurse explained
to Harry. “You can go through that door when you are ready. I will be back in about fifteen
minutes to collect you.” The nurse nodded his head and walked quietly out of the door to
leave them some privacy.

Harry readied himself as he looked at the door. He felt a hand on his back, looking up to see
that Will was gently guiding him to the door.

“We’ll be right here if you need us, Harry,” Will said. Harry nodded his head and pushed the
door open.

Upon hearing the click of the door open, Harry saw that Sirius was already curled away from
the door. Though, when he noticed that it was Harry that walked through the door, Sirius’
posture relaxed and a smile grew on his lips.

“Hello, Sirius,” Harry said, taking a slow step forward.

“Pup,” the man first said, only to blush an intense shade of red, “Harry,” Sirius amended, the
tremors starting up with his nervousness. He shifted on the couch, hands pressed together,
clearly inviting Harry to sit next to him. “You’ve grown a lot since the last time I saw you.”

Harry was unaware of the conversation happening behind the glass as he approached the
man, taking a seat on the open part of the couch. Before Sirius said anything about a past he
had trouble recalling, the man put a hand on his shoulder as if confirming that Harry was real.
Unknown to him, his parents were bickering behind the glass.

“We discussed this, Hannibal,” Will growled, not taking his eyes off his fawn. “Harry would
not leave us for the world. Sirius Black cares for Harry’s well being- his best option is with
us.”

“His only option,” Hannibal returned the growl. Rather than turn on Hannibal, Will changed
his gaze, falling onto the eyes of Hannibal’s reflection so they could both look forward.
“And when Harry brings home a mate?” He asked, noting that Hannibal clenched his jaw but
looked back at their fawn. “Will you be able to let him go...to make a herd of his own?”

Hannibal could stifle a bird by keeping it from flying from the nest. There was a call to all
birds, the siren's song of flight and freedom that came with it. If Hannibal were to keep Harry
from exploring the world, he would stifle his fawn. Will twined their fingers together until his
fingernails left blunt reminders on the top of Hannibal’s hand.

“...was a werewolf.” Sirius said. “We eventually discovered we could become Animagus to
help him transition through the moon.”

“Interesting,” Hannibal said, tilting his head as he watched the experiment. “Normally, a
werewolf will fall to a feral nature if not within a pack.” Will turned his head as Hannibal did,
looking up at the man he called a mate. “I suppose a litter of young packmates would
stabilize the wolf.”

Will chuckled, thinking back to the little home he once owned that would appear to float on a
bed of fog. The dogs helped buffer his loneliness. He thought back to when he was a young
agent of the FBI and encountered his first pack of werewolves.

“It was in our fifth year that we finally got the transformations down. Then we made a map
so we could get to Moony.”

“Which one were you?” Harry asked, smiling bright with some insider kind of joke.

“Padfoot,” he said. Sirius quietly laughed after a moment, his head tipped back as he recalled
something happy. “Your father was Prongs,” Sirius said with a distant voice, clearly having
had the memory feasted on for years. When Sirius looked back at Harry, his eyes were
clearer, but beginning to haze over. “Which, I guess...makes you Prongslett.”

In the reflection of the privacy glass, Will watched as the tip of Hannibal’s lip twitched
upward in found amusement.

“I owe you a life debt, Harry,” Sirius said, his head twitching more as he held their fawn’s
hand in his own. “Don’t think I’m keeping your family secret for something as arbitrary as
that.” He winked at Harry, making the boy smile.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head. “Okay.”

Will didn’t need to look at the clock to know their time would be over soon. Though it was
unlikely Harry noticed, Hannibal and Will could both see that, while Sirius was enjoying his
time with their fawn, he was starting to feel anxious with another person so close.

“A pack isn’t always the same species, Hannibal.” Will said as they both listened to Sirius
Black stutter and made an embarrassed request to hug Harry. Their fawn opened his arms to
the man, who almost dragged Harry into his arms once permission was granted. “A Herd
might have atypical rules.”
Before Hannibal could retort, Will heard the click of a nurse unlocking the door, knocking
twice to alert them of his arrival. Harry was at the door, smiling up at the nurse as he left to
return to his parents.

“You alright, Harry?” Will asked, seeing that his eyes were shimmering a bit. Harry smiled as
he brushed the tear off his eyes, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” he said, going to stand between them both.

The nurse, who had gone into the room to talk to Sirius came back out, knocking once again
to get their attention.

“Lord Black would like to speak with you,” he said, holding open the door. “If you are
comfortable with that.”

They looked down at Harry, silently asking if he would be content within the observation
room.

“I’ll be fine in here,” he said, moving to one of the stools they ignored.

Will followed Hannibal into the chamber, closing the door behind him with a click. He
looked at the glass to confirm it was a privacy shield.

Sirius Black, the Black Grim that was buried in churchyards, forewarned by Trewlarney one
year ago, was as anxious as his animagus. A dog that would want to come closer, baited by
the scent of food- only in the hands of a human that they learned to mistrust.

His shoulders were curled inwards, his hands twitching as if he had Parkinson's. His
breathing had changed from when he was talking with Harry. Looking at a different man,
Sirius Black was standing, tense as if he needed to run.

Neither Will nor Hannibal said anything, both knowing in their own ways that any sound
from them would spook him. No sound came from his vocal cords when he first opened his
mouth- either from the exposure of many people or the constant screams of dementors…

“Thank you,” he rasped, able to use his voice- so very different from how he could freely
speak with Harry. It was clear to them both that Sirius Black felt safe with their fawn. Not in
a way that would make him compliant, as he attacked a werewolf in his small form to protect
Harry, but in a way that nurtured familiarity.

“For taking care of Harry when I could not.” Sirius paused, his eyes darting around the room
only to occasionally meet their own, trying to establish trust. Hannibal hesitated for a
moment, his eyes falling on his mate.

“Family is more than the blood that runs through us,” Hannibal said calmly. Will could
recognize the melonic tone that he used on his patients, once making the mistake of using it
on Will. Sirius, like Will, didn’t seem to respond to the soothing tone.

He growled, his lip pulling back to expose his canine teeth in a habit that must have
transferred from his animagus. He paced the room once, not meeting their eyes, tense with
 anger.

“I heard through the grapevine, what happened to the Durley’s.” Sirius Black stood a little
taller then, looking them both in the eyes for the first time. “If I met their killer, I would thank
them for the part they might have played in saving my godson.”

Hannibal and Will smiled at him. As Harry was explaining his part in the Whomping
Willow’s tunnels, he attempted to avoid painting Sirius in a poor light, incidentally revealing
that Black assaulted Pettigrew in the least and threatened to murder him.

“We will have to see each other when you are well, Lord Black,” Hannibal said, dipping his
head as the door popped open for them, the nurse at the other side.

Now was not the time for deep conversations. The man was struggling to hold himself
together in the two small interactions. Will had no doubt Sirius would be completely
exhausted for the rest of the day. As the potions marinated in his body, after they began
stripping away some of the damage in his mind, the three adults would converse.

“I look forward to it, Lords Lecter,” he said, his voice dropping and wavering again, eyes
darting now that the nurse was in the room.

Moving in slow and steady movements that gave no indication of being a threat, Will led
Hannibal out of the observation room, following after the nurse.

The two left, collecting Harry between them in each hand as they made a quiet escape to not
further overwhelm Sirius.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter will feature Narcissa who is playing a larger part in the story. To those
wondering about Sirius and Remus- they come next.

Also, got to love those habits that Harry picked up from Will- full sass to the minister

Thank you for always being here and making my day a little better than working in
hospitality. I love you all!
 Black Madness
Chapter Notes

Good morning everyone,

Lets eat a hearty breakfast before we begin our day.

Featuring Narcissa, in order to make her a better character, I need to acknowledge the
suppressive nature women go through in HP. There is a 3:1 ratio men:women in HP and
the women that have roles are either teachers, healers, or parents. That stirs the angry
feminist inside so I had to work with Narcissa's character within canon before expanding
her outward.

I hope that I did her justice. She will have more time in the story.

Side note: Some have commented that I made the story too gay- no shit when the ratio
of men to women is like that. What's hilarious is that Harry spends more 'screen time'
fighting Draco than flirting with Ginny/Cho in Canon HP so if the shoe fits...

Now that I've defended my breakfast meal, please enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Severus wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. He felt his legs take him to St. Mungo’s rather
than his mind. As a Potions Master, he had the rank of a healer, therefore, able to easily
bypass the security if he wore his bands over his arm and transfigured his clothing to match a
healer's gown.

Sirius Black would be in the ward that contained prisoners. Even though the Ministry had
Pettigrew’s testimony, they insisted on getting one from Black before giving him any
treatment.

After Harry broke from his arms in the rain to chase after the werewolf, there was little that
Severus could do to help. Too cowardly to save his student, Severus rushed the others to the
hospital wing.

Then, the commotion began.

Albus Dumbledore summoned the Ministry and the two adults decided that the stone cellars
in Hogwarts was the best place for Pettigrew to await judgement. As they waited, Severus
paced anxiously in front of the shivering and whimpering man’s cell, the bottle of
veritaserum sitting heavy in his palms.

When the company of the Ministry was informed of the new development in Sirius Black’s
escape, they attempted to deny it. Rather than wait for their approval, Severus stepped into
the cell, grabbed the rat by his throat and squeezed his cartilage until his mouth gasped for
breath.

Peter Pettigrew sang like a canary in a coal mine for the Ministry and their goons;
incriminating himself while liberating Sirius Black.

As the Minister and his buffoons stood around Pettigrew, Dumbledore made a silent retreat;
Severus knowing that the man was searching for his wayward Slytherin student and the
liberated convict.

Dumbledore came back with Harry walking in step next to him, Sirius Black floating in a
mess of healing and stasis charms. Minerva was a force to be reckoned with and while the
Minister attempted to stop her from taking Black to Mungo’s, she was not to be deterred.

Walking among the other healers, Severus navigated his way back to the lower levels. He
knocked two of the guards out with a simple set of spells, waving a potion under their noses
that would heal them as it removed their memories. He had seven minutes until they would
begin to wake.

Per the Minister’s demands within Hogwarts, Severus handed over another vial of
veritaserum for Sirius Black’s interrogation. Under a begrudging gaze the Potion Master
passed it along to the man before he left Hogwarts.

Severus stood outside the bars of Sirius’ Black’s cell. A shell of a man was sitting on a bed
that was attached to the wall, the blanket under him untouched even against his shivering. He
was staring blankly at the white bricks in front of him.

The only indication Severus had of Black’s survival was the sound of his heartbeat.

On a normal person, the veritaserum would have worn off. Given Black’s emaciation, his
poor diet, the lack of sleep over thirteen years, it was still coursing through his veins.

“It’s not worth anything,” Sirius rasped, his voice so different from the accusing one of their
youth that it startled Severus. He didn’t know how the man could tell he was standing in front
of his cell.

Black’s mangled hands were held limply in his lap with his body pitched to the side.

“What I did to you...I knew what could have happened.”

Severus was going to pull the truth from Sirius Black. Somehow, the man offering it freely
was worse.

“It’s not worth anything,” Black repeated, still looking with dead, milky eyes at the bricks in
the cell. “I am sorry.”

Severus looked down at his clothed arm, knowing that above the tattoos was a vicious set of
scars from the jaws of a fellow man-eating beast. Black’s gaunt skeletal form showed that his
collarbone had broken once, never properly healed as the bulge was sticking up near his
shoulder. There were tattoos of his own on his skin, a series of numbers that marked him a
prisoner.

Severus could smell the filth on him, years saturating in the walls- his mind was muddled.
Had the circumstances changed, and Sirius stayed with Remus that night, it would have been
Severus in his place.

Thirteen years...Severus had enough pain for one lifetime.

“It means something,” he said, voice as hoarse as Black’s as he recalled the dull ache on his
forearm “I forgive you.”

A strange sound came out of Sirius' mouth. Severus looked and saw the man was weeping.

“Stop sniveling,” he said, with an eye roll that the man did not notice, “that’s mine, after all.”

A familiar and strange sound came from Sirius then: his bark of a laugh was familiar- what
was new was that rather than being cast at him, it was cast with Severus.

Sirius knew that something was strange within St. Mungo’s. After his testimony was taken,
he was exonerated by the Ministry of Magic, who had to issue him a public policy and
compensate him for the time he spent wrongfully imprisoned.

Whatever happened outside Mungo’s didn’t reach him...The day passed with little fanfare for
him, holding the newspaper with some blow out apology from the Minster who insisted that
the law be audited. He didn’t care much for the words- the man meant nothing to him. Sirius
didn’t have much care for the money- he had enough within the Black vault to pay for the
treatment St. Mungo’s offered.

He knew that he lost time, would eventually wake up stumbling to another therapy
appointment or be halfway through a meal. Sirius knew that he was missing things, yet there
was something around him that made him wary.

It started off small... larger meals and more water. He thought that it was the nurses giving
him more food because his body could handle it. They changed from yogurt and cram to
oatmeal and eventually, real food that he wouldn’t spend an hour vomiting.

Then came the lodging. Sirius had a fairly small room, a simple bed with a thin blanket-
much more than the cells of Azkaban ever had to offer. He spent every night in the simple
room with a feeling of disbelief...would he wake and find this a dream?

He was moved shortly after he met with Harry and his parents to a more luxurious room. The
staff were much better than the one the smaller room had to offer. Sirius went from nurses
that thought him still a convict, using their power to mistreat him or withhold pain potions.
Now, the nurses were kind to him, asking if he needed additional food, blankets, or would
even like a better view of the room.
Sirius knew that the conditions the dementors left behind would forever change him, but
something was amiss.

It all came to a head one early morning. Sirius, like the other prisoners, got very good at
memorizing the shift changes of the guards...healers tending to him. The changes happened
when wards were sleeping or lulls in the afternoon rush. He was awake in his room but still
laying in bed, his mind blank as he stared at the ceiling tiles.

His door opened and closed silently, a person wore a navy blue hood over their head to
obscure their faces. What the imposter didn’t know was that Sirius had grown very good at
using his nose. There was something about the scent of the person that smelled familiar. He
didn’t move as the person walked to the corner of his room, content to watch him.

If the person was here to kill Sirius, he couldn’t say he would be surprised or be able to put
up much of a fight. It would do him better to wait until the person approached before he
struck. The person moved forward, pushing a draft of scent to his nose.

It was the echo of Draco’s scent on the woman. As the pieces clicked into place, Sirius
laughed.

“You always were shite at hiding, Cissy,” he laughed, finally turning his head to look at her.
“But you taught me everything I know about breaking into places.” Narcissa laughed in low
tones in the room, removing her scarf from over her hair. She had changed since he last saw
her. Her hair had grown grayer, longer over the years he spent in Azkaban, still wrapped in a
tight braid.

Sirius sat up on the bed, the thicker duvet that came with the nicer room fell around his
waist.

“Evidently it served you well, as you were able to break out,” she said, wincing at her own
statement as Sirius shuddered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

The glare that she gave him was so painfully reminiscent of his mother’s, her eyebrow
pitched high on her brow as her lip pinched in enough to show her displeasure without giving
away her emotion to the public eye.

Sirius felt his head twinge painfully- from stress and abuse- the healers were trying to
determine it...Sirius only felt the pain and the shakes…

“It’s been you…” he heard his own voice whisper to the breaking silence around the room.

Sirius wasn’t sure if it was Harry’s parents...the killers that saved his pup from that mule of a
muggle. Was it Remus? Could it be? Could he have found a stable job as a werewolf...stable
enough to afford the expensive room and services that came with his healing? Or, out of some
sense of duty, Dumbledore…
Sirius could only ponder on the thoughts for so long before pain would stab him between the
eyes, healers once ignored, now they administered treatment to take away his pain.

“Pads,” she said, her voice echoing through the water logged in his ears. He felt himself look
at her.

Narcissa and Sirius both knew that it would be insulting to both their intelligence if Narcissa
were here for a social visit. She sighed as she took the seat that was next to his bed, holding
the scarf in clutched hands.

“You’re right,” she said.

“That’s a first,” he joked, not wavering under her glare. She smiled at him, sadly, then looked
back at her hands.

“I know that the Dark Lord will one day return,” she said in a quiet tone. Sirius nodded his
head, sitting back on the bed as he listened to her. “I want a place for my son to say when that
day comes. When the Dark Lord tries to kill Draco for loving Harry.”

When Sirius emerged from the depths of the Whomping Willow for the first time in twelve
years, he knew the silver eyes, pale hair and blue veined skin...Regulus held two of those
traits. Then, another mesh of past greeting present stepped forward: tan skin, black hair but
with brilliant, near terrifying green eyes.

His second cousin: Draco Malfoy and his godson, his pup: Harry Potter. Both were dressed in
green- they shared each other's scent in a way that Sirius knew all too well in his youth with a
familiar boy once wearing red.

“Ah, Merlin, Cissy,” Sirius said, rocking his head back. He looked at her. “What happened to
us?”

“Baring the obvious,” she said, her eyes misty but not tearing. She was the image that all
Pureblood woman lived too- a twisted and emotionless woman that cared for the young and
insured their survival. He loathed the women his mother introduced to them as they were
stripped of their life when their ‘female responsibilities’ would take effect.

She no longer had the financial backing of the Black name, relying solely on the Malfoy
name. Narcissa and Draco were both used to a life of luxury, so was Sirius until he went to
Azkaban.

Within the Pureblood Circle, not that Sirius gave a single shite about them, what Narcissa
was asking would be final. She would break her own ties with the Malfoy name, unable to
reclaim her titles and status within the Black family as she had an heir to different blood.

It was archaic and would lead to their demise...through inbreeding or abandoned children and
their mothers.

Sirius claiming Narcissa and Draco under the name of Sanctuary would allow her back
within the Black household through her connection to Draco. What saved Narcissa, the crux
of her plan, hinged entirely on Draco’s youth.

He would become responsible for both their wellbeing. Sirius would have to open
Grimmauld Place for them...the Black family blood ran through all of their veins, offering
them years of protection that the Dark Lord would have trouble breaking into as Sirius Black
was the Head of House.

“You’re welcome anytime,” Sirius said. He moved his hands to hold her own. Narcissa was
no doubt able to feel the tremors that extended up her arm. “No really,” he said, lips cracking
into a smile. “Please come to the house. It is so dirty and my magic is unstable.”

Purebloods would see this as shameful- the bastards...if Sirius could alleviate some of her
shame as she did for him...

Narcissa chuckled with him, a tear falling down onto the dark blue cloth she used to hide her
face. Sirius wouldn’t expose her secret. Though others would speak to Narcissa with a sharp,
shameful tongue, his cousin breaking her bond with her husband only showed the
unconditional love a mother had for their child.

Narcissa Malfoy nee Black would bare every weight upon her back if it kept the burden off
her sole son Draco.

“I’m working with Draco’s account manager to become the name guardian,” she said. It
would hold over the title of the Malfoy name, preventing Lucius from renouncing them both-
rendering them bastards. With the deed in her hand, Narcissa would have the power of
Draco’s heir estate and be able to freeze certain accounts she no doubt back channeled years
ago.

“Once you renounce the name, you won’t be able to go back to the Malfoy Manor until
Draco can lay a claim to it,” Sirius said, pulling his hands back and putting them under the
bed. He could feel his heart beginning to beat a little fast with the extra human attention.

This secret meeting was sure to exhaust him for whatever morning routines awaited him
later.

Narcissa smirked at him, sitting back in the chair to look smug.

“Cousin,” she said. “I taught you how to siphon funds.”

Sirius supposed that was true. After he left the Black family house, he used the tricks that his
older cousin taught him to steal money from his family.

...Not that they needed it.

“I’m only here for another week,” he said, knowing that eventually he would have to go back
into Grimmauld place to unlock the wards. Since the night he went after Pettigrew, it was
locked and hidden from the entire Order.

...he imagined all of the dirt and grime that accumulated.

It would be nice to have another pair of hands to clean up- assuming that Kreature had died.

“I know,” Narcissa said, standing up to wrap her head in the blue scarf. Narcissa shook her
head fondly, the scarf wrapped around tightly. She leaned forward and kissed his brow.

“Sleep, Sirius,” she said, giving him a forceful push until he laid on the bed, already feeling
the exhaustion of their conversation setting in.

Sirius watched his cousin slip out of the room she secretly upgraded for him with a sleepy
smile on his lips.

Secrecy required a level of patience.

A level of patience that Draco had yet to learn.

When Narcissa carried Draco, it was a long and hard term- it left her bedridden the last
trimester of her pregnancy, during the most stressful time of the war. Her husband was
Marked and sent on raids often. The nights that Lucius returned... he was a changed man,
covered in blood and dark magic piercing his mind.

The Dark Lord visited her numerous times while she carried. During each conversation,
while it only happened once, the Dark Lord offered her the Dark Mark to her forearm.
Narcissa politely denied him each time, a fond hand resting over the growing swell of her
son, claiming that she did not wish to taint his magic.

It was the fear that kept her up at night. The same mark that was branded into the bones of
Lucius so that it could seep into the marrow of his magic...could that brand harm her growing
child.

War was no time to carry a child.

A child would not carry forever.

Narcissa visited Gringotts as often as she could when she stopped her monthly bleeding. A
couple of forgotten, stolen, objects were returned, with a significant interest, and the Goblins
saw to her...obscure financial requests.

For three months, when the killing was at its peak, Narcissa found a sanctuary and a prison in
her bed at the pleading of Severus Snape, the only healer that was spared to her- and only
after he attended to the Death Eaters. One night, as Severus replaced her potions, she told him
that if only one was to be saved- it would be her son.

Draco was born in a sea of blood into the steady hands of Severus Snape.

After her labor, Narcissa recalled a moment when she sagged in the bed and...floated. Her
husband was not there, her magic was so very weak; weaker than the body that laid in the
bed. For a moment, a beautiful moment, Narcissa imagined herself resting.
The wail of her baby drew her back from rest, almost lurching forward to clutch her beautiful
baby boy- her little dragon…

The Dark Lord did not come to her side the month of June- she was weak and recovering
from her injuries while growing her son. Severus, the sullen and gentle half-blood prodigy
healed her- not out of duty or love, but as if it was Draco’s magic beckoning him to do so.

Lucius was none the wiser to Narcissa’s request to make Severus Draco’s godfather. The man
thought Severus would make an excellent magical mentor to Draco as he grew into the new
fold of the Dark Lord’s regime.

Her intense chronic fear was short lived as the Dark Lord fell from grace at the hands of
another babe- Harry Potter.

As Draco’s magic gripped Severus’ frayed magic by the strands and selfishly wrapped
himself in it as only a baby could get away with, the boy did the same to another- to Harry
Potter.

Harry Potter, who was, by some terrifying miracle, a Ravenstag.

Narcissa pushed her panic aside to do her duty as a mother- she hugged Draco close to her
chest until his own panic eased, rocking him back and forth as she pet his silver hair, assuring
him that everything is going to be alright.

Draco’s habit of sleeping and rising early prevented many interactions with Lucius.

With Lucius came the information that Peter Pettigrew was alive and found by the Ministry,
given a dose of veritaserum and confessed to betraying the Potter Family to the Dark Lord.
With his confession, Sirius Black was liberated and the Ministry was due steep dues to the
Black Name.

There was always something that left a bitter taste in her mouth with her cousin’s case.
Unfortunately for them both, Lucius was in Azkaban, Narcissa left alone in the Manor with
the Ministry knocking and a babe crying for her every hour.

Now, she could do something about it. During the War, Narcissa had donated funds to St.
Mungo’s in preparation for whatever backlash would come of her husband being marked. If
the Dark Lord won, she would be a patron of his service. If he lost and her husband was
caught, she would be saved from some of the negative publicity.

It was a slimy tactic; she carried the burden for the time that her husband was sent to
Azkaban, saved by her nursing son and her unmarked arm. Severus was saved by
Dumbledore; Sirius was sent without trial with many of the other Death Eaters under Martial
Law.

Her...generosity had many benefits to it...anonymity was one of them. Narcissa could do
nothing while Sirius awaited his testimony. After a potent dose of veritaserum, Sirius was
transferred to a horrific cell. Though, without the dementors and the rain, Narcissa supposed
Sirius could survive three days before it was safe to siphon funds to better accommodation.
By taking over Sirius Black’s treatment, Narcissa was privy to his potion, therapy, and meal
regimen...as well as the visitor log.

On principle, Sirius wasn’t allowed much visitor time- the sheer isolation made socializing
uncomfortable for him. Narcissa noticed his fear and the mental distance when she snuck in
to check on him. Despite it all, Sirius socializing with Harry, his godson or pup, as the healers
noted Harry’s nickname, benefited the man’s health.

They thought he would spend years in care.

Sirius’ health improved with each person that came to him.

More often than any name: Remus Lupin. Not only did he come often, near every single day,
but for hours of the day at a time. At first, Sirius reacted poorly to the amount of time Remus
Lupin spent in his care. Then, the healers noted Sirius’ distress without Mr. Lupin.

They noted the moon phase and reported only that Sirius mental therapy was progressing
despite Mr. Lupin’s absence.

After only one month (through a plethora of potions with ingredients hitting numerous
languages alphabet, hours of mind healing, and the constant support of an old friend and
lover,) Sirius Black was cleared for release by numerous healers within the facility, all vetted
by Narcissa and paid generously for their silence and kind care.

Privately, Narcissa told the healers to release Sirius Black lest he break out of Mungo’s and
never continue his treatment.

A week later, she found a coded message on her night stand from her cousin, requesting her
and Draco’s arrival on a day that no eyes would find either.

With a side note that they should choose a date that doesn’t fall on the full moon.

Narcissa waited until her husband had left the day. The previous night, she looked over his
appointment book, knowing the man would be too tied up in Ministry work to question where
she went. He had stopped asking about Draco’s whereabouts after the boy would run away to
Severus’ house.

Draco knew where they were going and what they were doing. He carried a nervous sort of
energy around him as he stuck close to her side, saying nothing as they passed through the
Malfoy wards.

When they appartated to London, he finally started to speak.

“I don’t want to spend the days doing chores,” he bemoaned.

“A little housework will do you well,” she said, leading him through the muggle streets. She
noted the houses that were the same and the ones that were different. “Besides, I’ve always
wanted to break back in.”
Draco knew that the myth of Grimmauld place- many Purebloods were whispering about its
opening since Sirius exonerated in her presence- casting a poorly baited line. If any
Purebloods would bother Sirius about being let within the house, Narcissa knew he would be
able to handle himself with his own flare.

She stood between the two houses and watched them separate to a large black house. The
shingles were falling off the side, the grass brown and moldy with lack of attention.

“This is going to take a while,” Draco said as he walked next to Narcissa. She knocked on the
door, surveying the damage to the outside of the house.

“As more magic exists within the house it will appear less...neglected,” she said, smiling
when her cousin opened the door.

“Welcome,” Sirius said, his hand shaking as he opened the door. Draco followed his mother
into the house, sticking close to her side. Narcissa turned when she heard the floorboards
creaking from deeper within the room.

“Bloody hell,” her son said, stepping around her to get closer to the scared man. The most
notable feature the man had was the scar was over the length of his face. From what her
husband said, this was Remus Lupin, werewolf.

A man that spent countless hours with her cousin. The healers couldn’t report on his talk
therapy, but they could report that Sirius refused all help from the healers if Mr. Lupin was
there to assist. The man, the werewolf, shied from no task asked of him.

The healers told Narcissa Sirius Black would be in their care for years. In the span of one
month, a creature wizard, a childhood friend, a lost lover, was able to mend Sirius enough to
live in Grimmauld under the stipulation of regular, repeated check-ins to St. Mungo’s
facility.

Even after a month, a moon passing between, there were still wounds on Remus Lupin’s face.
She looked him over, his clothing, the broken nails, straw parted hair, peeling skin. He was
malnourished and has been for years.

“Draco,” she scolded, going unheeded.

“Did Harry do that to you?” Draco asked, much to Narcissa’s shock at a lack of manners.

Remus smiled, hiding his face with a bashful grin as Sirius came back over to him, his hands
twitching until they grabbed the others hand.

“No,” he said, “Moony had a run in with a motorcyclist.”

Narcissa supposed that was the name he gave to the werewolf. Lupin laughed, scratching a
hand behind his head.

“Could you imagine the scandal?” Sirius said, walking away from the group. He was wearing
what Narcissa suspected to be a woman’s robe atop his clothing, but she said nothing of his
flamboyant nature. He walked over to Draco, the robe flowing behind him, and hugged him.
Narcissa held a chuckle back at Draco’s stiff and unsure posture as his former professor
walked over to her, his hand out to greet.

“Lady Malfoy,” he said. Narcissa hummed, as she inspected the man that appeared to need as
much work as her cousin. While scared and intimidating in size, his eyes were wrinkled with
the recent creaks of joy- the sign of a kind man.

“Narcissa,” she amended, “to family.” She walked around the house, noticing that it was
already clinging to her. The men of the wizarding world, particularly the ones that came from
Pureblood houses, did not know the cleaning spells that women did. She avoided aspiring to
things other than child rearing since marrying her husband.

“Draco, go bond with your cousin while the two of you take the upper floors.”

“Kreature has the upper floors,” Sirius said, pointing to the stairs. Narcissa hummed as she
looked around.

“One moment,” she said, walking up the stairs that creaked with every step. “Kreature,” she
called as she stood in the hallway. The house elf did not respond to her. “Kreature,” she
growled with the same tone she would use to warn Draco in the way all parents did.

“Mistress Malfoy,” a voice came from behind her.

“In our absence you’ve let the house fester.” Old Pureblood homes could become infected
when they did not have people within them for long periods of time. Festered potion rooms
would form toxic gases, forgotten kitchens with charmed knives for chopping would try to
cut off people’s heads.

Muggles got their idea of the haunted house from wizards.

A house elf, while with different magic, would be expected to keep the house safe for a
Master or Mistress return.

The house elf didn’t have anything to say to her, hanging his head lowly.

“Why are you waiting for my instructions? Get to work,” she said, turning around as she
walked back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Ideally, they should have called some curse breakers into the house for protection. The dust
of the house accumulated so it was hard to breathe. She sighed as she waved her wand to the
windows, stripping the dust from the clothes, rolling up the blinds before she blew them
open.

The fresh air was a welcome change to the stifling and forgotten house.

“Now then,” she said, looking at the three men in the house, looking at her with mixed
expressions of awe and pride.

With Sirius’ magic still unstable, he and Remus took Draco to the upper floors to begin
working their way down to the bottom of the house. Narcissa, on the other hand, went alone
into the kitchen. She was pleased that she wasn’t attacked by any knives but a cutting board
did try to smack her before she stunned it.

The kitchen had grime attached to the pots that no sponge would ever be able to pull up. The
tile on the floor was no longer shimmering, tracked with dust that caked into the grout. It
took several series of spells to rip up the grime around the kitchen. After an hour of hard
work, she smiled, pushing back her sweaty hair.

Narcissa couldn’t remember the last time she cast magic as intense as she was now. It was an
interesting process, she could feel the familiar tingle of magic across her skin that the house
held, as if testing who she was. Wondering if Sirius and Draco felt the same, she turned when
she heard a door open.

Without fear, Narcissa went down the stairs, flicking several beads of lumos spells to float
around her, a precautionary shield charm next.

To her surprise, she didn’t find much within the basement. There were no cursed objects, only
a couple of boxes that held old dining china that was broken and chipped, old photos of
people that were burned and the robes that her great grandparents must have worn, eaten
away by moths.

Narcissa waved her wand over the burnt photos of her family, thinking that if she didn’t want
to face the pain, then Sirius wouldn’t want to go through the box either. She opened the china
box and found that, on top of the plates, were utensils that were stained.

She hummed as she held one of the stained spoons up to the light.

“Silver,” she said, dropping the utensils in the box. “They can be used to reinforce the wards
then,” she thought, nodding her head as she sent the box up to the kitchen.

With that handled, Narcissa moved to the rest of the basement. A thought passed through her
as she looked at the small window providing light into the room. Her first thought would be
to turn it into a potions basement but she remembered her cousin’s poor grades.

A new thought sang along her mind, building to a cresting melody as a new use for the space
echoed around Narcissa. She smiled, until they could find a larger space, Sirius and Remus
could retreat to the bedroom.

Narcissa spent longer than she thought in the basement. She started with the stone floors,
transfiguring them from cold concrete to gravel. Around the walls, she sent a small blasting
hex at, putting holes in the wall. The stones that exploded from the wall fell to the new gravel
floor.

The more she created, the more Narcissa had fun within the basement, illuminated by the
light of her spells and the small window letting the days light through. In her pockets were
several seeds that she planned on planting outside the house, but they served a better purpose
within the basement.
She let the creeping vine seeds sit in the gravel by the wall she blew holes into, brushing
them with a water charm and setting a warm lumos spell over to simulate the sun. Narcissa
packed some of the Malfoy’s grass fertilizer, sprinkling it over the gravel. It seeped into the
stones, settling at the bottom.

As the grass and vine seeds germinated with magic, Narcissa carved out a section of the
basement deeper, pushing the gravel higher in certain places so Remus and Sirius could have
more than a flat ground. With an oblong hole in the ground, she filled it with water, adding a
bubbling charm so the water wouldn’t be still and turn into a swamp.

When she finished putting the finishing touches on the lip pool, making sure that the gravel
had grass fertilizer growing by it, she was pleased to see that the creeping vines were
crawling into the holes she put into the wall. The first plot of grass was growing with soft
green tufts.

Narcissa wiped the sweat off her brow, looking very much like a peasant witch- cracked nails
with dirt under them, flushed cheeks. She didn’t find herself disgusted by the sweat and the
strain on her body- instead feeling invigorated. Though this space was not for her, Narcissa
was the one that created it with her own magic.

Not letting her image diminish, Narcissa cleaned herself back up, waving her hair back into
the braid it was always in, smelling fresh as if such magic required no energy from her.

She shut the door, content to let the cellar be a secret until Sirius or Remus discovered it
themselves. Looking at the clock, she noticed the time and recalled they would all get hungry
soon.

Kreature retreated to her side when she summoned him immediately, his head bowed low.

“Please go to the market and get these,” she said, handing him over some money. He read
over the list of ingredients and popped away from her. Kreature returned timely and had
picked good food rather than fruits with bruises or flour with holes in the bag. “Thank you,”
she said, dismissing him.

The scent of food wafted through the air and inevitably summoned Draco, Sirius, and
Remus.

“You’re a lifesaver, Cissy,” Sirius said, digging into his food. She went to scold him on his
lack of manners, but the posture he took to inhale his food exposed the knobs in his spinal
column that would still need time to vanish.

“Draco,” she said, looking at her son, who had a stain of dirt over his cheek. She licked her
thumb and pushed against his stain.

“Mum,” he groaned, pushing her away as he blushed. Sirius and Remus both chuckled at the
interaction between them. He sat back in a huff, still eating the food she made.

“Severus will come over to collect you for your study vacation,” she said, always warming at
her son’s excitement at the prospect of staying with his godfather over the summer. Narcissa
was no fool to her husband’s neglect and the absence that it left in Draco’s life. While it
saddened her that her own son felt more at home with his godfather, she reminded herself that
he was happy with Severus.

It left her alone in the house, but she could bear any pain or loneliness to see her son happy.

She nodded her head with a hum.

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” she said, noticing that Remus was looking at Sirius with an odd
expression. The other man was calmly eating now, as if the food wouldn’t be taken from
him.

Remus and Sirius took the dishes to the kitchen, both thanking her profusely for the meal she
cooked, insisting that they would clean the dishes.

When they were taking the last of the cutlery from the table, there came a knock at the door.
Draco yelped with happiness, something he would never do in the Manor, and rushed to the
door.

“Severus,” he said, wrapping his arms around his waist. Narcissa observed the smile that
Severus reserved for Draco.

After Severus was free from parole, he vanished off the face of Wizarding England. Out of
nowhere, Severus came pounding on Narcissa’s door, distraught, his face a mess, soaking wet
and covered in blood.

As Severus once took care of her, Narcissa offered her comforts and ear to him. His change in
status from human to something a little more only made her hesitate for a moment when it
came to Draco. Severus was terrified of himself- and it exposed his humanity despite his new
diet; assuring Narcissa that Draco would always be protected in his care.

“Hello, Draco,” Severus said, stepping into the room. He looked around, finding Narcissa
standing there. While the man had a good poker face, Narcissa knew he was surprised to see
her there. She walked up to him, nodding her head in a simple greeting.

While they were good friends...such interaction among Pureblood circles, especially with
Draco as his godson, would start some unsavory rumors.

“Remus,” he said, nodding his head, body stiff. Narcissa wondered for a moment if two rival
predators could coexist peacefully yet remembered they were both men with steady heads. So
long as the moon wasn’t full.

Remus blushed, fidgeting as he looked down at his shoes.

“Sorry about our last meeting,” he finally said, chancing a look up. Severus raised his
eyebrow for a brief moment, then rolled his eyes, his posture relaxing as he shrugged off their
encounter.

“Black,” Severus said with a harder voice, looking at Sirius who entered from the kitchen
with a frilly purple dish apron over the silk robe. From where Sirius found the apron,
Narcissa did not know.

“Snivellus,” he replied in an equal tone. Remus looked between the two as if watching an
intense Quidditch match, head passing to and from each person.

Severus smiled, huffing a laugh which caused Sirius to do the same.

Narcissa cut whatever tension might have accumulated by hugging her son tight to her,
putting her knees on the ground to wish him goodbye the way she always wanted to at the
Hogwarts Express.

“I’ll be fine, mother,” he said, smiling at her.

“I know, baby,” she said, taking in every mark on his face. The dimples when Draco smiled,
the ire within his eyes as she embarrassed him, that little scar on his ear from when he was a
baby.

“Mum,” he droned, embarrassed as he stood before Severus, who was trying his hardest to
remove the grin from his face. “I’ll see you soon,” he assured, tugging on Severus’ sleeve in
a request for reinforcements.

Narcissa let her son go, knowing that he was excited to spend the majority of his summer
away from the Manor, away from his father, away from the danger brewing as the Dark
Lord’s presence circled around them…

Away from Narcissa.

“Cissy,” a voice said, a bony hand coming onto her shoulder, snapping her away from the
sight of the door. “You’re not alone in this anymore.” The hug was physically painful, like
being wrapped in calcium chains- emotionally: it was something she had denied herself for a
long, long time.

Severus took Draco’s hand and led them down the dead grass that grew outside Grimmauld
place. He waited until the house disappeared from view, impressed with how the four
managed to clean the house well enough they could eat dinner within it in one night.

“There is lemongrass sherbet at Spinner’s End,” Severus said, walking down the street to the
old apparition point he used to utilize when the war had ended but the Ministry was still
hunting for people out of curfew.

His godson started walking faster to the point, pulling Severus along. The man had to stop
Draco from getting hit by a muggle car, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him
to the curb.

“Please look both ways, Draco,” he scolded, moving across the road as soon as it was safe for
them.

Though having nearly dodged death, Severus still served a heaping serving of the lemongrass
sherbet they made. Draco suggested the recipe after they harvested the lemongrass from the
stalks growing in the pot within their garden.
Severus went into the fridge and pulled a blood bag free.

“Do you mind?” he asked. Draco had grown used to his feedings over the years. The first
time it happened, right after Draco completed his first year of Hogwarts, the boy was hesitant
and would hardly look at the feeding.

As the years passed and Draco spent more time with him, his godson had grown used to
Severus’ feeding. He tried to keep Draco from witnessing it, but as the boy felt he was
entitled to walking into his private chambers at Hogwarts…

Severus opened the blood bag in front of Draco, cutting the seam with one of the knives he
kept in his pocket for potions. Draco didn’t flinch at the sight of the blood bag. Severus took
a set on the counter across from Draco.

“I killed a person for this,” he said, waving it in the air. The scent hit his nose, his hunger
pulled from his fangs, hungry to sink into his meal.

“Of course you did,” Draco said, eating another scoop of sherbet. Severus hummed.

“No, Draco,” he said, “I killed a magical person for this blood, without using magic.” He
brought the bag closer to his nose. It was a Caucasian, male, O negative. Severus almost grew
nauseous- his hunger and repulsion fighting each other.

“After I ate them, I drained the rest.” Severus hid his body shudder as he drank the blood.
Clearly, his face gave away some expression.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying that,” Draco said, pointing his spoon at the bag.

“Some blood is better than others,” he said absently. He could think of some reasons why he
wasn’t liking blood anymore. The timeline of his repulsion put him at the beginning of the
third year.

There was only one life changing event that might have prompted him to find blood
repulsive.

“You can have a preference?” Draco asked, growing more curious about Severus’ feeding
habits as he matured. Severus drained a large potion of blood- it was easier to swallow in
larger doses than small. Draining the last of the bag was always hardest, but he saved it.

“Draco,” he said, almost gasping. He dabbed the blood away from his lips. “You find
yourself in the unique position to secure the safety of you and your mother if you allow
yourself... to be happy.”

It took his godson a moment to put the pieces of their conversation together.

“Harry is a Ravenstag!” Draco shouted. “He eats people!”

This was the moment that Severus was waiting for. He lifted the last of the blood within the
bag and began to suck it into his mouth obnoxiously from the bottom. The sound brought
Draco’s attention to the reality of Severus’ situation.
 His godson blinked then flopped back into the chair, cradling the sherbet in his hands.

“What’s your point?” he asked with a sullen tone. Contrary to popular belief, this meant that
Draco was close to accepting the truth.

Severus disposed of the bag, clearing the taste of blood from his mouth with a charm. He
reached for a bowl of sherbet, relishing in a taste that wasn’t the copper of blood.

“If you and Harry follow the path you seemed quite content on walking before the full moon,
then you become a Ravenstag and the pelt alone would offer you monumental protection
against the Dark Lord.”

He waved his wand around the room, burning away the scent of blood that still clung to the
air.

“If that happens,” he said after eating more of the sherbet. “The mate of Harry Potter is
protected by his parents: William Graham and Hannibal Lecter.”

Severus set his wand down on the table, the knife he used to open the bag was still tainted
with blood. He placed it next to his wand.

“Their power does not lie in their magic, nor their inheritance, but their ability to remain an
apex predator in both worlds.”

Draco’s blue eyes were on both the wand and blade. He looked up at Severus as the
revelation sank in.

“Draco Malfoy, if you and your mother play their cards right- you won’t win the house;
you’ll be part of it.” Severus collected both his tools and stood. He took the bowl from
Draco’s hands and went to the sink, content to let his godson sit with his thoughts.

“You’re allowed to find happiness, Draco,” he said, hoping that his godson would be able to
find the answer within himself and not deny the truth for what it was.

Severus could only hope that Draco did not deny himself an opportunity at happiness as he
was doing; the blood he attempted to make a meal of only further proved his hypocrisy.

Chapter End Notes

I imagine Remus to be a bear, big, burly, completely harmless and kind. Sirius Black,
I'm convinced, is flamboyantly gay and if you want to fight me on that, I'll see you in
the comments.

Yes, Narcissa did the cheek wipe thing that all parents do- I imagine she was grooming
Draco before letting him go to Severus.
Is the image coming together for you? Can you see my evil plans? Next meal will have
some Remus and Herd bonding. Now, which Ravenstag do we know that loves dogs?
protects dogs? enables Harry to adopt all the dogs? Who do you think might introduce
Moony to the Herd...?
 Moonstruck
Chapter Notes

Good evening friends,

I have another Herd chapter for you. Be warned, I didn't have a plan for establishing the
Herd other than the last chapter. It was the reader feedback that pushed me to write this
chapter and I am very happy with how it turned out.

Thank you for pushing me in new ways.

Please, enjoy:

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Remus Lupin was not the first werewolf that William Graham encountered. Will and
Hannibal both met the man officially one day at St. Mungo’s for one of Harry’s visits with
Sirius. Standing at an intimidating size, he was a kind, recluce man much like Will himself;
rather be stuck behind books and alone than with unfamiliar people.

As Harry spoke with Sirius, the three engaged in casual, polite small talk. Will and Hannibal
both expressed their gratitude for teaching Harry the patronus despite his ability to shift into a
Ravenstag to protect his soul. The man was humble, expressing that he would have taught the
spell to any struggling student.

Neither could miss the connection the werewolf had to Harry, especially since the man was a
doting, long reunited, mate to Sirius Black. Yet, it was clear by the straw-like hair on his
head, cracked nails, and chafing skin that the man was not taking care of himself or the
creature.

After Will was stabbed as an officer, he drifted in the law enforcement field before landing in
the FBI. He bought his floating boat in Virginia and introduced his, at the time, pack of two
strays.

Driving home in the rain one day, a strange sensation sat heavy in Will’s stomach. At the
time, still grappling with the traumatic event of being stabbed, his magic would not respond
to him hence leaving his wand at home.

The further Will drove from the spot where the strange feeling emanated from, the more he
felt like he would vomit.

Will remembered slowing the car down and making a K-turn to inspect the road once again.
He followed the feeling, now like a string leading him towards whatever his intuition wanted
him to see. Will was hopeful there was something there and not his empathy having an
episode; if there was something to save, it would be the first time his magic worked with him
since the incident.

Pulling the car over when the sensation reached its peak, Will put his badge and gun in his
holster and hopped out of his truck. Will did not call out in the dark, if a predator was there, it
was likely already watching him.

Stepping carefully over the guard rail, Will followed his intuition into the forest without a
flashlight to guide him. It wasn’t long when he passed the road that he heard a whimpering
coming from the ridge. Often, if an animal got clipped by a car, it would drag itself towards
the forest, instincts pulling it towards safety where it could finally die peacefully in its
habitat.

Will hoped that he wouldn’t have to put an animal down, praying that his magic didn’t lead
him to this, he marched towards the sound.

The pained whimpers went silent when Will stepped on a twig.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said to the darkness, still unable to pinpoint the creature in the
darkness. He risked spooking the creature if he turned on a light, this would require his other
senses to guide him. “It’s alright.”

Will heard something shift to his left and froze at what he saw.

A huge, brown furred, hulking bear of a creature. Will swallowed a thick throat, the hairs on
the back of his neck standing up as he tried to determine if the harmed creature was a small
bear or a huge wolf.

“Hi,” he whispered stupidly. “I’m Will Graham.”

He did this with every stray, liking to think that they could somehow understand his tone.
That he was not like other humans in the way many previously encountered. The wolf,
yellow eyes gazing right at him with a long snout and the sharpest of teeth he’d ever seen.

The wolf attempted to stand but it’s entire back left leg was crushed, making the creature cry
out even as it tried to scare him away.

Rather than do the intelligent thing like back away from the pained creature, Will rushed
forward and put a hand on the coarse brown hair, hushing it as he pet down the fur.

The wolf could easily rip his head clean from his shoulders. It was the size of a small bear
and if it was standing properly, the wolf would probably reach his lower chest in height.

“I’m going to help you,” he said, running his hand over the startled creature. The wolf was
tense under his fingers as Will pet over the fur, reaching towards the neck to give a scratch at
the pressure point all dogs loved.

A soft patting of a tail made him smile.

“My car is over there,” he said, catching a look at the leg. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if it
needed to be amputated or not. “Hurry so we can look at that leg of yours.”

The wolf regarded him with bright yellow eyes that were best for hunting in the darkness.
Leaning forward to stand, the wolf whined as the injury shifted. Will looked down at his
hands.

It would be the first time in months since he’d attempted magic and to do so wandless…

He removed his outer flannel and ripped the sleeves off with his teeth. Will fumbled around
for two sticks that were long enough to act as a splint. He held the objects in his hand and
looked at the wolf.

Animals that were in pain or scared would lash out and bite or run in fear. This one was
different, looking at him as if it knew what WIll was going to attempt.

“Easy now,” he said, dropping to his knees as he set the splint. He turned on his flashlight,
allowing him to look at the injury properly. “We won’t need to amputate,” Will said, glad for
that. He had the potions to stop the bleeding but none of the medical knowledge to attempt it
properly.

The injury was recent, likely happening before Will drove on the path. The wound was still
bleeding, a slow ooze that was beginning to scab. The creature growled when he tightened
the splint but made no move to bite him.

“Thank you,” he said, coming up to scratch the wolf. “You are very brave.”

For an injured creature, the wolf walked in step with Will, hobbling over the guard rail and
climbing into the bed of his truck after Will helped heave the creature in. Sweating, Will
made sure the wolf’s tail would not get caught in the door, he secured the wolf.

A blanket was in the back of his car for the nights he would sleep in it- too tired to travel
back home. Though the wolf had a thick, coarse coat of hair, it was still in shock, shivering in
the cold car and would be exposed to the elements as he drove.

He laid the blanket over the wolf, protecting the injury from further harm and drove back to
Wolf Trap. On the ride back, his companion in the trunk lifted it’s head to scent the wind, ears
flopping just as any domesticated dog.

Unloading and fixing the creature only took an hour of his time once he got his wand. WIll
almost found himself bursting to tears as his magic responded to him for the first time since
his injury. A wingardium leviosa spell lifted the wolf from the bed of the truck where he
carried it to the porch.

He opened his basket of potions and threw a steak at the wolf, who caught it between massive
jaws and began to tear at it, tail wagging softly. With it distracted, Will set to work uncorking
bottles and pouring them over bones. Skelegrow would need to be injected into the veins
closest to the base of the injury to heal.
“I’ve got an injection,” he said, laying the needle down for the wolf to sniff as he cleared
away more blood.

A lick to his face assured him it wouldn’t be ripped off. Will took the needle in shaking hands
and forced himself to calm. He was not the creature in pain. He could give a simple shot to a
giant bear-like wolf.

He and the wolf sighed in relief when the injection was finished. Will capped the needle and
put it aside for his sharps box.

“There you go,” he said, running his hand down the massive swell of the wolf’s stomach.
“There you are,” he said. The wolf seemed to find relief as well, tipping over onto her side
with a groan. “I know, I know, get some rest. When you’re ready to leave, go back to your
pack.”

Her yellow eyes were slowly drooping, the effects of the combined potions taking effect on
the wild creature. Will scratched over her, assuring the creature that he would protect her as
long as she stayed on the porch. With a final sigh, the wolf fell asleep.

Will brushed her down with one of the dog brushes, removing the dirt from her body that she
collected as she dragged herself away from the road. It was hair like he’d never seen on a
wolf, so much coarser than normal, almost a Chow-like undercoat.

Yawning, Will stood and collected his items, tossing the flannel blanket back over the wolf,
he went inside and greeted the dogs who watched the entire event from the window above the
porch.

Imagine his surprise in the early dawn when he went to check on the wolf and found a naked
woman beginning to wake on his porch. She blushed, clearly embarrassed as she attempted to
pull the seemingly small blanket over her large body.

“Hi,” she said, looking up at him through her brown hair.

“Ugh,” he recalled saying with all the intelligence of the FBI.

“Thank you,” she said, stretching out her leg. Will looked down and saw that his flannel shirt
and the splint were still tied around her leg, only much looser now that it changed from a
hulking wolf to a large human.

Her stomach rumbled before Will could come up with a response, only making her turn her
head in shame.

“Come on,” Will said, offering his hand to her even as he had no idea what to do next. “Let’s
find you something to wear.”

She wrapped the blanket around her body, giving her thanks again as she walked into the
house.

“Oh, you have dogs!” she said, dropping a hand to let them sniff her fist. The dogs wagged
their tails, trusting her immediately. “I knew you were good.”
She liked dogs and Will’s pack approved of her, as far as he was concerned, she was not a
threat to him. Will reached into his dresser and pulled another flannel for her to wear. In
terms of pants, the jeans would be too big on her.

“Sorry about the clothes.” Will kept his eyes down as he handed them over to the woman.
She shuffled the blanket in her one hand, clearly as uncomfortable as he.

“You’ve done so much for me,” she said, taking them in her hands. “Thank you. Not many
people, wizards, are kind to us.”

He froze- his shoulder bursting with an echo of pain…was her nature as a wolf allow her to
smell the magic within his blood? Magic that he’d been desperate to remember? Will left his
studio bedroom for her to change with a bit of privacy, moving to the kitchen where he
fiddled with his hands until he decided on making breakfast.

“I’m Emily,” she said. “And a werewolf.”

“Yeah,” Will said from the kitchen as he began scrambling eggs. “I’m Will.” He heard her
bare feet pad into the kitchen. “What ugh, what has you out here.”

She growled in her throat, a sound he’d never heard coming from within a human. Looking
back to her with a pounding heart, he could see her eyes were tainted yellow.

“Someone is hunting pups,” she growled, looking out the window.

Her anger and fury was Will’s anger and fury. Though she did not have hackles, he was sure
they’d be risen. The dogs responded to their collective anger, whining and pawing at Will.
Emily calmed herself with a breath, kneeling on the ground to scratch his dogs behind the
ear.

As they ate, Emily explained that a pair of hunters had infiltrated their den and killed several
of their pack.

“We thought they were only there to kill us,” she said, taking a bite of eggs. Her tone
suggested this was the nature of life, wizards turning to muggle bullets to hunt werewolves.
“Our pack follows a migration to keep from being discovered but these humans stole our
pups.”

“They are trying to lure you,” Will said, already seeing the plan. Emily nodded her head,
reaching for the bread, she bit into it like an animal. Bread half in her mouth, Emily seemed
to realize that she was not in her common pack community, Will could feel her
embarrassment picking up.

“Sorry, transformation requires a lot of calories,” she muttered through her bread.

“You're much larger in your other form.” He stated, passing over his plate of eggs. She
looked up at him for a moment, trying to determine if the offer was genuine, then took his
plate and dug in.
“If werewolves don’t eat enough during the full moon,” she said between bites, “Our human
form can get caught in the middle and we can lose our mind between the two.” She drank
down her water, taking massive gulps. “I’ve been hunting on foot for days, last night was the
first of three moons, if I don’t find the pups soon, they’ll skin them on the third eve.”

Will’s fist clenched around his knife. These wizards, swine of men, were hunting puppies,
human children, and flaying them for a trophy.

“I’ll help you,” he said, for the first time, looking into her yellow eyes. She smiled, her
yellow eyes tired as if many had said the very same only for her to be met with
disappointment.

“You’ve done enough, Will-”

“I’m an FBI agent,” he cut her off, reaching into his pocket to grab his badge and show her.
“This is my duty.” He removed his badge and ID from his pocket, sliding it across the table
for her inspection.

There was no way the FBI could take control of this operation without the American Ministry
getting involved. And if the American Ministry found the wolves, they might turn a blind eye
to the creatures plight. If Will didn’t help Emily, her pack and pups, no one would.

And maybe, as a wizard working with the FBI, if all went south, he could use his authority to
smooth it over no matter which side of law enforcement he encountered.

Perhaps she could smell the conviction or see the fire in his eyes with her own blazing ones.
She stopped eating to look him over, nose flaring a bit as she took his scent in. Tilting her
head much like a dog, her smile grew wider than most people found acceptable, terrifying
teeth exposing themselves.

“Alright, Will Graham.”

It was the second day of the full moon. Emily explained that her eyes would naturally begin
to turn yellow as the moon approached, the most tangible sign of her heritage when human,
and her other senses would open. Will suggested she sit in the bed of the truck much like the
last evening as he drove her up and down backroads.

Emily and Will spent half the day narrowing down the location of the pups before she told
him to pull over, almost falling out of the truck to express the need to stop. Before he even
halted the car, she was already out of the truck, rolling on the ground to catch her fall, Emily
stood upright and began sniffing the area as Will parked off the road.

“Are their reinforcements?” he said when he caught up to where she was scenting the air that
passed them.

“They’ll be here tonight,” she said, touching some of the trees and putting them to her nose.
“I’ve left scent markers for them to follow.”

Emily proceeded to rub the side of her neck along the bark.
Will had seen his dogs do stranger things.

Together, they scouted the area, making note of the silver traps that were laid in the ground.
Will looked to the canopy line to see if there were cameras. He stopped Emily from walking
into one of their viewpoints.

These wizards seemed to be like him in the sense they meshed both worlds. What they
probably weren’t was advanced law enforcement with some tools to bypass security footage.
The more cameras they found, they looped over. Traps of silver were quietly dug by Will’s
bare hands and Emily’s gloved ones.

Foolishly, there was no patrol.

Emily and Will were making their way back to his truck when he saw three men and two
women surrounding his car. They all growled at him and he could understand why- he was an
unfamiliar wizard holding a bunch of silver bear traps in his hand on a compound that was
capturing wolf pups.

“He’s with me,” Emily said, clapping him on the back as she moved forward to greet her
pack. “He saved my life.” Will stood back and watched Emily greet the pack, warm hugs and
nuzzling human noses together, they all greeted her, soft whispers exchanged between them.

That seemed to be enough for the pack. A team of seven, Emily and Will explained the
compound and how none of the wizards had come out to patrol yet.

“They’re in there?” one of the men asked.

“All five of them,” Emily said, tears in her eyes as she spoke to her pack. “I can hear them.
They can smell us. They know.”

All they had to do was wait for nightfall and the moon to rise. As twilight approached, Will
began to grow nervous for his safety near the wolves. Emily seemed to like him enough and
didn’t tear off his head on the first meeting.

“We’re not going to kill you, you know,” a rich voice said as he hoisted himself next to Will.
He had noticed the wolves seemed to enjoy physical contact more than the average person.
Or perhaps, they were more accepting of receiving it. “You smell like Emily, like Pack now,
even the pups will come to you.”

Maron, the man sitting next to him, took off his outer jacket and put it over Will’s shoulder.
He wasn’t shivering, but Will knew the man was trying to lay another scent on him. It
assured Will that he was less likely to die come evening.

The purples in the sky came and the wolves began to get restless. He watched them all move
around, silent with each other as they touched or rubbed their noses, scenting one another.
The odd thing was, they all began to do the same to him.

He was still as they moved close, hugging him briefly before scampering off, taking in bits of
his scent like dogs commonly would. Will, while uncomfortable from receiving such
attention from a human, told himself to calm down when they offered him an embrace.

After that, they all began to strip out of their clothing, folding them neatly and putting them
under his pickup. Caught halfway between man and animal, he didn’t wait long to witness
their transformation. They all hunched down, onto their hands and knees as spines lengthened
and bones popped out and into place.

The coarse undercoat was caused by their human hair to net around their body, protecting the
skin as it stretched over their new form from where the soft fur of the wolves sprouted. The
transformation was fast from human to wolf and many stretched like dogs after waking from
a long nap, stretching downward then dragging their legs in upward dog.

They whimpered as they greeted each other, tails wagging as noses booped the others. When
the wolves noticed him, they stood alert, scenting the area.

Emily moved to him first, her tail wagging slowly as she put her face in his lap. He scratched
over her brow once, then looked at the compound.

“Let’s finish this.”

The wolves answered with a chorus of growls, taking off around the compound to surround
it. Will stalked forward to the front door, badge in his jacket and gun in his hip. He stood
behind the door, already hearing the glass of a window breaking followed by the shouting of
men.

“FBI!” he shouted, kicking down the door.

Will paused in his story, remembering the rushing adrenaline that filled his body in a way
he’d never experienced. He shot every man that he encountered without hesitation, a bullet in
the head, in the chest, dodging magic only to attack with the mundane.

Moony whined on his lap, licking the fingers holding the brush. Will hummed, beginning to
brush through the mats on Moony’s coat, paying special attention to the coarse under coat
that was flaked with dry skin. Finding a new patch of it, Will put down the brush and picked
up a healing oil.

The man was still caught between his wolf and human, a painful transformation that his
undercoat could not protect. His initial transformation was filled with fear, trying to push
Will away from him, blasting him back with magic that quickly failed him to the wolf. Will
spoke in the same hushed tone all dogs responded to, one he mastered with his first werewolf
encounter.

“We found them, the five pups huddled together in a small cage with...it doesn’t matter what
surrounded them- they had their pack.”

Though they were scared werewolf pups, they feared humans. No wolf had a natural impulse
to hunt a human; they were driven to such action out of fear or their territory being invaded.
Emily, when Will first stumbled upon her broken mass, was afraid of him.
Moony was no different. If Will remained still and calm, the wolf would not attack him in his
flesh. When the painful rearranging of bones settled, the creature whined, his hulking,
upward form curling in as he looked around with scared yellow eyes.

“Padfoot will be home soon,” he said, already sitting on the ground, looking completely
unthreatening. The wolf’s ear flicked at the name, scenting the area as he looked for his mate.
When the wolf took a defensive crouch, Will began his story.

Having the same effects of a bedtime story, Moony relaxed to his presence, then became
curious to the human on the floor. Will, with jerky in his pocket, tossed peace offerings to
Moony, remaining on the grass and gravel floor. Responding well to the jerky, Moony jerked
closer, stretching his nose as close as he could to Will, body tense to flee if he showed any
aggression.

Hunger satisfied and the promise of comfort offered, the wolf edged closer and closer until
Moony initiated touch with Will. After that, the man buried his hands into the neck pressure
point that every canine loved.

Will told Moony of how each wolf scruffed one of the pups and raced out of the compound as
fast as they could. Their primary concern was not hunting the humans but the safety of the
pups themselves.

Will on the other hand, he was murderous.

“I burned it to the ground,” he said, massaging into a new patch of dried skin on Moony’s
spine. The coarse hair would need time to stretch again. The wolf gave a soft groan of
pleasure, rolling onto his side as Will manipulated his fingers deeper into the dried hair that
no doubt itched. “I found the wolves and the pups by my truck actually. I thought they’d
left.”

Now that Moony found a human that tended to his wounds with gentle hands, Will doubted
the creature would ever snarl at him. He smiled as he brushed around Moony’s ears.

Will stumbled his way back to his truck, blood and soot covering his body, fingers twitching
at his side with the last of his rage leaving him. He stopped when he saw the six wolves
sitting in the bed of his truck, which was hanging far too low to the ground. The pups were
corralled in the middle of several pelts, all yelping happily to each other.

Chuckling, Will hopped into the truck and drove them all to his home in Wolf Trap, the
bumper occasionally sparking as it hit the pavement on the ground.

“Emily and her pack taught me a lot about werewolves.”

In the evening, Will made sure to not insert himself in the pack checking over the pups. He
grabbed his shotgun and sat on his porch with the very blanket he threw over Emily the
previous night. The gun in his lap, he watched over the pack that huddled around their pups.

She and the pack thanked him profusely when they transformed the morning. The kids all
pounced on him, tackling him to the ground as they hugged, kissed and even licked his
cheeks in thanks, tears leaving his shirt damp by the time they climbed off him.

The pack stayed for the remainder of the moon, killing five deer to feed themselves in one
night.

“You need so many calories, Moony,” Will said, picking up his tweezers to remove a tick that
managed to crawl through the patch where there was no hair. “And you need a pack.”

Emily and her pack explained that werewolves were stable in a pack. For twenty-eight days,
they were human and able to function as such. But on those three days, they allowed
themselves to be wild, to find their Freudian id and run free under the moonlight, playing and
hunting, grooming and mating, enjoying the benefits of a pack.

On the fourth morning after the full moon phase passed, Emily and the pack extended him
the offer to join them.

“We’re dog people,” she explained, looking down at his two dogs as the kids played with
them.

“You don’t have to transform either,” Maron added. “There are plenty of packs with humans
in the mix.”

Moony licked over his fingers as Will put the tick in a bottle, sealing it with the others. He
picked up the salve for infections and blotted it on the injury.

Will thanked them for the offer but denied them. It could have felt right, working with people
that were not normal by any standard. They seemed to accept weirdness as they had their own
strange habits and accepted Will in turn.

But something called him to stay. He didn’t know what at the time, but perhaps it was his
magic telling him to wait for Hannibal.

For his own Herd.

The kids all surrounded his legs, knocking him down once more, none of the adults coming
to rescue him as they crawled on him. He could tell they were proud of their pups, no pup
belonging to one particular adult, and how they tried to manipulate Will in joining them.

“Please, Mr. Graham?” they pleaded, crocodile tears falling down their fat little cheeks. “You
can have a pack too.”

Will found himself becoming emotional as the kids clambered over his torso and legs, petting
back their hair as they scented him one last time. He offered to drive them to wherever their
next migration point was but they kindly denied the offer, stating that half the migration was
the journey. Each adult lifted a pup off his body, holding them over their shoulders as they
bid their goodbyes.

“Thank you, Will Graham,” Emily said, hugging him tightly despite the pup between their
chests. “We owe you everything.” He watched them walk though his property until they
reached the treeline and disappeared into the canopy.
 Will was a dog person and would help any stray that he found.

“Moony,” Will said, stroking over his brow as yellow eyes gazed up to him. “Allow yourself
to go a little buck wild once a month.” The wolf licked him, golden eyes understanding his
words. “You’ll find it might do you some good.”

Finished with his grooming, Will plucked one tennis ball from a hidden pocket. Moony’s
yellow eyes tracked the ball, rolling his massive, if bony, body off Will’s legs to play bow.
Still caught between forms, he looked more like a wendigo than a werewolf but, as the
months progressed, Will was sure the man’s recovery would be as fast as Sirius’ own.

He threw the ball with a smile, watching the recovering creature lope through the basement
Narcissa created until he caught it between his jaws, prancing happily back to Will, dropping
it in his lap. Will scratched over his muzzle in praise, took the ball, and threw it again.

Chapter End Notes

And thus concludes this set of additions to the Herd family.

I do want to thank those that asked in the comments for a Remus/Moony and Herd
introduction. I didn't really have one set up and your enthusiasm pushed me to write this
chapter. I will tell you again that Muse wrote this chapter- I couldn't make it work in the
traditional sense of Will being there for the transformation.

I feel like it gave an in-depth look into Will's character, pre-Hannibal, regarding the
violence and compassion he carries as a lamb/mongoose. PS: I did want to write that
Will had trouble with his magic due to PTSD and he only began to discover it again
after Emily confirmed it was still there and he liberated the pups.

Also, werewolves adopt all the children...

Much love to you all- I've said it before and I shall say again: this chapter would not
have been made without your love and support. Thank you all!
 Bonds of Blood
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone,

Thank you for being here today for our 200,000 word mile marker. I can't believe where
this fic started and what it has become. So much of my I am here is because of your
support and love.

To that, I say thank you and enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The window was closed due to a heatwave that passed over the Italian Villa. The insects were
chirping loud enough that Harry tossed and turned in his bed, anxieties occupying his mind.

Draco had only written to him three times over the summer. The first that came was more of
an update than a letter. That he was spending the time with his mother’s friends, his father
gaining momentum in the Ministry. The second sounded more like himself. He wrote about
Grimmauld Place, the ancient home of the Black’s. While Harry was Sirius’ godson, the man
was also Draco’s second cousin.

Harry and Draco never crossed paths even with a mutual connection.

The third letter eased many of Harry’s summer concerns when his friend wrote for him to
save a compartment for them to talk. He turned over, pushing the sheets to the end of his bed.
The little clock on the side of his night table told him it was around three in the morning.

He sat up when he heard the door hinge open, not seeing his parents, he looked down to see
Nagini’s large form slithering over to him, her middle still swollen with a kill.

“Nagini,” he greeted, holding her hand out for him to scent with her tongue. “Can you get
the Diary Tom’s in?”

She hissed, looking over her body to the door.

“I am not your hatchmother,” she hissed, causing Harry to raise his brow. He stayed in his
bed as she slithered out of his room and down the hall. It was another ten minutes of staring
at the ceiling before Nagini came back in his room.

She crawled up his bed, the diary held between massive fangs. Harry let her drop the diary
rather than put his hands near her teeth. Now that he had the diary, Harry took his ink and
quill.
The magic within the diary jumped to his fingertips as he was greeted with excitement. Harry
found that he could not control his own response, reaching forward with a rush of magic that
felt like the dam of parselmagic breaking.

“Thank you, Nagini, ” he whispered, looking over to the door and saw that his parents
weren’t rushing in. He wiped the spit off the diary with his pajama sleeves. When he opened
the book to the inside pages, there was writing already etched into the yellowing pages for his
eyes to feast upon.

Hello, Harry.

He honestly didn’t expect Tom to be so willing to talk to him. Or a lure, a flash of magic rang
through his head, bursting images of Wool’s Orphanage, deteriorating faster now, grey walls
closing in, suffocating him.

Blinking painfully, the image shuttered closed- his greeting written in elegant black script,
desperate for a response.

His magic beckoned him closer- the humm curling around his core. Harry hovered his quill
over the top of the pages, a dollop of ink at the tip. He took a deep breath and pressed onto
the pages.

Hello again, Tom.

You seem restless, came the reply as if his connection to the diary was a direct path to his
psychology. I can feel it in your magic.

Tom was quiet for a moment, Harry could feel the book's own excitement. He couldn’t deny
his own nervousness that was growing for Tom’s safety.

Would you like to come into my world to converse? Came the text, causing Harry to look over
his shoulder at the door. It’s been a while since I’ve had some actual human connection.

Harry hesitated for a moment, knowing that his parents would be upset with him for taking
the book. Much like in his second year, there was a spilling sensation coming from the book
that his own magic was helpless to catch.

His parents would know.

Harry needed to dive within.

Alright, Harry wrote. The familiar sensation of being pulled into the diary ran up his hands
until it reached his brow. The first indication that he was in the diary was the hand that came
over the center of his back. He was still looking at the floorboards, more holes in the
landscape than the first time he fell in.

Tom approached Harry differently, crouching down onto his knees to offer a hand to Harry.
Rather than hesitate, Harry found himself taking the hand without thought- a synergy
growing closer the more time they spent together.
“Thanks,” Harry said, brushing himself off. Tom sat on the bed, pulling Harry next to him in
the same position they took, shoulder to shoulder against the greying walls.

“What makes you so restless?” Tom asked.

Numerous things. Harry shrugged his shoulders, thinking about whatever Draco might want
to talk to him about on the train to the rising deadline of resurrecting the diary.

“We’re making you a body on Samhain,” Harry said, knowing he was already in enough
trouble for taking the diary and interacting with Tom without their permission. Harry didn’t
want to add exposing his heritage to the list of scoldings awaiting him.

Tom furrowed his brow and turned to look at Harry.

“Why Samhain?” Tom asked.

“Father tells me it's because that is when the veil between living and dead is thinnest.”

Tom’s jaw clenched a bit when Harry referred to Hannibal as his father, something that he
could only assume was because the man threatened him to submission.

“Have you found any additional shards?” Tom asked, his jaw clenched as he looked at his
fingernails. Harry was cautious around Tom’s nature.

“We scryed for the Cup.” Harry huffed. The sheets had more holes in them, even the outside
world that sat beyond the iron gate seemed darker. The cold, numbing temperature of the
Diary seeped further into Harry’s skin, gooseflesh attempting to keep him warm over his
feathers.

Harry could tell that Tom either didn’t want to talk or was mulling things over in his mind.
The silence within the diary was deafening- there was no wind, no echo, no ambient energy
that thrummed around them. Harry’s thinking was loud enough- he might just be able to hear
Tom’s if he concentrated.

“We would all have a better chance at success if the ritual was done on December thirty-
first,” Tom said, blankly looking ahead. He turned to Harry, the haze over his eyes clearing.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked. Tom chuckled, playing with the cuticles on his fingernails.

“Because,” Tom said quietly, “that’s my birthday.”

“Hey,” Harry said, sitting up taller in his seat. “That’s exactly half a year from mine.”

Tom nodded his head slowly.

“It would explain why the Husk went for you then,” Tom said. At Harry’s confusion, Tom
looked around as if he could magic up some kind of aid to help him understand. “Well, I can’t
say I know what the Husk was thinking when he went after you, but if you were prophesied
to kill him, and then have a birthday half a year from my own- it sings the same song as
prophecy.”
“So what?” Harry shrugged, already deciding to ignore the prophecy Dumbledore showed in
the pensive. “Two sides of the same coin?”

“Exactly,” Tom said, his eyes bright with happiness. Harry watched the walls become colored
in the places that were fading away. “Reuniting my soul on the night I was originally put in
my body makes for the smoothest transition.”

Tom snorted a laugh, leaning his head back on the wall to look up.

“It would be easier to get out of Hogwarts on a break.” The horcrux, even if he was only half
of a soul, had an intact mind. Plans and contingencies seemed to flow into his mind with
ease; Tom seemed to always have an idea forming in his mind.

“Do you think we have enough shards? Even if we only have the Cup?” Harry asked,
prompting Tom to purse his lips as he thought, fingers coming to his lips.

“Is the Cup sentient? Communicating through dreams or foreign feelings?”

“No,” Harry replied. Tom put a hand to his chin, humming as he thought.

“Do you have any idea if the Husk has any?”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head as his anxieties rose. “Wait a minute,” Harry said, sitting
up on the bed. “If I can sense the horcruxes we can go looking for them.”

Tom laughed, his eyes crinkled with joy.

“You have no idea how dangerous that is,” Tom laughed, brushing an imaginary tear from his
eye. Harry glared at him. “If I were any more paranoid than I currently am, then I would have
taken numerous precautions.”

“You have to know where some of them are,” Harry said.

A flash of his fathers exhausted form bloomed in his mind; the steam burns that blistered
over his arm, how he couldn’t eat as he fell into a magical restorative sleep. His father was
lethargic for several days after the ritual. Filled with a mind fog, Hannibal needed to sleep in
uncharacteristic patterns until his magical core had healed.

Tom was looking down at his hand, his finger rubbing over the circlet band on his finger.
Harry didn’t push him, knowing that doing that would only frustrate him.

“There are two locations,” Tom said, his eyes hypnotized by his ring finger. “I would have to
get one on my own.” The boy in the Diary looked up at Harry. “The other is in Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?” Harry asked, sitting up straighter in the bed, listening to it creek. Tom smiled at
him, nodding his head to the side.

“I suspect so, yes,” he said, smiling with a glint in his eye that Harry sometimes saw in his
dad. “I always thought it would be humorous to hide something so powerful under
Dumbledore’s eyes.”
“Where is it?” Harry asked.

Tom shook his head, the gleam growing.

“Convince your parents and I will take you to the horcrux,” Tom said, holding his hand out
for Harry to shake. Harry looked at Tom, skeptical of the boy.

“You know where it is?”

“I can’t promise with certainty that it is there,” Tom admitted with a shrug, his hand still held
for Harry. “But I know my Husk well enough.”

Harry knew that the more horcruxes they collected, the easier it would be for all of them to
make Tom a new body. During the ritual to summon the Cup horcrux, Harry could feel the
coiled mass that Nagini’s horcrux took shape too. He could almost taste the ink in his mouth
from the diary, then his own splitting headache broke into screams as he felt the blood
bursting in his head.

“Deal,” he said, taking Tom’s hand. There was no flare of magic or any sensation that felt
like the possession Tom tried in his second year.

“You should get back before your parents worry too much,” Tom said, hissing out the word
parent again. Tom noticed Harry’s wince, making the boy smirk. “Did you miss me, little
brother?”

“Shut up, Tom,” Harry said, pushing his shoulder with his own. “We both know I’m older.”

Tom snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I feel so loved. Breaking the rules for little old me,” Tom laughed. Harry smiled as he
pushed the boy, standing up from the bed.

“I’ll see you around, then?” Harry said. Tom nodded his head, still sitting on the bed, back
against the slates that grew greyer and greyer as the years went on.

Tom was letting Harry go, even as their magic hummed to each other, asking and reaching to
stay together. Harry could feel it within his mind, in his magic, that string continuing to guide
him to Tom regardless of the consequences.

“New Year’s Eve,” Tom replied.

Harry felt the pressure around the room change, like his ears were popping with the sensation
of apparition. He looked and saw he was back in his bedroom, the heatwave still present
outside. HIs body shivered from the temperature transition, hsi feathers bursting along his
arms to regulate the sudden change from numbing cold to a painful summer’s heat.

“The man-eaters sensed you,” Nagini hissed. Harry yawned, not bothering to form a
response as his limbs felt like they were made of sand in his body. The weight and exhaustion
finally allowed him to find sleep once he pulled the top sheet over his head.
When Harry stumbled downstairs in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he was
greeted to the sight of his parents sitting at the table with the diary in the middle.

Harry didn’t say anything, gauging both their reactions.

“Why did you use this last night?” his father asked, sitting in his chair at the table while his
dad was standing near the kitchen door. After a moment, Harry spoke:

“I had a dream last night.” He walked closer to the table. Only it was more than a dream- it
felt real, the hairs and feathers on his arms were real, prickled with fear as he ran black
fingernails over the peeling wallpaper of the hallway.

“I was in some house, walking up the stairs,” he said, getting lost in the vision. He did not see
the look his parents exchanged, their anger at his misdeeds dropping for concern. They sat
forward, anxious and attentive as he spoke.

“There were whispers that I was following into a room.” Harry couldn’t recall if the whispers
were in English or Parseltongue- whatever language that passed through the halls was hoarse.
“I found the door. The Dark Lord was wrapped in something.”

“Did anything else happen?”

Harry gave a nervous laugh, wondering how his parents would react to what the Dark Lord
did. Harry opened the door and saw something scabbed, wrinkled and stuck between life and
death wrapped in a putrid smelling cloth. Though there was a massive fire within the room,
Harry felt his blood run cold as his body went stiff with fear.

“He uh,” Harry hesitated. “He killed me?”

Hannibal’s jaw clenched with anger, his hands twitching in a mild display of his rage.

“Is this the first time the Dark Lord has communicated with you?” Will asked. “Not including
the diary.”

“Yes,” Harry said, nodding his head. “There was more.”

Harry explained the agreement that he and Tom came to, then quickly stressed that there was
no magical exchange to his promise- only the value of his word. Before they began to ask
about what Tom said, Harry explained they would all have an easier time completing the
ritual while having additional time to gather horcruxes.

“This risks us all by moving the ritual to the last moment,” Hannibal argued, his attention
turned onto Will.

“We’ll use the time to our advantage,” Will countered, sitting back in his chair.

Before they could argue further, Harry felt there was something they needed to know.

“It won’t work on Samhain,” Harry said, somehow knowing within him that was the truth.
He wasn’t sure how the knowledge was laid on him, but he knew the same way he knew the
sun would rise in the morning.

Harry looked to his dad, pleading and hoping that he would understand the magic that coiled
within himself and the echoing mass of the Diary. His dad’s head tilted only slightly before
his eyes closed.

“We will have everything prepared for the ritual regardless of when we start it, Hannibal,”
Will said, eyes beginning to flutter back open.

His parents did that thing where they looked in each other's eyes as if they were conversing
with only the look shared between them. Harry witnessed his father’s jaw tighten with a brief
moment of frustration.

“It will be a stressful day,” Hannibal said, clearly not liking that he conceded as his eyes
shifted from Will to the diary. “But it can be done.”

If Harry thought his parents were going to hover over him after he dove into the diary
without permission, it was nothing compared to their behavior when they learned the London
Quidditch Tournament was adorned with the Dark Mark as a finale.

Boarding the train, Harry pushed back the younger students that tended to find themselves at
the front of the train. Shuffling along the walkway, Harry eventually found Neville and
Hermione in a car of their own. He stuttered out a quick explanation to his friends about
attempting to find Draco in the hopes he could mend whatever harm he did to their
relationship with his lies.

It was only as he was passing away from Neville and Hermione that he thought of their odd
behavior, how they pulled away from their own closeness, Neville’s blush on his cheeks that
went beyond the sun of a greenhouse, or Hermione’s rushed talking.

Harry sighed with relief when he found a compartment for himself, letting out a huff of air as
he braced against the door with his back. Now that he was in the train, he could feel his
anxieties mounting. The room was small, the walls feeling like they might close with him
stuck between the floor and the seats. Harry pushed off the door to walk two paces forward,
pushing the window down to let some air through.

He heard the door open as the train jolted forward, watching Draco become unbalanced and
nearly falling to the floor had Harry not caught him. They looked at each other, faces close
together as Harry lifted Draco onto stable feet. Harry swallowed a dry throat, not sure what to
say to his friend as he looked down at his lips.

“Thanks,” Draco said, face pink. Harry cleared his throat as he backed away, letting Draco
into the compartment. He patted his hands on his thighs, looking around the room to avoid
looking at Harry. Draco inhaled slowly. “I would like to apologize for my behavior.”

Harry sat down on the other seat as the train began to pull out of the station. He looked down
at the floor to find that his knee was bouncing without his permission.
“I spoke to Severus over the summer,” Draco said, sparing a quick look at Harry before he
looked back at the red carpet on the ground. “About you being...being a Ravenstag.”

Harry swallowed, feeling his own hands begin to sweat with nervousness.

“About your transformation and you...eating human and what it could mean for the two of
us.”

Harry found himself nodding along to Draco.

“Severus helped me come to the conclusion that it’s never really going to change anything,”
Draco said, leaning forward to take Harry’s hands in his own, a small, nervous smile on his
face as he searched Harry’s for any sign of rejection.

Existential anxiety slid off Harry’s proverbial shoulders as the words left Draco’s mouth.
Harry dipped his head and exhaled slowly, feeling the weight leave him. The train rumbled
on, picking up speed as the sound of the tracks clattered under iron wheels.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Harry said, feeling relief at his friend's words, “you’re a twat for
making me think we were breaking up.”

Draco laughed awkwardly, sitting back in his chair looking as unburdened as Harry felt.

“I am sorry,” Draco said, in a more serious manner, “for making you feel...well, for
everything.”

Three months of guilt weighted on Harry; was he a poor friend for lying, was their entire
relationship- from friends to something more, based on a foundation of lies. Would Harry
have to choose between friends and family?

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, still sitting on the other side of the train compartment.

Not wanting to linger in the awkward silence of the past, Harry cleared his throat and asked
about the Quidditch Tournament.

“It was fun,” Draco said with a shrug that made Harry think it was more of a ruse for his
father than anything else. “Bartimus Crouch was trying to shack it up with my father over
some bill they are collaborating on.”

“So what happened?” Harry asked, having only read the account from the newspaper that
Will said was garbage.

“Ugh,” Draco said, flopping back in his seat. “A total disaster. The game was good, saw the
Weasley’s in their booth, father insulted them,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“And the Dark Mark,” Harry asked. Draco went silent, his gaze turning to the happenings
outside.

“It’s terrifying,” Draco said, “Father was with Crouch, so he had an alibi but the chaos of the
entire thing. It just makes me think that having the Tri-Wizard Tournament will invite more
trouble.”

Draco explained the Tri-Wizard Tournament in more depth, telling Harry that other schools
were coming to Hogwarts this year, the German school Durmstrang and the French
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. A Champion would be chosen from each school to
compete. The witch or wizard would have to be of age to compete as some of the chosen
could die.

“There is no way I’m participating in that,” Harry said. Draco snorted, holding the open hole
of one of the popcorn bags he purchased from the trolly to Harry. Harry took the offering and
ate the popcorn, using the excuse to sit closer to his friend.

“Severus said something about making you sign a magical contract when you get to
Hogwarts,” Draco hummed.

Draco and Harry shared a laugh, both knowing that the man had enough on his plate with
teaching potions and being a Head of House than to spend his spare moments running after
Harry.

Again.

Professor Snape was waiting at the train station, away from Hagrid collecting the first years.
Normally, the students would jump off the train, their energy riled up from the long train ride.
With the Potions Master hanging over them, all the students were more organized when it
came to getting on the boats.

He waved his hand to summon Harry, Draco following behind him.

“Quickly, trouble,” Snape said, ushering them to the castle. After a brisk walk that left the
two students winded, Harry and Draco found themselves in his office.

“I have a magically binding contract slip,” Professor Snape said, pulling a blank sheet of
paper with a green border. “Sit,” he said, waving his wand for a black feather to land in his
hands.

“That’s a blood quill,” Draco said, reaching over the desk to grab it.

“Yes,” Professor Snape said, plucking the quill from his godson’s hands to put into the hands
of Harry. “As Draco said, this is a blood quill. It takes the blood from your body and uses it
as ink. Typically, these are used for turbulent contracts but as the Tri-Wizard Cup binds the
magic, we will have to use this.”

Harry picked up the quill, finding nothing different about it from the others he wrote. The
feather was sleek, well oiled from whatever creature it was plucked from.

“Write your full name, then state that you do not want to participate in the Tournament,”
Snape instructed, watching over Harry as he wrote his name. He felt something within him,
not like a needle was going into his arm, but a faint scratching sensation on the back of his
hand.
I, Harry James Potter, in no way, wish or want to participate in this years Tri-Wizard
Tournament.

He looked up at his teacher and friend for approval. Professor Snape nodded his head slowly,
brow clenched as he thought over the contract. Draco, who was watching their interaction,
perked up.

“You should add that if you were chosen, you played no part in it,” Draco said, pointing to
the text. Harry looked to his Head of House for approval. Professor Snape smiled at Draco’s
addition- enough for Harry to put the quill back to the parchment.

If chosen as Champion, I did not do so of a free, willing mind.

Professor Snape looked over the lines of text, humming with approval.

“Now, write that your blood is a sign of your oath.”

Harry signed his name at the bottom of his statements, dating it to prove that he completed
the contract before the official start of the year.

“Now there is no way for you to get into trouble,” his professor said, reaching to read over
the contract. “I will send a copy to your bank manager, parents and the Headmaster.” He
waved his wand, the parchment rolling up into his hands.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, scratching the back of his hand where the itch lay. Professor
Snape took his right hand and inspected it, turning his wrist over. Harry wasn’t sure what he
was looking for, but he didn’t seem to find it as cold fingers let his hand go.

“Of course,” Professor Snape said, nodding his head as he walked with the two of them
towards the growing din of the older students piling into the school. Professor Snape let them
catch up to the rest of the student body before walking through the teacher’s door to the Great
Hall.

“Did he seem okay to you?” Harry asked, a hand over his mouth as the first year students
began the sorting.

“I’m glad you noticed,” Draco muttered. “Severus has been acting weird. He won’t sleep and
then will sleep for two days.” Harry spared a look at his Potions Professor. “And I mean,
that’s normal for him if he goes on a potion binge but he didn’t have many over the summer.”

Harry thought of a question. He ducked his head, pulling the side of Draco’s sleeve to get
him to lean closer. Harry put a hand around Draco’s ear.

“Is he feeding?” He asked. Draco pulled away and nodded his head.

“That's what’s strange; he feeds more than usual,” Draco whispered, his teeth clenched to
avoid the potion master detecting what they were talking about.

Harry hummed, having no answers for Draco. He had the standard jar of jerky in his trunk
along with his hibernation pills. Harry remembered his own shivers, fatigue and hunger that
 followed him until his father made him the supplement. Feeding helped elevate the
symptoms. Harry wasn’t sure what would cause a vampire sickness, even if they were
feeding regularly.

Maybe his parents would know...

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for being here with me. May this chapter open up the shenanigan's of year
four!

much love to each and every one of you!

 Soul Searching
Chapter Notes

SUNDAY DINNER!
It's tasty.

Thank you for all your love and support! I am so happy to be feeding everyone the
meals they desire.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hogwarts was practically singing with magic and energy as they grew closer and closer to the
end of the day. And with only one class left before the Choosing Ceremony, the students and
professors were eager to be done with the day.

For the seventh years, they were thinking about the glory that it might bring them. Other
older students complained at the age limit or contemplated the challenges that might occur.
The Ravenclaws had composed a list of all the trials going back thirty years.

For Harry, each day that came closer to the ceremony mounted his anxieties.

While he was assured by Professor Snape in the morning that the blood contract would
nullify any potential binding, Harry had a stress headache from the moment he woke. Draco
must have picked up on Harry’s mood as he tried to distract Harry throughout the day.

With each reassurance from the two, his mind replayed images of him forced to compete.

“Hey,” Draco said, knocking Harry out of his thoughts. He blinked and saw he was in the
defense room. Harry swallowed, hearing the ticking of the clock behind him. Neville looked
nervous about being in the class as well.

Professor Moody was an unorthodox teacher...different from his dad and Professor Lupin.
Moody would sometimes ramble on for half the lecture, giving long winded speeches about
old Death Eater raids and when the Dark Lord was at the height of power.

Harry tried to take his focus off the sound of the clock ticking behind him as he heard the peg
leg stomping of Professor Moody approaching them. The man was like a bull, always
charging through doors to boisterously announce his presence before shouting off another
lecture. Before their professor even said anything, he patted his breast pocket for his flask.

“Today is the Choosing Ceremony,” Moody said, his yellow teeth expanding in a smile as he
moved forward, closer to the table that had a glass beaker sitting upright. “One of you will
face real world, magical threats in three challenges.”
Harry already had enough anxiety before he sat down before class. Professor Moody tipped
back the flask and grimaced at whatever was within it. He tapped the glass beaker on the
table twice, the sound echoing through the walls, causing some students to flinch.

“We’ve learned about the darker times,” Moody said, pointing his wand at the empty beaker.
He filled it with water. “Let’s see it in action.”

Moody walked around the table slowly, his leg cutting through the sound of the ticking
clock.

“The imperious curse,” Moody said, putting the flask back in his breast pocket with a
securing pat of his chest. He looked around the room like a drunk searching for a bottle. The
professor grinned, humming his satisfaction as he walked to a nearby spider web.

Students left and right of him began to look at each other, nervous faces and tension growing
that wasn’t attributed to the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry.

“The Imperious curse makes anyone bend to my will,” he said, grinning. Moody pointed to
the spider who was building a web with fluid movements. The students watched as the
creature walked slowly, mechanical steps that were measured. Moody laughed as it walked
along his desk.

“I can make it drown itself.”

The spider followed his command, walking up the side of the class, cresting the rim. Harry
tore his eyes away from the spider to look at Draco, seeing that his friend had turned away.
Harry growled as the spider touched the water with a leg, only to retract with an instinct that
fought against magic.

This seemed to only spur Moody onward. Students murmured to each other, even crossing
house parties to whisper and gossip at what their professor was showing them. Their
whispers went unheeded by their teacher, far too invested in his own cruelty to notice their
terror.

“The second is the Pain curse: Crucio!” he laughed as the spider twitched along the edge of
the beaker, legs pulling in and out. Other students hid their eyes behind their hands, turned
their heads, but they could not escape the lecture Professor Moody gave as he tortured the
spider.

In the commotion, Harry looked for his Gryffindor friend, Neville, who looked white as a
sheet, his eyes unable to pull away from the spider. The scent of fear permeated the room.
Neville turned his head as he threw up, the scent of bile spurring Harry to move.

Harry stood up, feeling his feathers wrap around his ribcage.

“Enough,” he growled, slamming both his hands onto the table to pull the focus of the man
from the spider to him.
Moody looked up at Harry. He felt himself widen his stance as if he were preparing for a
charge. He could feel the energy in the room shift. This man was a predator; one that was not
his ally. While he did not know why Dumbledore trusted this man- Harry did not.

“Ah yes,” he said, stepping away from the spider. The creature was weak, twitching on its
side as legs tried to find whatever nerves were unharmed. “Harry Potter brings us to the final
curse. The last of the Unforgivables.”

Moody pointed his wand at the spider, finding perfect aim with the struggling creature as his
wild eyes attempted to stare Harry into submission.

“Avada Kadavra,” he growled, teeth clenched. The spider made no sound as it died a peaceful
death, contorted limbs unable to fold inward.

Harry felt his feathers almost stand at the ready, the sound of a distant scream echoing
through the back of his head. Harry felt a wave of anger consume him. He looked back at the
clock, not caring that they still had a half hour of class to complete.

“I thought this was a defense class, not some unneeded review of recent events.”

Harry didn’t even bother to unpack his things in Defense Class, knowing that there was very
little substance to his rambling lectures. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, prowled across
to the red side of the class and grabbed Neville, storming out of the room.

He heard other students push their chairs back. The clopping of shoes against stone made
Harry turn his head and saw that Draco was catching up to him. He was followed by another,
a red head they occasionally butted heads against.

“What do you want, Weasely?” Draco said, standing between the two. Ron looked like he
was getting ready to argue, but shook his head.

“He’s from my house. I can take him to the Hospital Wing and tell McGonagall what
happened before the Choosing Ceremony.”

Draco lifted his chin, his body standing in front of Harry and Neville. Harry thought Draco
was going to say something to Ron Weasley, but was interrupted with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” Neville groaned, his hands shaking. After a moment of hesitation, Draco
allowed Ron to pass and take Neville from Harry’s shoulders.

Harry pat Ron on the shoulder in thanks once, watching the two Gryffindor’s walk up the
first of many flights of stairs.

“Let’s get out of here before Moody comes and gives us a detention,” Draco said, pulling
Harry away so they could catch up with the rest of the students.

As it turned out, many other professors let their classes out early. It appeared as if the fourth
year Gryffindor/Slytherin Defense class showed up as the others did- with their professors
approval. Draco pulled Harry deeper into the current of students surrounding them, making
sure there was no way that Moody could gather either of them without causing a disturbance.
“Draco,” Harry said, stopping his friend by planting his feet in the concrete. He felt like a
fawn again, as if he should have white feathers standing up in fear. Draco furrowed his brow
in confusion, then realized where they were racing too.

“You have to be there,” Draco said, coming closer to Harry, linking their fingers together. “If
somehow the Goblet picks you, the only way to form a defense is with a strong alibi.
Everyone needs to see you at the Ceremony.”

He knew Draco was right; the adrenaline of the class still pumping through his blood, Harry
swallowed the nervous ball in his throat and followed Draco’s lead.

Dumbledore and the other Headmasters seemed equally pleased by the student’s excitement.
After a headcount of students, Dumbledore was pleased to begin the ceremony early. Harry’s
heart was pounding alongside the din of the students.

He didn’t want to be at the Ceremony at all. In fact, Harry was hoping to use the Ceremony
as a distraction to hunt for the Diadem that Tom told him about over the summer. Draco
dragged him down into the Great Hall, trying to distract Harry with his own excitement-
mentioning the signed contract several times in an attempt to calm his nerves.

“That’s Crouch,” Draco said, nodding his head to the man. He was, if anything, permanently
stuck in a crouched position. Harry was pressed against so many students, feeling as if they
were breathing down on top of him.

When a series of spells dimmed the lights around them, the students quieted naturally as
Crouch made his way to the podum. Harry could see that the man was talking and he knew
that the students around him were silently clinging to every word he said. Regardless, the
ringing in his ears blast through whatever words the man spoke.

The Goblet was pulled out with a hovering charm. When it was released, a great scraping of
stone on stone made Harry cringe. The fire that blazed from the Goblet was wide and tall, the
embers sparking with the excitement of the student.

Dumbledore and the other Headmasters stepped up to the Goblet and Harry felt his heart
beating in his ears. The fire responded to the adults, fire calming and shifting to a blue hue
around the room, causing students to gasp in wonder.

Harry watched the Durmstrang Headmaster step in line next to Dumbledore as he waited for
his school’s champion. The fire coiled inward before bursting with a wide arch of blue
flames. Harry saw the embers transfigure into a slip of paper.

Dumbledore reached up with his hand, summoning the falling slip of parchment. Harry felt
like his mouth was dry as his palms sweat in his hand.

“Victor Krum!” Dumbledore shouted, looking at the Durmstrang men all dressed in dark
browns and blacks. Draco clapped his hands with as much enthusiasm as the girls around
him. Harry pressed a hand to his ear, wincing as the sound reached its highest when he
approached the stage and shook hands with Crouch.
The blue flames silenced the crowd, much to Harry’s relief. Victor Krum walked up to
Karakoff and shook the man’s hand, then Dumbledore’s. The two took a step back as
Headmistress Maxime stood next to Dumbledore. Harry felt his eyes stick to the flames like
he was a moth.

“Fleur Delacour,” Came the second name. Harry couldn’t clap along with the students. He
felt like his breath was being squeezed from his lungs. The students that were cheering and
jumping around him didn’t notice his new sense of lightheadedness.

Warmth sparked from the center of his spine like it bloomed from within his marrow. He
gasped, taking in a refreshing breath of air as the feeling brought his feathers along his ribs in
comfort.

Harry whipped his head around, turning his neck to look at his backpack as if he could see
the horcrux within. Before he could do anything further the goblet flickered, shifting Harry’s
anxiety from the horcrux attempting to offer comfort.

The Champion that would represent Hogwarts would burst from the flame next. The sound of
clapping fell to his deaf ears as he watched the red flames spark from the cup.

When they turned blue, Harry felt his lungs hold his breath in his lungs. An innocent piece of
paper burst free from the Goblet, flickering with embers as if it were to burn before it was
caught and read aloud.

Ears ringing, sweaty palms, his pounding heart, all fell away as the little piece of paper
filtered through the air. Dumbledore stepped forward to raise his hand and wait for it to fall
into his palm with a faint smile.

Harry could hear the rustle of the paper old fingers as the name was revealed for only the
Headmaster. He looked up with a smile on his face.

“Cedric Diggory,” Dumbledore said.

Harry almost threw up with relief.

Harry joined with the rest of the Hogwarts students, clapping his hands wildly as he saw a
Hufflepuff make his way over to the other Champions, waving his hand. They smiled at each
other, Cedric first extending his hand to Krum and then to Fluer in a sign of sportsmanship.

Dumbledore waved the other Head teachers to the front, intent on making some
announcement.

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach when the flames changed back to blue. The haunting
color crested over the room as another piece of paper shot free of the Goblet. Draco
immediately grabbed Harry’s hand, his eyes wide with shock as Harry’s fears seemed to play
in reality. He looked up to Professor Snape, his expression giving no emotion away.

The man shook his head in a small movement as if telling Harry to relax.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as it floated downward.

Dumbledore stepped forward cautiously, reaching up to grab the paper. He yanked his hand
back when the paper crumbled to ash within his fingers, falling like sand to the ground. The
Headmaster looked at the ash, not moving for a second.

As he looked up, his crisp blue eyes connected with Harry, a small dip of his chin
acknowledging the narrow dodge they all experienced.

Raising his hands to the crowd the Hogwarts Headmaster smiled.

“Clearly the Goblet is excited,” he cheered, raising Fluer and Diggory’s hands up in the air.
The cheering erupted again as if nothing occurred. It left Harry feeling emotionally drained,
but he was not standing on the stage with the others.

“See?” Draco said, bumping Harry’s shoulder with his own, a burst of his scent filling
Harry’s nose with comfort.

Dumbledore dismissed all of the students and the respective Champions, giving them only
the date of their First Task. The Champions left with their Headmasters behind the door as
Crouch summoned the Goblet with a flick of his wand. The students began to file out of the
room, the three champions' names being tossed around them.

“I’m going to find Krum and the other students,” Draco said, following the Slytherin’s that
were making their way towards the Durmstrang group. Harry resisted the current of students
that Draco flowed into, putting himself against the wall to make his escape.

Having enough excitement and terror for the day, Harry wanted, more than anything, to go
into the dorms, curl in his bed and sleep.

There was one thing he had to do before he allowed himself to sleep- and the chaos within
Hogwarts was the perfect cover.

With the aid of the students, Harry obscured his scent as he followed the Gryffindor’s up to
their dorms on the off chance that Professor Snape was tracking him. Before anyone could
catch onto him, Harry cut off at the fourth floor, choosing a different set of stairs that the
Ravenclaws frequented to climb higher.

He found a bench to sit on, hidden in the shadows, and listened for the students and teachers
passing along the hallways. His backpack was still on his shoulders from Defense class, the
sun only beginning to fall over the horizon. Harry waited, feeling his body calm for fifteen
minutes until the hallways calmed.

Since Dumbledore caught him with the horcrux in his second year, he dare not take Tom out
of his bag until he knew the coast was clear. The warmth that Tom gave him cut out after
Diggory’s name was read and did not return when the goblet spat out a fourth name.

It led Harry to believe that Tom wasn’t aware of what occurred.

With the commotion below as his cover, Harry reached into the bag and removed Tom’s diary
and his transfiguration. Harry felt his magic react to the diary before he touched it. Though he
had a quill in his hand, Harry remembered the instructions, making his way down the
hallways until he reached the back of the school. Doubt filled him for a moment, prompting
him to put his hand against the stone wall and push.

Naturally, Harry was met with resistance.

Harry took a deep breath, feeling a bit like an idiot, like Tom was playing a prank on him.

He paced in front of the blank stone wall three times, thinking about the diadem horcrux.
Tom told him in writing that while Harry might not know what the horcrux looks like
physically, they were able to feel it within them. It was the reason why Nagini could find
Harry, why Harry could read the words in the diary and why Tom could invite Harry within
the pages.

Opening his eyes, there was a door that was not there before. Harry huffed a laugh as he
reached for the door handle, feeling the fold iron give way to his momentum, it opened.
Harry pulled the door ajar enough for him to slip between the spaces.

He braced his back against the door, sighing in relief as he took in the sheer size of junk in
the room. It was crammed into every space, where an empty drawer might be open, filled
with wads of paper. Chairs were stacked over one another in a way that arched like a rainbow.
Harry opened the diary to a page and asked how he was to find a diadem.

It is close, Tom wrote after a moment when Harry thought he was being sullen again. Left.

Harry followed Tom’s instructions as best as he could. He waved around the desks that were
broken and cracked, climbed over a suit of armor that was swollen and bloated in the middle.
Thick coats of dust billowed around him if he moved the curtains or other linens hanging.

As he stumbled deeper, Harry began to feel another hypnotic call pull him closer. Soon, he
stopped looking at Tom for instructions, feeling the pull as if he were attached to a line
reeling him closer.

It was a game of magical hot-cold. The two followed the lure of the diadem until the ringing
tune stopped. Harry looked at the closet and opened the door. He pulled on the shelves,
prying the warped wood open to reveal dust mites and a dead mouse skeleton.

Look up.

There, sitting innocently atop the closet and covered in cobwebs, was a shining blue diadem.
Harry smiled as he looked back at the pages.

Accio will help you. Harry lifted his wand to the diadem and trusted Tom. He cast the spell,
watching as it floated over to him, smacking into his left hand. A rush of power raced around
him, pushing the dust away from him in a little cloud as he reconnected with another shard.

When the warm, sunshine heat finished passing through the entirety of his body, Harry
looked from the dusty diadem to the room around. After a minute of searching, Harry
stumbled onto some oversized dinner napkins. He fluffed the dust out of it before wrapping
the linen around the diadem. He pulled his backpack over his shoulder and put it under his
books.

Well done, Harry, Tom wrote in the book. Harry watched the ink fade as he closed the diary,
knowing that he would have to get to Slytherin dorms before Professor Snape would grow
suspicious. One more stop, came the next words.

“One more stop?” Harry asked accusingly at the Diary. He felt a pulse of amusement echo
through his body.

The Chamber, of course.

Harry rolled his eyes with a huff. With the diadem secure in his bag, Harry began the
treacherous walk back to the door.

“What do we even need there?” He asked, carefully ducking under a suit of armor with the
sword embedded in a table, splintered wood frayed along the blade.

My blood. I won’t be able to absorb the horcruxes without some of my original material.

Students and teachers were distracted by the commotion of the ceremony, no doubt hunting
down students that attempted to sneak out. Harry’s descent from the Room of Requirement
was a slow one, even with the map in his hands, he neglected to bring his invisibility cloak,
forcing him to hide behind pillars or in classrooms as people passed him.

Poking his head around the corner, Harry could hear there were students further down the
hall, the sound growing fainter with every second. Trotting to the second floor girls
bathroom, Harry found himself in the reflection of the mirror.

Not alone in the mirror.

He whipped his head around to look for the boy in the reflection and found nothing.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Tom said, the sound echoing through his head as he looked at the
apparition in the mirror. “I didn’t break our promise- it’s the diadem.”

Harry turned the bag off his shoulders, opening a small slit that he could look through. There
was a strange azure glow that was faintly pulsing in his bag.

“Neither of us are strong enough to do anything,” Tom said, looking at the floor with a face
of dejection. Harry zipped the bag and repositioned it on his back. Ignoring Tom’s morose
attitude at not being able to cause a fair degree of chaos, he turned to the sink hiding the
Chamber ladder.

“Open,” he hissed.

As before, the sink rumbled, pipes moving as porcelain dropped into the ground, revealing a
dusty set of stairs for him to walk down. Eyes watering, Harry covered his nose with his hand
as he descended the stairs once again.
Bones cracked under his weight as he stepped off the spiral staircase. Harry looked up and
saw the last of light leaving from the bathroom, plunging him in darkness. Harry flicked his
wand in a circle, muttering a soft lumos to guide him.

The light passed through Tom’s apparition, a hazy glow cast around his body that would not
light the way if Harry had no magic. He floated next to Harry, bobbing up and down as his
excitement grew.

A warm ball of golden light illuminated the skulls and bones around him. Harry stumbled his
way to the second Chamber door, the large snakes protecting the round entrance. Hissing the
command once more, Harry watched the snake coil around the circumference, unlocking
each bolt until the door popped open with a hiss.

“She won’t kill you,” Tom said in his head.

“That’s very reassuring.”

“I told her not to when I possessed you. You're safe in these walls, little brother.”

“Say the spirit to the real boy,” he retorted, slipping through the door.

The Chamber was still as dark and dank as it was last time. Dripping water echoed through
the Chamber, the sheen reflecting his and Tom’s image up at him. Harry paused as he entered
the main strip of the room, Salazar’s face staring at him in stone. Listening for anything,
Harry felt his heart beating faster in his chest as he waited.

“Come on, Harry,” Tom said, attempting to walk further ahead of Harry only for his image to
disappear. Harry walked forward, seeing Tom’s image take a more tangible hold. The boys
walked further down the hallway, passing the large pillars netted with scales and scraped
from the Basilisk.

Tom tried to pull Harry to the mouth of Salazar with a faster pace than the nervous teen, his
efforts were met with his ghostly form flickering out until Harry caught up to him.

“So impatient,” he chastised as they made to the lip of pool and stone.

Tom was enthusiastic, it showed in his visage, flickering with a pulse of strength as they both
hissed the word:

“Open.”

The jaw dropped down, stone grinding against stone with such noise it caused Harry to cover
his ears. Tom, unaffected as he had no tangible body, floated into the room before it had a
chance to open all the way.

“Wait for me,” Harry hissed, ducking under the stone. He was immediately caught in a thick
cobweb, making him rub his hands over his face as Tom laughed at him. As he brushed away
the thick, white curtain of cobwebs, he glared at Tom.
This room was much different, covered in dust and bones scattered on the ground but it
lacked the leaking problem the rest of the Chamber had. Shelves containing dusty books
lined the stone walls of the circular room. Tables were covered in centuries of cobwebs,
making it impossible to tell what Harry needed to grab.

Luckily, Tom seemed to know what he was looking for. He floated over the bones and
through the cobwebs to a small box. Considering the layer of dust surrounding the room, the
box Tom was hovering over was less dusty, the cobwebs lighter.

“You just stored your own blood around?”

“Harry,” Tom deadpanned as he removed the backpack from his shoulders. “I cut into my
soul eight times and spent my first life wrongfully ravaging the magical world.” Tom’s voice
had changed, his ghostly form dropping down the more he spoke, at first with humor, then
with self-awareness.

He rubbed a ghostly finger over the lock, unable to even more it with a passing breath.

“This is nothing.”

Figuring the boy was right, Harry put the bag on the side of the tabletop. He ran his wand
along the welded side, sparks flaring around them both as the top cracked off.

Within were two vials of blood, both made of glass and labeled with yellow tape: Tom
Marvolo Riddle. When he looked at Tom, it was to the boy nodding his head. Harry closed
the box and slid it next to the diadem and diary.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry said, the poor air quality making his head begin to thorb.
Tossing the bag over his shoulder, Harry escaped from the stuffy room, taking in a deep gulp
of cleaner air. His departure from Salazar’s mouth prompted the stones to slid against each
other, the sound echoing through the room as Harry walked away from it.

As Harry exited the Chamber, he noted that Tom began to vanish. He could feel the warm
pulse from the diary echo through his chest as the sink closed.

The run back to his dorm was a swift one, dodging students that were chased by various
professors around the halls, using the commotion as a diversion.

As Harry was about to whisper the password, Slytherin’s door opened to Professor Snape
standing in the doorway with his hands crossed over his chest and an eyebrow raised.

“Busted,” an echoing laugh coursed through his head with a playful flash of energy.

“One would think you are up to something Mr. Potter.”

In the Common room were several students, most notably the Weasley Twins, all with their
heads down, writing lines. Professor Snape walked to his office, holding the door open for
Harry to walk through. Feeling the eyes of his fellows on him, Harry walked into his office,
nervously shuffling on his feet as Professor Snape closed the door.
Harry swatted the man as he rubbed his ear. When Harry turned, he saw a cobweb hanging
from Professor Snape’s finger.

“As my godson already completed his set of lines, it’s clear you weren’t necking in an
abandoned classroom.” Professor Snape said this, rubbing the cobweb in between his
fingers.

Harry blushed at his teacher, trying not to draw further attention to himself.

“I’m waiting,” he said, hands crossed over his chest. Harry's sigh was drawn out as he looked
at the man, knowing he knew of Tom’s horcruxes and the agreement his family came to.
Harry slowly removed his backpack from his shoulders, placing it on the ground to unzip
them.

“I found a horcrux,” Harry said. His hand was stopped from reaching for the diadem by
Professor Snape.

“And you’re going to touch it with your bare hands?” He asked, pushing Harry away from
his backpack, wand pointed at the objects. He felt a protective surge erupt through him,
fearing for the Diary. Harry remained still as his professor muttered in latin, weaving spells
around his bag until the diadem lifted.

“What was your plan, Mr. Potter? Keeping it in your trunk?”

That was exactly what Harry was planning; he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Professor Snape rubbed his brow with the hand not holding his wand. When he inhaled, he
looked at Harry inquistitly.

“And Tom’s blood,” Harry rushed to confess to the vampire, nudging his bag further open to
expose the metal box he retrieved from the Chamber. Professor Snape flicked his wand a
second time, lifting the box free from his bag. Harry noted that his other books toppled over,
covering Tom’s diary from view.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at his desk. With his free hand, he pulled several sheets of
parchment, slapping them in front of a chair. “Lines: I will inform my parents and professor
of all horcruxes I find.”

Holding back his groan, Harry collected his bag and flopped down in the chair, rooting
around for a spare quill. As he...searched for an inkwell, Harry ran a finger down the length
of Tom’s spine, reassuring the horcrux he wouldn’t be given up.

“Where are you taking those?” Harry asked, watching from the chair his professor sat him
in.

“To a protective casing, Mr. Potter. I’ll inform your parents of your findings and they’ll
collect them immediately or when it’s time for your Yule ritual.”

He spun around, his cloak billowing as he marched with the floating Diadem and box of
blood trailing after him.
 Harry spent a large part of the night sitting in Professor Snape’s office, writing line after line,
past a hand cramp until the parchment was filled with the same statement. He could feel his
eyes starting to get heavy and as Professor Snape gave him no indication on when he should
stop, Harry flipped over the parchment and wrote on the backside, ink bleeding everywhere.

Professor Snape returned from catching other students and was startled when he saw Harry.

“Has it sank in?”

Harry turned his palm over, seeing ink that had stained his flesh black in a way that might
excuse his feathers. Showing the evidence of his punishment to his teacher, Professor Snape
looked him over with a suspicious eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, attempting to rub the ink off his stained flesh, “promise.”

“See to it that you do, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said, walking Harry to his office door.
“This magic is dark- you experienced that yourself in your second year. It will consume you
if you are not careful.”

He opened the door to free Harry from his punishment. Harry walked out of his office,
watching as the man walked back out of Slytherin Commonroom, the surrounding students
writing lines without breaking concentration. Harry blushed as he retreated to his dorm.

“He got you too?” Draco asked, holding up his own hand covered in black ink.

“He met me at the door, Draco,” Harry bemoaned, changing out of his ink stained shirt.

“We didn’t stand a chance,” Draco laughed, nudging Harry’s side with his shoulder to draw a
laugh. Harry smiled at his friend, figuring that the potential consequences of his actions were
light in comparison to the punishment.

Chapter End Notes

Harry and Tom are too fun to write, especially how Tom lets Harry take the fall for their
Chamber shenanigans' against Snape.

Also, a teacher using the three deadly curses- red flag dumbs...I'm working on that....
 Trance of the Chandelier
Chapter Notes

Good morning everyone!

Lots of goodies in this bag for you! I will be MIA for a while- I have to move into a new
place so I will leave you all with this food so it may keep you going until I have wifi
again! This is a bigger chapter so I hope it feeds you all well! Packed with so many
goods!

Also- Will gives titles to the Herd- Herd feels incoming

See the end of the chapter for more notes

With the owls that came down to the students delivering post, Hedwig fluttered down and
landed on Harry’s shoulder with her leg stretched out.

“From Sirius?” Harry asked as he released the twine, recognizing the shaky script
immediately. She hooted, amber eyes bright as she looked down at the bacon on his plate. He
offered a slice up to her. “How did you get to him?” He wondered, watching her inhale the
food in lieu of response.

“He’s been doing better,” Draco said, leaning into his side as Harry opened the letter. “Father
still doesn’t know mother and I talk to him.” Harry and Draco gossiped about his summer
with his second cousin and Harry’s godfather. Their visits never intersected due to his limited
amount of social time.

Hey, Prongslet!

Draco snorted at the nickname.

“Hippochick,” he scoffed. Harry pushed his shoulder, keeping the rest of the letter from
Draco until he apologized.

Moony and I were hoping that you would want to spend Samhain night with us. I wanted to
take a moment to show you what could have been, now that I am cleared for long-term,
outpatient therapy.

I even checked with your parents before extending the invite.

Look at me, being responsible.

Hope to see you soon,

Sirius

Harry was filled with excitement! Over the summer, Harry was allowed to go and visit Sirius
for short periods of time. They were later allotted more time to talk since it greatly improved
Sirius’ healing.

Neither Will nor Hannibal ever grew frustrated or upset when Harry talked about Sirius in
front of them. They weren’t angry with him when he requested spending more time with his
long lost godfather after a St. Mungo’s nurse informed Harry that he was helping Sirius
recover.

“You would be missing the First Task,” Draco said, waving his spoon over the date on the
parchment. Harry felt like he was hit with a wave of relief.

“Good,” Harry said, reaching into his bag for a spare sheet of parchment. He wrote back
accepting the invitation with enthusiasm, only asking who would pick him up for the day.

A week later, an owl delivered a letter from his dad. In it, he wrote to have a fun time with his
godfather and that Remus Lupin would be the one to pick him up.

Harry smiled until his cheeks hurt. He thought that there was something between his
professor and the con when he was allowed to look at the photograph. Professor Lupin
thought that a younger memory would spark something in Harry but he mostly saw the same
comradery he shared with Draco.

As October grew closer and closer to the First Task, Harry was glad to know that he would be
present for the challenge. A week before the task, as other students were placing bets behind
their backs, Harry was preparing to leave Hogwarts.

All Harry needed to do was inform Professor Snape.

Harry stood in front of the door patiently after knocking. Normally, a second or two would
pass before his Professor would allow him into the room, only to find magic cleaning up
some experiment.

When nothing came to pass,Harry furrowed his brow as he knocked again, harder this time.

The door opened the second time to Professor Snape almost hissing at the light that came
from the torch. He backed up, his eyes averted from the light as Harry scampered into the
room.

Professor Snape was looking worse for wear; his hair was limper than usual and his face
looked like it was beginning to skin into his skin. Chapped lips and strained skin made Harry
think the man was suffering from dehydration.

“Are you alright, sir?” Harry asked, walking around his professor, not believing the man
waving him off.

“What do you need, Mr. Potter?” He asked, sitting down at his desk, drinking a glass of water
only to refill it with water. Harry had the letters in his hand, both from his dad that allowed
him to go, detailing that Remus Lupin would pick him up, and the letter from Sirius as
evidence to convince his teacher.

Where the man normally had sharp and clear eyes that could spot movement from a mile
away, were dull and misted over. His body was always pale, but he looked...haunting. Harry
knew that the man would not tell him what was wrong and that Harry could do nothing about
it.

Nothing about it...currently.

“Sirius Black has invited me to Grimmauld Place for Halloween,” Harry said, stretching the
papers forward. His professor squinted his eyes as he read over the letters, looking between
the two. “Not being here for the first task would prevent you from preventing shenanigans
towards me.”

Professor Snape raised a stern eyebrow as he looked over Harry, then back to the letters. His
pale, chapped lips slid up to a small smile.

“Mr. Lupin will pick you up at the Whomping Willow,” he said, running his wand over the
parchment, making an identical copy. “I will arrive for your return there in the evening.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, taking his original papers and folding them fondly. He watched
Professor Snape roll the two sheets together and put them in his drawer.

“Well, go on,” Professor Snape said, noticing that Harry was still sitting there. He nodded his
head, wanting to say more while knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

Rather than go to his dorm, Harry calculated the time it would take him to reach the Owlery
before curfew. If he sprinted through the halls, he could pen a quick note to his parents,
reiterating the mystery illness that had fallen over his professor.

“Thanks,” he panted, head between his knees as Hedwig fluttered her wings. His beautiful
bird took off into the night sky like a shooting star. Harry moaned as he looked at the stairs,
knowing that he would have to race down all of them to make it back to his dorm before his
professor found out about his scheme.

He made it back to his dorm, practically hiding in the bathroom he shared with Draco to
avoid being caught by his Head of House. Harry was red in the face, his lungs burning with
the pace he set.

“What was that about?” Draco asked, handing Harry a glass of water.

“Told...father,” Harry panted, his head falling back on the cool tile of the ground. Draco
looked to the door, his head cocked to the side with the glass of water still in his hand.

“Good,” Draco said, nodding his head once with a devious smirk on his lips.

*
With the mass of people heading to the First Task, Harry happily walked, alone, in the
opposite direction for the Whomping Willow. Standing a healthy distance away from it was
his former professor. When Harry grew closer, the large man waved to him. Harry smiled as
he approached the man, taking a moment to scent the wind that carried it over.

From the scent that traveled on the wind, Harry could immediately tell he was healthier.
While the scent of soil and rain was attached to his skin. His hair had a healthy sheen to it
that wasn’t present while he was teaching last year. The smile Professor Lupin had for Harry
was more genuine, like happiness was a familiar thing rather than a pleasant surprise.

Harry shuffled the bag to better stand on his shoulders, feeling Tom’s warmth through his
clothes even from where he tucked it.

“It’s good to see you, Harry,” he said.

“You look better, Professor,” Harry said, moving forward to hug the man. The man’s laugh
rumbled through Harry’s body from where he was practically engulfed by the hug his
professor gave him.

The more time that Harry spent with Sirius, the more often he and his parents saw his former
professor. Their conversations were cordial, mostly ignored by Harry who wanted to
monopolize on his godfather’s mental fortitude.

“Call me Remus,” he said, breaking from the embrace. “It has been good...reconnecting with
Sirius.” Harry could see the blush that Remus tried to hide as he took Harry’s hand.

Professor Lupin and his dad warmed up to each other immediately, sharing their mutual
experience of a Hogwarts professor. Of course, when Harry told his parents about revealing
himself as a Ravenstag, he told them of his professor’s condition. Unsurprisingly to Harry or
Hannibal, Will took to spending the moon with the wolf.

A squeeze of his hand was the only warning Remus gave Harry as they walked over the
fallen leaves of autumn decorating the Hogwarts grounds.

The feeling of being pulled through a tube washed over him. When they landed, Harry
brushed himself off and took in the quiet suburban village.

“This way,” Remus said, crossing the street. It was a quiet muggle village, street lights were
coupled with power lines. Muggles in their homes were buzzing with the sound of radios or
televisions. Each house as normal as the rest.

“Memorize the address. It’s under a charm.” Remus handed him a lip of paper that he pulled
from the lapel of his jacket.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Harry repeated the address in his head as he followed Remus down the street. He counted the
odd numbers that passed him, smiling when he saw that ten skipped over to fourteen.

“Like Platform 9 ¾?” Harry asked, stepping back when the walls began to cave inward.
“The same kind of magic, yes,” Remus said. The windows crumpled in and then the walls
shifted outward, pushing away and leaving behind imprints of a dark, black slated house with
grass that was dead, but had been ripped up and reseeded.

The iron on the picket fences were crooked to the left and straight to the right. Harry slowed
to look at the bars, seeing that they were recently welded back into straight pikes. The center
gates still had to be prepared given that Remus had to pry it open for Harry to scramble
through.

“It’s a work in progress,” Remus grunted as the gate snapped closed. The two watched as the
metal almost fused back together from where Remus had his fingers.

“I love it,” Harry said, walking on the broken and cracked stones with flowers growing
between them. By the time the two approached the door, the house finished revealing itself.

Harry noticed that Remus pushed open the door without needing to knock. Harry followed
Remus’ gaze, which landed on Sirius, who was sitting by the fireplace. He stood up as they
entered the house, a smile on his face as they approached.

“Sirius,” Harry said, hugging his godfather. In the six months since his exoneration, Sirius
had put on more weight, doing away with looking like a skeleton.

“It’s so good to see you, Harry,” the man said, taking Harry’s head between his hands so he
could look over him. The teen allowed his touch, feeling the faint tremor that still gripped
Sirius against his cheeks. Sirius dropped his hands and looked at Remus but did not move
closer.

“Nice to see you outside Mungo’s,” Harry said. Sirius put a hand to his chest as he sat down
on the corner side of the couch. Harry sat down in the chair and tried to avoid watching
Remus, waiting to see what he would do.

“I was about to plan a breakout,” Sirius said, watching Remus make his way to the far side of
the couch. “It was becoming impossible,” he said, turning his attention back to the room
around him, waving his hand. “It isn’t much, but it’s home now.”

Sirius tilted his head back, hands falling to his side limply as he looked up at the chandelier,
covered in strings of once shining crystals and stones now the network for cobwebs.

“We’ve been cleaning it since we got here,” Remus said. Harry noticed that the sound of his
voice pulled Sirius from his trance of the chandelier. “It’s hard work after all the years of
neglect. The Black House almost expects dirt, dust and grime.”

“I can help!” Harry said, sitting forward as he recalled the first days his parents brought him
to Italy- how they all worked together to unpack the house and make it their own space.
Harry put his wand down on the table for the adults to take, remembering the Yule season he
spent in the England house while his dad was Defense Professor.

Sirius smirked at Harry, taking the wand in hand and twirled it through his fingers with some
trick that was ingrained beyond neuropathy. The wizard handed Harry back his wand.
“The thing about old Pureblood homes...the Trace can’t detect you.”

“Really?” Harry said as he looked at his wand. “There is no trace in Italy.” A country that had
more mercy on dark creatures and the magic they used.

“Houses with younger generations of magic can be traced,” Remus said, sitting forward, not
closer, to Sirius. “This house has seeped in years of magic. Hence...” he said, holding his
hand up to the spider slowly dropping from his own silk to the table.

Sirius stood up, clapping his hands together in a gesture of excitement.

“Let’s get you a room first,” his godfather said, leading him up the stairs. The portraits that
lined the stairs were covered with thick black cloth. He put his hand on the railing as he
walked up the stairs, taking in all the magic of old pureblood homes.

“I knew you were using me for free labor,” Harry said, shifting his backpack. He felt
something within him twinge, but he assumed it was Tom growing upset for being jostled
around.

“That was the whole idea,” Sirius laughed. He stopped in the middle of the staircase, his hand
thrown over his shoulder that made Harry notice the heads that were lined over the hallway
they were walking up. “I’m becoming a Slytherin. Moony! Save me!”

Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius, giving the man a playful push to get him moving back up the
stairs. He walked past Harry, forcing the man to brush close to Sirius. Both blushed as Remus
moved past, coughing once.

“I’ll show you towards your room,” Remus said. Harry moved past Sirius, noticing his hands
were ticking more as Remus walked further away. As they rounded the corner, Harry felt a
headache bloom from his scar.

His feathers burst along the length of his arms as a shriek cut through the silence of the
house.

“FILTHY HALFBREEDS! MONSTERS IN MY HOME!” she shouted. Harry collected

himself, glad his parents weren't there to see such an embarrassing display. Sirius stomped up
the stairs past Harry towards a door that opened to an empty room.

“Shut up, you stupid hag!” Sirius shouted as he stepped into the room, facing the door as he
yelled to the woman.

“UNGRATEFUL CUR OF A SON!”

“Let’s go, Harry,” Remus said, pushing Harry away from the shouting where he could only
catch a glimpse of a woman in a blue dress that looked strikingly like Sirius as he pulled on
the door handle like a dog playing tug-of-war.

“Lady Black,” Remus sighed, “Sirius’ mother. A hateful woman that’s focused on blood
purity and superiority.” Remus stopped in front of a door, his hand tracing over the scratches
in the walls.
“She disowned him in his fifth year,” Remus said, looking down at Harry as he popped the
door open. “Sirius was much happier living with your relatives than he ever was here.”

Harry walked into the simple room and put his things on the bed carefully, not wanting to
disturb Tom any more than he had. Naturally curious about Sirius’ mother, he asked,

“Why can’t he take the portrait down?”

“A permanent sticking charm that’s been fed by the neglect of the house.” Remus answered,
shrugging his shoulders. The man turned his head, anticipating Sirius' arrival to the room.
The man leaned against the threshold and tossed his hair back.

“I tried setting her on fire, but it didn’t work,” he said. Harry nodded his head, thinking
carefully. Now that he knew the house protected him from the Trace, he might be able to do
something about Sirius’ mother.

“What about Pareselmagic?” Harry asked, putting his wand to the side as his dad always
insisted. The power was too great for his wand to monitor. “I can speak Parseltongue,” he
explained. “It can only be stopped by another speaker.”

“Your family never had that trait,” Sirius said, pausing for a moment with his head turned to
the side. Not sure how much he wanted to tell Sirius and Remus about the horcruxes,
including the one within him and his backpack, he deflected.

“I don’t know why,” Harry lied. “If you want her gone, I can burn the portrait.”

As Harry was lying, he knew they were both suspicious as they shared a silent look between
them. To try and distract them, Harry mentioned that he could burn the portrait- effectively
snagging Sirius’ attention away from his lie.

“You would do that, pup?” Sirius asked, bouncing a little with his excitement. Remus looked
like he was trying to calm Sirius down with a steady hand on his shoulder.

“My dad’s been teaching me. It wouldn’t be that hard.” Harry insisted to Remus, knowing
that the man was hesitant.

Sirius seemed to notice this as well, moving around the larger wizard to take Harry by his
shoulders.

Nonetheless, Sirius had guided Harry to the room. Her portrait was still open to the room,
allowing a cold and moldy draft through that pricked at all of their noses. She was quietly
seething, black curly hair that she passed onto her son with silver piercing eyes.

“Mother,” Sirius said, standing behind Harry with two hands on his shoulders. “This is my
godson, Harry Potter.”

Upon seeing them she was already sneering, though sharp silver eyes drifted down,
hardening with her judgement. As Sirius spoke, Lady Black tilted her face up, her nose
curling as if they were something she would want to step over on the streets.
“Filth,” she spat, “like his father.”

Harry knew she was speaking of the father that took Sirius in when she banished him from
the house. If she knew his actual father, she might have a different opinion. His anger boiled.
Sirius made a tsking sound, pulling his head away as if she wounded him.

“Now, now, mother,” he chided, causing her to go red in the face. “Is that how we treat
guests?” He backed away from Harry. Remus was at the threshold of the door, watching the
interaction with his wand at the ready. He took Sirius by the shoulder and put the shaking
man behind him.

While Sirius enjoyed the last banter he would ever have with his mother, Harry gathered the
magic within his hands. He could feel it, almost like an extension of the energy he felt around
the horcruxes.

His headache came back as he gathered his magic, a pulling sensation that probably led back
to the room that he and Tom shared. Harry’s anger towards Lady Black was stronger than the
pain.

“My name is Harry Potter,” he hissed.

Whatever insult was on the tip of her tongue fell short as he hissed, feeling his magic coil
with heat around his fingers. Lady Black seemed to sense that her demise was near. Like the
portraits in Hogwarts, Lady Black tried to go to the seam of her border...as stuck to the door
on the wall.

She attempted to claw at the canvas as Harry’s magic sparked a bright blue flame in his
palms. He focused his energy, concentrating on not losing himself to the sensation of
powerful magic. When it gathered around him, no longer fighting to be free at any direction
but his own, Harry directed the magic.

“Incendo,” he whispered, knowing that if he shouted it would only double the power of the
spell. Flames of sapphire and emerald engulfed the portrait around Sirius’ abusive mother. He
was angry at her and the flames showed for it. In the moment, Harry felt an echo of the anger
for his fallen family members as he burned the portrait.

He could sense that the magic had broken and the woman was no more. He centered his
stance, making sure that the heat would not escape and burn the house down.

“Finis,” he hissed, vanquishing the blue flames. His knee dipped to the floor as he panted,
sweat beaded at his forehead. It was as exhilarating as it was exhausting some days.

“Ah, Harry,” Remus said, catching Harry in the same motion he did when they were
practicing the patronus spell. “Sirius, be a dear and fetch him a chocolate frog.”

As Sirius walked away from the two, Harry tried to wave the man off.

“Sirius is looking better,” he commented, watching as the man formed a cup and filled it with
water. He handed it to Harry with a warm smile.
“He has done well with treatment. Sirius will still need outpatient visits during the week but
he is much happier here.”

Harry could hear Sirius walking up the stairs and down the hallway, the creaking growing
louder as he approached the dirtier part of the house. His dad never revealed anything that
happened the two times he spent the moon with the wolf- only saying that Professor Lupin
was making progress.

“You look happier with him too,” he said, watching as Remus was robbed of retorting by
Sirius coming in with a dozen chocolate frogs which he dumped over the two of them. There
was one that remained in his shaking hand. Sirius took a seat between Remus and Harry.

They all shared the treats on the floor like children, the wrappers and cards falling to the floor
until they could grab another one.

As laughter died down, Sirius didn’t grab a chocolate frog, his eyes were stuck on something.
Harry looked to Remus for direction, not wanting to scare his godfather. Remus put a hand on
Harry’s shoulder, calming his worries. They both turned their attention to whatever captured
Sirius.

Harry jolted with shock at the decapitated house elf heads that were mounted high above on
the hallways walls, overlooking everyone that passed with a sneer.

“Maybe you can try again and use the elves as target practice,” Sirius pipped up.

“ No Sirius ,” Remus said in a tone that effectively pulled Sirius out of his trance and got him
laughing again. Though his hands quaked, he reached for the chocolate frog that Remus
offered him.

Harry stripped off his shirt and fell into bed, the diary under his pillow. He felt the anxieties
coming off of the diary as he helped Sirius and Remus clean the rest of the house. They
worked on the bedrooms, Remus and Harry helping Sirius remove a nasty boggart that had
grown there.

The result was Harry replaying his patronus for Sirius as he did in the forest.

By the end of the day, Harry was exhausted and ready for the day to end.

“Harry,” a voice said, which caused Harry to sit up in the bed.

There was Tom Riddle, hovering over his bed with the same translucent tint he had in the
Chamber. Harry, about to protest and accuse Tom that they broke the deal but Tom was
looking at his appearance with the same confusion as Harry.

“You used Parselmagic today,” Tom said, still rolling over his wrists for his inspection. Harry
relaxed, knowing that the boy would not hurt him. Whatever made him pop out of the diary
in a near corporeal form was not intentional.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Why are you…?” He gave a vague gesture to Tom’s outward image.
Harry tilted his head, noticing something. Though Tom did not have legs, his torso slowly
fading away- Harry stood up and moved next to him.

When Harry met Tom officially in the Chamber of Secrets, he was older- closer to a fifth
year. Now, Harry stood at eye level with the phantom. Harry had grown in height and his
antlers, and it seems that Tom had shrunk.

Not wanting to give away the strange type of magic, unsure of any explanation himself,
Harry went to the door and put his ear against it- not hearing his godfather or Remus.

“It is Samhain,” Tom said, looking out the window. “More likely, it’s the extra horcrux that is
hiding.”

Harry thought back to when he was walking up the stairs and the twinge of magic calling to
him in the form of a headache. The trance was broken by Walburga’s screaming and the fun
that came with using Parselmagic in front of his godfather.

Moaning, Harry reached back for his shirt and put it on. He walked to the door while Tom
hovered behind him. Before he left the room, Harry grabbed Tom’s diary, instinctively
knowing that the boy would need the tether to bring Tom along.

“It’s the Locket,” Tom whispered to Harry as he walked down the hallway. It creaked with
every step, but the house was naturally noisy and it was a windy night. He hoped that Remus
and Sirius would excuse the creaking sounds as natural rather than Harry sneaking.

“The ring would kill anyone that’s not touched by me and the Husk; thankfully he isn't here.”

“I think we would notice the Husk, Tom,” Harry said, following Tom down another hallway.
Harry couldn’t feel the twinge anymore, perhaps because the horcrux chose to respond to
Tom rather than Harry. He trusted that Tom knew where he was going.

Tom had narrowed it down to a hallway, one that was very close to the viewpoint of Sirius
and Remus. As Tom paced the wall back and forth, Harry crawled on his belly to catch a
glimpse of the two men.

They were sitting on the couch, Sirius in his original spot on the couch but this time, with
Remus boxing him in on the other, a hand over his shoulder.

“Could you stop creeping on your godfather’s crush and help me?” Tom hissed, his
apparition spiking with his petulance. Harry rolled his eyes and shuffled back to Tom, who
had his translucent hand in the wall yet unable to do anything else. “There’s probably a
hidden door.”

Harry felt along the drywall, pressing his fingers to feel for any cracks that would indicate a
hollow point. It reminded him of his cupboard, how he would sometimes press against the
locks with his arms or legs to get out of a place.
When he leaned lower, the door popped open with a small puff of dust that almost had Harry
coughing.

“Do not blow our cover,” Tom hissed at him, looking over Harry’s shoulder to the stairs.
Harry, keeping his nose and mouth covered with his sleeve, reached in, feeling his hand
guided to something metallic. While he grabbed blindly, his magic hummed warm in his hand
with the same feeling that all the horcruxes brought. A warm glow came from around Tom’s
body, both watching as his torso lengthened slightly to give the illusion of legs.

Urgency to hide the horcrux gripped Harry; he pulled his hand free, hiding the door once
again. Tom was ahead of Harry, scouting the way to the guest room he occupied. Taking care
not to slam the door shut, Harry closed it behind him.

A cool presence pressed on his shoulder once, twice, then dipped a bit deeper until he
shivered and turned to look at Tom. It was the boy’s hand that was on his shoulder, looking
down at whatever metal was in his hand.

Harry opened his fist to a gold plate. He turned it over, seeing that it was the back to a laid
green stone. There was power within the locket, carved with a deep S for Salazar Slytherin.
Harry rubbed his thumb over the gem, not feeling any magic reach out the way the diary did.

“One step closer,” Tom whispered. Harry dropped the horcrux into the drawer by his bedside,
knowing that prolonged exposure could harm him.

Harry hummed as he sat on the bed. He had a feeling that Tom was stealing some of his
energy away from him. Hit with a wave of exhaustion, Harry rolled onto the bed, uncaring
for the boy that was outside his diary on Samhain.

Harry knew that his father wanted him to avoid touching the horcruxes, save for Tom and
only due to their magically binding contract. His father and dad explained that the horcruxes,
as Tom attempted, could leech off magic. As Harry carried a horcrux within his soul, he was
naturally prone to their temptation.

Touching the Hufflepuff Chalice could activate the magic within, drawing Harry deep in a
prison like Tom’s diary. Harry refrained from touching the others as they were collected- only
drawn to Tom’s.

“Tom,” Harry warned, propping himself on his elbow as the teen’s eyes were hazed much
like Sirius on the Locket within the drawer.

As Tom’s translucent hand went to reach for the Locket, Harry tried to get out of the bed,
only his leg got caught in the sheets and sent him tumbling to the ground. His clumsiness
rattled the bed poster against the wall, but that was not Harry’s concern.

In the time that Harry scrambled to get his legs under him, Tom’s hand materialized at the
touch of the Locket.

Energy burst around the room with emerald sparks flickering around them. The chain
animated like coiling snakes, wrapping and contorting the hovering and weakening form
around Tom. Harry growled as he lunged for the phantom, feeling his feathers expand and
feathers burrow into the translucent edges.

With no time to spare, Harry gripped the chain that was working it’s way around Tom,
straddling the flickering phantom as Tom gasped for air. He heard the door burst open,
slamming on the hinges with a loud growl vibrating through the air, but Harry could not lose
concentration for a second.

He could feel the freezing magic begin to crawl around his own arms. His sight changed,
pulling much like what Harry felt when he dove into Tom’s horcrux, a brilliant jade and
emerald started to geometrically cage him.

A thought came to his mind through all the panic. As Tom gripped his arms, his face pleading
in a silent cry for help, Harry centered his magic. Performing Parselmagic may have
exhausted him, but it was easier to find his center now.

Harry opened his eyes and felt his feathers flare with power against the drag of the horcrux.
He dipped his head close to Tom’s sternum where the Locket was trying to bury itself within
his translucent chest.

“Expecto Patronum,” he whispered, pushing the spell and magic between the boy and his
own toxic parasite.

Harry didn’t know if such a brilliant spell as the patronus could be cast using a dark tongue,
yet his magic flowed almost from his mouth like vapor in winter.

The white stag did not burst from him in a giant form as Harry last practiced over the water
or before the boggart, this time, it was small and figurine like. It’s size did not stop the power
from the spell. The stag bucked and reared around the dark tendrils, prying the roots of the
Locket’s magic away from Tom’s neck, chest and arms.

Harry felt a huge presence wrap around him, equally large arms coming around to grip the
chain and help him pull.

A snap from the chain of the Locket released a sputter of emerald sparks as it freed Tom.
Harry rocked back onto Remus lap, both clutching the chain, Sirius with his hackles raised,
panting nervously.

“Tom,” Harry said, scrambling forward to his twin before anyone could pull him away. The
teen was shaking, his phantom flickering in and out of sight around his body. Tom took what
appeared to be a deep breath and his phantom calmed.

Harry held his hand out, knowing the Diary anywhere- it smacked into his hand and they all
witnessed Tom’s form grow in frequency and color.

“Are you alright?” he asked, unable to touch or provide comfort. Tom’s eyes flickered to the
two behind Harry, widening with a bit of fear.

“Soul magic,” gasped Tom.

“You’re hurt,” Harry replied, opening the pages, knowing that Tom would have to fall within
them to heal.

“Not physically,” Tom said, raising a blotchy hand to put on Harry’s shoulder for it to fall
into his body. A shiver passed over Harry and Tom removed his hand with a wince.
“Weaker,” he whispered, only for Harry.

“I’m scared,” Harry found himself confessing to Tom. Tom tilted his head with a weak smile,
his eyes both shiny with tears of pain and clouded with cataracts.

“What the blazes is this, Harry?” Remus finally asked. Harry turned his head, no response
coming to his mind. In the time that Harry turned, Tom slammed his palm into the yellowing
pages of his diary.

A golden flash almost blinded them all as Tom entered his hospital, prison, once again.

Harry swallowed a dry throat, holding the diary in his hands.

Don’t be, Harry. We haven’t collected all the horcruxes…

He stood up in a frantic movement, clutching the book to his chest as he backed away from
Remus and Sirius, still in his animagus form.

The three were all still in that moment. Remus slowly raised his hands, the movement still
caused Harry to flinch, covering his shoulder against the diary now.

“Let’s take a deep breath, Harry,” Remus said. Harry shook his head, fingers pulling on the
leather.

“No. You’ll hurt him,” Harry said, almost putting himself in the wall.

“That was some very dark magic, Harry. We only want an explanation.” Remus turned his
hand to gesture to the Locket that was on the floor. Harry noticed there was a silver binding
around the green gem and golden chain that could have only come from his patronus.

Sirius whined, shaking his black coat in a stressful manner. He dropped his paws to the
ground and slowly crawled to Harry.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Harry,” Remus said, putting his wand down on the floor. Sirius
stopped three feet from Harry. “And we’re not going to hurt your friend.”

“You will want to,” Harry hissed at them both. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s my twin,” Harry said, so assured of it, he felt his magic pulse warmly against Tom as if
giving him energy to heal from the Locket that almost consumed him.

Remus and Sirius looked at each other with faces of shock. Sirius turned his head to Harry
and slowly backed up until he was sitting next to Remus. Then, Harry watched as his body
changed, hair pulling from his cleaner coat to his locks of hair and a thick black robe that
completely engulfed him.

Harry recalled that stage of his shifting as well, when he could only draw enough power to
cover himself. It seemed that Sirius kept the same method but made a more luxurious robe to
wrap himself in- ingenuity found in a liberated criminal.

“Harry,” Sirius said, silver eyes locking onto him in a way that was only reserved for him.
Though his head quake with tremors, his gaze held Harry’s. “If that diary is somehow your
twin. Then under no circumstances shall we hurt it.”

“Why?” Harry asked. His father wanted to kill Tom. They all refrained from talking about the
diary unless necessary to plan the ritual- a sore spot for them all. If his father wanted to kill
Tom- why wouldn’t they?

“When a soul connects to another, that bond is sacred,” Remus said, his hand coming to rest
on Sirius. The other wound his fingers around. “Creatures have the advantage of scenting a
mate- then, as time passes, souls become intertwined.”

“Twins are rare in the magical world,” Sirius said.

Their calm explanation and lack of demands for Tom’s diary had Harry pulling away from his
fetal position. He was still cautious of them, but Sirius was sitting on the floor against Remus'
calf- it was hard to be intimidated by such a relaxed position.

“Most are naturally born to pureblood households- the Carrows, Weasley twins…” Sirius
said.

“There are cases, however rare they are, of soul twins existing outside of families,” Remus
said. Harry was the only one standing in his room, the two adults sitting on the ground,
Remus wand about five feet from his natural arm span, and Sirius never appeared to have one
in hand.

Harry slid down the wall and sat on the ground, Tom clutched to his chest in a less vicious
way than the Locket tried to hold Tom’s phantom.

“These twins are not of blood, but of bloodshed- coming together at frayed and broken ends.”
Sirius nodding his head towards Tom’s diary in his hand as Harry slowly released his tight
grip on the leather binding. “Harming him harms you.”

“We deserve to know who he is, Harry,” Remus said, turning his head in that familiar way
that disarmed Harry when he grew angry at himself for not casting the patronus.

Harry looked down at the diary in his hands. The binding didn’t seem to be harmed by the
magical attack the Locket caused anymore. Whatever injuries Tom sustained, he was healing
from.

Words tumbled from Harry’s mouth in a slow way, almost story-like as he slowly began to
nod off. He flinched when he felt warm hands come around his body. He curled inward,
ready to hiss and snap at the two, but they only seemed to want to support him.

Remus was much larger and Sirius, with his soft robe hanging over Harry like a warm
blanket, found it impossible not to relax against them both as he continued to tell them of the
deal Tom made with them, horcruxes his parents collected, and the ritual that would come
upon them all in two months.

Now that Harry was done with his explanation, he sagged against Sirius' side and into his soft
robe. He was no longer clutching Tom, having trusted that neither would pry him away. This
closely boxed into both of them, he could feel the tension within their bodies as he
explained.

“You can understand your father’s fear, can’t you?” Remus asked, all propped up against his
body with Sirius robe draped over them. Harry found himself nodding his head.

“Dad can feel it too,” Harry said, opening Tom’s pages only to flick them over.

Harry knew that his dad felt differently about the horcrux than his father, though he didn’t
speak much of it, which left Harry marooned in a sea of unknown.

“You’ve had it, the horcrux, since Halloween?” Sirius asked, all knowing the particular
Halloween without clarification. Harry nodded his head, hair tangling against the thick robe.
Harry felt Sirius and Remus shift to look at each other, their judgement passing in a silent
conversation of eye contact.

Before Harry could bolt away with Tom clutched to his chest, he felt Sirius sigh against his
back.

“You will need blood for the ritual,” Sirius said, tapping on the side of Harry’s arm. He knew
that he would be donating some blood to the ritual, but the way Sirius spoke made him think
it would be more than a few drops. “Give the blood freely, Harry,” Sirius said, placing his
shaking hands over Harry’s on the diary, making sure that his touch did not skim the leather
binding. “If you give the blood freely...it will change the nature of the ritual.”

Harry looked up at the both of them, his fears validated and assured at the same time. His
eyes were wet as he turned to embrace them both, their warmth seeping into his tired body.

“He didn’t look much older than a pup,” Remus said, brushing back Harry’s hair and
feathers. “And certainly not the person we fought against in the Order.”

“The Order?” Harry asked.

Sirius barked a laugh, starting to move around them.

“Sounds like the perfect bedtime story, pup,” Sirius said, maneuvering Harry from where he
was sitting into the bed that he had so longed to slip into. Harry put Tom’s diary under his
pillow, the reassuring hum echoing through his mind as Remus picked the Locket up by one
of the white binds surrounding the Dark Magic. He twisted his wand around the Locket,
murmuring spells along as it shifted into another bubble of light that he could hold within his
hands.

When Remus returned, the two sat on the edges of his bed and began to tell him of the Order
of the Phoenix, a rebellion group of freedom fighters against Lord Voldemort and his Death
Eaters. They told him that the group favored guerrilla warfare as much as the Death Eaters,
yet their organization made them a powerful front against a more chaotic, violent group.

As they told him a different set of fantastical dreams, Harry felt the anxieties that weighed
heavy in his mind lighten. Sirius Black, the Head of House from an Ancient line, might know
as much about blood magic as his father.

Exhausted and reassured, Harry drifted into the sea of dreams.

Will watched his mate read over the letters from Harry a second time. It was already
Halloween and Harry was spending the night at Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the
Black’s. While neither Hannibal nor Will went into the house to inspect for danger, the age of
the house alone spoke of the deep seeded protections.

Twice, Harry had mentioned in his letters that his Head of House, one Professor Severus
Snape, was looking ill. In the first letter, Harry relayed that Draco insisted the man was
feeding, making a point to tell them he was taking extra meals.

It left for a perplexing problem for Hannibal to solve and Will to witness.

Though his mate did not see it yet, it was clear he cared for Severus. At first, it was simply to
please a fellow man-eater. Hannibal and Will brought Severus over in thanks for saving their
son. Then, the bond grew as Will and Severus survived Harry’s second year together as a
professor. The two even trusted him enough to sponsor his creation of a vaccine.

Will admitted it to himself: he saw Severus as a friend. One that understood him but knew
when he wanted silence. It was Hannibal that still had wool over his eyes. Will observed his
mate go through his bag a fourth time, checking over potion vials and no-maj instruments to
check over a half vampire that was ill even when feeding.

Hannibal was forming a Herd and didn’t see it yet. Will wiped the smirk off his face as he
approached the man, putting a hand around his waist.

“You’ll figure it out,” Will said, turning to stand between Hannibal’s obsessive need to check
over his medical bag.

There were two things that Will was guilty of when teaching in Hogwarts. The first was
fucking his mate in the office. That was considered a professional no-no. Additionally, before
Will left Hogwarts, the man carefully moved the floo network that Dumbledore warded to the
temporary home in England, to the permanent house they had in Italy.

Another professional no-no.

Having a back door to Hogwarts was worth whatever consequences of their actions.

Will took Hannibal by the hands and brought him out of the house, closing the dogs in.

“I do believe the entire school is watching the First Task,” Hannibal said as he moved into the
kitchen of the English cottage, putting some bags of blood into the refrigerator. Will took a
handful of powder in his hand and summoned it to his office, feeling the magic pull. He
smiled at Hannibal as he stepped forward.

In the two years that passed since Will taught, the defense against the dark arts room had a
similar atmosphere to a medieval torture chamber. The grey walls that reflected the sun in a
cool manner were darker and ominous with the window blinds closed.

As Will did not have tenure as a professor, both trespassing on school grounds, they made a
hasty escape from the infamous Dark Wizard Catcher who earned the name Mad Eye
Moody.

Hunting Severus turned out to be thrilling. Like many predators, they were wired with a
sense that alerted them to being hunted. The best hunters were the ones that recognized there
would always be something better or attempt to kill you. It seemed that Severus had this
sense.

Naturally, neither Will or Hannibal would attack Severus to harm him, especially in front of
the students, but they needed to take him somewhere he wouldn’t be seen. The man had a
reputation to uphold.

Severus picked his head up and looked around, eyes scanning over the crowd of people. He
was up in the teachers booth, giving him a higher ground to track them. Hannibal and Will
stood under the wooden pillars, the only place that he could not see or smell.

“What’s wrong, Severus?” The voice of Minerva McGonagall came from above them both.
Though Will did not witness it, he knew the woman was equipped with enough spells and
experience to disarm Dumbledore.

Neither Hannibal nor Will wished to engage in a magical fight with her.

“I’ll see to whatever it is,” Severus said, the floorboards creaking above them as he stood,
shuffling out of the way to the stairs. “Your glare is more effective against the students that
claim there is a language barrier anyway.”

Will and Hannibal were hiding behind their own pillars of the pitch, the wind washing their
scent with the ash of dragons. It would hide Severus from scenting them, adding to the thrill
of hunting another predator without the use of their most powerful sense.

Whatever creaking of the floorboards they would use to track the potions professor was lost
to the noise of a cannon going off, followed by the announcer's voice and the applause of the
audience.
He was a clever predator, like Hannibal, that did not flounce his abilities. During his year
teaching, Will did not pry anything from the man about his interesting creature status. There
were only a few times that Severus showcased his speed.

Now, under the cover of the audience din, noses blinded, Severus displayed that skill.

The two were immediately outflanked by the man, forced to turn and wait for his ambush.
Heat and a second wave of ash had Will covering his nose and eyes.

Severus chose that time to pounce on Will.

Will grunted as he was knocked onto the ground with more force than any human could have
delivered. There were no punches that came after he was thrown to the floor, only the
pressure of a hand on his jugular and a wand pointed above him.

“You could have requested an invitation,” Severus hissed, letting up enough pressure Will
could take in more air.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Will asked. Severus was a smart man and did not let go of Will,
knowing that Hannibal could not be far from him. The vampire above Will tensed, hearing
something that Will could not, and turned to look at the threat- Hannibal, no doubt.

It gave Will enough time to worm his arm free and plunge the sedatives through the material
of Severus’ trousers and into his thigh. The man hissed, throwing himself away from Will
with stumbled movement.

Whatever concoction Hannibal mixed to sedate their vampire would leave him conscious. It
was clear that the mystery illness Harry and Draco spoke of was worse than they anticipated
as the man began to fall to the ground.

His shoulder was caught by Hannibal, giving a silent reassurance to the growling vampire
that all would be well soon.

Under the cover of ash and fire, Hannibal and Will took Severus back to the castle. The man
did not hinder their assistance with any magical spells as he complied with their dragging
him through the unofficial defense classroom floo network to their home.

The trip to Italy was as simple as stepping through the green flames of Professor Moody’s
office. With the sedatives still in place, Hannibal and Will deposited the man into the plush
chair by the fireplace. Wagging dog tails immediately swarmed the man, Hercules taking the
most time to sniff the potions professor.

As Severus was pliant, Hannibal occupied himself by examining the man. He took his blood
pressure, listened to his heart and lungs. Will could see the vampire was starting to come out
of the body paralysis as Hannibal continued his examination.

Hannibal’s careful hands pressed on Severus’ lymphatics under his jaw, causing his lip to curl
up with displeasure. Will smirked as his mate actively ignored the snarling, his fingers
moving slowly to try and inspect Severus' mouth. The man’s jaw loosened naturally with the
sedatives, opening wide with fangs extending and the scent of venom pricking the air.

Severus snapped his jaw shut with the force of a crocodile, snarking as Hannibal pulled his
hand away.

“This would be a lot easier if you told us what illness you’ve contracted,” Hannibal said,
lifting a small flashlight to check the dilation of his eyes.

In leu of a response, the light in Severus’ eyes caused him to begin to gag. Hannibal pulled
the light away from his face.

“The photosensitivity gives me pause,” Hannibal said, sitting on the chair in front of Severus.
Will tilted his head as he looked at the half-vampire.

Will and Hannibal could both smell the blood that was on Severus. More than the usual
amount, in fact. While he did not smell of a fresh hunt, he smelled of a vampire that had a
well stocked and often used pantry.

“You know what this is,” Will said, walking around to take the other seat, waiting for Severus
to either deny and have Hannibal pry his teeth or for him to admit it. Hannibal looked at Will
for a moment, then back to Severus.

“How long have these symptoms persisted?” Hannibal asked him. The sedatives should have
worn off completely by now, yet they were still keeping the man to his seat. Even fed, his
metabolism was weakening.

“Let us help you, Severus,” Will said, catching the attention of his dark eyes.

Without the blue glasses, Will felt Severus’ hunger as if it were his own.

I’m starving for something that I cannot obtain; something that is too far, too precious to hunt
down. I know the cause of my illness. I know that if I do not satisfy the hunger within me- I
will die. Though I am starving, though I feed, the blood and flesh of lesser beings only serves
to starve me further. Daily, I feel the stab of hunger and I must deny the nourishment.

As Will’s eyes returned to the present, he saw that Severus shrunk his head back in shame,
knuckling white against the chair he was sitting in as he awaited some kind of judgement.

“You’ve scent imprinted,” Hannibal said, coming to the same conclusion as Will using his
own methods.

Will could see a vampire in the muggle world, learning and experimenting with someone that
shared a similar passion. Looking at Severus, he could see the web unfolding. From Beverly
leaving a voicemail Will still has saved on his phone, to Severus confessing both his magical
nature and this predatory one.

Will couldn’t empathize with Beverly but he knew the loneliness that came as a Special
Agent of the FBI- a morbid sense of humor, attempts to talk about work with friends that had
other careers showing their shocked or disgusted faces, and the guaranteed failed date.
Impossibly so, together, Beverly and Severus found each other reaching and connected .

The two shared a look as Severus had yet to talk. The scent of his venom calmed, no longer
feeling so threatened, though his tense body language told both the vampire was pissed they
kidnapped him.

Severus spent months with Beverly and during that time, the vampire scent imprinted on her.
For creatures, such a short period of time was common. Will and Hannibal only spent one
night in bed together before agreeing to elope.

Between muggles, things grew more complicated. They didn’t have magic to answer such a
call and pull them naturally closer, as if there were any other choice. Instead, they resorted to
logic and experience to direct them. It served them well in most cases except for following
their intuition.

“Tell me you didn’t consummate the bond,” Hannibal said.

They were met with more silence.

...This complicated matters further.

Creatures consummating a bond between a partner they scent imprinted on often left a mate
intention. It meant that Severus accepted he might find a mate in Beverly only to constantly
reject the benefits it would bring him.

“Severus,” Hannibal said as he spared a glance to Will. While they expected some form of
hunger, neither expected the ravenous maw of a mate denied. The blood that Hannibal was
gathering from his bag would not help the vampire recover.

Will waved his wand, unbinding Severus from the chair now that he was calm. Hannibal
approached the man with a bag of blood, slicing a small slit at the corner.

Though it was morbid, eating blood like a juice pouch, it was the mess-free way of vampire
feeding.

“It’s been two years, Severus,” Will said, not wanting to embarrass the man further by
approaching. Will tilted his head back and calculated what it would take to get the man
something to scent without ripping his molecules apart over the Atlantic ocean.

As Severus fed on the blood his mate provided, Will noted that Hannibal seemed pleased by
the lack of an aggressive response from the man. Will tilted his head and wondered what that
would mean for him- that Severus, as man and monster, trusted the two of them enough that
he felt safe to feed.

Vampires shouldn’t gag at the scent of blood just as a Ravenstag should no grimace at the
taste of human blood. Severus was starving himself even in his gluttony; no amount of blood
within his stomach could satisfy.

Will stood up, looking at Severus. He sighed as he gathered his coat and went to the floo
network, shouting for the Ministry of Magic.
The whole affair might have been fortuitous...Will had plans of returning to America. While
his original design took place in the dead of winter, he would not pass the opportunity before
him.

It was early afternoon in America. The New York Ministry was bustling with American
witches and wizards as Will left for an apparition point. He thought of the area around
Beverly’s house, having crashed on her couch once or twice before he met Hannibal and his
mind began to deteriorate.

He scouted for her car in the parking lot first. Spotting it, Will waited in the shadows for
Beverly to leave her apartment. Sure enough, Beverly emerged from her lobby door carrying
a bag over her shoulder and a tall thermos of coffee. Five minutes passed and Beverly was
driving away from her apartment.

Will walked into the building as another man walked out, catching the door and taking one of
the stairwells up to her apartment.

Beverly Katz was a good agent for the FBI. What made her so good was that Beverly
understood that being a woman in a position of power could sometimes warrant...unsavory
guests. Will noted the fish eye camera that sat above her doorbell. He stayed out of the range
as he muttered a charm to disable it.

Next came the locks she put on the door, causing Will to chuckle. For a person with magic,
disabling the number of locks and alarms took him no time. For a muggle that didn’t know
what they were doing, the alarm would sound immediately and Beverly would be able to see
who was breaking into her apartment through her phone.

Will walked into the apartment with caution. Seeing that the area was clear of any traps or
alarms, Will walked to her bedroom with a swift pace, gloves strapped onto his hands.

He went past her laundry to the dirty hamper, knowing that it would have more of her scent
on it for Severus to find some relief with. He picked up a generic grey sweatshirt with a
couple of holes in the elbow. Wrapping it in a bubble to secure the scent of Beverly and
Beverly alone, Will shrunk the sweatshirt and left.

Unfortunately, Will couldn’t just rob Beverly of her laundry and hope that she wouldn’t
notice. When he was in the bedroom, he paused at the sight of her pillowcase. He
transfigured another identical pillowcase to wrap around the pillow, taking the one with her
scent and putting it next to the sweatshirt.

Walking to the door, Will’s eyes caught onto something that flickered from the back of the
fireplace. Fearing a camera, Will approached it, getting on his knees to look at the fake wood
over the gas fireplace.

It wasn’t a camera at all, rather, floo wards etched a few years ago into the synthetic fibers.
Floo wards that no doubt led somewhere important to Severus. Will smirked as he removed
his wand, only more assured that Beverly needed to join their beta as he carved his own
home’s wards into her hearthstones.
There was one...old friend that Will had to tend to while he was in the States.

Three hours had passed since Will left England to go to America. Will gathered a handful of
powder in his hand and gave chase after his mate and harmed Beta.

His pack of dogs greeted him as Will walked through the door to the sight of Severus in a
chair with an IV in his arms and a white fluid dripping downward. When Will approached, he
noticed a new set of machines. Severus looked haunting as his blood was removed from his
arm, cleaned, and returned to the other vein.

“He has too many white blood cells,” Hannibal explained, watching his blood get filtered in
the tubes only to be put back into his body. “With so little blood already, an abundance of
white blood cells would give you symptoms of fighting off an infection.”

Will reached into his pocket and pulled out the orb of clothing. Hannibal nodded to his mate,
their hands intertwining. Though Hannibal did not know it yet, his heart was racing for more
reasons than the long distance floo symptoms.

To distract himself, Will opened the orb and pulled out Beverly’s sweatshirt.

The response was instantaneous. Immediately, whatever blood was in him rushed back to
Severus' face, his eyes cleared as the vampire spotted the sweatshirt that held her scent. He
jarred upright, his hand snatching the fabric before they could say anything.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body finally relaxed into the bed in a heap of
unconscious stress.

“This solution will not last long,” Hannibal said as he removed the needles from Severus’
veins.

Much like they kidnapped him, Will and Hannibal took Severus by his arms and moved him
through the floo network. In the time that the two spent interrogating Severus, it seemed that
the tournament came to a close. As Will cleaned the ash around the fireplace, the two turned
their heads to a thumping sound.

“Go,” Will whispered, slipping free of Severus and his mate to distract the renowned auror
from catching onto them.

The noise and cheers from the students provided a decent noise cover for them to part. Will
stayed closer to the defense office as Hannibal shuffled along with Severus to the potions
room.

A stride followed by a loud thumping of stone growing closer to Hannibal’s location had Will
shoot a spell at the auror and take off in the other direction- effectively pulling the man’s
attention away from Hannibal and their hurt beta.

His prosthetic slowed him considerably as Will weaved around the hallways.

Interestingly, the Dark Wizard Catcher Mad Eye Moody did not give chase for long.
 Taking refuge in a bathroom, Will gathered his breath and his thoughts. How was he going to
convince Beverly to uproot her life for a vampire she interacted with for only three months?

“Professor Graham?” A voice came from behind him that had Will jump. He turned, a hand
on his chest, to find that it was Cedric Diggory, now a seventh year Hufflepuff student.

“Cedric,” Will said, relaxing as he looked the boy over. He had grown taller in the two years
that Will left. “Champion?” he said with an impressed tone as his eyes caught sight of the
giant golden egg clutched in two hands.

Cedric blushed, too humble to accept praise. His humility exposed flecks of blood on his
ears. Will carefully lifted his hand to the teen’s chin, turning it to see the dried blood that he
must have tried to remove.

“Cedric,” he exclaimed, transfiguring his pants pocket into a larger cloth. He brought the
Hufflepuff closer to the sink so Will could clean the blood from his head. “Why don’t you
ask for help?” Will asked.

“We’re supposed to do it on our own,” Cedric said, his head bobbing to the side, the shock
beginning to wear off and pain set in. Will removed a Restorative Potion from his jacket and
handed the vial over to his former student.

There was no use telling Cedric that the other Champions were no doubt cheating with the
aid of their professors. Headmaster Dumbledore had too much integrity to break the rules,
even if it would boost Cedric’s chance of survival.

Will was under no obligation to hold the same moral high ground.

“Sometimes Cedric,” Will said, placing his hand atop the mermaid egg, “we only need to
drown out the sounds around us.”

Currently, Will couldn’t help Severus...but he could push Cedric in the right direction.

Chapter End Notes

Tom: it's not the husk

Harry: no shit
There is an obsession the two have for each other that I am trying to play a little like
Hannigram's- no matter how they've hurt each other, they are connected when so
isolated from the rest of the world, they'll inevitably find the other.
In regards to Sirius, I think that he would be a lot more traumatized by his 'stay' at
Azkaban and that would allow for a looser set of moral than he once had before his
imprisonment. Also, he is convenient to explain twins.
Meanwhile...Hannigram, not wanting to fight McGonagall was a scene just for me!
Sassy!Snape vs Sassy!Will
Oh I love you all so much! I am excited to be moving into a new place and wish
everyone the best until I return! Much love to you all! I hope this chapter fed you with
robust flavor!
PS: I don't like Book 4 and really don't have time for the Yule Ball but if you have ideas,
please drop them in the comments and we'll see what Muse can do as a Team!
 Fervent
Chapter Notes

Guests,
I cannot express to you how much I *fervently* loath the Yule Ball. Thank you for your
suggestions in the comments- if not for you, I would not have written a Yule Ball. I
know it's not my best, but it's better than nothing.

Enjoy the chapter, thank you for the love, I am more excited for the next chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal woke and knew that his mate was not in the bed. He shifted his arm, feeling that it
was cool beside him. As he listened in the house, neither he nor the dogs were within.

Given the early hour that Hannibal rose, he could only guess the man was out fishing in the
lake. In an odd sense of following bread crumbs, Hannibal arrived with his iPad set up with a
black screen on the marble of the kitchen.

Curious by the display Will presented, he opened the tab and saw a very delicious notification
from TattleCrime.

It was clear what had taken Will all the extra time in America. He rose to the floo network
and began a very painful set of leaps across an ocean. Where he would normally fly using a
muggle airplane, he was eager to see the scene at its most perfectly preserved.

The body was in the middle of an abandoned church that was overgrown and gothically
horrifying. The roof was caving in, the iron pikes separating the overgrown field from the
overgrown graves was warped and twisted. In the middle of the graveyard was a large post
that might have been used once as a station of the cross, now disheveled to the rains of time.

He kept back to the trees that had grown around the long abandoned church as the FBI
crawled over the area in his shifted pelt.

Freddie Lounds was hanging from the pillar. Her hands arched over her head with iron nails
into her palms. Her arms and thighs were wrapped in the shimmer of fishing wire to keep her
suspended. Tears of blood fell from her eyes, giving a streaked blush over her cheeks from
where a nail was hammered into each eye, no doubt touching the brain.

The chest was cut open from the rib cage, split open and folded outward to expose the organs
that were still within her body. Hannibal could see that her stomach, the organ, was forcibly
shifted to the center of her cavity and filled with hot coals.
Hannibal scented the air, first smelling the blood, then the undercurrent of fear and his own
mate. The strongest scent was the smell of slow cooking human flesh. Many of the FBI
agents had their noses turned upward or looked away from her body.

The only redeeming quality that Freddie Lounds had was her ability to display that Hannibal
made Will feel exposed and virginal. He punished her for looking over things that were not
hers to gaze upon, like Will and Hannibal. The hands that touched evidence without
permission were nailed, but wrapped with silk and left to whip in the breeze.

Hannibal longed to go forward for a closer look at what his mate was capable of making. He
had no doubt that the small intestine was burned from the residue heat of the coals, that her
flesh was flaked on the outside of the stomach.

A new scent drifted through the blood on Will’s proposal. He turned his head towards the
wind and saw Beverly squatting down and taking pictures.

As if she sensed him looking from the treeline, Beverly stood and looked around, her posture
tense. Hannibal snorted and took one step into the light just as her eyes scanned over his area.
She caught the movement within the trees, her attention focused on his space now.

Beverly stiffened, her breath steady as she looked at him. She made no movement to reach
for her gun, but she did flinch at the sight of him.

Before Beverly could alert the others of his existence, Hannibal walked back to the trees,
already having a plan developed in his mind.

Hannibal recalled the night that Will finally transformed, how the sweaty man burst through
his front door while he was dining with the Cat Gut Killer. While Will killing Tobias
distracted Hannibal, he did not forget that what drove Will to his house was Alana’s kiss.

Upon seeing Alana after all these years, he reminded himself that he was not a killer that
went after pregnant women. Plan derailed, Hannibal sat back in the shadows of a seedier part
of town and thought of a new reply.

He smiled when it came to him, apparating away.

His new chosen subject had gone after his mate, his fiance, numerous times. He lived in an
affluence that wasn’t earned. As Hannibal and Will searched for Harry’s school supplies
before they sent him off to his second year, Hannibal watched from the corner of his eye as
Will’s pendulum swung.

The killer found it humorous that his mate took one look at Lockhart and no doubt felt the
slimy touch of Chilton.

Hannibal sat down in one of chairs in the dark and waited for the man to enter the house. He
heard a car park outside of the house, the man drop his keys at the front door. The lock slid
open, letting the man into his house without alerting him of another presence.

Smiling, Hannibal watched as he set his bag and phone down on the counter.
When he turned on the light, he noticed Hannibal, jumping up with a hand on his chest.

“Hannibal,” Chilton said, relaxing foolishly. Hannibal turned his head at the sound of the man
calling him by his name rather than title as a fellow doctor. Hannibal stood up from the chair
but made no move to approach.

It was then that Chilton seemed to understand that something was wrong. He looked around
his own house, then to Hannibal, finally to the door, his hand trying to connect the dots his
mind refused to collide.

“I thought you would like an opportunity to meet the real Chesapeake Ripper.” Hannibal said
nothing else as he walked slowly towards a mockery of a doctor.

Chilton smiled nervously, huffing a laugh as his muscles tensed. Hannibal’s nostrils flared,
ready for the man to take off running. His body recognized him as a predator, backing him up
as he stumbled around furniture.

Hannibal pounced, more than ready to write a reply to his mate.

Hannibal crafted Chilton into a reply that was worthy for his mate. He spent hours taking
care of the proposal, the music of Chilton’s screams of pain echoing through his own home.
Normally, Hannibal would have removed Chilton from his house and displayed him
somewhere the general public would eventually stumble upon before calling the FBI.

Tonight, he wanted to show his message to the FBI only, that Hannibal had his intended, his
mate, where he was safe and away from the horrors of the FBI due to Jack Crawford’s
incompetence.

The final touch was added. Hannibal stripped Chilton so he could better gather his organs. He
moved the man to his own dining room table, sitting at the head. Hannibal set the table with
white dinner plates that he stashed away. It took some maneuvering, but Hannibal managed
to tie Chilton’s hand to the chandelier with fishing wire while it balanced the man’s heart.

He added his last touch, setting candles around the table in a romantic setting, lowering the
light of the room and closing the blinds. While the FBI, Beverly Katz, would no doubt take a
hundred photos of the crime scene, the picture was meant for Will.

Hannibal smiled as he went through Chilton’s bag, pulling the man’s laptop free. The man
still had the same password as he did when they were in school together, a common habit
most muggles had. After he pulled open the TattleCrime webpage, taking another moment to
look over at the beautiful pictures that Will posted.

Smiling, Hannibal watched the photos upload to Chilton’s computer. Will was able to get into
Freddie’s website then he no doubt changed the password to one they shared. Hannibal got to
work, simply putting the pictures on her website with no captions or journalism she was
notorious for.

The FBI would no doubt see the pictures and arrive to the crime scene before the candles
even had a chance to go out. He left Chilton’s house at the moment his phone pinged him
with a notification coming from TattleCrime.

Hannibal was pleased that he did not have to wait long in the shadows for the FBI to arrive in
full force. Tires screeched imprints of rubber over the asphalt, carrying the scent to
Hannibal’s nose. Large, inhuman ears were blessed with the shouts of frustration coming
from Jack within the house. Though the curtains, Hannibal could see outlines of several
people surrounding the kitchen table, over his work, the bright flash of a camera illuminating
the room.

As Hannibal was getting ready to run through the night, he heard the back door open and
slam shut. The wind carried over Beverly’s scent. This time, she was looking, eyes alert as
they scanned the area. Hannibal watched her with a fond expression as she gazed into the
shadows.

It was evident that Beverly learned of magic from the conversations he had with Severus.
Hannibal already risked exposure by revealing himself to her. Before she could find him with
her eyes, Hannibal ran through the shadows and away to his mate that was waiting for him at
home.

There was a feral nature to them both, Hannibal could feel the energy within himself. He
walked through his territory with his crown held high. Each step seemed to radiate
pheromones that were whipped by the breeze.

He entered the house to the dogs sleeping in their beds and the soft moans coming from
upstairs. Hannibal left his jacket on the hook by the door, closing it loud enough that Will
would hear his arrival. He stalked up the stairs and to the bedroom where the door was wide
open.

Though they had consummated their bond in America, it was time to commune with it.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal said, looking over Will’s flushed body on their bed dressed with black
sheets that only highlighted his skin and the veins in his body. Will huffed at him, arching his
hips invitingly. Hannibal stripped his shirt over his head without thought, his lip twitching
when he heard Will’s gasp.

Hannibal climbed over Will, their heat coming to gather on the bed between their bodies.
Will whimpered when Hannibal took him in hand, stroking them together as they breathed in
the same space. Will leaned his head to Hannibal’s neck, biting marks into the side of his
flesh. Not to be outdone, Hannibal dropped his head to Will’s neck and left similar marks.

He nuzzled the flesh that he bit four years ago in Will’s bed in Virginia. The venom in his
fangs was no more, only for his mate, and healed after Will transformed. He arched his back
as human teeth dug into his flesh, though not hard enough to leave him bleeding.

Will put one hand to the side, handing Hannibal the lube with a playful smile on his lips.
Before he even accepted the half full bottle to slick his fingers, he leaned down to bruise
Will’s lips.
“Hurry,” Will gasped, lifting his one leg up to Hannibal’s side. He hummed, moving down
Will’s body to his stretched legs. “Now,” he demanded as he twitched under soft hands
running down the length of his torso.

“You need to be stretched,” Hannibal chuckled at his mate’s enthusiasm. Will put a arm over
his eyes, something that he did when he was embarrassed that always brought a beautiful
blush to dust Will’s chest and cock.

Will spread his leg out further, inviting Hannibal into his deepest parts. When his finger slid
in with no resistance, Hannibal slipped in another as he realized the true lengths his mate had
gotten up to while he was gone.

“You are perfect,” Hannibal said, taking a hold of Will’s thigh as he slid back up to kiss Will.
The man was eager, twitching in his hold and ready. Hannibal slid into him with one fluid
movement of his body that had their backs arching in pleasure. Will’s heat wrapped around
him so tightly.

He rocked against Will’s pelvis, dragging moans out of his mate’s mouth. Hannibal took his
time deconstructing Will, pulling him apart as he thrust in steady movements that rocked Will
on the bed. Hannibal could feel the sweat beginning to roll down his back, see the sweat that
had collected around Will’s brow.

Will grabbed him from the neck and forced them together so they could kiss, breaking the
steady thrusting. Their tongues ran over each other, running over the crests of teeth until they
were forced to pull apart to breathe.

“William,” Hannibal moaned, picking up the pace as he rested his forehead against Will’s.
Their combined scent was rising in the room- the best parts of them coming together as one
person for the sake of pleasure.

Will huffed with a laugh, his eyes bright with mirth and mischief. His eyes rolled into the
back of his head when Hannibal slammed on that spot within him.

“I do,” Will said.

Hannibal roared. It was unlikely either of them would marry in a church before a god neither
believed in. They needed no god to commune with them, only their bodies and the words that
they shared between themselves as they thrust together as one animalistic being on a sea of
black silk. They needed no vows other than the ones spoken on a bed or carved into the flesh
of their prey.

Grabbing Will’s arms, he pressed them over the sheets with one hand as the other grabbed
Will’s hip to slam into him. Hannibal’s muscles strained to hold Will to the bed as he
reaffirmed their bond. The scent around them rose as he felt his feathers sprout from his spine
and curl around his torso.

Beautiful black feathers ruptured through Will’s flesh along his rib cage, growing like
crawling moss over his torso, under his arms and to his hands. As they thrust, feathers pulled
them together. Hannibal gasped at the sensation of flesh on feathers, so much different than
the echo of feeling. Now, he could feel Will’s heat seep into his bones as if he was being
branded from within.

Hannibal could feel his arousal coming to a climax, rushing to him with a force to be
reckoned with. He did not care about the sheets they ripped, only to combine their pleasure.
He could smell them both coming together, only needing a push over the edge.

Teeth pulled at the shell of Will’s ear, his feathers appearing out to tickle and heat Hannibal’s
chest.

“I do,” he moaned, dropping his head so he could thrust harder as Will tightened around him
and came. A high pitched ringing pulsed through Hannibal’s ears, panting against his mate as
hands clawed to be free against his palm. They groaned in chorus.

He felt his legs and shoulders quaking as the adrenaline wore off, the strain from killing
Chilton and mating had worn out the rest of his energy. Hannibal dropped to his side of the
bed, bringing his hands down to frame Will’s face.

Hannibal felt his eyes moving without his conscious thought, like the art of Will’s body was
pulling his eyes to the curves of his stomach. When he looked back up at Will, his mate, his
husband, gave him a knowing smile, one that was soft with bruised lips.

“Soon,” Will whispered, the first word that cut through the room after Hannibal exchanged
his vows. His hand rubbed through the feathers that intertwined on Will’s stomach, listening
to the sound of his mate’s breathing.

Harry flipped over the page of his Charms book in the Slytherin common room. He scratched
his head as he read through the passages, then looked at his essay, wondering where he would
put the text. Draco groaned on the green lovechair behind him, slamming the book shut with
a snap that had several Slytherin’s glare at him for disturbing the peace.

Draco leaned forward and put his hand around Harry’s ear.

“Let’s go to the Forest tonight.” Harry perked up from his Charms homework, looking over
his friend for any sign of concern. Draco got up from his lovechair and walked to the boy’s
dormitory. After a moment of thinking, Harry packed his things and followed Draco to drop
his things off in the dorm.

Draco shut the door behind Harry as he finished stuffing the invisibility cloak into his pocket,
the map in the other pocket. The students watched them go, nodding their heads to the two of
them with silent smiles. As the door to Slytherin common room closed, he heard one of the
twins catcalling them.

Harry and Draco both blushed as they looked at each other, realizing what their series of
actions might imply to the other students. They shared an awkward laugh as they walked out
towards the closest door that would lead them to the forest.
Harry grew more excited as he could smell the musky warmth of the Forest. It rained the
previous night but the last remnants of fall had dried the ground enough that his hooves
would sink into soft soil before the cold would freeze it. The sun had set not long ago, still
leaving the bleeding marks of red streaked across the violet sky.

He threw the cloak over Draco as they walked through the grass, the only evidence of their
leaving the castle were the soft imprints of their shoes on the ground.

“How long before you transform?” Draco whispered as they approached the large trees.
Harry could smell their welcoming sap that warmed in the sun throughout the day, leaving
behind a sweet aroma.

“Until I can’t see the castle anymore,” Harry said. They walked side by side through the tree
line. Harry’s heart lifted in his chest as his friend, as something more, walked into the dark
without fear of him or what would lie ahead.

When the trees increased with their width, Harry stopped to remove the cloak and hand it to
Draco. He took a step back, his heart beating to the turn of a drum within his chest. He
swallowed, relaxed, and then shifted.

Harry felt his feathers pull from his flesh as his bones extended, forming more in places that
were missing, and contrasting extra bones. His antlers pierced through his skull as he snorted,
raising his head and crown.

Draco blinked at him, a smile of awe slowly stretching over his lips. His approval made
Harry’s feathers lift with happiness, yet he stayed still as Draco approached with his hand out
to touch Harry. Harry met him halfway, eager to feel the other running his hand over the
feathers of his pelt.

A shock had them both jolt away, Harry snorting as his nose tingled with magic. Draco
hissed, shaking out his hand.

“What was that?” Draco asked, looking at Harry as he stood up.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, knowing that he was unable to communicate with Draco in this
form. Only, Draco gasped and a hand went to his head. He walked over to Harry and looked
at his mouth.

“I can hear you,” he said, an excited smile blooming over his face. Harry stomped his hoof
with excitement, feeling the feathers along his spine puff up.

“That’s brilliant,” Harry said. He turned his body, looking deeper into the forest. Harry
leaned his antlers down as he angled his body to Draco, the invitation clear. “Get on,” he
said, huffing a cloud of vapor into the air.

Harry could smell Draco’s hesitation, looking at Harry’s face to the top of his barrel.

“Scared, Malfoy?” Harry teased, nudging Draco with his nose. Draco scoffed the way he
always did, then approached Harry with a light hand on his back. Harry stayed still as Draco
pet over his feathers, twining fingers deeper into feathers. Harry could smell his hesitation
but hear the beat of his heart.

Draco took a deep breath, then took hold of Harry’s antler and hoisted himself onto Harry’s
back. The first moment Draco let go of Harry’s antler, his body was a mess of nerves- his
weight tense and rigid. Harry took a step forward, feeling Draco squeeze his legs around his
barrel in fear.

“I won’t toss you off,” Harry chuckled, keeping to his steady pace as he walked down a bank,
forcing Draco to lean back to prevent falling. “Relax,” Harry said, shaking out his head.

Draco relaxed slowly on Harry’s back, the first indication was that Harry’s ribs had less
pressure applied to them. Then, Draco’s hips began to loosen, the hands that were clutched in
his feathers relaxed and began to pet him. It took five more minutes of walking before his
entire body unclenched.

“Your feathers are very soft,” Draco said, the first words since he climbed on Harry’s back.
Harry walked with longer strides deeper into the forest, the night sky was hidden from them
under the canopy of trees.

“Thank you,” Harry said, walking away from the lake he cast the patronus over.

“Your antlers are bigger than when I last saw them,” he added.

“Are we going to compare sizes?” Harry chuckled. Draco retaliated by kicking his heel into
Harry’s side lightly with a chuckle. He pulled on Harry’s feathers at his shoulders gently.

“Can you lay down so I can look at your feathers?” He asked in a shy tone. Harry nodded his
head as he stood still, watching from the corner of his eye to make sure there was no way
Draco would gorge himself with an antler as the teen dismounted.

Harry walked over to one of the larger trees that would give him a good vantage point for
approaching danger, laying down in the well as he looked up at Draco. To him, this was
natural, laying in the dirt in any weather. Draco approached him and looked over Harry, then
moved to sit in the well of his legs, back pressed to Harry’s belly.

“They used to be spotted white,” Harry said as Draco began to pet through the feathers on
Harry’s neck.

“Like a common deer?” Draco asked, titling his head with a smile.

“Like a fawn,” Harry amended, immediately noticing his mistake as Draco smiled.

“Awwww, how adorable,” he said, petting over the feathers on Harry’s back. Harry leaned
forward and tugged on Draco’s hair with his teeth. “Hey!” he exclaimed, pulling his head
from Harry’s mouth. “I've seen how sharp those teeth are; don’t put them near my head.”

Harry huffed, not wanting to scare his friend anymore than his nature did. Draco resumed
petting him, noticing that when he put his hand near the feathers, Harry naturally lifted to
touch Draco. He lifted his head to Draco, waiting for him to relax, then moved to scent his
chest, nuzzling his nose up to Draco’s neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” Draco asked, keeping still as Harry drew in Draco’s scent of
potions and parchment.

“Scenting,” Harry said absently as he moved to the other part of Draco’s neck. “I can see
why my parents did it so often.”

“Was that why you were a vampire?” Draco laughed, struggling to push Harry’s head away
from his neck. “No,” he said, tapping two fingers on Harry’s nose when he licked Draco.

It caused Harry to wiggle his nose, scrunching it inward for him to release a sneeze.

“Harry Potter!” Draco shouted, scrambling away from Harry to rub whatever he sneezed
up.

“Don’t poke my nose,” Harry whined, rubbing his nose with his foreleg, hiding it under his
legs when Draco looked down at him for his sneeze. Draco huffed a laugh and moved back to
the well of Harry’s stomach, burrowing in the warmth that his feathers provided.

The two sat in compatible silence, a moment that Harry finally wanted was granted to him.
For years, he so desperately wanted this with Draco, from the moments he laid out in the sun
with Draco and they shared their first kiss.

“No more secrets, Harry,” Draco said, breaking the silence of the animals and insects around
them. “When you threw yourself in front of Professor Lupin,” he trailed off, fingers in his
pelt. “I was so scared that you were going to die. I was terrified that a thing from myth was
able to charge against a werewolf only to be chased to...here,” he said, pointing up to the
canopy of trees.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” he said honestly. It warred his conscience, that he couldn’t tell his friend
without risking exposing his family. He was still keeping secrets from Draco, another
monumental one that could destroy the relationship that they had.

“Severus spoke to me a couple times over the summer,” Draco admitted, moving to another
section of feathers to pet on his legs. “Mother too...she wants the best for me, not the Malfoy
name,”

Harry twisted with guilt again, feeling it in his stomach as his feathers began to give away his
anxiety. He looked up at Draco’s silver-blue eyes, wide open and dilated so they could take in
the most of the dark environment. His hair was tossed to the side from when Harry nibbled at
it, still glowing around them like he was a unicorn.

He sighed and lowered his head, looking up at Draco.

“What is it?” he asked. “You want to tell me something.”

Harry didn’t reply at first, turning his gaze to the small line of ants marching to their home.
“I’ll lose you forever,” Harry said with a huff. Draco rolled his eyes, his hand coming to
stroke the bones between his brow. He could hear Draco’s heartbeat thrumming with nervous
energy.

“Tell me,” Draco demanded.

“You’ll hate us,” Harry warned, knowing that if he asked again, Harry would tell them the
truth of what his parents were up too and about the friend in the Diary. He felt Draco’s fingers
clench in his pelt.

“I don’t think so, Harry,” Draco said, brushing his hand up to Harry’s antler, tugging on it to
get the information he wanted.

Harry shuffled his head, sighing as he sat up straighter.

“The Dark Lord split his soul into numerous pieces to secure his immortality. Doing so
fractured his magical core and psyche. The night that he tried to kill me, one of the pieces
secured itself to my soul,” Harry repeated. This part of the information was easier to tell, all
factual.

Draco seemed to sense that Harry was leading up to something. He could feel the teen stiffen
in the well of his stomach. He looked up at Harry, his eyes darting with hesitation.

“What does that mean?” He asked, his question letting vapor disappear into the cold night.
Harry turned his head.

“It means,” he began, “that if my family and I reunite them, we can save him.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, enough that Harry could almost hear the gears that were
twisting in his head, processing what Harry said.

“Save him?” Draco said, testing the words on his tongue. “Save him?!” he hissed, looking
down at Harry’s face. “He doesn’t deserve to live.”

“He doesn’t deserve to die either,” Harry argued. “Our circumstances aren’t so different, Tom
and I. We were both beaten and abused by muggles. The only difference is that I was adopted
and loved where he was abandoned and loathed.”

“He nearly destroyed my family,” Draco said, pointing to a random spot in the forest that
must have indicated his family.

“He slaughtered mine,” Harry said, turning his head so Draco wouldn’t see his anger. He
understood Draco’s fear, he understood Severus’ fear and would, eventually, understand
Dumbledore’s fear around Tom.

Harry looked at Draco with an expression that he hoped conveyed his plea.

“Why are you even trying?”

Harry turned his head, wondering that sometimes as well. Logically, Harry should find
everything about Tom Riddle and the Dark Lord Voldemort repulsive and stay away from it.
Even more so when the Diary possessed him.

“He possessed me, in the second year,” Harry chuckled at the shocked expression on Draco’s
face. “There was no way he could have lied to me. Tom doesn’t want this...what the Dark
Lord has done.”

Draco looked down at his hands, a puzzled expression pinching his brow together.

“That’s why Severus left that summer,” he whispered, looking up at Harry. The Ravenstag
nodded his head gently.

“The Husk and the boy are two different people, Draco,” Harry said, sighing. “You asked if
we were in Slytherin because we become our parents...evil. Tom fears the Husk, what it
became.”

On the upside, Harry thought that Draco was taking the information well, given that he hadn’t
run to tell Dumbledore that his family was planning on resurrecting the Dark Lord in a couple
of days. Once Yule passed, they would prepare for the New Year’s Ritual.

“You’re sure it will work?” Draco asked, taking a deep breath when he looked back at Harry.
Harry perked up, his ears flicking forward with hope. He reached his nose to nuzzle Draco’s
side, sighing with content as Draco scratched the feathers of his brow.

“Yes,” he said in a huff of vapor.

“I don’t trust him,” Draco said definitely. “I’ll be the judge of him when I meet him.” Harry
nodded his head, more than thankful that his friend, his mate, was willing to compromise
with him on that. Harry nuzzled forward, making Draco chuckle at the sensation of feathers
on flesh.

The coiling nerves within Harry only grew as the cold drafts of air swept over the landscape
of Hogwarts. Trees lost their leaves, the crisp ground curling them with beautiful patterns of
frost in the morning that Harry would normally take time to admire in the early hours of the
Forbidden Forest.

Stuck in his anxiety and his midterm exams, Harry ignored most of the conversations around
the Yule Ball, throwing himself into his studies to push down the ritual jitters in his stomach.

The one night that Draco asked Harry to go to the ball with him, his hands shook, throat
closing as if he were being strangled. Imagining himself surrounded by people and loud
music, completely unaware of the ritual that might tip the balance of magic unfavorably, he
could not comprehend their joy. Draco held him through his panic, hushing him until Harry
folded along his body in exhaustion.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, upset that he could not think of going to the Ball with Draco without
feeling the need to vomit. He didn’t hear Draco’s reply beyond the ringing in his ears.

Time marched on with vigor towards Yule and the ritual.

Hagrid and other professors took time to decorate the Hogwarts Castle with even more
grandiose than usual. Students were allowed to help hang items in Charms class on close
spires of the tower or along the railings of the staircases. Twinkling lights and eternal flames
burned at every point of the castle, giving the impression it was glowing even in the darkest
of nights.

The Weasley Twins showcased some of their invented charms. Bright flowers that would
bloom with flecks of glitter, casting the person in a full aroma of the flower in question while
speckling their uniform with shimmer. They charmed every chandelier to an ambient
changing color pattern, casting bright energy along the halls.

The two ginger heads were buried close together in the Great Hall down the table from where
Harry was studying his notes, absently picking at his breakfast.

He startled when Hedwig dropped a parcel down in front of him, Draco jumping in equal
surprise as a similar sized package landed near his breakfast. They were both wrapped in the
same blue wrapping, a silver bow with wards keeping the parcel from damage as it was
transferred.

Harry and Draco shared a look of confusion, moving with hesitant tandem as they picked
apart the bow. Pulling back the first layer of paper revealed a note with Harry’s name written
by his father. Harry looked to Draco, who showed a note with his name on it.

“Our parents are conspiring,” Draco laughed, reaching for the split in the seam.

Rather than dive into the note, Harry put his hand atop the rest of the packaging and pressed
down gently, feeling the items beneath the paper give way. When he lifted his hand, the paper
rose slightly. He turned the note over his hand and tore into the letter.

Harry,

Know that you should not neglect the brilliant opportunities of life, even if there is weight on
your mind. Do not let that stop you from enjoying the vibrancies of life, fawn.

With love,

Your father

Despite his anxiety, Harry put the note to the side and felt a smile begin to spread across his
face. He ignored the looks of his fellows as he peeled back the protective wrapping, then the
finer, sea foam colored tissue paper to reveal a new set of robes, far more elegant than
anything he owned.

The black fabric was sleek, neatly cut off at the breastbone. The crisp shirt beneath made the
black jacket all the more vibrant- a cool, ocean green and blue. Harry almost didn’t want to
touch the outfit wrapped in the parchment, fearing that his hands might somehow damage the
fabric.

“Definitely conspiring,” Draco laughed, leaning on Harry’s side. He drew his eyes away from
his package and gasped when he saw that Draco had a similar outfit, only inverted. Where
Harry’s shirt was that beautiful teal color, Draco’s jacket carried the same pigment. Under the
jacket, a crisp black tailored shirt laid under the colorful robe.

Harry had no doubt that each was perfectly tailored to their bodies, knowing that his father
would not see him in any ill-fitting suit. From the few interactions he had with Narcissa
Malfoy, Harry knew she would not allow Draco to wear anything that didn’t highlight his
best features.

“I uh,” Draco said, the blush rising beyond his cheeks to his ear. Harry swallowed a dry
throat as he turned to look at him. “Um, I know...I know that you’re nervous,” Draco said,
twisting his fingers together as he looked from Harry to his hands. “But, um, wow- I had this
all planned out in my head.” He took a deep breath.

When he opened his silver eyes, they were connected to Harry’s own.

“Would you go to the Ball with me?”

Harry could feel his heart beating against his breast bone in his chest, palms sweaty, throat
parched. When he opened his mouth, no words flowed from his lips. Instead, Harry reached
forward and took Draco’s nervous hand in his own and nodded.

Whatever moment they shared was broken by the twins charming their silverware into little
hearts that hung over Draco and Harry’s head, prompting both students to cover their dress
robes with bashful expressions.

Together, they made a hasty retreat with their suits in hand.

While Harry did not feel the eyes of every student watching him as the Champions took the
first dance, he could feel Mad Eye Moody’s magical eye boring into his head again from
where he was standing with the other professors. Since the Unforgivable incident, the
professor had taken every opportunity he could to glare Harry into submission, calling on
him the moment that Harry let his guard down with outrageous questions.

Surrounded by students from all schools, the man could only glare at Harry from where he
was standing.

“I could scoop his eyeball out with a spoon,” Draco leaned to whisper to Harry, squeezing his
hand as he leveled their defense professor with a glare of his own.

Harry felt his cheeks flush with blood, looking down at his shined black shoes. He didn’t
expect the whispered violent action to make his stomach flutter with butterflies.

There were two people on the dancefloor with Champions he did not suspect.
With Cedric Diggory, the Champion in Second, was Luna Lovegood. She was dressed in a
sapphire blue dress, shimmering with little silver bells that tinged with a beautiful harmony
every time she and Cedric took a step. Her head was crowned with freshly woven daisies, a
matching boutonniere attached to Cedric’s lapel. She and Cedric were both chuckling as they
danced, looking much more relaxed than Fleur with her date on the dancefloor.

The second person that surprised both Harry and Draco was Hermione, dancing with Vicktor
Krum. Where he was dressed in dark browns and greens, Hermione was dressed in rose pink,
the straps hanging over her shoulders and down past her ankles. While they both looked
happy with each other, Harry could tell that they did not feel entirely comfortable with the
other- holding each other a litter further apart than normal for a formal dance.

Harry scanned the room for the Gryffindor’s, finding them easily as they were chortling
among themselves and their dates. Neville was standing along the wall, his eyes drifting
between Hermione and the peonies that decorated the windowsill.

The beat of the music changed, causing the Champions to stop their slow dance as they
smiled, other people joining the dancefloor.

“Come with me,” Draco said, taking Harry’s hand and manipulating them around the crowd
of moving people. He could hear Professor Moody shouting over the growing swell of music
to get out of his way, students having no doubt crashed into him.

Pulling free of the Great Hall, Draco ran down the decorated hallways of the castle, their
footfalls lost to the sound of the music. Harry was sure his father and Draco’s mother did not
intend for them to run within their suits, but Harry had little care for them when the thrill was
so addicting.

“Almost there,” Draco whispered as they stepped onto the grass outside.

Harry felt as if the suit made him blend into the darkness of night, his breath clouding in front
of his face. The grass crunched with frost beneath their feet as the two walked towards the
calm water of the Great Lake.

“I know you were nervous about the Ball,” Draco said, a blush on his cheeks as his wand
flicked around the trees. Harry watched as a blanket splayed out over the grass, numerous
candles lighting themselves to cast a soft glow around the forest.

“Draco,” Harry said, smiling when the boy moved a basket from wherever he hid it to the
middle of the blanket. Walking to his friend, Harry threaded his fingers through the blond
locks of Draco’s hair that he spend so long taming into place. His silver eyes were beautiful,
reflecting shimmering stars against the candle, his suit jacket complementing Harry in every
way he did as a person.

Harry pulled their faces together, soft and warm lips meeting against the crisp winter
evening.

It felt like they stood there forever, frozen in time as the Great Lake was freezing, etching in
water made permanent. Sharing breath and space, the two parted only fractionally as they laid
down. Soft words carried over the air as they ate what Draco packed away within the basket,
popping open two bottles of butterbeer. The volume of the yule Ball carried over in distant
vibrational hums, easily ignored for the serenity of the two.

While both knew the evening would end with Harry walking through fire to begin the ritual
they promised Tom Riddle two years ago, both would not give up the peace or serenity of the
evening for darkness the future might unleash.

Neville didn’t want to think of himself as a creeper or stalker, he wasn’t, he had walked
around the perimeter of the Great Hall, spoke to several of his friends in Gryffindor that were
awkwardly hanging back, had a pleasant conversation with Cedric and Luna, who were at the
Ball as friends. Of course, his eyes always fell back on Hermione, no matter how hard he
tried to keep them off her.

Hermione’s dress shimmered like the peonies that decorated the Hall. When she spun, her
dress bloomed around her, the sparkling accents reflecting like pollen around those who came
close to her. A few times, she waved him over, attempting to get him on the dancefloor.

Krum standing behind her prevented him from moving closer.

As the evening progressed and the music got louder, more students filling the dancefloor,
Neville lost himself to time- actually enjoying himself with the others dancing around him.

When the evening came closer to an end, Neville filed out by himself, waving to a couple of
Ravenclaw students he danced with for the evening. The corner of stairs he would normally
take was occupied by an intoxicated Durmstrang student, violently heaving into one of the
potted plants with Professor Snape growling over him. Avoiding that entire scenario, Neville
decided to take a longer way to get to Gryffindor tower.

His change in route almost had him step on Hermione, who was sitting on the stairs,
frantically apologizing.

“Hermione,” Neville said, taking a step to the woman stumbling with both shoes in her
hands. He stopped her from falling down the steps, catching her arm when she tilted back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing her makeup was smeared with what looked like tear
tracks.

“Oh, I’m an idiot, Neville,” she said, sitting back on the staircase as she flopped her hands in
her dress.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You’re the smartest student in
Hogwarts.”

Hermione gave a watery laugh, brushing a tear from her eyes before attempting to fix the
strands of hair that fell out of place.

“I should have just-”

 She and Neville looked at each other, the rest of the sentence hanging over them both. Neville
and Hermione both circled around each other and the topic of the Yule Ball. Neville had
every intention in mind to ask Hermione, ran through the conversation a million times, it
seemed. Whenever he would think it was the right time, he was either interrupted or lost his
bravery.

Neville found his eyes focused on the flowers behind Hermione. He stood, stepping away
from her as he plucked a soft pink one that would match her dress. Neville sat next to her,
slow hands coming to the one sleeve of her dress with the flower.

“Pluto had a healer, Paeon, who healed him with the root of a peony.” Neville whispered a
pinning spell to Hermione’s dress and flower. “Paeon’s mentor, who was surpassed by his
apprentice skill after he healed the god, was angry and struck Paeon down. Pluto saw what
happened, too late to stop death, transforming Paeon into a peony in thanks for his medicinal
skills.”

When he looked away from where he was weaving the flower to the dress, the rest of the
story died in his throat as he was closer to Hermione than he’d ever been.

“I don’t...I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s a bad story, I shouldn’t-”

His rambling was stopped by a kiss, as swiftly placed to his lips as it was taken away. Neville
felt his cheeks light aflame, darting his face away in embarrassment.

That’s not to say he didn’t like it…

“Come on,” Hermione said, standing up with her pollen-like dress. She offered her hand to
Neville, who took it with a bashful smile as he stood. “It’s the last dance that counts,” she
said, keeping her shoes in one hand as she laced their fingers, leading him back to the
dancehall until the band itself would have to force them away.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for joining me at the table, however sparsely it was decorated. I know we
haven't had much Hannigram love and hope that the Revenstag time between Drarry
made up for the lack of a Ball.

The next chapter, I am extremely excited to post for you. To those that have dined with
me- you know why I'm hype.

See you soon!

 A Fawn Reckoning
Chapter Notes

(opens the window, places freshly baked bread on the sill to attract all my lovely guests
like some fucked up Disney Princess)
Hello everyone and welcome!
I am so very pleased to post this chapter for your eyes to feast upon.

I've said enough- letting the chapter speak for itself.

Please, enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry stood behind his father, near the altar, as Will walked into his protective circle. The
cauldron was bubbling with whatever pungent liquid Hannibal and Will worked on while he
was in school. The ritual had officially started when Will turned to look at Hannibal.

His father turned around to motion for Harry to follow him. There were only two things that
Harry needed to provide for the ritual: the horcrux within him and blood. Harry moved to lay
on the stand that his parents set up for him.

“I’ll need two units of blood,” his father said, wrapping a rubber band around Harry’s arm,
then disinfecting the crux of his elbow. “You will feel lightheaded and I will assist you to the
circle.”

Harry nodded his head, wincing as the large needle slid into his arm. He turned his face away
from the needle in his arm as the blood began to collect at the bottom of the bag.

“What will happen to Tom?” Harry asked, watching his father take the horcruxes out of his
backpack. He lifted the Locket with his wand, balancing the chain as he moved it to the altar.

“I imagine we shall all be exhausted after the ritual,” Hannibal said, moving to look over his
notes as the bubbling vapor changed color to green at the first horcruxes introduction. “A
fight between all of us will be exhausting and taxing.”

Hannibal looked at Harry and smiled with a face of teeth that, for the first time, Harry felt a
twinge of fear.

“The victory shall be sweet.”

Harry swallowed a dry throat, feeling his head beginning to swirl even if he was laying down.
He kicked his legs up, pushing more blood towards his brain.
“Do we have to kill him?” Harry asked, rocking his head to look at his father, attention
shifting to his dad, who was still standing in the circle. Harry perked his head up when his
father touched the Diary. He lifted his hand, the one that was not speared with a needle. “We
don’t have to kill Tom,” Harry pleaded, feeling an echo of anticipation and nervousness
shifting under the leather binding.

Hannibal looked like he wanted to rub his hand down his face in frustration. The etchings
that were around the lip of the cauldron began to glow a faint silver color. The ritual was
ready for one of Harry’s units of blood.

His father approached him and took the one bag from the sleeve, moving the tube so the
second bag would begin to fill. Harry felt his father pull his eyelids back.

“You picked a bad time to start a teenage rebellion,” he hummed, brushing his hand over
Harry’s scar and back to his hair. Harry hummed and smiled, feeling more distant as his next
unit of blood filled the second bag.

“I picked the perfect time,” Harry said, sounding almost drunk as he nodded his head. He
heard his dad snort a laugh and say.

“Don’t look at me, he gets this from you.”

The boy could only laugh at the situation.

Harry didn’t have any strength to say anything as his father walked away with the first bag of
blood. In his head, he thought of the times in the Diary that he spent with Tom. At first, there
was the natural fear of being so close to the enemy.

Only, Tom didn’t seem that different from Draco in the diaryscape. He warned Harry not to
reach his arms beyond the bars outside his window- tried to prevent Harry from experiencing
pain. As Harry was possessed, he never really knew what was happening to him, but he felt
the remnant of possession and protectiveness.

“I give you freely,” Harry felt himself hiss in the language his parents could not understand.
He knew they noticed him speaking without having to look at them. Now, they were forced to
remain silent as Hannibal worked with the potion.

As more blood filled Harry’s bag, he became less aware of what was happening. Unknown to
him, Hannibal added Harry’s blood to the cauldron. It would be the catalyst that would help
remove the soul shard from Harry’s own energy. The more familiar the potion was with
Harry’s blood, the less likely the removal of the horcrux would kill him.

Though Hannibal was pleased to have the addition of the Locket and Diadem, two ancient
artifacts he would enjoy looking over once this debacle was over, it led to the possibility of
Dark Lord’s mental stability after the ritual came to end. With their addition, the energy
would create a funnel to pull the horcrux from Harry.

If the potion was stable the extraction would have the same result; at the price of giving the
enemy more power.
Hannibal and Will were both ready with a supply of weapons to use against the resurrected
Dark Lord. When he looked up at his mate, his husband, Will nodded his head.

Hannibal began to chant, smelling Harry’s blood curdle within the iron of the cauldron. The
etchings on the side of the iron brightened. The diary, as the largest piece of Tom Riddle’s
soul, went into the mixture first. Hannibal took a step back against the force of magic that
pooled into the substance.

It shifted around as it rattled the iron, changing the scent of Harry’s blood. Hannibal muttered
the spell again, picking up the Cup. It struggled against the summoning spell Hannibal sent to
it. Will added his support, herding it into the cauldron with a plop. There was no force of
magic with that horcrux. Feeling sweat drip from his brow and fall into the cauldron below,
Hannibal tossed the Diadem in next, noting that the stable magic of the horcrux prevented the
blow of magic.

Nagini provided the next ingredient: a vial of her venom, thick and dangerous to the touch. It
was an interesting thing to watch, Nagini approached Hannibal with an empty vial in her
mouth and dropped it by his feet like one of Will’s dogs would to play ball. Hannibal
hesitated grabbing the vial.

He knew that there were two living horcruxes he had to worry about. Nagini’s venom,
naturally, would probably be strong enough to kill a horcrux. He and Will spent many nights
debating using her venom in the potion. Will argued that, as Nagini was the horcrux, it would
not kill the Dark Lord or harm Harry in the removal process. Hannibal noted that the bodies
of the Verger’s men were melted beyond a common or magical snake.

A low rumbling growl cut through his thoughts. He looked up at his husband, his blue eyes as
stormy as the vapor that rumbled from the cauldron. Hannibal relented and took the vial of
her venom in hand. With steady hands and a rapid heartbeat, Hannibal tipped the vial into the
cauldron.

Harry twitched on his gurney. Hannibal and Will both ceased what they were doing to look at
their fawn. Thankfully, Harry didn’t move any more. His skin was paler than it should be, but
normal for the amount of blood that was sitting in the bag and waiting for extraction.

Reinvigorated, Hannibal chanted again, his intention on the Locket. Both Hannibal and Will
could feel the maliciousness that was around the Locket when Harry presented it to them. It
had a similar presence as the Diary first did when they all encountered Tom in Harry’s flesh;
capable of performing magic outside the set gemstones as if a leech..

The Locket put up a valiant fight against the spell. Hannibal grunted as he pulled the horcrux
to the cauldron, aided by his husband that pushed a wall around it.

A white light almost had both wizards drop the spell at their shock of seeing something pop
out of the cauldron. Before they could do anything about the new threat, the cords wrapped
around the broach of the locket. The chain was wrapped in tendrils and dragged to the
cauldron, making pulling it in with magic less of a burden on their own.

They had little time and fewer words to ponder what occurred.
Nagini was next-buried in the scales of her body was a horcrux, protected by the very nature
of her venom. The intelligent snake lifted her body, seeming to understand it was time for her
to give up the horcrux.

Will and Hannibal were both prepared that inevitably they would have to kill the snake. Her
loyalty attached to Harry as an extension of the true Master she served; the moment he came
to in the flesh, they would all be enemies once more.

Hannibal cast the spell, his wand pointed at the snake. Her body rippled, shuddering as
scales fell off her body, a white glow emerging from the center of her spine as if she were
plucked from the middle. Fluttering scales finally released the horcrux with a pop, leaving the
snake in an exhausted heap within her ritual circle.

Will nodded his head, hand close to the hatchet long enough to reach her skull if he could
swing before she struck.

Hannibal put his wand down on the altar, knowing that no magic could touch Harry as he
removed the second bag of blood from Harry. Hannibal worked quickly without rushing,
removing the needle from his vein, wrapping the cotton swab over the point.

Harry’s eyes fluttered in his sockets, only landing on the doctor for a brief moment of
recognition. His fawn squeezed his hand, weakly, but not enough that Hannibal needed to halt
the ritual. He looked at the clock keeping track of their limited time, beckoning him back to
the cauldron.

He placed the bag to the side of the cauldron. Harry’s blood was the first ingredient added for
the ritual, it would need to be the last. Hannibal picked up his wand, and with a final nod to
his husband, both turned wands on their fawn.

Harry’s spine jackknifed into the air off the gurney. His hands spasmed, one trying to come
up to grab his scar as the other twitched in search of pain's origin. Hannibal held the spell
around Harry’s chest as a dark hue encompassed his chest.

He grit his teeth and chanted again, feeling the chill of the vapor wash over his flesh as it fell
to the floor. His fawn cried out for a second time. Hannibal held steady, knowing that he
could not reach for his child until the ritual was complete. In an odd sense of fear, Hannibal
thought about breaking the ritual to check on his fawn.

As his resolve went to crumble, that same white light burst from the cauldron and rushed to
his fawn. It wrapped around the parts that tried to stay tethered to Harry’s chest and skull,
pulling it up from under him like a shield. The bubble of light circled around the horcrux,
caging it with bars of energy that mirrored the way Harry presented them the Locket.

It dragged the horcrux free of Harry, their fawn giving a rushed breath of relief as his pain
subsided.

Harry hissed the same syllables, once more, confirming Will’s theory that, while Harry did
not have the blood of Salazar Slytherin in his veins, his attachment to the horcrux would
allow him to still speak Parseltongue. The cauldron bubbled, popping once with a burst of
pungent steam that had Hannibal grimace.

With the final horcrux in the cauldron, Hannibal spilt Harry’s blood into the iron. The blood
welled into the center of the contents, beginning to weave out like alcohol on ice. If he
managed to look close enough, Hannibal could see the beginnings of veins and capillaries
forming, netting like fungus in the ground as it began to wrap around the slime.

With a centering breath, Hannibal gathered his magic around his body, pushing it to bolster
his strength as he started to chant the final part of the ritual.

The iron cauldron warped inward with a creaking sound. The flames crawled up, evaporating
the vapor that spilled from the cauldron. The etching around the lip of the iron flared, shifting
until they set in a netted pattern that looked like Nagini’s scales. The smell of blood and bone
powder, mixed with the wide variety of other ingredients assaulted his senses, making him
tear at the eyes.

Magic circled around the room as the iron shifted into a moving skeleton. The contorted
circle, stretched like taffy and rounded lake clay. It split bones to form ribs, curling inward as
the sinew and organs grew from the bones.

The taste of dark magic sat on his tongue like copper blood. A light burned within the
shifting potion and cauldron, glowing brighter as it began to engulf the room, forcing all of
their eyes shut as a soul mended.

The light died down, pulled back in on itself with a snap, sucking all of the magic and energy
from the room in a way that made Hannibal stumble to his knees.

The cauldron was leaning over the altar, unbalanced, Hannibal scrambled away from it as the
clay tipped over and shattered on the ground. A whip of wind circled the room, freezing the
air to the degree Hannibal could see his breath.

He panted, sweat dripping from his forehead as his arm braced him up from the ground,
shaking with exertion even then. Hannibal grit his teeth as he gathered his strength. His
feathers rose along the length of his spine, his heritage coming to his call in weakness, ready
to deal with the threat of a fully fledged Dark Lord in the very heart of his home.

Bracing his legs, Hannibal stepped away from where he took shelter, fists and jaw clenched
with energy. The cauldron was scattered in pieces, steaming and molten hot, the liquid
contents were either absorbed by Tom or burned from the heat, giving a stark contrast to the
cold air surrounding them.

The hull of the cauldron was still intact, a magical film, sticky and clinging to the edges gave
way to an unexpected image.

Rather than the senior wizard that Hannibal and Will expected to find laying in the basement
of their home after the ritual was completed, was a boy on the floor, a near replica of Harry.
His movements were slow and uncoordinated, muscles shifting under his new flesh as they
reached to touch his face, seemingly unaware of his nudity.
Hannibal noticed that Will was the first to move to the boy trying to get his bearings on the
floor. As Will aided Harry, he removed his outer flannel, waving his hand over the fabric to
expand it into a blanket that could cover the shivering boy.

“Easy,” Will said, as if this person was his fawn and not the Dark Lord. Will brushed off
some of the magical placenta from his face with the transfigured blanket, clearing his nose to
better breath.

His body did not respond to his commands, knees locked in place as his mind stalled at the
image before him. Forced to do nothing but watch, Harry stumbled off his gurney onto the
floor, dragging himself with the glossed simmer of blood loss in his eyes, desperately needing
to be closer to the new child.

“Tom,” Harry said, smiling, the feathers on his spine flickering with happiness even in
exhaustion.

“Harry?” Tom asked, his voice hoarse enough he coughed. Will moved behind Tom,
propping the boy up onto his shoulders. “It worked?” he asked, moving his head as if he
didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

Hannibal’s instincts didn’t lift to show a threat, even as Harry reached out to touch Tom’s
arm. Once connected, the same whip of wind that came with the ritual's end returned, only
gentler this time, bridging warmth to the chill within the basement.

Tom shivered, drawing the edge of the blanket closer to his body as he finally took note of his
nakedness. When the touch was made, Hannibal naturally took an inhale and he smelled the
scent of a new fawn.

The Ravenstag within him flourished with pride, the same thundering release of hormones
clouding his brain as he smelled the scent of a new fawn within his den. There was strong
magic pulsing within the young fawn.

Hannibal felt conflicted as he watched over his Herd. The boy seemingly cuddled in Will’s
lap, covered in a blanket of his scent, was the same man that once attempted to kill his fawn.
The horcruxes that went to his resurrection attempted to sabotage the ritual. The Diary, the
largest of the shards Harry collected, managed to possess their fawn and manipulate his body
in a haunting mockery of a marionette.

The shivering boy finally spared a scared glance up at Hannibal, his face turned in to shy
away from being struck or harmed.

This was not the response of a fledged Dark Lord that was confident in his power.

No, this was the response of a fawn afraid of the monsters around him. Hannibal took note of
his fawns’ sitting next to each other on the floor. Though they were shifted in different
slouches, Hannibal knew if he measured their height, they would chart the same.

It was not their height that made them frighteningly similar but the way their magic hummed
between like an echoing melody.
Hannibal looked back up at his mate, seeing that an arm was curled protectively over their
new addition, the new stray to their collection. Will gathered young Tom Riddle, keeping the
blanket around the boy as he lifted him to his unsteady legs. The boy kept his head down, not
looking up at Hannibal.

“Let’s get them to bed, Hannibal,” Will said in a way that left no room for argument.

Will was watching him carefully as he embraced the new fawn, who was shaking from cold
or fear. He nodded his head to his mate once, walking to Harry.

Hannibal went to Harry, gathering their first into his arms. Will took to the stairs first, his
movement prompting Nagini to slither from wherever the cauldron dropped her. Harry’s
knees gave out from under him, forcing Hannibal to stop as his mate scaled the last of the
steps into the main part of their house.

“We can’t leave him, father,” Harry pleaded, head dropping to the side as the scent of nausea
washed over him. Hannibal could hear the sound of dogs scattering around Will and the
young Dark Lord. “He’s afraid. I can feel it,” Harry insisted, his hand clutching Hannibal’s
forearm.

“We can’t abandon him,” Harry said, his voice caught in a growl.

Hannibal began to slowly move Harry to the stairs, taking them one at a time to make sure
his fawn didn’t faint. He thought of his instincts warring against the logic of his mind.

The dogs were calm in the house. Wagging their tails nervously as they sniffed Harry,
knowing that something was wrong with him, but did not have their hackles raised.

When Hannibal and Will returned to their house to find that Harry was captured by Verger’s
men, the dogs were anxious and angry that their territory was invaded, that members of their
pack were injured in Winston’s case and missing Harry. Right now, they were still laying in
their bed, not concerned about the Dark Lord upstairs.

The Ravenstag within him said this was a new fawn, to stand proud over the sleeping one,
groom feathers and teach how to hunt. The Ravenstag told him the fawn was afraid and
weak, one that needed as much nurturing as the first in new ways.

Never had his instincts failed him. They did not fail him as he hunted. They did not fail him
when they told him to follow Will, that the man of the FBI was his mate rather than his meal.
The instincts provided by his Ravenstag lead him to the cupboard under the stairs where he
found a bleeding boy. Hannibal was the one that failed his instincts, only once, and his sister
paid the price for such a lesson.

If they were telling him that the Dark Lord was his new fawn, as much as it screamed against
logic, Hannibal would listen to them and the words of his first fawn.

Hannibal pushed open the door to Harry’s bedroom, placing his child carefully in the sheets,
laying the duvet over him to keep the cold. Hannibal hummed as he saw there were feathers
still covering parts of his flesh.
 “Tom is part of our family now,” Hannibal said, leaning down to kiss Harry’s brow. The boy
hummed.

“My brother...a twin,” he said, shifting in the sheets as Hannibal walked to the door. “I love
you, father,” he said. Hannibal paused in the threshold as the warmth of Harry’s innocence
coursed through his body to coil the parts of him that long froze over.

“I love you, dear fawn,” Hannibal said.

He closed the door with a click, hearing an echoing one from the door behind him. Hannibal
and Will both turned on their heels, taking one step towards the other almost as if they were
dancing. Will lifted his hands, slowly moving them to Hannibal’s face.

Will leaned in gently, taking Hannibal’s lips in his own, relishing in their presence. Hannibal
was too exhausted to engage in any post-ritual activities; Will seemed to sense this. He took
Hannibal’s hand in his own as they walked down the hallway.

“You’re shaking,” Will said, pushing Hannibal to sit on the bed even though he was sweaty.
He let Will take the hem of his shirt and lift it off him, allowing him to strip Hannibal of his
pants. Hannibal groaned as his muscles finally sank into the mattress.

“You’ve adopted Tom Riddle,” Hannibal said, finally finding the strength to find his voice as
his mate climbed into bed, stripped of all but his boxers. Will smiled playfully, one hand
pressed against Hannibal’s cheek as he kissed him slowly.

“You adopted the last stray,” Will said, following Hannibal’s chuckle with his own. Will
rolled over, his hand pressed over Hannibal’s heart as if he needed a reminder that they all
made it out without resorting to fighting.

Perhaps it helped Hannibal; he wasn’t used to solving things peacefully.

“Tom is going to test boundaries where Harry obeyed them,” Will whispered, his fingers
rubbing circles down Hannibal’s chest, voice thickening with sleep.

“It shouldn’t take him long to integrate into the family,” Hannibal yawned, the rhythmic
movements of Will’s fingers lulling him to a much needed sleep. “Twins.”

There was a former enemy sleeping in the room down the hall as family, not a guest.

Certainly not as a meal.

Chapter End Notes

This fic is a labor of love- I work long and hard to write these chapters and simply
LOVE it when it comes together. I love making this fic for you, bettering the parts of the
first rendition while taking your comments to build something collaborative. Thank you
for trusting me to be your guide through this fic- for showing up in the kudos and
comments, for your subscriptions and everything that you do for me.

Oh Tom, how do I love thee story arc. Everyone is going to love you and I cannot wait
to hear about it!
 Cuddles
Chapter Notes

Good morning everyone!

Welcome to the new season of the Herd!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The floorboards creaked with every step forward; this was something that Tom was familiar
with. The area around them was dark, not the darkness that came with the diary, but the
oppressive darkness of night in the middle of winter that consumed any sparse light. Mold
crept up the walls of the peeling wallpaper- leaving black and red spots blooming over what
was once white walls.

Tom’s body felt weak as he climbed up the stairs- unsure why he was walking forward. He
heard voices up the stairs, somewhere in the upper floor. Hissing made him curious, naturally
taking steps to their room.

There was no door at the end of the hallway, an ominous flickering hue of the fire casting
large shadows on the opposite walls. Listening to the whispers of the siren, Tom walked
forward to the door, his hand wrapping on the threshold as he looked in..

Of the two, the one kneeling on the floor was easier to ignore. He was wearing all black, the
shimmer of a mask over his face. Propped on the chair was something bundled in a black
blanket, the edges of it falling off the sides.

The creature’s face was disfigured. The bones of his face were warped inward. The skin on
his body was scaled, a cross-hatch of netting over his eyes and the flesh of his forehead. Like
a snake half way through a shedding, the scales were peeling. It left behind bruised skin and
weeping lesions.

Tom could feel himself panicking at the nightmare creature sitting in the blanket. Beyond the
power of the wizard in the blanket, Tom could have probably killed the creature with his
hands. Yet, he was frozen in fear, his body stiff and unable to escape.

The creature hummed at him, twisting his head to look at Tom.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “Kill him,” he said to his servant.

The man on the floor turned his head as he slowly rose, the billows of the black cape
emerging around his legs and crawling up the walls in shadowed tendrils. Tom wanted to
back up, wanted to run, could feel the panic beginning as the air tightened around his chest.
Rooted to the floor, Tom saw the wizard raise his wand and whispered the words that he
dreaded hearing. The green beam burst from his wand raced to Tom, standing there and not
moving away from the Killing Cures’ path.

Gasping, Tom thrashed in the sheets, trying to push them off his body, hands touching his
face. He could feel the smooth skin over his nose, his hair threading through his fingers. Tom
tried to quiet himself as he sat up in the bed, noticing that he was sweating through the
sheets.

Tom was that monster. In the times that Harry spent in the diary, Tom received echoes of
images in what he considered to be his ‘head.’ There were fragments of memory that leeched
between their souls- that allowed for Tom to find that Harry was a horcrux.

During the ritual, as his soul fused together within the iron cauldron, he could feel his mind
filling with knowledge that was his, but only distantly. Each memory that entered his mind
felt like it was scratched into the seams of his pages. The proverbial ink sank into the folds of
his brain as they were created, the iron of the cauldron shifting along his body to provide
bones from the material of his paternal family.

Tom thought that he might suffocate under the emotion that came with each horcrux added to
the cauldron. The emptiness that Tom had within the diary was assaulted by the emotions of
the other horcruxes that the Husk created after his first.

Under the barrage of memories and emotions, Harry was the one thing that gave him some
semblance of stability. When the overwhelming slew of emotions grew too powerful for Tom
to contain within his pages, he felt Harry’s horcrux calling out to him from his twin’s chest
and the pain that removing such a small piece caused.

Tom was extremely proficient at creating and breaking though wards others had laid. He
could feel Harry and the need to reunite with his horcrux- pushing his magic through the
barrier wards Hannibal and Will created. Tom let his magic wash over Harry’s like water,
pulling his own soul back to himself, taking the pain of the soul onto himself- back where it
belonged.

Then his bones began to form.

The memories from the horcruxes were unpleasant but distant- as if they were stored in a vial
for a pensive. The memories that were stronger, more palpable in his mind for recollection,
were the ones that came from Harry’s shard. Like the shard contained happy memories rather
than tragic ones.

Tom saw Harry outside- smiling with Hannibal and Will in the fields with the dogs
surrounding him. He saw the pier where Will taught him how to cast parselmagic without the
use of a wand. Tom felt each memory as if they were his own- the fear of being taken from
his home by muggles, the total relief of being reunited with them along with the other warm,
all-encompassing emotions he couldn’t identify.

A new kind of knowledge passed over the folds of Tom’s brain as he was created in the
cauldron. A single word:
Ravenstag.

The warmth of the sun on his feathers seeped into Tom’s skin as if the memory was his own.
A sensation of being protected and encompassed from all sides as the soft grooming of
feathers passed over his brow sank into his being. He could taste the satisfaction that came
with hunting on his tongue; feeling the warmth of a meal in his stomach.

Like sediment falling in water, Tom felt the knowledge of Harry’s being a Ravenfawn fell
into place.

Tom felt as if his magic were torn in two different directions. While he had the majority of
his soul, Tom could feel it distantly pulling for the missing pieces in his chest with a dull ache
that he felt he would carry until he collected the shards. His magic was fractured, sluggish in
his veins as he tried to pull it to his fingers. The other half of him yearns for the same
attention and comfort that Harry provided, that Harry was allowed to receive. It tugged on his
magic, almost crying out like a babe in a crib for comfort.

Nails dug into his new scalp, pulling at hair he could hardly recognize from being imprinted
in the diary for years and years on end. His entire body felt unfamiliar to him, new and
gangly, uncoordinated, uncomplete.

“Tom,” he heard a voice call his name. Tom felt his magic begin to recoil as it responded to
his mounting panic. Rather than come to his fingers, it rolled over his arms and torso like a
shield. If he could manage to find his voice, he might have laughed.

His magic was weak, so weak. It offered him protection from threats that surrounded him.
With it weak, he was vulnerable to attack.

Tom felt his magic snap and lost himself to the mindlessness of his panic.

Will felt arms wrap around his waist and pull him away from the bed and the boy before all
hell broke loose. He landed in a heap next to the bed, head turned upward to watch the magic
coil in dark strings, pulling apart Tom’s flesh as it thrashed around the room, tearing the
sheets and ripping the walls.

The window shattered and Tom’s magic rushed out of the room as fast as it could, leaving a
trail of destruction in its wake- leading to the forest. Will stood up and went to the window,
catching the winter breeze as he watched the spindle of magic part more and more trees.

“That’s obscural behavior,” Hannibal said, already repairing the room around them.

“We should have expected this,” Will said, catching the scent of the magic, like burning hair,
from where the wind carried it to the window.

The scent of sweat wasn’t far from Will’s memory. He could smell the sour tinge of fear and
terror laced on the sheets in the guest bed that Tom would come to claim the longer he spent
in the nest. The chaos around the room was akin to the night terrors that would grip Will in
his days of working for Jack’s Unit.

Will turned without thought, walking out of the room as his mate was fixing it. He opened the
door across the hallway and saw that his first fawn was sleeping deeply- undisturbed from the
chaos.

Will smiled as he shut the door, walking down the stairs. He heard Hannibal call out to him:

“You’re going to look for him now?” from the top of the stairs as he passed the dogs. Will pet
the tops of their heads when they checked on him. Dogs settled, Will opened the door and
shifted.

His feathers flickered the light of the moon off them as he trotted to the trail of destruction.
Will huffed the singed grass, smelling the same fear that was on his sheets. The destruction
looked more threatening than it appeared; the trees were pushed to the sides rather than
completely uprooted, the grass singed, but nothing shattered or on fire that he would have to
worry about.

Finding Tom wasn’t hard- walking the trail, the scent of fear was easy to follow for a predator
as himself. The deeper that Will trotted in the woods, the less destruction he found. Among
the roots, in the small layer of snow, was a human footprint.

Will lifted his head and listened for the sounds of the forest. His ears twitched, picking up the
sound of the breeze through the naked tree branches. Further within his territory, was a
shuffling sound that did not come from the fauna of the forest. Walking now, Will followed
the small sounds, breathing in the air for the scent of him.

Caught in a bramble of barbs was half of a boy and the other portion of his magic. Tom was
hardly connected. Half of his face was human, the other parts were floating in a mix of red
and black magic, almost like sand. His one leg was caught in the thorns of the bush, blood
dripping down the crawling branches. His other leg and the majority of his torso were
floating above the air, funneling into the parts of his body that were actually tangible. The
half of the face that Will could see, Tom’s face was pained, terrified, streaking with tears as
his eyes darted for an exit.

The boy felt threatened, his magic rippled in a spindle that was like the barbs of the bush
tearing at his skin.

Tom growled at Will, unknowing to the boy, a couple of feathers on his scalp sticking up to
make himself look more threatening. It was all the warning that Will had before the black and
red magic whipped out and struck the snowbank beside Will.

The ravenstag huffed, shaking his crown and took a step forward. He grunted against the
warning strike next to him but stood his ground. The boy reacted, his magic pulling back only
to thrust forward. This time, Will felt his front feathers get smacked with the brunt of the
magic, pushing his hooves back in the frozen soil.
Will found that, sometimes, it was the taste of blood that stalled a frightened dog. No dog was
born to fear man, it was installed after years of abuse. Will believed the same with people.
With himself, Hannibal, Harry, even Tom. Crumbled feathers fell to the floor in a scattered
way, Tom’s magic still against the feathers of his chest.

Will would not die from the wound but his magic may grow sore. Regardless, the boy was
scared and it was not his fault for striking out. The cord of magic that was against his feathers
pulled away- as if stunned it wasn’t met with a violent counter-response.

Magic pulled around itself, incomplete, fractured and scared. Will watched as the very cord
of magic that struck him retreat back into the boy, forming the rest of his arm and the
majority of his side. A pale child exposed to the elements of the cold night.

Will scented him now that he was laying on the ground in a quaking pile. The boy was
disoriented after such a magical burst, his hand absently pushing Will’s nose away from his
neck. Will grunted when the boy’s hand touched his injury, still healing over. The boy heard
the sound and stilled, looking up at Will from where he had curled his body to keep the cold
away.

He leaned his head down to lick his own blood off Tom’s fingers. Unlike the first fawn, his
transformation was fractured. It started in his forehead, black feathers erupting, a fist forming
into solid bone as the fingers contracted back to form stronger ankle joints.

Will licked the tears that the transformation caused the fawn, seeing that a near identical
amount of feathers laced over his pelt as when Harry first shifted. The fawn chuffed, shaking
in fear. His white fawn feathers were rising between making himself appear larger or press
themselves into his black feathers to hide from Will in the darkness of the woods.

His wound healed, Will walked around the fawn , bedding down. He groomed the small thing
until his shaking settled to small tremors. Will shifted his legs, moving them so the fawn was
completely surrounded by a part of his body. He rubbed up the length of the fawn’s neck,
applying a gentle, yet forceful pressure until the young one began to settle. He wrapped his
neck around the rest of the fawn’s body, feeling his feathers sink into the little ones to keep
him warm.

The stress under his magic took a toll on the little fawn. Will could smell that while he
calmed, the fawn was still suspicious. He lifted his head only enough that he could nuzzle
within the young fawn's pelt; the fawn was not sleeping, still tense as they laid together.

“Rest,” he whispered to the fawn’s mind, running his chin over his body to spread the scent
of Herd over him. The young thing shifted on his little hooves, head tilted up to look at Will,
ears laid flat on his skull in fear.

Will approached him, the fawn flinched away and eyes closed like prey would before met
with the jaws of death. He nuzzled the small nose, moving the feathers along gently from side
to side. It wasn’t long after that, his head began to droop, eyelids falling heavy.

Will continued to groom the fawn until his breath was even with sleep.
A snap of twigs had his serenity broken. Another stag was in front of the grove.

Will placed one hoof over his fawn and let a low rumbling growl vibrate through the stillness
of the winter night. He felt his feathers rise on his back and neck in an attempt to scare the
ravenstag off as the other feathers pulled the fawn in the well of his stomach.

The ravenstag’s ears flicked forward, clearly having heard the growls coming from his teeth.
Will shifted his hoof over the fawn and snarled, pulling his lips up to expose his teeth, going
further to snap his jaws.

Will’s movements and growls had awoken the scared little fawn, shivering in the swell of his
belly feathers, he still attempted to raise his own white ones.

He was readying to stand, intent to fight the other away from his young fawn, but the
ravenstag dipped his crown to Will and backed away from him, walking in the forest until he
trotted off for other hunting grounds.

The Ravenstag watched over his fawn under the trees, looking for any danger that might
approach them. The carnage of the fawn’s magical panic would heal- the roots that were
pulled would fold themselves back into the ground- branches slit would allow for smaller
plants to get sunlight. Will turned his attention to the nervous fawn, licking over his brow and
down the length of his neck to calm him.

A scent passed with the wind, making Will turn his head back to the direction the other
ravenstag walked to. He rubbed his scent over the fawn, nosing at the sharp, white feathers of
the pelt. He saw the stag again, carrying a squeaking human on his back.

The human slipped off the stag and shuffled towards Will and the fawn. He snarled at the
human, only stopping at his own blind foolishness when he saw it was his first fawn to come
to greet his brother. Will stopped snarling, his ears flicking forward as the human changed
into his feathers.

As he scented the fawn, Will forgot about the stag that brought him, hardly able to hear the
echo of the conversation happening between the two. Before Will could snap the other stag’s
throat open for being too close to his bedding, the stag pushed his first fawn to lay next to his
newest.

Mate.

This was Mate that brought his first fawn.

Will relaxed with a huff, reaching his nose to nuzzle at the base of his mate’s chest. His mate
rumbled a greeting to Will as he settled on the other side of the fawns, effectively obscuring
them from view. A mass of feathers began intermingling, trading the three scents of the
established Herd to their newest member.

Pleased with their scents mingling at last, Will lifted his head and licked gently at his mate’s
jaw feathers, trailing until they nipped at his neck. The movement of his fawns drew his
attention away from his mate. The newest fawn was prompted by the first to look at the white
 feathers. Will could see in the fawn that it was overwhelming enough that it pushed him back
to rest.

By the scent of the fawn alone, Will could tell that the poor thing was still terrified of the
world around him. He rumbled when he felt Mate rubbing the side of his neck, grooming the
feathers around his neck, moving his nose to his stomach.

His Mate pushed along the new fawn’s neck until he was looking up at the taller ravenstag.
The ravenstag made a series of sounds, his mouth opened over the fawn’s and the smell of
blood took over the air. The fawn’s feathers were raised, but his scent did not smell of fear.
Both he and Mate licked the blood off the little fawn’s feathers until he began to settle back
to sleep.

Mate could take care of the fawns’ for some time. He was beginning to feel the hypnotic
effects of grooming wear on his conviction to look for danger.

Anything could hunt his fawns.

A second low rumble vibrated along Will’s neck, the sound making him lower his head over
the two, resting his chin on top of his mate’s back.

He supposed he could rest his eyes for a couple of minutes. After all, the fawns’ were
surrounded, protected and if Mate suddenly got any ideas about harming the new
fawn...Will’s teeth weren’t far from the stag’s throat.

Chapter End Notes

As always, thank you for joining this meal! I am very happy that you showed
yourselves!

I was trying to have Will's mind lost the the will of the Ravenstag in this chapter, hence
why he wanted to eat Hanni, and I hope that it wasn't too confusing to read. Also, I'm
going to consider the next couple chapters to be a kind of intermission from Harry's
Hogwarts adventure. Harry will eventually return to school but the story will follow
more of Tom's journey until they are ready to merge.

And with that! Ill see you soon!

 Contents of a Cauldron
Chapter Notes

Good morning guests,

as a birthday gift by me, to me, I am posting this chapter. Fitting, given it's contents.

Have some cake!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The moments were rare, that Hannibal truly had to push himself. Physically, he was the
cream of the crop- muscular in the right places while keeping agile was attributed more to his
hunting habits as a human and a Ravenstag more than as a bodybuilder. Magically speaking,
Hannibal was slightly above average in terms of power. While he didn’t think he could battle
Dumbledore or Voldemort on magical ability alone, he had his mate and his skills as a
muggle hunter to bolster what his magic could be lacking.

After all, leaving behind the magical world meant leaving behind the knowledge and constant
study that came with it. Rather, he pursued the endless knowledge that human anatomy
offered physically and the endless maze of challenges that were posed in the psychiatric
community.

In his sabbatical from the magical world, Hannibal had forgotten how taxing rituals could be
on the entire body.

Hannibal woke in stages. As with all things, he could smell that the Herd was safe. They
smelled content, sleeping in the mass of feathers in the forest. The woods around the Herd
smelled like pine sap that was frozen to trees, the crisp bite that winter air had to it.

Next came his sense of hearing. It was windier than when he went to sleep, the trees blowing
snow against the outer feathers. Hannibal snuffled deeper into the warmth of feathers that he
was protecting, feeling his own flatten to keep the cold out.

Even as Hannibal managed to pry the sandy blinds of his eyes open, he could only see the
black feathers that he’d fallen on top of. The sound of breathing kept him steady as he
oriented himself around the Herd. A headache was blooming in his head as he picked it up,
the weight of his antlers only adding to the pain.

No matter the pain, Hannibal scanned the forest for any danger that might be foolish enough
to cross. He scented the air, the slap of winter cooling his hot head.

He looked down at the ground and atop his coat of feathers to see that a small line of snow
had collected over all of them. Hannibal looked over Will, imagining for a brief moment that
the snow on his body were the white feathers of a fawn.

A fawn.

Leaning his crown down, Hannibal nuzzled their newest member of the Herd, pleased to see
that his little feathers were buried between Will’s underbelly feathers and the few that Harry’s
touched. The newest didn’t shift as Hannibal groomed him, nuzzling his nose along the sharp
white ones that would protect Tom until antlers grew.

His velvet muzzle moved slightly, pushing from fawn feathers into the warm, soft
underfeathers of Will’s belly. Hannibal should have noticed the signs of nesting within his
mate. How could he have been as blind as to miss the implications that came with killing
Lounds, the gut feelings he had regarding the horcruxes?

The natural reaction that seemed to pull Will from his protective circle in the resurrection
ritual to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Not wanting to wake his mate by burning his nose into the feathers of his belly, Hannibal
restrained himself to the scent of William’s changing body. Hormones were beginning to
change Will’s body, preparing his magic for the creation of a temporary womb to house live.
Hannibal could smell the warmth that was in Will’s blood, now that he was taking the time to
identify each and every change within.

It was like honey, sweet and succulent, the warmth of summer even as winter literally snowed
on top of their feathers. The rich flavor of fat and pregnancy had weaved itself into every part
of Will’s being.

Picking his head up at the sound of an owl hooting over his head, he noticed Hedwig buried
in her own feathers, perched on the tree above them with her yellow eyes looking down at
him.

Perhaps, looking down at the fawn in their circle.

After the ritual, when Harry was put to bed with the promise that Hannibal would give his
twin a chance, he slept heavily, spurred only by the ferocious kicking of his instincts to pull
him out of the bed to find his mate standing in the guest bedroom with a dissolving obscural
only three feet from him.

Sleep and exhaustion were the last thing on his mind after he took status of the situation;
propelled by his instincts, he grabbed Will around his torso and pulled him to the ground.
Tom Riddle’s magic snapped with the scent of burning sugar, an inverted explosion
projecting itself out the side of the house.

Will pulled himself off the ground to Harry’s room, ignoring Hannibal’s question as he
walked down the stairs. Hannibal watched from the hole in the side of the house as his mate
shifted into his pelt and trotted into the darkness.

Nagini slid from under the bed, pushing through the debris as she hissed, her body language
giving off her frustration as she slithered up the bed, looking out the hole in the wall towards
the trail of destruction. Hannibal shivered when the wind blew the cold air into the house.

Already tired, Hannibal mustered the strength to repair the damage that panic caused. The
pipes and electrical wiring were tricky to weave around the magic of the insulation
transfiguring from nothing- by the end, leaving Hannibal sweating as if he were performing
the ritual once more.

He dropped a knee, satisfied that the house was secure again. Hannibal would search for Will
and his little lost fawn...as soon as his legs stopped quaking. A cold nose bumping the side of
his neck, Nagini put herself between his chest and the floor, raising her body to help him off
the ground, her nose gesturing to the wall he only finished fixing.

Hannibal looked at Nagini.

Without the horcrux, it was less likely she could survive such cold temperatures to search for
Tom.

Hannibal stood and went to check on Harry- who seemed to be the only member within the
house that was spared from waking at the noise of Tom’s destruction.

In the end, Harry was needed to placate Will into allowing him closer. There appeared to be a
mindlessness attached to the ravenstag within Will. Hannibal could feel his own, stirring and
musing under his pelt. It seemed that Will’s had taken over when he was shifted. There was
only static within the confines of Will’s mind.

Both Will and Hannibal had used the contraceptive lubricant. They brewed it themselves,
each knowing the recipe by heart, etched in the folds of their mind. Yet, as the years grew and
the challenges that the Dark Lord offered them through their son, they could both feel the
yearning of a child.

They felt it in the evening; when Hannibal would go from passionately stroking his mate's
length down to his hole, knowing that he had to wait. They felt it in the morning, when Will
would wake up and neither would talk to the other, speaking only in hushed moans as they
came together. They felt it in the frantic trysts in the afternoon, outside, over a counter, when
the movements were rushed and heady.

The yearning of a child that would be prevented by contraceptives.

It was the duty of parents- to sacrifice for the good of fawns.

Hannibal looked down at the new fawn, his nose shuffling around to find the deepest point of
Tom’s neck. His intention was to take in Tom’s scent, to smell the depths of the ritual and
what the components built. The moment before he took that great, heaving breath of air that
pulled small feathers to his nostrils, the thought of clamping his jaws around a vulnerable
throat.

It was Harry’s blood that coursed through Tom Riddle’s veins.

He hummed as he groomed over the feather’s, spreading more of his own scent over their
new addition.

As Harry did the first time he transformed within the forest, after they retrieved him from
Beverly, Tom shifted in the nest of feathers, his feathers shedding for skin. Will’s feathers
pulled Tom’s body from the cold, wrapping over his gangly flesh.

Cradled in the combined nest of feathers, Hannibal could see his flesh molding along the
seems of Harry’s feathers, pulling them over his exposed skin to protect him from the cold.

Summoned, Harry stirred from the well of Hannibal’s stomach, lifting his crowned head he
yawned sharp snapping jaws.

“Father,” he said, reaching his nose to greet Hannibal. “I was getting worried. It’s been two
days.”

“Two days?” Hannibal asked, looking up at the night sky as if it could tell him the exact time
and date like a phone could.

Hannibal told Harry that a fawn would choose the form of birth- human or ravenstag. He
didn’t expect there to already be such a hold on their instincts as a Herd. Roused by his
curiosity, Hannibal moved his legs from Harry’s feathers and shifted to his human skin.

His hands traveled over Tom Riddle’s ribs, grimacing at the sweeping valleys of bones
protecting fragile organs in sleep. The few feathers that Tom sprouted along his flesh to keep
him warm and connected to Herd grazed his own in greeting.

unsurprisingly, Harry shifted skins as well, coming down to his hands and knees to wrap his
shirt over Tom’s torso. Hannibal still felt tired, but the cold beginning to seep into his body
moved him to transfigure the snow around Tom into a blanket.

Will jarred his head as he woke, Hannibal threw an arm in front of Harry and backed his son
away from the feral ravenstag. Will huffed, seemingly more frustrated with being woken than
two humans being nearby. He nuzzled Tom, his feathers starting to rise with anxiety when he
didn’t wake.

“He’s right here,” Hannibal said, repeating the same words to Will as he did when they
finally had Harry back in the house from Verger. Will’s ears flicked forward, his feathers
flattened. Hannibal walked back to his mate and the boy. “Transformative magic is taxing,”
he said, picking up Tom.

“Here,” Harry said, moving next to Hannibal in an elegant shift. Hannibal was impressed by
Harry’s abilities; he looked up and saw that Harry gained a new point on his antlers.

Was it the removal of the horcrux from his soul and magical core that caused his increase in
strength or the bond that he was creating with Tom Riddle that his magic resonated with?
Either way, Harry was still as Hannibal moved Tom Riddle’s sleeping form. Hannibal could
see that Harry’s feathers reached and connected with Tom’s flesh, prompting the boy’s
feathers to spread along his skin to touch his twin, to protect himself from the cold further.
Will inspected Tom resting snuggly on Harry’s spine with short chuffs, nuzzling along his
curls and walked to Hannibal. Harry turned and began to walk back in the direction of the
house, probably one of the first times carrying a human on his back. He would need to be
careful and delicate with Tom.

Just as Hannibal needed to be with Will.

His mate was no fragile object, however. His mate was a Ravenstag, standing on four
powerful hooves with a strong rack of antlers supported on his skull. Hannibal took a step
closer to Will, the cold air ignored by the beast due to his black feathers.

“You are beautiful,” Hannibal whispered, cupping Will’s jaw with his fingers. He shivered in
the cold. To his delight, Will noticed this, walking next to Hannibal so his feathers were
pressed into the man’s flesh. He chuckled to his mate, threading his fingers through the thick
pelt of feathers simply to feel them in their abundance.

With them both in their pelts, it did not take the two long to catch up to Harry. He had passed
into the clearing of the house, getting closer to the porch. Will trotted over to Harry, nuzzling
under the side of his jaw and licking along the base of his antlers in silent praise.

Hannibal shifted to his human skin and walked to Harry, taking a limp teen into his arms.
When he walked up the stairs of the porch, he heard his mate groaning with human vocal
cords.

“Take him to my room, Harry. Your dad is simply tired.”

With the aid of magic, Hannibal opened the doors and navigated his way around the dogs to
the guest bedroom Will placed Tom. The similarities between Harry and Tom’s
transformation were still ongoing. As Hannibal went to place a sleeping Tom into the
guestroom that would become his own, the boy woke in his grasp, a hand on his chest.

Hannibal stilled, letting the boy feel the heat of his breastbone, wanting to see if the boy was
touching him to attack or put space between them both. Tom’s eyes trailed up to Hannibal's in
the dark room, head tilting to the side for a second before he dropped his gaze.

“Do you have problems, Tom?” Hannibal chuckled low in the room, making each movement
slow as he took the covers and wrapped them over the boy. He was tense in the bed, propped
up on one elbow, the other hand clenched in a fist.

Nagini was hanging over his bedpost, her coils loose and relaxed even as she watched them
interact with unblinking eyes.

“Of course you don’t. You and I are just alike...problem free.” With a gentle yet firm hand,
Hannibal pressed down on Tom’s shoulder until he was laying in the bed. Whether the child
could see his smirk in the darkness, Hannibal leaned down and put a kiss on top of his locks
of hair, smoothing the hair and feathers back.

“Nothing to feel horrible about,” he said, leaving with silent footsteps. As he closed the door,
he saw that Tom had pressed his hand to his forehead, where Harry’s scar sat, and pulled his
hand away- curious what could have stuck there.

Hannibal hummed as he checked in on Harry, seeing that the boy was half-asleep as he began
to fold back into the covers of his own bed. The children put to bed, Hannibal opened the
door to the sight of his pregnant mate.

Will was already asleep, the soft sound of deep breathing adding to the natural hum of the
house. He slipped to the bed, moving to press himself as close to his William as he could,
legs slotting between legs, an arm to prop Will’s neck, the other laying possessive over his
chest as if he could reach into it. He was not used to fragile things, even if he had delivered
countless babies.

This was different.

This was his Herd now.

Hardly grazing his fingers along the sleeping swell of Will’s chest as he breathed, Hannibal
lowered his palm down onto the inevitable swell of Will’s stomach and felt himself purr.

Tom turned in the pillows for what felt like the upteenth time. There was a ringing in his ears
and what felt like wads of cotton shoved within each part of his brain. Each time the sheets
rustled, he felt like his skin was being peeled.

The snake, Nagini as she introduced herself with a hiss, was watching over him from where
she was strung on the post. When the man, Hannibal, man-eater, the Ravenstag, his father...
put him into the bed, Tom thought she would strike him. To his surprise, she remained still
and relaxed, watching the interaction with passivity.

“Hatchling,” she said after the man left, leaving Tom with something he never received- a
kiss to the forehead, making him reach up and touch where the man touched him, checking
his hand as of something tangible would come off his skull. “They found you. This is good-
they feared for you.”

“They will kill me,” Tom said, still pinned to the mattress from where Hannibal, his
resurrector, his interrogator, put him. Nagini hissed, drawn out and low.

“I’ve had years to observe the humans since they took the first,” she said. Tom felt himself
drop into the bedding as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He could see that he was
low to the ground- he could see Harry and the very house they were currently in. Only, he
looked younger, and looked at Tom, at Nagini with fear.

Then, more images of Harry with the other man-eaters. They were in the house, warm and
cuddled on the couch, speaking in English as they fell asleep by the warmth. In other images,
Nagini was watching over Harry with a sense of pride as he hunted down rabbits, galloping
on gangly legs and white feathers sharp as he snapped over the hare.
Tom gasped, opening his eyes at the solid ceiling above him. He felt Nagini brush the side of
his face with her tongue.

“They are not as you think,” she assured, the truth of her words resonating within his own
soul it was impossible to deny their truth. “And now, you are one of them.”

Nagini left him with those overwhelming series of thoughts.

There was nothing wrong with the comfort of the mattress or the bed. The pillows did not
smell of mold or musk; nor lumpy- laying perfectly soft beneath his head. There was nothing
wrong with the warmth of the room, in fact, it seemed to almost respond to his temperature,
rising it high enough that his cold skin felt a normal temperature.

He refrained from groaning in frustration as he pulled his hands down the length of his face,
only to pull them away at the odd texture.

It still fascinated him, and might forever. For the evening, what caught his addled brain’s
attention were the microfeathers that sprouted around his nails, now black as if he rolled in
the soot from a fireplace. Tom pushed up the length of the white pajamas he didn’t remember
changing into- ignoring the odd static that raced over his feather.

The collage of flesh and feathers was spackled over his arms.

The sound of the doorknob had him take a familiar position of faking sleep, laying limply on
the bed, breathing longer on the exhale than an inhale. He kept his eyes open enough to see
the silhouette was of Harry, who was clearly half-asleep as he approached the bed.

“What are you doing?” Tom whispered, looking up at the door when Harry climbed into his
bed. Tom no longer knew where to put himself. Harry seemed to decide for him, crawling
closer until he flopped on top of Tom, pinning him down into the sheets.

“Stop thinking, Tom,” Harry said, blindly reaching for the covers until he snagged a handful,
almost smacking himself in the face as he pulled them over the two. “I can feel it.”

Not knowing where to put his hands, Tom laid one awkwardly over Harry’s back as the other
flopped uselessly on the bed. Harry’s breathing had already evened out, firmly capturing Tom
with his dead weight atop him.

Something pulled on his fingers of the hand resting on Harry’s back. He lifted his chin high
enough to look over Harry’s head, at his hand, wondering if a spider managed to crawl on
him. He saw it was the feathers on his fingers and arms, lifting and twisting to the sides.

Tom, confused by what he was seeing, moved his hand closer to wherever the fingers were
pulling him His hand traveled up Harry’s back until he touched Harry’s hair, feeling the
feathers of his scalp with gentle fingertips.

Soothing breathing began to settle within his own chest, making him finally sag into the bed
beneath his twin. He hummed, turning slightly to find better comfort next to his brother on
the bed they were sharing. His eyelids feel heavy and Tom found that his thoughts were
slowing from the rush of water to a slow trickle of thinking.

Where Tom had trouble falling asleep in the evening, he spent about thirty seconds basking in
the warmth and comfort of his bed before he realized he was no longer in the diary. He shot
upright, his heart pounding as he took in the sounds of the house.

He could hear the rattling of utensils down below him. The sun around was higher than
morning but didn’t indicate that he slept the entire day away. The sheets in the bed were
ruffled across the entire mattress- meaning that Harry must have slept with him the entire
night.

“You have to greet them,” Nagini said, sliding over his shoulder. He could hear her chuckled
hissing as she pushed her nose against his neck, as if she could get him out of the bed. Tom
looked at the door.

He stood from the bed, his feet falling on silent and sturdy floorboards. The closer he got to
the door, the louder the sounds of the kitchen became. He could hear that Harry was talking
to Will, the American that came to him, the very one that managed to capture him in
Hogwarts.

Tom looked around, down at his appearance, still clothed in the white pajamas. He could feel
his anxieties mounting as he debated on changing. He looked at Nagini, perfectly content in
the warmth of the sun patch that rested on his bed.

Nagini picked up her head and faced the door. Tom took a step back when the door pushed
open, relaxing marginally when he saw it was Harry walking into the room with a smile on
his face. Harry took Tom’s cold fingers and started to pull him out of the room.

“Come on,” he said, heaving a bit when Tom would not move with him, frozen in the room.
“It’s time for breakfast.”

It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Tom saw that Nagini was already making her way off the
bed and to the door. This time, when Harry pulled his hand, he followed.

Tom looked behind him as he passed through the door, seeing that it was still propped open
and letting in the sun’s light.

Harry pulled Tom down the stairs to the sea of dogs that greeted him. There was a brindle
dog that greeted him, next to him, a three-headed Cerberus.

Tom felt his eyes roll into the back of his head. He saw himself fight the dog, much, much
larger than it currently was. The dog was snarling and growling at him, thick saliva pooling
from his jaws as he leaned forward and bit Tom.

He shook the vision out of his head as the dog danced around his legs, heads biting at the
ends of his pajamas.
“Fluffy?” he asked.

“Hercules, actually,” Will said, walking closer to Tom. He stood up straighter as he looked at
the man, his eyes tracking the movement of the other. Harry was next to Hannibal in the
kitchen, helping him put the bacon out on the dishes.

Tom had little doubt the man was intentionally not looking at Tom, instead focusing eyes on
whatever was in front of him.

The table was ornately set with winter décor. The sun passed through the windows, casting a
light over the table as Harry and Hannibal brought food in. Will walked to what must be his
common seat, Hannibal taking the opposite, Harry filing in the middle- all looking at him to
join.

Slowly, unsure with every step, Tom walked to the only open seat of the table, set with silver
and a glass filled with water, an empty one on the side to hold the pitcher of juice. He sat
down at the table but did not touch anything on it.

His arrival to the table prompted the others to start eating.

Tom looked down at the food on his plate, bacon and eggs. Even as he looked at the food, he
knew that something was different about it. Harry’s knowledge of the Ravenstag was in his
head, Tom could feel that, almost like knowing what a certain coat felt like on a body without
having to wear it. He knew that the food, the bacon , on the plate was from no common pig.

Part of integrating himself with Purebloods started by simply mimicking their behaviors.
Looking around the table- he saw the same situation. Before anyone said anything again,
Tom slowly picked up his hands and reached for the fork and knife.

He paused, looking down at the microfeathers that lined his arms. Tom reached forward with
one hand, picking up a feather and bending it back on his arm, pushing through the pain until
the quill wept with blood.

“Hey,” Harry said, making him drop the feather. Tom watched it snap back to lay flat along
the length of his arm as natural. “Just like mine.” Harry reached his hand across the table, his
flesh broken by the feathers that bloomed around his hand. When Harry touched him, Tom
could see that both their feathers had buried into the others.

“The response is to promote healthy relationships between the Herd,” Hannibal said, then
took a bite of bacon with a smirk. Tom looked between the three of them. He put his hands to
his lips.

“Harry,” he said, looking at the boy with green eyes that most certainly reflected the colors of
the killing curse. “I killed you.”

“Attempted,” Will interjected. Tom sat back in the chair, looking at the three.

His former mortal enemy was sitting across the table from him, casually pushing his eggs
onto the fork with the slice of bacon, which Tom intuitively knew was human. Flanking both
Tom and Harry were two adults that resurrected him only after they came to an agreement
not to kill each other until the ritual was completed.

As Tom laid on the concrete of the basement, naked and shaking, he could feel the finality of
his life. Tom knew that his magic wasn’t going to respond to his call, that he was as helpless
as a muggle to the wizards around him.

They didn’t kill him.

“How is this normal?” Tom said, the pitch of his voice surprising him as he looked around
the table, his heart hammering in his head.

“It’s not,” Hannibal said, a small smirk on his lips. “The feathers will go away as you eat.”

Tom clenched his jaw- knowing the man knew what he was really talking about. He looked
back at Harry, noticing that he caught the teen’s gaze.

“How are you okay with this?”

Harry paused, his brow furrowing as he thought about a response. Tom noticed from his
peripheral that both Hannibal and Will were looking at Harry. He shrugged.

“You’re my twin,” he said.

Logically speaking, Harry’s parents should be rushing to his defense, especially if the enemy
was Tom himself. His biological parents, though Tom did not have the memory of killing
them, the story was infamous enough to hypothesize that James Potter fought against
Voldemort. Tom remembered the feeling of strong jaws clenching down on his arm, feathers
bursting in his chest, Will himself sending the glass of the mirror through Quirrell’s body.

In Harry’s second year, the very man now who offered Tom a blanket, was the one that
knocked him unconscious and delivered him to Hannibal, who threatened to kill Tom.

Now, they were making him breakfast, the three eating at ease as Tom tried to figure what
their motive was.

“Then I’m the one that’s lost my mind,” Tom said, brushing his hair back as he sat in the
chair.

“I can legally certify that you have retained your sanity based on this conversation alone,”
Hannibal said. “And your fear of going from an enemy to a member of the Herd is
justifiable.”

“Even Harry had to adjust,” Will said, taking a bite of his eggs. He reached for his bacon,
transferring it from his plate to Tom’s own. “Eat your breakfast, then we can play.”

Harry perked up at that.

To Tom, it was clear that they weren’t going to kill him in the dining room. When Will
moved the bacon to his side of the plate, he watched his feathers reach to graze along Will’s
flesh and remain poised when he left.

Unable to avoid the pulling of hunger, Tom reached to pick up the bacon. It didn’t matter if
Tom knew the flesh he was eating was human- it was the first thing he had eaten since he was
fourteen and severed his soul in the Girl’s Bathroom.

After he started eating, he stopped talking- food was fifty years foreign. Tom had forgotten
that he could smell food, even as he was eating it. He had forgotten the actual intricacies that
came with picking up a fork or using it properly.

It seemed that his magic wasn’t the only thing that would need aid before he could go back
into normal society.

The anxiety of his inevitable death started to rise as he cleared his plate of the eggs and
bacon. He flinched when Hannibal moved towards him. Tom eyed him warily when he, like
Will did, handed his bacon over to Tom.

“Come on, Tom,” Harry said, biting into one of the last slices he had in his black fingers. “It’s
fun outside.”

If his death waited until after he ate all his food, then his very executioners were giving him
more time.

He ate, ravenous appetite winning over self-preservation.

Harry jumped out of his seat as soon as Tom finished the meal on the plate. Tom watched as
Hannibal rolled his eyes fondly to Harry, gathering the plates with Will’s help. Tom stood
from his spot at the table, watching from a distance as they walked into the kitchen while
Harry was unlocking the door that led outside.

Tom stood up from the table and looked at Hannibal in the kitchen, casually washing the
dishes, breaking into a chuckle when he saw that Harry managed to break free from.

Hannibal kept his movements predictable as he moved into the kitchen. Will brushed against
his side as he walked out the back door, following Harry out.

“Are you going to join them?” Hannibal asked, keeping his eyes on the dishes. A low
undertone of hesitance has permeated around the threshold that separated the kitchen from
the dining room. Hannibal was pleased to see that, like Harry, the feathers had disappeared as
Tom continued to eat.

From the window, Hannibal could see that Harry was already in the snow topped grass,
prancing around on his hooves to try and entice Tom to play with him by bucking and
bleeting.

Hannibal wondered if the bleat was more than a simple sound- if Harry and Tom could
communicate with each other through the horcrux bond.

Tom started to move forward, following the same path that Harry and Will took to go
outside- through the kitchen, the heart of Hannibal’s territory. The boy was wary of him and
while Hannibal could understand the logic of Tom’s fear, the Ravenstag within him warred to
win the boy’s trust.

Hannibal heard the door click and felt the draft of the cold winter. With a little magic,
Hannibal cracked the window above the sink so he could continue the dishes and listen to his
mate.

“Play is a healthy part of a young fawn’s life,” he heard Will say to Tom, repeating the very
words he gave Harry when the young boy was still new to shifting. Tom was rubbing his
hands over his arms, trying to keep the winter chill from his flesh.

Hannibal never grew tired of the beautiful beast that his mate, his husband, could shift into.
There was something serene about the snow and the sunrise coloring the landscape around
them, the snow that froze during the night only reflecting the light around their eyes until it
almost became too uncomfortable to be outside.

And Will, his William, had more beauty than the art that he’s seen around the world, his thick
black pelt reflecting light so he looked like oil over water, a shifting shimmer of color off a
breathing black canvas. Harry trotted over to Will, nuzzling his side before reaching a nose
out to touch Tom’s hand.

Another spectral image painted itself on the canvas of snow that their house floated on in
Italy. Tom shivered, at first, Hannibal thought it was an indication the boy was cold, but
feathers began to sprout from his skull rather than his spine.

Hannibal watched as the boy shifted forms before his eyes, feathers growing along the length
of his body, clothing turning inward in a display of advanced magic that told echoing tales of
his past life. Not used to standing on four hooves, Tom stumbled into the snow, almost
burying his form.

He still hesitated, looking over his body before shyly gazing up at Will and Harry. Hannibal
smiled and walked out the back door, letting the dogs back into the warmth of the house.

Harry bleeted, prancing around his twin, kicking up the snow around him or pushing it with
his antlers. Hannibal had seen the white fawn feathers the previous night but seeing them
again only served to make the Ravenstag within purr with satisfaction.

The Ravenstag within him purred in pleasure with the sight of a new fawn, his first one
reaching out to greet him as his mate did the same, laced with the scent of pregnancy in his
womb.

Hannibal walked out onto the snow, not caring for the state of his clothing or that he would
suffer from the cooler temperatures. By the time he stepped within arms reach of Will, Tom
was on his hooves, shaky and unbalanced.

When Tom noticed Hannibal, he stumbled, prompting the man to reach out and grab him by
the barrel despite knowing that the feathers would cut him if Tom felt threatened. Hannibal
knew of Tom’s underlying fear around him; the boy was most hesitant around Hannibal, for
good reason given the last time they spoke to each other, they were threatening to kill the
other.

He supposed that approaching Tom and grabbing him could have been seen as a threat- even
if he was only trying to assist. Hannibal flinched hard at the feeling of blades cutting into his
chest. Attempting to release Tom was met with his body being pushed away and into the
snow.

Hannibal looked down at the wounds scattered on his chest, blood already staining the snow
red. His gaze shifted to Will, who was nuzzling the side of Tom’s neck with his nose,
breathing in short chuffs to take in the fawn’s scent. Will must have noticed Hannibal’s gaze
when he moved to heal the cuts on his chest. The stag put a hoof over Tom and dropped his
head again, growling low with his teeth fully exposed and the entirety of his rack facing
Hannibal’s vulnerable organs.

Hannibal was pleased to see that Will had fallen into his instincts as beautifully as he did
when he was first transformed. In the brief moments he was outside, waiting for Will to
awake in Wolf Trap and look down at his new body, Hannibal feared that his mate would
need further convincing into his reckoning. He suspected that the man’s transformation was
aided by Harry.

Harry noticed Hannibal’s blood and came trotting over to him. Harry was still learning how
to be careful with his antlers, approaching Hannibal slowly sniffing the blood that trailed on
the ground. Hannibal reached out and put a comforting hand on Harry’s muzzle, thanking the
boy for his concern. Hannibal shifted into his pelt, still laying on the ground to prevent
further agitating his mate.

“I am unharmed, little fawn,” Hannibal said, still laying in the snow that Will pushed him
into. Will no longer seemed to be concerned with Hannibal now that he was in his pelt. His
feathers were calmly laying on his pelt, head picked up to look out for danger, but not trained
on Hannibal as a threat.

Tom’s white fawn feathers were stained with red blood. Watching for his mate’s reaction,
Hannibal moved to standing, stilling when Will looked at him. Though the other ravenstag
made no movement to charge Hannibal, he still kept his head lower than Will’s.

The ravenstag looked him over once, then shook out his feathers and stepped around Tom’s
curled form, leaving room for Harry to try and prompt him to stand. Hannibal tilted his head
to Will, still keeping it low in submission.

Will seemed to be engrossed in his instincts when he was in his pelt. Hannibal couldn’t be
sure himself if this behavior was normal for Ravenstags, being too isolated in his younger
days and having no others to seek information from now. Will touched his snout with his
own, licking at the feathers between Hannibal’s antlers, clicking them together.

Seeming to meet his mate’s approval, Hannibal took slow steps to his fawns. Harry walked
away from Tom when he saw Hannibal approaching. The little fawn was warm in his pelt but
Hannibal noted the tension that was in his legs. Though he couldn’t even stand, Tom did not
trust him.
Hannibal felt himself huff near Tom, assuring him that all would be well. He could smell his
own blood was still on Tom’s feathers. Careful to make sure that Tom would not bite
Hannibal, he moved his head towards Tom’s back. He licked at the white feathers, tasting his
blood without drawing it due to the properties of his saliva.

The more that Hannibal layered his own scent over Tom, the more he relaxed in the snow
bank. Will walked around Tom’s body, folding his legs in to lay down. Hannibal found
Harry’s disappointment amusing, he knew that his first fawn wanted to play with his twin but
the transformation seemed to have worn Tom out more than Harry’s first shifts.

Using his hoof to dig the snow, Hannibal beckoned Harry forward. His fawn trotted over,
licking a strip of his feathers up his neck before bedding next to Tom. Hannibal huffed again
to their newest addition once he laid down next to the fawn with feathers.

Hannibal found with Harry that grooming was the easiest way to calm a fawn in distress. It
was clear that Tom did not yet trust them or their intentions, no matter that their actions spoke
the truth that none would harm them. He did not hold any anger to his new fawn at his fear,
only finding a deeper reserve to garner Tom’s trust.

The grooming quickly took effect on Tom, his eyes having a harder time focusing on him,
staying closed for longer periods of time as he was groomed. “He’ll be able to play soon,
Harry,” Hannibal said to Harry, moving his head to groom the fawn that was still awake.

The click of the door had, apparently, become a familiar sound to Tom in the evening. He
heard the attempt to quiet his footsteps as Harry made his way back into Tom’s bed. Harry
pulled the covers of the bed up and shuffled close to Tom.

“Sorry,” he apologized, knowing that his occupied mind was keeping Harry awake in the
evening.

They were all discovering the depths of the bond that Harry and Tom shared. Tom had some
of Harry’s memories, the more intense ones that he encountered showed themselves in Tom’s
mind as if in a dream- distant, somewhat tangible. The memories from the other soul shards
were still fitting themselves in his new mind.

At night, it left him with a lot to think about.

“They’re not going to hurt you,” Harry said from the spot that he claimed. Tom huffed and
rolled his eyes, turning his head to look out the very window he destroyed on his first night in
the house. The strangest thing was, when Tom returned to the very room that he escaped
from, Will assured him that the wall's destruction was no worry.

The majority of Tom’s thoughts were occupied with the scenarios that would happen when
Harry would return to Hogwarts in the morning.

Tom’s magic, loath to admit it, was not yet stable. On the surface, Tom knew that he could
not use his magic. The shifting magic that came with his legacy as a Ravenstag felt as natural
as putting on a shirt. It was the only magic he could use without it causing him pain.

“They’re not,” Harry insisted, pushing on Tom’s shoulder when did not answer. “Killing you
would only make me upset.”

“Well, if we can be glad for one of us,” he muttered.

“Look,” Harry said, propping his elbow up. Harry held his hand up, showing off how he
could pull the feathers to his flesh without shifting. Before Tom said anything about Harry’s
display of magic, he took Tom’s hand.

He had yet to figure out how to prevent the reaction from happening when one of them would
touch him. His feathers erupted from his flesh like greeting an old friend. The reaction for
Will was different- his feathers would pull on Will’s, linking them almost painfully together
with the need to stay connected.

When it came to Hannibal, his feathers slowly pricked from his flesh and fluttered towards
the man, as if waving him over.

“You’re one of us now,” Harry said confidently, even as he was slipping into sleep. “If you
didn’t turn into a ravenfawn, then you would have to worry.”

“It’s never that simple, Harry,” Tom said.

“Why can’t it be?”

“Because I killed you.”

“Attempted,” Harry repeated. “You know, for a person that speaks of absolutes, you don’t
accept them when they are not on your terms.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry was the one that rolled his eyes this time.

“You said that I was your ‘little brother’ in the diary,” Harry began. Trying to pass off the
tension of the conversation he could see approaching him, Tom deflected by saying.

“I am the older twin.”

This would remain a fact- forever.

Harry looked affronted, opening his to argue Tom’s claim to the title of older sibling. He
grinned at Tom, his eyes shifting to the door. It was late in the night, and he must have known
their arguing might stir the adults to investigate.

“Nice try,” he smirked, pushing Tom’s shoulder. “I mean that you were all ready to accept me
as your brother but you’re not ready to accept being part of our family.”

Tom felt his heart freeze in his chest.

In the diary, Tom could feel how deeply he and Harry were intertwined- it was what made
possessing Harry so easy. He was true when he spoke to the Basilisk, that his intention was to
train Harry as his protégé.

“You’re one of us now, Tom,” Harry yawned into his hand, shuffling deeper into the sheets
for warmth. “They’ll take care of you while I’m gone.”

That was, perhaps, what made it terrifying.

Tom was self-reliant; he had to be as there were no options available to him as a child. He
learned to feed himself, steal food if needed, how to do laundry, how to manage his time
while at school, while doing his homework in secret under the cover of night. He never asked
for shoes until they were splitting at the seams, knowing that the answer would be no. Tom
never asked for a warmer coat, only added charms to it when he was at Hogwarts.

Here, Tom was a welcome member at the table. Within this home, Tom had a drawer filled
with clothing that didn’t fit him, but was quickly transfigured to his size by Hannibal or Will
without them taking a second thought. What was more, more than Wool’s, was they offered to
buy him clothing.

“How can it be that easy?” he asked, waving his hand at the ceiling. Tom turned his head and
sighed when he saw that Harry had fallen asleep on him again.

Taking a slow breath in, Tom looked out the cracked door again. Not far down the hallway
were Harry’s parents. They were treating Tom as they would Harry… as if Tom were their
son...

If Tom took a deep breath and centered himself, feeling his anxious magic starting to rumble
in his chest. When he opened his eyes to the ceiling, he thought of the situation as a potion
problem. The single simplicity that came with potions was that the cauldron would speak for
itself; if it looked like it would explode...well, Tom had learned to read the contents of a
cauldron.

While Will once attacked Tom through Harry’s body, he was seeking to help Tom.

While he and Hannibal both threatened to kill the other as Tom possessed his twin, Hannibal
helped him to bed the first night after the ritual.

While Tom and Harry were once mortal enemies, Harry was clearly content with Tom living
in the house. Harry trusted Tom enough not to kill him that the teen was willing to share the
warmth of his bed before leaving for Hogwarts.

Could it be what every kid in an orphanage dreamed of, even himself in the moments of
darkness when others could not see his tears?

Tom held his hand over Harry’s arm, observing that Harry’s flesh turned inward so his own
feathers were exposed, reaching for Tom’s even as he held them apart.
 Hannibal said that the reaching feathers were to help promote healthy relationships in the
Herd. He could shift into a ravenfawn, so small and different from his human flesh. The
comfort of Harry, surrounded by Will and Hannibal was something that he yearned for in his
most private and shameful moments.

If both Hannibal and Will were taking care of him, and Tom were to apply the same logic as
he would to any potion experiment- then the two adults were taking care of him:

Genuinely.

“Huh,” Tom said, looking at his twin, sleeping on the pillow with his hair hanging over his
mouth.

Well maybe...maybe Tom could just...slip into the realm of dreams truly his own...

In the morning, as Hannibal began his morning routine by checking on Harry’s door, he
resisted the instinctive urge to panic when he did not see his son in the very bed he occupied
that evening. Before his mind could wander down the stream of panic, old memories of
Verger’s men haunting his territory, he checked the room across the hall.

Hannibal exhaled a sigh of relief, softly smiling at the sight before him.

Sleeping in a combined nest of feathers were the twins, bundled under blankets, the two were
wrapped inseparably. Hannibal tilted his head as he noticed something different- Tom was
sleeping closest to the door, his one arm wrapped protectively around Harry as the other
rested under his pillow; where a wand might rest if he had one. There was a part of Tom’s
spine that was not covered by the blanket that left his fawn feathers exposed.

Fawn feathers that were rising in their protective barbed position as if they sensed someone
watching over him.

Hannibal’s gaze did not falter as Will’s arms came to wrap around him, his mate roused from
sleep, softly humming a good morning as he looked at the image.

“Do you feel obligation?” Hannibal asked his mate again, looking over the bodies of their
fawn’s rather than the dying form of Abigail Hobbs.

“I feel responsibility,” he said, moving Hannibal’s hand to his navel, blue eyes observing the
legacy of the Ravenstag growing in numbers.

No music that rang through cathedrals nor seasoning he’s once sunk his teeth into held a
candle to the soft glow of the moment before him; painfully aware of his existence, Hannibal
stood with his mate over the door of the young Dark Lord, who tied himself so painfully to
his adversary made twin, observing as their feathers only made for another connection
between them all.

Chapter End Notes

...so maybe there was a little more attached to the mindlessness of Will's ravenstag than
I told you last chapter...

A lot of this dialog I took from other previous chapters. One of the things I liked about
NBC Hannibal (TV) is how often Fuller used repetition and symbolism throughout the
story so I tried to emulate that by taking Nagini's words she gave to Harry when he was
kidnapped by Verger and use them for Tom.
IDK something about the image of Raveenstag!Will body checking Hannibal away from
little fawn Tom has me cracking.

Your kudos and comments are always gifts!

 Mongoose's Lure
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone!

I am sooooo happy that you are enjoying this little side story with Tom. Several people
have asked if I am going to bring the Sev/Bev plotline back- yes, I am just taking
advantage of Tom's time with Hannigram now that Harry is back at Hogwarts. It means
he gets the same love that Harry did in the beginning of the story.
BTW: murder spicy warning, but you should know that by now...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal watched Tom from his peripheral, keeping the small smile off his face as the teen
tried to keep from fidgeting on the stool. His examination allowed him to further catalogue
the differences between him and Harry. Tom had creamer skin than Harry, who’s natural tone
reflected closer to Hannibal’s. His hair was tamed, unlike their first, smooth and wavy locks
of short hair topping his head. As he was paler than Harry, he was exposed to more freckles-
many of them hinting at his spots as Hannibal ran his fingers down the ridges and joints of
his spine- his rolodex came to mind...

“I assure you, Tom,” Hannibal said, tearing at the seams of a sterile alcohol swab. Tom was
still hesitant around Hannibal but the flinching had reduced to a minimum; at least, with
Harry in the house- both parents anticipated some progress they made with Tom to regress.
As he rubbed the swab over Tom’s shoulder, he could feel the tension in the boy. “It will only
hurt for a moment.”

“I’m not worried about the pain,” he said as seriously as a nervous teen attempting not to
show it.

Hannibal made sure to keep his face neutral as he went back to preparing a vaccine for Tom.

“What is it?” Tom asked, taking the vial from the tray he set up. He waited for his fawn,
allowing him the moment to take a look at the material sliding in the tube. As Hannibal
debated telling Tom on the contents, the boy caught his eye- his gaze hard as he waited for a
lie.

The distrust that Tom had for adults was evident. Hannibal smiled a little, reaching to take the
vial from Tom’s hands, letting their fingers touch for a brief moment that could be excused
for taking medicine.

“It comes from a sample of a wraith that Harry encountered in his first year,” he said as he
inserted the needle into the vial. He tipped it over as Tom mulled over his words, his legs
starting to swing in the stool with anxiety.
Children were more volatile when it came to needles, Hannibal didn’t think Tom was any
exception if his nervous movements gave him away. Before Tom could run from him, he took
Tom by the arm with a firm grasp, squeezing the deltoid muscle as the other injected the
vaccine.

There came the natural flinch with all vaccines, the needle piercing flesh and muscle tissue
would pull in at the intrusion. He injected Tom as quickly as he pricked him, slapping a
bandaid over the little well of blood that peaked out.

Tom’s body stiffened, his eyes fluttering in the back of his head. Hannibal reached out to
catch his fawn before he could tip off the stool, holding him close as his eyes fluttered and
breath hitched. A part of him was concerned that his fawn was having an allergic reaction to
the potion, but his responses seemed to be the same as when he encountered Hercules for the
first time.

His eyes were darting around the room, seeing something from his previous fragments. If the
vaccine was the catalyst for the vision, Hannibal had a theory of what he was seeing.
Hannibal held Tom to his chest, allowing his heart beat to calm the teen as he went through
his vision.

While his fawn relaxed in Hannibal’s arms, he kept the boy supported, gently stroking down
the length of his hair as he came back to himself.

“Your name is Tom Riddle, it is one thirty-five in the afternoon and you are home with your
father,” he began to whisper.

Clumsy hands tried to get between their chests to push them apart. Hannibal held on a little
tighter, knowing that Harry responded well to skin to skin contact when he was younger and
taken by bad dreams.

“I’m fine,” he hissed, though relaxing a little more into the one sided hug. Hannibal hummed,
still petting over Tom’s head as he reoriented himself to their house.

“Yes, clearly.” Hannibal looked down at Tom. He noticed that his fawn was squinting at the
light yet doing nothing to show weakness. Humming, Hannibal turned off the lights in the
room with a little magic.

Tom finally sagged into his arms.

“That was a particularly strong vision,” Hannibal said. Tom wasn’t willing to share his vision
and Hannibal wouldn’t push him directly for an answer. He pushed Tom upward so he could
look at his eyes, passing his wand around Tom’s face to see that his pupils were reacting
properly.

Hannibal transfigured a small cup for Tom and filled it with water.

“I don’t need help,” Tom said, pushing away from Hannibal’s drink.

“Harry’s return to Hogwarts won’t change your place here,” he said.

The boy flinched, his face blossoming with a blush. His expression shifted from shame and
embarrassment to anger, his jaw clenching and nostrils flaring. Rather than say anything, he
pushed away from Hannibal and stumbled outside.

Hannibal sighed, knowing that Tom wouldn’t be receptive to his advice as angry as he was.
He disposed of the sharps properly as Will entered from the floo. Will brushed off the embers
of his shirt, looking around the room.

“How is Severus?” Hannibal asked, wrapping his arms around his mate until they were
resting over his stomach. It was still flat, leaving Hannibal to his imagination. Unlike a
normal human, the gestation of a ravenfawn would last six months.

Will quirks a lip as he put a cold London hand over Hannibal’s, the other hand holding a
contained sweater wrapped in Beverly’s scent to be delivered to Severus.

“You and Tom got along that well?” He hummed, chuckling at Hannibal’s affronted look.
Will turned in his arms and kissed him slowly, the palm still resting on the flesh of his belly.
“I was your mongoose before I was your mate,” Will said, his lips coming to touch
Hannibal’s with each word. “Let me lure him home.”

Hannibal reluctantly let the warmth of his mate slip from his arms and go out the door. Like
Tom, Will did not have a coat with him. Hannibal returned to the sink, watching out the
window as his mate shifted and followed the footprints Tom left behind as he sought refuge
in the woods.

Trotting through the cold ground, Will followed the imprints his son left behind. He scented
the marks in the ground when they shifted from human feet to ravenfawn hooves. His fawn
was not difficult to find now that he was encased in the scent of Herd.

He was curled by another bramble bush. Will huffed a smile, proud that his fawn found
another sharp defense from predators. He ignored the pain that was in his breast; Tom knew
that the only predators in the woods around him were themselves. One day, Tom wouldn’t
have to fear them.

Will nudged his fawn out from the brambles, his pelt protecting him from the worst of the
burs.

“What are you doing?” Tom growled at him, his little teeth bared as Will bed down around
him. Will turned his head to quickly swipe his tongue up between his brow, stunning the fawn
from his needless growls.

“You are suffering from the effects of overstimulation,” Will said, grooming down his neck
further. “Focus on the sound of my heart and the weight of me.”

“I am the Dark Lord,” he said petulantly, nonetheless, putting his head down and accepting
the grooming passes over his body. Will hummed, the sound vibrating along his stomach.

“Yes,” Will said. The fact could not be disputed- Tom Marvolo Riddle was the Dark Lord and
the task of raising a proper Lord now fell onto Hannibal and Will. It was their job to repair
the damage that went untreated in his past life. “But first, you are a fawn. You need time to
grow into that power.”

With Will watching over Tom, it would allow Hannibal some time to move their present to
Tom into the house. They were both eager to help Tom into his own reckoning yet they had to
take careful steps for him.

Tom, though lying peacefully with Will, was still cautious of his spot in their home. With
Will pregnant, Tom was no doubt coming up with plans to survive if he was kicked out of the
house. Harry had years to establish himself in the household. Anytime a new baby was
brought into a house, there ran the risk for tensions among siblings- needing to compete for
parental attention against a needy baby.

Growing up in an orphanage, Tom no doubt saw that the younger children were always
favored by the potential parent so they could grow into the family. Will layered over another
scent marker on Tom’s neck, pushing along his feathers with his nose. He would assure this
fawn that his place in the Herd was secure throughout the pregnancy.

Some snapping branches pulled him from grooming Tom, picking his head up when he heard
sounds approaching him in the forest. Before he could panic his already nervous fawn, he
scented the air. Will calmed, smelling his mate approaching.

Hannibal approached Will, dipping his crown until their antlers slotted together over their
fawn, sharing a moment of peace. He pulled his antlers away, dropping his knees to the
ground to bed on the other side of Tom- effectively circling him in feathers.

“You will be able to return to Hogwarts with Harry next year,” he promised, grooming over
his face. Will was pleased to note that Tom did not flinch when he saw Hannibal, only
stiffened when he laid down. With Harry back at school, there would be another adjustment
they would all navigate.

“What happens until then?” he asked, looking up at Hannibal with a less timid expression.
Hannibal hummed, his feathers rippling along his body in pleasure as he groomed Tom and
Will.

“Now, we focus on your recovery.”

Tom immediately started to growl, his teeth pulled back as his feathers sprawled out, body
curling into a fetal position. The white feathers that Tom exposed were wrapped by Will’s
underbelly feathers, protecting him from the sharp ends.

“I won’t take drugs,” he hissed out, the words a scant sound away from Parseltongue.
Hannibal and Will both dipped their noses down, brushing along his shoulders and neck to
assure him. Will shook his head as he groomed over Tom.

He too, knew what muggle prescriptions could do to his head and magic. He whined for
Tom’s pain, grooming over the feathers atop his brain; he couldn't imagine what it would be
like for a magical child in the fifties to experiment with antipsychotics.
“We will teach you how to kill,” Will assured. Tom’s low growling all-together stopped at
Will’s statement. He slowly lifted his head, tilting it to look between the two.

“Is this some kind of test?” he asked hesitantly, his feathers fluttering between fear and
anticipation. Hannibal chuckled over him, pulling on one of his shoulder feathers playfully.

“Killing with magic is different than killing with your hands,” Hannibal said, turning his
attention to Will. “At least we won’t have to worry about his morals.”

“Hey,” Tom said, making both adults chuckle, Hannibal groomed over whatever nerves he
ruffled. “I have killed people before.”

Will watched Hannibal’s feathers stand with pride at their fawn’s admission. Hannibal rubbed
the side of his face along Tom’s neck, stretching it until it groomed along Will’s belly.

“As we teach you how to kill, we'll counsel you on your past traumas.”

Rather than growl as he did, Tom’s head ducked down with the air of shame and
embarrassment, his feathers laying on his back flat. They gave him a moment to think…the
moment passed…Will nudged him out of his head before Tom slipped too far into the depths
of his past.

“Nobody does anything for free,” he muttered, low enough that they almost missed him over
the sound of the trees rustling around them. Hannibal nuzzled his snout, grooming up
between his brow where his antlers would soon sprout.

“You are our fawn,” Hannibal insisted, pulling on one of Tom’s white feathers to remind him
of his place in the Herd. “It is our duty to teach and guide you.”

The look that Will caught in Hannibal’s eye made him stand up. Tom looked up in confusion,
shifting his head to watch Hannibal stand. Will walked to his mate and buried his nose into
the feathers of his shoulder, teething at the skin to groom him. From the corner of his eyes, he
watched Tom stumble his way onto four legs and walk closer to them.

Where Harry would have joined them both, Tom stood away from them, his feather rising
and falling with a low anxiety. Soon, Tom wouldn’t feel the need to restrict himself to their
comfort based on his past life.

The two walked side by side, letting Tom walk behind them at his own pace. Hannibal and
Will’s feather’s kept them close to each other until they reached the meadow that gave way to
their house. Will shifted first, turning to watch Tom change into his flesh.

Tom very quickly grasped shifting between his pelt and flesh. There was only one instance he
did not bring his clothing to his body and required an adult to cloth him. Since his
embarrassment, Tom shifted with little trouble. While both he and Hannibal were pleased
with his magical stability, they feared he pushed his magic too far to master shifting so
quickly.
His magical core was too tired to use magic. Now that he was a ravenfawn, shifting between
flesh and pelt came as naturally as losing a fingernail. Other spells would come as his magic,
and mind, settled into their new lifestyle.

Will waved Tom into the house, Hannibal bringing up the rear.

“We are aware you know the importance of magic,” he said, waving his hand in a vague
gesture around the room. He noticed that Tom’s attention dropped onto the no-maj objects
around the house with the same expression he had on Harry’s face. “We don’t use magic on
simple tasks because it removes the beauty of it.”

The click of the door brought Hannibal into the house, walking as calmly as he could to the
basement. Will smiled fondly at his husband; he was excited to teach his fawn how to hunt.

“It is why we do not use magic to murder,” he said, standing over the door. Hannibal turned
the doorknob and opened the door, letting it swing and push a draft to their noses. Tom
stilled, looking at the door to the basement that he was interrogated and resurrected in.
Hannibal walked down the stairs with soft footsteps growing distant.

Unknown to the teen, his feathers perked up alongside his natural hair- the scent of human
flowing along the draft. Will smiled at his new fawn and took steady steps towards the
kitchen before he stopped. Will walked behind him, herding him deeper into the depths of
their house. Soon, Tom would recognize the scent of human and not hesitate to pounce when
they presented him with a hunt.

He put his hand on the railing and one foot on the lower steps. Tom kept one hand on the
threshold of the door, turning his head to look back at Will, almost for approval. Will
approached Tom carefully until he could rest a gentle hand on his spine to guide him.

They descended into the basement.

Will did not stop to look at their prey as Tom did; he walked around the woman strapped to
the chair until he reached his husband. They did not share an embrace- this moment was not
for them.

“She is a witch,” Hannibal said, running his hand over the instruments over the table.
“Teaching you how to kill without magic will give you control until your core reunites
completely.”

“You will be far from defenseless,” Will said, picking up one of the curved hunting knives.
Hannibal chose his usual instrument- the scalpel. He walked around the woman, passing her
whimpering form as if she were a piece of furniture.

Tom’s feathers were flared around his scalp, his fingernails and hands stained with the black
soot of his feathers. Hannibal turned the scalpel in his fingers with grace and presented for
Tom to take.

“This,” Hannibal said, gesturing to the blade, “is a different form of power that we will teach
you to master.”
Tom’s chest was heaving, his eyes were shimmering with tears. Yet, he did not reach to take
the blade, looking up at Hannibal with his glassy, unsure eyes.

To break the uncertainty in Tom, Will walked to the woman and sliced into her forearm until
it met bone. The woman cried out, trying to pull from him.

“As we did with your twin,” Will said, reinforcing that they saw Tom as an extension of
Harry and therefore, would take him into the family. “We will teach you to fight in both
forms.”

One of the tears finally collected enough weight to drag down his cheek. Will was sure that if
he ignored the cries of the woman next to him, he would be able to hear the thundering
chorus of Tom’s heart. His nostrils flared at the scent of blood, his eyes on her wound that ran
down the length of her arm and spilled onto the concrete floor that Tom himself spilled free
of the cauldron.

Will smiled when Tom’s hand reached and clasped against Hannibal’s palm, not taking it but
instead, looking up at the man.

“Teach me,” he pleaded, fingers beginning to curl around the tool within a larger, stable hand.
“Please, teach me everything.”

Hannibal smiled as he walked behind Tom, pushing him towards the woman as Will
approached him from the front.

Their session lasted about two hours of cutting and anatomy discussion. The whimpers, cries
and screams of the woman went unnoticed by the three of them as they pulled meat off her
bones, then began to strip inward. Halfway through the second hour, as Hannibal was
instructing Tom on how to remove a liver, she finally died with his hands buried in her
stomach.

He pulled the liver free with bloody fingers and started weeping. Hannibal and Will both
moved in perfect synchronization to catch under his arms as his legs gave way from under
him. They hushed him, hugging him close as they whispered their pride and promises of
future hunts.

Will made sure that it was Hannibal that took the liver from Tom- a subtle manipulation that
the man and the animal within would see their new fawn providing for the Herd. Hannibal
helped Tom up the stairs and tended to his needs as Will finished with the body.

The pipes rattled along the basement as Will waved his wand over the blood, disposing of it.
He removed the last of the meat that he could from her body, bagging it to store in the fridge
and freezer for long-term meals.

A wave of hunger passed over Will as he placed the items in the fridge. It was too late for
him to cook anything and Tom was their priority. His stomach clenched with another wave of
hunger, painful enough that he put a hand over his flesh.

He looked downstairs and descended them.

Will removed the bindings that kept the corpse attached to the chair. As she sank forward to
the floor, Will shifted to his pelt and put his face into the maw of her stomach. They cleared
most of the organs, but there was flesh he could pull from the ribs or marrow within the
bones on her femur and thighs.

Growling, Will broke one of the bones open to tongue the rich and fatty marrow, almost
moaning at the succulent flavor. He shook the bone in his jaw, pulling the joint free to lick
and gnaw around the meat. He moved to the other side of the femur, putting his hoof on one
side to twist his jaw away, shattering it into pieces.

By the time Will stepped away from the body, the haze of his hunger clearing, he looked
down at the mangled mess. The clearing of a throat had him turn his head, ears high. It was
his mate, sitting on the basement steps with a smile on his face.

“Have the cravings begun, my dear?” he asked, standing with his hands in surrender. “Our
fawn, Tom, is all tucked safely in bed,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. Will took one step
forward, his crown safe from touching the ceiling, and shifted into the arms of his mate.
“Beauty,” he said, running a hand through Will’s curls, fingernails scraping along his scalp.

“Sorry,” Will said, blushing with embarrassment at the mangled body he left behind.

“Never,” Hannibal insisted, looking down with blood red eyes. He stoked his thumb over
Will’s cheek only to lean forward and take his lips. Will was sure the blood in his mouth
transferred over to Hannibal as the man opened his mouth to Will.

Now that Will had fed, he could feel a heaviness in his limbs. He hummed as he pulled the
kiss from Hannibal, still reveling in his mate’s warmth. With the aid of magic, disposing of
the body wasn’t a difficult task.

Will checked on Tom’s room, cracking the door enough that he could see and hear the
rhythmic breathing of sleep. The two retired into their room and slipped into the bed.

He slept deeply in the sheets, his mate intertwined with him. Something woke him though.
Will’s eyes opened, as alert as he would be in the middle of the day. He waited, listening for
any intruders in the house. The dogs weren’t causing a commotion and Nagini wasn’t
hissing- he ruled out a potential intruder.

Will heard Tom’s bedroom door creak open; the boy had yet to learn where the creaks in the
house sat. Will turned his body, an arm moving around Hannibal so as to not wake his mate.

Staring at the ceiling, Will recalled how he came to meet Peter Bernardone, a man that
worked as a stablehand on a horse farm. It was a chance meeting, Will needed twine that was
only found at a super farm supply store, and there was a man desperately trying to get the
attention of anyone that had a truck.

He could feel his desperation as if it were in his own lungs. Peter approached Will and
explained in stuttered words that there was a mare slowly dehydrating to death because the
foal she birthed had died. In a twisted string of luck, there was a newborn foal, without a
mother, who would meet the same fate.
Unfortunately, due to Peter’s traumatic brain injury, he was unable to drive and the owner
was unwilling to help- condemning his own mare and a foal to death. Will was moved to help
by his anger.

Peter had papers ready and his own money to purchase the foal. It turned out to be an
enjoyable trip for Will. He convinced Peter that hitching the trailer was unnecessary weight
that would slow them down, that the foal could lay in the back bench with Peter holding her.
Peter climbed into the passenger seat and the two took off in Will’s truck. Peter was a quiet
companion, willing to listen to the radio station that Will had, and didn't offer any small talk
that Will could never master.

Pride Lions were known for killing cubs. Will learned that introducing a foal could be
dangerous for a grieving mare. Peter taught him that spreading the mare’s scent on the foal
helped with the transition.

If there was one thing that Will was certain of, it was that Hannibal was unsure of Tom.
While he accepted the ravenfawn, physical proof of Tom’s status within the family, the
human was still cautious of the child- the enemy that once was.

Will pressed his hand to Hannibal’s temple when he stirred at the sound of the stairs
creaking.

“ Sleep” he suggested. Hannibal’s shields were low against him and he fell back into the
blankets, body heavy with sleep. Will smiled as he adjusted the sheets around Hannibal
before sliding out of the bed to lure Tom closer.

Will kept his steps noticeable, watching Tom’s head turn slightly with the sound of Will’s
approach. Will walked towards Tom where he was gazing into the warm embers of the
hearth. The room was already warm, the muggle boiler in the basement keeping the house a
warm temperature. Will found himself hot yet he recalled Tom’s natural coolness.

Rather than say anything, Will laid down on the couch, his finger adding another log to the
fire with a burst of embers. Tom turned to look at him, his eyes wide with Will's sleepy
display of magic. He said nothing as he waved Tom over with one hand.

Harry’s magic responded well with skin to skin contact. Tom likely needed a barrier. With so
little worldly stimulation, being brought back the way he was would be akin to releasing cave
people to brightly light rooms.

“Hannibal used to do this with Harry,” Tom said, his eyes glazed over a bit, moving to the
couch with steady movements. He was a skittish fawn that would fight rather than take flight.
Strays like him required patience and perseverance- luring the prey into security. Speaking
had the possibility of scaring prey off.

Hannibal was a hunter: he struck viciously and often, unrelenting until he got what he wanted
between his jaws. Tom was a snake that required a careful set up- even if the objective was to
comfort him. Tom looked at Will, his eyes wide and mistrusting. Nevertheless, he came
closer, until he was sat on the floor, back to the couch, his hair only brushing against Will’s
arm.
 Will was content, staying next to Tom as he sat on the floor enjoying the fire. Time ticked
away, the embers growing in mass as they burned the log above, slowly enticing Tom closer
to sleep with each bob of his head. Will watched this happen twice more before Tom looked
back at the open invitation to cuddle.

He got on the couch slowly, a bundle of nerves as his body pressed against Will. He was
ready to run at a moments’ notice, if Will so much as breathed wrong, Tom would flee and
never seek comfort from Will again. Much like introducing the foal, Will had one chance to
prove himself to Tom.

Will didn’t move his arm to cover Tom, squeeze or move closer to the child. He stayed still,
keeping his breathing at a steady pace. The only thing that broke the silence of their breathing
was the popping of coals in the fireplace. Tom’s body loosened, micron by micron, he relaxed
at the legs, his arms followed. Spine and torso would be the last to relax when in a stressful
environment.

The fire and hypnotic proximity of a calm ravenstag drew consciousness away from Tom.
Will watched as his fawn dropped into sleep like a stone to water, molding his body against
Will and his belly. Tom snuggled close to Will in his sleep, face pressed into Will’s
collarbone.

The mare accepted the foal, allowing the little colt to nurse after inspecting the new baby. In
the morning, Hannibal would come to find Tom covered in Will’s pregnancy scent. The boy
would be saturated within it, the scent of Herd.

Hook, line, sinker.

Chapter End Notes

And here we have Will, his past helping other people and poor creatures from baby
werewolves, to foals, to his own fawn just looking for a cuddle at night.
and if everything goes according to plan, Beverly will show up in the next chapter.
I do hope that you are enjoying this little insight into the Herd life with Tom as Harry
continues on his fourth year.

I'll see everyone later! Thank you for reading!

 Damage Control
Chapter Notes

I do so love the taste of a good meal that's been marinating for like...forever...so yummy.

There is a spice warning with this- discussion of past sexual assault, brief but I'll call it
out here.

Some of you have asked for some Beverly content...I can provide some of what you
desire.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will and Hannibal were enjoying a quiet afternoon in the living room, both reading quietly as
a record player kept the silence at bay. Tom, who was still growing used to being a part of a
family, was outside exploring the grounds in his pelt of black and white feathers.

Will flipped the page in his book only to move his hand back to his stomach.

Now there was a notable firmness around his waist that was never there before- proof of the
life growing within him. Regardless of his mental empathy, Will was gaining a whole new
sense of it- the cravings that annoyed Hannibal to no end, especially the ones that involved
him buying boxed macaroni at a grocery store. There were the mood swing that had him near
murderous in one moment, then wanting nothing more than to drag Hannibal and Tom into
the woods and groom them.

It was impossible for Will to go out into the muggle world now without charming himself to
appear as a woman. He tried it once, only for his empathy to erupt a migraine that pushed
outside the boundaries of his skull as his body and magic couldn’t recognize himself in his
own illusion.

It was Tom that ripped the illusion away from Will, staring petrified at his reflection as
Hannibal prepared himself for a hunt.

Three months into his pregnancy, halfway to the end, Will found himself quite content in the
walls of their peaceful home.

Both were violently jarred from the books in their hands by the sound of Will’s ringtone
going off. While he was going to silence it with magic and apologize to his husband for the
interruption, he paused at the caller ID: BEVERLY KATZ

Hannibal tilted his head at the phone, looking up to Will as he awaited his response.
Will picked up the phone and put it on speaker.

“Hey Graham,” Beverly said. Before Will could speak, Beverly was already talking. “I found
something that I wanted to bounce off you and Hannibal.”

Her tone of voice gave away her nerves and anxiety. He could imagine her pacing in her
apartment, running a nervous hand through her hair. Hannibal nodded his head, a second of
silence to pass off as Will put his phone on speaker.

“Hello, Ms. Katz,” Hannibal said.

“Ugh,” she groaned, sounding more like herself. “Please, it’s Beverly...Anyway,” she said,
voice higher pitched again. “I’m curious to know why you’re stealing my sweaters.”

Hannibal and Will, much like when Luna Lovegood caught them in the Forbidden Forest,
were stunned into silence. Another beat of tension coiled in the air- Will found himself
smiling at his friend, still as blunt and forthright as when he last saw her in person.

“I believe an in person explanation would be wise,” Hannibal said, breaking the wall of
silence that Beverly built with one sentence.

“How do you plan on getting here?”

“Magic, of course,” Hannibal said with a smirk, standing up from the couch with a bookmark
in his pages.

“Right, magic,” Beverly growled. “How soon can I expect you then?”

“We’ll arrive shortly,” Hannibal said over Will’s phone. Beverly grumbled then clicked her
end closed.

There was the matter of informing Tom they would be gone for a couple of hours. A note
could have sufficed, but Tom was a member of the Herd, a new one. Will risked undermining
his own manipulations of Tom and Hannibal if they were to leave without saying goodbye.

Hannibal did, however, write a note instructing Tom how to heat the filet in the refrigerator,
taking the long pig out to come to temperature.

Will and Hannibal shifted into their pelts, walking through the clearing of their house, the
long grass of spring tickling the underfeathers of Will’s belly.

“Will the fawn be alright to travel through the floo?” Will asked, coming to a halt to look at
his belly. Hannibal shifted his neck to nuzzle at the feathers, massaging around his ribs.
While Will was only just beginning to show in the flesh, his pelt had not widened yet.

“At this time, yes,” Hannibal said, trailing his feathers against the grain up to his neck. “We
will have to be more careful as you come to term.”

Will hummed, shaking his mane out as he continued onward.

The more time that Tom spent with Hannibal and Will, the more assured he was of his place
in the Herd. Now, he seemed to swing on a pendulum of casual indifference towards their
affection, a way of keeping his heart safe if they were to abandon him to an intense
attachment where Tom would let neither out of his sight.

As time progressed and Tom felt more secure, his bipolar attachments would lessen.

An opening appeared in the forest, trees thinner though still surrounded the area to protect
them all. Tom was within the opening, wedged in a rock crevice only his small body could
scale.

It gave him the tactical advantage of the high ground while keeping him protected from
attacks on the side. Their fawn spotted them, his ears flicked in their direction as his feathers
flared. Will could see his neck stretch forward a bit, no doubt taking in their collective scent.

Then, to the surprise of Hannibal and Will, Tom stood from where he isolated himself, shook
his feathers, and began a rather daunting set of leaps down the side of the rocks that had both
their feathers flaring with concern at his recklessness.

Despite the fear of their fawn breaking a bone, Tom landed on the ground with more grace
than Harry had when he first shifted. A childish moment passed over Tom, as he looked back
to where he scaled, white feathers raised with pride. There was a small bounce to his stride as
he trotted over to them.

While they should both scold him on his lack of caution, neither wanted to ruin the moment
that Tom approached them.

What was more: Tom continued closer to them both, rubbing his face into Will’s breastbone
first, then folding into Hannibal’s feathers. They cherished the moment, Will watching over
Hannibal’s besotted reaction with a smug feeling in his chest.

Tom pulled his head away from the two of them, his feathers standing at attention.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, more perceptive of their deceptive tactics than his twin. Lying
to Tom was no way to establish a foundation of trust- though the honesty may hurt him now
that he was in the attachment stage of his pendulum swing, dishonesty would cripple their
Herd.

“We must attend to a mild emergency,” Hannibal explained, rubbing his mane of feathers
along the panicked white ones that were rising on Tom’s back.

“Severus has found a mate and he is neglecting himself...and her,” Will added, reinforcing a
positive relationship with the spy. One night, as Will was watching over Tom as he slept, had
the passing through that their fawn might feel threatened or betrayed by the spy. After that,
Will and Hannibal took to mentioning Severus in their conversations and the lengths he’s
gone to assist their Herd...especially Harry.

So far, it seemed to be working.

Tom’s feathers lifted against Hannibal’s efforts to calm him. This would be a test for them
all- seeing Tom’s reaction to being left alone in the middle of an attachment phase.

“We wanted to tell you in person,” Will said, hinting at Tom’s issues without calling them
outright. Hannibal, the psychiatrist that he was, took a more direct approach.

“We wouldn’t abandon you.”

Tom’s feathers immediately flared and he backed away from the two.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted even as his feathers betrayed him with their outstretched yearning.
Tom’s recovery was a constant give and take; a fragile balance. Will nodded his crown as
Hannibal stepped forward to nuzzle Tom’s skull as a goodbye.

“There’s dinner instructions on the table, fawn,” Hannibal said, giving him one more groom
before they turned away from Tom.

Walking in silence with each other, it wasn’t long before they heard the rustling of the forest
around them, Tom pushing between both their bodies in comfort as his feathers twined in
their pelts.

“You didn’t tell me Severus had a mate,” Tom said, his voice just shy of accusing, a probe to
see their reaction. Will could feel the white feather’s along Tom’s barrel burrow into his own
as they walked together.

“Severus won’t claim her. He is in a firm state of denial,” Hannibal said as they came upon
their house. Hearing that, Tom picked up his pace, cantering ahead to the stairs when he
shifted skins.

“Vampires don’t survive long without their mates,” Tom said as they shifted at the stairs, his
head tilted in confusion.

“He’s a mix,” Will said, brushing Tom’s hair as the two walked in. “His sire did not give him
enough venom to complete the transformation.”

Will was sure that Severus' sire was dead, whoever he was. Though Severus did not discuss
his transformation with Will, he knew of the transactional relationship they had over their
conversations- blood for muggle knowledge. The process of giving blood was an erotic one
for the vampire and the donor- his transformation wasn’t consensual and Severus likely
responded by murdering the vampire in the middle of their transaction.

It was the only explanation that Will could think of that stopped the man from transforming
completely, if the venom was interrupted.

Tom stopped in the room by the hearth, his eyes hooked on Hannibal’s medical bag, all kinds
of potions and equipment stored within for whatever situation they might find.

“What’s her name?” Tom asked, looking back at Hannibal as he closed the door.
“Beverly Katz,” he said, waiting for Tom’s reaction. While the boy may have been caught in
a diary for the last fifty years, his obsession with blood purity would have led him to
memorizing the names of magical families. A whole generation of magic had grown in that
time, would Tom believe her a muggle or a foreign magical family?

“Beverly,” he said, tasting her name on his lips. His eyes grew distant, drifting away from
them in the same way when he recalled something from his horcruxes. Both moved forward,
knowing that the intensity of a vision depended on the trauma.

“Do you remember her?” Will asked, not wanting to push the memory of Harry’s kidnapping
to the surface if his soul was not healed enough. Tom blinked, once, twice, then his eyes
cleared as he looked up at the two, shaking his head in denial.

“She’s familiar,” Tom said.

“Very,” Hannibal assured, stoking the flames in the hearth back to life. He added three more
logs, needing more power to take them across an ocean.

“And you won’t tell me,” Tom growled.

“Your memories are your own, Tom. If we try to force them on you, we risk creating a false
narrative that would only serve as another burden to untangle.”

Tom clenched his fists in his hand, head turned to the side to gaze at the fire. Will could feel
Tom’s frustration at himself, his own mind and soul, rather than Hannibal’s lack of answer.

“There is no use of hunting memories in the past when you can create your own here, fawn,”
Hannibal explained, taking his fawn’s fists in his hand until they unclenched. Tom sighed,
defeated, and looked up at the man with a dusty blush on his cheeks. Will walked to the other
side of Tom, both surrounding him as they did moments ago outside.

“We’ll return soon, Tom,” Will said, pressing a kiss into his soft hair.

As Will went to pull away and join his husband by the hearth, floo powder in hand, Tom’s
grip clutched at his shirt.

“What about the fawn?” he asked, his voice hoarse as his grip tightened around Will’s shirt.
His dark brown eyes finally came up to meet Will’s, hands still clenched in the fabric of his
shirt.

Will felt his breath leave him in a rush- it was the first time that Tom had ever taken such a
verbal interest in his sibling. Hannibal put the floo ash down with a thunk on the bricks,
footsteps coming closer to the two until he put a hand over the one still clutching at Will.

“The fawn will be safe,” Hannibal assured. With the medical bag in his other hand, Hannibal
set it on the ground, popped it open with a click and rattled around some potions. Kneeling,
he found what he was looking for and handed it to Tom rather than Will.

The teen removed his hand from Will’s shirt to take the vial. He rolled the glass in his hand
before shaking it, seeing for any bubbles or pulling along the glass. Brown eyes looked from
the vial to the swell of Will’s stomach before he offered it up to Will.

Neither said anything about what was in the vial or the intended result. Will did not brew the
potion himself and as he inspected it, didn’t recognize any of the characteristics. In a sign of
trust extended to Tom, Will drank the potion.

“I suppose we should lengthen your clothing as well,” Hannibal said, his wand waving slow
circles around Will’s sweater. Where it covered his belly, now draped along him until he felt
he was nearly swimming in the cloth. During the time that Hannibal stretched his clothing
out, Will began to feel the prickling of the potion within his stomach.

A warm, almost protective cover surrounded his belly as the clothing draped over his form.
Tom watched it all, rapt attention until Hannibal pocketed his wand within his jacket. After a
hesitant hand lifted, Tom reached out again until he connected to Will’s stomach, now hidden
by the rolls of fabric.

Tom said nothing as he backed away from them both, sitting on the chair by the fire as he
nodded his head. There were books next to him that he’d taken to reading when there was
silence in the house. They were all reading earlier in the day before the silent companionship
became too much for Tom, and the boy left for the forest with the protection of his pelt.

Now, it seemed he felt safe enough to try reading in the house again, waiting by the fire for
their return.

“You’ll still come back?'' Tom said, his voice timid as he looked at the yellow and red flames
rather than show his vulnerability directly to them.

Will sucked in a breath of air, feeling a sense of deja vu. He recalled the feeling of invasion,
when he and Hannibal returned to their territory to find several bodies in various states of
mutilation courtesy of Nagini.

Tom said the very words that Harry did the night he was kidnapped by Mason Verger’s men.
Hannibal seemed to have seen the correlation between their conversations as well.

“We would hunt to the ends of the earth for you,” Hannibal repeated to their new fawn. Tom
tilted his head, his eyes searching Hannibal’s face for any deception.

His lips pulled up into a slight smile and he gave a firm nod of his head. Nagini, watching the
entire family, moved from her position near the fire, sliding her massive coils across the floor
until they wrapped around Tom’s chest, her nose touching the side of Tom’s ear. He stroked
along her neck fondly as she continued to wrap herself in his warmth, unblinking eyes
looking at Will with a slight nod of her head.

The peaceful moment between them contrasted to the curses that Beverly threw at them as
they entered her apartment via floo network. She screamed first, backing away from them,
knocking against the furniture and cursing them when Beverly realized who they were.

“What are you? Some demented Saint Nick?” She asked, now moving closer to the electric
fireplace they emerged from. Will put a hand on his stomach, his magic answering that the
fawn was safe, still feeling the protective bubble around him.

A slight nod to Hannibal assured his mate.

“Sweaters, Graham,” Beverly said, getting both of their attention. Beverly was in a thick
sweater of her own, no doubt saturating it in her scent as she was nervous. Her heart would
pump harder, faster, as it increased in adrenaline, releasing more of her pheromones in an
instinctive response.

“Are you ill, Beverly?” Hannibal said, his nostril’s flaring slightly to take in the scent around
them, tilting his head as he waited for a denial as Severus was.

“Yeah,” she said firmly, nodding once. She gestured to her own large sweatshirt. “Is my
sickness and your thievery connected?”

“Very,” Hannibal said. Beverly, sensing the length of their conversation, sat down on the
couch, waving her hand for them to sit as well. “Would you tell us what’s causing you pain?”

Beverly was silent for a moment, her jaw locked as she looked between them both. While
Hannibal was, in no way, a conventional doctor, discussing medical ailments with another
was not something the man was known for. Though, Will was Beverly’s friend, and he hoped
that she would open up to them both.

“I uh,” she said, a faint blush coming to her cheeks, “My iron count has dropped significantly
in the past year.” By the rubbing of her hands, this was likely the first symptom she noticed
and was able to identify on her own.

“You’ve developed anemia,” Hannibal said, nodding his head slowly. “Have you noticed any
obsessive thinking?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Will recognized a deflection tactic when he saw one. Before Hannibal could say anything,
Will leaned forward, over his stomach and gave Beverly a look. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Alright,” she said with a huff. A blush rose to Beverly’s cheeks then. “I...this is going to
sound stupid.”

“It’s likely you’re being affected by magic. It’s only seems stupid because it is unfamiliar to
you.”

She looked from Hannibal to Will, her posture tense and unsure. Beverly ran her fingers
through her hair as a way of putting more space between herself and whatever she might be
feeling.

“I can’t get Severus off my mind,” she said in a quiet voice, her eyes looking at Will. His lip
quirked up, not in a smile, but to acknowledge her growing fear.

“How much did Severus tell you about magic?” Hannibal asked. She sat up in her chair,
smirking between the two of them.
“About magic or his condition?” Beverly said, raising her eyebrow. Will found himself
blushing at the accusation. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up.”

Well, this certainly made things easier for the both of them. Beverly, knowing of Severus'
condition, and therefore- his diet, had several years to process the information. Further, it
appeared that she had not told any authorities.

“Did Severus tell you what the vaccine was intended for?”

Again, Beverly was hesitant, keeping her cards close to her chest as a way of protection.

“A blood-borne illness,” she said. “He didn’t elaborate much.”

Lie.

Will didn’t need to look at Hannibal to know the man sniffed it out as well. Trending
carefully, Will sat back in his seat, taking care to cross one leg over the other to hide his
growing swell.

“What does the vaccine have to do with the stolen sweaters? Am I sick?” Beverly asked, a
hand to her chest.

“Severus requires human blood to survive. While he is in the unique position to sustain
himself on other foods, inevitably, he will need to consume it,” Hannibal began. “With
magical creatures, there is a frequency that hums, attracting and pulling similar frequencies
closer.”

Will could see that Beverly was growing frustrated. She did not have magic and while the
woman was intelligent, they were talking about a complex magical theory that she had no
foundation of. While Hannibal was trying to set up a trap to keep Beverly in, his lack of a
direct answer was beginning to infuriate her.

“Severus has found a mate in you, Beverly,” Will said, rubbing the soft material of his
sweater in his palms. Before she could ask more questions, Will went on. “In the time that
you spent together, his magic tuned itself to yours.”

“Will, I don’t have magic,” she deadpanned. Will chuckled as he removed his wand from
where it was tucked in the overlarge sleeves.

“You don’t need magic to be affected by it,” he said this as he changed the color of the
sweater she was currently wearing, green, blue, red, yellow, and finally back to the original
color. All the while, Beverly ran her fingers over the changing pigmented fabric.

“It’s likely the time you spent with Severus changed your biology so you are both
compatible,” Hannibal jumped in, taking Will’s approach of a direct attack with his friend.
“Severus doesn’t wish to change your species yet your body has begun to search for iron rich
sources.”

Will could smell the blood within her, thicker and richer with the nutrients she fed herself
with. It wasn’t that Beverly was anemic, Will could smell the iron within her. Beverly needed
more iron within her body because it thought she would be providing for a vampire.

“Your body has already accepted the compatibility of a mate, Beverly,” Will said,
remembering his own magic singing with joy when it came together with Hannibal. “You
will search for Severus Snape until you find him, he finds you,” Will paused, catching her
eye as he paused. Beverly had no such internal compass to lead her to her mate. “Or one of
you dies.”

“Cheery,” she said to fill the silence.

“Yes,” Hannibal said bluntly. Neither cared if they were manipulating her into the Herd. “The
amount of space, lack of communication or visits should have detoxified both of your
frequencies. It is clear that you both found something within the other.”

As a muggle, she would have a harder time accepting the foreign reality of magical bonds
like mates in Hannibal and Will’s case, soul twins like Harry and Tom or the Weasley Twins.
She had a bias of skepticism as muggles needed reasons to accept things.

If Will thought about it further, Beverly may have been the first person to begin sewing the
seeds of a Herd. While Severus was the magical influence that began to figure out Harry’s
secret, it was Beverly that rescued their fawn from the Verger estate. She bathed him, clothed
him, fed him, protected him before finally delivering Harry back to the two of them.

Beverly groaned as she ran a hand through her hair, standing from the ground in one fluid
movement. She walked away from the two, into her bedroom where they heard the slamming
of a drawer.

When she returned to the room, a new sweater in hand, saturated in her scent, she handed it to
Will before sitting back down on her couch.

“I can’t drop everything,” she said, the statement pointed at Will more than anything. Will
held a smile from reaching his lips as she inadvertently confessed the depths of her thoughts
on Severus, how desperately she was reaching for him, echoing the vampire’s own desire for
a reconnection; so much so, Beverly was considering moving...

Many people within the FBI questioned Will’s sudden departure with a man he’d only just
met. They excused his behavior, chalking it up to his other traits and wanting stability.
Beverly, while she was a little confused by Will’s actions, did not try and convince him to
stay as others did.

Instead, she offered to share a mutual sin of a cigarette.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Beverly asked.

If this were to go over smoothly, if Will was to secure their second beta to the Herd, it would
require complete honesty. Much like Tom, neither Hannibal or Will could afford to damage
their growing Herd with dishonesty.
They began the story as they did with Harry, telling Beverly of the magical war that overtook
England and how their son stopped it. Beverly grimaced as they spoke of Lord Voldemort
killing an infant Harry. The story continued, Hannibal and Will taking Harry from his abusive
relatives and to the first year, when he encountered the Dark Lord.

Beverly was nodding her head along to the story, becoming more curious as they told her
about the horcruxes. They told her of the extra abilities that Harry inherited- Parseltongue and
his affinity of collecting them with the help of Tom. She asked several questions about Tom
and Harry’s interactions.

For now, they avoided the mention of their own creature inheritance, wanting to give Beverly
a larger foundation before throwing her another man-eating creature at her.

“You mean to tell me...because Harry used the power of friendship, there are now two of the
same magical terrorist, in different life stages, trying to kill the other. One of which is now
the resurrected twin of Harry. ”

“Yes,” Will said, sensing there was something that Beverly knew they did not. During the
conversation, there were points Beverly knew more of magic, Severus no doubt taught her,
but there was almost a smugness to her silence.

She nodded her head once.

“Right,” Beverly said, changing her one crossed leg to the other. Her posture changed,
shifting upward to project more confidence than she felt she actually had. Beverly gathered
her breath as her fingers twitched nervously over her crossed knee.

Regardless of the anxiety in her mind, when Beverly opened her eyes to address Will and
Hannibal, they were steady glaring.

“And at what point were you going to inform me that you’re cannibal deer creatures?”

The silence that hit the room at that moment was long enough they could all hear the
neighbors three doors down arguing about their finances. Severus wasn’t the one to tell her,
that much Will knew- Beverly was accusing them upon her own findings.

“How long have you known?” Hannibal broke the silence. Only Will could hear the echo of
fear in his tone. Will didn’t have to look at his mate to feel he was preparing for the
inevitable.

“About a month after Severus left,” she clarified, not moving from her seat, only the faint
scent of stress pricking the air around them. “It was Harry that told me,” said Beverly as she
rose from her seat. The two watched her leave the room.

From the corner of his eye, Will could see Hannibal beginning to rise from his chair. Will
thrust his hand out, gripping his mate’s forearm hard enough it combated the tension already
within the man. Hannibal looked back at Will, his jaw tense with the need to protect the
safety of the Herd.
“Wait,” Will whispered as they listened to Beverly rummaging around for something.
Hannibal’s hands gave away his tension, fingers tense under Will’s own hand- a predator
ready to strike. It did not take long for Beverly to return to the room, carrying parchment and
a laptop.

“Before you got Harry, after...after Verger,” she said, opening her laptop and clicking around.
“Harry said that he slid down the chimney using magic. At the time, I didn’t think anything
of it. Even when Severus was here, I didn’t make the connection.”

The parchment was flipped over, face down on the table. Neither of them reached for it, both
waiting on baited breath as Beverly turned the computer to them.

There was an interrogation video, Price and Zeller sitting on the other side of the table as
Harry occupied himself with coloring. They had asked what had torn into Verger, showing
Harry one of the pictures of blood smeared all over the floor from the maw of his chest.

“It was the Ravenstag,” Harry insisted to the two of them.

“Clever kid,” Beverly said, her lip quirked up as she paused the video. “A child’s mind would
come up with fanatical saviors. Harry was smart enough to use that against us.”

Beverly moved the computer to the side so she could pick up the small sheet of paper.

“He’s a kid with manners too. Which I’m assuming he gets from you,” Beverly chuckled,
sparing Hannibal a glance, turning to Will with a soft gaze that only could be shared between
old friends. Will shrugged his shoulders at Beverly’s accusation- he wasn't going to change
his personality this far in his life, no matter what Hannibal might want.

“I don’t think he meant to expose your secret,” said Beverly, her eyes tracking over the script
on the paper, handing it to Will once her eyes reached the bottom of the parchment. Will
leaned over his belly to take the sheet of paper, immediately recognizing Harry’s
handwriting.

Beverly,

Thank you for making me a vaccine. I really needed it because I got so sick. It’s a long story,
but you got to meet my potions Professor!

PS: sometimes, I hold up Toaster Strudels just to watch father twitch in the grocery store.

Love, Harry

After Hannibal took the letter from Will, reading over the sentences with quick eyes, he
looked up at Beverly.

“He’s a cute little cannibal,” she chuckled. “I suppose I should also congratulate you on your
marriage- that Chilton/Lounds proposal was something.”

Beverly sat back with what could only be described as a smug smile on her face, legs crossed
under her. Though she stood before two serial killers, she had no fear in her body. Perhaps,
 whatever was happening to Severus emboldened Beverly in turn.

Will chuckled, a playful smile that Beverly recognized from dark jokes muttered between
breathless as younger agents loaded bodies into the back of cars. Hannibal sat back and
smiled.

It seemed that Beverly Katz would not be an enemy after all. Yes, Will could see she was
once afraid, once terrified. Now, the time seemed to have lessened the idea as magic
emboldened it’s call to a fellow man eater. Beverly would still hold her morals, at her core,
but she was discovering some leniency.

There was only one more truth that Will had to reveal to Beverly if she was to truly join their
Herd and reunite with Severus as Betas.

“I’m pregnant,” Will said, sitting back in his seat, equally as smug as his friend.

Hannibal was certainly enjoying the show.

Chapter End Notes

We'll be seeing more of the Beta's soon, I promise! Thank you for joining me on this
meal, I am so very happy that everyone came to the table
 Kangaskhan
Chapter Notes

Does this have a spicy warning- yes, it does.

And yet, it's still not as fucked up as Mason putting his sister's unborn child in a pig
fetus so... welcome to the party- the steak is cooked rare and I'll always provide you a
nice dessert.

Enjoy, don't say I didn't warn you...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hannibal stirred, something within him tense like a coiled snake waiting to strike. Yet, the
sensation was not one of power that he was familiar with- rather, that he was the prey, frozen
in the gaze of a snake, petrified for if moving would only stir the predator to strike.

Before he opened his eyes, he could hear the steady breathing of his mate next to him. His
right arm, dominant and the hand that could deliver a heavier strike, was resting over the
growing swell of sweet William’s stomach.

The soft rising and falling of his stomach assured Hannibal that his mate was not the one
causing such sensations of his instincts.

Expanding his senses to his nose, he could smell the new fawn within his room, having
somehow crept past him, to the deepest part of his den.

Two predators of their own caliber waited for the other to move.

Caught up in the sensation of another predator outside his bed, Hannibal didn’t notice Will’s
change in breath.

Such sudden movement from stillness brought a cacophony of sounds. Tom moved forward
towards the bed with a viper quick movement that Hannibal met with his own speed, catching
the hand that reached for William’s womb.

The size of his hand dwarfed Tom’s slight wrist, squeezing with enough pressure that his
fawn dropped the knife with a gasp, his knee buckling to the floor as Hannibal twisted the
bones and ligaments into submission.

In response, Tom’s magic began to reach up from his flesh, the black specks of his magic
beginning to rip himself apart as he panicked under Hannibal’s strength.

Distracted by his fawn, Hannibal did not notice the waking of his mate; who rather than
continue to attack Tom, reached a hooked elbow around Hannibal’s throat, pinning him to the
bed with his grip and vibrant blue eyes, impossible to tear away from, completely hypnotic.

“Freeze,” he growled, the word pulled from his subconscious days as a police officer.

Blue frozen eyes pinned Hannibal to the bed, his nerves seizing in his body, stiff as a board.
His body felt like it had been plunged in a river of ice- unfit to move lest he snap a piece of
his body in half. Hannibal could do nothing as Tom pulled his arm out of his frozen grip.

Forced to watch in stillness at whatever spell his mate put him over, Hannibal witnessed
Will’s gaze move to Tom, on the ground, his body petrified that he’d been caught.

This was a new development for Tom; of the two adults, it was Will that Tom deferred more
towards, that he first learned to trust. Still bound under Will’s spell, he was only able to
witness the withering look that his mate sent Tom’s way, the boy’s eyes shimmering with
tears as he held his breath for judgement.

“Go to your room and stay there,” Will said.

Hannibal witnessed Tom’s body become stiff and puppet-like, walking on strings, Tom
moved by the command of Will’s magic, stiff legs walking out of the room leaving fear and
panic behind.

The door to their bedroom opened, Hannibal could hear Tom’s door open down the hall and
click shut.

Will sighed as he sat up from the bed, a hand rubbing over the swell of his stomach.

“You can’t kill him,” Will said, chuckling darkly to the echoing void that surrounded their
bedroom. Will shook his head, his smile oddly joyful for nearly being stabbed in his sleep.
“We should have expected this,” Will said, seeming to speak more to himself and the life he
was growing.

Hannibal would say otherwise if his mate hadn’t hypnotized him.

“Hannibal,” Will said, moving to lean against his body, spreading warmth along the frozen
muscles of his body. He could make no facial expression other than the one glued to his face-
not even his feathers capable of bursting through the seams of his flesh. “Why does a child
fear their mother giving birth?”

Through his fear and rage, Hannibal knew the answer. While he did not make it a practice of
mending the minds of children, knowing himself well enough that he would slaughter those
that dare hurt precious young to a pattern leading the FBI to his practice. All the same,
Hannibal learned of the taboo of their minds.

The chronic, lingering terror of a child’s mother being lost to the life of a babe during birth.

Children had mixed reactions to news of a new life. Many times, they grew angry that would
foster a placating nature of the parent and the child’s regressive sense of codependency to
reestablish themselves in the heart of a parent before a new sibling was born.
“Harry needed a shield,” Will said, his gaze boring into Hannibal’s eyes, the ice of his glare
cutting into his body to the point his feathers began to peek over his bare chest. Will hummed
as his fingers stroked the black ends, feathers reaching to meet his flesh on instinct.

Having been a tool for so long of his life, Harry’s body was burnt out, exhausted of resources
and depleted of energy. His physical form and mental state needed time to heal before it
could grow new roots.

As the Boy Who Lived, Harry was expected to be the flaming sword of Michael, combatting
the darkness with his own light, at the expense of burning himself out to save the world.
Hannibal would prevent that with every measure. He would kill anyone who dared try to
harm his fawn, the Husk, Verger, even if it meant dying himself- he would be Harry’s shield.

“Tom needs a blanket,” Will whispered, a heavy hand resting over his breastbone, pushing
until he felt pressure pushing against his lungs. “He’s been abandoned, alone, and finally has
a family he can connect too.”

Will put a hand over his stomach.

“He doesn’t want to lose that. To lose us, Hannibal.”

Will’s fingers turned blank, sharp enough to push through his night shift and leave behind
slight welts of blood over his breastbone.

In rare cases, children would become violent upon seeing a new sibling. Another child would
take away resources and, more importantly in the case of Tom, valuable time that was once
lost. These children were often ones that had once been cast off or abandoned; when they
found themselves wrapped in the embrace of a new family- nothing could compromise that.

“It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to know Tom has a deeper trigger than this,” he said, removing
his hand from his chest to rest over his womb.

Hannibal, frozen in the bed, was forced to confront the logic of Tom’s actions.

“ You,” Will said, pinning him with the same magical gaze. “Need to reassure him of his
place here. That this new fawn will not replace him.” Will’s violently gentle hand carded
through Hannibal’s hair. “That he is not responsible for his past sins.”

Will gazed into the depths of Hannibal’s eyes, seeing the man, the creature, without his walls
or carefully tailored person suit. With blue eyes, he could cut through Hannibal’s defenses
and find himself walking without hindrance in the man’s extensive mind palace. He smiled at
Hannibal, like an angel over a person waiting for death’s kiss.

William Graham, his beautiful, monstrous, angel of mercy...

His hypnotic spell broke when their lips connected, Hannibal breaking his arm out of the
magical jacket to wrap his fingers in his mate’s curls, seizing the opportunity of his open
mouth to feed his hunger. His hand went to the swell of his stomach, quaking with relief that
he and the fawn were both safe.
When he broke away from Will, it was only as far as their foreheads were touching.

“Go,” Will said, a hand on his breastbone as he was pushed from the bed. “And be gentle
with him.”

Hannibal found himself outside of Tom’s room, a measly piece of wood standing between the
young Dark Lord and the Chesapeake Ripper. He raised his hand to the door, his knuckles
rasping along the frame quietly to not disturb the peace of night. He received no word of
acceptance or denial.

He pushed the door open to find Tom sitting on the edge of his bed, his spine hunched over in
defeat, hair covering his face from expression. Hannibal saw his hands resting on his knees,
fingers curled in a half open position, leaving him completely vulnerable and the language of
defeat open to communication.

Hannibal stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with a click, watching as
Tom gave a low sigh, resigning himself to his fate.

He did not even tense when Hannibal walked towards him, not lifting his gaze or gathering
his magic, only accepting whatever fate the man decided for him.

Tom shifted in surprise when Hannibal sat down next to him rather than wrap his hands
around his neck. Hannibal couldn’t help but feel his lips lift slightly with a smile to see his
fawn so unsure of his place in the Herd, knowing it was years of abandonment that left him
like this.

“I,” he startled, his fingers beginning to move with his anxiety. Hannibal could smell it
picking up from Tom as he started to speak but made no gesture to stop his son. Tom shook
his head, his breathing stalled as he tried to hold his panic within his chest.

Hannibal placed a warm and grounding hand on Tom’s back, immediately pleased to feel it
rise to his palm as his fawn responded to the silent command to breathe.

“I- I-” he stuttered, his hand beginning to curl around his waist, a sign of dropping into a fetal
position. This wound ran deep in the folds of Tom Riddle’s mind, laced into the psyche of his
soul as he became more vulnerable, hovering over the edge of confession.

“Hush, fawn,” Hannibal said, leaning over to take Tom so he was leaning against his chest,
able to feel the calm swelling breathing from Hannibal, to connect with his heartbeat as all
children benefited from. So young, his hands gripped and released in a physical state of
regression.

From their touch, Hannibal could feel the fabric on his nightshirt dampen with Tom’s tears,
feel the hyperventilating of his breathing. Tom’s body was starting to shake as he felt the rope
of control slipping from his grip.

“I killed her,” Tom wailed, his hand clutched to his chest. Hannibal continued to hush his
fawn, rocking him side to side as a lifetime trigger exposed itself within the darkness of their
home. Hannibal rested his chin over Tom’s hair, scenting his distress.
“Killed who?” Hannibal asked, knowing the answer, needing his fawn to acknowledge the
truth to heal the wound.

Tom shook his head against his chest, a new wave of tears bursting from behind his eyes as
he denied the truth. Hannibal moved his hand higher up his spine to where his neck revealed
a speckling of feathers, tying themselves together as a Herd; Alpha to fawn. He rubbed them
softly, resigning himself to approach, as his mate ordered, gently.

“Killed who, Tom?”

Tom growled, the truth forced to remain behind his teeth. A lifetime ago, Tom had
slaughtered his paternal family. The bones of his grandmother and grandfather helped build
the structure of the ritual potion, the large femur Will collected from the grave of Tom’s
father adding another generation of DNA to the potion. Will described the bodies were
perfectly intact, no signs of a struggle other than the peaceful exhale of the Killing Curse.

Hannibal reached behind Tom’s neck, grabbing at the black feathers that were rising along his
spine as he cried, the need to regress to a simpler animal rather than face the trauma of man
would only make this injury worse. He scruffed his fawn, pulling a surprised cry from Tom’s
lips rather than one of pain, his hand clenched only hard enough for the pain to ground him.

“Killed who?” he asked.

Scruffed, vulnerable, in the presence of an Alpha Ravenstag, Tom closed his eyes as he
confessed with nothing more than a broken whisper:

“My mother.”

Hannibal changed his grip immediately at his fawn’s confession, releasing the scruffed
feathers to embrace his fawn completely, resuming the gentle rocking that would soothe him
as it would any baby, humming softly to fill the room with noise beyond his aborted
breathing.

“I can’t,” he said, Hannibal feeling the charge of electricity prickle the air. “I can’t be alone
again. I can’t-”

Before his fawn could panic and launch his magic around the room, Hannibal tipped them
over so they were laying on the bed. The inverted movement stunned Tom for long enough
that his obscural magic receded back into his body. Hannibal brought his feathers to his own
flesh, feeling Tom’s brushing feathers pull at his own, making him wince at the pain at which
Tom’s feathers dragged Hannibal’s together.

With their feathers conjoined, Tom began to finally unravel, his anxiety and panic submitting
to Hannibal’s calming methods.

As Tom relaxed, the numbness of his mind kept away by the instinctive bonding between a
Ravenstag and his fawn, Hannibal thought about the heart of Tom’s confession- that he could
not be alone.
Buried under the action of trying to kill the life in Will’s womb was a desperate need to be
seen; to have the total attention and affection of a parent. Childbirth was dangerous, even by
today’s medical and magical standards, the human body did not always cooperate when
birthing another, endless complications for both mother and babe could rise at any moment,
swiftly changing the energy of the room from one of welcome to one of great burden.

From his time in Hopkins, when Hannibal was in the thick of his rotations, he was assisting a
team of doctors and nurses to help a woman deliver her son. The umbilical cord was wrapped
around the baby’s neck, cutting the oxygen from the baby even as the mother tried to push
him out. Too far in the birth canal for a cesarean, the team was forced to find a way to drag
the child out without killing either of them.

The mother must have seen something in Hannibal’s eyes as he thought of tearing her in two
to pull the baby from her womb. She grabbed his arm, her blood pressure having long
dropped, a cold sweat over her eyes.

“Save him,” she ordered, teeth clenched in a pained growl that Hannibal found he could
admire.

They did. With Hannibal assisting, they saved the child, healthy cries covering the sound of a
flat lined patient. As Hannibal cleaned the blood that dripped in the room, her body removed
and placed in the morgue as her child was placed in the father’s shocked arms, Hannibal
wondered if that child would ever feel guilty for killing his mother.

Tom’s reaction was clear that he did.

Hannibal ran his fingers over Tom’s hair, threading between a mix of feather stalks and
strands of hair.

“I am equipped with years of medical knowledge beyond the magical community, fawn,”
Hannibal said, his hushed tone breaking the silence. “I spent years in muggle hospitals. While
it was not my passion, I studied it relentlessly on the chance I would find a mate and bring
life into this world.”

Tom was a magpie- one that collected powerful magical artifacts and horded them with the
ferocity of a dragon.

“The fawn is increasing Will’s own magical ability,” Hannibal said, still passing his hand
over Tom’s head as if he could rake the toxic thoughts from the folds of his brain. “He was
able to use the imperius curse from the dead of sleep.”

Tom gave a wet chuckle, sniffling as he buried his head deeper into Hannibal’s chest in
comfort.

With enough obsessive need to protect Will that it led to Tom wanting to cut the fetus from
his womb, Hannibal could tie the obsessive thoughts to his unborn fawn. Tom collected
magically powerful things, either from his affinity as a Dark Lord recognizing power or his
scavenging roots, Hannibal could manipulate his fawn into protecting the Herd.
No matter the cost of other’s lives.

Hannibal lowered his face near Tom’s ear, sensing his fawn was listening to his words, that
his magic was eager to be forgiven for attempting something horrible.

“The fawn and Will are working together, their magic finding synergy,” he said, pulling on
the same words that Harry used to describe his and Tom’s nature. Tom’s fingers tightened
against his chest marginally, hearing Hannibal’s words. “As much as Will is protecting and
growing the fawn, the child is doing the same, giving magic to Will- enough power to stop
even you.”

Tom gasped without sound, Hannibal only able to feel the hitch in his breath. As his fawn put
together the strings of Hannibal’s web, he relaxed completely against the man for the first
time- the battle having ended now.

“Why am I such a monster?” Tom whispered, warm tears growing on Hannibal’s nightshirt.
He did not change his comforting patterns, stroking his hair, humming and hushing his
fawn.

“Dear fawn,” he whispered, continuing to groom him. “You cannot ask the butterfly to return
to a pupae once it has emerged from the chrysalis. Only relish in the beauty of triumph
through pain.”

Many of Hannibal’s patients entered his office with the thought they could revert back to
their livelihood and patterns before the trauma they endured. It was the role of any therapist
to allow their patient to understand it wasn’t about going back, but moving on with the scar
of a once held burden.

Humans were the same, muggle or magical, it did not matter the nature/nurture argument- all
humans wanted to connect, to be seen, and like every member in the house, they would kill to
have that.

“You’ll be a big brother,” Hannibal said, sweetly tying another knot between his fawn and the
unborn one. Tom’s magic fluttered along his feathers, warming the ones that connected to
Hannibal as he clearly liked the thought. “Watch the fawn grow, teach them,” he said,
remembering the old curse laid over the defense position of Hogwarts from the very fawn in
his arms.

Tom’s feather’s fluttered with anticipation on his head. He shifted in Hannibal’s embrace, his
body stiff as he looked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes red rimmed, tear tracks like a network along his cheeks and
chin. Hannibal hushed him, brushing the evidence of his tears with his thumb, knowing that
Tom’s words were genuine as the pleading in his eyes was authentic.

Tom lifted his head to the door. He looked back at Hannibal as he went to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, wiggling to be let free. Hannibal released his fawn,
following after him where he threw open his bedroom door and stumbled into the hallway.
 Hannibal witnessed from the threshold of his bedroom door as Tom ran to Will, wrapping his
arms around the man completely, a new set of cries muffled in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his feathers breaking through parts of his shirt as his feathers reached for
Will’s, forcing them from his own skin as he beckoned them to connect. “I’m sorry, mother,”
he said.

Only to gasp, a vision of his magic pulling from his flesh as he recognized the word that
slipped from his mouth, awaiting violent rejection like he had in a past life.

“Stop,” Will commanded, freezing Tom’s magic where it was hovering an inch from his
flesh. Will weaved his hands around Tom, their feathers connecting as Will brought Tom into
the bed. Hannibal smiled, walking to his side of the mattress as the three squeezed together.

Much like the first night after recovering Harry from the Verger Estate, Tom was regressing,
his mental state battling against a lifetime of festered injuries. The closeness to the Herd
would be a soothing balm to his mind, magic and soul while further tying Tom to the fawn as
they slept in the nest as humans.

“It will be your job to protect her,” Will whispered, the three of them pushed together with
feathers meshing against skin. Tom’s eyes were heavy, his panic having sapped energy from
whatever reserves his soul had. He hummed, his hand resting over Will’s stomach.

“Her?” he heard his father whisper from behind him, moving closer to his mother in the nest
of blankets that bid away any cold that dared seep in.

Her...a sister...Tom felt his hand was covered by Hannibal's, his warmer fingers reaching
between the cracks of Tom’s to touch...to touch her.

“Call it mother’s intuition,” his mother said above them, sharing a moment with Hannibal as
Tom felt his own magic extending down his arm, fizzing and popping within his bones as he
gently wrapped it over Will’s...of her…

To protect her against every leeching darkness of humanity.

“Even from myself.”

This, Tom swore.

Chapter End Notes

So yeah, I did the thing. Narcissa almost died giving birth in this story and I wanted to
work with that a little more, sue me.
The chapter title comes curtesy of BLARGHMANGOS, a loyal reader, who helped me
come up with a term for *exactly* what Will is. I hope this chapter doesnt ruin the
image of Kangaskhan for you- but you've assisted me greatly so thank you!
There is going to be one more chapter in this intermission with Tom and Hannigram-
sneak peak: he and Draco cross paths...
See you soon! I love you all !
 A Cry for Help
Chapter Notes

Wow- y'all thought that last chapter was spicy given your reactions and lack thereof.
This one is a bit...sweeter (?) but I think you will enjoy it regardless.

Please enjoy- make good choices, go to the doctor when you feel sickly...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was a tense Yule holiday with his parents- all avoiding the conversation as they ate at the
dinner table for their Yule celebration. His father left shortly after the meal for a soiree with
some of his “friends from the Ministry.” Since the Dark Mark hung over the rafters of the
Quidditch Tournament, his father had taken more time to spend with his past cohorts.

While Draco was young, he didn’t think himself stupid or ignorant; the man was seeing his
fellow Death Eaters. Like Severus, his father kept his Dark Mark hidden at all times. In the
evening, the man wore long pajamas that covered his pale arms- wool in the winter and
smooth silk to keep the summer heat away.

After his father left to speak with his old friends, Draco’s mother brought him by the fire and
insisted on brushing his hair as she sung him old lullabies he must have heard as a child.
Knowing his mother was afraid, Draco sat on a cushion on the floor as his mother groomed
him, the Yule log burning through the night.

The afternoon the next day, Draco was practically tossed out of Malfoy Manor to Spinner’s
End- carrying a very heavy bag that had far more belongings in it for an overnight stay with
his godfather.

Draco sighed as he shut his book, the snapping of the spine against pages pushing the
thoughts out of his mind. The chilly dorms of the Slytherin House were more welcome than
the cold halls of Malfoy Manor. Boredom let these types of fears and thoughts creep into his
mind. Currently, Harry was with Hermione and Neville, no doubt working on the Charms
paper he completed earlier in the day.

Draco noticed that the Slytherin Common room was emptier than usual- given the
Tournament, many of the Slytherin students were flirting with the other students. Weaving
around the tables and chairs in the common room, Draco walked to Severus' office and
knocked once.

He knocked again.

When no answer came the second time, Draco began to grow nervous.
During Yule, Draco could see his godfather growing more gaunt. He looked more haunting
and like the muggle myths of the vampire, eyes bloodshot, pale skin, hair falling.

Draco turned the knob of the door to his office. Severus kept his office open during the office
hours he posted, so it was no surprise when Draco was able to open the door. What made his
anxieties mount was that Severus was not in immediate eyeshot.

His heart beating faster, Draco walked further into his office, calling his name.

Over the rushing of blood in his ears, Draco could hear a moan coming from deeper in the
man’s office, through the door to his private quarters. Draco ran to the door, his hand on the
iron knob giving a brush of magic over his hand before the lock popped open.

“Severus?” he called out again, his voice only rising in pitch as his panic fought against
rationality. Draco heard another groan come from the bathroom and felt a chill run through
his body.

Draco approached the bathroom, the door cracked open enough to show the tile on the
ground.

“Severus?” he asked, placing a hand on the door, Draco pushed the creaking hinges back.

Well...Draco found Severus...his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his godfather
hanging over the toilet, blood dripping from his lips, eyes glazed over in pain. Blood was
everywhere within the bathroom. It was smeared in a bloody handprint down the length of
the toilet, like Severus had tripped on his way to it. The scent of bile painfully surrounded the
room- a horrific scent profile of blood and vomit wafted up from the toilet.

Draco couldn’t even talk as he made his way into the bathroom. His hands thought with a
mind of their own, reaching for Severus, he pulled the man away from the toilet.

“Severus,” he said, voice desperate as he shook his godfather. “Wake up, what’s wrong?” he
pleaded, shaking the man harder. He only groaned, his hands clenching around nothing,
making little movement to get up. From where he was holding Severus away from the toilet,
he could see the bag of blood and the straw that laid in the hallway, a puddle of blood around
the spilled meal.

A vampire vomited blood.

Draco knew something was very, very wrong with his godfather.

“Come on,” he grunted, moving around his godfather. He picked up his wand and levitated
the man, pulling him from the restroom only to toss him on the chair.

His godfather was not responding to Draco’s shakes or when he called the man’s name.
Draco put a hand over his forehead, his palm collecting the fevered sweat that was dripping
from his brow. Draco looked around frantically.

His attention landed on the floo powder atop the hearth. Draco rushed over to it, his foot
catching on the stool, sending him toppling to the ground. He pushed himself off the ground,
hands reaching into the powder for a far too large handful.

Draco threw the powder into the hearth, got on his knees even as the green flames came to
engulf him and shouted for Professor Graham’s residence. Professor Graham and his husband
were one of the few people that Draco knew Severus considered friends. With their strange
mixture of muggle and magical remedies, they might be the only people that could save a
half-vampire.

The flames controlled themselves, folding closer to the stones. The stone dug into his knees
as he gathered his courage, sticking his face in the green embers.

The sensation of heat wrapped around his face, almost like his head was being pulled in the
tube of apparition with his body left behind. His throat immediately grew parched and the
scent of ash surrounded his nose.

He didn’t have any time to orient himself to the flames before he heard his name called from
the other side of the fire.

“Please,” he said, the heat coming up to surround his neck. “Professor, please, Severus-
something is wrong.”

With every word that Draco spoke, it felt like hot ash was falling into his mouth. Honestly,
how did other wizards use this as a method to communicate? Nevertheless, Severus needed
him to endure the strange sensations of floo talk.

“We’ll be right there, Draco,” another voice said to him, Harry’s father. Draco took his words
to heart and pulled away from the heat of the flames, brushing the embers that collected on
his uniform off. He watched the green flames flicker in the hearth for what felt like days.

The log split in the middle, giving more fuel to the fire as the flames kicked up again. Draco
stood by Severus, the man oblivious to the commotion around him. His eyes were fluttering
beneath his eyelids, breath coming in aborted intakes.

One stepped through the fire first, Harry’s father that he met a couple of times at the
Hogwarts Express station. The next that stepped through the fire seemed to be his age.

Draco stilled, his blood cold, when his mind supplied him with the answer of the mystery
teen that followed after Dr. Lecter. The two walked past his petrified body circle around the
chair, the doctor reaching up to massage Severus' throat. The passive expression on his face
did not change as he lifted blue gloved fingers to pull back Severus’ upper lip- exposing his
canines.

Severus began to thrash in the chair then. With the speed attributed to vampirism, he pushed
the teen back away from the chair, sending him ten feet back into the curtains. Severus’s
hands went to attempt to push away Dr. Lecter, but the man only smiled as he collected
Severus’ hands in his own and pinned them to the side.

“He thinks you’re too far,” a smooth voice said from his side. Draco didn’t notice his
approach, too focused on Severus hissing and thrashing in the chair to notice the...the Dark
Lord. The boy had dust on his jacket from where his spine must have collided with the
curtains.

He reached his hand out, around Draco’s shoulder. The teen stiffened, his brown eyes rolling
into the back of his head, eyelids flickering. After a moment, his vision cleared and the
brown eyes opened, a slight smile on his lips.

“Hello, Draco,” he said, now walking closer to where Severus was being a bad patient. “I’m
Tom Riddle,” he introduced. The closer that Draco got to his godfather, the less the vampire
struggled against Dr. Lecter. The man held a needle in one hand and looked to be attempting
to stab the arm that held the Dark Mark.

He was saved from having to respond when Tom looked down at the Dark Mark exposed on
Severus’ arm. Tom reached long fingers out to brush against the tattooed and scared flesh of
his arm. Like he did when Tom touched Draco, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Whatever was passing over Tom’s mind, it stilled Severus as equally, giving Dr. Lecter
enough time to hold his arm still and insert the needle. Draco hovered over the three of them
in the moment of stillness, watching as the needle was pulled free of the tube, yet the cord
was still in his skin.

“He’s going to attempt a ritual,” Tom rasped, his fingers still touching the Dark Mark of
Severus’ arm. Draco heard stories of the Dark Lord able to monitor his followers through the
tattoo, kill them, even, but this was the first he was confronted with such a threat.

In the forest, before Yule, Harry told him about a ritual to resurrect the Dark Lord while
pulling the soul shard from his own soul. During the New Year Celebration his father hosted
at the Manor, Draco was considered less than gracious as he spent the majority of his time in
an empty study, nervously pacing the floor.

Severus seemed to sense it too. As Tom’s eyes fluttered back to their open view, Severus’
arm shot forward with expert precision and came to grip Tom’s neck. The boy choked, his
arms coming to grip and attempting to pry white fingers from his throat.

Dr. Lecter was just as swift with Severus; his hand wrapping around Severus’ wrist until he
was forced to release Tom. Tom dropped away from the chair, his breath coming to him in
startled gasps as Dr. Lecter turned Severus’ arm back until he was in a submissive position.

“I will allow you this once, Severus,” Dr. Lecter growled to Draco’s godfather. Draco looked
between everyone, wondering what the Dark Lord would do to his godfather as punishment.
Though he shook from fear, Draco would raise his wand to the Dark Lord if he made to strike
his godfather.

“I can imagine their magical signatures are frighteningly similar,” he said, nodding his head
to Tom in assurance of his health. The teen brushed himself off as he walked back towards
Dr. Lecter’s side.

Draco felt his legs hold himself up as Severus twitched under their hands. Dr. Lecter
instructed Tom to attend to Severus several times, inserting a dual set of needles into the crux
of his elbows as the man pushed several squealing buttons.

And the Dark Lord, he only nodded his head, going to the task set by his...his father without
argument or torture.

The clock behind them all, atop the hearth that Draco had his head engulfed by, only passed
three numbers. The feeling of the time that passed felt like ages. Draco feared that each
strangled breath that Severus took would be his last.

The machine quieted as his blood filled the tubes that were hanging from the sheath of the
needles. It passed in a counter-clockwise motion, each axle spinning in a similar manner. As
the blood passed through whatever Dr. Lecter set Severus' blood up to relieve his breathing.

Though his godfather seemed to sag as he relaxed, Draco was still pinned to the spot, unable
to take his eyes off the sight before him. Yet, it allowed him to bare witness to Dr. Lecter
putting his hand on the Dark Lord’s shoulder and smiling down at the teen.

“You did very well, Tom,” the man praised.

The Dark Lord stiffened as he preened- wanting to keep the moment as private as Draco
realized he was intruding.

“Now, will you give Draco and I a moment?”

Sharp maroon eyes landed on Draco. While he did not feel directly threatened, a sense of
intimidation started to simmer within his stomach. Tom, the Dark Lord, nodded his head and
said nothing as he walked out of the room. Draco watched him leave, confused at how well
he knew his way around the room.

It dawned on Draco that this was not the first time the Dark Lord had walked these very
quarters….a student of his own.

That wasn’t the matter though. Draco turned his attention to the doctor that walked closer to
him. His palms were held to his side, open and non threatening. The alien equipment that
rang around the room frayed on Draco’s nerves, not calming him as the man attempted.

“What’s happening?” Draco asked, his eyes feeling hot and dry.

Dr. Lecter wrapped one of the blankets that was tossed around the room around Draco’s
shoulders, his hands squeezing around Draco to calm him.

“Severus is suffering from the effects of starvation.”

Draco shook his head, only to look back at his godfather.

“He’s fed...I watched him feed.”

Since Severus collected him for the last few days of summer before the Third Year began, the
vampire became more...lax with his shame in feeding. Of course, Severus didn’t feed often,
would commonly eat the same meal he ate with Draco. More robust meals were eaten after
Draco finished his main meal, while he was instructed to clean the dishes as Severus cooked.

Severus would pop off the top of a blood bag.

“Do you have to do that here?” Draco remembered asking as the dish water began to scald his
skin.

“It’s that or cook human flesh for the both of us; your choice.”

It was strange to think about until he saw Severus in his true state enough that drinking blood
rarely caused him the instinctive jolt of fear. His friend consuming human flesh was a hiccup
on his judgement.

“It is a unique kind of starving,” the man said, pulling Draco back from his thoughts. “Some
creatures can find they feed on the image and likeness of their mate rather than whatever diet
they adopted earlier in life.”

A mate was the one thing that could completely control a creature- docile or ferocious.
Werewolves, in the arms of their beloved, could shift under the power of the moon without
the mind slipping into the madness of it’s glow. Vampires...vampires were documented to
have their entire diet weaned if they were in the presence of their mate.

“Everyone knows that.”

Dr. Lecter’s lip quirked as a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“You must remember, Draco, that Severus is a special case of creature wizard. It will be hard
to predict his condition or the course it might run if he doesn’t claim his mate.”

“Is he going to die?” Draco asked, his breath hinging on it.

The man’s gaze did not waver.

“Yes,” he said.

Draco looked back at his godfather, in a fitful sleep. His hair was plastered to the edges of his
face where his fevered sweat prickled. The bags under his eyes had grown to the point that
Draco could see not only through the illusion, but the smeared edges of makeup his godfather
attempted to hide. His breathing had returned to a pace that was normal for sleep, but how
much longer until he was in a similar state of distress?

“No. He won’t.” Draco said, walking away from the doctor to glare at his godfather. He heard
the man humm behind him, in doubt, but Draco was more persistent than anything his
godfather had encountered.

“You cannot convince a person to love another.”

None of that mattered right now; the foundation of Draco’s world was slowly starving before
him. It would require Draco to shelve his feelings on the matter- his fear of the person who
caught Severus’ heart would reject him.

“I’ll have you know I am very persuasive.”

A warm and sturdy hand came to rest on his shoulder once more.

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Dr. Lecter walked around Severus to fiddle with the machine
when it made a new sound. “Allow me to check on Severus once more before we retire?” He
asked, awaiting for Draco’s permission before he continued. The teen nodded. “He will need
a blood replenishment potion when he wakes. Will you grab him one?””

Draco was already leaving the bedroom as the order was given. Though, he realized that as
he was walking out of the room, it led him to the one the Dark Lord resurrected teen
occupied.

Looking behind the teen, Draco saw the bathroom door was open...no longer covered in
blood, cleaned and smelling of citrus rather than the heady scent of copper.

“Hi,” Draco said, standing between the boy and his godfather. The other looked just as
awkward as Draco felt, shuffling back and forth on his weight with a nervous tension. “So,”
he said, slowly walking forward, looking out for any indication that the boy would attack
him. “You’re the Dark Lord?” Draco posed it as a question, already knowing the answer.

The boy nodded his head, a blush on his cheeks as he looked down at the ground. “Hopefully
a better one this time around,” he admitted, still looking at the ground like a scolded second-
year rather than the terrifying images he sometimes overheard his parents or Severus talking
about when they thought he was sleeping. “He’ll need this,” the boy said, extending his hand
out, palm up, to reveal the dark bottle that contained the very Blood Replenishing Potion he
needed.

Draco took a moment to look at the other hand, noticing that there was no wand within it or
any holster strapped to his arm.

Silently, both unsure and awkward, Draco walked to the Dark Lord...to Tom and took the
potion from his hand. There was no curse or sneer, no evil monologue or cartoonish laughter,
only his hand dropping to his side, gaze turned to the floor.

Draco looked down at the vial in his hand then back up at the boy, tilting his head in
confusion.

“Thanks,” he said, beginning to turn away from the awkward situation. Taking his thoughts
with him, Draco walked back into the room with his godfather and the doctor.

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter,” Draco said, the words feeling awkward in his mouth as he thanked
the wizard with a muggle title. He didn’t understand what would push a wizard to leave for
the muggle world. The man smiled at Draco, his attention still on Severus.

“I am glad that you called for us, Draco.” He heard the doctor say. When Draco took his
attention off his unconscious, pained, godfather’s face, he saw the man had a small smile on
 his own. “And Draco? You can call me Hannibal, my mate, Will.”

“That’s not proper, sir,” Draco said, shaking his head, remembering all of the lectures his
mother gave him about respecting other people’s titles as his father taught him about
respecting the wizards with better blood.

That growing familiar, grounding hand, came back to rest on his shoulder, the gentle pressure
making him look up and into maroon eyes.

“It is for family.”

Chapter End Notes

I feel like since I've read so many fics where Tom is this super suave and smooth talking
person that there is a desperate need for an awkward, unsure Tom Riddle. He has no idea
where he fits in the equation, in family, when it comes to Hogwarts, even his own soul; I
couldn't imagine writing him as this smooth talking, self-assured teenager unless he was
inflating his ego, which I've enough of. Writing two awkward teenagers is more
relatable to everyone as we've all been there at some point...

IDK, please tell me what you think in the comments.

Next chapter we pick up on the regularly scheduled program of: Severus in denial while
Draco rides an emotional rollercoaster as typical Hogwarts shenanigan's occurs.

See you soon!

 Commotion, Chaos, Cacophony
Chapter Notes

Hello guests,

sometimes having dinner together is more than the food on the table but the people that
join us at the table itself. I am very happy to have you all here with me, even when I am
alone, I know that there is a family to be found here. We all have each other in this
internet community and I am very grateful to have each of you, whether you are simply
passing eyes or a boisterous voice, know that you are all loved.

(I abandoned the normal progressive meal for the next chapters to give better insight-
it'll make sense as the other chapters come together while building some suspense)

Please gather with me around the table, the fire that we all feed within ourselves. I thank
you for joining me tonight.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The sleep hum that Draco hovered in was pulled violently to wake as the weight of his head
pulled away from the palm that he propped himself up on. The boy cursed under his breath,
rubbing his hand on the back of his neck as he turned to look at Severus.

Sleep was fitful in the evening once Hannibal and Tom left. The doctor moved Severus to his
quarters and left Draco with the assurance that he would wake sometime in the morning. The
two left Hogwarts through the floo network, leaving Draco behind with his godfather and his
own thoughts.

For an hour, Draco ignored the chair sitting next to Severus' bed, standing over him as he
watched his chest rise and fall with each passing breath of air. As the man had no signs of
dying immediately, Draco rushed out of the room to his dorm.

He was met with a frantic Harry, who wondered about his disappearance. Draco gave a hasty
explanation that Severus was ill and Draco would be staying with him for the evening. Harry
understood that Draco needed the night with Severus rather than in the dorms. He assisted
Draco in bringing blankets and a pillow into the private quarters of Severus before leaving
with a soft click of the door.

Draco blinked away the last of the sleep as the pain of sitting on the floor for the night settled
in his legs. The artificial lights that were charmed around the room were bright with the
morning sun. Severus seemed to respond to the daylight, slowly coming to wake.

As much as Draco wanted to pounce on his godfather, the man was feeling ill and therefore,
much more prickly than usual.
Walking the stiffness out of his legs, Draco left his godfather’s room, leaving the blankets and
pillows behind as evidence. He grabbed the iron kettle and set it over the hot plate, rattling
the cups and mugs in one of his counters.

Draco’s hands were clammy as he grabbed the tea tin, his fingers shaking as he heard his
godfather stumbling out of bed. Collecting his thoughts, Draco portioned out the tea in the
strainers as the water grew hotter over the blue flames. The click of the door behind him
signaled to Draco that Severus was making himself presentable.

He felt his throat run parched as he searched for any biscuits Severus could eat. He didn’t
know if the vampire would be hungry for actual food or if he needed a meal of blood.

Though, no meal that came from hands other than the one that snagged Severus’ heart would
satisfy him. Even if he ate, it was clear the man would continue to starve.

As he removed the kettle from the heat, Draco heard the door to Severus’ quarters click open.
His heartbeat picked up in pace, a pounding sensation happening from within his chest cavity.
Draco turned, a mug of tea in his hand, and extended it to Severus.

The mug of tea was no peace offering, but a declaration of war.

“I’ll be fine,” Severus said after he took his first sip of hot tea.

Draco didn’t know what it was about the blatant disregard for his own health that set Draco
off, but the memory of Severus hanging over the toilet, blood on his lips and spilled all over
the grout flashed in his mind.

“No!” he shouted, shaking his head. “You are not! You are the furthest thing from fine and
have been for a long, long time!” he said, pointing on his godfather’s chest until the man sat
down in the chair. Draco could feel his eye getting hot as his godfather took his hand. “Why
are you so hypocritical?”

“I am not,” he said, his brow furrowed as if Draco were the one asking him ridiculous
requests.

“You most certainly are!” he retorted, causing Severus to raise his eyebrow in the same
manner he would to Gryffindor’s disobeying in class. Draco was no Gryffindor that would
cower under Severus Snape.

At the more lucid points of the evening, Draco came to the realization that he would never
beat his godfather in a battle if it were verbal. No matter what logical argument Draco
presented to Severus, the man was stubborn as an oxen.

Draco walked away from his godfather in a strange change in dialogue. He walked back into
the kitchenette his quarters held and pulled out a knife. As he walked back to the table, he put
his wand down, the knife next to it.

“You said that I could find happiness with Harry,” Draco said, smirking when he saw that
Severus recognized his own tactics used against him. “Even if Harry eats human.”
Draco figured that it was his diet that prevented Severus from pursuing the human of his
heart.

“Why can’t you have them?”

“Because, Draco,” Severus said, deflating completely onto the kitchen stool. Setting the mug
of tea below his chin, Severus rubbed at the bones under his eyes, pulling on the dark yellow
skin that sagged beneath his eyes. His godfather was smiling, but the tone and tension in his
body showed he was not happy. “Beverly Katz is a muggle.”

Oh.

Draco felt the weight of his argument drop from under him. All of the momentum that he
thought he had- gone. Dropping into one of his own kitchen stools, the two shared the
silence. Dangling for a response, Draco looked down at the table, the wand in his right hand
and the knife by his left. He tilted his head.

Draco hadn’t heard of any cases of creature wizards finding mates in muggles. Then again,
before Draco met Dr. Lecter, the thought of a wizard leaving the population was an
impossibility. His bias went under a deeper review when he spent more time with Sirius
Black, mated to the werewolf Remus Lupin.

The tea leaves lowered themselves to the bottom of his porcelain tea cup. Draco supposed
there were hundreds of magical people that might have left the wizarding world- for whatever
reasons.

“How is it different?” He asked, mostly to himself, but when his godfather took it upon
himself to think it was a statement, Draco waited for his response. Severus tilted surprised at
Draco, as if that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting from the teen. His fingers thrumming
on the tabletop.

“She would never understand it all,” he said. Draco sat back as he rolled his eyes.

“If your magic felt it was safe enough to imprint a mating bond,” Draco paused, using his
godfather’s method of silence to let the message sink in, “then she clearly feels the same way
about you.”

Draco knew that his mother wasn’t happy- though she smiled in pictures and kissed him
goodbye at the train station, though she said she was proud of him, Draco knew that she was
not happy. In turn, he knew that his father was not happy. The difference between the two
was that his father thought happiness was at the helm of darkness and fear.

At the core of it all, Draco knew that Severus wasn’t really happy, but he felt that the man
was content in life at Hogwarts. Then as Draco spent a summer with his godfather, he saw
happiness begin to bloom within his eyes like the flowers they planted in the greenhouse.

“I don’t want you to die,” Draco whispered, clutching the back of the man’s robes with his
fingers until his wrists hurt. Severus wrapped his arms around Draco to hug him, then began
to push him away. Draco held on past his godfather’s attempts to separate them.
“Draco,” his raspy voice said above him. Rather than let go of the man, Draco turned his chin
so it could rest painfully on Severus’ breast bone. His godfather smiled, the bags of his eyes
lifting with his cheek muscles.

“You can’t,” Draco said, turning his head.

Stuck on his godfather, Draco intended to hold the man until he came to some sense. This
time when Severus shifted, it was with more force and dislodged Draco from his frame.
Before Draco managed to fall, Severus sat him down on the kitchen barstool.

“I cannot continue on this way much longer,” Severus said, looking down at the counter top.

“Please,” Draco said, putting his hand over his godfather’s. He would not let his ego get in
the way of pleading, begging, for Severus to save himself. His godfather dry lips cracked into
a reassuring smile for Draco.

“I’ll…” he trailed off, a bright blush of pink flooding his cheeks. “I’ll call her,” he relented.

It wasn’t an assurance that Severus would immediately get better. It wasn’t an assurance that
everything would work between Severus and his intended mate. Yet, it was enough that
Severus was willing to stop his act as a stubborn oxen.

Draco took in a shaky inhale, nodding his head.

“Do not fear, Draco,” Severus said as they finished their mugs of tea. “You have enough of
that on your plate with your exams today.”

A new sense of fear overtook Draco’s mind. Last night, he and Harry planned to quiz each
other on their Charms assignments as it was the test they feared for the most. Further, he still
had a transfiguration assignment he wanted to look over one last time for any imperfections.

A renewed sense of energy took over Draco as he hugged his godfather goodbye, knowing
that he would only have a short amount of time before the first assignment of the day. Draco
cursed as he was forced to run his wand over the clothing he wore the day previous, steaming
the wrinkles and adding a new scent of freshness to him.

His godfather nodded with approval, his wand held smartly over Draco’s head. Without
flinching, Severus' wand tapped Draco’s hair and the teen felt as if the winds of Ireland raced
through his locks. His fingers touched the strands of hair- silky and cleaned.

Ushered out of Severus’ quarters, through his office and to the door, the two opened it to find
Harry poised with his hand about to knock on the wood. Both shoulders carried a backpack,
Harry’s on one shoulder and Draco’s hanging from another.

“Cheers,” Draco said, taking the outstretched bag. Before his godfather could say anything
about what they spoke of, Draco whipped around on the ball of his heel and pointed an
accusing finger up at his godfather. “You have homework.”

Draco stormed out of the dormitory, Harry trotting to catch up to him.

“Worst case scenario, we get your parents to do something,” Draco said as he pushed past
Gryffindor students on the staircase.

“They always enjoy an opportunity to kidnap others,” Harry commented, ignoring the
bewildered look that a passing Ravenclaw gave them.

“He’s in love with a muggle; Beverly Katz.”

Draco hadn’t processed what it might mean for him if Severus affections would fall on
another. Would his status as a creature reject Draco in favor of Beverly? Would Draco like
Beverly? Would Beverly like Draco?

A poking to his head broke the train of thoughts.

Draco turned to look at Harry and saw that familiar bright expression on his face. His lips
were pulled in a radiating smile that contrasted against Draco’s fear. Before Harry could
shout to the rooftops of Hogwarts that Severus Snape, Potions Master and Dungeon Bat, was
in love, Draco slapped his hand over Harry’s lips.

Draco made a point to look around at the students passing them to get to their exams. Harry’s
breath hitched against Draco’s palm as he realized the commotion he almost caused.

“Are you trying to ruin Severus’ reputation?” Draco hissed, pushing away from the other
students that were in his way. Draco ignored the glares from the others as he turned the
corner, scaling another staircase.

He paused at the top of the hall, close to the transfiguration classroom when he looked back
and saw that Harry did not follow after him- leaving Draco alone. He grit his teeth as he
stomped over to Professor McGonagall’s exam.

Many students were already in their seats, quizzing one another or reading over their notes
spread over the desk. A blur of red approached him, hands nervously twitching at his side.

“You want to meet Hermione and I at the Quidditch Pitch when exams are finished?” Neville
asked, his eyes darting over to look at Professor McGonagall, who was failing to hide her
smile.

Not wanting to insult another friend, Draco smiled.

“Save Harry and I a seat high up so we can see above the hedges.”

At this point, all of the students, even the Champions figured the final task was some kind of
maze. For the past month, Hagrid had taken over the Quidditch pitch, slowly growing small
hedges. Like his pumpkins, the hedges burst through a magical growth spurt as spring
arrived.

“Good luck,” Neville said, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed to take his seat with
last passing notes to review. Draco turned his attention to the desk he’s sat at all year. Harry
was there, having somehow bypassed the crowded staircase before Draco could, with his
head in the notes of his book.
Draco grit his teeth to sigh, slowly making his way over to Harry.

“Hey,” he said.

A moment passed where Harry’s eyes continued to read the notes on his paper before he
finally looked up at Draco. Green eyes shifted over to the chair next to Harry, then back up at
Draco. Professor McGonagall was ushering the last of her students in before she would
demand they take a seat for their exam.

Harry moved his papers aside, allowing for Draco to sit next to him. Dropping his bag to the
back of the chair, Draco slid into the seat next to his boyfriend.

“Thanks,” he said in a hushed tone, knowing that his actions caused this tiff.

Harry nodded his head once, shifting the notes to the side for Draco to glance at for the last
few minutes. As the last student rushed through the door, Professor McGonagall ordered
them all to put their notes away.

Whatever anxieties Draco had about Severus were shelved until he was finished with his
exams. He didn’t want to have to face his godfather’s disappointment if he didn’t do well.

Draco finished his part of the written exam first, bravely handing it to Professor McGonagall
before it was time to take his practical part. Professor McGonagall drew a silent, opaque
shield around the both of them and instructed him to transfigure several items on the table
before him.

More confident with practical transfiguration, Draco felt confident when Professor
McGonagall released him from the shield. Draco waited on a stone stool for Harry to
eventually emerge from his exam. Student after student quietly opened the door and passed
with a relieved sigh. A couple of others followed Draco’s idea of waiting for their friends-
taking their own benches next to him.

Like the other students, the doors opened wide and Harry found Draco before the teen could
even call his name.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said immediately as they walked to Charms. Harry rolled his eyes,
shoving Draco in the hallway.

“I understand,” Harry said, laying his arm over his shoulder.

Draco realized that Harry did understand. That Harry would understand the difficulties of
having creatures as parents that did odd things. Harry could empathize with Draco’s fear of
losing Severus if he could not eat.

“Don’t worry about Beverly either,” Harry said as if reading Draco’s mind. “She’s cool...like
a partner in crime.” Harry furrowed his brow as they waited with the other students for the
staircase to turn. “Though, she’s the type of person that I think would fight dad and father.”

“What’s...what’s she like?” Draco tentatively asked.

Harry launched into the fantastical tale of his kidnapping and the phenomenon of his
transformation into a Ravenfawn. He explained that Beverly was an FBI agent, a special kind
of muggle reinforcement that his dad was once a part of. Harry described Beverly as a warm,
strong woman- one that was witty and liked to cause trouble in a fun nature.

“She’ll love you,” Harry assured, holding the Charms door open for him to pass through.
Already, the chaos of a charms exam was taking place, students pitched at various points of
the room creating small explosions.

“How do you know?” Draco said, looking down at his hands; shaking more from the anxiety
of his upcoming test.

“Well,” Harry said, “she likes my dad, and she likes Professor Snape. Beverly enjoys being
with weird people because she’s weird herself.”

Harry took Draco’s hand from him, squeezing it once among the chaos of the room and his
own mind- grounding him.

Hermione was seated across the room, a book propped in front of her eyes. Having noticed
their arrival to the room, she stood up from her seat and onto the desks, climbing over the
array of spells. She hopped down from the desks with a smile in front of them, frizzy hair
bouncing around her.

“You’re meeting Neville and I for the Tournament?” she asked, casting a shield around them
all when a rouge spell bounced off one of the shelves.

“Where else would we sit?” Harry laughed, making his way to his desk. The professor
entered the room, casting a quick charm that stilled the magic around them.

The three picked out their quills, wished each other luck, and tucked into their tests.

Lunch in the Great Hall was an even more boisterous event than usual with the addition of
the other schools. Large groups of students were gathered in three large huddles, no doubt a
champion hidden in the mass of students. Draco and Harry stayed away from the crowd,
going over their potions notes as they ate.

Draco failing potions would be a monumental disappointment.

Severus had some glamour charm over his face, concealing his pain and illness to the other
students as he explained the grievous nature of cheating and the consequences of such
behavior. Harry nudged Draco’s shoulder, nodding his head once.

It seemed that Harry’s familiarity with the situation allowed him to see through the spell his
godfather cast.

Like all Slytherin’s, Harry and Draco flew through the written portion of the exam, handing it
to their professor silently, then started on their potion. Harry gathered and prepared the
ingredients while Draco went along the finer parts of potion making.
After handing in a perfect vial of potion, Draco received a slight head nod and the gimmer of
a smile, he and Harry traveled to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room.

The DADA test was going well enough, mostly essay format, but Draco noticed that Harry
was wincing, covering up small sounds as he rubbed his brow. Draco looked at Professor
Moody, who was staring at Harry the entire time, perhaps some odd fixation the auror had on
the Boy Who Lived.

It seemed Draco would be unable to ask Harry if he was well- lest he risk their entire grades.

“One more,” Draco said, slipping Harry a headache potion he...acquired from one of Severus’
stashes. Harry downed it with a grateful pat on Draco’s shoulder. “Should we tell someone?”

“No,” Harry said, brushing it off as he transfigured the glass bottle into daisies. He smiled as
he turned, handing them to Draco. Blushing, Draco took the three flowers in his hand but did
not take the bait of the distraction. Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “Tom’s probably practicing
something. And with the exams, I can’t imagine I’m helping him much either.”

Draco still didn’t understand the nature of their relationship, how they could communicate or
sense each other’s feelings. His perception of the teenage Dark Lord changed when he
selflessly came to Severus' aid.

Severus pushed Tom back, strangled him even, and the young Dark Lord did nothing to
retaliate against his godfather. The teen recovered from both of his godfather’s physical
assaults and stood by his father’s side, awaiting instructions and following them without
question.

Finishing the exams with History of Magic was a new form of torture that Draco was not
used too. The Hufflepuff students with the Slytherin’s were all boasting about how Cedric
would win. Slytherin students agreed with their other group, stating that he would do it for
the reputation of the school. The theories continued in low whispers even as the exam took
place, Professor Binns ignoring all of them at this point in the year.

“Finally,” Harry said, taking a deep breath of air, spreading his arms wide enough they hit
Draco’s chest.

“I stand by my statement,” Draco said, waiting for the stairs to swing around to a new set as
they descended. “I will not open or touch a book for the entire summer.”

Whatever response Harry was going to state was cut off by a rushing student slamming into
him.

“Hey!” Draco said to the boy who continued running. “Where’s he going?”

“Let’s find out!” Harry said, feeling no negative effects of the boy crashing into him. Harry
was already rushing ahead to where the boy had blindly run. As Draco caught up to his
friend, he could hear the sound of whispers and murmurs.
“It’s a Champion,” Draco said, figuring that was the only reason why a duel could happen
within one empty classroom of Hogwarts without being broken up by a professor.

“Come on,” Harry said, taking Draco by the hand. Harry pushed his way around students,
weaving Draco in and out of the masses of uniforms in all colors. Shouts from all kinds of
languages happened around them as spells fired from within the circle. Draco caught enough
of a glance to see it was Fleur Delaqure against another opponent.

“Here,” Harry said, pulling Draco through the last line of students.

Fleur was beautifully dressed in her blue uniform, looking at her opponent with a stony face
of concentration. As the brunette across the dueling aisle threw a binding curse, Fleur
countered the spell before it landed on her, throwing one of her own in French. Fleur seemed
to be more fluid in her movements than the other woman, stepping around the circle as they
continued to fire spells.

Forced to move, Fleur’s opponent circled around closer and closer to where Draco was
standing. The students around them cheered and applauded as spells were blocked, Draco no
different from the others.

Fleur’s opponent blocked Draco’s view from the Champion as she was standing directly in
front of him.

It meant that Draco never saw the spell that barreled towards her opponent, who darted to the
left, leaving Draco to take the spell in the chest.

He collided against the other students behind him, his head immediately spinning as sound
distorted in his ears. He felt himself fall, the world around him steadily going black as
Harry’s face only grew blurrier.

As Draco fell to darkness surrounded by commotion, he woke in a similar environment.

Waking didn’t feel natural- like his sleep stasis was interrupted. His chest ached, hands
coming to subconsciously rub the bandage that was wrapped around him. He could hear
voices around him talking over each other, slowly forming into words.

“...onto the bed…”

“...knowing of his counter…”

“What’s…” Draco tried to say, his mouth feeling like cotton. He turned his head, vision
swirling around. Blinking several times, he was able to make out the silhouette of his
godfather. Rubbing his eyes, Draco could then make out the image of Headmaster
Dumbledore talking to Harry.

His own arms were weak as he pushed himself upward to sitting. As his head finished
swimming, the image of the teenage Dark Lord appeared to him on the next bed over.
Though Draco’s vision was less than stable, he could tell the teen was not in a pleasant state
of unconsciousness. Before Draco could call on his godfather, or the Headmaster, Harry
hissed, his head dropping him into a fetal position.

“He’s angry.”

As Harry spoke, The teenaged Dark Lord gasped, his eyes rolling into his head as his spine
arched upward. The moment of spasm passed as quickly as it came, only for another violent
reaction to occur. His brown eyes opened, Tom’s spine went ramrod straight and he sat up in
the bed.

“He’s hunting,” he said, paying attention to the Headmaster. “We need to get the ring, now.”

Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed, put weight on them, only to collapse. It
appeared that Severus was as aware of the young Dark Lord’s weak legs as Draco was; only
the vampire could reach under his arm to save him from falling to the floor.

“Thank you,” Tom said, looking up at Severus once he had steady legs under him.

Draco looked between the younger Dark Lord, clearly in as much pain as Harry, eyes defiant
in the face of it.

“Do you remember where you hid the ring?” Severus asked.

They all watched as Tom inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. A strange trance came over him
when his eyes opened. It was clear that while Tom was seeing something, it wasn’t the
landscape before him.

His wine colored eyes connected with his twin. A conversation in Parseltongue passed
between the two of them. Draco noticed that Dumbledore seemed to understand part of the
conversation in the least judging by his facial expression.

Throat still parched to silence, Draco watched a silent conversation happen between his
godfather and the Headmaster. Dumbledore’s blue eyes fell onto the Mark under Severus’
sleeve.

“We have to hurry,” Tom said, attracting all their attention again. In a wordless act, Severus
and Headmaster Dumbledore took each of Tom’s hands. Then, unlike anything Draco’s read,
the Headmaster apparated away.

Their disappearance allowed for Harry to notice Draco sitting upright. Immediately, the boy
rushed over to his friend, eyes rimmed red with tears. Draco lifted his hand and cupped the
side of Harry’s face, his fingers moving naturally to his swollen and bleeding scar.

“He’s back.” Harry could hardly whisper the words as Draco’s hand touched something
sticky. He gasped when he saw the still oozing laceration on his arm. Draco looked around
wildly for his wand. It took a couple of tries for the episke spell to work wordlessly. Harry
and Draco both watched as the evidence of the Dark Lord’s mark disappeared from his skin.

His parched throat was nothing on Harry’s needs. Draco could ask all the questions he
wanted later- now, Harry needed Draco to be a stable force. He ran his wand over Harry’s
school uniform. There was blood dripping from the ripped sleeve of his tunic.

Harry's trousers were covered in mud on his one side, like he was running from the real Dark
Lord and slipped. Even in his normally wild hair, mud and dead flower petals managed to
collect themselves in his locks. Draco cleaned Harry with magic, pulling the mud away from
his clothing and leaving it pressed crisp.

When he finished cleaning Harry, Draco transfigured one strip of cloth into a small jug,
spelling water into it shortly after, he took a long awaited drink.

“Thank you,” Harry said, leaning his head forward onto Draco’s shoulder.

“We’ll be alright,” Draco said, not honestly sure if he believed it himself. Maybe, if they both
believed in the illusion together, they could make it so.

He must have spent more time than he thought, pressed chest to chest as they supported each
other in the Hospital Wing. Not even the eruption of cannons, a cacophony of screams of joy,
the chanting of ‘Hogwarts’ broke their attention from the needs of the other. Draco and Harry
wordlessly sat next to one another on the gurney waiting for the return of their teachers.

Harry’s hand twitched in his fingers, black hair bobbing as Harry looks up.

“They’re close,” he said, spine straight as he looked around at the empty gurneys. Sure
enough, the air around them became hot, sparks of magic spontaneously popping around the
room.

Three people almost landed on top of each other, carried by Dumbledore who stumbled to the
side, catching himself on a chair before he fell to the ground. Draco’s godfather was clearly
in pain, his face twisted as he gripped his arm.

Then came the sound of heavy doors slamming on their hinges, forcing everyone to look
back at the two who stormed into the rooms with collected faces that gave away nothing of
the wrath they carried. Professor Graham had a hand over his belly, the other clenched in a
fist as he stood next to his taller mate, Hannibal Lecter.

“You better have a damn good explanation,” Professor Graham said in a tone that Draco
witnessed could make Tom, the young Dark Lord, flinch.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Harry trailed, calling the attention of his parents closer to
Draco than comfortable, “We killed some of the people who made this happen.”

Though Draco was sure both Professor Graham and Dr. Lecter knew as much of the situation
as he did: nothing, they still growled that caused Draco to now flinch for not confessing.

“Before you lecture us,” a raspy voice said from Draco’s back, “there is something I have to
do.”

Draco couldn’t move in time to save his godfather from the Dark Lord that took his arm.
Dark black fingernails tore through the black fabric of Severus sleeve, exposing swollen
purple and red skin.
Several painful things existed on Severus’ arm: the Dark Mark itself, from the edge of his
wrist branding his pale flesh to the crux of his elbow. Resting over the image of darkness, the
snake and skull, were what Draco later learned were the indentations of Ravenstag teeth.

Now, the snake had wrapped his tail around the middle of Severus’ arm, constricting his
already limited and starved blood flow. His skin closer to his wrist had turned purple, veins
black and bruised with the bite of the Mark’s venom.

Tom lifted his one hand to the wound only to begin speaking to it. Severus groaned, his face
contorted in pain as he struggled to hold still. The snake's body shifted in flopping motions,
like a fish impaled as the young Dark Lord hissed at his creature.

The head of the snake flared around the skull. Long pointed fangs exposed themselves and bit
into his pale flesh again, causing a strangled roar to exit the vampire’s mouth. Tom, holding
the end of Severus' wrist with a strength that could only come from magic, remained still as
the magic of the Dark Mark flowed from Severus' arm into what looked like a small signet on
the Dark Lord’s finger.

Severus’ face fell in relief, his fingers unclenching as the spell unraveled from Severus as if
his magic were being pruned. Draco’s eyes shifted from the feat of magic to Tom, the young
Dark Lord himself, looking as if he were growing weaker as Severus grew stronger. Through
the magic, Draco could see the snake shrinking in size, slowly crawling through the eye of
the skull.

The magic built around them like a balloon expanding beyond capacity. The popping of
magic felt like a wave of energy crashing through them all, leaving the hairs on Draco’s arm
standing tall and none of them harmed.

Draco witnessed the Tom release his godfather with a limp hand, almost stumbling as eyes
fluttered to his twin, a playful expression on his face that Draco knew came from Harry. A
short quip of Parseltongue passed between the two of them before Tom’s wine colored eyes
rolled into his head and knees dropped.

Professor Graham, Snape and Dumbledore all flicked a charm to keep him from falling to the
floor. Professor Graham swished his wand in a motion that Draco recognized his own mother
performing on him; the sheets around the bed lifted and swaddled the teen, forming a tight
cocoon around the victim to keep from moving.

The spell was ideal for babies in their rolling stage, as Draco’s mother once explained even as
she used it to keep him from fleeing her.

“Would someone please explain what is going on?” Will said, his voice even, calm and very,
very angry. A trance almost came over Draco as he looked into his bright blue eyes. He felt
compelled to talk but he had no answer for Professor Graham. He lowered his head in
submission as Harry began to talk.
“I was kidnapped,” he said. “Is anyone surprised? No. There was a blood ritual, Voldemort
had an evil-overlord-monologue while I was trapped. He showed off his skills with a new
body, we dueled, I killed a man, Tom showed up, we killed the defense professor, not sorry,
and now we’re all here.”

Harry pointedly directed his brief apologies to Dumbledore before he finished speaking to his
parents. His energy must have sapped from his body as Harry leaned over onto Draco for
support.

The silence from Harry’s parents was almost more frightening than the commanding tone of
Professor Graham. Draco heard them move, shoes clacking on the stone floor as they passed
Harry to Tom. Draco watched as Hannibal lifted his hand and hovered it over Tom’s
forehead.

“His magic has solidified, however weak it may appear.” Hannibal tilted his head as he
reached to take Tom’s hand. A moment of stillness passed over all, either magic or something
darker, Draco did not have the knowledge to even guess. “He’s reunited with his last
horcrux.”

“All that remains is the Husk,” Will said darkly. He turned and looked over Harry, his hand
passing through his curls. His blue eyes fluttered into the back of his head and when they
clarified, rested on Draco. A soft smile graced his lips, so different from the anger that he
brought into the Hospital. A warm hand rested on Draco’s shoulder, so much like Severus it
almost made him weep.

“I need to prepare my forces,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, waving his wand around the
room. Within the stones, white light flickered until it illuminated a series of patterns through
the floor. The Wizard jabbed his wand onto his watch, seeming to pull the magic towards
him.

“It would be best if the Ministry is kept in the Dark,” Hannibal said, moving his wound-
searching hands from Tom’s body to Severus' arm. “Seeing as they are so intent on burying
their heads.”

Draco knew that murderous glint of a smile in any predator.

Headmaster Dumbledore was too busy looking over the scene in his Hospital Wing to notice
Draco’s scrutiny. His eyes darted around his spectacles, looking from Hannibal and a heavily
pregnant Will to the young Dark Lord on the bed standing behind them and Severus himself.

The man smiled, said nothing as he gave a curt bow, then left for the doors.

He opened them, the hinges swinging back and allowing for Draco’s magic to almost act as a
warning. He could feel her, the distant warmth of his mother’s magic. But how?

“Lady Malfoy,” Headmaster Dumbledore said at the door, standing to the side with his hand
held across his waist as if he were a chauffeur. She entered the room, not even passing him a
brief greeting.
 “Mum,” Draco whispered only after he was sure no one could hear him wrapped in her warm
embrace. His mum held him as if he would slip away from the world, her nails sinking into
the soft flesh of his arms and side.

When she pulled away from him to look him in the eyes, she only needed to nod once for
Draco to know he was never going back to Malfoy Manor.

The Dark Lord had risen and his father had long since made his choice. Malfoy Manor was
no longer a safe place for Draco to live as his father would surely offer it as Headquarters as
it was once rumored to be. Both he and his mother were refugees that would plead Sirius
Black for Sanctuary to keep from rotting on the streets like Pettigrew.

Draco looked up and found that while neither of them were creatures, they had teeth of their
own to bear in a bloodbath. He squeezed his mothers hand- terrified, but assured that they
would fight through whatever mess the Dark Lord threw their way as a family of two
Malfoy’s.

Chapter End Notes

What's hilarious is that Draco and Harry are taking their exams and I just failed a couple
of mine. If this fic is clear of anything, it's that STEM is not my strong-suit; at this rate, I
am just hoping to pass by the skin of my teeth. Moments like these, when I feel like a
failure amongst others, I try to find joy in my fic and with the people that join me. A
couple of people have stated that they've had rough weeks and the positive, less
depressed side of me says that only when we have rough waters do we enjoy the calm
seas and radiant sunshine. It's even hard for me to believe, but I know it to be true- we
only have to repeat it to ourselves enough we might one day believe it.

Thank you for always being here for me- to know that, even if I fail my tests and exams,
I still have something worthwhile to give and be proud of you.

Know that you are all loved, for your strengths and even more for your failures.

This too shall pass.

 All Rise
Chapter Notes

Hello guests, friends, and to all of those that dine on words,

thank you for your continued encouragement, both in the field of writing and the various
studies that have me feeling like I'm scraping my skull against a cheese grater.

The meal tonight is the second course of a three course menu- from Harry's POV now. I
don't want to spoil the fun so please enjoy at your own pace!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The tension surrounding Hogwarts only grew as the hedges for the Final Task did. Harry
watched Hagrid in the morning tend to the hedges, the illusion charm that surrounded the
course inevitably harming his eyes when he looked for too long.

Draco wasn’t any less stressed than Harry. Professor Snape was getting worse and worse with
each passing day. Neither Draco or Harry could do anything to help the man but wait.

Not wanting to be selfish, Harry listened to Draco’s cries in the dorms in the evening, his
fears of what might happen if Severus were to die. He kept his own anxieties to himself and
the occasional letters to his parents.

The morning of exams, when Harry found himself alone in the dorm, he could feel a
headache blooming in his skull. Thinking it was the combined stress of Draco and exams,
Harry ignored it in the morning. The exams continued through the day, his headache
accompanying it.

He told Draco that it was the stress of exams, that Tom might be up to something with his
parents, or that he was just ready for the year to end. Sitting in the DADA classroom with
Professor Moody drilling holes in his head with that annoying magical eyeball, his scar felt
like a needle was pressed through it.

He marched on with the exam, jaw clenched as he grit his teeth through the pain. Draco must
have noticed his strife, nudging him once under the table with his leg. Harry returned the
gesture, assuring Draco that he would make it.

Draco, bless him, offered Harry a headache relief potion that took away the worst of the pain
even if it made him a little drowsy.

Harry didn’t hear the student that ran into Draco.

Harry didn’t even hear the spell coming from Fleur’s wand, only watching as her opponent
lept out of the way, leaving Draco to take the spell in the chest.

Spurred to move, Harry grabbed Draco as he fell on the other students before he hit the
ground hard. Harry moved his face, looking at silver fluttering eyes close behind his lids as
he entered a painful unconscious state.

Growling, Harry pulled his wand from his inner lapel. A slicing charm cut through Draco’s
buttons enough that Harry could rip his shirt open, exposing the bleeding maw on Draco’s
chest. This smell of blood was one that his nose turned away from, the wound covered his
white shirt, Slytherin tie and Harry’s own skin. He had a few hunts of practice with his
parents, but nothing with the intention to save another- one so close to Harry.

“Heal, ” he whispered, wand sturdy despite his own panic. Harry ignored the students that
backed away from him at the sound of hissing, fingers quaking as he was forced to touch the
raw wound. The blood stopped oozing from the wound sight, slipping back into his body as
the blood puddle grew smaller.

Unsure of the spell, Harry did not know how long his healing would last.

“Stasis,” he hissed again, a green bubble wrapping around Draco like an aura. He heard
students whispering and pointing at him, the pathway parting to Professor McGonagall, who
looked at the Champion with a stern expression.

“Impressive stasis charm, Mr. Potter,” she commented as if alone. Fleur began walking over,
likely to apologize to Harry. The boy, too tired and mentally exhausted to care about his
appearance, growled at her.

Professor McGonagall rightfully stood between where Harry was crouched on the ground
over Draco and the French Champion. She muttered a couple of spells that lifted Draco off
the ground, hovering at chest level.

“Away with you lot,” she said, shooing the surrounding and whispering students from her
path. Harry stood, walking alongside his transfiguration professor as she cleared a path. “To
the hospital wing, Mr. Potter. There, you will have to lift that stasis charm.”

Madam Pomphrey was always nearly dressed but looking more haggard as the year went on.
The amount of injuries she must treat each Champion at the end of the Tasks were clearly
weighing on her and the supplies within the hospital is the empty potion bottles sitting in a
crate were anything to go by.

“French stunner,” she said, looking at the wound beneath the stasis charm. “Meant to target
the muscles of the heart for instant unconsciousness. Mr. Potter, if you would…”

Harry blushed as he moved forward. His dad taught him to cast Parselmagic without his
wand, he only hoped his professors wouldn’t flinch at him as many other students did. His
wand on the side of the table, Harry took a steady breath and rested his hands atop the stasis
over Draco’s heart.
The cool stasis seeped into his hands. The sensation traveled up his arms to his skull,
breaking through the pressure that’s been sitting there throughout the day, causing him
painful headaches. Steadying himself, Harry envisioned the stasis pulling away from Draco,
like snake shedding skin.

Harry opened his eyes as he felt the stasis slip away from his fingers, falling to the side of
Draco’s body in pieces much like scales.

“Twenty points to Slytherin for impressive healers magic, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall
said, already transfiguring a chair for his shaking body to sit down under. He flopped into the
chair, panting slightly as his magic rushed around his body in a post-parsel euphoric state.

Through trial and error with his parents, Harry found that parselmagic made him feel
extremely euphoric in the short-term only to have a crash shortly follow. As they practiced
over the summer, Harry noticed the waves of rising and crashing felt less like a hurricane and
more like a gentle ocean wave.

Looking at his work, Harry could tell that his stasis charm continued to heal the worst of
Draco’s wound, leaving behind a pink mark on his chest that could be mistaken for sunburn.

“Go to the Tournament, Mr. Potter, I’ve already informed his mother should anything go
wrong and he needs treatment at St. Mungo’s,” Madam Pomphrey said as she laid a cloth
over the center of Draco’s chest with ditany. “Not that I suspect that, but mother’s have a
tendency of worrying.”

Harry knew all about that through the images that leaked into his mind when he was sleeping
from Tom. While Harry wasn’t at home with his dad...mother...when he was sitting in class,
sometimes Harry would open his eyes and find himself at home, in his mother’s arms, the
magic of the house laying over him like a blanket.

Harry and Tom’s connection was unique and while the sensation of being physically in one
place, yet seeing another was awkward, it concerned neither of them when the shared
moments were peaceful ones.

“Off with you, Mr. Potter, this infirmary is going to be filled to the brim tonight, I’m sure.”
Professor McGonagall said, offering a hand to him. Harry looked back at Draco, peacefully
unconscious on the bed. Madam Pomphery closed the privacy curtains around his bed likely
changing him out of his shirt to inspect for other injuries.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said. With no students around, her eyes softened
slightly. In an uncharacteristic movement for her, she reached her hand out and ran it through
his head.

“Off with you, Trouble,” she said, her eyes wet with tears.

Caught off guard by her unknown emotion, Harry scampered off down the stairs. He could
hear the din of students beneath him. Looking down, Harry fought vertigo as he saw the
waves of colors moving towards the Quidditch Pitch.
While Draco wouldn’t be present for the Last Task, Hermione and Neville were waiting for
the two of them. Trotting down another flight of stairs, Harry had to wait for another set of
cases to rotate around.

“Potter,” the stern voice of Mad-Eye Moody called from behind him. Harry clenched his jaw,
telling himself he could look at his professor without rolling his eyes.

“Professor,” Harry said respectfully as the man hobbled over to him. He lifted his cane at the
stairs, tracing their pattern in the sky.

“Another ten minutes before these damn stairs rotate this way,” Moody growled, slamming
his cane on the ground. “Come on, we can’t be late.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, following after the stumbling man. He cursed, patting
his shoulder until he found his common flask. Taking a swig of it, he shook his head to the
side in a wild way, hair flying everywhere.

“Back stairs, used when Hogwarts was built.”

“Wicked,” Harry admitted.

With Professor Moody leading the way, the two backtracked further from the Great Entrance
and the din of the students. On the fourth floor, Harry passed the empty charms classrooms,
some papers floating aimlessly around the hallways from exams. The feathers on the back of
his neck prickled and his stomach began to become unsettled.

Harry looked around for a threat but only saw a paper airplane cresting through the air with a
little more sentience than the other papers and his hobbled professor. He brushed it off for
nerves of the Tournament- replaying a false reality where Harry would have to compete in the
final challenge.

The professor led them to a wall next to a stone window. The surveillance charm around the
pitch was finally lifted, allowing Harry and Moody to see the true height the hedges grew to.
The students were piling out of Hogwarts, their voices and excitement able to hear even from
the height they were standing. The night was cool and crisp, a clear sky that showed the stars
which might allow for some competitors to navigate their way to the Winner’s Cup.

Moody lifted his wand to the stone walls and tapped against the stones.

They began to shift from the outside, horizontal stones turning vertical to form an arch
around the walls. The stone windows did not move as the surrounding bricks twisted around.

What was odd was the door only formed a threshold yet revealed no opening.

Harry felt his heartbeat pick up slightly.

“Blasted wards,” Professor Moody growled, tapping on the outer perimeter of the stones.
Harry’s feathers flared a warning again, causing him to take in their surroundings. The
hallway behind him was a dead end, meaning no enemy could approach from behind. The
windows were not casting any shadow as if someone were hiding on the outside as Harry
once climbed from the Verger Estate.

There was only the way out they came and Harry heard no other person approaching.

Professor Moody tapped the bricks a third time and was met with a yellow shield coming
around the threshold, spinning the bricks from vertical back to their horizontal set pattern,
leaving no doorway for them to travel.

Harry’s instincts widened his stance before his mind caught up to the threat around him. It
was disguised here all year, much like the first year of Hogwarts, a Death Eater in professor’s
robes. Harry growled, his feathers lining his spine as he waited for the man to turn and face
him.

Professor Moody, whoever he was, did not turn. His hunched back prevented Harry from
seeing the wand he drew in his left hand, too focused on the one in the right. Professor
Moody spun backwards, tossing a red spell at Harry with speed he’s never encountered
before.

With Parselmagic already collected in his hands, Harry lifted them, a blue shield coming to
block the spell barrelling towards him. There was maliciousness and anger in the spell,
enough that it slammed into Harry’s shield with such force to push him back against the
wall.

His head collided painfully against the stones of the window, his vision swirling with the
lanterns surrounding the Quidditch pitch. Harry tried to keep himself upright but a painful
spell felt like razors ripping through his body.

His back arched, a scream caught in his throat as his body felt like it was stabbed with
needles from within. He gasped, the spell released as quickly as it came.

Harry coughed once, muscles spasming as he twitched on the floor with stunted nerves.

“Help,” he whispered, his voice too weak to shout. He even questioned if he said anything at
all. A hand gripped his hair, shaking his throbbing head by the follicles of his hair.

“No help is coming for you, Potter.”

Curling into a fetal position on the floor, he could only glare at the traitor as another spell
came crashing over his body, dragging him into unconsciousness.

The throbbing in his head was what woke Harry. He felt his head hanging limply, drool and
blood dripping down his tongue. Harry whimpered as he tried to lift his head, vision whiting
out as his ears rang. He could feel heat around his body, see a flickering yellow and red fire.

Cold stone was pressed up and around him, keeping him from escaping if he had any energy
to do so.
“Quit your struggling, boy,” an unfamiliar voice came that sounded almost as if his uncle was
alive and talking to him. A hand came up and gripped his jaw, forcing him to look at a
skinny, disheveled blond haired man. “Do you know how much time you’ve wasted? The
Tournament?” he hissed, tongue coming out to lick over chapped lips.

His breath was awful, making his nose curl as yellowing teeth growled at him. Harry spared a
glance down at the arm holding his chin, and saw a series of tattoos that matched Sirius’ own
skin.

His face was stuck somewhere between Moody and whoever he really was, a transformative
disguise that was detoxifying in his liver. Harry could smell the two conflicting scents on
him, his stomach rumbling from hunger and revenge.

“I imagine it was humiliating,” Harry coughed out. His cheek was rewarded with a painful
slap that only served to make his head throb harder.

Worth it.

Moody, the imposter, moved away from Harry to tend to the fire. Harry gasped, his back
arching as if he could stumble backwards and away from the cauldron large enough to fit a
man.

This imposter was going to perform the resurrection ritual.

Harry took in more of his surroundings, trying to find anything notable to cry for help. A
stone grim reaper was holding him against a bony chest with a stone scythe that he could not
escape from. Tombstones laced the perimeter in an unorganized, decrepit fashion. Some of
them were snapped in half, marble laying on the ground with dirt and grass growing over.
Others were tilted, sunken into the earth and missing their human markers.

His eyes naturally found their way behind the cauldron the man was muttering over to a crypt
that seemed to be leaking evil magic. Harry closed his eyes and searched for his own magic,
trying to find the connection between him and Tom that remained despite him losing the
horcrux.

He was met with an immediate freezing echo of magic coming not from his twin but from the
Husk no doubt resting within one stone coffin.

“Bone of the father, unknowable taken,” the crouched over man muttered. He lifted his wand,
a bone hovering with his control until it fell with a splash into the bubbling liquid.

Harry didn’t pretend to understand the connection with Tom as his parents tried to. For them,
it was simple as knowing they were each other’s twin, two harmonious energies singing
together from different blood and timelines. He didn’t know if Tom was aware Harry could
look through his eyes or if Tom even knew what he was doing.

A new kind of pain erupted in his scar as he tried to reach Tom Riddle, forcing his twin to
utilize their connection and see the danger that was approaching.
The imposter approached Harry with a knife. Harry remembered this part, blood of the
enemy needed to feed the resurrection. In Italy, Harry gave the blood freely and was sure
that’s what changed the ritual.

“Blood of the enemy,” he said, raising the knife to Harry’s right arm. Harry tried to struggle
away as the knife split his skin, cutting deeper as he screamed. “Forcibly taken.”

It hurt, much more than the needle that his father put in his veins to take the two units of
blood. This man seemed content to only have a knife’s amount but left Harry handicapped as
he bled. The man walked away from Harry, the knife rotating to keep his blood on the metal.

I give you freely, Harry willed, watching as the knife tipped over, allowing for gravity to
collect the blood at the tip and drip into the cauldron. A sickening green and yellow foam
spilled over the cauldron, dripping down the sides like bile. Freely, I give my enemy my blood
freely.

Harry looked down at his arm, trying to see how bad the wound was. He was sure that it
looked worse since he couldn’t apply pressure to the wound or hold it upright. The blood
flow was steady and would likely kill him if he was left to hang here for the night.

Not that Voldemort would allow for something like blood loss to kill Harry Potter.

The very same knife that cut into Harry’s arm, the man lifted up in his left hand. His sleeves
were rolled up, exposing the ugly Dark Mark that was stitched into his skin and magic. The
man lifted the mark to his lips, a revenant kiss bestowed upon it before he held the Marked
arm over the cauldron.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly offered,” he said, bowing once to the crypt before the knife
came down.

Harry could admit that he screamed for the man as his arm severed from his being and fell
into the cauldron with a disgusting splash followed by an equally as awful scent of rotting
death.

See this, Tom, please, Harry thought, pleading in his mind’s eye that Tom would at least tell
their parents. He didn’t know where he was but he knew they could help him. Harry still had
hope that he could survive this.

The man, crippled now and blood spraying down the lip of the cauldron, laughed maniacally
as he rolled around in the grass until his legs caught under him. Like a puppet, he lifted
himself off the ground, stumbling through significantly worse blood loss than Harry into the
crypt.

Though he could not see Voldemort, Harry’s scar changed from the blooming throb to a full
on stabbing pain as if it were trying to dig into his brain through the flesh. A stumbling figure
came out of the crypt, his mouth smiling with a wrapped blanket in his hand.

Renewed struggles were fruitless against the scythe. Unable to shift and too exhausted to use
parselmagic, Harry forced himself to watch as the man lifted whatever form Voldemort was
wrapped in the blanket.

The servant dumped him into the cauldron.

Harry felt his insides twist with fear and anxiety, his eyes leaking with tears through the pain
of his mind, the head injury, blood dripping down his arm.

Like the ritual they performed at home, the cauldron cracked down the middle, other lines of
chips and fractures letting the contents of the cauldron leak out.

Harry needed a plan, he needed his wand, he needed to escape. The blood on his arm slicked
it enough he could pull his left hand free. Harry gasped as the wound was pealed back as he
pulled his arm to his chest.

Consumed by fear and instinct, Harry licked over his wound as if he were a human that only
just crawled out of the dirt. Mouth tainted with blood, Harry pulled his head away at the taste
of copper, bewildered at his actions.

Yet, he could see the wound beginning to seal. Blood still surrounded his arm and he could
not pull the blood he lost back within his arm but his saliva seemed to seal up the worst of the
wound. His skin was still cut but the bleeding had slowed to an ooze.

A panicked kind of laugh escaped from Harry’s lips; his father had warned them all that they
might notice some strange healing properties attributed to their saliva. With the upcoming
due date of his little sister, such a young fawn would have unstable shifts and cut the flesh of
their family. To combat such a problem, his father informed everyone that their saliva would
act as a healing agent until the fawn’s shifting stabilized.

Harry didn’t expect to have tested his father’s teaching until the fawn was born.

A pale and bony hand gripped the edge of the cauldron, followed by another. Arms dragged a
knobby and contorted spine upright, rising like a snake from a basket, Harry could see a
scaled pattern lining the man’s pale flesh.

The servant on the floor laughed with exaltation, bowing low to the floor as the man stepped
naked from the cauldron.

“Rise,” he hissed for the first time, hearing the voice brought Harry back to a time he was
much smaller and weaker, where there was commotion and dread, fear and panic, yet he was
unable to do anything but wail in his crib.

Harry shook himself from the flashback as the man rose from the ground, stumbling to put a
robe over his master with his one hand. Once dressed, the man dropped to his knees again in
a bow, his stump hand hanging limply as the other was put to his chest in respect for the man
standing over him.

“Your loyalty to my cause will be rewarded, Crouch,” the Dark Lord said, holding his hand
out to the man. Crouch lifted the stump up to his Lord.
“Thank you, My Lord,” he said, the pain leaving his voice as a new silver arm morphed into
fingers, slotting into his bone and nerve endings. Voldemort turned his new hand over,
revealing a black Dark Mark just as he had on his flesh. The man whimpered in joy, tears of
pain and relief streaming down his face.

Voldemort held his hand outright to the crypt waiting for his wand to smack into the palm of
his hand. Even Harry could feel the synergy of magic hitting the Dark Lord as his wand
reunited with his wizard.

Please Tom, Harry pleaded, panic turning higher as the telling popping of apparition
surrounded him. Black hooded figures wearing white masks gathered around the soggy crypt.
Their masks gave away no emotion but Harry could smell the fear and excitement coming
from many of them.

“Fourteen years you’ve had to search for me,” he said slowly, walking in bare feet around the
cauldron, his wand tapping into his hand as he spoke like a professor ready to discipline a
group of students.

Harry swallowed a thick throat, keeping quiet would be the best way to survive for now. The
longer Voldemort’s attention remained on his followers the more time Harry had to plan to
escape.

“Only one of you truly searched for me,” Voldemort said, giving a mockery of a bow to
Crouch, who was running his flesh fingers over the silver hand with a smile on his face.
Voldemort looked over his followers, a missing eyebrow raised in question as yellow eyes
burned through the night.

Voldemort turned and looked at Harry, a fake kind of sweetness plastered onto his face as his
wand came to his chest.

“Little Harry Potter though,” Voldemort cooed, approaching Harry in a swift movement. He
tried to pull away from the wizard approaching him. “You and I are forever connected by
bloodshed.” He lifted a skeleton hand, hovering above Harry’s scar. “And now I can touch
you.”

Voldemort’s skin was somehow colder than Tom’s. His magic was nothing like his twins,
abrasive and consuming, like it wanted to find the spot in his soul that the horcrux once was
and implode from within. Voldemort’s laughter combined with Harry’s screams echoed
through the silent graveyard.

Voldemort broke away from Harry, hand hovering in a teasing manner.

Harry remembered one day he teased Hercules with a treat and one of the heads ended up
biting several holes in his wrist. He learned a lesson from his dad on not teasing predators
that could take our head off.

Harry was not to be teased and with Voldemort’s hand so close to his mouth, it was only
natural for the Slytherin to lunge forward and snap his teeth down on a bony hand. As he did
with Cordell, blood filled his mouth, angry green eyes glaring into the yellow ones of
Voldemort as he cried out in shock.

Harry smiled at the stunned Dark Lord, blood dripping down his chin in a way that must have
made him look like a vampire.

“Blood of the enemy,” he repeated with a smug smile, swallowing another load of blood,
“forcibly taken.”

His moment of pride was worth the painful crucio that followed his words. As Harry panted,
getting his nerves back in his fingers and toes, held up by the kind grim reaper, Voldemort
spun on his followers.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Voldemort hissed, jabbing his wand at one Death Eater, pulling him to the
dirt onto knees, mask knocked to the side to expose his face and hair. The man kept his head
hung low. “As you didn’t feel the need to search for me, what have you done in my absence?”

Harry grit his teeth at the man, hoping that his eyes might drill holes through his head. Over
the years, Draco had grown more and more morose, afraid, resentful towards his father for
the choices he made.

“The Malfoy Manor is always welcome to you, my Lord and any resources within the estate.
I have furthered your influence in the Ministry,” he paused. “With Crouch no longer acting as
Defense Professor, a ministry official has already met approval for next year's position.”

“And this ministry official, they follow our creed.”

“With malicious efficiency, my Lord.”

Voldemort hummed, about to move onto another Death Eater when he paused. He looked
around Lucius and Harry could see the man paling, his eyes darting in a nervous response.

“What of your wife and child?”

“Traitors, my Lord,” he hissed. Voldemort hummed in consideration before jabbing his wand
at Lucius. The man tipped over onto his sides as his body spasmed in pain, eyes rolling into
his head as screams echoed through the graveyard, vibrating in Harry’s head.

“Traitors should be terminated the moment you learn of it, Lucius,” Voldemort said, standing
over the man attempting to pick himself up from the dirt. “When you next see them,
eliminate them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he panted, pushing himself to kneeling, dirty hair covering his face.

Rage unlike any other erupted in Harry’s body, fueling his stomach and tongue, Harry
growled himself, louder and more frightening than he’d ever done before, pulling attention to
him.

“Touch them and I will kill you myself,” he said, eyes holding onto silver ones so different
from his mate. The moment of silence that fell over them did not scare Harry, he needed
Malfoy to know his demise relied on Draco and his mother’s survival.

“An interesting development,” Voldemort said, wand touching the side of his chin. He
walked back over to Harry, looking him over with critical yellow eyes. His wand came to
Harry’s face, making him flinch slightly due to their last interaction. The man said no spell,
using his wand to push apart Harry’s sweaty hair from his scar. “Would you?” he asked, voice
low enough it was only for the two to hear. “Would you kill him?”

There was no hesitation, no need to lie before an enemy that enjoyed killing and maiming his
own men.

“Yes,” Harry said with as much conviction as he could before his enemy. The man hummed
and Harry felt himself drop to the floor. He gasped at his freedom only to be scruffed and
dragged to his feet by his enemy, hauled over to the kneeling Lucius Malfoy.

The bony hand did not hurt him as it did when it touched his scar. Harry panted, unsure of the
new development that happened as Voldemort offered him his wand. Harry looked up at his
enemy with a bewildered expression, wanting to reach for it, but not sure what kind of mind
game they were playing.

“Do it,” Voldemort said, putting Harry’s wand into his right hand. Voldemort moved Harry
forward before Lucius. “Do what he was too weak to do. Finish the job of a traitor, Harry
Potter. Kill him as you so desire.”

Only, Harry didn’t want to kill Lucius with magic. Selfishly, he wanted to wrap his hands
around the man’s neck and squeeze the life from him as he did to Draco and his mother. He
hadn’t killed anyone with magic, unless the experience with Verger was to be counted. He
had shown violence and hunted with his parents, but never on his own or before a crowd.

He could do it…but the honor wasn’t his; that belonged to Narcissa and Draco Malfoy alone.

“Shame,” Voldemort said. He waved Lucius off, his own wand coming to face Harry’s scar.
“But to be expected from a child in Hogwarts, murder isn’t part of the curriculum.” His
chuckle that followed came out in a hiss. “Let’s have ourselves a duel and I’ll teach you
something, Harry Potter.”

Harry swallowed a thick throat, hoping that help was on the way soon. There would be no
fighting through the mass of Death Eaters, no fighting past Voldemort, only survival until
someone could retrieve him.

Having learned the dueling rules from his father, Harry gathered his wits and raised his wand,
as he backed away from his enemy, never once turning his back or dropping his gaze.

Despite his fear and pounding heart, Harry smirked as he bowed to Voldemort, waiting for
the man to reciprocate. Harry had a wand, he could survive this.

Voldemort seemed surprised but bowed, fire in his eyes as the slits in his nostrils flared with
excitement.
“Avada Kadavra.” he hissed, shooting a green spell right towards Harry. Harry ducked at the
last moment, letting the curse blast into the reaper statue behind him, blowing debris around
them all. Larger chunks toppled over onto Death Eaters, crushing a few of them as the
smaller shards exploded around them.

Harry used the diversion to create more chaos, pooling all his happy memories together in
such a time of fear to cast the Patronus charm. The stag burst free from his wand, charging at
Voldemort with his crown before racing off to do the same to other cloaked figures.

Ducking behind a tombstone, Harry thought of all the spells he knew that might be able to
keep him alive. He could feel an echoing energy getting closer to him, fresh magic coursing
through his veins that was not from his own cashes.

“You’re clever, Harry Potter,” he taunted, only reinforcing the lessons in not playing with
food that his parents tried to teach him.

Seeing a couple of Death Eaters approaching to flush him out from his cover behind the
tombstone, Harry threw jinx and hexes at them courtesy of the Weasley Twins.

He missed the Death Eater approaching from his blind spot, who kicked him towards the
ground. His wand tumbled out of his hand, and the man attempted to kick Harry in the
kidney, forcing him to roll on the grass to avoid the blow.

His hand fell onto the cold metal iron of a broken iron gate pike. Harry didn’t hesitate as he
took it in his fist. He kneeled under the Death Eater halfway through an unfamiliar curse and
jabbed the iron into his belly, piercing the diaphragm and lungs.

The iron pike was not sharp, the blunt edge pushing through the soft material of his organs.
Blood gushed from the wound as the bar slid further into his organs with Harry’s pressure,
traveling down the cold iron and seeping into his own clothing.

The Death Eater gasped as Harry stood, pushing the bar further into his body, forcing the
person to kneel to Harry now. His hands were gripped around the pike, a foolhardy attempt to
remove it only caused the warped edge to further damage his organs.

The noise around them seemed to stop as the man gasped for breath before tipping over to his
side as the ground drew the blood into the soil. Harry snorted, his nostrils flaring as his
bloodied hands twitched at his side defenseless.

A slow clapping sound came from his enemy.

“Quite impressive.” Voldemort looked at the dead man behind Harry, who’s hands had frozen
around the protrusion in his body. “You will die knowing you’ve earned my respect, Harry
Potter.”

His wand was too far for him to leap for it and hope to cast a spell before Voldemort’s hit
him.
“Avada Kadavra,” Voldemort whispered the curse, no need to scream over a din that was not
present. Harry felt like the spell was moving towards him slower as he felt feathers rippling
along his back, down his legs and around knees, to his arms and wrists, preparing for the last
possible moment before shifting.

Another body barreled into him, pushing him out of the way. His magic attached itself to his
twin as Tom reached his hand forward, summoning Harry’s wand.

Tom cursed his counter, a purple array of spells firing off at that man. Their magic meshed
together, two people communicating without words, Harry felt powerful enough to draw
another patronus without his wand. The chaos surrounded them, brilliant white light blinding
the Death Eaters wearing reflective silver masks.

A thought entered his mind, Tom’s voice attached to it.

Crouch, Tom’s voice echoed, he needs to die or he could restart the ritual.

Harry moved Tom forward, willing his patronus to cover them with blinding light as they
maneuvered between tombstones that offered cover. Harry stumbled over a root, lucky
enough that he missed a stray green spell. Picking his head up, Harry found the very same
knife Crouch used to cut his hand off.

Knowing that Tom had to be the one to kill Crouch, the two worked simultaneously, trading
wand for knife, cover for cover, as Harry took over firing spells at Death Eaters attempting to
get close and shield the spells Voldemort threw at him.

Tom put one hand on Harry’s waist, tight fingers gripping him as the other arm threw the
knife towards Crouch. The man could block spells and curses, but not the very same knife
that took his arm off. It embedded itself into the man’s chest, right below his throat, leaving
him gasping with his new hand coming to grip the hilt of the blade.

Harry felt his body turn inwards, stretching like taffy as the scenery changed around him. The
pull of apparition dropped them both to a stone ground painfully. Harry rolled over, his magic
exhausted, body in pain.

“Hogwarts?” he asked his twin, who was laying on the Great Entrance floor looking as tired
as Harry felt.

“Being heir has some advantages,” he managed to say.

“Tom?” Harry asked, pushing himself upright to look at the light brown eyes rolling into the
back of his head. “Tom!”

Two sets of footsteps echoed through the hallways to where Harry was sitting over his twin.
He growled low in his throat, feathers flaring in his scalp as Professor Snape and Dumbledore
halted in the doorway.

“Impossible,” Dumbledore said, stepping forward. Harry rose to full standing, hand holding
his wand in a shaking hand. “Harry,” he said, taking another step, wand in neither hand.
“Please step away from him.”

“Not a chance,” Harry growled, his feathers wrapping themselves around his spine and ribs.
Harry knew he was not in a proper state to be making demands; his face covered in blood
from where he bit the Husk, his sleeves coated in Death Eater’s blood, his uniform caked in
the slimy mud of the ritual.

“You don’t know who that is.”

Harry rolled his eyes, not entirely sure how the situation would play with his Headmaster. His
gaze shifted to Professor Snape, who hardly gave Harry a nod, but enough of a cue that the
man was on his side.

“Please trust me,” he pleaded, a hand to his chest. “Not him,” he scoffed, pointing at Tom’s
unconscious form. “I know why you and the others can’t trust him but please trust me.”

A moment passed, fingers twitching but not calling forth a wand. Severus gave a slow sigh as
he moved away from Dumbledore’s side to stand between the Headmaster and Harry.

“We haven’t been honest with you, Albus,” he said. Harry didn’t know everything that his
parents had planned but it was clear Snape knew some things.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything but please,” Harry begged. “Tom needs help.”

Dumbledore looked over them all for another moment, a critical eye falling on Tom the most.
A beat, a breath of air passed over them all, Tom laying on the floor, Harry with blood
covering him, Professor Snape standing between them both and the most powerful wizard of
all.

“He will be more comfortable in the Hospital Wing,” Dumbledore said, causing Harry to
relax and drop back down to look at his twin. Harry closed his eyes, letting his own magic
follow along Tom’s like a magnet.

“His magical core is unstable,” he gasped, opening his eyes. Professor Snape was kneeling
next to him, running a wand over his body while murmuring in latin.

“What wand did he have?” he asked between incantations.

“My own,” Harry said, “Tom doesn’t have his own yet.”

Harry could see that Dumbledore was slowly making his way to Harry, in the same manner
he did when Harry first revealed his feathers in the forest.

“Fighting his Other did his fractured magic no good.” He flicked his wand, levitating Tom to
hover near Harry. “Your brother wands likely stabilized his magic at the center while the
Other fractured the edges.”

“Neither have a complete soul yet,” Harry said, keeping up with his swift professors as they
made their way up to the infirmary. The stairs reorganized themselves as they climbed, either
 Dumbledore manipulating them or the magic of Hogwarts knowing their heir was damaged
and needed attention.

“You’ve bonded the horcruxes?”

“With the Dark Lord knowing of Tom Riddle’s creation,” Snape interrupted, “he is likely to
search for his others.”

“The only remaining horcrux is a ring that only Tom said he could take. There’s a blood curse
on it.”

As Dumbledore pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, Professor Snape dropped to his
knees, clutching his hand as he tried to breathe through the pain.

“We don’t have much time,” he gasped, collecting himself as he stood upright again. “He’s
very angry.”

Harry laughed nervously as he looked between Draco and Tom, both unconscious on the
bed.

“I can imagine,” he said, “that’s the second time I’ve bitten him.”

Chapter End Notes

Harry, slapped across the face for sass: "worth it" (is this the biological sass of James or
the learned sass of adoptive dad Will?)

I had fun playing with the wards of Hogwarts instinctively protecting Harry from
Crouch so I hope you enjoyed that part as well. We are halfway to the end of the week-
do something you enjoy to celebrate your success!

Thank you for joining me!

 The Enemy- A Mirror
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone and welcome to the party-

tonight, we drink and that's it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It had felt like a lifetime since Tom had been to this shore. He crossed the craigs of rocks
spraying water violently on his face. With magic to guide him, Tom blew back the elements
as if he were a god. Fueled by rage, Tom summoned the boat at the lip of the water.

The ripples of the water passed around him, the infiri circling around the bottom of the water,
waiting to be summoned as soon as the surface broke. He waited impatiently in the dark cave,
his yellow eyes adjusting to the darkness.

He stepped out of the boat before it completely reached shore, his fear of mortality allowing
him the foolish movements. As he was the one who brewed the potion, a simple drop of
blood could make the liquid pass for his hand.

Plunging it into the cursed potion, his arm felt like it was being frozen, creeping thoughts of
fear and mortality sinking through his dermis as fingers coiled around a chain.

Even as he held the locket in his hand, he could not feel the magic of his horcrux. A fake, an
imposter. Fingers clawed at the latch, prying it open with such rage he snapped the locket in
half, dropping the shell to the ground.

To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be long dead before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who
discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I
can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

The roar that echoed through the cave ws enough to shake Tom out of the trance. He tried to
split from his Husk, from the rage and the need to find where his others were hidden. Tom
needed to wake up. There was the ring, and Voldemort would be likely to go for it next.

He felt his spine arch painfully, a more tangible sensation than the one of rage in his soul.
Though Tom's body felt like it was aflame fighting his double, the Husk, something forced
him to wake. Tom struggled, gasping for breath as the clutches of the infiri attempted to drag
him deeper into the water.
“He’s hunting,” Tom said as the muffled world around him clarified. His head felt as if it
were filled with sand, dense and stuck, he pushed past it. “We need to get the ring, now.”

His magic purred at their location, it was strong, Hogwarts, the place he felt safe for so many
years. Here, Tom could rest as soon as his task was complete. Gritting his teeth, Tom tried to
stand from the bed, only for his knees to buckle under him.

A strong hand caught his arm, steadying him until he was on stronger feet. His ears rang,
vision dizzy, until it came back to the face of Severus Snape.

His most loyal of servants…the one who looked beyond the horcruxes and, somehow, found
it within himself to forgive Tom.

“Thank you,” he rasped, testing his legs for a moment. The very hand that steadied him
forced him to turn and look him in the eyes, desperation and pain in those dark black eyes as
the Husk’s anger no doubt echoed in his magic too.

“Do you remember where you hid the ring?” Severus asked.

Tom could ‘remember’ everything he did in a past life if he centered his magic and mind. It
was one of his exercises that his mom and father asked of him. Akin to meditation, Tom felt
himself slip into the vibration of his internal magic.

Images of a past life shuffled like cards in his mind, rotating and spinning around, Tom
focused his magic on finding the last of an inanimate horcrux. In the diary, when he and
Harry were retrieving the horcrux on Samhain at the Black Estate, he felt a flash of a
memory.

The Snake House.

When he opened his eyes, they landed on the green ones of his twin. He stood up, hand
outstretched. Harry handed over his wand without hesitation or thought, so in sync that his
magic did not recoil as he took his twin’s weapon.

“You need to stay here. We can’t both risk getting caught.”

“You have to hurry,” Harry said, the scar on his forehead throbbing and violently red.

“Yes. Mother is extremely territorial. If we weren’t fawns, we’d be dead.”

“If you two don’t mind,” Severus drawled out between clenched teeth, his Marked arm
shaking. “He is less than pleased.”

“We know,” Tom and Harry said in unison. They could both feel the rage from his Husk and
their own fears. Another hand came down on his other side, Dumbledore’s, almost making
him flinch back in fear as the very man who could kill the other was now touching him.

Dumbledore nodded once, his face determined and eyes hard.

“We will escort you to the last horcrux.” Dumbledore raised his wand and proceeded to jam it
into the floor of the Hospital wing. Tom could feel the wards as if they were the nerves in his
body. He felt magic course through the stones, all the way to the foundation of the school far
deeper than the Chamber of Secrets would ever reach.

Thousands of years of magic felt as if they were a dam releasing, coursing around every pipe,
brick and fabric that was attached to the school. Would the other students feel this power?
Would the Husk understand that Dumbledore was intensifying the wards of Hogwarts?

“Where is the horcrux?” Dumbledore asked as he finished strengthening the wards.

“Gaunt Manor,” Tom said, looking up at the man, his strange new ally. Professor Dumbledore
nodded his head as if he had a suspicion about the place. Standing up, Severus Snape walked
to Tom and put a hand on his other shoulder.

Tom apparated away from the sight of his twin who was starting to make his way over to his
courted mate. Joining Dumbledore, the man took the three to his old family Manor, hidden by
numerous spells he once laid over the land to hide his shameful roots.

His legs buckled again but he continued onward towards the door with a brittled snake
skeleton hanging an ominous wreath over the threshold. He could smell fresh blood as he
walked to the door, halting to look around for the scent.

Tom inhaled deeply with the intention to scent the area only to choke on blood. A hand
reached up and touched his new nose, one that his Husk did not have, and found bloody
fingers.

“Well then,” he said, marching onward past the ringing in his ears. At the threshold, Tom
wiped his hand across his nose, not wanting to slice into a part of him that wasn’t bleeding
when his nose was being cooperative.

“Open to your blood,” he hissed, putting his bloody hands on the door as he sent a flick of
magic to the wards that protected the cursed horcrux. The wards flickered around, a wave of
them coming to the door, scenting and tasting his blood with a flickering, tongue-like
sensation. “Let them pass,” he ordered as the wards allowed his new blood to pass through.

Pain stung behind his eyes, either from his Husk becoming enraged at finding another lost
horcrux or the sheer rage of knowing what Tom was up too… either way, the group of
wizards didn’t have much time.

Tom stumbled into the room, his knees weak under him as he dropped to the ground. He
raised Harry’s wand above the floorboards- his magic was crying out. Blasting away the
wood, he brushed the splinters away as his hands pried the boards from the rusted nails with
nothing but his human strength.

“Tacky,” Severus said from where he was guarding Tom, Dumbledore’s shadow handing over
him from where he was standing at the door.
“I have no time for elegance,” he muttered, the feathers on his scalp rising as he felt the Husk
grow closer. No time to spare now, Tom plunged his hand through the misma of dark magic.
The hairs on his arm stood, shifting to his black microfeathers as he reached deeper into the
curse.

Cursed glass, nails and the bones of generations of snakes passed over his feathers,
attempting to slice at his fingers to taint his magic.

“The snake graveyard,” Dumbledore whispered. Tom grunted as he lowered his face closer to
the floor, feeling the hardened shell of protective curses that surrounded the ring. Pulling
himself up from the floor, Tom yanked the magic free of the curse.

The curse dripped down the length of his arm and elbow onto the floor and into his clothing.
Sprawled on the floor, Tom centered his magic for the chaos of being reunited.

“Return to me,” he ordered, sliding the ring onto his finger as his magic opened to the
horcrux within.

The horcrux and the Gaunt house echoed to him, a swirling magic came around him, rattling
the windows until they shattered around him, the doors all closing as his magic fused
together. A rushing sensation coursed from his ring finger through towards his heart, then
proceeded to burrow into his being from the fibers.

“Oh man,” he laughed manically, sitting back on his ankles. Professor Snape and Headmaster
Dumbledore were both looking at him with concern, trying to determine if it was safe to
touch him yet. Severus and Tom both hissed in pain, Severus no doubt grabbing the Mark as
Tom blinked through tears.

The Husk was here- Tom could feel his soul reaching to connect, so close once more,
desperately waving the two of them together without the intellectual knowledge that they
were enemies as they were the same person.

“We got to go,” he said, raising Harry’s wand with a powerful blue shield protecting them all
from the spell his Husk threw at the door. He braced against his own magic with Albus
moving towards the door, ready to attack and Severus at his side to defend.

The spell dropped, leaving Tom to look at his Husk that stood on the brown grass from where
he was propped on the floor. Tom could feel his echoing rage within his chest as if it were his
own.

“Seems we both have a penchant for breaking our ancestral doors,” Tom said, attempting to
stand. His legs drew him up, only for him to fall down. Sparing a look at his body, Tom could
see that his legs were no longer there, but the dusty illusion of magic holding him together
like an Obscural.

With Dumbledore standing in front of the two, Snape cautiously moved forward to Tom,
lifting under his arms to help his torso stand. He could tell the man was nervous to the point
of vomiting, no doubt worried about whatever his Husk might try in recompense for
betraying the cause.
No matter, Tom swore he would protect his followers as Severus was his most loyal.

“I’ve been told Harry frequently uses the chimney as a mode of transportation,” he said in an
attempt to lighten the mood as the three stumbled out of the dilapidated Gaunt Manor.

He felt it, the narrow tube of sliding down soot and bricks until he was spat out at the other
end in a body much smaller than the present one...searching for someone named:

“Beverly Katz,” he whispered, his magic growing more exhausted as his horcruxes reunited
only to be forced to fight the other part of his soul. Severus stopped, looking down at Tom
with a look of surprise as he called the name of Harry and his own muggle savior.

“We need to push through the apparition wards,” Dumbledore said from the door, his wand
held steady in front of Voldemort. The two focused their attention on the trail at hand; they
were trapped within the wards of Gaunt Manor.

Tom could feel the control over his magic slipping as Severus held him, half dragging Tom
closer to the door with a wand in his other hand. Tom growled, the feeling of feathers
traveling down his spine, curling around his ribs. He would not allow the Husk to find out of
his new heritage lest they lose that advantage.

“Severus Snape,” he said in a soft voice that said nothing of his compassion. “Such a shame
to see you in the hands of Albus Dumbledore.”

Tom snarled at his Husk, angry that another part of him would kill his most loyal servant.
Was this Husk so blind he could not see the benefit of Severus beside rather than across? No,
Tom cast this man aside once, disregarded his intelligence and cunning but never again.

Instead of a reply, when they crossed through the door and Tom felt his Other’s lungs take in
air, Tom released the binds around his magic, allowing himself to spread out in a dusty,
chaotic display of magic. The commotion made the Husk flinch, allowing for Dumbledore to
shoot a barrage of spells at him that pushed him further away from the house.

Tom knew he couldn’t attack his Other in this state or he’d risk capture and would once more
be fractured and put in the Diary. Free from physical form, Tom circled around Dumbledore
and Severus, forming a shield of his own magic that the other could not attack without
hurting himself.

The wards were of his own blood, spread as his magic was, Tom could feel the shallow net
above them and simply pushed his violent magical storm against them. They ripped apart at
the seams, a silver shimmer breaking through the sky above them.

“Riddle!” the voice of Severus shouted at him. Tom pushed one more wave of dust to his
Husk, feeling his magic cry in pain as it fought itself before he rushed back, forming enough
of a body to take Severus’ outstretched hand.

Apparition pulled him away from the scene of Dumbledore and Voldemort fighting.
He couldn’t even be sure that this was Hogwarts- did Severus know a secret of the school that
allowed him to apparate or did the foundation of the academy recognize Tom and allow them
to pass?

The magic that flowed through his body was both exhausted from fighting his Husk and
exhilarated it collected another piece. Tom coughed twice, the ring on his finger glinting
black as he sat back on the ground.

It gave him the perfect view of his mother and father blasting the Infirmary doors back on
their hinges.

“You better have a damn good explanation,” his mom growled, feathers flaring along his
curls as blue eyes tracked over everyone, mainly staying on Tom. He could feel the need to
tell the truth, the hypnotic symptom of his pregnancy pulling his tongue to confess.

Harry gave a quick reply that pulled his parents' attention away from Tom enough to haul
himself to standing. Albus Dumbledore was panting hard from where he stumbled into a
chair, tending to a wound that would not stop bleeding. More importantly than his health was
Severus Snape's.

“Before you lecture us,” he found himself saying, practically dragging himself to his loyal
servant's side. “There is something I have to do.”

His fingernails were black, much like the first time he spilled from the cauldron. With sharper
talons of nails, he was able to tear through the sleeve of Severus' shirt, exposing the Dark
Mark that had bitten his loyal follower.

The Mark was different from any he had seen, yet the bite mark looked like it came from his
father. The snake was impaled on each scared fang, limply trying to escape to better strangle
and bite Severus. Where the magical tattoo embedded its fangs and venom was an ugly shade
of purple, red and yellow, that would soon turn black if nothing was done.

“Release this man and return to your True Master,” he ordered, sending a spark of his
magic to the core of the curse binding this man’s magic. Severus' transformation as a
vampire, therefore having limited blood within his body, was likely buying him time…or a
slower death.

“Traitor,” it hissed around the skull. Tom growled, feeling his energy draining beyond his
control.

“Return to me,” he demanded again. This time, the snake hissed his displeasure but opened
wide jaws, slamming fangs back into the first bite. Severus roared, trying to pull away, but
Tom had a grip on his magic, even if it was his intention to free it- no matter how he
struggled, Severus could not escape him.

Tom moved instinctively, knowing that he would not have the magical energy to remove the
spell completely, he put his signet over the snake. While he could not remove the Dark Mark,
he could extinguish the evil, banish the ill intent, and cut Severus’ magic free. The evil of the
 curse fought against the spells around the ring, fighting for control that only served to burn
the curses out.

He was beyond exhaustion, literal strips of his emerald magic slipping around the seams of
his physical body again, Tom had to cut the spell. He panted, looking down at the work to see
the skull was gone and the snake, much smaller.

The tattoo was still there but so much different from the original. It could move, in a
butchered, worm like movement as it had scars on the scaled netting pattern. The snake had
no bind on Severus’ magic-

The man was free now.

“Be nice,” he said, finally dropping Severus' hand and leaning back as the last of his reserves
were slipping. He was able to spare a playful smirk to his twin. “I think I’m going to pass
out now,” he confessed.

Tom felt himself tipping to the side, far too weak to do anything to catch himself from the
ground.

Luckily, he found some allies that were willing to forgive him enough to catch him once
more.

Chapter End Notes

Okie Dokie, this concludes the three part chapter of Voldemort's rise. Thank you for
your patience as I uploaded these- I do hope they weren't too confusing individually but
I hope know everything is a seamless transition.

Onto Sev/Bev news:

I feel like I look out the window and there is a mob of people with torches and demands,
rightfully so, I have said Beverly is coming up but I'm realizing without a proper
timeline, y'all are getting hungry; and in this fandom, that is dangerous indeed. So,
Beverly will return to us after two more chapters have posted. I am working hard on
marinating the story so when it comes out of the oven, it falls off the bone and onto your
plates. I hope that the meat is succulent as you eat it but know that she is on the horizon!
I swear it!

For those of you that loath Dumbledore, I am hoping that I can change your opinion
somewhat as the story focuses on Tom more. I don't want you to love him like I asked
you to love Severus- only that you give him a chance as you did the lonely vampire.
Does Tom remember an echo of Beverly- yes...more on that later...

Thank you all for being here- for your support and love of this story. An author is
nothing without an audience; and you, dear audience, are a wonderful family to have
indeed.
 Forgiveness, Can You Imagine?
Chapter Notes

Hello friends,

I have for you a snack, one that made me cry as I cooked it up for you. It seemed like the
perfect chapter to follow up the Husk's resurrection and I do hope that you feel as much
of this chapter as I did.

Thank you for joining me

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dawn had cracked like the spilling of yoke over the horizon by the time that Dumbledore had
finished all of his duties. There was the natural one of being Headmaster, needing to be
present as the Tri-Wizard Tournament came to an end with Cedric Diggory as the Champion,
proudly holding the Cup as he stumbled back to the arena.

Keeping the peace, Dumbledore gave his congratulations to Mr. Diggory and all the other
Champions, stating that in this time of peace, the wizarding world came together to compete
yet made lifelong friends of it. The other schools passed their congratulations around, all
coming together for a handshake and a photo.

There was a part of Dumbledore that wished to announce to the Minister that his fears were
founded but the man listened to his lies with rapt and smug attention, as if he was the one
who broke Dumbledore.

They would not listen to the truth and if he were to attempt to show it without proof, it would
inevitably harm Harry and Draco or his other students.

At the moment of the speeches, Dumbledore was content to work in the same shadows that
Voldemort was fond of crawling into.

Fawkes alerted the Order of the Phoenix once more with news they would need to find a new
Headquarters to operate. The Black Estate was no longer empty and with the Malfoy family
taking refuge within its wards, Dumbledore would not open the invitation to attack.

Dumbledore had lived for long enough to know that Lord Voldemort would one day return.
Harry’s confession in his third year of the horcrux confirmed every suspicion he had. The
Ravenstag only cleared the mystery of how Harry or, more likely, his parents, found that
information.

Dumbledore did not suspect to see Harry Potter standing to defend a young Tom Riddle in
the middle of the Great Hall as the Final Task went on in the Quidditch Pitch. Harry’s mouth
was covered with blood, as if he’d bitten someone as a human rather than shifting into his
pelt. His arm was steadily leaking blood, dirt and grime covered them both.

Even as Harry pleaded that he trust the boy, his years of giving Tom Marvolo Riddle second
chances weighed on him. Dumbledore, in a moment of morose clarity, resigned himself that
he could shoulder the burden of Harry’s hate if it meant protecting him from Tom. Then,
Severus stepped between him and his students with conviction and steadfastness.

Dumbledore shelved his fears in place for compassion, lifting a broken Tom Riddle off the
stone floor and moving him to the Infirmary.

Fawkes trilled, flapping his wings so they caught in the morning light that filtered through the
windows. Dumbledore walked to the windows edge and looked over the grounds, the dew
beginning to shine like a thousand stars over a green canopy.

He lifted his wand to his temple and felt a copy of the night's events weave into a silver
string. The cord was longer, a heavy memory that he would review numerous times before
the week’s close.

“Balance of light and dark are returning, Fawkes,” he said to the brilliant phoenix. He
chuckled as he raised a hand to the bird's plums, petting the creature gently. “Then, we can
rest.”

Joy and happiness would reclaim the night that Lord Voldemort attempted to taint. The beast
gave a shrill cry, beating his wings as he lifted from his perch to fly out the window and
herald the morning light.

Hannibal felt the wind pass over his feathers and looked up. His mate was sleeping on his
side, wide belly surrounded by his legs from where he was resting on the softest of grasses
and charms. As his pregnancy progressed, Will had taken to sleeping outside in his pelt
claiming that his skin didn’t feel natural for too long.

The little fawn would not be long now, still safely tucked in Will’s womb until he birthed it in
his pelt.

Harry and Tom were sleeping close together, bedded down not far from them. Hannibal
looked at the stark differences of the twins, Harry much larger and with antlers versus his
smaller, magically powerful twin with white feathers still lining his coat.

If his mate’s suspicion on Harry spouting antlers was correct, Tom would keep his feathers
until the Husk was slaughtered. Hannibal stretched his neck forward to softly nuzzle the
feathers behind Tom’s shoulder, grooming them softly.

A flickering glow caught his attention in the distance just ahead of them. Hannibal raised his
feathers, trying to make out the mirage as he scented nothing but the forest around him.
It was coming closer to him, a peaceful kind of glow that had his feathers standing taller. As
he went to growl, alerting his Herd that something had stumbled through the wards, the
image shifted and left him stunned silent.

A doe.

A ghostly doe covered in a soft white aura approached Hannibal and his Herd. For a moment,
Hannibal could almost hear the echo of his mother telling the story to him and his sister of
the Ravenstag’s duty, to carry the souls of their Herd into the underworld.

But that was impossible, a story that his mother only told him and Mischa to get them to
sleep as bombs rained down around them.

Yet, impossibility was before him, walking with grace and gentle dignity. She was no
Ravenstag, a pelt of hair that would no doubt be a tawny brown if it were alive, little silver
hooves and large ears pointing forward.

Tom shuffled, his fawn feathers seeming to sense something and flare around his body.
Hannibal remained still, unsure of what was before him, as his fawn woke. A small gasp
came from Tom’s lips, not enough to disturb the others, but enough that Hannibal understood
Tom knew what was before him.

The doe flicked her ears back, the first time showing her displeasure as she stomped her hoof
on the ground, tail flicking. There was no indentation left on the grass from her displeased
stomp but she shook her head out, the uncharacteristic ire leaving her.

Reaching her silver neck forward, the doe began to nuzzle Tom’s face, grooming over him as
if he were her fawn. For whatever reason, Hannibal couldn’t summon the protective instincts
to drive the mirage out of his territory, feeling peaceful and calm even if he had no idea what
was before him.

With one final pass of her neck over Tom’s head, the fawn’s eyes rolled back into his head,
falling back into sleep as if he were never disturbed.

The doe looked over to Hannibal with white eyes, taking the image in. She stepped around
Tom, bowing her head with one leg extended before she greeted Hannibal with a cool passing
of her muzzle. There was no scent around her, nothing that could prove to Hannibal she was
real other than his eyes taking in the supernatural.

Her ears flicked to the side, head lifting in an alert expression that Hannibal mirrored himself
as he watched over his Herd. Her head followed a sound only she could hear, stopping when
she spotted whatever called for her.

Following the apparition's ghostly gaze, Hannibal felt his heart freeze in his chest, feathers
puffing up to make himself larger against a threat- this time for fear.

There, ten meters from where the doe came, was a small fawn with a pelt of feathers.
 The fawn bleat, an echoing sound carrying through the trees and twilight of night sounding
like bells in his ears he’d long forgotten.

Bleating again, the fawn stomped her tiny hooves before rearing up to attract the attention of
the doe. The doe huffed yet Hannibal could tell there was no annoyance in her posture. She
looked back at him, meeting his black eyes for a moment before they fell on his other fawn,
Harry.

And Hannibal understood.

As much as he desired to walk forward, to follow the doe that turned away from his Herd
towards the fawn, he could not. This pain was theirs to carry as the blessing was theirs to
benefit from.

Hannibal imprinted every moment into his Mind Palace, carving away a section just for this
sacred moment. The doe, having walked back to the ravenfawn, leaned down to calm the
fawn prancing around and between her legs.

The doe nuzzled the fawn, completely enraptured by her, and the fawn taking the love in
without a single care in the world.

A breeze passed, and with it, the blessing of the image.

Chapter End Notes

#FoundFamily
It really did make me cry- Hannibal's trauma coming full circle since he was a child and
Tom baring responsibility for...well- everything. Stealing the line from Hamilton's Quiet
Uptown felt like the perfect title for the chapter because the song is really so deep and
emotional. You can feel every characters grief and desire for forgiveness in the song and
I feel like every character here wants that as well.
It's also an excuse for me to shamelessly cut your hearts out and stab them repeatedly...
 Oyster
Chapter Notes

(whisper)
good evening, friends, family, and those that bare good tidings.
Welcome to a new dawn...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The clock ticking on the mantle was beginning to drive Tom absolutely insane. He had
thought of several different ways to destroy the clock, taking after his parents to come up
with destructive ways that avoided using magic- seeing that it would be more satisfying.

Harry was ignoring his stress by doing his homework in the living room, the quill scratching
along the paper as flipped over textbook pages.

Early in the morning, Will began to have contractions after eating a hearty meal of livers.
They had all prepared for this moment, that Tom and Harry would stay behind in the house
with the dogs as Hannibal assisted Will with the birth.

Ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the resurrection of the Husk, the four spent most
of their time outside in their pelts. The basement fridge was long since stocked with meat and
supplies if their instincts prevented them from leaving the territory.

A paper starling bird fluttered through the open window and landed on Tom’s shoulder,
fluttering once before freezing as a still origami.

“Harry,” Tom said, his eyes stuck on the image of the origami. He could hear his twin stand
from his spot in the living room, excited enough to slide into Tom’s side as he came to look at
the paper bird. “It’s time,” Tom found himself grunting from his twin’s collision.

Harry and Tom checked over the dogs, making sure they had enough supplies to last through
the night if they needed. Harry walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge door, removing
a fatty thigh bone that Hannibal instructed they bring.

“Do you think we have enough?” Harry asked, looking at their growing cashe of organ meat.

With the rise of the Husk and his sister’s upcoming birth, their father absolutely refused them
to leave the territory or ward points. Harry was used to such treatment during the summer and
his mother grew anxious anytime he neared the edges of the wards.

Tom was learning to cope with the muggle world with the surrogacy of his parents. Hannibal
took over many of the muggle excursions once Will outgrew the sweaters and use of charms
to hide his pregnancy. Tom did not enjoy venturing into the muggle world alone… yet the
instinctive need to hunt and provide for his little sister was already germinating in his mind.
Tom had felt the need to hunt for his sister, and came so, so, close to escaping the territory in
the middle of the night.

His father caught up to him with a thunderous gallop that Tom could feel in his cloven
hooves before he could even scent him. Rather than foolishly charge for the wards edges,
Tom stood with his head lowered in the night, feeling them flatten further against his pelt
when his father came to a halt before him.

His father moved forward quietly that eve, his tall crown reaching like the canopy of trees
above them all. Tom lowered his head until his chin was near scraping the grass and summer
buttercups, sleeping in closed pockets during the night.

The wholesome feeling of grooming between his shoulders bled through his mind as he
awaited scolding for sneaking out. He lifted his head slowly, that voice of hope growing a
stronger voice than the abandonment that pushed him from others.

“I believe the term is fast-food,” said his father, walking further from the heart of their
territory, to the edge of the wards.

Tom couldn’t help any of his feathers, fawn or not, from rippling upward with the unknown
sensations as he trotted after his father in the early morning hours.

“I’ll hunt on my own this week.” Tom opened the door for Harry to pass through.

In the last week, his father’s behavior had noticeably changed- somehow more doting, a
growing obsession concerning Will’s protection and both spending the majority of time in
their pelts.

If this behavior was any indication of what his father might be like when his sister was born,
then Tom would be the one to hunt.

“I think I’ll join you,” Harry said, walking down the stairs before he shifted into his pelt.
Harry’s crown was impressive for his age, a testimony to his magical strength and past
victories against the Husk. Tom tossed the thigh bone towards Harry, his twin lifting up onto
his back legs as sharp jaws snapped around the meat.

“You’re not as violent as I am,” Tom spoke with his voice before shifting into his pelt. He
was smaller than Harry, coming up to his shoulders and still speckled with white sharp
feathers. Tom didn’t want to whine about having his feathers instead of antlers but his own
magical incompetence was starting to weigh on his mind.

“I have another sibling to look after, as the older brother.”

Tom’s only response was to flare his feathers, catching Harry’s side with ineffective barbs.
Harry and Tom’s playful banter echoed through their heads as they began to canter into the
forest.
Following the scent of blood, heady and beckoning them closer to his mother, Tom picked up
his pace; though he had a smaller stride, Tom’s lack of antlers allowed him to bend under low
branches and make tighter, near hair pinned turns around trees. Images of a life long ago…
the lack of a mother coupled with the scent of blood…Tom made haste, forcing his twin to
keep up.

It took them five minutes to find the den their mother and father made for the birth. Tucked
away alongside a rock face that Tom commonly explored, the centermost of the space dug
out with soft dirt, pebbles moved to give way to soft leaves. Tom slowed their pace, walking
loudly through the forest to alert his father of their approach.

Cresting the hill, they stopped at the sight of their father curled protectively around another
set of antlers. His mother and father were curled around each other, Will’s head resting over
Hannibal’s flank in sleep. Their collective feathers gave nothing away.

“You may approach,” he said, not looking at them as he groomed over the surrounding
feathers. Harry moved forward first, stepping in front of Tom to walk down into the birthing
den. Two strides behind him, Tom followed his twin.

Hannibal brought himself up on his knees, shifting his body enough that the two could funnel
around the brilliant fawn hiding in the nest of feathers. Tom froze at the sight of her, so much
smaller than he was, impossibly fragile there on the soft forest floor with her little nose
buried in the feather’s of his mother’s pelt.

“She has so many spots,” Harry said, approaching the nest as he buckled his knees until he
was laying with his back against Hannibal’s belly.

Tom looked over his mother to the little fawn they were protecting and felt his legs buckle
down to get closer to her. She was beautiful and so, so small. So much smaller and vulnerable
than Tom had ever seen another human being.

“Her name is Mischa,” his father said, his voice silent and rich with warmth. “Mischa Verity
Graham-Lecter.” Tom felt his feathers flare as he reached his nose forward, gently scenting
her neck.

Purity, that was all he could think of her. A precious, clean slate of magic resting in a nest of
dark feathers- a creature that would grow to such violence, so innocently sleeping next to his
mother. Tom didn’t feel the soft feathers hitting his knees as he bedded down, only burying
his nose further into her scent.

Mischa’s white feathers slid over his nose, above the bridge of his eyes, immersing himself
into her pure magic. A soft pulling of his own feathers brought him out of her magic and to
his father, who huffed at him once before grooming over Tom’s face.

“Look Tom,” Harry said, nudging him with his snout. “You finally get to be the older
sibling.”

Tom reached forward to retaliate at the comment, biting down on one of Harry’s antlers to
shake him.
“Boys,” Hannibal cautioned, not wanting their play to harm the new fawn. Tom looked back
at his father, teeth still wrapped around Harry’s antler like the picture of Lucifer before his
fall.

Tom pulled once more on Harry’s antlers, staking his claim as the older sibling, before he let
go of them.

Their commotion disturbed his mother’s sleep. Will moved his muzzle along Hannibal’s
flank, dark eyelids blinking awake before they settled fondly on Harry and Tom.

“Fawns,” he whispered, reaching his neck forward to groom over Harry’s face, then to
Tom’s. Not to be outdone, Mischa’s nose twitched in the feathers as she woke. Unlike
mother, Mischa picked her head up, immediately alert of the others that joined her.

She turned her head, looking from Tom to Harry, nostrils flaring to take in their scents. Tom
felt his own flare, worried that somehow, now Mischa was awake, he would harm her. Images
of the night he attempted to cut her from his mother’s womb made bile come to his throat;
how could he have harmed something so radiant?

Harry reached his nose forward, licking over her feathers in a playful stroke that had pulled
her face back.

In a snap of retaliation, Mischa lurched her jaws forward and bit down on one of Harry’s
antlers. She seemed surprised by her actions, simply holding his tines between her teeth as
Harry laughed. Tom watched as Mischa released the antler then licked over Harry’s face in
approval.

Wiggling her nose, she turned her attention to Tom, ears alert and forward onto him. He felt
himself move forward without thought, reaching his magic out to connect. Mischa met him
half-way, soft bursts of scenting coming from her small form.

Tom could feel his eyes roll into the back of his head as he rubbed over her, Mischa’s pure
magic coiling over his own white feathers. The magic that surrounded their nest was potent,
seeping into the parts of him that were frayed along the edges. He felt Mischa purr, a soft
rumble escaping from her neck as Tom groomed her.

A sharp pain brought him out of his reverence, ear throbbing as exclamations happened over
him.

Mischa almost had what appeared to be a smug expression on her face, her tongue coming to
lick his blood off her lips, white feathers fluttering with a familiar expression of joy. He
watched her throat bob, clearly swallowing some of the ear she’d bitten off Tom.

Tom chuckled, his eyes not removed from his little sister even as his father’s hands gripped
the teen’s head, twisting his wand around Tom’s bleeding ear. The throbbing of his ear, the
concerned whispers of his parents and brother, all unnoticed as his magic, his thoughts…

All consumed with some fierce need to never allow the Husk to dare touch her.
*

Tom turned the knob on the door as silently as he could, sneaking into the house with Harry
close on his heels. The dogs lifted their heads from where they were laying in the living
room, Winston and Hercules standing to greet them.

Harry crept through the living room and into the kitchen, taking care to mind his bag of
groceries. Tom followed after his twin, both silently unpacking their cooler and putting the
items into the fridge.

The sun would soon bring golden light to their crimes in city Italy as they would be safely
tucked into bed once more. Harry hid a yawn behind his hand as Tom closed the refrigerator
door.

Since Mischa’s birth, the Herd expanded their hunting territory. Her constant transformation
required an increase of calories. Sharp teeth in her pelt could strip meat away from bones
while soft gums contained by human flesh were needed to nurse. The shifting also forced
Will to eat more food in both forms to provide for her.

Hannibal assured them all that Mischa would have better control over her shifting after a
month. Much like a human baby, her feeding schedule was frequent. It was humorous to find
Mischa in her crib with little white feathers, bleating in demand for food. Or the moments
they were all huddled together in a nest of feathers for her to shift to human flesh, clumsy
fingers fascinated with their feathers.

Tom turned his attention to the stairs, hearing the soft padding of his father coming to greet
them. Dressed in a soft maroon sweater, he greeted them both with a proud smile.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered. Harry, already taking the order to heart, turned and walked out of
the kitchen for his room. Tom still felt his magic pulsing under his skin, the thrill of the hunt
tangible in his fingers.

Seeming to notice this, his father waved him into the kitchen. When Tom was close enough
to greet, his father ran a hand through his hair, his fingers landing on the severed half of
Tom’s ear. Tom shrugged. Hannibal's smile was one of teeth.

In the produce basket were several ears of corn, another staple that the Herd added to the
house. His mother, in the second part of his gestation, developed an intense craving for corn
products.

Cornbread was among Will, and therefore Mischa’s, favorite and most craved treat.

As the sun came up, Tom took the fresh corn over to the kitchen sink, looking over the dew
points that sparkled like diamonds on the earth’s canvas. Tom dug his fingers into the husk of
the corn, stripping away the green protective skins and putting them in the trash. As he
finished an ear of corn, he washed away the hairs and any other imperfections that stuck in
the tracks of kernels.
“You call him a Husk,” his father said in his slow, melonic tone. Tom paused his movement,
the stalk of corn in his hand, fingers wrapped around the hair fibers. Tom stripped away the
hair, ripping and tearing the green flesh and golden hairs free. “Do you feel as if you are
without meat in the center? That you are empty?”

Tom breathed slowly and closed his eyes, feeling his magic pulsing around his fingertips.
Calmly disposing of the corn’s shell, Tom set the ear down and looked at his father.

He simply said: “Does everything have to have a point with you?”

Tom turned on his heels and walked out of the kitchen’s back door that led into the forest. He
didn’t look back at the house, knowing if he did, he would find his father looking at him from
the very window he looked out.

What he didn’t know was that Will had woken, stumbled down the stairs, and witnessed the
entire interaction. He laughed at Hannibal’s stunned expression. For all that he was a snake
by blood, Tom had the tendency to react like an angry hedgehog.

“I’ll take full credit for that,” Will said with a smile, putting his hands over Hannibal’s chest
to feel his heart beat. He turned Hannibal’s head away from the fawn he angered.

Cantering deeper into the forest, Tom allowed himself to become immersed in the magic that
surrounded the house. He could feel it’s abundance like a balm over his soul, so content and
warm even if he was missing a part of himself to the Husk.

The humidity of summer would soon become uncomfortable for Tom within his pelt, but the
dew slicking over the feathers on his hooves cooled him this morning.

It wouldn’t be long before Tom would go back to Hogwarts and for that, he would need a
wand. Most of the magic that Tom had cast since his resurrection were simple spells and
exercises that his mother instructed him to perform. His father explained that his magic was a
muscle that needed time to grow on it’s own before he could channel it through a wand.

Slowing to a trot, Tom crossed through the river, taking steady steps as the stream rushed
over his pelt. Though he did not have antlers like his twin, his muscles were strong despite
the fawn feathers he was speckled with. Free of the water, Tom shook out his pelt, splattering
water and oil over the clover that collected around the water basin.

Refreshed, Tom walked onward with no particular path in mind. The forest was familiar, his
parents spent many hours with him here- teaching Tom how to hunt on his hooves as Nagini
watched safely from a tree or the one time that they brought a human within their territory
and let him run. Tom knew this territory when it was peaceful and in it’s violence.

Tom stood to attention when he smelled ash and fire. Feathers prickling with instinctual fear,
Tom listened to the forest around him. The birds were still chirping peacefully, hunting for
worms or materials to gather for a nest. Rabbits were not far off, hopping in the meadows of
clover he passed moments ago. The air above him held no cloud of smoke and the trees did
not crack with the snapping of fire.
A cry called out in the dawn above him. Tom stepped forward into a path of light where the
trees separated, nose pointed to the sky as he searched for any flames

A mirage of fire and sunlight flapped its wings, too powerful for Tom to see with the naked
eye. He could smell the phoenix coming closer to him until it finally landed in a plumb of
smoke and ash before him.

The creature of resurrection tilted his head at Tom, wings of fiery reds, golds and blues sitting
in an elegant pattern of sunrise. Fawkes trilled at him, lifting his head high in a sense of
approval. The creature turned his beak to his tail, the most colorful pattern within his
feathers.

Fawkes presented him a white feather, clutched in his beak. Tom snorted, the smoke and ash
that coiled around the bird filling his nose. He leaned forward, intending to take the feather in
his teeth, only when his bones connected with the feather, he saw a different image.

The image of Fawkes came to Harry once before, when his twin pulled free one of his own
fawn feathers and gifted it to the phoenix in exchange for another. Only, Fawkes’ feather
turned to ash, falling like a strange baptismal over his nose.

Tom opened his eyes, fingers twitching around the feather he tried to take with his teeth.
Kneeling within human flesh before the bird of resurrection, Tom felt his eyes water, mouth
consumed with fire and ash as he coughed. Harry’s fawn feather fell to the ground as he
choked on ash, almost spitting it from his mouth.

The coughing fit passed quickly, leaving him parched as the slimy ash coagulated around
itself to form a second black feather. As a strange, ancient knowledge passed over him, Tom
shifted forms.

A laugh escaped his lungs as shaking fingers came to cradle both feathers. They were
identical in size, perfectly contrasting. One white ravenfawn, a feather of a death creature,
and a black feather from the phoenix of resurrection.

Sitting up, Tom ran his fingers through the soft moss around him. He clenched his fingers
around a shaft of wood, fitting perfectly into his palm. Closing his eyes, Tom cradled the
three components together, centering his frayed magic.

He could feel it slide around Harry’s feather, in complete synchronization with the long
dormant magic. Tom’s magic pulsed against the feather, feeling each and every fiber as it
wove itself like netting alongside Fawkes’ feather. Tom could feel heat coming from his
palms, his throat becoming dryer, sweat pricking on his forehead.

Unlike a dam of rushing magic outpouring from his magic, Tom felt it grow within his chest,
finally acknowledged and ready to be used in full. Pushing it forward, Tom guided his energy
through his center, directing it like water to the components in his hands. In his mind’s eye,
Tom could clearly see the two feathers molding together, coiling between stalks until they
formed one. The feathers fell into the stick he blindly plucked from the forest that offered
him so much protection.
Gasping, Tom opened his eyes as a wave of magic flowed from him to the wand within his
long fingers. He watched as his green magic, like the clover and the moss growing around
him, spilled from his chest, down the length of his feathered hands to where it twined with
the components in his grasp.

The flash of green had him closing his eyes, feeling three resonating strings of his soul pulse
together, the leaking one that came from his Husk, and one filled with vitality from Harry,
both likely feeling an echoing pulse within their own souls.

Peace, for the first time since spilling from the cauldron echoed through him, from all sides
of his frayed magic. Culminating together, Tom opened his eyes with a sense of awe- a
simple wand in his hand, unassuming, neat and clean- a balance of polarity and magic.

Tom felt water leak from his eyes as his fingers curled around his new wand, perfectly
balanced to his magical core.

Eyes brimming with tears of his labor, Tom sat back on his legs with a smile, feeling the
warmth of the sun hit his face as dew seeped into his trousers. Fawkes fluttered his wings, a
warm gust of air echoing through his magic as the bird began to lift off the ground. Embers
filtered through the sky like fireflies before he gave one final cry and disappeared in a flash
of warmth.

His walk back to the house was on foot, passing through the glowing forest with a deep
rooted calm in his mind. His wand was attuned to his fractured magic perfectly, humming in
his hand as he returned to his home.

On the front doormat was a letter neatly wrapped in blue ribbon. Tom plucked it from the
floor, recognizing the elegant pureblood handwriting of Narcissa. He smirked as he ran his
fingers over the magical seal, knowing the contents of the letter without needing to open it.

As he opened the door, Tom was greeted to the excited squealing of Mischa, held in his
father’s arm as his mother passed over a bottle. Her blonde peach fuzz like an angel’s halo,
magic just as bright as her smile.

“Tom,” his father said, taking notice of the object in his hands. Tom smiled as he was drawn
to Mischa’s energy, her light and magic. Putting his wand and the letter on the table, his arms
came to wrap around his father and take his little sister into his arms.

“Thank you,” he hissed in Parsletongue, allowing a flicker of his magic to extend beyond the
feathers on his arms into the ones she had speckled over her flesh. Mischa giggled up at him,
flashing her gums as she tried to reach for the ear she’d bitten.

Breakfast passed in a sort of haze for Tom, his magic tingling throughout his body. He heard
Harry come down the stairs and felt when his twin touched his new wand, like a hand pressed
warmly on his soul. Tom listened to his mother and father talk about Narcissa’s invitation to
the Black Estate on a night of a full moon. As if watching himself through a television, Tom
noted that his father seemed to be hesitant about going into new territory while his mother
reassured him that all would be well.
 Mischa babbled on his lap, taking the bottle into her gums and sucking greedily with sharp
fingernails cutting into his hands. Tom cared not for the blood of his she shed, content to bask
in the warmth and peace of her magic.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for joining me this evening and every day that you are here!
I know some had names for the little baby fawn but I kept it Mischa to be consistent
with the last fic but I hope that you like the addition of her middle name. She is a little
feisty- already getting a taste of human flesh from gnawing off Tom's ear. It is a homage
to Abigail's ear in Hannibal (TV) canon.

...next chapter features some Bev/Sev content- I thank you for your continued patience!

I love you all and wish you the best going forward! (Pray for me as I approach midterms
I am, in vulgar terms: fucked"
 Musings of Prince Charming
Chapter Notes

Oh! Is that you all breaking my door down? Well, by all means, please enter for I am so
very thrilled and elated to offer you this feast!
I thank you for your trust, beyond elated and excited that you love Bev/Sev as much as I
do. The chapter title, btw, was too good to give up as a topic...blame JK.
There is some spicy smut- you've been warned...or beckoned...
Thank you for your patience- this chapter took time to do justice for all of you and I
hope it serves you as well.
Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The thermos containing cold brew was leaking thick droplets of perspiration onto the case
files scattered over the large counter. Fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the room in an
unnatural lighting burned her eyes as Beverly attempted to complete the last of her
paperwork while cataloguing her findings.

Rubbing her hands over her eyes did not bring any relief, only the sensation they were dried
and in desperate need of sleep. Tried as Beverly might, no amount of sleep was rejuvenating
anymore.

Beverly had suspected an FBI burnout but Graham gave her other factors to weigh in her
mind.

There was a knock at the door, the sound cutting through the hours of silence startled her to
almost spilling her forgotten coffee on the table. Beverly sighed when she saw it was only
Jack coming to greet her. He said nothing as he looked over the photos on her table, different
sticky notes attached to the chaos of the killer and her own disorganization.

As the years went on, the weight of Jack’s position only seemed to grow heavier. Though, the
summer month of June was when all agents witnessed the weight, only more palpable as he
approached another anniversary of his wife’s death.

He cleared his throat, sitting on the edge of the table.

“You know,” he started. Beverly resisted the urge to groan, feeling as if this was going to be a
poor pep talk. “Before...before Bella told me,” he said, still unable to even mention the word
cancer. Hearing it during cases made him tense and the team was wise enough to only use the
word if absolutely necessary. “She would do what you're doing, right now,” he said, pointing
to her work.
Beverly sat back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other as her hands came over her chest
in a defensive position. It didn’t take an agent of the FBI to know she was mulling something
over.

Though Jack didn’t know it, Beverly’s body was changing. She confessed as much to
Hannibal and Will, that she was eating food with more iron like steak and spinach but there
were other things she noticed as well; mainly, with her period. It caused her immense pain-
the cramps were near unbearable to deal with some days. To men, it was easy to pass off; the
simple mention of menstruation had men turning their heads in repulsion. Coupled with the
little that they understood of periods, they excused her intense pain as normal and said
nothing of it.

It only hurt a little.

“I ignored it then and it cost me time with her.” Jack said, pulling her from her wavering
thoughts. Judging by the way that he smiled, Beverly knew that the man caught her drifting
off. “So you are going to tell me what is going on, not as a coworker but as a friend.”

Beverly almost laughed if the situation wasn’t so conflicting. Tell Jack what was going on?
Where did she begin: Hannibal being the Chesapeake Ripper or that he and his husband were
both magical people? Did she begin by explaining that it was Harry who ate Verger, a
magical, cannibalistic deer? Jack would have thought her mind was broken.

That hurt more.

“Remember a couple summers ago,” Beverly started, moving some of the pictures so she
wouldn’t have to look at him as she formulated a story. She remembered herself, feeling a bit
lonely without her friend Graham and his salty, dark humor. “The bee lady?”

“I had stashed that memory away, but thank you for bridging it up,” he said, pushing her
shoulder to show he was only trying to be humorous.

“Well,” she said, finding her cheeks warming with a blush at how stupid it was all going to
sound, like she was some homegrown girl in school with a crush rather than an FBI agent
with a penchant for domination. “I kind of...met...someone,” Beverly said slowly, finding her
hands playing with themselves in a subconscious tick of nervousness.

She laughed at Jack’s face, finding it easier to face his surprise than her own embarrassment.

“So Prince Charming comes in and sweeps you off your feet?”

Beverly laughed and that opened her up. She didn’t tell Jack about magic or that Severus was
a vampire. She explained that she connected with someone, for the first time, that didn’t pry
into her life as an agent as other partners would. Beverly had found another person that
shared a chemistry; tit-for-tat, teasing, bristled comments, and dark humor.

Jack nodded his head along as every agent knew the struggle of finding a partner that
wouldn’t bring up trauma to sate their natural curiosity.
Severus understood the horrors that would sink into Beverly’s mind after the events or body
was taken away. She knew that she could find something in Severus the night they were ready
to test the vaccine- only hours before having to leap out of a car that left her body battered
and bruised. Beverly offered a brief summary of the event and Severus accepted it with a
nod, only asking the questions: where is the pain and how can I relieve it?

“It’s stupid,” she said, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, finding that tears were being
brought to her eyes. Before she could humiliate herself further in front of her boss, she started
packing up the photos on the table. Jack laid a large hand over her right shoulder.

“It’s not,” Jack said, his gaze steady and calming as she sat back in the chair. “People in our
profession...we don’t get many opportunities to find happiness. The things that we bring
home, in here,” he said, pointing to his head, “scares people away.” He sighed, neither
looking at the other.

It was her third year in the FBI when Beverly resigned herself to the fate of being single for
the rest of her career. She was at one of the Christmas parties, her date using the excuse of
going to the restroom to break away from the tension. Alone, she had the vantage point of
looking over every patron at the party. Those that were agents were talking to themselves,
whispering about cases and leads while their civilian dates spoke awkwardly at one another.

She left to get some air. Come to think of it, that was how she met Will Graham, slumped
over a railing. Beverly introduced herself to him by holding out the flask she snuck in. It was
only after they finished her flask that he gave his name.

“Do you know if this Severus,” Jack asked, tasting the name on his tongue, “feels the same
way?”

The guilt came with his question. She absolutely knew that Severus felt the same if he needed
her scent to survive. A wave of pain hit her abdomen, no doubt psychosomatic, but there all
the same. Yes, Will and Hannibal both explained as much; that they were somehow bonded
through magic.

“Your silence says yes.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Will said something similar,” he said with a smug expression. He smiled with a roll of his
eyes. “Will eloped to Europe; what’s stopping you?”

“Uh, my career, apartment, bank accounts, citizenship, travel expenses,” she listed on one
hand.

“I heard you talking to Price that your lease was coming up. With this new information, I’d
say you’re projecting.” Beverly groaned, putting both elbows on the table as she gripped the
back of her head. No matter the list she rattled off, Jack was right; she imagined solutions
where finding Severus worked. “What’s stopping you?”
“Jesus, Jack, I’m scared!” Beverly finally said, standing out of the chair, her heart pounding
in her chest. “I’d be diving head first into the unknown,” she said, knowing that her tone was
beyond professional.

Jack didn’t look surprised or angry about her outburst, sitting in the same passive position
that made him the great interrogator he was.

“You want some tough love? That’s life, Beverly. That fear? That means that you are alive
and so close to a world of new opportunities.” Jack stood up and walked towards Beverly. He
put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t say I have the answers keeping you from your Prince
Charming, but I can call in a couple of favors to Interpol and see about your career.”

Jack patted her shoulder once, moving away while she was left in silence. He rounded the
corner of the open door and walked down the hallway, his footsteps growing fainter. Beverly
listened and could hear that he used his badge to open the door at the other side of the
hallway, too far for normal ears.

Beverly stood up and ran after Jack, managing to catch the door before it closed, Jack
halfway down the stairwell. It only confirmed more obscure thoughts that her physiology was
changing- Beverly was faster now…

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at him. He gave her a quick smile, then continued down
the circular spiral- leaving her to her thoughts.

When Beverly made it back to her apartment, she took out the tin of chamomile tea that
Severus felt the need to break into her home to gift her, now almost out of it. She held a mug
in her hand, wiping her finger over the chip that split the seam. Beverly used to be an avid
coffee drinker until Severus introduced her to tea by way of force.

It was a fond memory that invaded her mind more of recent; Beverly thought it humous as
they worked together, that Severus vehemently disapproved of coffee.

One occasion, when she lifted her hot mug, she expected to find coffee, but the flavor on her
tongue was a black tea.

Beverly removed the postcard off the fridge where she threw a magnet over it. There was a
picture of a tiny baby on the front, sleeping peacefully in a sage green blanket. In the gold
script beneath the photo was her name: Mischa Verity Graham-Lecter.

On the flipside of the photo was a date for a baby shower in the middle of August. There was
an address, with the addition of a country: LONDON. Beverly knew that the shower would
only be a couple of weeks before Severus was required to teach.

It was an invitation into their life, the only formal that would ever grace Beverly’s path. At
least Hannibal was kind enough to send her a card rather than a canvas. Beverly knew herself
well, well enough to determine fear was what kept her from calling Severus’ number.

Beverly's skills as a profiler had grown without her friend; Severus was a former gang
member working as a spy, he likely had more to fear of Beverly than she did of him. Beverly
did not fault Severus for not connecting…Several deleted drafts existed in the void of her
phone, neither reaching.

Exhaling audibly, a quake in her arms made Beverly stretch, the RSVP still in her hands as
the tremors took several minutes to pass. Numbing pain around her shoulders, a constant
weight that Beverly had noticed in passing a year ago, felt the full burden within the last
year…

A cold sweat beaded across her brow, collecting around the shell of her eyes as she noted the
time passage- the longest of tremor spells.

Testing her fingers by tapping the cardstock, groaning as she came upright.

Beverly picked up her phone with shaking fingers, her heart hammering in her chest. She
scrolled through her contacts and clicked on Will’s, putting the phone to her ear. As the phone
rang, she wasn’t sure what she would do if Will didn’t pick up; would she lose her nerve
entirely?

“Beverly,” Will said, the sound of dogs and laughter behind him. The urge to light a cigarette
almost consumed her.

“Congratulations,” she said, her voice caught in her throat, at a loss of what to say. Will
laughed on the other side of the phone.

“Thank you. She is…” he lost the words, no doubt looking at her from wherever he was.
Beverly looked back at the postcard, biting a piece of flesh from her lips and swallowing it.

“And everyone else?” Beverly asked, both knowing that, sometimes, a new baby could drive
a rift into families. She was a cute baby, curled up in her sage blanket like a little toaster
strudel…Beverly’s smirked as a seed planted in her mind.

“The boys love her very much. Tom is especially protective over Mischa; it makes Hannibal
very proud.” Will was quiet again, leaving enough time for Beverly to remember her anxiety.

She tapped the hollow tin of tea, the sound no doubt echoing through to the other side of the
phone. Beverly opened her mouth to speak, grinding her teeth in frustration. Her eyes grew
hot, she ran a hand through her hair, scratching her scalp with sharp fingernails.

“Will,” she said, sounding lost, feeling lost as she looked around at her apartment of years-
filled only enough to look lived in yet not home. Beverly’s heart was pulling her away, away
from everything that she knew, against sound logic.

“It’s okay, Beverly,” he said, his voice understanding and empathetic in ways that were vastly
different from what she heard in the field.

Beverly shook her head, exhaling slowly as she felt a tear pull from her eyes. Why was this
so hard? The pounding in her chest felt as if it could be heard from the rooftop as she stood in
the din of silence, the blinking green clock on the oven ticking another minute of her life
away.
Rasping the tin against the fridge, where she discovered Severus’ true secret, she took in a
deep breath and willed the knot away from her stomach, the plug from her throat and spoke
with intention.

“I’m in,” Beverly whispered, a tear falling down her smiling cheeks, heart still thundering
only this time, it came with lightning that sparked through her veins as if all the energy
released would light up from within.

Relief, sweet relief of air and breath entered her body; if she concentrated hard enough,
Beverly swore she could feel all of the good chemicals releasing in her brain as her
confession rushed a reward response.

Though Beverly could not see it, she somehow knew that Will was smiling from the other
side of the phone. It was likely that smirk of: ‘who’s surprised that I was right?’

“I’ll see you for the shower,” she said, her voice stronger but still shaking. Beverly moved
from the kitchen to her laptop, scrolling through the plethora of tabs open to the moving van
section; prices of boxes, packing peanuts, and tape all neatly categorized.

“Mischa is looking forward to it,” he said. Beverly laughed, wiping away another tear. She
didn’t own many large items, the majority of her life was spent with the strange collection of
individuals in the FBI, all hiding their own darkness by searching to extinguish it in others.

“Only Mischa?” she joined, eyebrow raised as she stroked the fading edges of the tea tin.
Will hummed, the sound of Harry’s cracking voice breaking through the din.

“Maybe Harry.”

Beverly chuckled, a couple of mischievous thoughts running through her head as she recalled
her night with Harry after the Verger incident.

“Well you tell Bambi I’m bringing him strudels.”

Will chuckled over the phone, no doubt sparing a look at the man of high dining tastes.
Beverly wondered if the elegance of his meals would change as a young, newborn daughter
would monopolize all his free time.

“Hannibal will be pleased,” Will laughed, like the liar that he is.

“Hannibal will be pleased about what?” Beverly heard Hannibal say, closer to Will.

“That I’ll be seeing you for the shower,” she said, not wanting him to veto her offerings to
Harry, hearing Will hum along. Even with an ocean and years between them, they hadn’t lost
their friendship- two messed up partners in crime, solving crime.

“Excellent. We’ll be picking you up soon then.”

The tone of Hannibal’s voice had her cautiously nervous. Considering she survived outing
them as cannibals and lived, Beverly didn’t think she should be concerned for her life but the
choice of moving on her own accord.
“It sounds like you’re warning me I’m going to be kidnapped in the distant future.”

“Perhaps you do have a magical affinity; divination is a mystic art.”

Beverly’s dark sense of humor couldn’t help but find a smile from Hannibal’s jibe.

“If it’s any consolation, I’d appreciate not being kidnapped.”

“We’ll take it into consideration.”

Beverly was neither an empath or a seer but it didn’t take a genius to know: she was likely
going to be kidnapped…again…

Severus bandaged her up nicely the last time though, so perhaps, a kidnapping would do her
some good.

It could be argued that… moving in the heat of July was not one of Beverly’s wisest choices.

The suppressive heat won every battle against the AC Unit running in her window as she
packed her life into boxes. The kitchen was empty, old grease stains and lines exposed to
dust. Her fridge was cleaned of all supplies save for the sole box of sodium bicarbonate.

Beverly walked out of her bedroom with a pile of freshly laundered sweaters, placing them
around the last of her fragile objects. After she finished taping the last box, she clapped her
hands together with a sense of finality.

She looked up when she heard a knock coming from the other end of the door. As people had
a frequent tendency of breaking into her apartment, friend or not, she kept her gun on her hip
for such moments.

“So now comes the kidnapping?” Beverly asked as she opened the door, her other hand
resetting the safety on the gun. Hannibal held his hands to the side in a sign of surrender.

Beverly stood straighter; Severus showed her that a wizard with his hands up was as
dangerous as one without, clearly not needing their wands to cast spells. Hannibal Lecter, the
Chesapeake Ripper, was a skilled killer that evidently did not need tools to end the lives of
others.

“The shower is in a couple days,” she heard Will shout from down the hall, no doubt pissing
off a couple of her neighbors. Beverly remained still for a moment more, as if she had
something to prove to the killer in front of her.

Will walked from around the hall, moving around Hannibal to stand in front of her. After a
moment, she relented, stepping to the side and allowing them both to pass. As they looked
around at the boxes she’d accumulated, Beverly took in the sight of her friend, no longer
swollen in the middle.

Magic…
“Ready?” Will asked, crossing the boxes to make his way closer to her. Beverly looked
around at her empty apartment, her lonely life stored in cardboard, taped up and ready to go.
She handed the keys to her landlord earlier that day, finishing the last of her paperwork.
Three days ago, her final check from the FBI hit her bank account.

The only thing that wasn’t packed up was the small backpack slumped against a tower of
boxes containing her passport and other valuable information she might immediately need.
Beverly took a step back in surprise when the boxes began to shrink in on themselves,
becoming smaller and smaller until they were no larger than dice scattered on the ground.

Beverly knelt to the ground and collected a small handful of her things. She folded the cubes
over in her hands, the cardboard still as malleable as if it were in the larger size.

“Magic has its advantages,” Beverly said, echoing Severus’ very words after he finished
magically packing his apartment.

That sense of dread prickled in her mind, warning her of the predators surrounding her.

Hannibal had a smile on his face as his wand flicked over the rest of the room. Beverly
watched as her boxes, now the size of dice, all filtered around him. He took his maroon
pocket square and performed some kind of trick, making it into a pouch.

The floating dice deposited themselves into the bag, becoming no larger than a change purse.
He reached for the bag, the magic dropping into his hand. Hannibal offered the pouch, light
and defying all laws of physics.

“Thanks,” she said, letting the dice she collected roll into the small pouch. Beverly had no
idea how she would get her things back to the right size, but she supposed she could ask
Severus about that.

“You live at this address now, correct?” Hannibal asked, handing her a slip of paper.

It was the new apartment she rented, out of the heart of London, accessible by the
Underground so she could commute to Interpol HQ.

“Did you get this from magic or your illegal contacts?” Beverly asked, finding herself
smirking despite the total creep factor these men could track her using means she had no way
of accessing.

“We have our ways,” Will said, walking past her towards the fireplace.

She took a half step back, her heart beginning to pick up in her chest. It went against every
instinct in the human body to walk blindly into fire. Harry seemed to have a natural affinity
for sliding in fireplaces or through chimney shoots. Severus didn’t seem the slightest bit
phased about the flames within the hearth before he nearly walked into them.

Beverly heard the clicking of propane, smelled the gas hit the room before the pilot light
flicked on and created more warmth in an already hot room. She took a half step back, her
heart picking up pace.
“Normally,” Hannibal said, taking Beverly’s attention away from Will, where he was
sprinkling some powder over the orange flames. “Floo networks for international travel need
special wards. Severus’ stint as a Death Eater taught him a couple tricks.”

Beverly understood each of Hannibal’s words individually; strung together and she was left
in a sea of confusion.

“Right,” Beverly said, still frozen to the spot away from the hearth.

Hannibal found her instinctive struggle humorous. It was true, in his experiences, that
Muggles had better instincts than Wizards. With no magical solution to save them, they
proceeded with more caution than wizards. In comparison, Hannibal found that wizards were
more reckless with their stunts as they had little consequences for their actions: a pain potion,
a spell to reverse paralysis.

Muggles had no such solutions.

In an effort to entice Beverly closer to the fire, Will walked around her, putting one hand on
her back as he guided her closer.

“Look Bev,” he said, “The fire is green.”

She pressed against his back, one hand coming to round on him.

“You’re telling me to trust fire because it is green?”

Will blinked at her.

“I can pour boric acid over the flames for the same results.”

Hannibal laughed aloud at Beverly’s exclamation and the expression on Will’s face as he
looked to him for support. He walked forward, closer to Will.

“She does have a point,” he said. He pulled her arm towards him, a leg catching her ankle to
unbalance her as she toppled backwards over the flames.

“Hannibal!” Will growled, naturally reaching out to grab Beverly, already consumed by the
brilliant green embers. “We need her to like us!”

Beverly, on the other hand, felt like every molecule and fiber of her being was ripped apart,
sorted and glued back together. Falling and falling, weightless and without form, she traveled
through a sea of green and gold bursts, heat flicking her fingers until it all snapped together.

Her body tumbled out, nerves frayed as she rolled over a hearth of bricks and onto the
hardwood floor. Beverly coughed, curling in on her core as her ears rang. Gasping for air, she
felt hands come around her but could hear or see nothing. Disoriented and panicking, Beverly
put her hand forward, trying to touch something that would give her a clue as to what
happened.
Something cool pressed against her lips, hands tilting her head back as liquid pooled into her
mouth. A hand clamped over her lips, forcing her to swallow the putrid, sand like mixture.
Beverly growled behind the hand, bucking her body against the person holding her to the
ground.

It was the fastest tranquilizer she’d ever had, immediately, her arms went limp, the sensation
of being ripped apart finally numb. The one holding her down was stronger and more
coordinated than Beverly- yet, through the ringing in her ears, she could hear a distant
hushing and her name.

Eyelids grew heavy as the hand around her mouth released her, moving to rub through her
scalp until she went boneless.

Beverly woke with a start, limbs jarring as she remembered being tipped back into green
flames and one of the strangest pained experiences of her life. She looked around, clearly in
her room.

On a bed?

There were her boxes, large and normal sized, labeled BEDROOM, stacked in the corner of
the room by her closet. Beverly looked down at the mattress, clearly hers, but the sheets were
not- a grey color she wouldn’t buy for herself.

Her clothing had not been removed, only her shoes seemed to be stripped from her before she
was placed in the bed. There was one thing that was added to her…one of Beverly’s old
sweaters from undergrad, frayed at the bottom hem, large enough to swim within.

Noise from outside the bedroom drew her attention to the cracked open door. Swinging her
legs over the bed, she crept to the side of the door. She could hear there was another person in
her new apartment, the clicking of a gas stovetop- someone in the kitchen.

Relaxing from fear of an attack, Beverly drew herself up, ready to punch Hannibal in his
perfect face for tipping her back into the flames…and robbing her of every warm article of
clothing in her house.

Turning the corner of her unfamiliar apartment, Beverly froze when she saw Severus standing
in her new space, looking as out of place as he did years ago, in the kitchen with two
steaming mugs in his hand. Beverly couldn’t help herself as she smiled, smelling tea coming
from the mugs, fingers curling along the strings of her left sleeve cuff.

“Beverly,” he said, his voice raspier than when she last saw him. Beverly took in his image,
still dressed in the black frock that could be excused for a preacher. His demeanor was
different, however, looking worn in ways she hadn’t seen him.

His hair was limp as if he’d been on another potion binge, eyes sunken in from what
appeared to be days without sleep. If his voice was anything to go on, he might have picked
up the habit of smoking.
Beverly felt a string pull them together, she followed after it, walking closer and closer to the
man holding two mugs of steaming hot tea. Beverly took one in her hand and set it on the
blank counter top, doing the same to the other.

A strange sort of mist prickled along her body, stemming from her hands, drawing up the
length of her arm and into her chest only for the sensation to crest into her mind; a cool balm
against the years of headaches finally lifted like a curse…

“Severus,” she said, hardly recognizing her own voice.

There it was, the thing her body seemed to be searching for, relieving all the pain in her head
and abdomen. Severus, he smelled much the same and yet, she could pick out his scents
better than before. The flames he must spend his days over, dank and mossy grounds that
were hidden under what smelled like seawater.

“I feel like we should talk,” Severus said, swallowing a dry throat, the pop audible. She could
feel her heart beginning to pound faster in her chest, like setting to run after a criminal in the
dead of night. The fabric of his tunic was coarse against her palm, leaving her body wanting
nothing more than to dig inward and search for something.

But why? Why waste words when they had spent so much time apart? Could they not both
enjoy the cataclysmic moment of finally coming together after everything had kept them
distant?

Severus one hand came to rest on her hip, pressure tight enough to tell Beverly he was
holding his strength back. As gentle as a feather, his other hand came to rub along the swell
of her collar bone, thumb passing over her flesh and the collar of the sweater.

“I couldn’t let them go,” he said, the words hardly audible.

Beverly felt impulsive, her hands reaching up on their own accord to pick at the button
around his throat. It felt so much like the night she held a knife to his throat, as the Fourth of
July fireworks exploded around them, Severus remained still save for his adam’s apple
bobbing as she ran her fingernail down it.

This was a man of control, a vampire of self-discipline and there was nothing more that
Beverly wanted at this moment than to ruin that image.

“Long distance floo travel causes limited impulse control,” Severus warned, his eyes tracing
over her face. Beverly could see it, the fire within him that was so close to breaking the
surface, could feel it in the way his hand gripped her pelvis.

Beverly smiled, feeling as if something feral erupted inside her. She jumped up, wrapping her
legs around Severus’ waistline, her body now pitched tightly against his. He took the
movement in stride, hands adjusting themselves under her flank and around her spine.

They shared a passionate kiss, Severus invested in taking her mouth more so than the last
time. She felt Severus move them into the kitchen, feeling her butt land on the counter as he
stepped between her widening legs.
Hands roamed over the fabric of her spine, the texture finding purchase against hyper-
sensitive skin. In retaliation, desperate to gain a bit of control, her own fingers came to the
buttons on Severus’ shift. Beverly pulled the outer cloak off, letting it drop to the floor
forgotten with the boxes she’d have to unpack later.

Severus and Beverly only broke the kiss long enough to strip off her undergrad sweatshirt,
shirt pulled along with its inversion. Cold fingers came around her back, scratching lines that
made her gasp, chest pushing against his as her bra unlatched. Not to be outdone, Beverly
fisted her hands between them and ripped the last of Severus' shirt open, surprised at her own
strength as buttons flew around the room.

Severus moaned, his face coming to lave at her throat, hands running down her exposed
body.

“Beverly,” he whispered into her flesh, a heated, bruising kiss laid over the claim on her
neck. He moaned her name as if she were a goddess to be worshiped on an altar. Her hands
roamed from his chest, leaving marks of her own behind, as they dropped to his waistband.

She cupped him, squeezing the hardness of his trousers.

It had been years since she’d been with another. Beverly made many attempts of finding a
partner, not caring for the sex of the other, but finding none attractive. The times she pushed
past that hesitance, it felt wrong, like her body was not responding to her mystery partner,
betraying her for something else.

The longest dry spell since losing her virginity, oh, Beverly wanted...she lusted for Severus, a
heat in her abdomen erupted unlike any other she’d experienced before. Beverly desired
nothing more than to claim Severus as her own, accepting his own claim over her, so far
they’d been apart that this desire was mutually felt in their quivering flesh.

Rubbing her palm over Severus drew a reaction from him, his head pulled away from her
neck that no doubt had a hickey laid over it. Quick fingers drew his pants free for her to
fondle.

Not to be outdone, Severus dropped his hands to the button of her jeans and popped it free.
He growled as he attempted to remove the jeans from her body on the countertop, leaving her
chuckling breathlessly.

“Why do you muggles make such tight fitting clothing?” he growled, jeans still molded to her
calves as he pulled them with enough force, several stitches audibly ripped.

Jeans were only so forgiving towards abuse.

“Show off my best assets,” she laughed, sliding off the counter to kick her pants down.
Confident hands reached for her partner’s, stripping them in one clean movement.

Severus did not seem to be as embarrassed about his nakedness as he was the first time,
prowling into Beverly’s space so the counter offered another temperature against hypered
skin. He reached his hand forward and drew her in for another kiss, the heat of their bodies
able to transfer freely now they were bare.

“Severus,” Beverly whined, her body aching with need. Severus shuddered as she called his
name, cold fingers shifting from her waist down, dipping through her folds. Beverly bit her
lip as he rubbed her, far slower than he wanted.

“There’s no going back,” he whispered in her ear. Beverly turned her face, catching his eyes
with her own. She could see desperation in those dark black eyes, a pleading desire that
spoke volumes beyond vocalization.

A vampire; still a gentleman.

Beverly leaned forward, kissing him beyond bruising, until the faint taste of his copper blood
touched her tongue.

“Always,” Beverly said.

Beverly spoke her promise with lips close enough to graze a claim of her own over Severus.

This seemed like the right place to reaffirm their bond after years distant- the kitchen, where
Severus proved himself a wizard as he made fish and chips, where Beverly discovered his
thirst for blood.

Severus moved his hand from her, coming to grip her leg as he slid into her with a swift and
sturdy thrust.

Beverly arched her spine, crying out as he filled her in one steady movement. He was thick,
throbbing and she was tighter than she’d been in a while. The pain was perfect, singing along
the pleasure as if a dam released. The two folded together in one, sharing breath and space for
a brief moment.

Beverly smiled as her hands wrapped themselves around his neck, one hand with sharp
fingernails pricking along the columns of his spine. Their lips found one another, who
initiated didn’t matter after so long distant, the kiss was deep, consuming the breath from the
other.

Something washed over her as Severus began to move, a refreshing wave of energy passed
between them with every wave. Beverly held her thigh tight around Severus back, the other
hardly touching the ground as they thrust against each other in the empty kitchen. She ran her
fingernails down his spine, making him arch forward and deeper into her.

“Yes, Severus,” she gasped out, holding his hair as he bounced her on his cock.

The drag was wonderful, pulling her in all the right places only for him to snap forward with
his hips. His hand clenched her hip with bruising force, only making her run faster towards
her finish.

“Beverly,” he said again, kissing along the side of her neck, dragging his teeth over her.
There was no fear of his teeth or bite. Beverly knew he would not bite her years ago, she
knew he would not eat her in the traditional fashion. Severus took her higher, centering his
thrusts on the point that made her cry out the most, her fingernails digging into his strong
shoulders.

Beverly wanted to crest with him, but his efforts were relentless. Each sensation he brought
only crippled her resolve. Arching her spine, she felt herself tighten around him, body
pulsing with desire as her heart thundered in her chest. She could hear her own moans,
shameless, as Severus continued to draw her orgasm out.

Ever the gentleman, he stilled within her despite his own hardness as she caught her breath.
Beverly could feel his struggling resolve in his spine, muscles clenched tightly to keep from
thrusting in her body like a wild animal. Beverly ran her hand through his locks, now damp
with perspiration.

He kissed along the center of her chest, laving her once before looking up with a flushed and
desperate face.

“What do you want, Beverly?”

This man, a strange vampire wizard that opened her eyes to a world unknown, was still
asking for her desires.

Beverly wanted to ruin him.

She hummed, reaching her hand forward to draw him impossibly closer. She saw him
swallow, clearly nervous as he no doubt sensed the thoughts running through her mind.
Beverly chuckled, a dark sound escaping her as she blushed beyond their activities.

Never would Beverly be so bold as to speak her next sentence; there was the need to capture,
secure Severus forever…liberation found in confession:

“I’d really like to fuck you with my strap on.”

Connected as they were, Severus could hide no reaction from her; a sign of his excitement
pitched his body forward and Beverly could feel his cock twitch within her at the thought. He
shuddered a moan, dropping his head to her chest as they shared a breathless laugh.

“I like that plan,” he confessed, pink and flushed, somehow looking so much better than
when she first saw him, despite being disheveled.

Beverly had no time to reply as Severus slipped from her, sweeping her body into his arms as
he walked them around stacks of boxes left untouched yet resized as he charted a course to
the bedroom. The boxes that were in her room were still packed and tapped, there’d be no
way to find her toy in a timely manner.

“Fuck,” she grunted, filing her plan away for a later time…improvise…Beverly could still
get what she wanted, she could still break Severus' resolve without her toys. The man paused
from where he was keeling over her, his eyes falling over the boxes in her room. “What?” she
said, tilting her head as he blushed.

He chuckled low in his throat, an embarrassed sound, as she was learning. Somehow, his
wand appeared in his hand.

“This is a misuse of magic,” Severus muttered, kissing her belly softly as he pointed his wand
to the boxes. They shuffled on the ground, rattling, until one tipped over onto the side and a
shoebox slid free from the packing peanuts.

“Oh, Severus,” Beverly said, rolling over to catch the white shoebox that slid to the edge of
the bed. She brought her equipment up to rest at one of the corners. That intoxicating form of
power rushed into Beverly’s veins for the first time in years as she guided Severus onto the
bed with a firm hand. Stalking up his body, his breath hitched before she even ground her
hips down. With lips gently touching his ear, recalling his neck-trigger, she whispered:
“Misuse your magic around me any time you want.”

Beverly dragged a fingernail down his pectorals, tracing over the soft lines of his abdomen.
She reached forward, pulling off the top of the box and felt for the bottle of lubricant. Moving
down Severus’ pale body, Beverly kissed claims from his mouth down the length of his
throat.

As Severus was distracted, she clicked the cap open and tipped the bottle, feeling the liquid
run over her fingers. Severus moaned as she grazed her teeth over the sharper parts of his
hips, unaware of the hand creeping behind him.

The night that Beverly tazed him, tied him to the chair and threatened to torture him was
what started the fire of her desire for him. Severus was so good, patiently sitting in the chair,
bound with supple leather cuffs at the hands and ankles, speaking to her politely. It was
difficult for Beverly to not slip into a scene with Severus at the center of her attention.

Now, she had no such reservations.

Submissive men were a rarity and Beverly found this beautiful man was ripe for the picking.

He gasped, his eyes opening wide as she circled her finger around the tightness of his hole.
His enthusiasm at her request assured her this was not the first time that Severus had
bottomed for another. Rather than seeing hesitant legs close at her intrusion, they spread
further, one knee arching to allow her more room.

“Good, Severus,” she whispered into his thigh. Beverly rubbed around him a few more times,
each pass adding more pressure.

“Please, Beverly,” he pleaded, a small thrust of his hips finally cracking some of that iron
tight willpower. Beverly nipped the side of his thigh as she pushed her finger in, the other
hand stroking along his length.

He started to fall apart after that, his movements becoming uncoordinated as she opened him
up. Beverly removed her hand from his shaft, not wanting him to blow too quickly. Severus
cried out at the lack of stimulation, making her chuckle as she continued to torture him.

“We didn’t have to be so stubborn,” Beverly confessed, adding a second finger to him. She
smiled at him, heart beating within her chest as she imagined sliding within him. Beverly
leaned forward, stealing a kiss from him as she twisted her fingers in his channel.

“There was no one else, Severus,” she gasped, grinding her sex along his thighs. He flared his
nostrils, no doubt smelling them both. Severus’ dark eyes were wild, hands gripping the
sheets as she stroked along his prostate. He cried out, cock twitching with pleasure, far from
over. “Only you.”

Beverly felt that cool sensation wash over her again, pricking the sweat that clung to her
flesh. It seeped into her veins this time, energy coursing through her until it settled around her
chest, laying dormant again.

She reached for the bottle, squirting another dollop of lube onto her fingers. Severus’ cock
was swollen and purple with blood, so painfully close to release.

“Please,” he begged, arching his spine as if showing her he was ready. Beverly chuckled
before she kissed him briefly. Severus was eager, not ready, and Beverly vowed to never take
advantage of him as so many clearly had before.

“Almost there,” Beverly whispered in his ear, taking a significant amount of pleasure at
feeling his chest arch against hers as she added her third finger. He whined in her ear, a
broken sound that gave away his desperation.

Looking at her work, Severus was panting, eyes locked onto her save for the moments she
strung another pleasured gasp from his lungs. His chapped lips were swollen from kissing,
his neck strained with blood pumping through his body. Along his body were the laid claims
of her name, marked with faint red lines.

His cock betrayed nothing of the pleasure Beverly offered to him.

Beverly, a sadist at heart, wanted to draw more from Severus. After years of starving herself
from him, she finally had a chance to dine on his moans and whimpers, pulling from him
sounds he’d likely never made for another human before.

Severus growled suddenly, his hand reaching for the wand that he dropped near the shoebox.
Beverly, fingers still twisting within him, watched as he grabbed her strap on. The desire to
distract was too great; she pushed against his prostate as he attempted to mutter a spell,
glaring at her once before his own evil smile stretched across his face.

He pointed his wand at her abdomen, and Beverly watched as her toy floated around her,
straps wrapping around her with such force it felt like she’d been spanked.

“Severus,” she laughed, rolling her hips as she tested the bonds keeping the dildo attached to
her waist. Large hands ran over her thighs and up her flank, squeezing her butt before
dragging fingernails over her flesh.
As Beverly took to the mechanical task of preparing dildo, she noticed a new kind of pattern
around it that wasn’t there before. On Severus’ part, it was an interesting…bold choice; a
deep navy blue with ribs spiraling to the top with the intention of satisfying any partner.

…well, they were magical people- immersed in such a culture might make them favor bolder
sexual flavors.

“Surprise,” Severus taunted, spreading his knees in invitation.

Excited for the mystery, Beverly reached for one leg and slid it around her hips. She
positioned the dildo at the beginning of his entrance and looked up at him.

How often has this man been cast aside? The mark on his arm, wherever it came from, was
clear of that. The infection of his body; a reminder of people who used Severus for nothing
more than a warm blood bag. Beverly put her hand over the tattoo, without the skull now, the
snake noticeably smaller and less menacing yet still impaled by a set of puncture wounds.

Beverly thrust forward, Severus' body molding perfectly around her wide hips as he sighed
with pleasure.

“Yes,” Severus hissed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with bliss she’d never
encountered from another. Beverly waited for him, rubbing his hip as he adjusted. A slow
hand gripped his cock and stroked, allowing the sensations to course through every part of his
body.

Severus’ hand came to grip her bicep, a shaky moan drawn out from his lips as his eyelids
fluttered with pleasure. Beverly hushed him, taking him into a slow kiss, her hand coming to
grip behind his head.

A vibration coming from her clit startled her, forcing her body forward into Severus,
knocking a moan from them both as Severus changed into a laugh. Beverly panted, collecting
herself above him. When she opened her eyes, it was to his smiling, blissed face.

Knowing he was ready, Beverly slowly pulled her hips away from him, dragging herself
along his body only to dive forward once more. With each push, the vibration changed a bit,
rising or falling, pulsing and twisting along her body.

Beverly gasped, pushing into him harder than she wanted to for just starting as the vibrations
along her hood spread.

“It searches for pleasure points,” Severus gasped, a long drawn out groan ripped from both
lungs as the toy started a steady vibration against them both. “And magnifies it,” he managed
to say.

Beverly laughed as she changed her pace to a steady, deep thrust within his body, pushing
him up the bed as her knees stayed grounded to the mattress.

“Amazing,” she said, sitting back on her heels as she felt the toy, once completely mundane,
now take on a life of its own around them. Beverly spread Severus' legs wide, watching the
point where they were connected as long as she could before the vibrations changed on them
both.

“There we are,” Beverly panted, tossing the hair out of her face as she found that magical
little button within Severus, taking care to push the vibrator against that spot with each thrust
of her hips. Severus was panting, looking wild in the sheets as his black hair formed a dark
halo on the grey fabric, pale flesh arching to her every command.

Beverly braced herself against the mattress and Severus’ hips, beginning to pick up the pace.
The faster she thrust, the louder the vibrations became, shaking them both apart at the seams.
One of her hands found purchase against the beige painted walls, no headboard to properly
grip and better grind.

“Beverly.”

It seemed she was making due with her limited resources…that power was heady….

Severus said Beverly’s name in unimaginable ways, body twitching under her pleasurable
ministrations. She could drag exaltations from his lungs as she painted her mark over his
body with her scent. Burying herself into him, Beverly could feel her own waves of pleasure
mounting.

Beverly dropped one hand holding his hip to grab at his cock, stroking him in sloppy
movements as she spent more energy pushing against his prostate, watching with a sense of
pride as every fiber of that resolve broke into her palms.

Inevitable was the fall; Severus could take no more, body arching up in the sharpest of
movements as he came around her fist.

A wave of energy smacked into Beverly, flowing into her veins, netting around her heart as it
felt like it folded along the soft flesh in her brain. The zenith of the moment was punched
from her lungs, blood like fire coursing along every part that came to touch Severus flesh. As
demanding as the energy was for her entire body, it did not take, giving and giving and
reaching itself until it felt like it had connected into the deepest part of her soul.

When Beverly came too, the ringing in her ears passing as oxygen flowed back into her
lungs, it was to find Severus resting limply in her bed. She huffed a quiet laugh, leaning
forward to kiss his brow before she slid out of his body, only giving a sigh.

“You’re mine now,” Beverly vowed, untangling their legs. She reached around her hips,
unclasping the straps from her flesh.

Dropping the dildo to the side, content to clean it later, Beverly rearranged the sheets around
the two of them, sliding her body along Severus.

Looking over him, Beverly could see he needed rest, perhaps as much as she did. A warm,
tingling feeling overtook her body as she felt herself mold along his body and into the
mattress. In an unconscious, precious movement, Severus shifted his body to wrap his
marked and bitten arm around her.
Now they were calmer, Beverly found herself closely inspecting it- anticipating this would be
one of the rare opportunities; she did not know if his new mark carried the same trauma.

Where the more menacing snake gave the appearance of a dark brand with the depth of the
ink, this new snake had more detail. Individual scales etched in a fragmented pattern along
his arm. Then- the same gouges into his skin.

Beverly tilted her head as best she could given their bodies proximity as the wound pattern
echoed through caverns of her mind. She traced a finger around the arm, wondering if it
would somehow startle him awake.

“We don’t eat friends, Hannibal,” she growled, wincing as Severus only tightened his grip
around her to settle deeper into her mattress, nuzzling the crux of her neck as his arm grew
heavier.

Though in the depths of sleep, Beverly proceeded carefully as she ran her fingers over one of
the puncture scars, getting closer to the tip of the snake's tail.

The tail moved, flicking along his flesh, scales rippled as she pet over them. Beverly looked
up at the sleeping man, who was none the wiser to his tattoo moving. The snake didn’t appear
to have a malicious personality as it might imply.

The tattoo moved in a worm-like fashion shifting along the scars of his flesh. There were
part of the body that had significant parts missing that remained from the jaws of a full grown
Ravnstag. Some of the body was severed from itself only shuffling along with what Beverly
suspected was magic.

Beverly lifted her finger above the snake’s head, watching with an amused smile as it seemed
to lift up as well. Stroking once over his flesh, the snake shuddered, moving along her fingers
as it asked for more. If Beverly concentrated, she could almost feel the texture of the new
scales along its body.

“You don’t seem so bad,” she whispered to the snake, now coiling under her gentle petting.
“Kinda cute, now.”

Beverly gasped as the snake moved, somehow peeling up from his flesh and over her own
finger. She could feel it, little snake scales wrapping around her ring finger, pulling itself off
Severus arm to crawl further up her palm.

The sense of panic almost had her turn to shake Severus awake yet, if the movement of the
tattoo was going to hurt her, she figured Severus would have some displeasure in the transfer
as well. With that logic, Beverly excused the majority of her panic as a magical conundrum.

Gritting her teeth, Beverly checked on Severus once more, who seemed perfectly content as
his magical gang symbol shifted from his arm to her wrist. It hissed lowly at her as it climbed
further up her arm, twisting around her wrist in what appeared to be pleasure.

Under her skin, the snake felt like an itch in the process of being scratched, not
uncomfortable, simply unusual. With her other hand, Beverly stroked down the snake, feeling
 it’s tongue flicker on her finger.

“Hello,” she whispered, her tongue feeling oddly stiff, unsure what was happening.

The snake flicked its tongue out again, scenting along the inside of the wrist. It moved as if it
were still impaled by Severus scars, wiggling slowly along her skin, inspecting new freckles.

The snake seemed to be as content as Severus, curling up in the crux of Beverly's elbow as
the vampire squeezed her closer to his body. She hummed, stretching briefly in the bed as she
settled in.

“Mine forever, it seems,” Beverly whispered into Severus’ sternum, sealing her promise with
a kiss as her eyelids fell heavy. “Always.”

Chapter End Notes

Death changes people and it changed Jack a bit. (also the only muggle that would give
Prince Charming to Beverly)
Beverly is so as fun to torture as Severus but in new and different ways. She's got some
new ink...#always
Did you like the smut? Do you have suggestions?
Going Forward:
there will be more interactions of Bev/Sev and Tom's POV. I feel that now Harry's arc is
no longer plagued by Voldemort or Diary!Tom, there would be little conflict. Tom on the
other hand...another new toy to play with...(evil giggling)

Thank you for your patience- really! It needed a lot of time to come together! If you so
desire to join me in the comments- I wish to see you there but if you must dine and
dash-wish you all the best and thank you for joining me this day!
 Hither, to the Herd
Chapter Notes

Good evening everyone,

I am sorry the table is sparsely set- I made it through the tests and am very tired. Thank
you for your love and your patience- for all of your support. I could not do this without
out you.

Please enjoy the meal- it's big and everyone deserves it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“This is bigger than meeting the parents?” Beverly asked, nervously rubbing her palms
together.

Though it was warm out, Beverly was still chilled, used to the hot and humid summers of
Virginia than the cooler London weather. Severus remembered the sweat and heat that clung
to his body, while he loathed it, he supposed Beverly would come to adapt to the heat.

He removed his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over her, recalling how she did the
same to him before they parted ways for what Severus thought would be the final time. He
could smell her blood rising to her cheeks as she took in the warmth of his jacket.

“Narcissa, Draco’s mother, is trying to prompt a Herd bond. With Hannibal and Will so close
to their instincts after birthing a fawn and Remus close to his shift, the creatures are likely to
navigate their interactions for the best of the youngest creature- Mischa.”

As he explained this, he handed Beverly a sheet of paper with the address on it. Beverly
looked at the paper, then to him with a confused eyebrow raised. He blushed, quickly
explaining that Grimmauld Place would only reveal itself to those who knew of it’s address.

“Given that Draco, Tom, and Harry are all minors,” he said, getting back to the subject at
hand as they rounded the corner. “The adult's instincts will pull at the subconscious to protect
the Herd.”

Beverly nodded her head, compartmentalizing all of the information she’d been given over
the past few days.

“And your instincts as a creature?” she asked, looking up at Severus as they waited for the
traffic light to change. Severus inhaled slowly, attempting to come up with a diplomatic
reply.

“Are going to fall for Narcissa's ploy as well.”

Beverly laughed as the light changed, pulling Severus further up the street.

“I can’t wait to meet the woman then,” she said, walking a little faster down the road. “We
are going to be best of friends.”

Severus was concerned about the smile on Beverly’s face, looking very much the one
Narcissa had when she was scheming. He had come to the conclusion that, while vampires
tended to be solitary creatures, he’d found stability with the Herd. Remus and his wolf found
the same kind of grounding effect with the Herd and with a far more terrifying and powerful
creature as Alpha, Severus didn’t think he would feel much tension.

Sirius was a different man from the days off their youth. He continued to go to his outpatient
appointments to St. Mungo’s. While Severus didn’t know the extent of his treatment,
Narcissa informed him that his rigorous potion routine was helping him cope with the years
of damage. Supplemented by the mind healer appointments, Sirius was an entirely new
person than his youth.

Severus guided Beverly between the two houses on Grimmauld Street.

“Concentrate on the address,” he said, already seeing the houses split apart. “The more you
think of it, the magic will reveal itself to you.”

The roof was repaired, no longer broken shingles sliding from the natural slope. He was sure
with the repairs, all of the old leaks he remembered from his brief time within the house
during the last war, had been fixed.

The house did not smell of rot or mold anymore. The grass, while not abundant, was breaking
up patches of dead brown grass with tufts of new foliage. The iron bars that locked the lower
windows in a cross hatch pattern were fused back together in a straight line.

Severus turned his head when Beverly gasped, scanning the area for danger, he relaxed when
he realized it was only the house opening up to Beverly.

“Oh, this is some haunted shit.”

“Ghosts are prevalent in wizarding culture,” Severus said, walking forward with Beverly in
hand. He reached the iron gate and pushed it open, wincing at the creaking sound that no
doubt told the people in the house some others had arrived.

“For every question you answer,” Beverly said, keeping pace with him. “I only have gain two
more.”

Severus chuckled. For all that Beverly didn’t understand magic, she accepted the likelihood
she would never fully comprehend it. The result meant that every time Severus performed
some minor feat of magic, she viewed it as the most impressive thing in the world. She would
ask questions, pick his brain for theories and explanations that lead into long conversations of
magic and philosophical thinking.

He would never grow tired of her questions.

At the door, he listened to Beverly take a slow inhale, calming her nervous heartbeat before
she nodded her head once, prompting him to knock on the door.

As it was becoming more common, Draco opened the door with a nervous smile on his face.
Before his godson could make the introduction of a muggle to an entire magical household
more awkward, Severus used his speed to rush forward and scoop Draco into his arms as he
entered the house.

“Severus,” he squealed, trying to get his bearings now they were in the house. His godson
smelled happy, happier than he ever had. The excited glint in his eyes had remained since he
left Hogwarts in a rush after the Tri-Wizard Resurrection. It was clear that he and Narcissa
were thriving in Grimmauld place.

When he put Draco down, his godson gave a small gasp, clearly seeing Beverly and Narcissa
speaking to one another at the door. Severus was as nervous for this meeting as Draco likely
was. He would never give up his godson, not for the world, but his creature would not give
up Beverly.

Draco nodded his head once and broke from Severus, walking over to Beverly with a stiff
spine.

“Draco,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “Severus has told me so much about you.”

“Really?” he said, perking up. Severus smiled, Draco was a prideful creature, much like the
peacocks they all abhorred.

“Yes,” she said, following Narcissa’s lead to the family room. “I want to hear all about the
new irrigation system Severus was hinting at.” Narcissa flicked her wand, several glasses
floating around the table. When she walked to Severus, she gave his hand a warm squeeze
and a wink. Severus relaxed, glad that Narcissa seemed to realize the gravity of this meeting
between Beverly and Draco for his creature.

In a matter of seconds, Beverly had Draco talking about his success in botanical skills that
improved his Herbology grades. During the conversation, Severus noticed that Beverly was
using tactics from her job as an investigator to pull information from Draco- who was
naturally enjoying anyone's sole attention on him. The more Draco warmed up to Beverly, the
more animated his hands became, miming the wand pattern of wards on the table for her.

“I thought I heard some unfamiliar voices,” Sirius said, stepping down from the upper floor.
He was wearing one of Remus’ jumpers, the scent attached to his frame to likely keep him
calm as more people entered the house.

Behind Sirius was Remus, following after the man to the communal living area.

“Now,” Sirius said, looking Beverly up and down. “You must be a strong woman of
knowledge and wit to make Severus swoon.” He took her hand and bowed once to her.
“Welcome to the family. You must tell me everything.”
Severus didn’t expect to find an ally in Sirius Black yet the eccentric man could get anyone
talking. Sirius waved Remus over, standing up to touch the werewolf as he introduced the
two.

“Take a breath, Severus,” Narcissa said, passing him a glass of chilled wine. “The children
won’t be using magic and Siri is far too excited for company for his magic to respond.”
Severus felt the condensation collect along his glass- hoping he wasn’t squeezing it hard
enough to break from his anxiety.

Narcissa topped her wine off, smirking as she did so.

“You’re not the only man-eater nervous about this interaction.”

As she spoke, the hearth began to spark. In summer, there was no flame present in the hearth,
magic activating through the mutual ward points. Green embers kicked up around the stones
and turned into a mass of flames.

“Everyone is okay with jumping through fire?” Beverly muttered, stiffening as Severus
noticed her to do. Her face hardened as she stood, waiting to greet those that walked through
the fire.

The first that stepped through was the young Dark Lord. Though he had his head held high,
his nervous glancing around the room, taking in doors and escape points gave away his
anxieties.

In a hazed and fevered memory, Severus could hardly recall the Dark Lord and Hannibal
helping him. He remembered the feeling of magic along his Mark kicking the instincts within
to attack. More vividly, Severus found himself surprised by the power of the young Dark
Lord and his ability to tame the Mark.

Tom’s dark brown eyes met his for a brief moment, he attempted to smile, clearly still as
awkward and gangly as his fawn pelt. Severus nodded his head to the teen once.

Tom stepped away from the fire, head turning to face the hearth before the embers coughed
out another teen. With Harry’s arrival, bursting with energy to see everyone in the house,
Tom calmed, standing closer to his twin much like Sirius would to Remus.

The twins, stumbling away from the hearth, found themselves corralled by Beverly. She had
her arms crossed over her chest, stance square and looking down at the two boys with a
smirk.

“Harry?” she asked, making the one freeze as he looked at her, stiff and startled. “What did I
say the last time we met about the chimney?”

Harry stuttered, looking from Tom to the fire in the hopes that his parents might burst through
and save him. Sirius and Remus seemed to be enjoying the show of a muggle standing over
two of the most powerful wizards, scolding them as the teenagers they were.
“But now you know!” Harry tried to defend. Before Beverly could respond to Harry’s less
than acceptable answer, Tom’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Something about getting caught in the middle of it,” Tom said, slowly shaking the vision
from his eyes. Harry nudged him with his shoulder, a silent conversation bursting through
whatever remnant of their bond they still had.

Then the young Dark Lord looked at her as if he knew something, his eyes tracked over her
body, his nostril’s flaring. Ignoring the odd reaction, she nodded to the boy Harry used the
power of friendship against.

“At least someone listens to me,” Beverly said, smiling through the strange ordeal. Beverly
turned her head, lifting a slow hand to Tom’s face, she turned it.

Beverly revealed a grizzly sort of injury that Severus was familiar with- the bite of a
Ravenstag. There was only a small part of his shell attached to his head, some scarring on the
back of his skull from teeth that would prevent his hair from growing. The injury did not
horribly disfigure him or take from the appearance he would grow into but it would make
many hesitant of approaching him…perhaps for the best, really…

“Oh,” Tom said, his hand coming to the part of his ear that Beverly exposed to those in
Grimmauld. “Mischa. I’m her favorite.” Tom said, a bashful kind of smile blooming over his
blush as his hand naturally reached up to feel around one of the circular jagged edges in what
appeared to be a comforting motion to the young Dark Lord.

Beverly didn’t have a moment to comment on why Tom’s ear was bitten in half by his
newborn sister before Sirius could no longer hold his excitement. He pushed around the table
to scoop Harry into a hug. Harry laughed in his godfather’s embrace, squirming out of his
arms to bump his shoulders next to his double.

“Tom Riddle,” Sirius said, quaking hands resting on the teens shoulders. “In tangible flesh
this time.”

“Sirius,” Remus said, the same stern tone carrying over from youth. Sirius seemed to cower a
bit under the tone of his mate, bringing a small, but genuine smile to Tom’s face for the first
time that evening. Despite Remus scolding Sirius, the werewolf greeted both the children in
his arms, Harry accepting the bear hug while Tom’s arms hung awkwardly at his side.

A larger burst of embers kicked from the hearth, prompting anyone who gathered around to
stumble away. Severus walked around the gathering people to Beverly, his knuckles brushing
along hers until they slotted together, pulling her from the magical flames she would always
be hesitant around.

They came together as one, as they always had, two people moving in one fluid and graceful
stride. Commonly in the hands of Hannibal, was a medicine bag, filled to the brim with as
many medicines as Severus had potions. Now, his shoulder was carrying a heavy bag filled
with soft plush toys and small socks spilling over the edge. Normally, Will would approach
any situation with a face of disgruntled interest; with a baby dressed in a bright blue jumper,
his face seemed to be wrinkling with new smile lines.
Beverly squeezed his hand to get his attention, jutting her chin in Narcissa’s direction to
watch the woman weave her way around her cousin and the children. Severus found himself
stiffening at Narcissa’s bold approach, his wand in his hand in case he had to shield the
woman from approaching a Ravenstag and his newest fawn without permission.

Much to his relief and immense surprise, Hannibal turned his body for the woman, allowing
more space towards Will and the little baby Mischa.

Silence filled the room as the little baby slowly turned her head to take in the new
surroundings. Will held her safely against his chest, a soft humm, the only sound that broke
the fragile silence around them. Mischa responded to the rumble, kicking her one leg out as
she giggled and flashed her pink gums at Narcissa in greeting.

“Okay, fine,” Beverly whispered to him, leaning her scent closer to his body as they took in
the moment of Will gently passing Narcissa their bundle of joy. “I would murder someone for
that baby.”

Severus watched as Hannibal lifted his head, having clearly heard Beverly’s words over the
shared whisper between Narcissa and Will. His smile was larger too, or different, perhaps;
not the one of a predator about to taste the glorious moment of sinking teeth into prey, but
one that looked like relief- the completion of a long and complex problem.

He let go of Beverly’s hand to snake a hand around her waist until he could pull her close to
his body. She put a hand on his chest, rolling her eyes at his possessive motion as she began
to dig a reminder into his chest with her fingernails in a similar gesture.

Will was content to let his arms rest for the first time in months. He was sitting on the couch,
his body strategically placed so that he was resting on part of Hannibal’s chest, a habit he
picked up a couple weeks before he birthed Mischa under the guise of comfort.

His mate likely now realized that Will was using his hormones to condition Hannibal as the
man was intently watching each and every movement of Mischa’s passing from person to
person. Narcissa was the one who would proudly proclaim she monopolized her time with
Mischa, only passing her over to Sirius when she grew tired of his questions.

Remus kept his arms under Sirius as his shaking hands transferred Mischa to his lap.

“I remember when you were this small, you know?” he said softly, not taking his eyes off
Mischa as she kicked her legs out on his lap. He laughed, a wet sound escaping from his
throat as he readjusted her in a way that echoed a life once indulged and stolen.

As Mischa began to gum at his fingers, Hannibal and Remus both realized that Mischa was
hungry for her bottle. Watching his mate carefully for any aggressive reactions, Hannibal
passed the bottle of milk to Remus. He froze for a half second, no doubt protective instincts
battling a rational mind, Will made a low sound in his throat that his mate responded too.
“Clever mongoose,” Hannibal said, getting back into a comfortable position between Will
and the couch.

Harry was acting as a proverbial barrier between Tom and Draco, engaging the two in
conversation. Will smiled as Tom was as engrossed and protective as Mishca, only less
forward with his responses given the amount of adults in the room.

Especially adults he scorned in a past life.

Sirius, through his shaking hands, lifted Mischa and began to pat on her back.

“Careful-” Tom said, going to stand up and get a spit-up towel. As he moved around the
room, Mischa already burped up her milk.

“There you are,” Sirius said, transitioning Mischa back to the bottle without any indication of
the spit-up on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve had far worse on me,” he said, pitching his
voice higher to pull a smile from her as she suckled on the bottle. Remus, with his hands
occupied by supporting Sirius, could not move to his wand.

Narcissa flicked her wand above her head, removing the stain from the back of his tunic that
left the room smelling of freshly folded laundry.

Will hummed at the scene around him, a warm and content feeling drifting through him. It
was almost as if the soft and fluffy sensation sparkled through the air of the room. The cool
summer’s breeze drifted through the windows, leaving soft billowing curtains waving in the
setting sun.

For their first meeting together as a Herd, however unorthodox, each member was content
sitting around in plush chairs, speaking in low tones as Mischa was passed from hand to hand
as if they’d years of familiarity.

Will would occasionally connect his eyes to Narcissa, his empathy only reaching far enough
to gather a feeling of smug relief.

A beeping from Remus had both men looking down at his watch. Sirius put a shaking hand
over his large forearm, grounding the man to the couch. Will hummed, watching the brewing
tension collect in the room as Remus tried to escape.

“Come on, Remus,” Will said, standing from the couch where he stretched, popping the spot
in his hip that Mischa liked to sit on.

“Will,” he said, shrinking in on himself in trepidation. “I don’t think-”

He cut off the skittish werewolf by scooping Mischa into his arms from Sirius, looking
morose now the baby was removed from his grasp. Will walked with an air of confidence as
he placed his daughter into his mate's capable arms, ignoring a snickering Beverly and
Narcissa in the corner as he summoned Remus with a wave.

“Well, don’t be so serious,” Will heard Sirius say, no doubt pushing Remus off the couch to
follow Will down the stairs to the basement oasis. Will rolled his eyes, knowing his mate well
enough to tell the man found pleasure in Sirius’ word play.

The vines had covered most of the concrete wall by now and that which was still exposed
would soon be consumed by the landscape. The moss had grown to a plush blanket
surrounding the bubbling pond. Grass had grown between the gravel, providing a soft
bedding of foliage that Will felt he could walk barefoot without feeling a rock beneath him.

“Narcissa, you are a wonder,” he said, smiling as the fireflies, a new addition since he last
was here with Remus, provided a sparkling canvas of moving stars and light around him. She
was a strong and cunning woman, a woman who immediately gravitated to a fellow she saw
in Beverly. Their ducked heads, grinning faces and the glint in their eyes as they looked at the
men around the room.

He smiled, back to the man as he heard the werewolf descend to his den. Will could smell his
own brand of nervousness; a nervous dog ready to pace the floor.

“You don’t know,” Remus insisted, stripping himself of his outer shirt. The door above them
was closed and locked, only able to be opened from the outside by most. Those with hands
and fingers could open the door handle from within.

Will took his normal seat on the softest patch of grass. Over the year, he and Remus had
grown used to each other in the moments before shifting. The first sign of his shifting was his
eyes changing to a bright yellow. Like the sunset above the house, his eyes shifted as the
moon grew closer and closer to the horizon.

The man stripped himself of his clothing, quickly wrapping a blanket transfigured large
enough to cover his entire frame. He sat on the floor next to Will, towering the man with his
large frame that would give way to the wolf within.

“It’s a pup, Moony,” Will said, making sure to use the familiar vocabulary Emily and her
pack taught him. With yellow eyes and expanding senses, Remus turned his face to Will,
cocking his head like a wolf recognizing a calling.

“I could…”

“You won’t,” Will assured him, patting his shoulder once before he began rubbing it. Soon,
his spine would elongate, shoulders turning from a vertical platform to a horizontal one that
would support his massive four legs. “And even if you did, Mischa has a pelt of sharp
feathers that would tear your mouth to shreds.”

Remus looked down at his hands, knee’s jostling up and down with his anxiety. Will was a
steady and calm presence for man and wolf, long since earning the trust of both. Remus and
Moony only needed to trust each other.

The introduction of a pup would do just that.

Remus could no longer protest, the moon must have crested the horizon. He coughed, his
hands dropping to the ground as his body began to expand. His coarse undercoat broke his
skin, spattering a deep chocolate brown coat that was much healthier than when he first
encountered the werewolf.

Moony was much stockier; his frame now hung in the natural four paws rather than the
wendigo form his creature took when neglected. A lost human mind had Moony wagging his
tail upon seeing Will happily whining as he sniffed the man’s fingers and clothing.

Will removed his outer flannel, now thoroughly soaked in the scent of Herd. Holding it out
for Moony’s inspection, he watched with a fond expression as the wolf’s tail slowly wagged
back and forth, quick chuffs of air taking in the scent.

“I had a pup, Moony,” Will said, pulling the blanket Mischa was wrapped in only moments
ago. Moony recognized the word pup, tilting his head, paws lowering to the floor until he
was laying on his belly. Moony whined as Will held out the blanket, slowly stretching his
head forward, ever cautious of the new smell.

The large brown muzzle shifted from the baby blanket to Will’s body, scenting him from his
stomach up to the curls of his hair. Will chuckled, slow hands coming to grip around Moony’s
head to pull him closer to the ground. Moony responded submissively, rolling onto side to
expose his belly to Will.

A few minutes passed before Will heard the door to the cellar open.

Hannibal descended the stairs, soft giggles escaping Mischa as she reached for the fireflies
that floated around them both. Hannibal froze at the entrance to the oasis, looking at their
daughter with such a look of adoration.

Will held his hand over Moony’s neck, stoking him as the wolf took in the scent of his mate
and fawn. Hannibal’s face broke into a smile, the same one that was solely reserved for their
daughter, light reflecting against the dark color of his eyes as she laughed with gums wide
open, clumsy hands reaching for the insects that buzzed around them all.

“Stay,” he whispered to Moony. Will stood from the ground, not bothering to brush the dirt
off his pants as he knew he would soon be seated on the ground once more. He walked to
Hannibal, still looking at Mischa as if she were the only thing in the world worthy of his
attention.

He came around Hannibal, walking to his side to look down at their daughter, a hand coming
under his husbands. Gentle as always, Hannibal shifted his body in steady movements,
transferring Mischa into Will’s arm. Will nuzzled Hannibal, connecting their lips only briefly
before another squeal of joy broke them apart to look down at their bundle.

A soft whining came from Moony, still laying on his side in the soft grass, tail thumping with
his excitement.

Will turned from his mate and walked to the werewolf, though still laying on the floor,
growing more excited to meet Mischa with his approach. He heard the sound of shifting skin
and clothing change to feathers behind him. Paying his mate no mind, Will crossed his legs
and sat down on the ground nearest Moony’s face.
The wolf whined, his nose booping Mischa with gentle nudges that made her squeal with
each pass as she attempted to touch his fur. In a more steady movement, Moony pushed his
snout over Mischa’s face, taking in her scent as his tail wagged happily behind him. Mischa,
now close to Moony, could grab onto his hair and pull with all her small might.

Will looked up when he felt the huffing of a warm breath over his shoulder. He felt Hannibal
dip his face along Will’s, rubbing his longer muzzle along his stubble before scenting his
fawn. Moony noticed Hannibal in all his feathers and dipped away from the three of them,
whining submissive as he turned his belly.

Disturbed by the sudden lack of attention, Mischa growled, an indication of her shifting.
Small bones folded along themselves, his skin turning inward as hair grew into black feathers
covering her legs and underbelly, toppled with sharp white ones.

Moony picked up his head, tilted in confusion as he looked at Mischa in her new form. He
scented the air, his hackles only slightly raised in nervousness. The more he scented her, the
more he recognized the scent of the baby attached to the fawn and his tail began to wag
again.

Hannibal bedded down beside Will as he shifted Mischa out of his lap and onto the soft
ground of the basement. Her feathers rippled with happiness at meeting a new friend.

Mischa looked at Moony, their noses reaching to gently touch one another. She pulled her
nose away then turned and to bleet right in Moony’s face.

Will chuckled as he stroked along Hannibal’s mane.

“Better than biting off his ear,” he muttered.

With Hannibal and Moony surrounding Mischa, Will stood up from his place in the nest.
Mischa took no notice of his leaving, happy to interact with her new furred friend. Hannibal
looked at him, crown tilted to the side. Will took his antlers in each hand, thumbs rubbing
above his mate’s brow.

“You need to bond with him too,” he whispered, leaning down to bestow a kiss over his
brow.

Will climbed the stairs of the oasis, casting one last look at the werewolf laying next to the
Ravenstag, near the same size by comparison.

Closing the door behind him with a smile, Will caught a movement out of his peripheral. It
moved too quickly for him to get any information on the person. With his mate looking over
their fawn and Moony, Will felt his feathers rise to his spine as the need to inspect for danger
clouded his mind.

He stalked around the kitchen, waving around the various utensils that were floating around.
A door opened and closed up ahead, towards the back exit of the house. Waving around the
long and narrow corridors, Will eventually heard the voice of Beverly speaking to someone
outside.
Turning the corner, he saw Beverly sitting on the stone railing with Draco sitting next to her.
With a near supernatural sense, Beverly shifted her head to look at the door.

“Come out here, you creeper,” she said, waving Will over when she determined the danger
finished. Will smiled as he opened the door, greeted by the deep navy colors of night.

Will walked over the the two, sitting between them in the plush chair by a metal table large
enough to fit a chess board.

“I realize the three of us all compromised our morals to fall in love with cannibals.”

Will kicked his legs up onto the railing, getting more comfortable in his chair.

“Yeah,” he said, “it happens.”

Beverly chuckled at the look Draco had on his face, looking between the two adults outside
with him.

“Don’t be so embarrassed,” Beverly joked, nudging his side with her shoulder. “It’s
adorable.”

Draco returned the playful shrug to Beverly, the blush still covering his pale cheeks as his
eyes darted to Will for approval. Will smiled at Draco, elevating his stress as he looked to the
moon hanging over the night canvas.

It was not late in the evening, but Will could feel his body beginning to tire. He contemplated
if it was attributed to the feeling of warmth and contentment that overpowered the room
when they arrived. The three rested in the silence of their own thoughts- the sound of birds
and muggle London echoing through the warding of the house.

Draco brought a hand up to his mouth as he yawned, clearly feeling the effects of whatever
hung over the house.

“Come on, Squirt,” Beverly said, swinging her leg onto the secure part of the ground, a hand
held out for Draco to take. The boy hummed, his eyes blinking with sleep as he accepted the
hand, leaning onto her grip safely and landed on the terrace. “No more children climbing out
of windows.”

The glare was meant for Will but Draco perked up a bit at that, commenting that Harry told
him of how they met.

“Then down a chimney,” she said, prompting a laugh from both Draco and Will, more
content with the story now there was space between the trauma of losing his first fawn. When
Beverly put her hand on Draco’s shoulder, she paused and looked down at her arm with a
bright smile.

“Aww,” she cooed, “he likes you.”

Draco and Will shared a confused look, turning their attention to Beverly. She held up her
arm and began to roll down her sleeve.
“This little guy,” she said.

And exposed a familiar black snake, broken in several places, moving with all the elegance of
a worm along her arm, scenting the edges of her fingers. Draco jumped back and into Will’s
side, repulsion and fear saturating the room. Will put a steadying hand on his shoulder,
keeping him from panic.

“Beverly,” he said.

She looked down at the snake on her arm casually trying to climb back up the length of her
radius bone.

“I take it this isn’t normal then?”

Will shook his head. He walked out of the hallway, towards the main room where the rest of
the crowd had still remained. Narcissa and Tom were seated together, heads dipped together
in conversation as the young teen looked cautiously engaged with such a regal woman he
once harmed. Regardless of his fawn’s progress on mending bonds, Will’s energy
immediately called everyone's attention in the room.

“Tom,” he said, his tone dropping that had the fawn in question freeze in his seat, shrinking
back into a submissive posture. Narcissa calmly raised her chin, her eyes taking stock of the
room and Will, then casting an equally sharp look down at Tom.

“I didn’t do it,” he said immediately.

“Guilty as charged, kid,” Beverly laughed, following in step behind Will, her forearm
exposing the Dark Mark on her flesh rather than Severus.

Severus gasped, his hand coming to his sleeve on his right arm, tearing the button off as he
went to look at his flesh. Rumblings in the room picked up, darting eyes streaking across
every member within the living room.

The stitching along the length of Severus’ sleeve tore with his frantic motion. He curled it
haphazardly, his white shirt wrinkling under the black robe. His forearm, fist clenched and
pale flesh revealing deep blue veins and scars of jagged teeth…and no Dark Mark tattooed on
his flesh.

Nobody knew what to say, all watching and waiting for Severus' reaction as he looked from
his unmarked arm to the wriggling snake on Beverly’s flesh.

In a blink of an eye, he was from one side of the room to the other, her forearm in his long
fingers as his wand ran over her flesh.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” Severus said. Unconcerned by his mutterings or the stillness
in the room, she rolled her eyes and put a hand to her chest, affronted.

“How was I supposed to know this wasn’t a normal reaction?” Beverly accused everyone in
the room. “You walk through fire.”
Her head nodded to the hearth, all adults taking a moment to look at the floo network for
what it really was- a foolish leap of faith into flames on the hopes they’d arrive at their
destination without being burned alive in the process.

“Does it hurt you?” Sirius pipped up from his position on the couch. He stood up and walked
closer to Beverly, still maintaining a healthy distance from Severus, who was muttering spells
in a variety of languages over her arm with his wand.

“No,” she said with a shrug.

Sirius turned his attention to Tom, who had shrunken next to Harry as eyes turned from the
spectacle on Beverly’s arm back to the one who created such an image. Sirius walked around
Severus, still tightly holding Beverly, beckoning Draco and whispering to translate the
magic.

“Will it hurt her?” If Sirius, the Grim, were to be as loyal as his brother, Tom felt obligated to
give him honesty.

“No,” he said, shaking his head violently enough to be sure he was telling the truth. “I
couldn’t remove it. I could remove the ill-intent of the barer...of my Husk.”

“Well, there you go,” Sirius said, making sure no awkward silence filled the void of Tom’s
statement by putting a hand over his shoulder with a smile as he looked at Severus.

“Do you think it is that simple?” he hissed, yet none of the magic he cast over Beverly's arm
gave any indication it would harm her, gliding over her limb before slipping as if she were
cloaked in duck down.

“Gods no,” Sirius said, tossing his hair over his shoulder as he spoke. “But the boy admitted
he wasn’t powerful enough to remove the Mark, only change it. If it wanted to kill either of
you- it would be more likely to kill Beverly as a muggle than you as a spy. Since she’s
standing in the flesh, radiant as ever, it won’t hurt her.”

“He’s right,” Will said, his eyes lifting up from the Mark. It really was behaving like a
common snake, slowly making its way closer to the warmest part of Beverly- currently the
crux of her elbow. They all watched with bated breath as the snake curled around itself and
seemed to settle in for sleep.

“The moment anything happens,” Severus said. Beverly looked like she wanted to say
something smart but thought better of it, closing her mouth with a smile as she nodded her
head. Severus stumbled on his next step, Beverly at his front to catch the wizard who clearly
had tired from chanting such a number of spells as quickly as he did.

That same sleepy feeling that Will noticed at the start of Remus’ transformation only
saturated the air further. A supernatural sense had him look towards Draco and Tom. Yawns
escaped both their mouths and Narcissa, who’s intuition as a mother must have sensed what
hung over the area, walked to Severus and Beverly.
“If any of you were thinking about leaving tonight,” Narcissa piped up as the tension cleared
the room. “Thinking yourselves guests in this house.” She waved Draco close to her, her son
obediently trotting to her side. “Your rooms have already been prepared. We can discuss your
leaving in the morning. Off to bed with you, Draco.”

Draco turned on his mother and whined, a yawn breaking through his protests.

“Come along, Severus, Beverly,” Narcissa said, turning Draco to walk him up the stairs. “I’ll
point you to your rooms.”

All heads watched as Draco took to the staircase first, accepting himself as his mother’s
victim. Narcissa had a smug smile on her face as her son stumbled his way up the stairs and
around the corner without a word of goodnight to the others.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, his eyes still stuck on the now empty staircase, “she does that
sometimes.”

Will smiled as Sirius shifted away from all of them, bidding them soft goodnights as he grew
closer to the basement door. He waved to Beverly, a mischievous smirk on his lips,
transformed into a large dog and descended the basement steps.

“See? This is why I didn’t think to tell you about the tattoo,” Beverly said, taking Severus’
hand in her marked arm, dragging him out of his stiffness to the upper floors. Narcissa
followed after the two of them, instructing Beverly on the subtle natures of the Black Estate.

All that remained in the living space were Tom, Harry and Will.

“What about the dogs?” Harry asked, covering a yawn with his hand as the spell began to
draw him into sleep.

“I had a feeling Narcissa would insist on keeping us the night,” Will said, fighting his own
sleep spell. He gathered the teens and herded them up the stairs.

Narcissa, ever the hostess, was at the top of the stairs, bidding Beverly and Severus a
goodnight as the door clicked softly in front of her. She smiled warmly at the three of them as
they walked through the hallway.

“This room should suit you boys well,” Narcissa said, pushing back the door with the letters
RAB attached to the wall. Trusting Narcissa’s instincts, Will nodded his head to the boys,
encouraging them to enter the room.

There was a bed large enough for the two of them to share, a bonding activity that neither
seemed to mind as Tom continued to settle his magic.

Will leaned forward to hug each of his children, Harry playfully shoving him away as he
looked embarrassed in front of Narcissa to Tom, who hoarded all of the affection given to
him, no matter who appeared to be watching.

With the twins put to bed, it left him with Narcissa in the hallway.
“You’re a clever woman,” Will said, following her without instruction to the other bedroom.
She hummed, a soft smile on her lips.

“Oh please,” Narcissa said, stopping at a door in the hallway that was clearly for them to
occupy if the crib in the bedroom was any indication. “As if you didn’t have any play in
manipulating your husband.”

She approached Will slowly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hug him, her scent
and his intermingling that only strengthened the Herd bonding pheromones coursing through
blood and magic of every inhabitant in the household.

“Sleep well,” she said, winking at him as she walked down the hall to whichever room she
occupied since being excommunicated from the Malfoy name.

Will would be surprised if Hannibal joined him in the bed this evening. Moony and Sirius
would no doubt grow attached to Mischa no matter the form she took in the evening and
Hannibal’s presence would only further solidify the pack Moony needed if the two spent the
night.

He sighed as he melted into the unfamiliar bed, grateful for the first peaceful night of sleep
since birthing Mischa.

Tom woke early in the morning, before the sun had crested over the horizon, the moon
hanging over the lip of the world. The birds were silent, still sleeping as the insects of night
chirped their final song.

Harry, comfortable sleeping next to him on his side, had managed not to crush Tom this
evening, as was his favorite position to take in sleep. As if sensing the light of dawn, Tom
knew he could not find stillness within his mind to take sleep.

His mind wandered to the incident last evening. There was a multitude of things that occurred
for Tom in a short amount of time, and with only one catalyst, it left his magic stunned and
immediately sleepy. In the depths of sleep, his magic untangled and revealed itself within his
mind.

Severus, his most loyal of followers, was equally chosen by his father. A seal..a bite of
approval upon the flesh of Severus. Before Severus was Dumbledore’s, before his father’s
Beta, the youngest half-blood prodigy, a Potion Master with ambition so much like himself.
Severus, who was chosen by his father, the man that forgave Tom for the actions of his past
life, his most loyal follower.

Beverly Katz, a muggle, the mate of Severus Snape, still with human blood in her veins and
now with the Dark Mark on her arm. But no, this was not the first time that Tom encountered
Beverly Katz. He knew her as Harry did.

How she had transferred the Mark from Severus’ flesh to her own, he did not know, but the
remnant of his magic was now on her arm.
Bonding them in a way.

A sense of restlessness overcame him as his mind continued to race in the silence. Tom
slipped from the bed, grabbing one of the bigger sweaters with his mother’s scent over it.
Tom inhaled the scent and felt his magic begin to settle.

Looking to the nightstand, he saw the Slytherin Locket, cracked in the middle from where his
soul burst free. He picked up the ancestral object and put it in his pocket before he slipped
out of the room.

The rest of the house was still sleeping. Moony, Sirius, his father and Mischa were all likely
to remain in the basement until Remus emerged with the setting of the moon.

Sneaking around the kitchen, Tom walked around the halls until he found himself at a door
leading to a rooftop balcony. He opened the door, wincing as it creaked at the hinges.
Slipping through the door, Tom closed it with a hush, glad to feel the coolness of night along
his mind.

Tom saw a chair in the middle of the balcony, positioned well enough that he could sit with
his legs propped over the stone. He took the chair, hands moving on their own accord as he
pulled Slytherin’s Locket out of his pocket.

His thumb brushed over the crack in the emerald. Harry put the first dent within the gem that
tried to capture and feast on his own magic with the patronus whispered in Parseltongue.
Once his greatest heirloom, which made it possible to take control of the Purebloods despite
the thought of dirt in his veins, was only an expensive piece of jewelry, damaged, more
deserving to be in a museum than his hands.

Or rather, used for something else.

Tom rubbed his fingers over the broken snake scales that set the emerald in place, thinking of
the Dark Mark on Beverly’s arm, a muggle.

He had mixed memories of the Mark on Severus' arm. The first were vague, hazed memories
of the Potions Master held behind the lines of violence with instructions brewing potions
between treating the Death Eaters that acted as collateral damage to the Husk’s destruction.
The man was afraid of him, a halfblood such as himself, a genius in his own right. Severus
brought him the half of the prophecy that Harry’s memories supplemented.

Neither can live while the other survives…

From Harry, there were memories of the man as a Professor and a Head of House. He could
remember the man in his twin’s first year, more clearly than the Husk’s, giving him charmed
blankets that combated his Hibernation symptoms. Tom could remember the gripping fear of
being poisoned from within and Professor Snape coming to his rescue then to the time he put
his arms between Harry and Moony.

And with each passing day as a Herd, Tom was gaining memories of his own around
Severus.
Then there was Beverly- the first muggle he’d ever had a positive experience with.

Tom growled, his fingers tinting with his feathers as he remembered Harry’s transformation
in the beginning. It was the first time that he and Harry truly made contact. Harry was
terrified as Verger touched his body. Tom, a sliver of soul, jaded and wrathful at the muggles
around him, remembered the sensation of pure helplessness and terrified vulnerability
towards another.

He was a percentile of what he was now, yet Tom was able to scrounge enough of his own
magic to push Harry’s towards forming a single spell, one that would ensure neither Tom nor
Harry would ever have to be touched by another without their welcome.

The curse slid like a landslide down the center of Harry’s scar to his chest where Verger’s
pillaging fingers touched innocent flesh, illuminating the room with an emerald curse, the last
one he ever cast.

While it might have been Harry’s magic that forced the Killing Curse to fly, it was Tom’s
intention that reaped Mason Verger’s soul.

What bled through the sliver of his horcrux within Harry was a fast consolation to his
harrowing adventure. It was followed by a muggle, Beverly Katz, and Tom was too
exhausted to do anything about her.

Tom leaned back in the chair, his head tipped to the dawning sky as he remembered through
Harry’s eyes- taken into her apartment, fed and bathed, given a secure place to sleep no
matter if it was unfamiliar.

When his eyes opened, they naturally found their way to the Locket in his hand. Tom tilted
his head, gazing over the split in the middle. Tom put his thumbs in the slit, his feathers
protecting him from the fractured emeralds cutting edge.

“Split,” he hissed, putting what could only be described as a chisel of his magic in the center
of the Locket. Magic cracked the stone further in the middle, Tom left with two pieces of his
heirloom in his hands.

In their own way, Severus and Beverly were each Tom’s. They cared for him through Harry,
both coming to his aid- before he lost his body to Harry and when his enemy carried him in
his soul. Beverly and Severus were genius’ in their own right- the youngest Potion’s Master
and the muggle that comprehends magic enough to create a vaccine against himself.

There was something to be said about the collective strength of them both, even if they were
once working to destroy him.

Tom felt his magic pool around his fingers. Resting one half of the Locket in his lap, Tom felt
the metal scales stretch like taffy in his fingers. He etched his magic, the one still connected
to Hogwarts within his blood, a long ignored echo in the emerald, molding itself to his will.
The emerald shifted, cracking excess until it formed a circle with triangular cuts in the center
of a key.
Sweating and magic invigorated, Tom picked up the other half of Slytherin’s Locket- the
design in his head and unescapable until he completed the task. This time, the gem cut into
his palm as he shaped the once oval emerald to a circle. The pain was easily ignored as his
magic felt like euphoria, a galloping rush of water that flowed over every nerve of his body.

A punch of air had him coughing as Tom cut his magic off. In each hand, a key laid, clenched
within fingers as he pulled his magic back into his body. Tom chuckled to himself, madly,
sitting back in the chair as his eyes adjusted to the light around him.

He could feel the magic in the keys and with it, the sea side of Hogwarts brushing wind over
the feathers on his arms as if he were in the castle himself.

“Tom,” a voice said, startling him out of the vision of his first home. He gripped the keys
tight in his fists, bringing them close to his stomach in a defensive posture. The protective
haze over his mind cleared, revealing the sight of Severus Snape standing in the doorway of
the patio.

Tom relaxed, glad that the man came to him once more...as he’s always done.

He raised an eyebrow, Tom tilted his head, attempting to understand what it was he wanted.
Another beat passed between the two before the man lowered his resolve and walked closer
to Tom.

“What was that?” He asked, standing over Tom with some air of superiority.

An interesting question, to say the least. Tom was of many things, an heir to the Slytherin
part of Hogwarts and, as he proved when the Husk was resurrected, capable of apparating
into the school.

Why the Husk hasn’t taken advantage of that, Tom did not know and did not dare question
lest his Husk have a change of heart.

The boundaries of Hogwarts wards were obsolete to Tom and anything that held a similar
connection to the school he felt like a vein in his own body. By taking his own Locket, no
doubt forged with Salazar Slytherin toiling over it, and making it into keys, whoever held
them could unlock any door and find themselves at Hogwarts.

Magnetic like, two would always strive to find each other. As they could open any door to
Hogwarts with one twist, the other direction would show the nearest door to the key's
partner.

Vain as he was, Tom would not let Dumbledore ward the household of Beverly to Severus’
quarters when he could display the sheer power of his magic, no matter if he was missing the
Husk’s shard of his soul.

“Tom?” Severus said, putting his hand slowly to his forehead.

Oh...it seemed Tom had yet to explain his madness. He laughed, the sound, perhaps a bit
manic for the situation and quantity of Severus' concern for him. It was sweet, really, that the
man he hurt in the shell of his Husk was concerned for him.

“Feline? What have you done now?”

Tom felt himself reach for Beverly as she swept around him, arms coming to touch his
shoulders much like she did when Harry embraced her after sliding down the chimney chute.

A freezing sensation traveled up his nose, causing him to flinch as he felt his airways open,
slower as oxygen cycled through his sinus from Severus’ spell. With Beverly’s hand on his
shoulder, he could sloppily pinpoint where she touched him, his hand slipping her the key.

“He’s magically exhausted,” Tom heard Severus say.

Tom could feel the closing of his magic, perhaps his consciousness. It was early enough in
the morning that his parents might think his sleeping in was natural and not magically
induced.

Before he could slip into the world of dreams, his bloodied hand pushed against Severus’
chest, making sure the man understood, knew, that Tom was giving him a gift and a
benediction of his forgiveness.

While Tom had only received the best of Beverly, he had shown his worst to Severus, taken
everything from the man and left him in a sea of unknown that got him bitten by a vampire.
Tom had no doubt, under all of the self-loathing that allowed him to neglect his mating bond,
Severus blamed Tom for his transformation.

Tom deserved that blame and so much more from the people within Grimmauld place.

Severus put his hand over Tom’s smaller one, covered in feathers, wincing as the key no
doubt dug into his sternum. Tom gazed into his dark eyes, eyes of a predator of night, that
winced in the sunlight, nocturnal to hunting humans. The eyes flickered down when Tom felt
his hand release Slytherin’s key.

His bleeding hand was still pressed to Severus' sternum, allowing him to feel more than hear
the intake of the vampire's breath. Tom smiled as Beverly pried him back to lean on the chair,
taking his hand into her own to look over his injury. Severus’ eyes met his own, searching his
face, disbelief and yet- his most loyal servant understood the nature of keys.

Small pricks of pain made his hand twitch as he felt Beverly remove the excess shards of
Slytherin’s Locket leaving his palm.

“Dumbledore would have connected our floo,” Severus said to him, Beverly still in the dark
as she removed a larger shard.

Dumbledore and Severus weren’t considering Beverly’s natural fear of the floo. Instead of
revealing that, he smiled, his eyes fluttering closed.

“How mundane,” he muttered.

His drunken stumbling up the stairs must have roused the Head of Grimmauld from the
depths of the basement.

“Hey, pup,” Sirius said, his arms coming to support Tom as much as Severus. “Magical
exhaustion, yeah, I’m familiar with that too. Let’s get you a nap.”

Tom was sure that he had enough energy within his legs to walk himself up the remaining
stairs and to the room he was assigned by Narcissa last night. Yet, he was eternally glad when
he had the support of both as his fingers touched over the door.

Tom’s eyes opened wide to a surrounding and terrifying darkness of the cave, the unnatural
still water hiding a hoard of horrific bodies beneath the surface. There was water overtop of
him, filled in small increments and drank by someone that looked so much like Sirius.

He saw the man crumple to the floor, his locket given to another as he cried out as nightmares
filled his reality, thirst clenching his throat. As the infiri lifted up from the surface, mindless
in their gluttony, an order was given and the locket’s eyes were ripped away from the sight of
the man being pulled into the water.

“RAB,” he said, one word, “Regulus,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering in his head as the soft
mattress was put beneath his body. Tom reached his bandaged hand to Sirius, squeezing
through the potions meant to scab the wounds the Locket made, blood seeping through the
cotton. “He...he defeated me. A hero,” he whispered, throat closing as his body grew heavy
and lead-like. “I’m sorry,” Tom tried to say, unsure if the words echoed through his head or
managed to expel from his mouth.

The shushing sound and shaking fingers carding through his hair as the last of his energy
reserves were sapped from him gave Tom hope of forgiveness.

After the three moons passed, when Remus and Sirius could sleep in their bed together as
men, the two still remained just as close as they did shifted. On clearer days, Sirius thought it
was the mindlessness of both their creatures.

And while Sirius didn’t have a technical creature status, his own regression into Padfoot that
prevented the Dementors from feasting on his soul...left some lasting scars within his psyche.
His mind healer, if they were looking for a new topic to speak of, could delve into the sea of
issues about Regulus that the young Dark Lord exposed.

“What do you mean?” He asked, turning his head so he could look at Remus, aghast. “I’m
Harry’s godfather.”

Remus chuckle rumbled through the knobs on Sirius’ spine, pushing warmth deeper into the
growing fat around his ribs. A large, possessive hand came to circle around his waist, and lay
up the length of his chest, resting heavy so he couldn’t move from his mate.

“Sirius,” his voice was still raspy after his transformation, deeper and made him shiver.
“There is more than being a guardian that qualifies for Beta.”
His hand traced gently over the collarbone he broke. Sirius rolled his eyes, his bravado
emerging as he tried to deflect the fear. While his magic and mind found comfort, such
comfort, in the closeness of a pack, Sirius found himself growing frayed at the edges of so
many in his territory.

“Well,” he scoffed, looking away from his mate’s arm, “being a Beta has no power.”

“Being a Beta is a large undertaking and monumental responsibility,” Remus said

immediately. Sirius gasped at the surrounding feeling of Remus, so much larger now he was
united with Moony, healthier and stronger than ever in their youth. “The Beta is responsible
for taking care of the pack if the Alpha is harmed or killed. They act as a proxy. Yet the best
Beta is the one that challenges the Alpha.”

Challenging the Alphas of the pack, of this mismatched Herd they all seemed to find
themselves in. Sirius couldn’t fathom himself doing it. Charging after Moony after thirteen
years of distance was near impossible; he was smaller, weaker, and charging after his mate.

Sirius was easily tossed down the hill.

The Ravenstag that accompanied them both, with little Mischa as a beautiful and deadly little
creature, would have no challenge putting Sirius into submission. Hannibal and Will towered
over his shifted form, having more weight on their rack than he had as bones. While it could
be argued Padfoot was more agile then the two if they were to fight, they could easily
outpace him and were smart enough to capture him.

“What happens if Harry dies?”

Remus’ words always had a way of halting his rushing thoughts with a cold bite of fear.

“He’s a Ravenstag.” Sirius had to push the words from his lips, a thought inconceivable to
him- he had survived the killing curse once before, had survived for thirteen years without
Sirius to raise him, and turned into a Ravenstag.

“And he is still a boy,” the words were solemn, hurting and grieving what might come.
“Would you be able to pull either Will or Hannibal away from attacking if it foolishly led to
their deaths?”

There was no need to answer- Sirius was learning more of himself with Mungo’s sessions and
was becoming...somewhat self aware.

“Sirius,” Remus said, his voice wet. Sirius turned in the bed to look at him, dreading what the
other might confess. Through the scar that cut over his eyebrow, Remus held his gaze.

“The easiest way for Voldemort to kill Hannibal Lecter and William Graham is if he takes
Harry.”

Sirius didn’t need to hear it from his mate to know it was true. Bellatrix, kept far away from
him due to an incident where he bashed her head into the concrete pillars until they were both
detained by dementors, once hinted at taking Harry and torturing him. It was said to pull a
reaction from Sirius, and it did, a violent one where he couldn’t picture his little godson
screaming in agony as he could do nothing to prevent it.

Remus, as always, was right. Sirius broke out of Azkaban when he saw that Pettigrew was at
Hogwarts, the need to protect his pup driving him to starve himself further, so he could slip
through the narrow bars and into the crags of freezing water. Transforming on instinct to
swim as best he could with no fat on his body to shore. When his patched hair immediately
began to freeze in the cold air, another transformation to legs, stumbling away from the
aurors searching for him until his human tracks were hidden.

They would both foolishly charge into a trap set by the Dark Lord, even if it meant certain
death. Men obsessed like Hannibal and Will would only do the same.

“Who?” Sirius asked, no longer understanding how the pack...Herd would work if they were
not the Betas.

Remus laughed, a lighter sound that pushed against the tension of their conversation. The
blanket, soft and enhanced with warming charms, was only further wrapped around him as
Remus secured his biceps around Sirius chest, pushing the horrible, wheel-like thoughts
approaching his mind.

“Severus and Beverly.”

Oh.

Yes. Sirius supposed that would work.

Two headstrong predators in their own right facing against Ravenstag's, two that knew the
Alpha’s longer than Sirius had. Sirius watched both Beverly and Severus interact with the
Alphas of the Herd, joking, teasing, and yet, the two could insult and curse Hannibal and Will
without facing their ire, instead- pulling laughter from both.

“Hey,” Remus said, pulling their bodies closer, grounding Sirius. “Don’t be so upset because
I’m right...again.”

Sirius groaned dramatically.

“Only one hundred and sixty-five times.”

“One hundred and sixty-six!” Remus exclaimed, propping himself over Sirius. So much
larger than he was, pressed deep into the mattress and nowhere to go, he could tell this was
moving somewhere. Before and after...and during...all the time, come to think of it, Remus
was very possessive in reclaiming Sirius now that he was growing more comfortable with
extended touch.

Right now, he felt raw...picturing their pup hurt after hearing very real threats, Sirius shivered
and not for any pleasant reason.

Lovely mate as he was, Remus picked up on his change in mood. Before Sirius could stutter
something out and shame fill him, he was turned back on his side, Remus pressed tight
 against his back.

“Wouldn’t it be easy to go back to sleep…?” his rough voice whispered into his ear. He felt
the heavy blanket shift back over his body, warmth beginning to seep into the spots of his
bones left hollow. With a large hand over his chest, Remus helped him steady his breathing,
slowly lengthening the breath until his eyes grew heavy.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for joining me! I hope that you enjoyed all of the magic that I put in there
explaining the mark moving to Beverly, new relationships being made and all sorts of
good things.

I wanted to announce that we are getting to the final Act of this story. I am most excited
and equally as tired working this labor of love. Thank you for all your support and love
here! There is a lot coming and I am so pleased to have everyone here at the table. My
last night to hibernate is tonight for tomorrow is a new week! We all got this! Much love
to everyone!
 That New Kid
Chapter Notes

Good evening everyone,

I tried to get this up for Halloween, really I did, but time kinda slipped away from me
these past few weeks. I am most pleased to give you this chapter- more Tom content, as
you requested!

Trick or Treat
(PS- speaking of, no kids came to my apartment and I was really excited to feed them!
I'm a little sad)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Will watched with a fond expression rippling over his feathers as Tom asked for Hannibal to
continue his grooming by lifting his head high enough it grazed along his mate’s underjaw.
Hannibal did not deny Tom the continued grooming, rumbling a purr as he spread another
layer of the Herd scent over their fawn.

Tom returned the kind grooming by nuzzling over Mischa’s feathers, gently enough that he
would not wake her as she slept. Harry, having fallen asleep from his grooming in the circle,
had the feathers of his spine laced around those of her flank.

In the months since Tom’s resurrection, the teen went from one that flinched at their hand to
someone who continued to request groomings. His magic that was fractured, no longer used
to existing within one body and mind, was strong enough he created his own wand out of the
nature within their territory. Tom would carry home with him in his magic, the place he was
born once again and given a better introduction to darkness.

Where the two taught Tom new and terrible ways to kill others.

Will leaned his snout over Tom to nuzzle his half ear. Mischa would looks at his ear often,
her fingers reaching for it as much as her teeth tried to snap the rest off. The nerves were not
damaged within his ear but the lack of a full shell would prevent the full span of his earring.
The shell captured the sound, funneling it perfectly within the fragile bones of his inner ear.

Tom, a newly resurrected teen, a young fawn, had adapted as if the injury hadn’t happened.
He hadn’t flinched as she bit him, only pulling his head back with a pleased ripple of his
feathers as she swallowed Tom’s part of his outer ear.

In the perfect combination of himself and his mate, Mischa bit Tom’s ear as he would
someone only to snuggly lick her lips like Hannibal would.
Tom absolutely refused for anyone to heal it beyond a cleaning and wrapped bandages.

“Sleep,” he whispered, casting his new hypnotic ability into Tom’s ear. Try as his little fawn
might, still speckled with feathers and ripe with power, he could not fight against his
mother’s order. With his father grooming over his skull and his mother whispering in his ear,
Tom’s eyelids fell like heavy drapes. He laid his head down, chin comfortably resting over
Mischa’s speckled form.

“For all that he once wanted to escape,” Hannibal whispered to him, looking down at their
three fawns nested between their bodies.

Hannibal and Mischa were both fixated on Tom’s half ear. Mischa, likely because she was the
one to rip it off his head and eat it. While she did not have the capacity for smugness as a
baby, Will didn’t need his empathy to know she was proud of herself for her carnal act.
Perhaps that is what threaded Hannibal’s attention to the wound; that Tom, rather than react
violently, felt chosen by Mischa, to be the first human flesh she’d ever tasted would be seen
as an honor to a Ravenstag.

“We’ve tied ourselves to you,” Will said, nuzzling between Hannibal’s rack. “Your only
escape from us is through Death.”

“A rack of antlers such as yours, dear William,” Hannibal said, voice broken and wet with
emotion as it was their last evening as a family, Hogwarts riding with dawn, “I would crawl
into with aching hands.”

“A web of your own making...a grave you forever lay,” Will replied to his hushed tone with
one that hardly disturbed the silence of night.

When dawn crested, and the family enjoyed their last breakfast together, Tom and Harry
departed for Hogwarts separately. Harry, sorted in Slytherin house, would board the
Hogwarts Express at Kings Cross Station. Dumbledore wrote to Tom this summer, with
instructions on the books he would need for his fifth year of classes and instructions to arrive
at his office for another sorting.

Will observed his fawn look down at the orange flames in the summer hearth. He hissed, no
powder in his hands, and the flames shifted color to their brilliant emerald. Will could see the
small white feathers that hung under his natural hair, hesitation and fear tense within his
body.

“Where’s Nagini?” Will asked, watching as Tom took his first hesitant step towards the fire,
providing more heat in an already overheated house.

Tom stiffened, caught, and while both parents could see his back, his shifting posture gave
away his mental struggle of lying. He slackened his stance and sighed, his head shaking to
the side.

“With Mischa,” he said, his attention solely focused on the fire.

Well…
There would be no moving her then…

Will stood proud behind his fawn as he took a stronger step to the fire this time, reaching for
the urn of floo powder only to pull his hand back as if he’d been shocked. Neither Hannibal
or Will moved, observing as he looked from his fingers to the yellow flames in the hearth.

Their fawn hissed, his serpent tongue requesting permission to his ancestral domain. The
feathers along his neck flicked up above the collar of his Hogwarts uniform in pride yet he
did not step forward.

So much like his twin, Tom turned on a dime, molding himself in the space between their
bound embrace one last time, before he broke away without a word and dove into the flames.

The hearth coughed a plum of soot, stifling with Tom’s departure.

Breaking the silence was the sound of their breathing, the pack of dogs all sleeping around
Mischa’s crib as she took her mid morning nap. Will waited for Hannibal’s reaction at seeing
their second fawn leave the territory for the first time, venturing into a world beyond his
immediate grasp.

“He’ll be alright,” Will said, sure of Tom’s conviction and power. His ability to summon the
flames of Hogwarts was evident enough.

“The Husk will not allow-”

“That is up to Tom now,” Will interrupted.

On the other side of the flames, heat flooding between the holes of his magic, Tom stumbled
onto the wooden floor of the Headmaster’s office.

Finally, his magic seemed to breathe, yearning satisfied as he remained on the floor, fingers
black as he attempted to carve himself back into the foundation of the school. His blood held
heat, heat that combated against the missing shard of his soul that the Husk had.

“We meet again,” Tom said, brushing off the ash that collected on his pants as he stood-
knowing that the Headmaster was not fooled by his actions. Rather than rise to the bait,
Headmaster Dumbledore smiled, his wrinkled face having gained more ravels since they last
spoke.

“In the flesh,” his professor bowed his head, eyes falling on the floor in subservience. Tom
could feel his magic in his body, warm and content to be within Hogwarts grace again, no
longer excommunicated from his blood home by the Light Lord.

Dumbledore walked away from Tom, his wand flicking papers and books out of his way until
he reached a staircase hanging on brass wheels. Frail hands climbed the stairs, shaking the
sides of the railing until he grasped the Sorting Hat.

“You can understand my hesitance accepting you within Hogwarts once more, yes?”
Professor Dumbledore asked as he walked towards Tom.
“Yes,” Tom said, sometimes not recognizing the reflection in the mirror. Other times, in his
dreams, the mirror showed a split down the glass, two faces, his newly minted one and the
one that peeled like a snakeskin, lost nose, fevered eyes and haunting flesh.

Dumbledore regarded Tom for a moment, their eyes connected. Tom waited for the prod of
occlumency that they once spared during his first try as a student.

It never came...maybe they were both learning…

“Shall we start before the others arrive?” Dumbledore asked. Tom startled when he felt a
chair pull up behind his legs, forcing him to sit. “After all, it is an honor to be the first student
sorted.”

Dumbeldore was playing on his pride…

...damned if it wasn’t working.

Tom felt the ancient hat lower on his head. His magic responded immediately, much like it
did when he landed through the flames. His eyes fluttered in his head, images and colors
erupting in his mind's eye as time and space reconveyance.

“Slytherin,” the hat spat out, as if there were any other option for Tom Marvolo Riddle,
Ravenfawn, Heir of Slytherin.

“You will need every ounce of cunning this year, Tom,” Dumbledore said, his tone
uncharacteristically serious- even for dealing with Tom.

He furrowed his brow, tilting his head in confusion. Tom reached his hand instinctively to
touch the castle's stone and closed his eyes, searching and feeling for the magic of the
school.

It was happy for the students to be arriving, and angry at some kind of infection.

Tom blinked out of the vision. While he did not directly understand what Dumbledore was
alluding too, he could feel Hogwarts discontent for something... someone... within the walls.
His proverbial green light to deal with the situation would ease Tom of any guilt he might
have to fake.

“The train has arrived. I’m sure you know your way well enough to catch up to your twin.”

That was the other strange thing that Tom did not expect of Dumbledore. The man saw Tom
less of an extension of his Husk and more of a byproduct of Harry. There was little hesitation
of Dumbledore’s when it came to him protecting Tom at the Gaunt’s residence. In the letter
the Headmaster wrote, Tom sensed no ill-will from the man.

Tom left the Headmaster’s office with no further words and a strange sensation in his gut.

In the meantime, Tom lifted his wand to his black tie, changing the color to a bright green
that would be unmistakable by the others in the school. As he walked closer to the southside
of Hogwarts, he could hear the numerous students approaching.
Harry was in the middle of the group, a light feeling in his chest, if Tom concentrated hard
enough. He could feel the elastic pull of their bond growing closer and closer, the pressure
lessening as Harry approached the pillar he hid behind as other students passed.

“Creeper,” Draco exclaimed, startling when Tom appeared around the corner. Harry and Tom
snickered as he fell into step with the others of the school.

Stiff as a board next to him was a boy growing taller than him, a faint line of stubble
beginning to grow under his chin. Holding his hand, tugging him along, was a girl with a blue
tie, bushy hair and dark complexion. She was glaring at him, her eyes like fire as she looked
him over.

“So you’re the Dark Lord then?” She said, hands crossed over her chest even as they all
walked towards the Great Hall. Tom ducked his head at the accusation, looking at the
expressions of other students only to relax when he noticed they were to busy talking
amongst themselves to hear her declaration.

“Announce my secret identity to the whole school,” Tom hissed, ducking his head as if it
would prevent others from hearing it.

“Oh,” a voice said,

“What’s this,” a near echo came to surround him.

Tom felt arms wrap around him, pulling him impossibly between two bodies and away from
Harry’s friends.

“Is this what I think it is?” one of them said. They were taller than him, magic and faces
identical as they looked him over. He could feel his magic pulse, a flicker coming from Harry
as well. A hand came to his half eaten ear, pulling on it until he winced, then turned to snap
his teeth at a retreating hand.

“Thine eyes deceive, it is!”

The two, the one set, turned to look at Harry, voices lowering as they entered the Great Hall.
The two were both wearing green, as if they could be any more separated than he and Harry.
As one unit made of four, they walked to the Slytherin table, each set taking the opposite side
of the table.

“Twins,” The lips of the ginger pair said as one.

Harry and Tom could not deny it to magical born twins. While some might think them
fraternal, these two could seem to sense the truth without an ounce of doubt.

“What’s your name, kid?” One of them asked, the one sitting across the table from him. Tom
could feel the Great Halls doors breach open with a welcoming gust of magic as propelled by
his lungs. The newest batch of students, eager and waiting, and the prodigal student returning
anew.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” he whispered, magic almost escaping at his declaration.

“Separated by time and circumstance?” The other twin, the one sitting across from Harry,
asked him.

“As only twins can be,” Tom found himself stating.

A natural hush fell over the crowd as Professor McGonagall, standing as stern and upright as
she did as a student, took to the stage and unraveled a scroll that brushed against the ground.
She called each by name, summoning a nervous first year to the chair where the Sorting Hat
was draped over their heads.

Name and house were called in tandem, applause following each collected student. In the
past, Tom did not care for the Sorting Ceremony, and if any were sorted into his house, he
once formed an immediate judgement, a plan formed in his head.

Now, he felt himself smiling as student after student was claimed by Hogwarts magic, sorted
where they would best grow and develop into powerful witches and wizards that would
contribute to magics growth.

See…? The castle seemed to whisper.

“Hem Hem,” a voice from the Professor’s chair interrupted before the Headmaster could
welcome the students. Tom felt the magic of Hogwarts sour in his stomach, forcing him to
hide a painful wince as his blood’s magic rejected the intruder.

“This is going to be good,” said one twin.

Pink, like the inside of small intestine, was the first thing that Tom noticed of her. In fact, it
was her most notable feature. In small doses, the color was inviting, a passive color that did
not bring harm that red would. She stood out against the natural limestone of the castle
bricks, like a wound gone untreated and left to fester.

“I am Doloros Umbridge.”

Tom seethed, a name to the face which Hogwarts did not approve. Somehow, she was within
the wall, gone beyond the warding and will of even Dumbledore. What power could stop the
Light Lord?

“And I am here by ordinance of the Minister himself,” she smiled at them all, false. “To
insure the sanctity of the children.”

The Minister? The weak man who once hid and cowered in fear? The very man who ordered
Martial Law, willing to lock away anyone who broke curfew and label them as a Death Eater
to prove he was making strides against him.

“Hogwarts is supposed to mold the minds of youth into respectful citizens under the Ministry
of Magic.”

Tom paused.

He clicked his tongue within the bars of his mouth.

His Husk could not make a move within Hogwarts.

He could suffocate them all within, it seemed. Tom had to smile and give credit to himself,
who knew smoking a bee out of a hive would work so well?

This was a waiting game then, one that his parents could not play in. Tom and Harry shared a
glance, a conversation happening between their eyes. His twin was upset that Tom would
restrict Harry from informing their parents of Umbridge but Harry understood that if they
killed her too early, the Husk might break into Hogwarts and kill everyone.

This eternal place of youth could not be tainted with the slaughter of it’s charges.

“Only twins can do that,” one of the ginger twins whispered to the other, nodding along in
synchronization with the counter.

“And I promise you, by the end of this year, each of you will be well mannered and just
citizens.”

“Unlikely,” Tom hissed under his breath.

If anyone heard, he could excuse the sound for the steam within the pipes.

Tom woke surrounded by the warmth of the thick sage curtains hanging above him. The
down sheets clung the radiating heat of his feathers covering the bones of his limbs. As much
as he desired to mellow in the feeling of contentment, finally returning home even if he was
missing a piece of himself.

Two, if he included Mischa…

Something buzzed around him, akin to a hornets nest hanging in low branches.

Tom felt his feather flare around his body as he hissed, magic responding to the low buzz of
magic that felt of impending war.

As was his practice, Tom made sure all his clothing was pressed and charmed to remain in
lace the entire day. He suspected the whispers of students as he walked through the Common
Room, several of the students speaking among themselves in hushed tones, freezing when
they saw him only to look down into their papers to avoid his morning glare.

Tea first, then dealing with the gossip he stirred of being Harry’s ‘adopted’ sibling later.

Much like his first trial as a student, the older years were among the first eating breakfast in
the Great Hall. The conversation was mild, many students eating on their own with books
floating in front of their faces as they caught up on studies or with the paper neatly folded and
flipping as they sipped on tea.

He ignored the sparing glances thrown his way for the interruption of the iron door handle
breaking the silence, serving himself tea in an attempt to shake off the growing buzzing
feeling along his skin.

As the hour grew and more students piled in for breakfast, his name was whispered as much
as his twin’s, which they both anticipated. Any ‘adopted’ sibling of Harry Potter was bound
to stir the gossip cauldron in little time.

“What skeletons you got in your closet, Riddle?” One girl asked, dressed in blue as she
passed him with a sneer, making her way to a larger group of older Ravenclaws. Tom waited
until she was seated with her friends before letting some of the steam out of his teapot.
Leaning back in the stool, Tom caught her attention.

“Buried in graves, actually,” he said, tipping his teacup to her. “Morning, Harry,” Tom said,
noting his twin sitting next to him, Draco opposite of him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have said that,” Draco said, looking at the Ravenclaw girl dramatically
pulling her hair with forced anxiety. In his hand was one of the morning paper, still as much
garbage and political undercutting as his first childhood.

“Might want to read that,” Harry said in a tone that sounded enough like his mother that Tom
grew slightly more anxious than he was a moment ago. Draco offered him the paper, which
Tom took and unfolded gently, his fingers only crinkling the edges as his eyes consumed
more of the texts.

Beyond Adoption but Twins?

The nature of soul mates is commonly known to the world- wizarding and muggle alike; the
stars coming together in union of one soul in two bodies, forever searching for the other with
a painful longing until united or wilted by a soul aching grief.

A convoluted argument, and socially hesitant acceptance leads the wizarding community to
believe a similar connection exists within magical twins. Within the natural world, the
evidence for such a connection is staggering: telepathic abilities, shared dream experiences,
and the rare cases of sharing waking experiences of two separate places- self and the fellow
twin.

Stronger connections exist within identical twins than fraternal. The Carrow Twins, currently
serving time in Azkaban for serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, needed special cell
privileges designed to accommodate their magical core similarities. The Weasley Twins,
Slytherin troublemakers of the worst lot, are known for their ability to finish the other’s
thoughts without the missing of a beat and are rumored to have a supernatural sense of the
others whereabouts, even when separated.

Finally, there is the rarest of cases that exist regarding a pair of soul twins- the ones that
exist outside of the bonds of blood.

These cases are far and few between, many of them exaggerated or so taboo they were erased
from the scripts of parchment. What makes soul twins unique is that any magical person can
have one- if they have similar histories…
 Histories of damage, bloodshed and broken souls.

Allow me to elaborate with what we know, dear readers, in the case of one: Harry James
Potter.

We all know the story of how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named broke into the house of Mr. and
Mrs. Potter Halloween Eve, killed Mr. Potter at the doorstep and then murdered Mrs. Potter
as she stood over an infant Harry Potter. She was little match for him, and yet, Harry Potter,
survived the very Killing Curse that murdered his mother before his young eyes.

It takes no fool to know those horrific events damaged Harry Potter’s soul forever. In what
ways, only his obscure parents know. The nature of Harry Potter’s adoption is surrounded in
a convoluted mess attributed to Albus Dumbledore, who refuses to answer any questions.
This child, Tom Riddle, has an American record in the Ministry and yet speaks with a British
accent.

Given the obscure nature of Harry Potter’s entire existence and equally questionable
circumstances of Tom Riddle, a pair of children born outside of blood could have the
potential to form a soul bond as seen in identical twins…but only if they are bonded by
mutually felt strife.

Harry Potter has felt the pain of his parents murdered before his eyes and the blast of the
Killing Curse so my question is, what horrors are buried beneath the soil of Tom Riddle’s
past?

In moments like these, moments his parent prepared him for, Tom was instructed to take two
slow breaths. There was a ringing in his ear, deafening the sound above the gathering
students entering the Hall.

He set the paper down, folding it gently. Two questions were on Tom’s mind as the ringing in
his ears silenced.

Who had access to this information and how and how did they gather it?

Journalism, one of the many professions of egotism. Tom’s eyes scanned over the article once
more, humming softly as he calmed at the sight of the journalist’s name: Rita Skeeter

How foolish of her.

Chapter End Notes

Trick or Treat! Have some candy!

Tom is my newest baby and I love snuggling him!

Also, wtf, over 300,000 words now! I mean, how? when did I get here? This wouldn't
have happened if not for a pandemic...
 Diary, May Ink Spill Your Secrets
Chapter Notes

Sorry dinner had to wait, there was a problem in the kitchen that almost had me posting
the wrong chapter. Thank you for your patience and enjoy dinner!

(pop the fizzy! One year baby!)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Imposing slabs of marble radiated a freezing temperature as the streaks of white lined with
specks of grey warped inward, crumbling into a fine dust of darkness that filled his lungs,
leaving no room to even gasp as the organs were stuffed with dry grit.

In this vast nothing, chest weighted down heavy and aching pain, insignificant with no worth
more than the ash filling him in a poor parody of a stuffed doll. It moved around him, without
sound, pulling and pushing him with little care for his smallness.

His skin rippled with a burn, traveling up the length of his body, tangled in the indivisible
cobwebs.

Tom opened his eyes, unable to move his body as he was trapped with fear. Heartbeat
thundering in his chest, Tom breathed slowly, the numbness of the nightmare breaking as he
felt the warmth of his dorm bed. The four poster curtains trapped the warmth, sinking
through the coldness of the dream.

A shuddering breath left his lungs…no dust…

Unable to move his head, Tom only needed to shift his gaze to the curtains over his twin’s
bed. Had the Husk known it was Tom’s mind he entered…he supposed the dream would have
been different. Tom wondered if his Husk would take the opportunity to chip away at Tom’s
resolve for his new family.

Shaking hands ran through his hair, pulling along the feathers that sprouted from his scalp.

Tom and his Husk caused Harry enough nightmares in the past- it was only fair he carry his
own share.

…as the older twin’s duty, after all.

Tom shivered, the chill of the dungeon breaking through his numbness. Laying in bed,
ignoring the cooling sweat of his clothing, Tom centered his mind and magic, observing his
thoughts as he slowly built the foundation of his occlumency shields.
He knew it would be impossible to build a shield around the Husk; no matter how long he
spent constructing them, the other would always find his way into Tom’s mind through their
connection. Tom could build no more of a barrier against his twin.

Tom didn’t want to think about the implications of using the backdoor into the Husk’s mind.

Frustratingly, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the first class on Tom’s roster. If he were to
think with a more optimistic mindset, he would be glad to be over the class first thing. But
oh, such a horrible thing to wake to, and his favorite of subjects to be butchered by Ministry
swine.

Clamboring out of the sweat soaked sheets, Tom cleaned the sheets with a sleepy spell. As he
gathered his things for the shower, he smirked a little at the sight of Draco’s bed neat and
unoccupied as Harry’s curtains were closed.

At least Harry had a new hostage to take in the night.

Breakfast was a simple affair, he arrived early and ignored the looks of many students much
like the previous day. A routine was something Tom could rely on, the whispers of his peers,
accusing stares… seems that while the years have changed, some situations were timeless.

Harry and Draco joined him, together, not long after. He gave them more attention than the
book floating above his breakfast porridge for his eyes. As much as they all loathed it,
breakfast came to an end and the three finished scaling the stairs to reach the Defense room.

A couple of students attempted to walk to Tom, clearly looking for a fight. Tom leveled
several of them with a glare that approached. To those that came closer or called his name
several times after he ignored it, met the end of his wand with a wordless spell.

“Did they miss the part where you would have as much power as Harry?” Draco asked,
pushing his plate away. Tom merely hummed, his head still caught in the trap of his book.

...Dumbledore was still Light Lord...leaving Tom:

“As the older twin, I dispute that claim.”

Harry retaliated by taking the book from Tom’s grasp, holding it out of reach as Tom darted
for it. The scuffle drew attention to them, but Tom was happy to spar his twin in the flesh;
without antlers...it was humiliating.

“Oh! He took your book,” Hermione’s voice came as she made her way to defense for the
first block. Some of the students, maybe Draco, explained what caused the spar to engage.
“Get him, Tom!”

Oddly encouraged, Tom snorted, his feathers would have flared if he was in his pelt,
sidestepping Harry and snatching the book from his grasp. Harry stumbled and would have
landed on the floor painfully if Tom didn’t show mercy to his twin, their hands connecting as
he prevented that.
They hung suspended for a brief second, Tom with his victory and showing mercy, before he
stepped back to help Harry up.

“You win,” Harry said, in good nature brushing his elbow along Tom’s as they walked step to
step as if no fight occurred seconds ago. Tom couldn’t help but preen that he finally managed
to beat Harry in a physical spar.

“You had to win that fight for the both of us,” Hermione said when they caught up to Draco,
the crowd of gathered students dispersing to their own classrooms. She shuffled her
backpack, some of the books in her hands sliding around where they were neatly stacked in
her arms.

The four made their way to the defense classroom, only for Tom to seriously debate lifting
the Hogwarts curse so he could take the position himself. His stride broke when his eyes
were forced to confront his own undoing.

The room was surrounded by the same pink Umbridge seemed to color herself with. The ends
of chairs had pink bows on them, the desks draped with tea towels. There were dishes along
the counter, various books that smell of the same conformity within Wool’s Orphanage.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Hermione asked, picking up one of the spoons on the
desks. Harry and Draco seemed as confused as Hermione.

Tom knew this. Order. Conformity.

The young Dark Lord prowled the classroom, inspecting the tea chairs and tables with
scrutiny as he heard other students fall in behind him. The clock behind them all, ticking
closer and closer to the start of a new hour, only drew in the time until Umbridge arrived.
Resisting the urge to hiss, Tom pulled one of the chairs to the side and sat.

He waited for the Matron to arrive.

Harry and Draco landed at the desk behind him, Draco sitting directly behind Harry. The
open seat next to him was taken by Hermione, her posture beginning tu fume as she
purposefully scrapped the chair along the stone to create an abrasive noise.

“This is absurd,” Hermione hissed, slamming her textbooks on the table with more force.
“Honestly, nothing to even prepare for.”

No, there was nothing to prepare for, only wait.

He grasped his mutilated ear at the sound of chalk scraping against the blackboard.

“OWLS,” a voice said from behind them all. Tom felt his feathers prickle along his spine,
knowing that he would have to wait at least a month before he could kill some of those that
made his list. A pink textbook slid his way as the second book slid towards Hermione’s stack.

Tom despised the fact he would have to open the book with his new hands, was required to
lay his freshly made eyes upon words of brainwashing. The first thing his new brain would
finally begin to consume- garbage.
Tom looked up at Umbridge in defiance, noticing that her attention was not on Tom, further
back, only slightly, on his twin. Her attention shifted to him, finally connecting their gaze.
Her mind was too weak for the probe of any mind magic, yet her position in the Ministry had
Tom believe she was trained in Occlumency.

But not in body language as his parents were so fluent in. Tom could see her displeasure at
his own refusal to touch the book as so many students were. Without breaking eye contact, he
put his hands on either side of the text, still paying it no attention as he listened to his parents
whispering play nice…smile…

“Professor,” Draco interrupted their game, forcing her to break eye contact with Tom.

Dark Lord: One Ministry Swine: Zero

“There are no defensive or offensive spells in here?” Draco’s statement was phrased like a
question having not made the connection yet. Hermione froze from her own frantic flipping
of pages, fingers still creased over the corners.

She figured it out.

“Well,” Umbridge said, holding the edge of her wand like one would a whip before a lashing.
“Whatever would you need those for?”

Oh yes, the question really did hang from her lips. Tom fought against the urge to maniacally
laugh and reveal himself if only for the joy of watching her flounder.

“For defense,” his twin deadpanned behind him. Tom spared Harry a quick look, the teen
annoyed as he leaned forward over his textbook, the pages folding down over themselves as
he perused them.

“Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Potter,” she said, turning on those pathetically short heels.

If that was how this woman would wage her war, then fine, Tom had spent a large portion of
his life wallowing in dirt- he didn’t forget how to sling it.

“To answer Mr. Potter’s question, professor,” Tom said, making sure that his smile was full of
teeth for the woman before he turned on his twin. “According to your page, it seems you can
defend yourself with a teaspoon.” He plucked the spook that was sitting on his desk like
some helpful object in a magical firefight. “Now, I haven’t had the time to thoroughly
research the nuances of spoon self-defense but I can’t imagine it involves cuddling.”

He spun the spoon in his hand, his mind eye playing a quick image of digging her brain out
with the very object she provided them all.

“Are you suggesting we scoop other’s eyes from their head, Professor?” Tom asked, feigning
curiosity. He tapped the spoon against his skull, oddly more painful than he anticipated, but
Tom endured it for the sake of the crowd.

Before Professor Umbridge could recover from Tom’s outrageous question, he felt a hand
land on his shoulder.
“Mr. Riddle, I do believe the professor is suggesting we stab them with the flat part of the
spoon,” Harry said, demonstrating stabbing another person as he held the bowl of the spoon
in his palm.

Tom cooed at his twin, turning the spoon around in his palm to follow suit.

“Boys!” she growled at them, stomping her foot like a petulant child told she was not allowed
to play with others on the playground.

“Mr. Potter,” Tom gasped, the spoon’s edge to his chest. “Are you suggesting murder?
Murder is illegal!”

“You’re right,” Harry said, nodding his head somberly, “but how does Voldemort do it? If
murder is illegal, why aren’t my parents here, Professor?” Harry asked, his face wrack with
concern, magic pulsing along Tom’s with the thrill of the hunt.

“Voldemort must have surpassed the power of common law.” Tom growled this as he looked
at Umbridge and, for a brief moment, she could see the horror he kept hidden under his
person-suit. She blinked through his glare, foolishly ignoring her instincts as she tried to quiet
the chuckling class.

“Are you suggesting there is something more powerful than the Ministry of Magic?”

“Scandalous,” Tom said, making sure that his voice was ripe with sarcasm.

“Enough,” Professor Umbridge shouted, throwing a hex in their direction. Tom didn’t even
need to growl the word for a shield spell, already charged from their conversation and his
anger towards the imposter. A bright white shield grew around himself and Luna, protecting
Harry and Draco from the spell that fizzled against his own.

“I’ve always learned best with practical demonstrations,” Tom said, hoping that his smile of
teeth behind the veil of his shield put fear in her heart. Her eyes must only see red, so blind to
the predators she was toying with.

“Detention,” she growled.

By the evening, numerous stories of Tom and Harry’s sarcasm against Umbridge had taken
the gossip trail and light ablaze. By midday, when the students were enjoying lunch and
several classes endured one of Umbridge’s ‘lessons,’ students nodded their heads to him
rather than cast spells at him.

Quite the different reaction than they had in the morning…and in his first lifetime

“She’s taking points left and right,” one of the ginger twins said, sitting on either side of Tom
as Harry’s one side was blocked by Draco. Tom spared a glance at the points system, a
collection of precious gemstones representing individual points was a wreck on the gemstone
economy. As they were in the beginning of the year, the vials were mostly empty. Yet it
seemed for every point that Gryffindor received, Umbridge must have a vendetta to take them
away.

“We should go,” Tom said, checking his watch as he slid away from the twins. “Recon, and
all that.”

They clapped him on the shoulder as he and Harry left the Great Hall, receiving two more
high fives on the way out. Tom privately prepared himself for a long haul in his first
detention, having the feeling the professor would wish to keep them both until curfew.

The door was propped open for them to enter beyond the classroom.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, hiding in the darkness of his eyelids rather than the
voluptuous pink that exploded around the room. Though he could not smell the dander,
hundreds of cats were watching them from the little plates that surrounded her room. Tom
could smell her obnoxious perfume, put on heavy just to make those within her presence
squirm.

“Thank you both for joining me,” Umbridge said from her desk, stirring her teaspoon around
her mug as if they were all excited to be here in the evening. Tom glared at her as Harry took
the first step towards the desk, a sheet of parchment and a black quill on the table.

A quill smelling of blood and tasting of Dark Magic.

Recon would have to wait. Tom and Harry could both easily kill Umbridge, but their
detention was practically advertised to the entire school. Drastic measures could not be taken
so quickly, not on the first day of school.

Umbridge stood up with one of her stupid little humms, her silence effecting Harry as he
looked between her and the quills. Tom needed to escape, with his and Harry’s blood; there
was no say what could happen if it spilled and ended up in one of the moles planted by his
Husk.

The woman walked around them, a foolish idea leaving your back turned to prey.

“Take the quill, Harry,” Tom hissed as her back was turned.

“What was that?” Umbridge asked, turning on her heels as fear began to take up the scent of
the room.

“You heard something, Professor?” Harry asked, turning to look up at the woman. Tom said
nothing of Harry’s gaslighting, happy he was following around as they led her in circles.

Her eyes still traced over the corners and cracks of the room, checking for something that
wasn’t there. Tom hid a smile behind his teeth, pleased that a woman who thought of herself
as a predator would find his creature so repulsive.

“You will be writing lines,” Umbridge said. Oh, Tom had no doubt she would try. Back to
the issue at hand, Tom looked to see that Harry already had no heeded his advice as intended,
taking the Blood Quill to begin writing lines.
This was not ideal, the quill had taken a bit of his blood and would no longer work as Tom
needed it too.

“I will not tell lies,” she instructed, her open palm pointing to the other desk right across from
hers. Tom grit his teeth, moving in on his own Blood Quill before Harry could touch the tip
to parchment.

Quickly, Tom brought his hand to the feather, his fingers darkened with hue as Umbridge
seemed more focused on his twin than himself. Swift fingers stole the feather in his hand, the
toxic nature of her quill preventing it from seeping into his magic, Tom leaned over his twin
and stabbed the feather through his palm.

Tom felt the quill break through the skin of Harry’s hand, sliding between the bones of his
fingers until the stalk of the feather could go no further.

“Oh Harry,” Tom said, rushing to his twin’s side before any of them could break the silence
that fell over the room. Tom pressed his hand against the feather, seeing that it was not
moving from where he stabbed the other. “It is clear Harry is in shock and needs an escort to
the Hospital Wing,” Tom said, taking Harry under his shoulders, the feather remaining in his
hand as he led the other away.

Tom escaped the room with swift strides, keeping Harry in pace as they made haste up the
flights of stairs.

“You stabbed me,” Harry said, his voice slurred with shock.

“Any physical assault of this degree is reviewed by the Headmaster,” Tom growled, looking
at Harry’s injured hand with the feather still embedded. “Blood Quills, charmed to make us
unable to keep a tight lip.”

“You stabbed me,” Harry said, his tone carrying more weight as Tom pushed the Hospital
Wing door open. Madam Pomphrey came over to Harry’s aid, scolding Tom as they
recounted how Harry received his injury.

It wasn’t long before Harry’s injury was bandaged and Dumbledore strolled into the Hospital
Wing, his gaze as cold as Tom remembered from his first life. Before he cast an immediate
judgement over Tom, Harry jumped in front of him, defending him to the Headmaster once
more.

Professor Dumbledore, while hearing Harry out, was still displeased with Tom’s violent
actions.

“Moving past that,” Tom said, taking Harry’s bandaged hand to give him an apologetic look.
“Can we get back to the issue at hand?”

Harry snickered, Dumbledore did not.

“She is changing the rules of the school beyond my control,” Dumbledore sighed, plucking
the very quill Tom stabbed Harry. He ran his finger over the drying flecks of blood, rubbing
the pads together until the blood flaked down to the floor.

“She has that power?” Tom asked, knowing she alone, as a professor, did not.

“The Minister decreed she has the power to audit the school in every aspect.” Dumbledore
leveled Tom with a knowing look. “The only power I will have is to maintain the students
and teachers within.” The very same job he’d always done, never perfect, but what student
was…

“Then fire her,” Harry said.

“It’s not that simple, Harry,” Tom said, seeing the problem Dumbledore was faced with. If he
fired Umbridge, she could be easily replaced or contested his ruling in court, which she
would surely win if the Minister placed her like a mole. “Better an enemy you know.”

He and Dumbledore shared a look that could only be shared between old enemies as
themselves; Harry wouldn’t understand the necessity of navigating a known enemy. It was
likely why Minister Fudge kept Dumbledore at Hogwarts- if the Headmaster was removed
from his position, he could very easily campaign for Minister and win the support of the
magical populace.

Fudge kept Dumbledore at Hogwarts for the very reason that they would all have to keep
Umbridge- a predictable enemy is always preferred.

“Hopefully Umbridge will be forgiving of you both missing detention...given the

circumstances.”

“We’ll work against her,” Harry said, ideas clearly filling within the folds of his brain. Tom
could feel an echoing pulse of excitement course through his magic.

“We share a common enemy, Headmaster,” Tom said, his smile as vicious as the one he gave
Umbridge.

“That,” Dumbledore said, a wink bestowed to the two of them, “is exactly what I am afraid
of.”

It wasn’t curfew, growing close to the hour when students were better off heading back to
their dorms than escaping them. Unused to being around so many students again, having
spent the majority of his time in a diary, then with a small Herd, Tom felt as if the dudgeon
walls were closing in.

Wandering the Hufflepuff floors was a safe place from teachers that were more likely to
begin hunting for wayward Gryffindor's on higher floors. He passed the portrait of the pear,
still giggling when he tickled under the basket, popping the door to the kitchens open. Tom
closed the door without giving himself away to the elves, too busy to have noticed a crack in
the door.
A soft flickering light came from one of the back classrooms. Mothlike, Tom followed after
the faint pulsing light. Peering into the abandoned classroom, Tom saw a Hufflepuff student
muttering spells under his breath. His control was rather excellent, levitating several items at
once with his wand resting on the table.

The teen breathed out a slow breath, lowering his hands as the objects lowered around him,
softly landing on the ground. It was clear his magic was maturing, the shaky edges of his
levitation spell under fluid control at all times until the wizard released control.

“Why don’t you come in?” his deep voice came. Tom felt caught, his blood running with ice
at the feeling. As far as he could tell, Tom made no sound and the man never once opened his
eyes.

Unable to escape now, Tom pushed the door open with a creak, slipping inside and closing it
behind him. The last thing that he wanted now was to be caught by Umbridge. Tom centered
himself for whatever interaction was before him now…

“You’re the transfer,” the man said, turning around to walk closer to Tom. Though Tom saw
he was unarmed, the teen was clearly proficient in wandless magic. As he approached, Tom
could see there was more stubble around his jaw line, his shoulders wider than most of the
upper years.

In no way, unarmed...unassuming, especially in yellow and brown, but not defenseless.

“Tom Riddle,” he introduced himself before the other could name him based off Skeeter’s
article.

“Cedric Diggory,” the other said, offering his hand. Tom paused for a moment, looking down
at the offered hand, taking it slowly. The teen did not have a bruising, but firm grip,
confidence in his silence.

Tom furrowed his brow, unable to place the name. He knew there were whispers in the school
of the teen, but he couldn’t recall due to his growing list of people he needed to… properly
introduce himself too.

“Wow, this is actually refreshing,” Cedric said with a crooked smile. While Tom didn’t get
the feeling he was being mocked, he felt himself bristle. Cedric seemed to have sensed this,
raising his hands in surrender. “No, it’s that, well, I was the Hogwarts Champion.”

The Tri-Wizard Tournament, three herculean tasks set before magical minors for the
enjoyment of the elite. It would explain his magical proficiency as he likely studied to
survive more than anything else. Tom found, in his past and present life, that people would
talk to themselves in circles. All he had to do was listen to find their weakness to utilize and
strength to grow into the fold.

“I failed one too many of my NEWTS for comfort,” he explained, a blush on his cheeks as
the candles illuminated the room in their soft glow. “Retaking seventh year.”
“You’re not the only one,” Tom muttered, dreading having to sit through a repeated fifth year
OWLS, especially considering who their DADA professor was.

Cedric only chuckled; not understanding that Tom was speaking the truth.

“Wandless magic, did you learn that during the Tournament?” Tom asked. Cedric nodded his
head, his brow still stained with the exertion of his magic.

“It takes a lot of energy out of me,” Cedric said. He reached down to his bag, picking it up
and depositing it on the table, Cedric rooted around within its confines. He smiled in victory
when he found whatever he was looking for.

Within his palm were two chocolate frogs. He extended one without question to Tom, who
raised his hand in a silent pass.

“Oh, you Slytherin’s,” he said, unwrapping the packaging. “You think all friendships are
contractual.” The frog animated itself once Cedric broke through the seal. Quick hands
snatched the creature from the air as it tried to jump away.

“People don’t do things for free,” Tom found himself saying, fascinated with the way the
other held the frog in each hand, cupping it in his palms, to then split it perfectly, cleanly, in
half

“Friendship is about doing things to see the other happy,” Cedric said, nudging the sweet treat
closer to Tom.

Tom looked between the wrapper and the man. This was the first moment of peace he had to
himself; Tom was surprised to find it could coexist with another human. With that, he took
the offered frog.

The two shared the half treat in silence, the candles slowly flickering out as the wax dripped
around the room in small pools.

Cedric chuckled.

“What?” Tom asked.

“You’ve accepted my friendship,” Cedric said, walking around Tom and leaving him with a
pat on the shoulder.

Really, Tom shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore. Living a second life, he should be
less ignorant of the workings and scheming of humans that surrounded him, regardless of
what side they were on.

Filch was hanging from a mighty high ladder, unstable and excusable if some horrible
accident were to occur.
While Dumbledore may have forgiven Tom for stabbing Harry, he didn’t think the man
would be so lenient with a repeat incident that was framed as accidental.

But it was tempting to think about tripping on the ladder and knocking at least one of the new
decrees off the Great Hall's entrance.

“What do we do now?” he heard Harry ask from beside him, within the crowd of students
that gathered bright and early to witness the suffocation of their youth.

The Seer, Luna Lovegood pushed through the crowd, a tome in between her frail hands. She
grunted as she maneuvered the book open, the script on the bottom written in beautiful
cursive Rules and Regulations of Hogwarts

“We follow the rules.”

It seemed easy enough, to follow Hogwarts rules to the letter in conjunction with the ones
that Umbridge was nailing to the walls. One such rule spoke of no student being closer than
six feet. The Weasley Twins were the first to implement their scheme, casting a six foot
length of string from themselves to anyone who passed.

In the morning, with more students approaching the Great Hall, quickly caught onto the
chaos, casting colorful spells of string that looked like a May Day parade, capturing each
other as they laughed in the face of Professor Umbridge.

As more and more students piled into the colorful spiders web, Tom passed through the
complicated ties to sneak towards the Professor’s Door that led to their dining area.

The door resisted him at first, cold iron locking stiff in his hand. Tom hissed at the door and
turned again, feeling the Magic of Hogwarts open to his ancestral blood as it would his
words.

The doorway was small and cramped for even a teen- perhaps this was Hogwarts warning
him he could only squeeze this opportunity once. Passing through the back stairways with a
grunt, Tom wormed his way back to a normal hallway, hoping he could catch the Headmaster
before he discovered the commotion for himself.

The gargoyle to the Headmaster’s room was still in the lowered position.

“I need to see him,” Tom demanded with a hiss, feeling the feathers along his neck arch to his
claim.

Tom did not wait for the stone to begin moving, sensing within himself that he was allowed
entrance to the stone staircase. Stepping into the staircase, he jolted forward as the stones
scraped along the edges, eroding away anything that was foolish enough to fall where it did
not belong.

Two rasps on the door gave way to the bright sun illuminated the Headmaster’s chaotic
office. It had only seemed to grow, the chaos and the bookshelves. If there was one thing that
Tom could admit he admired from the Headmaster, it was the extensive book collection he
gained over the years. With his new nose, Tom could smell the magic that was fermenting
within the shelves, untold knowledge only as far away from his fingertips as the nearest stool
to stand upon.

Fawkes cried out, forcing Tom’s eyes away from the scrolls high above the shelves. He
turned to look at the bird, giving a nod of his head in respect as he felt the magic of his wand
pulse with a familiar magical signature.

He wondered if Harry would feel the same echo during the commotion.

“I dare say, Tom, that passed as polite.” the Headmaster had his spectacles on, peering at
several instruments that surrounded the circling globe before him. Tucked in his ear was a red
feather that came from Fawkes. Tom bristled at Dumbledore’s statement, but he supposed he
deserved it.

“We’re staging a coup,” Tom said, moving around Dumbledore to sit in the chair in front of
the man’s desk.

“We haven’t even had a Quidditch Tournament and you’re already beginning to make friends,
I see.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Tom hissed. Headmaster Dumbledore had yet to look at Tom, taking
numerous notes and calculations on whatever events he could see from the globe. The man’s
smile twitched.

“I mean to say that you’ve always excelled in motivating the masses towards a common
good.”

Tom’s preconceived retort died on his tongue with an aftertaste of ash. It wasn’t only his
dreams that he was avoiding at night, but the numerous thoughts of his past misdeeds, his
current misdeeds in the body of another, that kept him awake. He could hear tunneling
echoes of a memory he believed was Harry’s, having some kind of connection to the Husk
but did not know how to hunt down either.

“I wouldn’t call what we might do, good.”

“In the face of oppression and under the laws of an unjust ruler,” Dumbledore said, circling
his own wand within his fingers, “civil disobedience is law of revolution.”

Tom chuckled, hardly any humor in the sound as the joy of dawn graced his flesh with
warmth. Umbridge was an immediate threat, one that clearly was willing to use archaic
methods to wrangle the students under her regime. His Husk, while a larger and more
encompassing threat, would rather wait for Tom to bite the lure he was casting.

He was no fool to his own ploys. When Tom wanted to entice Harry into the Diary, he sent
pulses of energy that would only pull on Harry’s curiosity, magic following suit. He offered
small bits of information to the younger then student, keeping Harry both fed and starving for
more connections with Tom.
The Husk thought he was luring Harry, and Tom would continue to keep it that way. He had
no intention of telling his parents, twin or even Dumbledore of the dreams filtering through
his mind. Tom would study the dreams, as he had no way of blocking a shard of his soul out,
to see if there was any indication of the Husk’s next move.

If Tom revealed what he suspected was a growing connection between himself and the Husk
to his parents, they would ask if Harry received any similar visions- to which his twin would
scratch at the wall of his ignorance, thus opening a door into his mind for the Husk to pilfer.

“I don’t think I’m going to survive this,” Tom found himself confessing as he watched the
dust moats floating in the beam of sunlight. The little spores filtered through the air, to the
whims of the wind and atoms surrounding it, going without care or direction.

“Don’t speak like that.”

“Did you think you would have to kill my twin?” Tom said, taking his attention off the spore
to give to Dumbledore.

There was a pause that was too long.

Tom smiled, at least pleased he could be right.

“I will not add your name to my book twice, Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Dumbledore said, his
voice and tone uncharacteristically sharp. The man’s jaw was clenched, his posture upright
and stiff with authority. Tom could feel magic begin to charge around him, his aura
proclaiming his statement to Tom.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly, moving to the desk with a heaving sigh.

“A diary of sins,” he said, pulling one of the easily accessible drawers to his desk, the wheels
rolling on one another without a creak.

Tom’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He could see through Harry’s memories, the
booklet, years ago. Harry flipped through it, absently looking at the names until they fell on
Lily Potter nee Evans. James Potter .

This time, the Headmaster opened the cover of the book to peer into the contents, his old eyes
no doubt reading the names on the paper time after time. The somber silence of death entered
the room, even with dawn’s warmth, cold fought within their souls. Dumbledore turned the
book around and extended it to Tom as he once did with Harry.

It was a heavy book, years of names that no doubt touched the paper sporadically in the
beginning of his old regime only to pick up with an exponential speed that would frighten
anyone into hiding or a Minister to Martial Law. For every turn of the page, Tom had once
extinguished a beautiful flame of magic because they did not see eye to eye.

The weight of the book reflected the blood stained on his hands. What his parents taught him
was different- controlled and justified in a sickening, delicious way. Pigs that were
slaughtered once they were ripe with sin and fat.
 Senseless killing as the names proved in the book was an atrocity he would carry in his soul.

“I’m trying,” Tom said, eyes still captured by each name, turning the page once again, back
to back script, crammed into the margins with dates scribbled in the sides, locations of mass
slaughter he was either blessed or cursed by not remembering.

Dumbledore took the book from his grasp. The man did not meet Tom’s gaze as he flipped
the pages back to the front cover. He crinkled the pages back, bending the spine to better
expose the very first page.

He turned it around, his pointer finger drawing Tom’s attention, holding it there when his
eyes landed on the first, the oldest name written on the book in black ink.

“Anyone who learns true compassion, the raw empathy that carves a hole in the heart, must
learn the consequences of their own cruel actions.”

Tom’s eyes could not move from the first name in Dumbledore’s Diary, breath caught in his
throat, so very different from the dream of dust filling his lungs. His eyes grew oddly hot,
fingers shaking as he abused the spine of the Diary to better look at the first name.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

“Harry negated the prophecy; I will not allow you to open at the close, Mr. Riddle.”

Dumbledore spoke with conviction, as if he knew what the future held, and it left Tom
gasping. Years and years of names collected in that book, chains that the Headmaster carried
on his shoulders like Atlas, knees shaking with the exertion of holding his sins, and Tom’s
name was the heaviest he carried.

And Tom...Tom didn’t know how to think of that.

For him to know that his greatest enemy, the Light Lord himself, felt guilt for the part he
played in the Husk’s creation.

“Now,” Dumbledore said, closing the book softly as he lowered it back into his most often
used drawer. “Don’t you have a coup to plan?”

Chapter End Notes

Good evening everyone and happy one year anniversary. Thank you for your trust in this
fic once more. I had no idea I would be *here* this time last year. I had an idea with
Beverly, but then it grew into this monster and I can't say I've been upset feeding it. I
cannot believe how much I have changed as a writer and it is all thanks to you, the
people here.

Thank you thank you thank you! a million times- for everything
 Thinking Like Herd
Chapter Notes

Hello my lovely people and welcome back!

Thank you everyone for celebrating One Year with me! I have prepared for you another
Beverly chapter with some Tom interactions. I love playing with their dynamic,
something about the two just fits!

Please enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As an FBI agent working in the Human Behavior Unit, Beverly needed to be content not
knowing a lot of information, relying on her ability to create a better picture with the
evidence left behind rather than what caused the crime.

It was a reactive job, which weighed on the hearts and minds of many agents within the unit.
They were not summoned to stop a killing, only scraping the remains, constructing a collage
image of a killer before they struck again.

In the case of Hannibal being the Chesapeake Ripper, another FBI agent would have to take
the helm of that task.

Beverly’s years as an FBI agent seemed to have amassed a collection of transferable skills
which served her well in the magical world. Beverly did not understand magic, likely never
would, but she could pick at enough evidence leftover to formulate what was, and what was
not.

A certain level of humility was needed- in both situations.

“All the magic in the world,” Beverly said as she pulled on another sweater, her hair freshly
toweled off. “Still no hot water in the pipes.”

There were times that magic, an impossibility in of itself, seemed absolutely ridiculous. The
fact that, only some two hours ago she had returned to her apartment in, well what she was
now referring to as ‘muggle London,’ slipped the key into her closet door, and opened it to
find a dungeon landscape.

These people, Severus’ own kind, could not run decent hot water on demand.

“What’s the point?” she questioned, stepping out of the bathroom, warmly dressed.

They were in Hogwarts castle, which Beverly still needed a proper tour of, and Beverly found
Severus reading by the fireplace. She joined him on the couch, snuggling into his cooler side
as she pulled a blanket over her body.

“Neat piece of jewelry,” Beverly said, picking the key that Tom made her and Severus in
Grimmauld Place from where it rested on her breast. Last night was the first time she and
Severus used the magical item.

Having finished work for the day in London, a significant amount of paperwork since she
was the lowest agent in the Interpol food chain, Beverly longed to enjoy the evening with her
partner. Beverly had a CV long enough to have earned the right to stand alongside her fellow
officers, she had charmed some friends, a couple of connections she could utilize if anything
went sideways as she transitioned to the English lifestyle.

Wearing face, as Beverly was beginning to feel, was growing tedious and she was coming to
enjoy the time such a mask was removed.

Severus looked down from his potions book, closing it with a crisp snap to set it on the side
table. He shifted his weight on the couch, Beverly moving with him so they could share the
space of it, their mutual warmth and the blanket keeping it trapped from the cold blooded
creature. Severus reached for his own chest, pulling the golden and emerald encrusted key
from where it was hidden in the split of his tunic.

“A very impressive feat of magic,” Severus said, turning it over in his palm with a critical
eye. He let go of the key and slid his palm over Beverly’s arm. Gently, timid and shaking
fingers pulled back the wrap of her sweater until he found the butchered snake, softly
sleeping on her deltoid muscle this time.

Beverly smirked at her little companion, her free hand coming to rub over the sleeping scales.
She would have cooed at the little stretch the snake gave if it didn’t upset Severus as it did.

“What does it mean to be a Dark Lord?” she asked, her eyes looking between the animated
tattoo on her arm and the jewelry they shared.

Severus huffed, his eyes going a bit wide at the depth of the question. He smiled down at
Beverly, the same kind of banter picking up from when they first met. He hesitated, his hand
coming to look over the emerald key on his chest that Tom gifted them both.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle and Albus Dumbledore are two magical beings that were born with
an...abundance of magic. Like how some children are born taller than their parents, but
beyond genetics.”

Beverly nodded her head as the picture began to clear.

“Many magical people have potential, a muscle to be exercised to peak performance, yet
there is the added benefit of naturally born gifts. While Dumbledore and Riddle naturally
have magic, their ability to harness it comes as easy as breathing, as easy as a tall person
reaching the top shelf.”

Severus was a natural teacher, perhaps young students with limited attention spans were not
his forte but he could translate complex situations into concepts Beverly could understand
with ease. She was grateful for his patience and loved the depths of his mind.

“Supposedly, Light and Dark Lords are to herald a time of magical prosperity.”

Beverly furrowed her brow.

“They’re prophets then,” she concluded.

“Dumbledore is the longest sitting Headmaster this school has ever seen. Tom Riddle
himself, in his first life, wanted to be a teacher. Others have been healers, ministers, other
teachers, monks…” he rattled on the tip of his fingers. “It was rumored…expected… that
Harry will take the helm of Light Lord after Dumbledore dies- having vanquished the Dark
Lord some fifteen years ago.” Severus cocked his head to the side, the thought more for
himself than Beverly even if he spoke aloud: “most certainly confirmed now that his twin is
the Dark Lord.”

“Yin and Yang.”

“Yin and Yang,” Severus agreed, his finger coming to stroke along the flesh that surrounded
her animated tattoo. “Harry and the Husk’s potential as enemies is something we fear. Harry
and Tom Riddle’s potential, as twins and allied Light and Dark Lords- we should be terrified
of their potential.”

Beverly tilted her head back as she laughed.

“I can only imagine the trouble Bambi and Feline will get into.”

Banging had the both of them jolting on the couch as if they were teens caught in a parents
house. While Beverly was given permission by an apparent founder heir of the school and
Severus begrudgingly informed the Headmaster of her presence, she didn’t want to test her
newfound freedom so soon.

Scrambling off the couch, Beverly went to the bathroom and hid behind the threshold,
leaving the door open so she could hear whatever conversation Severus was sure to have with
the person beyond the door.

She relaxed when Severus tastefully informed her that it was the Headmaster. Good, if she
was seen, she wouldn’t be that much of a surprise so much as in need of an introduction.
While being in her night clothes was not the most ideal attire to meet her partner's boss, it
was tasteful in its filtration.

“Harry is in the Hospital Wing with the echo effects of Tom or the Husk,” the elderly man
said, his voice slightly pitched with a pant.

“What are his symptoms?” Severus asked, Beverly hearing the door close with a click. Two
sets of footsteps walked deeper into his quarters without exposing Beverly.

“His magic is beginning to fray.”

Beverly witnessed some of that in Grimmauld, when he was manically laughing, staring at
the sky, she felt a strange electric breeze pass over her arm. When she looked down, she
could see a red, green, and black kind of dust hovering around Tom’s arm. She had thought it
was a fluke of Tom, now it seemed to be a sign of a magical person in distress.

“We need to find Tom and inform his parents.”

That wouldn’t do- little Feline was a pre-teen boy that had trouble connecting with his peers.
When he found friends, it appeared he would obsessively hoard them to his heart, like a
psychopath.

And, like a psychopathic cannibal, if that friendship was threatened, even by the social
pressures of school, it would implode on itself and consume everything it could fit in its
mouth. Beverly looked at herself in the mirror, flipping her hair to the other shoulder, she
walked out of the bathroom as she gathered her courage.

“That is the last thing we’re doing,” Beverly said, rounding the corner with the façade of
confidence etched on her face. The elderly man, Dumbledore, smiled at her, his eyes looking
between Beverly and Severus. “Hi,” she greeted, not waiting for his response as she turned
her attention to Severus, declaring, “I’ll find him myself.”

“Absolutely not.” Severus moved so he was blocking the door. Beverly ignored the
Headmaster for the man blocking her path. She grabbed her coat, still blazing with the FBI
letters on the waterproof canvas, Beverly walked to Severus who was stubbornly blocking the
door until their chests almost touched.

Beverly smirked up at him and for the briefest of seconds, she saw it, the little glint in his
eyes that showed his interest.

“Move,” she ordered, both recognizing something in the other and the overwhelming need to
shelve it for later.

“How do you plan to navigate a magical castle?” He challenged, the tilt of his head and the
slide of his body small enough for his boss to excuse it as eccentric body language but
Bevelry knew better. She crossed her arms, a subtle movement, just enough to cause her basil
temperature to rise at her sternum.

“Uh, if Feline is having one of his magical panic attacks, I don’t think it will be long before
the ceiling blows off.”

Will told her the story of Tom’s first night. He was originally explaining the complex nature
of Tom’s resurrection, how he once possessed Harry, came to an agreement only two serial
killers could possibly find acceptable, and then slowly integrated himself as part of the Herd
while still bound to the pages of a book.

“Tell me, how much of Tom’s damage do you want to clean up?”

It was one of Severus' most common gripes. When he and Beverly shared the ‘how was your
day, honey?’ kind of question, Severus always had a new story of how he caught a student
with some kind of contraband, other professors rounding up students, or doing most of the
heavy lifting as a result of a student’s shenanigans.

If he was the Dark Lord, with magic flowing from his fingertips intuitively, then his panic
would only blind that power to snapping away from his control to eradicate a perceived
threat.

Beverly poked at Severus' chest firmly as she stuck the potential catastrophe in his mind.

His black eyes regarded her for a second. In the blur of speed, she felt hands come around her
waist, gripping her tight enough she felt she could feel the bruises he left behind the previous
night, he began to run. The entire experience wasn’t pleasant, humans of any kind were not
meant to move at the speed Severus could without a sense of nausea.

Beverly felt her legs find the ground, the grip around her body still tight as she centered her
spinning brain.

“Fuck you, Sparkles,” she grunted, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth
until the cresting waves passed over her. With her eyes closed, she did not see Severus open a
bottle of smelling salts. The scent of it hit her nose with a cool punch to the sinus, making her
slap his helping hand away as she backed up.

Blinking away tears, she noticed the feeling passed her.

Glaring at the smirking man, she said nothing as she brushed herself off.

“He’s close,” Severus said, catching up to where she was blindly walking. “I can smell him.”

Beverly Katz, former FBI, fell in love with the man-eater that could hunt for people by smell
alone.

Oh, if only Jack could see her now…

Her right arm started to itch. Still walking, Beverly rolled the sleeve of her arm up, finding
that the snake was moving as fast as he could with his severed body, pulling himself closer
and closer to what she knew would be the palm of her hand.

It was well into the evening for most children and teenagers, the sky hung with a velvet
curtain, stars twinkling between the clouds tearing themselves thin across the sky as they
ambled along towards daylights warmth. The castle stones were cold, yet Beverly found she
could almost feel an echo of warmth, like steam pluming from a microwave- a brief second
of radiation.

In a game of magical hot cold, Severus leading them closer to a panicked teenaged Dark Lord
with his nose, Beverly with the snake on her arm, they found two doors. The first was dusty,
the handle broken long ago and likely the cause of the abandonment.

The second had strands of the black, green, and red peeking from under the door.

Severus went to reach for the door. Beverly caught his wrist, the snake coiled on her palm.
“Stand guard,” she said. Severus had a vein in his forehead that would throb when he was
displeased with a situation. It happened whenever he caught images of vampires sparkling in
sunlight with angst on her TV screen. Rather than say anything, he turned her palm over,
opening her smaller fingers to the agitated snake that once marked his flesh.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he whispered, looking at the cracking door. There were
small splits between the wood fibers, leaking bursts of magic with an organic beating.

“No,” she confessed, her heart oddly calm for the situation they were standing before, mind
equally as so. “But it can’t be you.”

Call it intuition, a deep gut feeling that only shouted one thing to Beverly: that if Severus
were to walk through the door, he would die. Thankfully, as she understood his weird quirks
and behaviors, Severus seemed to know her own and when to stand down.

Though he did not appear to be happy about it.

Beverly rolled up her other sleeve, ready to jump into the magical dirty situation with the
same anticipation that came with entering a crime scene. She tested the door knob as if the
building was on fire, hardly touching the glass bulb, then slowly applying pressure.

She knocked twice, announcing her presence. The magic stilled at the sound of her knock,
then flickered away from under the door like a scattered cockroach at the sight of light. The
swelling pressure around the door released, the wood creaking as it was able to relax.

Beverly pushed open the door, twirling herself to slam it closed, keeping Severus out with a
shallow sigh of relief. She braced both hands against the door, waiting for any resistance
from the other side now they were apart. The energy in the room was charged, Beverly could
see the hairs on her arms were upright in response.

A cold sensation had her yelp, jumping as she looked down at her arms. Silver, liquid silver,
cold and fluid, traveled up the length of her forearm as it spread with as much speed down
the ridges of her fingers, covering them in little sheets of armor. It stopped at the ridge of her
elbow, squeezing her tightly until she hissed, a strange electrical sensation almost inspecting
her. The metal reflected her startled reflection, showing her calm as she looked over the
intricate design of the magic.

Symbols were carved in the wrist plating of Beverly’s new gauntlets, firmly keeping her
fingers and arms protected, they moved silently in a strange kind of way. Metal should creak
as she bent her phalanges and twisted her wrist- these had no issue with that or morbidity.

Beverly grunted as she felt her skin split under the armor, blood weeping as it tasted
her...cannibals operated with their stomach.

“Another impressive set of jewelry from you, Feline,” Beverly said, turning her focus back
on the matter at hand.

There he was, all half formed sitting in a fetal position, with the other half of his magic
floating around him like an angry thorn bush. His eyes were open, even looking at Beverly,
but it was clear that Tom did not see Beverly.

Beverly braced her back against the wall and slid down on the floor, hoping that her shadow
through the crack of the door would alleviate some of Severus' stress.

“You can’t hurt me. You can’t use magic.” The feathers on his arm fluttered, several of them
falling off his body, leaving red welts as his skin was exposed. Looking from his arms,
pulsing and flickering in his pain, to her own. She supposed that’s what the etchings were for
then, to brand the magic away from a person.

For a little psychopath, Tom Riddle was a smart one.

Beverly’s smile was a sad one. She braced her hands against the floor and slowly moved one
seat forward.

“Feline,” she said, hoping that the nickname she gave him would pull at the calmer part of his
mind, the part of his mind that belonged to an animal- to a fawn that she stole the moniker.
While Tom did not break from his shock shell, his magic twitched inward, forming more
parts of his body.

She noticed that the walls were damaged, that the structure above them was no longer sound.
Cracks of the rain were exposed from where Tom’s magic was pushing against. He was
stronger than the stones of this castle, able to push apart the stone from mortar without
thought.

Beverly couldn’t imagine his power when his mind was driving it.

“Remember, the one that sneaked you a toaster strudel.” Her hand was steady for his eyes to
track, the silver binding still wrapping designs around her she could not interpret. Beverly
lifted the chain and key that was hidden against her heart. “You made this for Severus and I.”

His head twitched, he was responding better to Beverly than Harry did atop the Verger roof.
He was still distant…time to switch tactics

“We’re Herd.”

Tom’s eyes opened.

It was a word that carried weight in the group of magical people Beverly met in Grimmauld
Place. A word of affection that extended beyond anything family could mean, a grouping of
creatures...even one like Beverly. His magic responded to the word as well, warping inward
as it dropped into his skin.

“There you are,” she said, scooting a little closer.

He gave an exhausted breath when the last of his magic snapped back into his body, wincing
as it was no doubt painful to lose some of your corporeal self. Before he could slump to the
side, Beverly reached a careful hand out to guide him onto her side. Pressing herself for
support against the back wall, she held Tom, gently petting over the black and white feathers
on his hair.
She was warned that Mischa’s white feathers would cut her and that proved to be true when
curiosity grew too much for her. A quick spell repaired the split of her skin.

Now, with the tailored gauntlets wrapping around her fingers, it appeared Beverly could pet
whatever feathers she wanted too. Tom had a couple of white feathers on his scalp- likely
even more deadly behind a body with a sharp mind. She thumbed along the stalks gently to
ground him.

“Want to tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

Tom shuffled his head on the side of her collarbone. His fingers were absently picking at a
non-existent string on her FBI jacket. When he could find nothing to occupy his hands, he
moved to touch along the texture of her zipper.

“I hate people,” he muttered, voice dry from his panic. Beverly hummed, another pass of her
fingers playing with a different little white feather on his scalp.

Hate was such a fickle disguise.

“So you’re twitterpated,” she said in good humor, hoping that her childish use of the term
would ease him into talking. “A crush isn’t something to panic over.”

“It is when you don’t have emotions.” Tom bristled, his feathers spiking like a hedgehog.
Beverly looked around at the scorch marks that decorated the stone- clearly put there by his
emotional display.

“That’s a stupid thing to say.” Tom shook his head at her statement, head weak with burden.

“Children conceived under a love potion cannot feel love.”

Before she could sprout some correlation between mother’s drinking during pregnancy and
the fetus result- no doubt escalating the situation, Beverly rolled her eyes. Like she did with
Severus, Beverly took her finger and poked Tom’s skull until he winced.

“Feel that? That’s your brain. I’ve opened up many, many, people on a slab and they all have
them: brains. And every brain has a temporal lobe.”

Beverly ran two fingers along the connecting part of his skull where the two parts of the brain
was divided. The white feathers grazed her but were unable to scratch through the elegant
metal wrapped around her fingers, as mailable as silk gloves.

“Right here,” she said, poking the centermost of his skull. “Below here, rather, is your
amygdala- which produces oxytocin, the love hormone. Now, I don’t have to cut into your
skull to know you have one. The amygdala also produces panic.”

Beverly looked at the evidence of his panic. She knew they were not safe within the domed
ceiling yet moving Tom somehow seemed more volatile than the threat above them.

“If you want,” she offered, pleased to see that Tom lifted his head to look at her. “I can
always take you to a hospital, get you a brain scan and prove it to you. They do this whole
thing where they show you pictures of cute puppies and kittens.”

Tom gave her a weak smile, clearly not convinced.

“It’s hard, “ he said, fiddling with her zipper. “Being human again.” He paused.
“Overwhelming.”

For all that people might think of Tom as a copy of Hannibal, Beverly could only see Will’
traits in the teen- overstimulated, alone and antisocial yet undeniably human enough to crave
the attention of fellows. He was panicking, alone, as Will Graham was so known for-
complete isolation, seclusion, with the potential to slip into madness if neglected or ignored.

Magic was unfamiliar to Beverly- this was not.

“You don’t have to move any faster than you want to,” Beverly told him, her voice low.
“That’s what I’ve seen with magic. You all have no sense of delayed gratification- so used to
getting things when you immediately demand them or throw them out when they no longer
suit you.”

Beverly couldn’t understand why there was still world hunger, poverty, those with disease if
it could be cured by a flick of wood or the contents in a bottle.

...then again, humans didn’t do so well with those they thought...other…

“Tom, you can take your time with your recovery. You need to feel human before you feel
like a partner; allow yourself that.”

Beverly tugged on the missing piece of his ear.

“You also love Mischa.” It was a statement. Beverly had seen the way his eyes followed his
little sister around. She was always the first person he looked for in the room, almost
supernaturally hearing her coming cries, rushing to her aid even as he got in Hannibal and
Will’s way.

Silently, Beverly recalled finding his hands cut with gemstones and metal, two keys branded
into his skin. She almost didn’t want to take the key, fearing it was still too hot to touch. Yet,
it seemed only Tom was injured as they picked glass from his hands and Severus poured
ointments over his boiling injuries.

Tom cared enough about Severus, his loyal follower, to exhaust his own magic to allow for
he and Beverly to always find each other; even through the wards and protective layers of
this very school Severus told her of.

Beverly didn’t know much about love potions and pregnancy consequences- she knew Tom
could love.

She actually couldn’t imagine the spectrum of what Tom was dealing with: being resurrected
as a teenager all over again, having yourself as an enemy, carrying a shattered piece of soul,
reconciling with lives taken. No, Beverly could only recall the tasks set before him as told by
the voices of others. Atop the challenges of a resurrected, all powerful wizard, he was also
grappling with the tribulations of being a teenager once again.

Beverly snorted to lighten the mood.

“You’re also like fifteen- nobody is telling you to have everything set up right now.”

Tom swallowed a ball in his throat, his eyes unsteadily connecting to Beverly, then the zipper,
before landing back with her. She resumed stroking his hair, interested to see that it was no
longer lined with feathers. His weight against her body was heavier as he calmed, his
breathing no longer hyperventilating.

Beverly did not understand magic, she did not understand Tom Riddle, past, present or future,
but she could understand his confusion at being displaced in a new world. When she looked
down at his exposed skin, she no longer saw the welts from where he molted. Her free hand
moved to collect his feathers.

“Thanks, Beverly,” he whispered, the final deflation of panic leaving him as his eyes began to
hood with sleep. She nudged his shoulder, under his ribs twice to get him to stand.

He grunted, leaning on her with more pressure.

“Herd,” he grunted simply.

“Well, not here,” Beverly demanded, looking at the dust that was beginning to drop from the
mortar of the stones above their heads. He groaned as any teenager roused from sleep did,
hobbling as he stood. With one hand supporting the child, Beverly reached her armored hand
for the doorknob and pulled it back.

It revealed the image of a woman in stark, violent contrast to Severus. Where he was taller
and dressed in all black, robe billowing like the classical vampire he tried to stray from there
was a smirking toad of a woman dressed in bubblegum pink. His hair was straight where hers
was permed, her stance predatory while he was the predator.

What drew the majority of her attention and a sweeping tsunami of anger within Beverly, was
the wand pressed into Severus’ throat.

Later, Beverly couldn’t exactly say what took over her. She moved before there was thought
of moving- a blur of speed rushing forward as her hand cupped the temple of the woman’s
head, momentum carrying her and the skull into the stone wall beside them all.

Dust rained over them in protest, collecting on the unconscious form of the woman in pink
that held a weapon to Severus. The three stood frozen as they bared witness.

They all stared at her, breathing steadily as a little pool of blood began to collect from where
she was laying. The impact point of the stone walls, Beverly could see the evidence of hair,
flesh of the scalp, and a broad streak of blood from where the woman slid down to arrive on
the floor. If the wound was left, the woman’s skull would fill with blood and drown the
brain.
“Wow,” Tom said, his face slowly breaking into a smile.

Before she could explain her actions, or give excuses for them, she felt her legs lift off the
ground as Severus picked her up. Rougher than usual, he slammed her back against the
stones walls, the impact causing her to gasp, air only sucked from her lungs as his hungry lips
claimed hers, tongue making bold claims and promises.

“Please stop,” Tom groaned from behind them both.

Severus broke his kiss with a chuckle, an evil glint in his eyes as he looked back at the teen
that once tortured him. Seeing this, Beverly flushed, forgetting herself in the heat of Severus’
spontaneous actions.

“We can just leave her to die,” Tom perked up, a hopeful look on her face. Severus ran his
finger through the trail of blood with a disgusted sneer on his face, the blood sickening him.

It was reassuring to know Beverly would always be Severus’ monthly special.

“Don’t you want to be a part of her demise?” Severus asked, waving his wand around her.
The blood on the wall lifted as if never there, that which pooled on the floor seemed to be
absorbed back into her skull like the world's strangest sponge.

“I suppose I do,” Tom said, a firm nod of his head as he watched Severus clean Beverly’s
mess.

“Go on, Feline,” Beverly ordered, shooing her away with her hands. “We’ll clean this up.
You need an alibi.”

Tom smiled, a genuine one that looked happy and so very different from the teen she opened
the door too. He paid no mind to the woman as he walked over her, hardly giving enough
room for his legs to pass over her body without kicking it.

“You’re thinking like family,” he said, approaching her one last time before bestowing a
quick hug. He sprinted off before she or Severus could say anything of it.

“Like Herd,” Beverly corrected. Though her partner said nothing of it, his frozen stride spoke
volumes. When he could move again, it was by the woman’s side.

“I think we should leave her here,” Severus said, rearranging the woman so she was at least
sitting upright.

Years ago, Beverly wouldn’t have done what she did. If she saw a woman laying on the floor
with a head injury, she would have called the police and administered basic first aid.

Now…

“Blunt force trauma will remove the most recent of her memories.”

Beverly put her foot down on the first step, looking back at Severus as she ignored the
woman who threatened her man. She grinned, immediately beginning to race down the
 spiraling staircase, knowing she would lose this hunt.

And win in the best ways possible.

Chapter End Notes

I am of the opinion that Tom needs a positive female role model in his life and I made
that person Beverly. I think the other thing I am loving is making Tom vulnerable
"Herd" (Ugh! Writer feels!) as Beverly is loosening her moral compass for this new and
twisted family. I think Tom really likes his new family!

Anyway, Thank you so so much for being here! I'd love to hear from you in the
comments and keep the meal going! Be well!
 Vive la Révolution
Chapter Notes

A good early morning to you all!

The plot thickens, and like any good stew, it's got some meat on the bones.
Thanksgiving is approaching us American's and I am very thankful to have each and
every one of you hear with me. I love reading your comments to see what you are
thinking and how you think the story will flow. I love each and everyone of you, for
your participatory eyes and your unwavering encouragement to keep this fic going.

Bon Appetit!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

For perhaps the first time in Hogwarts, A History, , Halloween was a calm and quiet event.
The pumpkins grew to their astronomical size courtesy of Hagrid’s fertilizer leaving them
large enough to carve a variety of faces from playful and cheeky to somewhat disturbing-
even for the Wizarding World.

The pulp shucked from within was turned into a slew of pumpkin products that greeted the
Great Hall- pumpkin bread, muffins, soup, juice, honestly, Tom would grow tired of eating
pumpkin by the time Yule rolled around the corner.

Umbridge was still on her warpath against the student body. Whatever intentions or
expectations she came with must have disappointed her when the students didn’t immediately
turn into “model citizens of the Ministry.” It seemed that the morning greeting in the Great
Hall was the slamming of an iron pike mounting a new decree above the threshold.

Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s stood side by side with scowls on their faces as they read over
the newest of rules, eyes rolling and a mutual smirk exchanged between them both.

Tom found himself smiling as he watched comradery build with the mutually shared hatred
of Professor Umbridge. If there was something the two warring houses could agree on, it was
that Umbridge would need a permanent sabbatical.

…Maybe that was Tom’s own thinking; he had plans, of course, but if for whatever reason he
could not be the direct cause of her death, the curse he placed on the defense position would
take care of her…painfully.

Hermione, one of Harry’s friends that accepted him within their social group with slight
scrutiny, proposed the idea of forming a defense club in secret.
“We’re going to have to fight someday,” she insisted, raising her voice only slightly within
the library.

Tom hoped not. He thought of the book of names in Dumbledore’s diary, all of the students
and people he and his former followers slaughtered. There shouldn’t be such bloodshed,
especially when children became soldiers.

“At the very least, learn something this year. How are we going to pass our OWLs if we lose
a year?” Neville said, leaning around the stack of books he was perusing. It was an older
defense textbook, not the garbage that Umbridge supplied.

“I wish there was something we could do,” Harry said, flipping through the defense textbook
with a turned up expression like he was forced to breathe in the stench of rotting onions.

“You could teach us,” Hermione said, her eyebrow raised in expectation. Harry pulled his
face out of the book to give Hermione a skeptical look, as if he didn’t believe himself
capable.

Tom thought of it for a moment. Harry, as the Boy Who Lived, garnered a lot of immediate
trust from people- however foolish that might be, he wasn’t to say. However, it meant that
people were prone to approaching Harry and listening to his rambling. His lack of flouncing
when it came to his magical powers earned him a humble kind of exterior that would make
him approachable.

“You could,” Tom said, nodding his head slowly. “In the Room.”

The Room of Requirement was on the seventh floor and students could excuse themselves as
going to the library if they were caught by other professors. The wall was firm and would not
open if the Room was occupied by another unless the door was open from within. Constantly
shifting to the needs of others, Tom figured it would have training dummies or some of the
armored soldiers that were in the Room of Lost Things.

“A secret defense club?” Harry said, looking around the table, seeming to grow more nervous
as the idea rooted into the minds of others. Draco, who was always by Harry’s side, reached
across the table for one of the books hanging on Neville’s tower, plucking it from the stack,
he flipped the pages open. It was a traditional defense spell book, notes from years of
students etched into the sides.

Hermione must have been thinking of the secret group for a while, as she was smiling evilly
when she went to root around in her bag. She pulled free a notebook, turning the pages until
she landed on the one she wanted, showing off the book to the group.

In the upper left corner, a sketch of a galleon with the ministry seal. Notes were etched along
the sides, wards drawn between the notes with arrows pointing to the coin.

“It’s a communication coin,” Tom said, his eyes running over her notes. The metal of the coin
would balance the spell work, being a valuable piece of currency. The sheer cost of giving up
a galleon would prevent students that were half-hearted from joining. Tom read through her
more detailed notes, seeing that Hermione was thinking of laying the privacy charm on the
side grove of the coins, acting like little barriers to keep information from those like
Umbridge. “It’s genius,” Tom said, looking up at her with a smile.

“How are we going to get the word out?” Harry asked. Tom smirked as he noticed Harry did
not deny the position of teacher.

“Quietly, I imagine,” he retorted to his twin. Harry leveled him with a glare their mother
would be proud of.

“The only House we are missing is Hufflepuff,” Luna said from where she was reading The
Quibbler, a pink set of glasses fanned around her blue eyes and news article upside down.
“Though, I guess I could tell Cedric and he spread the word.”

Tom tried not to blush at Luna’s look or the own fluttering feeling in his stomach. He didn’t
know how the two caused it, Luna’s calm presence that seemed to always find him like a leaf
on the wind, or the compassionate and generous nature around Cedric.

“He could be a good teacher too,” Harry said, humility in his tone. Tom was glad that his
twin did not notice the creeping blush on his cheeks.

“I think we should do it,” Hermione insisted, finding an ally in Neville.

“I’m tired of not doing anything. Sitting by,” Neville said.

Tom didn’t understand why they were both so eager to fight an enemy they were clearly
outmatched for. His Husk would laugh at them, their youth in age and experience. Tom knew
that the Husk was gathering his forces, waiting for a final battle that would take all or leave
everything destroyed.

While Tom knew he would have to be there for that fight, he wanted no part of it.

“Alright, Alright.” Harry nodded, taking a final look at the coins. He stretched his leg and
pulled a single galleon from his pocket, handing it to Hermione. She snatched it from his
fingers with a yelp of victory, quickly hushed by the people around her table.

The library was one of the safer places for groups of students to meet and was growing fuller
by the day Umbridge ruled over the school. They found a table towards the side of the library,
hidden between bookshelves so they could talk without being hushed by surrounding
students. Still, they needed to follow the noise rules lest they get kicked out before they found
a new rendezvous.

Hermione placed the coin next to her booklet, checking over her notes once more, she closed
her eyes as she began to mutter under her breath. Tom saw the circumference of the coin
begin to glow a brilliant sunshine gold as Hermione cast her spell. He raised his own wand
to cast a bubble of obscurity around them, muffling the sound with an additional flick.
Surrounded by darkness, Hermione worked on bringing light to their defense troubles.

When she finished the spell, her hair had frizzed out to the side with the static of her ritual,
sweat dripping from her brow and panting with exertion.
“Finished,” she said, grinning as she handed it to Harry. Hermione reached into her pocket
and plucked her own galleon, having clearly attempted the spell on her own time, simply
waiting for the opportune moment to propose the idea to her group of friends.

She slid the letters around on her coin, clutched to her hand with a growing grin on her face
as the others gasped at the sight of her spell working. On Harry’s coin, much like the letters
in his diary, the words rippled over the seal of the Ministry:

Meeting: Three Days in Room- 8pm

Tom woke with a gasp as the echoing words of the prophecy ran through his head.

“Neither shall live while the other survives…”

Try as Dumbledore might, even he could not prevent the inevitability that Tom would come
to face his Husk, his worst creation. Death and bloodshed were guaranteed to happen.

Tom could only hope that those he loved were safe from his own destruction.

He wondered what the Husk’s reaction would be if he learned of their shared dreamscape.
Would the Husk whisper in his ear to do horrible things, reminding him of the bloodshed his
shoes were soggy with, torture him with images of his family dying?

With thoughts such as these running through his head, he knew sleep would not come to him.
Tom pulled the curtains of his bed frame back, letting the cool air waft over his sweaty body.
Checking his watch revealed the hour was too early to start a shower without waking the
others. He held back his groan as he slipped out of the bed, not bothering to take his wand or
a jacket, and stumbled out of the room.

He shivered in the cold and reached for the bottle of pills that his parents sent both him and
Harry in the mail, a small slip of instructions within. Tom opened the brown bottle and
inhaled the earthy, copper smell before swallowing a pill dry.

Witching hour, a humorous title for the time of morning, but true nonetheless, Tom stepped
outside the Slytherin Common Room, climbing the few staircases until he was on the grass.

The cold November air acted as a balm on his racing thoughts. The night sky was still dark
with the colors of purple and blue that would give way to the dawn in a few hours. The dew
sank through his shoes and socks, toes curling at the cold water. Tom inhaled slowly,
attempting to calm his magic as he walked to the forest.

Where Harry might wait to transform, Tom was protected by the cover of night, letting his
pelt fold over his body like water over river stone. He stretched his body, feeling the bones
finish popping into place as his pelt stretched over his skin.

Tom shook out his pelt and paused at the feeling of something brushing against his hooves.
He looked down and saw black feathers, several of them, had fallen from his pelt. Tom
looked at his back to find all his white fawn feathers still lined his body.
It was the black ones that had fallen from him, leaving behind a small patch of featherless
pelt.

This...this clearly wasn’t natural.

With a hoof, Tom buried the fallen feathers in the brush that would decompose them before
anyone could take them. He pushed the feathers down into the cold mud, hiding them from
others, from his own mind.

Distracting himself with a trot, Tom stepped over the twigs that landed in his path, hopping
over those that became branches the deeper he went into the forest. The animals were still
sleeping, only the sound of heartier insects chirping through the chilled morning eve.

A heavier sound was approaching him. Tom could feel the vibrations of the creature moving
in on his location through his hooves. His feathers splayed themselves over his back. Tom
picked up his speed, cantering now for one of the higher ridges he could set an ambush.

“Tom!” the voice shouted, his name carried through the wind.

His twin was approaching him, the larger creature that Tom heard and felt galloping towards
him was not a threat. Tom slowed his running to a halt, ears flicked forward on Harry’s
location.

In his human form, the two were the same in height and weight. While they had different
external features, their internal magic still creeped some students out, especially since the
Skeeter article. Harry’s ravenstag was a stark difference from Tom. His rack of antlers was
growing, the small nubs beginning to expand from the main stalks in the center of his skull.
He carried more mass than Tom- a thicker neck to hold the weight of his crown, taller flanks,
broad shoulders used for sparing.

Tom was still skinny, his fawn form meant to flee, hide, and ambush when the other two
options were exhausted. He knew it was because he lacked a complete soul but the
differences of his twin were still buried with anxiety in his mind.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tom said, rubbing his feathers along the length of Harry in greeting.

“I felt that one,” Harry said, grooming over the feathers on Tom’s shoulders. Tom pulled
away from his twin before he noticed the patch of exposed skin on his pelt. “You haven’t
been sleeping well since you came back.”

The Husk was still sending Tom dreams, thinking Harry was the one receiving them. Tonight
was the first night he hadn’t had a dream of the Husk, rather the memory of Harry listening to
the prophecy of their very divination professor.

“Father suggested I take two of the Hibernation pills,” Tom said. That much was true, Tom
did say he was having a harder time with his Hibernation. What his father didn’t know was
that Tom knew it was beyond Hibernation. The pills were helping him cope, but did not take
away the Husk’s symptoms.
The wind that carried across the night sky rippled the trees above them, shaking leaves to fall
to the ground, some coming to brush against their pelts. With it, the heady scent of an old
stag.

Salivating, Tom and Harry both cantered without word, following the scent of the deer until
they found several deer tracks. Tom nudged Harry for the ambush, knowing that he was
weaker in the small fawn’s body. Tired as he was, Tom didn’t want to put up much fight.

He darted forward to the Herd of deer, startling them into a chaotic run that confused the stag
protecting the herd. His confused movements allowed Harry to race around his blindspot and
grip at his jugular. Tom cantered forward, knocking the stag's weight from under his legs,
sending him toppling to the ground in a dying cry.

The two ripped into the kill, blood sustaining their feathers as they tucked into the warm
body. Shredding the meat from the deer's kidney, Tom could feel some of his strength
returning to him, knowing that it would only be sustainable from his body.

“Ready for tonight,” Tom said as he pulled away from the lower part of the internals to rip at
the thigh meat. Tonight would be the first rebellion defense meeting. Hermione, Neville and
Luna all insisted they were bringing people to the room, students that they could trust. Harry
paused from his chewing of the heart.

“More than suffering through another class with Umbridge.”

Tom growled, his teeth biting into the flesh of the stag, tearing and shredding away with all
the strength in his own hind quarters, flaying the meat off the femur.

“Why don’t we just tell mom and father?” Harry asked, taking another bite into the hull of the
creature. Tom growled again and launched himself at his twin, taking one of his antlers
between his teeth to bring Harry into a submissive pose.

“Because Harry,” Tom growled, bone still in his mouth. “If mom and father find out about
Umbridge they will kill her.” Tom released Harry when he saw his twin make the connection.
He licked at the feathers on his brow, apologizing for his excessive violence. “I want to be
the one to kill her, Harry! Is that too much to ask?”

Ever the forgiving one, Harry shook his head after Tom finished grooming him to nibble at
Tom’s neck feathers. Harry nudged him back into the hull of the stag, joining him with his
own snout.

Dawn broke over the sky as the two Ravenstag finished their meal. Tom felt satisfied,
yawning as a sleepy feeling began to take over his body.

“Come on,” Harry said, pushing alongside Tom’s body. Tom’s feathers buried themselves
into Harry with the need to stay close, to bed down and rest for the remainder of the day, even
if it was only just beginning. Though, he couldn’t voice that desire, instead, pushing himself
through the need to hibernate and walk to the castle.
The day...Tom would have much rather spent it sleeping in the forest next to the deer carcass.
In potions class, the fumes hit his nose without abandon, bringing forth a migraine that he
carried with him into Transfiguration and to Defense class.

Umbridge picked up on his pained expression, drilling him with useless questions, waiting
for any opportunity to give him another detention.

“Little Tom Riddle,” she said at one point during class. Tom could feel his own wrath
intensify the migraine pounding in his skull as well as the eyes of his peers to see his
reaction. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

For the briefest of moments, Tom thought about being the student he was sixty years ago- to
push through the pain and keep up the appearance of a law abiding citizen.

What was on Tom’s mind? Plans of murdering her painfully, which he doubted would be
received well by anyone in the room. He could feel Harry’s own anxiety pick up as Tom’s
silence stretched on, Umbridge still standing above his desk with that stupid superior smirk.

Tom sighed slowly, allowing her to see his pain as he rubbed his eyes.

“Honestly, Professor,” he drawled, “I have one of those headaches that make me want to take
a frozen ice pick and lobotomize myself, maybe if I apply enough downward force, I could
crack my skull open to alleviate some of this pressure behind my eyes.” He waved his wand,
putting it against the tear duct, pressing deep and feeling some relief.

“It could be so easy…just one little tap and I’d touch my cerebral cortex.” He looked up in
mock surprise. “Maybe you could teach me a freezing spell to quell this heat.”

There was a heavy silence that hung over the room again, this time, Tom holding the power
of it. It was quiet enough he could hear a student behind him say: the fuck

It appeared that Umbridge did not know how to reply to a student so willing to drive their
wand through their eyeball that she gave her traditional humm and walked back to the
chalkboard.

Being mild mannered towards such a toad only served to deepen the split in his mind.

Tom skipped dinner, waving Harry and Draco away from him. He couldn’t imagine taking
part in the loudest meal of the day when the students were testing the professor’s threshold of
patience with their noise level. His eyes throbbed behind him, a pounding echoing in his
head.

Three passes, back and forth, on the seventh floor revealed a wooden door with cast iron bars
along the side, strong enough to keep Umbridge out. Tom huffed a laugh, putting his hand on
the cold iron. Even if Umbridge found out of their location, the strength of the wall would
provide them enough time to escape if needed.

Tom pushed open the door to find a very dark and cold room. When his eyes adjusted to the
darkness, he saw it was almost a replica of the infirmary- darkened curtains hanging over the
windows that prevented any light from hitting his eyes, potion bottles lined the shelves and a
single bed was along the side.

The bed drew him in like a hypnotist, calling him forward and closer. Tom ran his hands over
the cool sheets, finding that he pulled them back and slipped into the bed.

He turned his head and saw a vial materializing next to him. He reached for it, popping the
cork to smell it: a migraine potion.

“Thank you,” he said, tilting the vial back, he drank the contents down and flopped onto the
bed. The potion worked it’s magic, quickly breaking into his skull and surrounding the
migraine, working closer and closer to his pain’s origin.

The allotted time most students spent in the Great Hall for dinner must have passed. Tom
could feel the room shifting, gradually becoming brighter as the walls shifted to a more
industrial style. With his migraine gone, exhaustion still in his body, Tom pushed himself off
the mattress to the shelves of books that emerged where potions once were.

He collected a few books, taking a seat in the one the Room provided and waited.

Lost in his book, Tom didn’t notice the front wall changing, outlining a large door with iron
emerging from stone. He heard the door push open, looking up with a wand in hand, he saw
Luna Lovegood smiling as she entered.

His heart began to do that strange thing where it picked up in pace.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Luna said, holding the door slightly for another to pass
through.

And there was the other human that caused his body to not listen to him, Cedric Diggory,
carrying a tray of food.

“I didn’t see you in the Hall,” he said, a small smile on his cheeks as he approached Tom. It
was a simple plate of food, bread and an apple- everything that Tom needed now that his
migraine was gone.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the second food offering Cedric brought him. Tom tore the
bread into chunks, eating the food slowly as the last time he ate was a dead deer in the
morning. Once the bread hit his stomach, it cried for more, twisting painfully.

Luna didn’t seem to mind the silence that hung over the three of them, walking aimlessly
around the room as she ran her fingers on the stone. Cedric distracted himself by taking the
book that Tom was reading, a playful smirk on his lips.

Tom didn’t think he could say anything- the man brought him food, after all.

“Her classes really are numbing,” Cedric said, reading over the book with his finger passing
over each word.

“I’d love nothing more than to grate her brain with a spice grinder.”
Luna looked up at him, her piercing blue eyes seeing through the humor of his words in ways
that Cedric did not. With the intensity of her gaze, Tom had little doubt of the extent of her
knowledge and how it pertained to him.

“Some of her classes do feel like that,” Cedric chuckled.

Tom was going to say more, only stopping when he saw the door forming around the front
wall. Luna walked closer to Tom and Cedric, standing between where they were both seated,
she put a hand on each of their shoulders.

The next group of students that entered were the Weasley Twins.

“You almost didn’t invite us,” said one.

“You traitor,” the other said, coming to Tom with a backpack suspiciously filled and smelling
of gunpowder.

If Tom asked, he might be obligated to tell Severus of their future pranks, which would only
serve to frustrate the man and anger the Twins. He kept quiet on the contents of their bag.

Try as Tom might, he really couldn’t see the difference between the twins. He catalogued
them each time, for hair styles, misplaced freckles, a changed jawline, but found nothing. He
recognized it was a little like how others viewed him and Harry- different but ultimately the
same.

They quickly went to Cedric, pulling him aside so they could talk about “private business”
one of them said when he asked.

Next to enter was Neville and Hermione, who seemed extremely pleased that her proposal
was seen through and other students were showing up.

Harry and Draco filed in next.

The group gathered, the Room of Requirement opened up more seating for them but could do
nothing about the anxiety settling in their stomachs. They waited, no clock ticking to keep
time, only their own minds spinning in circles.

Then, the first batch of new students showed up, peaking their heads in between the revealed
door and the wall. Hermione jumped up, ushering them in quietly with a grin on her face.
Four students, a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws gathered awkwardly in the center of
the room. Cedric waved them over, the students smiling as they recognized one of their own.

As introductions were being made, another group entered the room.

And another.

Then one more.

A quarter hour passed and the room was filled with students, the common theme of the
conversation being a mutual hatred of Umbridge classes. But Tom could see it, an equal
representation of colors on their necks that marked them not as houses, but as a collective
student body.

Tom chuckled to himself as Hermione stood up on one of the desks. What would the Husk
think if he knew the Hogwarts students gathered as allies not to fight him but a Ministry
swine. Oh, he would writhe at the thought of it.

“Excuse me,” Hermione’s voice said over the crowd. “I wanted to thank everyone for
coming.” She looked to Harry, who looked around at the large group of students all waiting
for someone to take the helm.

Tom watched his twin awkwardly stand as he made his way before the group of students.
Smart, that Harry did not choose to stand on the desk as Hermione did, approaching them as
a fellow rather than a leader.

“You shouldn’t have to be here,” he said, his hands moving with his words. “We shouldn’t
have to be responsible for this, learning defense on our own.” Tom noticed many of the
students nodding their heads to his words. “The Ministry is trying to keep us in the dark by
sending Umbridge, to make us ‘better citizens,’” he mocked, poorly imitating her shrill voice.
It got a laugh out of the crowd.

“We all know what’s coming for us,” he said, alluding to the larger threat beyond the walls
that Tom created. He dipped his head, looking at his hands. Yes, Tom did create some of this
problem; if not for the curse on the Defense position, there would likely be a tenured
professor teaching them. His youthful arrogance turned him into a monster.

A squeeze on his shoulder had him look at Luna's hand that was still resting on his shoulder.
Her proximity, Cedric’s proximity, made his stomach flutter again.

“No one is going to care what house you’re in when you stand against them. The Minister
won’t care if you're a Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor or Ravenclaw and neither will our
enemies. Umbridge takes hundreds of points from us everyday.”

Harry shook his head.

“This isn’t about houses or points but about being able to defend ourselves.”

The students nodded, agreeing with him, energy shifting to grow and swell around the room.
Harry seemed to sense it too, his magic beginning to prickle at the students surrounding him.
Tom watched a smile grow on Harry’s face as he responded to the crowd.

“So let’s get started.”

A weightless sensation crossed over Tom’s body, flowing with the currents of the wind,
hiding in the freezing clouds that collected with rain. The air around him was charged with
energy, magic and natural alike.
 He was floating above Azkaban- the imposing stone walls holding strong against the violent
waves that crashed against the lower levels. Tom felt himself collect his magic, drawing
power from the natural storm around him.

With a hissed spell, Tom, the Husk, fired a bolt of lightning against the stone walls, shattering
the wards as if they were glass. Dementors rushed out, flying around the prisoners and
feasting upon those in the lower levels as his followers took their gnarled hands and gripped
the exposed rocks.

Manic laughter came from a woman as she crouched with an expression of joy. She jumped
on the rocks, uncaring of the cuts she was making on her feet. Lifting her marked arm to her
mouth, she licked the Mark as the magic deepened in color.

“It’s time,” he hissed as his followers crawled, bowed, wept for him.

Tom woke, no gasp on his lips, immediately sitting upright as his skin prickled with the frigid
cold of the Azkaban sea. He blinked, touching his forehead and pulled back to find it slick
with water. Water that did not come from a night sweat. It was cold against his skin, tasting of
rain and electricity.

He did not move from his bed until dawn broke, in a state of shock as he manipulated his
body into clothing, gathering his things, walking down to the Great Hall.

Where he was greeted with hundreds of papers blazing the words:

AZKABAN ESCAPE

Moving mugshots of his old Death Eaters, the Lestrange's, Carrow's, a series of faces he once
ordered to kill magical people, children, now free.

“Tom,” Harry said, shaking his shoulder with one hand, the paper in the other. Tom watched
in a daze as Harry’s green eyes moved from looking at him to the paper.

“Stupid question, but,” Draco said, on the other side of Tom as his ears rang with a high
pitched sound, students entering the Great Hall with looks of horror on their faces, whispers
and the cold stench of fear surrounding him as it did Wool’s. “Are you alright?”

Lips sewn by the thread of shock, Tom could only shake his head.

Chapter End Notes

Note: the alternative title for this was "the otters" because they lead the revolution.

I like to think that Tom is taking on more of Will's traits when it comes to dealing with
people (Umbridge). Harry is the 'fuck with my fam and I'll eat you'...Hannibal's kid
meanwhile Tom is like: "ill stab my own eye out to a) get out of this class and b) remove
this migraine.

In other news, we only have about nine chapters before this epic comes to a close. I'm
not sure what's going to become of my life without this fic, without you, and that scares
me a bit.

Thank you for reading! You know how Youtuber's say "like/subscribe" allow me to do
the AO3 version: "kudos/comment" and I will see you for the next adventure. If you are
traveling this holiday, stay safe and know you are loved!
 Battlegrounds- a Variety
Chapter Notes

(That waiter that is bedraggled, smelling of two shifts and shuffling numerous recipes)
"Hello and welcome the madness"
Mild spoiler/spicy warning
I am conflicted because underage yet teens tend to loose virginity at 17ish. Drarry long
known each other and I need it for plot but ugh- conflicted. I'm going to hell for other
reasons, tried as sappy as possible. Stay safe, be smart, proceed when given consent.

So conflicted...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Oh, this is some primetime drama,” Beverly said, hiding in the Professor’s corridor as she
and Severus looked over the commotion the Great Hall turned into. Though they were both
within the castle, Beverly was dressed warmly, ready to disappear into the muggle world at a
moment's notice.

His resolve and Beverly’s sound arguments warred against a need to keep her within his
quarters. Since they raced through the halls of Hogwarts where Tom Riddle, the young Dark
Lord, split at magical edges, Beverly began to explore like a student past curfew. He knew
they were both capable of being safe and silent yet the creature within him could not bear the
thought of Beverly and Umbridge meeting again- fearing that Umbridge would find Beverly
with a clear mind.

If she then learned of Severus' creature status...he knew the woman was sadistic enough to
execute Beverly for the sake of protecting the Wizarding World and that pain would slowly
kill Severus.

Students of every age, any house, had all broken the rules and changed their color. Students
from every house had done it and those still wearing their own colors were quick to hop on
the bandwagon of their peers.

The chaos managed to sound to Severus quarters in the morning, waking him with a groan
and Beverly with a laugh. They both dressed for the day quickly, the din becoming eerily
silent as the students must have moved their chaos beyond the Common Room, likely to
breakfast where they were upstaging Umbridge at every level.

“They’re all so cute!” Beverly squealed, her sound lost to the din of students. The children
moved their tables, sitting in a rainbow of color splatter rather than a lined one. They had
gone beyond swapping uniforms- many of them splattered with paint.
“Oh,” Beverly said, her head tilted as they both witnessed another colorful dust explosion
coat students that were unaware of the unscheduled color change. “The dust is on pressure
plates- the napkins.” Beverly nodded her head, the nearest pressure pad was on, natural
Umbridge's’ and his own plate. He flicked his wand, aiming it to go off near the Weasley
twins, who not only were covered in paint and dust but wore the traditional female uniform.

“Anatomically speaking, men should be the ones wearing skirts,” she said, pushing his
shoulder with a bit of humor. Severus stood by, content to watch the chaos until other
teachers arrived to corral the students.

“I’m not against them wearing skirts- it can be hard enough getting some of them clothed. It’s
the headache that comes later from Umbridge’s ramblings.”

“How is she, by the way?” Beverly asked, not sounding at all concerned about the woman.

A stumbling fool with far too much power in her grubby hands, in no way should be near
children as she would rather suffocate their dreams than ignore them. A constant sore in the
faculties side- the worst gadfly.

“Suffers from an occasional speech problem.”

“Couldn’t you solve that?”

Severus shielded them from residue dust and paint splattering along the wall as more hungry
students filled the Great Hall per common routine- their half wake state quickly giving way
to morning warfare.

“I could,” he said nothing more of it- leaving Beverly to smirk from where she was peaking.
Together, their eyes spotted the arrival of the Young Dark Lord. Severus felt his jaw loosen,
he had enough self control to keep it from gaping lest he inhale some of the Weasley twins
newest explosive experiment

“Aww, look at Feline,” she cooed, knowing enough about the inner house dynamics to
understand what the Young Lord was trying for.

There the Young Dark Lord was, in all his youthful glory, wearing Gryffindor red. He snorted
a shocked, surprised, gasping breath as his twin smacked him with a color pad- bursting him
in blue and yellow. Tom Riddle stood still for a moment, his eyes pinched shut, then a quick
double flick of his wand and Harry’s hair was changing colors.

“Have you thought more of Hannibal and Will’s proposal?” Severus asked, watching, his
brow tightening as Mr. Riddle turned around to retreat from his twin, only to freeze at the
sight of Cedric Diggory to his left, Luna Lovegood to his right.

“Well that depends on you, Severus,” Beverly said, taking his attention away from the
students causing more chaos as their peers entered the room. Beverly put her hand on his
chest, pressing against his sternum. “How comfortable do you feel about the proposal?” She
shielded him from the children’s mounting chaos with her body, his against the stone.
The Young Dark Lord…Tom Riddle was displaced through time, memories of all his selves
fragmented as the last shard was working to slaughter him. For all that he was magically
capable enough to control and shift the wards of Hogwarts to his will, the Locket turned Key
as evidence, the boy was awkward, gangly, and a fawn in every sense. He stuck close to his
twin on instinct- slowly branching his friends beyond Harry’s.

Beyond his startled expression at seeing Lovegood and Diggory approach, there were bags
under his eyes. He made a mental note to leave one of the enchanted blankets on Tom’s bed
before whatever schemes would progress throughout the day.

“He responds to you,” Severus said.

He was surprised by how well he and Beverly got along. Somehow, the Young Dark Lord
who once hated muggles- now curious. In a sense, perhaps they had a kinship of
displacement. Beverly and Tom didn’t entirely understand their place within the magical
world yet- whether they recognized it subconsciously or had a silent acknowledgement,
Severus wouldn’t know.

Though Beverly closed the door between himself and the Young Dark Lord as he panicked,
he could hear them speaking through the wood. He was waiting for the moment something
might go wrong but nothing happened- Tom responded to Beverly’s voice, his magic no
longer pulling at the seams of the ceiling.

Serendipitously, Will called Beverly’s phone with the proposal.

“My Mark is proof of that,” Severus said.

“I honestly think he’s on my butt right now,” Beverly confessed, pulling a surprised laugh
from Severus. Beverly turned her attention back to the subject at hand, looking at Tom
making awkward conversation with the two teens as they moved to a table together where
Severus could see the glint of a shield around them. “It feels like the right thing to do. A gut
instinct.”

Severus looked at Beverly, knowing all about how those could defy logic yet the sensation
pulled on something deeper than the mind.

“You should tell Will then,” Severus said, knowing that their time together would soon close.
Beverly needed to work at her job while Severus would contain the student’s mess.

The furious clicking of heels was approaching them, Beverly and Severus both turning their
heads in anticipation of the woman. Beverly turned Severus in the dark hallway, pressing his
back to the wall as her hand slid behind his robe and up his spine as she kissed him.

“Good luck out there, soldier,” she whispered against his lips.

The clicking of heels was upon them. Beverly reached for the key around her neck, weaving
it around her head, she went to the door that would open to the Teacher’s Table. Inserting the
key into the lock, the border of the door flashed.
She turned the doorknob, revealing her muggle apartment rather than the commotion of the
Great Hall and slipped through the portal to her world of international crime.

“What is the meaning of this?” Umbridge asked as the door clicked closed, the golden border
vanishing with a wisp.

“I’m only just discovering it myself,” he drawled, walking away from her leechous energy to
the chaos within the Great Hall.

Severus was aware of the little defense club his godson formed with his friends. In the
evening, there were students missing from the Common Rooms with growing frequency,
unsurprisingly, his godson was absent.

Draco one day found himself cornered by Severus and broke after only a minute of silence
between them.

He did not disapprove of the actions of Draco and his friends. His godson would have to take
the OWLS this year, and while he would pass his Defense exam with the additional help he’s
received over the years from Severus, other students would needlessly struggle at the time of
the practical.

It seemed that Umbridge and the Minster were of the opinion that students could read about
something and execute it without fail months later.

It had as much rationality as asking an anatomical artist to perform open heart surgery.

The curse over the Defense Position was a constant strain on the teaching body of Hogwarts
and the students never having a consistent teacher. This year, everyone collectively thought
of the ways Umbridge might demise by the years close without shame of the images.

Dumbeldore came to the Great Hall’s commotion with a beaming smile on his face, giving a
full belly laugh as he took in the chaos. He waved Umbridge’s concerns away as only a
senior citizen could, dismissing her as he enjoyed the vibrance of youth.

Severus watched as he raised his wand, flicking it once at each banner that hung over the
Great Hall segregating the school tables by their houses. The red, yellow, blue and green
banners rippled, morphing into one another as the students looked up in awe.

The individual house colors hanging over the four tables of the Great Hall changed to the
Hogwarts crest. Severus, normally territorial about his House’s pride, didn’t find such
integration annoying. Students from all houses were sitting with each other, as they should
be, children without strife or social suppression.

He did not miss the toast the Headmaster gave to the Young Dark Lord.

He did miss the memo of the students having a complete disregard for the House Points
System that changed overnight.

It was in his potions class with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that he was first made aware of
the change. A Gryffindor wearing Slytherin colors blew ahole through her cauldron and the
table beneath her, hands covering her ears at the sound of the explosion.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” he muttered, waving the mess away with his wand.

Then came the cheering, students of Gryffindor flocking to the one who blew the hole in his
room and congratulating her. When he tried again with a different class, the result was the
same. It seemed that the student who had the most points taken away was favored more than
the ones winning points.

When he finally turned the key into a random door, opening to find Beverly sitting on the
couch with the smell of Indian curry wafting through the apartment, his headache was born of
confusion rather than frustration.

“They’re going to be the death of me,” he said, leaning his head against Beverly’s chest as
her fingernails massaged his scalp.

“Survives a magical terrorist as a spy; killed by the inconvenience of youths,” she chuckled.

As Harry and Draco grew, they grew to learn more about their bodies, and then each other's
bodies. Awkward morning feelings quickly delved into a morning greeting, breath pushing
into one another and they stroked or grinned against skin.

Growing bodies came with growing knowledge- spells for lubricant were quickly mastered
by any teen, learning the words and movement so well, they didn’t need a wand nor whisper
the spell for their hands to be filled with it. Knowledge only tempted them to explore more,
touch other places, go deeper and further into one another.

Neither Harry nor Draco felt like pushing it beyond the finish line.

That was, until the eve that the nights grew longer, days shorter, time spent, needed to
recover within a den or nest of Hibernation. As Draco often slept with Harry, having done so
since Draco generously offered to share his body heat in Harry’s first Hibernation, the two
were rarely apart.

Draco and Harry both agreed on one thing:

“But only if you tell me the moment you’re ready.”

Was it the approaching Hibernation, his growing antlers, or the weight of Draco on top of
him, Harry didn’t need the capacity to think of it. Draco’s hands were running all over
Harry’s skin, his own flesh in stark contrast as feathers started to burst from his forearms.

This closeness was familiar, having started to sleep without the need for clothing in the last
days of fourth year- before the chaos of the Husk’s resurrection and commotion that
followed.

Draco gasped at the sensation, breaking their kiss as his body pressed into Harry’s, hardness
grinding against him in a way that left Harry breathless. He looked at Draco, his swollen lips
shined with the evidence of their touch, sweat beginning to collect around his pale
collarbones, and hair out of place.

Harry’s hands reached up to grab Draco’s hips, moving Draco in a parody of what he
suddenly wanted.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, looking up at him. His hand traveled to the globes of Draco’s ass,
squeezing them. The two had fingered each other, leading to sudden and explosive orgasms
as they experimented with the other. Harry enjoyed the sensation but Draco appeared to be a
glut for it.

Draco dropped his own hand down, whispering the lubrication spell to his fingers as he
guided them within his channel, a smile on his face as he pushed in.

He hummed with pleasure, lifting himself off Harry’s body to chase more of his own
pleasure. Harry watched him, arched over his body with the blood at the surface of his skin,
begging to be touched and brought together.

“Draco,” Harry said for the second time, trying to get his attention. The teen looked down at
Harry squirming uselessly on the bed. Something changed in his expression, a breath of air
leaving his lungs as his hips sank down so their cocks could rub against one another.

“You sure?” Draco asked, wincing as he enthusiastically pressed another finger.

“Yes,” Harry replied, reaching his hand to stroke up and down the length of Draco’s
neglected cock. He dipped his head with a moan, at the sensation of Harry's fingers or
permission for what Draco wanted, or a mixture of both.

“Alright, Alright, hold on.” Draco arched his spine, fingering himself a little faster. “No, just
lay there,” he whispered, a hand braced against Harry’s chest. Under Draco’s fingers, black
feathers pulled upward. “That’s hot,” Draco moaned, bucking into his hand.

From the angle, all Harry could do was run his hands up and down Draco’s spine, his fingers
black with micro feathers, teasing circles of sensation on his spine.

“I’m ready,” Draco muttered, kissing his lips. Harry pushed Draco away, moving his hand to
his hole.

“Liar,” Harry said, feeling the tightness of two fingers grip him. He slowed his pace down,
moving slower than Draco clearly liked if the flick to his nipple was any indication.

Harry worked his fingers in and out of Draco- the same care given to him now as the other
times. But now, Harry was not pushing Draco to the edge, he avoided his prostate, focused
more on getting his third finger to comfortably slide within Draco and not cause him pain.

Draco whined, his hips twitching as he grew more desperate.

Harry pulled his hand free from Draco, earning a gasp from his lips. Harry reached for his
own cock, startled by his own sensitivity. He whispered a spell, feeling the condom wrap
around his cock, he looked up at Draco.
Neither said anything to the other as their lips met, a kiss rough and all encompassing as they
experienced joining together.

They shared the same breath, for every hitched inhale, a broken exhale. A startled gasp
brought forth a punched moan as they rode each other, hands sliding and relearning each
other as they were one. Magic broke from their bodies, sliding along the cracks where their
skin could not touch. Harry’s feathers brushed against Draco- only add into the the new
sensations of their bodies.

Another strange sensation came from Harry, this time, in his mouth. He felt his jaw clench,
not for a fight or a hunt, but something drawing him closer to Draco as heartbeats thundered
with more vibrocity.

Then Draco squeezed around Harry, his warmth and heat pulsing around Harry’s cock so
tightly, it was impossible not to follow his mate. Harry leaned forward, his teeth finding
purchase under Draco’s neck as they crested even higher, magic melting into one the other.

Harry held Draco close to him, panting with his eyes closed as his body shook from the
intensity. Stiff hands reached to touch Draco, pulling his head away from the crux of Harry’s
skull so he could look at the wound.

Black veins surrounded where Harry had bitten, red blood falling down his chest. Harry
should be nervous, should be ashamed he bit into his mate, yet all he could find himself
doing was lick at the wound. The copper taste of blood hit his tongue, so delicious and
unique only to Draco, laving at the substance until it was no more.

The venom in his veins spread along his neck, down the length of his chest and arms. Harry
slipped his body from Draco, weaving spells around the canopy to rid the scent of their
coupling and pull the fluids that were left behind.

By the time he was done cleaning the bed, Draco had sprouted feathers from the locks of hair.
The white and grey feathers traveled down his ribs, curling around his chest until they
fluttered over his bones, shifting them for the first time, contorting and changing him
forever.

He was beautiful.

Slender enough he could fit on the bed, legs tucked beneath him against a swell of grey and
black feathers. Harry was breathless, helpless as he reached out to touch Draco’s pelt, hardly
believing it himself.

His fingers fell into a pelt of feathers, soft and downy that kept them warm in the dark and
cold winter, feathers that pulled against Harry’s fingers, prompting him closer. Atop his skull,
the beginnings of antlers sprouting that were as dangerous as the teeth within his new
mouth.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Draco’s voice echoed through his head. A grunt followed by a
kick and Draco folded back into his human flesh, still decorated with grey and black
feathers.
Harry dove into the bed behind Draco, arms wrapping around him as his feathers burrowed
into Draco’s new ones.

Finally...his instincts were satisfied.

Tom couldn’t take it anymore.

With a blushing face, he grabbed his outer coat with enough force it tore on the rack’s prong.
Tom slid on his shoes, stumbling from the dorm and out to the Slytherin Common Room.

Ugh.

Of course Tom had known that several of his schoolmates were sexually active.

But for one of them to be his brother.

And in the bed next to his no less.

Harry had no manners.

Tom shuddered, not even thinking he could stand to be in his own domain with the activities
he knew his brother would participate. Farther away, however, he took the time to properly
lace his shoes and tie the coat buckle around his waist.

As was becoming a regular habit of his, Tom wandered out of the Common Room, this time
turning to go deeper into the halls of Hogwarts. Being in the dungeon, there were many ways
to venture out onto the Hogwarts grounds.

Weaving his way through hallways, Tom trotted down a set of spiral stairs, and twisted his
body around a series of pipes until he slipped onto a cobblestone path that would lead to an
iron gate. The prongs had long since rusted, but there was no century guarding the gate and a
little magic would prevent Dumbledore from finding his exploration.

Tom closed the iron gate behind him, taking care to leave it ajar with the illusion of being
completely secure. There was a frost on the ground, his breath showing itself with every
exhale. Inhaling, he could feel the crisp bite of winter inside his head as his cheeks naturally
rose in temperature to combat the cold.

Two feet crunching the frosted grass turned into the soft padding of hooves on the soil. Tom
shook his pelt, the feathers rippling over his spine as he stretched without fear of exposure.
Looking over himself, Tom found that the increased dosage of the Hibernation pills kept his
feathers intact this time.

With that minor victory, Tom felt as if he walked into the Forbidden Forest with a crown atop
his head. At the treeline, he turned to look at the castle, sleeping with the pulse of light
echoing from within, the heart warming the children within. If he turned his head the other
direction, Tom’s eyes needed a moment to adjust to the surrounding darkness of thick trees
confusing any traveler.
He walked deeper into the forest with no destination in mind, no hunt on his tongue.

Yet his hooves seemed to have a path in mind for him. Tom fought against the sensation
when he first noticed his aimless wandering might have some end in sight. As he pulled from
his subconscious path, his mind throbbed with a headache.

Snorting into the dirt, Tom pawed at the ground. The logic of his mind told him there was no
use in fighting, that surrender was inevitable. Tom supposed this might have been karma, the
sensation similar to the one he once cast on Harry to lure into the caverns of the Chamber of
Secrets.

He slunk forward back to the path, his mind clearing of that haze as he grew closer. Tom
stopped, catching his breath when he returned to the path. He felt the trance hold him again,
sinking behind his eyes as he moved forward.

His pelt fluttered when a cold breeze drifted through his feathers. Looking up, he smelled the
air as the first flakes of snow breached the ground beneath the treeline. No matter if this was
his second life, there was something magical about snow, gently fluttering down to the earth.

The snow had not accumulated enough to leave tracks behind, the soil of the earth hard
enough that he only left small indentations in the ground.

Tom put more power in his flank as he climbed up a steep section of hill, his hooves digging
into the ground to find purchase. Cresting it, Tom felt his body seize with shock, his feathers
rising in defense.

He was standing in the perfect position for an ambush should prey be beneath the
amphitheatre like cut in the earth. To most, this would be a safe place to nest down, with the
rock face protecting the back of prey and the entrance only accessible from one spot. Tom’s
hooves guided him around the circumference of the once den, his nose scenting the area.

Where it once might have held the scent of purity, it was tainted now, with blood and sin, an
echo of the burning blood pooling in his stomach.

The warmth of the forest floor was condensed enough on the ground that when the rush of
cold air passed through the empty tree tops, a mist grew, thicker than snow, vanishing like the
tail end of a ghost. Tom did not hear his hooves touch the fallen leaves as he reached the
lowest part of the hill.

Tom stepped over the ridge of the amphitheater.

His legs carried him, his mind fuzzy, ears ringing even if they were pitched forward, lowering
to the ground as he took in the old scent of blood.

You!

The word was growled as it roared, laced with outrage within his head. Tom turned, lifting
his head, blinking painfully in the dark at the bright glow of a unicorn. It’s oppressive glow
was not the only dangerous thing, a slight horn long enough to spear through a human
sternum was knocked on the blindspot of her skull.

“Hope,” he said softly, his knees quaking as the vision settled itself in his mind, clicking in
places like his spine might in the morning. Here, the Husk, Tom, killed and feasted on a
unicorn- Melody, as his brother named the mother.

The yearling pawed the ground twice, her white tail flicking with outrage before she reared
up to charge forward. There was no part of him that didn’t deserve this incoming assault,
willing to stand and let her take the first strike before he moved to retreat.

Tom winced as the pain of her glow burned his eyes to closing. He turned his shoulder,
feeling some of his feathers rise along his spine as he braced for her impact. He flinched
when he felt dirt kick on his forelegs and a breath of hot air blow on his face.

You do not fight, the yearling snarled. Tom’s eyes stung as he opened them, his body turning
to avoid gazing directly into her ethereal glow.

“It was wrong,” Tom found his tongue saying, head dipping to the ground to both burning
glow and judgement. Draining the life of a unicorn was in the bag of Tom’s extensive
mistakes, to slaughter something so pure for an illusion, cursed thirst. It was another quest for
horcruxes and longevity.

A sharp pain breached through his pelt, pricking on his left shoulder, Tom stumbled in a daze
to avoid the unicorn that barbed him with her horn. Rebalancing on the soil, Tom stood his
ground but did not gesture for a charge- he deserved more than a wound to his shoulder for
his crime.

His stillness caused Hope to flick her tail, her ears pinning towards her neck. It seemed he
only displeased her more as he continued to surrender. She passed at the ground and mock
charged him once, Tom shifted to the side and made no attack.

Is this what you shall do when you face the Other? Hope charged him again, Tom could see
she could run him through, but even the unicorn’s wrath could be swayed, leaving him with a
kick to the ribs. He refrained from shaking the feathers in his pelt, the bruising was already
spreading.

Tom turned his body, anticipating her next charge, leaving his blind spot facing the direction
of a new opponent. He could feel the pounding of the ground that the creature was larger,
leaving Tom to wish it would give him a swift death.

He groaned as his hooves buckled under the crash of a body into his own, yet it did not
continue to harm him. Tom looked up and saw a second unicorn, larger than Hope, standing
between them both. Though Tom felt he did not deserve such a small mercy, he felt his knees
quiver as the pain in his ribs only spread.

Do you have little yearlings to look after? A new voice echoed through his head. Tom looked
up slowly, seeing the unicorn was approaching him slowly, head lowered and non
 threatening. By the size of the creature, it was older than Hope, who was nowhere to be seen
now the other was here.

“Two…a colt and filly,” he said.

They are known for finding trouble, they said, standing next to Tom now, their coat dimmer
than Hope’s. He wondered if her anger triggered her coat to shine, a defense mechanism or
intimidation tactic against predators. Either way, Tom could still see blue and pink spots
coating the forest landscape.

Tom flinched when their horn touched the wound on his shoulder, the blood hidden by his
dark feathers. He gasped as the flesh mended itself back together, sinew connecting, dark
skin bursting way to black feathers on his shoulder. The unicorn was generous enough to
move to the pain in his ribs, Tom giving a heaving sigh as ice shattered through the heat that
throbbed in time with his pulse.

“Hope is a strong member of your Herd,” Tom said the moment he caught enough air to
stand on firmer hooves.

The unicorn chuckled through his mind.

We are responsible for them- their wellbeing, they were silent for a moment, looking deeper
into the forest where Hope must have ventured. Even when they pick fights larger than they
can handle.

Tom chuckled, recalling how Harry charged the Husk on the very ground they were now
standing. The unicorn pawed at the earth, sobering Tom’s mood.

Beware, the unicorn said, dipping their horn over his skull once, when you pick a fight larger
than you can manage. Accept reinforcement when they arrive.

Tom needed no clarification of the unicorn’s words, dipping his head low to the ground in a
sign of respect. The unicorn stood proudly, returning the bow, shorter than his own, and was
quickly eaten by the darkness of the forest.

Tom took in the presence of another sin, magical blood he once spilled on the earth that
would forever be tainted. He shuddered, his feathers flickering over his body, yet when he
opened his eyes, Tom felt somewhat lighter.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Tom Riddle walked back to his homeland, to
Hogwarts, without the need of the stars breaking to dawn or a magical parchment.

Chapter End Notes

I tried to buffer it with plot.

Sorry for the chapter delay, I was trying to edit and expand without anything feeling
forced. Coupled with school, I was really tired but didn't want to release anything I
wasn't proud of. I hope that this explains the chapter and why I wrote Drarry the way I
did for the sake of moving the story.

I wish you all health and warmth! See you soon!

 Shrike to the Heart
Chapter Notes

Good evening friends,

I have a packed meal for you- all the good stuff as our characters move into the
holidays.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In the morning, the students would be released from Hogwarts for the Yule celebration. This
year, Tom found himself anticipating the holiday rather than resenting it; going so far as to
desire to leave Hogwarts to return home.

Tom was growing tired of behaving in class- there were only so many ways he could think of
murdering someone before his resolve grew thin. While he logically knew Umbridge would
be replaced, likely by someone worse, he still contemplated her demise.

Not the legality of it but how much trouble he might find with his parents.

There was a need for a break- a desperate one.

“It doesn’t bode well on a young mind to remain in anger,” Dumbledore said, tapping his
teacup to pull Tom from his thoughts. It was becoming a habit to share tea with the
Headmaster during the darkness of night when they both should be sleeping.

There was a strange, near morbid, sense of comradery that Tom felt with Dumbledore. Sure,
there were times when Tom thought about slitting his throat, but there were larger enemies at
hand than Dumbledore, who’s presence alone protected the school, and Tom, from the Husk.
Oddly, the only person that knew the Husk better than Tom was Dumbledore, the enemy, the
ally.

“How do you stand her?” he asked, shaking his head as he looked into the contents of his tea
cup. It was a chamomile blend, lavender and valerian no doubt laced within it. When a white
brow lifted in confusion, Tom clarified: “Umbridge.” He could not keep the roll from his
eyes.

Dumbledore closed his own, a minor show of his frustration with the teacher, the Ministry
drone.

“I abuse senile behavior,” he confessed, lifting his teacup to Tom in a toast before drinking it.
Tom rubbed the bags that he could feel growing under his eyes, missing the meddling
Headmaster’s analytical gaze. “He’s affecting your dreams, isn’t he.”
He pulled his hand down the length of his face, debating confessing the Husk’s nature as he
made no mention of his sleeplessness to others. Tom hummed, finally taking a sip of the tea.
It burned down his throat, like the burning of every blink of his eyes

“Occlumency shields will do nothing against him,” Tom said, the drink sliding into his throat,
warming him from within. He continued to keep the Husk in the darkness he felt inclined to
bury Tom in. The Husk was exploiting a connection, foolish enough to think it was Harry
receiving his dreams. Tom feared in the night before he would walk the Hogwarts grounds
what the Husk might do if he learned it was Tom who caught the dreams.

Would he attempt to collect Tom through his subconscious while in sleep? When his body
was most vulnerable to attack? Would the Husk whisper in the depths of Tom’s mind to find
him, offering something else? Or would he pillage the memories Tom was forming with his
family, finding everything he was learning to love, wholly, obsessively, and burn it before
him?

Soon, later in the afternoon if he could make it, Tom would return to the Herd; able to curl up
with Mischa in his feathers, and bury himself in the scent of his mother and father. With the
Herd, Tom suspected that the weighted lead should lift from the presence in his mind, as if
the bone deep contentment could not be breached by the Husk.

Tom was looking forward to resting.

He had tried so many things to find steady, peaceful sleep- charms, wards, potions...he
couldn’t form a wall around his soul when it reached for him.

“We cannot both survive this,” Tom said before indulging in another sip. He thought about
the letter that he read through the eyes of his Husk: You will once again be mortal… The tea
was fighting against the migraine that started to brew at the yuletide feast. He felt his body
begin to slip, becoming heavier.

“You will survive this,” Dumbledore said, his voice cutting through the haze to pierce into his
subconscious. Tom chuckled, swirling the tea in his cup to agitate the residue at the bottom.

“Neither one can live while the other survives, that’s what she said.” And among others that
wrote to him.

“Uncouth youth,” Dumbledore said.

Tom looked into the depths of his cup, the swirling pattern of yellow somewhat painful on his
eye. He blinked, pain blooming, growing at the forefront of his skull. Tom gasped, the teacup
falling from his hand as he covered the center of his head.

Yellow like the tea, he was joyous, something was going well. There was blood growing on
the stones of black and white, a figure laying on the ground, twisted in a painful position that
only magic could bend. There were the imposing black archways hanging over the body like
slates of a coffin, trapping him in darkness, alone and waiting to be found by someone far
into the future.
“He’s happy about something,” Tom chuckled, hand on his knees to block as much light from
the room as he could. His arms were shaking, pain coursing through his body as exhaustion
tried to take him under to find stasis.

There was a man, his limbs contorting as his mouth opened to scream. Tom could feel
himself laughing as he tortured this wizard on the floor.

“Weasley,” Tom said, feeling himself connected to the floor as he reached for the center of
his head. The Husk was too focused on the writhing form of Mr. Weasley for Tom to get a
better look at the surroundings.

Tom could say no more when the scent of Herd burst through the hearth in the Headmaster’s
office. The warm and strong hands of his father wrapped around his waist, picking him off
the floor as if he weighed no more than one of his feathers. Through a tunnel, he could hear
his father shout for his home, the smell of floo powder hitting the fire and that strange
sensation of fire travel.

His vision flickers in and out, only able to see halos and blurs of light rather than faces. Even
the sounds of his mother, of Mischa’s confused coos, sounded further than logical. His legs
gained no strength as he was moved closer to his mother, boxed around from all sides.

Tom felt himself deflate, unable to answer their questions as the burden broke from his back.

Narcissa stood in the tapestry room, her mind silent as critical eyes flicked over the ugly
babies and burned markings within the fabric. Narcissa found it fitting that Walburga had her
portrait burned away like she had done to so many of her descendants that did not meet her
standards.

She had ignored her cousin’s shout for her, no doubt standing in the doorway with her son
and Remus bundled to keep the cold out.

Her long fingers traced some of the branches of the tree, having stopped growing since the
destruction of the tapestry. While the intrinsic magic of the tapestry ceased growing, the
images and protective spells were seeping in years of magic that strengthened with each
generation of Black blood.

The textured pattern of the tapestry led her fingers to her own name-tag. As a woman, she
had no face on the tapestry, only the flowers for which she was named after. It was through a
complicated network that bound Narcissa to the Black’s and Malfoy’s, but even her son had a
small picture beneath her own name.

She did not turn her attention from the tapestry when she heard the door creak open, her
cousin standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asked, after a moment of silence passed between them
both.
There was a blank part of the tapestry that was meant for future generations, to build the
branches onward forever. Now, the tree had stopped stretching with new buds. Her hand
moved as if pulled by an indivisible string, a prickling sensation at the blank tapestry meeting
her palm.

As she wasn’t banished from the house, Narcissa had a certain amount of power to
manipulate the house.

Her oasis in the basement was looking marvelous.

Inspired again, Narcissa took the wand from her jacket sleeve and pointed it towards the
nearest root her name was attached to. The root snapped from the border of the tapestry with
a puff of dust, breaking along the seams of the fabric. Like any botanical transplant, Narcissa
quickly moved the stitched roots of her name, dragging the connecting branches and family
members to the blank portion, dangling like barbules.

Rooted in new soil, Narcissa sprouted a new tree, forcing it to grow a large trunk. Two
plaques formed at the base of the trunk: Hannibal Lecter and William Graham wrapped in
black bark. The tree was mangled looking, branches jutting in sharp angles that gave a hint of
their heritage. There were no comical pictures over the names of the two Alphas, only an
black profile of their crowns.

Closer to the Black family tree, Harry Potter’s name formed in a mirror of Tom’s with his
branches connecting Draco’s by bonding a healthy tree to the jutted edges of the Ravenstag
tree. Over Harry’s name sprouted another branch, a broken glass pattern reaching for Sirius’
name, pulling his burnt mark away from the thorns of a family scorned to welcome one. His
burned picture, Narcissa concentrated as she shifted the old magic into a paw print.

To the right of the tree, Tom Riddle’s name grew on a curved branch, some of his own
reaching out in a thin line, awaiting to connect with another.

The final touches were added: Sirius sprouting a branch that connected to Remus Lupin, a
conjoining branch in the middle with Severus Snape and Beverly Katz hanging above Tom
Riddle’s name, and finally, a small white feather etched below the Alpha’s names: Mischa
Verity Graham- Lecter.

Narcissa rocked back on her heels as the magic came to a close, the tapestry made anew,
redeemed and worthy of showing off to others once more. Magic tingling through her blood,
she panted with pride as she looked at her work.

“Well,” Sirius said, his eyes watering with tears as they both watched dark leaves sprout from
the bark of the tree, oblong in shape...feather-like.

Narcissa straightened her coat out as she holstered her wand.

“Happy Yule, Siri,” she said as she embraced the bony man. “Let’s not be late now.”

*
Of the smartest things Beverly had done in her life...she questioned where this action would
fall: superior thinking or sheer stupidity.

She was aching for a challenge though. Still climbing the proverbial food chain of Interpol,
Beverly was itching for an opportunity to solve something.

Beverly’s radio had lost all signal thirty minutes ago. Fifteen minutes ago, the paved road
ended. There was no dirt path, no gravel road, only an edge near a cliff with trees
surrounding the area. The sea spray of Scotland was cold, wind from the crags whipping
around her.

She shivered as she thought this action would fall closer to the spectrum of stupid. Beverly
trudged on, keeping her eyes on the sea level beside her as she felt an eerie presence come
from the depths of the Forest. While it looked unassuming, Beverly suspected there was some
kind of magic within the place.

Her hands held the topography map as her phone’s compass spun wildly in circles. Despite
being so lost, Beverly felt like she was on the verge of discovery, the very same when the
evidence began to fall into place.

The map led her to the rock surface edge.

“Damn,” she shivered, teeth clattering, wondering how she would begin to explain this to
Severus.

A little tongue flickered out from her sweater and overcoat, clearly cold in the environment.
Beverly watched the snake move his face further up her thumb, then began twitching his nose
to her right, deeper into the forest.

“Really?” she asked, watching him move up her finger to the one hovering over her phone’s
compass. He curled around her palm in a circle as she folded the map. Holding her palm up,
she grinned. “Lead the way.”

His wiggling body rippled in a circle around her palm, leaving her with a mounting urge to
scratch at the snake. She broke into a jog, following his nose where he pointed. When the
snake ducked into his circle, Beverly stopped, taking shelter behind a tree as she listened to
the sound of scuttling to the right.

The Mark urged her another way.

Beverly wanted to check her watch, thankful that she was smart enough to bring one powered
by a spring, containing no electrical parts. The snake had led her for a half hour. She was
running out of time- Severus would teleport to her apartment soon- if he found it empty and
she couldn’t access her phone to confess…

Beverly picked up the pace.

A whisper in the wind echoed through her head. She stopped, backing herself into cover from
one of the largest trees she’s laid witness.
“Close,” came the words, no wind this time. Beverly grit her teeth as something bit her hand,
she snake having left two new freckles on her thumb’s tendon.

“What?” she whispered in disbelief, wiping away the two dots of blood.

“Closer,” the snake, it was the snake that was whispering in her head. Beverly went to put
her hand to her skull, but saw the time on her watch face. Groaning, she looked up at the
darkening sky.

“Do you follow any rules?” she asked Magic, as if it were a sentient being.

All the same, her snake tattoo guided Beverly to what looked like a stone archway, broken in
the middle. There was nothing suspicious about the arch, other than the fact it was alone in
the middle of eerie woods.

Beverly looked down at her snake, who slithered around her pointer finger in direction.

She walked forward, a little passing of electricity washed over her, feeling it center over her
snake and the bands the gauntlet turned into. Beverly looked behind her, seeing nothing
different about the forest other than the sensation of walking through the gateway.

Beverly Katz jogged forward, the trees becoming thinner and with more light spattering
through the canopy above her. The crisp air carried her along, pushing her closer and closer
to what she thought might be spires through the cracks of branches.

She slowed to a stop when she saw Dumbledore standing at the Forest’s entrance with his
wand at his side. Beverly put her hands up, once again rethinking the intelligence of her
plan.

“How did you-?” he asked as she approached him. Beverly smiled.

“So this is really it?” she said, turning to look at the castle, one finger pointed at the
impressive limestone castle. “I did it? Oh thank god, for a moment there, I thought I would
have to call Severus for help. ”

“That’s the Forbidden Forest,” Dumbledore said, looking at her with a mix of bewilderment
and a humbled kind of joy. Beverly had no idea what that meant, other than the forest being
forbidden.

“I can explain how I did it- I just need to surprise Severus,” she said, hoping she could entice
him to be her accomplice, thus showing her the quickest way to the Slytherin part of the
school.

He blinked once. Then, a slow, glinting smile grew on his face as he waved her over. Beverly
grinned as she approached him.

“I took a topographic map,” she said, spreading the important sections out for him to see as
they walked. There were various pencil and marker drawings and arrows pointing to the map,
narrowing down the area. “And then monitored the air traffic of Scotland for far too long.”
Dumbledore led Beverly to Severus chambers with enough time she could shrug her jacket
over the table and sit at the couch with Dumbledore as if they’d been talking for ages.
Beverly spread her various maps on the table, layering the clear ones over each other so she
could explain how she found Hogwarts.

“You’ve found many holes in the Wizarding Populations protective bubble,” the Headmaster
said, pulling on some of the aerial and satellite images Beverly had collected, cross
referencing them with old wives tales of the surrounding locals, confirming them with their
livestock borders, and hours of interviews.

“Well, I didn’t work alone,” Beverly said, finally able to scratch at the Severus Mark.
Her...muggleness, often made her forget that many of these people feared the friendly fellow
on her arm. The man was no different, gasping as his wand pointed at her.

Beverly raised her hand in surrender, the snake attempting to move as fast as his butchered
body could carry him to a clothed part of her body.

“He’s harmless,” Beverly said, lowering her hands in faith. She rolled her sleeve up her arm,
stroking along the spotted parts of the snake until he calmed, his scales rippling under her
warm fingers.

“The Dark Mark,” the man whispered, moving closer to her with a similar interest that he had
in the schematics on the table.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do much, but he showed me the way,” she said with a shrug.

“The wards,” Dumbledore whispered. His eyes scanned over her arm, darting left and right as
he thought about her magical tattoo. “You can bypass the wards with Tom’s mark, and heir’s
mark.”

“I was entirely motivated by academic pursuit, if that makes you feel better about the security
breach.”

Beverly found her attention landing on the door to Severus' room, waiting for only a brief
moment before the lock slid back into the iron of the door. In the time that Severus pushed
open the door, Beverly slid the delicate knitting of her sweater over the snake so as to not
traumatize him. He paused in the open doorway, taking in the image of Beverly, the
Headmaster, and the various maps behind her.

“What am I looking at?”

Beverly stood, more than willing to explain her madness. She had worked long and hard
hours between dull, boring cases to collect such evidence. Beverly had compiled it in secret,
hidden in folders of her computer and within the safe where she stored her...illegally acquired
firearm.

Severus raised a hand and stopped her, then pointed to her sweater.
“Oh,” she said, pulling at the hem. Beverly refused to be embarrassed by her outfit choice,
even if she had clearly forgotten what she was wearing when speaking with one of the most
magical scholars of Severus’ world. “It was ugly sweater day at work,” she explained,
confused that she needed to do so.

“That’s an ugly sweater?” Dumbledore asked, “I think it’s rather nice.”

“It’s literally blinking with lights,” Severus said, pointing to the Christmas tree lights that
were installed in the fabric, making it impossible to wash without setting something on fire.

Beverly smirked, proudly showing off her sweater. Sure the knitted pattern of the Christmas
tree was pulled too tightly in some areas and cast loosely on others, giving the tree a wonky
looking set of leaves but the ugliness played to the spirit of the workplace holiday gathering.

“I’ll have you know this sweater almost won the competition.”

Severus glared at her.

“You compete for the worst sweater,” he deadpanned.

“And we will next year as well,” Dumbledore said, watching their argument with a gleeful
expression on his face. Severus shook his head, refusing to see the image of Beverly in that
awful sweater.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Severus said, his fingers hardly able to touch the red and blue fabric
that stitched together a series of wires under her.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, standing up from the couch with a final eye passing over Beverly’s
notes. “I was going to attend to the threat at the wards, but you both seem to be in good
hands. Happy Yule to you both.”

“Good night, Albus,” Severus said, walking him to the door.

“Merry Christmas,” Beverly chirped as the door closed between them.

Beverly watched with a smirk as Severus sighed, no doubt tired of corralling the
children...and Beverly. It’s not as if she wasn’t expecting his...need for a distraction.

“You know,” she said, popping the buttons from the side of her sweater so she could better
remove it. She toed off her shoes, reaching behind herself to unzip the skirt she’d worn.
“After Ugly Sweater day is usually Sexy Christmas.”

Beverly dropped the ugly sweater to the ground, tossing her hair over one shoulder as
Severus stood frozen to the doorway. She walked to him, prey in her gaze.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Beverly hummed as she took in the scent of him, gently
scratching at the point where his neck met the base of his skull, pulling on the hair with
enough force it had his breath hitch. She leaned into him, a teasing sway of her hips enticing
him to play her game.
“I might adopt some of your muggle traditions,” he said, his hands at his sides, knowing
better than to touch.

“Not before I tell you all about how I got here,” she said, her voice söft in his ear as her
hands ran their way up to the top of his frock.

They still had one night before they had to see the Herd in the morning.

“She’s too cute,” Beverly said, sitting on the floor with Mischa, who stubbornly chose to shift
into her fawn form in the middle of the Yule celebration, preventing the Herd from holding
her. Everyone was seated in the main room, a roaring fire keeping everyone warm in the
hearth.

Except for Beverly. The gauntlets that Tom threw onto her arms in a panic, that grew over her
fingers like silk, made of protective metal, were dexterous enough to be able to pet Mischa
without slicing into her flesh.

The little fawn trilled with happiness, her feathers preening as Beverly’s human fingers were
able to massage where no one else could. Remus was sitting on the other side of Mischa. The
final night of the moon was upon them all, so deep into the season, his traits came out- giving
him literal thicker skin. The occasional cut was healed with a quick charm.

Beverly looked up at Will and saw his pointed look. She nodded her head once, reaching her
hand under Mischa’s jaw, Beverly moved herself away from the pile on the floor. Dodging
around others talking, Beverly felt a little anxious as she approached Will and Hannibal with
their newest stray.

“What’s happening?” Tom says, looking at the three of them with a suspicious expression on
his face. Beverly noticed that his eyes were heavy with bags of lost sleep, red beginning to
creep into the whites of his eyes.

“Tom,” Will said, looking at his son. “We know that you are almost an adult but we want you
to feel supported as much as we support Harry.”

“You should always have an adult you trust outside your parental circle. We recognize you
will not feel comfortable to discuss everything with us, but there should be someone you turn
to,” Hannibal followed.

Tom looked at the three of them, his eyes landing on Beverly as if she could clarify the
situation.

“You and I are both rowing the boat in a sea of uncertainty,” Beverly said. “I’m asking you to
be my godson. I can’t promise to teach you magically, but you don’t appear to need any help
in that department.” She held up the gauntlets that formed around her arms as proof. “I can
help you with what’s out there as much as you can help me with what’s in here.”

“Yes,” Tom said, nodding his head without thought.

Wow, Beverly thought he would need more convincing.

Rather than sit dumbfounded with Hannibal and Will, Beverly pivoted.

“What’s keeping you up?” she asked him, now able to notice the stress lines that formed in
the whites of his eyes that normally would go away with a full seven hours of sleep.

“The other part of my soul is sending me visions.” Tom tested everyone with blunt honesty,
wondering if they would scatter from his truth as a way of vetting those he gave his attention
to.

Beverly didn’t pretend to understand anything he just said.

What she did understand, was an echo of Will in Tom’s bluntness. She smirked as she
brushed off his comment, leaning on the wall to project her own vulnerability.

“Why don’t you use a dreamcatcher?” She suggested.

Now, Tom was the dumbfounded one, blinking with a blank expression as he reevaluated the
past sleepless months.

“We chose well,” Hannibal said, pulling that evil laugh out of Will’s mouth.

Tom did his best impression of a hedgehog, puffing the white feathers on his head for a
moment before they returned to hair. He reached his hand out, grabbing Beverly’s arm and
turning it over to expose her elbow where the Mark was resting.

He put his finger along the scales, his eyes fluttering in his head.

“In a week you’ll start to feel fatigued,” Tom said, turning his head as he looked up at
Beverly. He tilted his head to the side, listening to something only he could hear. “Severus is
changing your genetic structure slightly- you need to eat human.”

Tom walked away from the three adults as if he won something. Beverly snorted as she
followed after her new charge.

“You're under the impression I haven’t thought of this scenario.”

And it was true. This time, Beverly was equipped with knowledge of magic and cannibal
creatures. Severus fed off her blood when it came to the surface. She had noticed the same
symptoms begin to rise, the fatigue, headaches, photosensitivity. Now, she could make an
educated guess on what it might be.

He had a devious little smile grow on his face as they walked through the kitchen where
crimes were stored in refrigerators.

“Meat tonight?” he said, his lips not matching the sound that Beverly heard in her ears.
Likely a magic thing, Beverly grinned as wide as her new Charge.

“Obviously,” she drawled out, leaving him stunned in the kitchen.

“Beverly! Beverly, wait!” It wasn’t long before he caught up to her and rolled up her sleeve,
explaining the impossibility of it, that even Harry’s ability to retain such a language was
impossible. Still, Beverly did not know where the threshold for the strangeness was in the
magical realm.

Dinner was served earlier in the evening, the table stretched long and into the living room to
accommodate the growing numbers of the Herd. The dogs scattered around the table,
wandering from person to person in search of scraps that fell to the floor, darting to collect
them before other members of their pack could.

Beverly was at the other end of the table with Severus across from her, effectively blocking
the Herd in a protective bubble with the children in the center. Beverly looked down the table
to Hannibal, a man who once no doubt ate extravagant meals on his own. As a serial killer, he
was unlikely to truly connect with other people.

He was a socialite, and a high class one at that. With seasonal tickets to the opera, first
pickings of antiques auctions and able to walk into an art gallery for a private showing, all
that power came at the cost of human connection. He built himself walls and moats with the
bodies he consumed, pushing humans away as his art desperately called out to connect to
others.

There was a house filled with the noise of family, laughing and numerous conversations,
candles that dripped wax onto the tablecloth, mixing against spills of wine or food pushed off
a plate by a stray hand.

And a baby stool, expensive, but looking out of place against the finely crafted chairs and
tables. Beverly watched as he tore the food at his plate with his fingers, giving the small
shreds for Mischa to play with.

A foot nudged her under the table, pulling her attention towards her own lover.

How many nights had they all spent dining alone, quick meals eaten to do away the sound of
silence?

Beverly stabbed the meat on her plate with her fork, a dark and bloody slice, her mouth
salivated at the sight of blood weeping from the sides. She hadn’t lied to Tom- Beverly did
figure that, at some point, she would consume human flesh.

Resting on her fork, at least Beverly had control over it.

Another thing that Beverly didn’t have control over- the subtle nuances of a Herd.

Though Beverly could perform no magic, they all insisted she stay for the full moon to crest
over the sky. They had all moved to the porch as the sun was heavy on the horizon, mugs of
cider passed around to keep warm until the time was right.

“Oh, damn!” Sirius said into his cider, wincing when he turned to look at Mischa. His guilt
quickly passed him as he turned to look at Narcissa. “We should have taught you to shift into
your animagus.”
Beverly enjoyed having Narcissa as a friend, a woman with a dry and sharp sense of humor
that was no doubt good at making an insult seem like a compliment. As one of the only
females in the Herd, the two found natural allies in the other.

“Cousin, did you think I sat idle until my husband’s return?”

Beverly watched as her body shifted downward, her clothes turning in and she fluttered
forward with a flap of wings. When she got past the image of a person transforming into a
bird before her eyes, she took notice of the specific bird Narcissa transformed to.

“A shrike,” she said, glad to notice that she and Will were both glaring at a smirking
Hannibal- clearly pleased with Narcissa’s revelation.

Remus was next to step off the porch, walking into the woods as Sirius followed him,
somehow changing into a dog. Mischa took notice of the people surrounding her
transforming into animals and began to squirm in her father’s arms. Hannibal chuckled as he
carried her to the snow, placing her in the ground, the cold snow must have prompted her
feathers to sprout over her body.

As a fawn, she could stand on her four legs and walk unlike her human form. Beverly
imagined it must be frustrating to only be mobile for some parts of your life.

With dusk settling, more animals shifted in the snow.

“What, why are you upset?” Beverly asked, watching as Draco shifted into his feathers,
blending in slightly better to the snow with his grey pelt. Severus dropped his head in his
hand, rubbing at his brow.

“It means that he and Harry are mates... and that Draco could have only been transformed
through…”

Beverly followed his train of thought.

“Oh, I can understand why he might feel a bit awkward then.”

Severus snorted as he shook his head, watching as Padfoot and Moony emerged from the
shadows. Moony, the werewolf, was easily picked out of the two dogs, dwarfing the shaggy
black dog as he loped on four legs in the snow. The dogs surrounded the feathered members
of the Herd, wagging their tails as they bowed.

Sirius engaged Draco and Harry in a kind of tag, kicking up large piles of snow as they darted
around the open landscape. Moony was more taken with Mischa, laying a bit away from her
on the snow, slowly reaching his nose out in introduction. Mischa’s unsteady legs wobbled as
she moved around in the snow, clearly excited with the sensation under her hooves.

Tom still had his feathers and a missing chunk of his ear. It was more pronounced in this
form, the entire shell of his ear missing with sharp edges of Mischa’s teeth. He clearly didn’t
seem to mind or hold the event against his sister, standing next to her with every step she
took like any big brother would a little sister.
 Will and Hannibal even seemed relaxed in the winter’s landscape, standing close to each
other as they groomed along the others' necks. Beverly took in the image of a magical family
around her, the warmth of Severus' hand in her own, all the while both scanning the area for
any danger that might attempt to lurk in.

Chapter End Notes

I sincerely hope that you are all enjoying the story. I haven't seen as many as my familiar
friends- part of me is concerned about the story and it not being good, dragging the plot
out, diluting characters too much, or delving too far into the crossover. Either way, I am
happy with this work.

Writing Tom and Dumbledore is an interesting dynamic because they have both done
terrible things to defeat the other, and there are no excuses for that. These two wizards,
while a strange age difference, have the same kind of life experience which isolates
them from their fellows. while they might have been enemies, I picture them as two
entities that could fight to the death, but with all the blood shed at their feet, and a larger
enemy, they can find themselves allies.

I like giving Beverly more powers- the Dark Mark, some shiny bracelets, breaking into
Hogwarts...even people. She is now Tom's fairy god mother. Go get yo'self a
dreamcatcher, Tom!

Making Narcissa a shrike seemed perfect!!! and if you have anything to say of it- fight
me, bro

All that being said, I hope I see old friends and new in the comments or whenever you
pass through next. Be well and enjoy the beginnings of your holiday!
 Quiet Uptown
Chapter Notes

Good evening friends and I do apologize for the delay in getting this meal ready.

(This chapter is meant to give some information on what happened during chapter 58)

I am most grateful to have you all gathered around the table this holiday season and
wish you all of the lights and your dreams to come true.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Even in the magical world, Lily found no explanation of what might happen when she died.
As a teen from the muggle world, she was naturally curious if there was any literature on the
topic.

If wizards had the answers to life’s greatest question.

“Merely onto the next adventure,” Dumbledore said to her when she finally gathered the
courage to ask the man himself after finding no answers in the library.

Lily had put the question behind her…right up until James shouted at her to protect Harry.
Lily wondered what might become of her child, what might become of her, of her husband.

Three times she refused to move, the fear of death not moving her from Harry’s crib.

This empty void, a cataclysmic space of light and warping shadows moving in and around
her. After the panic of waking, the panic of waking to void, came the panic of waking in a
different body.

Lily did not have hands in this dead and voided world, rather, hooves and a longer snout. She
laughed hysterically as any dead doe could in that plane of existence.

Time had no meaning here and Lily had no idea of how much time might have passed for her,
for her son, little Harry.

Her laughter broke as she looked around, her large ears flickering against the empty sounds
of the void.

“Harry!” she shouted, standing on her hooves. Lily forced her clumsy legs to carry her
anywhere from where she laid down to laugh, to cry, to scream at the unfairness of it all.
“Harry!” she bellowed, her cry for her son echoing through the expanse of empty.
Lily continued shouting as she cantered through the void, the ground falling soft beneath her
hooves. Traveling through the vast emptiness would drive her mad, even as she shouted in
the hopes of finding her son.

“James,” she whimpered, her hooves buckling under her grief, her loneliness with only the
void to comfort her. “Where am I?”

The void circled around her with no pattern, the light fluctuating brighter and darker as it
passed around her, giving no true shape. In the moments when the displaced panic did not
grip her as tightly, Lily found herself thinking of the clouds and how she would imagine them
taking shape.

She wanted to do that with her family, with James and Harry, to laze in the sun on a blanket,
talking about the clouds or whatever thoughts passed through their minds. She had no doubt
her son would be brilliant, such a social baby, never crying in the arms of unfamiliar adults
and crawling towards any new baby he met.

Lily put her hooves under her body and walked onward into the void.

She searched, for what, Lily didn’t know. For James? Harry? A way out? Peace?

Lily continued her aimless wanderings, following the patterns of shadows and light or
avoiding them entirely. She did not hunger, did not tire and did not slip further into madness
with her task of searching.

For what?

Lily had no answer.

“James!” she shouted, stomping a hoof. She took another breath, whatever constituted as her
lungs were able to inflate more in this form: “Harry!”

And then came a sound.

Lily’s ears flicked forward, tuned to the sound before she knew where to look.

The sound came again, distant enough she could make no discernable speech.

Heart pounding in her chest, Lily sprinted in the direction of the sound. She was already
dead, if something wanted to harm her, she couldn’t imagine what might be trapped in this
void as well.

“Big brother…” came the echo again, a small child called. There was a sniffing sound,
something that could only be heard if Lily was close. As much as she yearned to call out, Lily
could hardly believe she was hearing something other than her own racing thoughts and
panicked screams.

“Big brother…” a child, a female, who’s voice sounded as playful as it did worried, much
how Petunia used to call Lily when their game of hide and seek became scary.
Lily turned her body, searching the expanse of the void for the sound.

“Hello?” she called, hoping the voice would respond to her. She turned around again, almost
feeling something brush against her, and stopped.

This, is what Lily assumed had made the call for her big brother. It was a deer, a fawn, for the
most part. Lily had never seen one like this, she knew of albinism, but never with such a
speckled and uniformed pattern.

The fawn seemed as surprised to see Lily as she was to see it. The white feathers on her back
were all flared, her legs locked with the coiled energy of a creature ready to run.

Lily forced herself to relax at the spectacle. As her body laxed, the little fawn seemed to
respond in kind yet did not approach her. An unknown amount of time passed before Lily
reached her muzzle out towards the strange little creature. The fawn flinched slightly, the
strange feathers on her back raising with uncertainty.

Time alone in this void drove Lily mad and she did not want this little creature to run from
her. Lily laid down on whatever surface the void was made out of, making herself less
imposing on the small deer.

The fawn took to that and finally stretched her own little muzzle out to sniff Lily.

“Hello,” she said with a gentle voice, watching the small ears flicker with recognition to the
sound. “I am Lily.”

The fawn gave no name, her nose flaring as she took in whatever scent Lily might have in the
void. Growing bolder, the fawn stepped closer to Lily.

The two were trapped in the void…now together.

The little fawn had taken to following Lily and Lily, the little fawn. Many times, Lily tried to
speak with the strange little creature yet nothing came from her lips, not even a name. The
fawn was capable of making sounds, bleets, chirps and grunts.

The only thing the fawn seemed capable of verbalizing was her call:

“Big brother!” she would bellow, her feathers flaring at all ends as her hooves stood to
support her cry. She would stop, look and have her ears trained on anything that would make
a sound, only to be disappointed with the void’s drumming echo.

At times like these, when the sadness would grip the little fawn completely, Lily would
nuzzle her head and groom the strange feathers of her body. The fawn would whimper as she
rubbed her nose along Lily’s neck, stomach or chest but would eventually soothe under Lily’s
calming words and nuzzle.

They continued together, searching the void, lazing in it, playing when they needed to push
away the madness as if two creatures of the woods.
“Lily?” a voice said, her name so unfamiliar outside the repetition of her own head she would
have forgotten the sound on another's lips.

There he was, a stag with six points on his antlers just the way she remembered him. They
ran towards each other, no arms to embrace, but they made due with their necks twining
between the other.

“James,” she whimpered, feeling her knees quake under the weight of grief and fear.

“I got you, Lils,” he whispered in her tawny neck.

“How…?” she trailed off. They both knew how they came to this fate. “Is Harry?” she dared
asked when she pulled her head from his embrace.

“I’ve searched everywhere for him,” James said, still grooming the side of her neck, assuring
himself she was there.

“He’s not here, James,” Lily said.

She had long since walked with the knowledge in her mind since meeting the strange little
fawn, who would prance, buck and rear around Lily. Her games, play bowing and enticing
Lily into distraction from the frantic searching.

It was healing…enough for her to admit she might forever remain in this cursed void until
her son…until he lived his full life.

“Then who is that?” James said, his snout gesturing to the little fawn. Lily turned to walk to
the creature with feathers, calming her in the presence of her husband. With her back turned,
she did not see James tense, his muscles freezing as his eyes witnessed something extinct.

Lily nuzzled the fawn, the little girl prancing around her legs playfully. In a sad voice, she
said: “she’s searching for her big brother.”

The little one did not call, the only words she spoke: “Big Brother,” screamed, whimpered,
sobbed, whined.

Early in their companionship, when Lily was still gripped with the desperate need to search
for Harry, it would trigger the fawn into her calls. The little one would become so frantic,
galloping around in the void, freezing, breaking pace with feathers flared as she screamed:
“Big Brother!”

Calming the fawn took time, the feathers pricking against her ghostly form as she shook and
hyperventilated against Lily’s belly. She nuzzled the fawn endlessly, whispering, singing
lullabies she would to Harry.

The act was acknowledging the gaping wound in her breast, an ache that would be there
forever, no matter if Lily did not regret her choice to stand against the Dark Lord.

The little fawn nuzzled Lily’s brow, almost sensing that she had gone distant in mind
madness.
When she looked at James, she took note of the stag’s caution, his attention solely on the
fawn. A strange urge overcame her, one like standing in front of Harry. She took one step
forward, turning her shoulder to shield the feathered fawn.

“Lily,” James said, looking at the little fawn. She turned her head to look at the creature, her
ghostly form flickering like a patronus with feathers rather than fur or hair. The fawn was
growing curious now that she had more time to look at him, stepping around Lily’s back
hooves towards her front ones.

James backed away as the fawn advanced.

“That’s a Ravenfawn,” he said, eyeing the two carefully.

Lily blinked as the fawn lifted her head and scented the air, something Lily noticed the little
one would do often.

Spending time with the fawn, Lily was learning her little cues, the raised feathers were a sign
of being alert, turned outward they were for protection, inward and flat were to make herself
smaller. The little fawn was curious, her feathers alert and ears flickering. She did not have
the posture of a fawn going to run but one that bobbed her head around, trying to get a better
look at James.

“Run,” he said. “Don’t roll your eyes, Lils, she’s dangerous.”

“I’ve walked with her for a while,” she said, noticing a distant look fall over James' eyes.
“She’s done nothing to harm me.”

“Ravenfawn’s are dark creatures, Lily,” he said, taking a step towards her, and the fawn as
well. The little one puffed her feathers in surprise at James' advance. “They are cannibal
wizards, old Pureblood families in Eastern Europe where the land of the law is under the
Midnight Sun.”

“James, you sound ridiculous, even for a wizard,” she said, approaching her husband calmly,
the fawn following pace with a prance in her stride.

“I’m serious, Lily.”

There was that pause again, a blank look in his eyes.

“Say she was a cannibal, she hasn’t eaten me,” Lily said, looking down at the little creature,
who was stretching her nose out to greet James, growing impatient by the looks of it.

“Her entire Herd is,” he said, stomping a hoof. It startled the fawn, her feathers prickling with
fear as she stumbled behind Lily. She snorted, irritated they were arguing at their reunion,
after so long in the void, what did they have to fear now they were dead and united?

“And where are they James? Where is our Herd? Why are we stuck here?” she stomped her
own hoof, wincing when she heard the little fawn whimper at her outburst. Lily settled the
panic in her mind before it took over. She sighed as she turned her head, twisting her neck to
nuzzle the fawn as she showed vulnerability.
The fawn burrowed into Lily’s pelt, the little feathers massaging her underbelly with a
strange pulse.

“It,” James stuttered, “she’s not hurting you…with the feathers?”

“No, James,” she said, her voice tired as she continued to comfort the small creature…her
mind settling with each gentle brush through feathers. When Lily looked up, James’ posture
was relaxed even if he wore a hesitant gaze on his face.

Smartly, James did not open his mouth as he stepped forward, his hooves close to her own as
they wrapped their necks around each other. They had no scent, only a faint pressure
registering in the void, but they all existed in that moment.

When they broke the embrace, James had a brighter expression on his face as he looked at the
little ravenfawn.

“Tell me about her then,” he prompted, neither wanting to delve into the madness of
departing their son.

Lily could only tell James of how they stumbled upon each other. He discovered she was
capable of entertaining herself, equally as likely to invite the both of them to play. James
filled the role of father well with Harry and it seemed his initial hesitation passed with
whatever time constituted in the void.

They were all still searching, for what and where, none knew. The fawn kept their minds off
complete loneliness; they’d drive the other mad in this void if it were the two of them, this
Lily knew. With no direction and no bodies to tire, they covered the void’s ground and
shadows, between the light refracting against itself as they searched for no end.

Occasionally, they would lie together, folded legs with the ravenfawn between their bodies.
While tiredness, exhaustion, sleep were not necessary, they could lay and shut off their minds
for…time. The little fawn seemed to slip into one of those times now, James and Lily
watching the twisting void around her.

“You’ve told me the stories,” Lily said, recalling the gruesome stories of wizard creatures
sitting between the muggle and magical worlds, eating those that dared tarnish their territory
regardless of the prey’s blood. “What could…” she looked down at the little ravenfawn.

A creature’s who’s very nature could defy the curse that ended their lives.

James looked down at the little ravenfawn, growing on him like any fungus would, taking
him from his own madness in the void.

“I don’t know, Lils,” he muttered. He hesitated, then dropped his nose down, mindful of his
crown as he nuzzled the small ravenfawn. “One of her Herd should have retrieved her.”

Madness sparks the greatest of revelations and in this oppressive void, Lily came to the deep
rooted knowledge that a cycle had completed itself long before she took note of it. Like
waking to rain, the clouds had formed overnight as she once slept, wept in the witching's hour
 as snores occupied her lungs, Lily could wake to the rain, but it was always present, only
revealed to her the moment she opened her eyes.

Something about James’ words, that this little mystery creature she stumbled upon should
have been found by family of her own, and yet it was Lily that found her. The knowledge
settled, preposterous as it was…

“Harry is a ravenfawn,” she whispered, laughed, and settled again, careful of how her new
form’s belly could shake the fawn into panic.

“What?”

“James,” she pleaded, looking at him, then down to the bundle of feathers. “Wherever we are,
we have incarnated as deer. If Harry-” she closed her eyes, forcing her tongue to spit out the
words if she must. “If Harry were here, would he not be a deer?”

His large eyes had fixated themselves on the feathered form of the fawn, not breathing, still
against their sides as her mind remained blank. The fawn’s eyes were closed, perhaps out of
habit from being alive, none of them needed to blink or breathe.

“Someone found our fawn,” James said, his voice breaking as he bowed his head deeper into
the feathers of the little ravenfawn. His enthusiastic snuggle disturbed the fawn, the creature
grunting for a brief moment, a ripple of shock from her feathers when she took note of who
was nuzzling her so intently.

Then came the pulse of her feathers, another unique way she flexed her pelt. The feathers
pulled in a rippling motion, squeezing and massaging the ends of wherever they touched the
two…like the grabbing motion of a child aching to be closer.

“Your Herd didn’t leave you behind,” Lily said, “you only got lost.” She allowed her muzzle
to pass over James as they grew impossibly closer. “Our Herd is coming soon.”

They had all died in their own ways and while two seemingly separate Herd’s were apart by
the void and veil, time was meaningless now they were together…waiting would pass as a
breeze….

Chapter End Notes

I raise a toast to all of you- it is you readers that make this story possible, each one of
you is a holiday gift that I cherish- be well, have a wonderful holiday, and thank you all!
 The Little Things
Chapter Notes

My loyal friends, I raise this glass to you and the New Year of 2022. I was privileged
enough catch news footage of Amanda Gorman, an American Poet, of her newest work:
New Day's Lyric and there was one line that I think we can all resonate with:
"Come, look up with kindness yet,
For even solace can be sourced from sorrow.
We remember, not just for the sake of yesterday,
but to take on tomorrow"
I am honored to be weathering the 2020 trilogy each of you, and wish the best of the
years past be brought forward to this new one.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tom was seated comfortably in the Slytherin Common Room. There was a plush chair he'd
found that was perfect for studying. He could curl within the chair, a throw blanket close
enough to him if the hearth’s heat was not enough for him, and the seat was far enough from
people he missed the usual commotion.

Some of his things were scattered on the side table, a mug of tea eternally charmed to remain
warm within the cup, his transfiguration textbook staked below his homework notes, the
Dumbledore's Army coin, hidden simply by its commonality.

The occasional student that passed him only nodded their head when they took note of just
what coin was sitting on Tom’s table. He recognized several members of their little rebellion
group in his own house and left the coin out in a way of comradery and silent rebellion since
returning from the Yule holiday.

The Weasley Twins were morose this season- their father having died in the Department of
Mysteries at the hands of one of the Husk’s infiri. Tom didn’t suspect it was his Husk that
traveled to the Ministry, an infiri he could work through, the puppet master, and would only
need to be smuggled in by a follower.

Likely, Lucius Malfoy.

Dumbledore’s Army had three meetings since Yule, the members invigorated by the clear
murder of Arthur Weasley, poorly covered up by the Minister of Magic. All of the initial
members of the Army were enjoying the opportunity to practice spells. Even Tom’s magic
raced at the opportunity to duel against his twin in demonstration, earring gasps of awe from
the students around him rather than screams of terror.

It was a welcome feeling, to be included by others like him.

Umbridge was not unaware there was something happening beyond her control. Of course,
the students kept up with their usual chaos, taking her decrees to the extreme in need to
follow them, constantly challenging her rule.

Tom looked up from his leisure book when a set of knocks came from the door. His feathers
pulled at his neck, like a dragon growling in the depths of his lair, Tom did not like whatever
was on the other side of the portrait door.

The knocking came again. Tom closed his eyes as he began to collect his control, knowing
that killing a person in front of witnesses was not the lessons his parents taught. Rather than
wait for a student to timidly open the door or summon Professor Snape to do it, Tom flicked
his wand at the door and unlocked it, returning his attention to his book.

Umbridge trudged forward into his territory, rambling about needing to search for
contraband, of which the Slytherin students no doubt had much of. Everything that was
important to Tom, was within the contents of his backpack. Anything illegal, he kept in the
Chamber with one of the best guard dogs.

Tom forced himself to remain still as she passed him for the girls dormitory. His jaw was
wired to his teeth, fists clenched as his magic spiked under his skin. He loathed that she
inserted herself into the heart of his ancestral territory, waltzing into a hall of secrets and
tearing them apart as she feared the position her ego so foolishly climbed upon.

Umbridge moved into the boys dormitory and Tom felt another wave of discontent smack
him. The knowledge that Umbridge was rooting through his things, turning the dorm upside
down for any feasible evidence of their rebellion. He remained in the chair, knowing if he
were to stand, his hands would find themselves in her heart.

“Mr. Riddle,” Umbridge said, walking over to his chair with little knowledge of her
approaching stupidity. Tom took a slow breath in and put on the face his father was teaching
him, passive and with the infliction of being ready to serve.

“Yes, professor?” he asked, hating how the respect tasted on his tongue for someone that did
nothing to deserve it. She seemed to have as much of a pinched smile on her face as he did.

Umbridge turned her palm outward and exposed what was in her hand for Tom’s view.

“This has muggle energy on it,” she said.

In her grubby hands with fingers bulging behind rings: the dreamcatcher Beverly got him for
his birthday.

It was a horseshoe that she claimed came from a murder scene and would be scrapped.
Instead, Beverly had stolen it away and spent time crafting a little pile of string between
where the iron holes once held nails. The string she’d tied it with was green and silver,
having clearly received some advice from Severus, and neatly netted like a spider's web.
Between some of the knots she tied was a single button she claimed had fallen from an old
sweater of hers.
Ravens were scavenger creatures that enjoyed shiny things, plucking them from the ground
and adding them to their nests. Beverly, like a raven, took the small items she had around her
house and weaved them into the horseshoe she stole from a murder scene.

“It’ll catch the bad vibes,” she said when he unwrapped the gift from the tissue paper she
rested it in.

There was no magic within the dreamcatcher, no feathers from himself or family, wards or
charms, only the intention laid by someone else for his well being. By his Herd’s beta...his
godmother who had help from Tom’s most loyal follower.

Psychosomatic or not, Tom found the dreamcatcher to work once he returned to Hogwarts
and was gone from the balm of Herd. It seemed that the Husk could not touch Tom within the
protection of Herd’s feathers, fangs, and antlers.

Tom looked back at Umbridge.

She would be taking the dreamcatcher; there was no way around it. If Tom casually ignored
the muggle energy, she would take it on the principle that he wouldn’t mind it missing. If
Tom responded with fear or anger, she would make an excuse to have it removed or worse,
destroyed before his eyes.

“Muggles were the first to invent a stable piping system. Are you suggesting we remove the
foundational wards of Hogwarts as well?”

“Where does it end, Professor?” one of the Weasley twins said from the crowd of students
watching the interaction.

Within Slytherin House, there was a strange and silent understanding from his fellows that
Tom, somehow, belonged. This time, Tom did not try to assert himself or power over his
peers. Being a twin of Harry garnered him some interesting respect but to those who saw him
duel his twin in secret, a newfound respect blossomed for the strange student.

Umbridge blushed at the accusation, recovering when she put her hand down, clutching over
the dreamcatcher with fingers that strained along the knotted pattern.

In the hopes of regaining his dreamcatcher, Tom scoffed as he stood, casually taking the DA
coin in his hand. The magic was much like his diary- only able to be understood by those
who’s magic had yet to settle. Will and Hannibal could not read the words that were written
to Harry as they were adults- only Will was able to see a vision when he looked.

“You’re right to search for things,” he said in a patronizing tone, knowing far more than she
ever would. Tom held up the coin, seeing the nervous glances of the DA members as he
gambled with their communication tool. “This isn’t a real coin.”

“It’s one of those muggle things, a cell phone,” a twin said.

“No,” his other replied, a hand on his chest, “I think I’d be more of a...oh, what did Professor
Graham call it?...a pager.”
“A pager,” Tom said to Umbridge, nodding his head at the twins. “We use it when we want to
have tea with the Dark Lord. Kind fellow, really, loves having dinner with old friends such as
myself.”

“Ten points from Slytherin,” Umbridge said, forgetting that the students were ignoring the
house point system and the punishment would do nothing to curb his tongue. “And if you
ever see anything suspicious, Mr. Riddle,” she said, holding the dreamcatcher, “I always
appreciate having another on the inside.”

Umbridge attempted to walk out of the Slytherin Common Room with an air of superiority,
instead looking like a chicken bumbling around a den of hungry wolves. While Tom won
their little verbal spar, he’d lost the item that was keeping away the Husk from his mind.

“Don’t worry mate,” one of the twins said, both flanking his sides.

“You’ll get your revenge.”

Tom was waiting for the day he could sink his teeth into the sweetness of a dish served cold.

Splintered off from Harry and his friends, Tom found himself on a bench on the third floor
with the day's notes open for his review as his finger marked a place in his charms book. The
sun was shining through the window, offering Tom a nice warm patch that comforted him
against the cold winter still beyond the glass. There were students playing outside in the
snow, building fortresses as they hurled snowballs at one another.

Tom took the quill from his mouth and made a notation in the margin of his book, swatting
the bug that buzzed in his ear. He yawned once, his mind beginning to haze over once more
with the effects of his Husk’s dreams.

The Husk was attempting to get Tom, Harry rather, to travel into the Department of
Mysteries. It was clear the Husk was after the prophecy in the hopes of his victory being
buried within the cryptic words of a Seer.

Honestly, Tom was coming to the point of penning his Husk a letter with the words of the
prophecy just to keep him out of his mind long enough to get a decent night of sleep.

His blood boiled at the lack of Beverly’s dream catcher hanging over his bed frame. The
twins, in an attempt to help him, crafted their own dreamcatcher, lacing it with charms and
little sheep that graze along the string or hopped over the fence when he laid his head down.

It was a clever design and the miniature sheep were rather cute to look at as they wandered
the dream catcher like a spider but it wasn’t the same as Beverly’s; childish as that sounded.

He thanked them for the gift and the intention that went behind it.

“You’ve actually given us a couple of ideas for our start up,” one said, working on weaving
in charms to another dream catcher. He plucked a feather from a blue jay, measuring a length
of string to hang from the bottom of the ring.
They were inventive with their spells and their trickery always pushed them beyond natural
curiosity.

Tom yawned again, shaking the wandering thoughts from his head as he attempted to focus
on his homework. It was tedious, repeating Hogwarts once again, but he found it interesting
to relearn concepts that were only tested and improved from his first attempt at school.

His feathers flared in warning along his back.

Tom listened first for the threat, scenting the air a bit. There were no humans that were
approaching him- keeping his back towards a wall with no entrance meant the only threat
would come from in front of him. Still a fawn, he was vulnerable to attack from all sides until
he sprouted antlers; he applied all the lessons learned on four legs to his human skin.

It served him well.

Tom waited, knowing that his instincts wouldn’t flare for no reason. He felt no headache
from the Husk- eliminating that fear.

Taking a slow breath, Tom closed his eyes and felt for his magic. It hovered under his skin,
waiting and ready to be used. Still, Tom needed to be careful with the amount of energy he
gave to his education. His magic was still fractured and tired easily. Tom spent more time in
class practicing the written work and only performed magic when he absolutely had to- not
wanting to strain his magical core for anything that wasn’t necessary.

His parents were excellent examples of how magical power could be used in small doses for
massive results.

His magic was along the length of his feathers under his uniform. Imagining a net, a shield
around himself, Tom pushed the bubble outward like a crack of a whip, spreading it from
himself to take up every bit of space around him.

He felt it, something fizzle against his magic and dropped to the floor. When he opened his
eyes, he still found nothing to his immediate sight. Focusing, Tom followed the thread of his
magic to the victim he snared in his spider’s web.

Now, Umbridge’s comment made sense.

“Why hello,” Tom said, waving his wand to form a jar with no words. He kneeled onto the
ground with the jar, putting it over the ladybug twitching in the netting of his magic. Tom
pushed the animagus into the jar, sealing it with a series of spells that would leave the witch
trapped in her form and without magic.

It was a Saturday and Tom wasn’t expected anywhere for the next several hours.

“Why don’t we have a talk?” The ladybug within squirmed, hitting the sides of the jar as she
tried to escape, Tom’s wards stronger than her magic would ever be.

Tom put the jar down as he gathered his supplies in his bag, zipping it slowly to draw the
panic from whoever was within. He picked up the witch, light in his grasp, and walked down
the stairs of Hogwarts. He passed several students playing in the snow, dodging one of the
snowballs one cast his way.

He laughed, waving his wand as a barrage of snowballs returned fire to the ones foolish
enough to start war with the true Dark Lord. With the students engaged in their play fight,
they would not notice Tom walking into the Forbidden Forest.

“Now for this magic trick,” he said in the darkness of the woods, looking at the little
twitching bug.

Tom apparated from Hogwarts and landed in muggle London.

There was an abandoned stretch of buildings that wasn’t far from Grimmauld place, graffiti
long decorating the walls and boarded up windows. The perfect place to interrogate
someone.

Tom ducked under the chainlink fence and popped open the boarded door by pushing his
shoulder against it. The room opened to him, long unused and ripe with potential. Tom felt
himself smile, his magic playfully sparking along his skin.

“How convenient,” Tom said, spotting an old chair sitting to the side of the room. Tom set the
jar on the ground as he slid his backpack onto the chair.

Since Yule, Tom took liberty of his parents extensive shed. As his mother enjoyed fishing,
there were always rolls of it sitting for use. Fishing wire was a common tool in the family
artwork so Tom didn’t have to worry about taking from his parents supply of crafts.

His parents would probably scold him for his impulsiveness but Tom thought of this as an
opportunity. He took the chair, jar and fishing wire up the stairs, climbing higher and higher
until they were looking over the city.

“There’s the Ministry,” Tom said, pointing out over the landscape for the muggle building the
Ministry was disguised in.

Tom looked above him and saw the rafters were curved enough he could secure the ends of
the wire. Setting his things down, Tom quickly cut enough wire he could secure it around the
over arch and have enough to bind the person’s hands. He moved to the other arch and did
the same, stringing enough wire that the two ends met at the rusted chair.

He took the jar in his hands and popped the top off. The ladybug began to fly around the jar,
desperately hoping to escape. Anticipation raced through his blood as he tipped it over and
watched as the ladybug was forced back into her human flesh.

She stumbled from the jar, disoriented with the forced shifting. Her hair was blonde, curled in
ringlets around her head that might give the impression of a halo. Tom grabbed her before she
could recover from his magical manipulation, forcing her to straddle the chair with her chest
pressed against the back of it, legs on either side.
Tight binds around her wrist would prevent her from moving, the position of the chair would
keep her from leaning forward and ruining his design.

“Hello, Rita Skeeter,” Tom said, beyond thrilled at the woman he trapped with his magic. It
made sense that Umbridge would seek Skeeter out. She was the one that unsettled everyone
at Hogwarts when they first met Tom- a child of bloodshed with a mysterious story filled
with enough pain that his soul could match the horrors of Harry’s.

“Not that it matters,” he said as she took in the sight of the city, the pulse in the side of her
neck giving away her growing anxieties. “But did Umbridge blackmail you as an
unregistered animagus or does she have a slew of you waiting for her command.”

“I’ll tell everyone you brought me here,” she said, the first words spoken to him that were not
the slander of her article. Tom felt the excitement in his hands- so she was afraid of
Umbridge and working alone then- excellent.

“And when I explain that you’re an unregistered animagus? That’s about five years in
Azkaban and Sirius Black could tell you all about wanting to avoid that fate.”

Tom had to be careful. As excited as he was, his magic echoed and he couldn’t risk letting his
magic burst lest the Husk find him outside the protection of Hogwarts or Herd. There were
the aurors he had to worry about as well- the last thing he wanted was to attract their
attention.

“What do you want?” she asked, struggling at her bonds. Tom watched her for a moment as
her limbs tried to pull away from the binds, stuck in a web like the bug she was.

“Do you see them?” Tom asked, forcing her chin out to look at the city. “My Husk’s Death
Eaters? They can’t hear you, no muggle can either. No one will sense your magic.”

Tom stepped away from her, picking up the jar he contained her in as he looked at the
expanse of her back, still covered with the clothing she wore.

“You’re going to write me a message,” he said, moving to his bag to take one of the more
versatile knives in his parent’s collection. He reached for the back of her collar and set the
blade between her and the fabric, cutting along the center seam the stitching split and
exposed her flesh.

“To my Husk, my enemies,” he said.

Tom smiled as he lifted the jar in hand. He would prefer to heat the edge of the jar to leave
circular burn marks along her flesh, but that would require him to use magic to produce heat.
He could still work with his design, it would only require some creativity from his end.

Bending behind her, within Skeeter’s blind spot, Tom began to scrape the lip of the jar
against the concrete. The course ground split the smooth lip of the jar, fracturing the edges
until he was left with a jagged edge. While he sharpened the glass, Skeeter insisted she could
write a better story than whatever he was planning.
He could only smile at her pride, knowing that he would be the perfect author to his
audience. Tom stood and approached her back, hovering the jagged jar over her shoulder
blade.

Tom pushed the jar into her shoulder, twisting it back and forth to shred through her meat as
she screamed, her chest pushing against the back of the chair in a brace as her arms strained
in the fishing wire. He pushed deeper, through the topmost layer of muscle until the circle
was unmistakable.

He pulled the jar away and did the same to the other side of her shoulder.

It went like that for the next six circles. Tom pulled the jar away from her and would bend
down to the ground, sharpening the edges of the glass jar anew against the concrete and
digging it back into her flesh. Her cries and pleas went unheeded as they echoed in the
abandoned factory house, her blood paining the floor with spatters.

Rita Skeeter had many uses- to Umbridge and the Ministry, it was a display of muggle power,
the very same that his Husk feared. Rita had magic, Tom could feel it fluttering under her
skin as he cut circles into her spine, yet she was not strong enough to use it without a wand.
A world of power she couldn’t access, dying at the hands of muggle power.

Umbridge would likely be suspicious of Tom and while he would have to formulate an alibi
when he returned to Hogwarts, she would have no evidence of his crimes. Tom wondered
how long Umbridge had planned to use Skeeter and was looking forward to watching the
woman flounder with a contingency plan now her spy was strung up.

“Let’s give you wings,” he whispered, setting the jar on the ground so he could take the twine
in his hands once more. Skeeter’s whimpers had died to ragged breaths, shock beginning to
set in her body. So far, her wounds were superficial, if she escaped, she would survive with
only scars and nightmares.

Tom didn’t intend for her to have to worry about nightmares as he manipulated the wire in his
hands.

Taking the knife back, Tom was careful as he flayed the flesh from Skeeter’s spine, making
sure to cut through the parts of her spine that held the circular pattern without ruining the
design of her spots. Her cries echoed through the room, leaving Tom’s beast satisfied as he
thought of Umbridge stealing his dreamcatcher.

Now, Skeeter was the one strung up, left hanging and soon- would leave nightmares in the
mind of the Ministry.

“Look at you,” he said, stepping around his work to see her from the front.

Magical charms she put over herself in the morning kept her hair and makeup perfectly in
place, only disturbed by the swollen lips of her screams and the tear track of her sides. Her
arms were held painfully on either side of her but it was the wings of her flesh, turned and
spread with holes in the middle that gave the image of her animagus self.
 “Hopefully Umbridge has enough brain cells to understand the symbolism,” Tom said,
checking over his work. Still, there was something missing.

His eyes landed on the jar and he hummed. Tom lifted it high above his head and shattered it
to the ground, watching as the pieces scattered around her like dew drops of morning. Tom
plucked two shards from the ground and walked to her front, the knife in his back pocket.

“Please,” she begged as he lifted her head.

Tom’s smile was the last thing she would ever see. He pushed the glass into the sockets of her
eyes, gripping her jaw as she attempted to squirm away in the web, screaming, he pushed
past the soft tissue. He repeated the process to the other eye, turned around her body, and slit
her throat.

She gasped, blindly trying to do something to save her own life as it sprayed on the floor
below her, covering the glass dewdrops that surrounded her.

Her head rocked down as she died, leaving the beautiful image of a ladybug pinned in a web
surrounded by the dew of morning. This wasn’t about satisfying the hunger of a Ravenstag
and he desired no organs from her body, leaving all of her as a gift to his Husk.

“You cannot hide from me this time,” Tom said, looking past his first public artwork to the
city that sat beyond.

His Husk would see this kill and know it was Tom’s- a statement to the Husk: look at me
now, look how much better I am than you, hiding will only delay the inevitable and look at
the extent of my new power…

Chapter End Notes

Happy New Years, my friends! Thank you for joining me at this table time and time
again.
 Consequences of Impulse
Chapter Notes

Guests!

This isn't a meal so much as it is a bunch of side dishes that make up a collective meal. I
do think you will enjoy it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Beverly arrived at the scene of the crime to find the local police all speaking in hushed tones.
They had blocked off the area, keeping the people at bay.

“I hear it's a gruelly one,” Reux Ni said. Reux Ni was one of the first Interpol agents Beverly
befriended. The woman confessed she wanted Beverly as a friend, stating the amount of
testosterone was sometimes suffocating. Reux Ni lifted the tape up for Beverly, carrying her
camera around her neck and two boxes of evidence collection items in her hand.

The body was on the third floor of the dilapidated building, part of the roof open that allowed
for numerous birds to seek shelter, building nests in pillar corners as they entered through the
hole above.

“So long as the locals didn’t touch the evidence, I don’t care.”

Beverly did care though- this was one of the first cases where she could showcase her skills
as a former FBI agent to her fellow Interpol agents. As a photographer, Beverly would be
allowed within the crime scene first, allowing her to be the first to draw conclusions.

“Katz, you’re up,” said her boss, Leif, who was held up with several of the local police chiefs
as she entered. Reux Ni gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder as they both knew this
could help Beverly climb the food chain.

She entered the scene of a woman straddling a chair, her arms hanging limply above her to
better expose her spine. The killer pulled the flesh away from her body and tied it above her,
making Beverly recall the angel killer.

Approaching the body, Beverly began snapping pictures.

“Judging by the scabbing,” she said, pointing a pencil at the circular cut imprints, “the killer
flayed the flesh after he made the holes.”

“Swiss cheese tostadas,” Reux Ni said from behind her, dusting the pillars for any
fingerprints. Beverly lowered her head as an involuntary smirk broke over her face.
Many of the officers, even those in Interpol, were all facing away from the crime scene with
upturned noses and hushed whispers. From those whispers, she heard them talking of another
body dropped some six years ago, wondering if it was the same killer. It was clear this type of
killer was unusual in England and their confusion of proper protocol showed for it.

Beverly began forming a mental profile of the killer.

He was young, the first time he killed like this but not his first time with a body or a victim.
He was powerful despite his small size. Beverly looked up the length of the wire, judging the
height of the killer to be smaller than six foot...ugh, two meters...she didn’t have the mental
capacity to break it into centimeters.

Something was...off.

Beverly looked at the woman, closer this time, there- her clothing was different, a suit, yes,
but not one commonly worn. The ringlets and glitter in her hair could excuse her exuberant
purple and green accented outfit with black kitten heels but there was a larger glittering
around her that most might excuse as perfume.

Beverly looked to the debris that surrounded the body, her eyes tracking a line between the
victim and the natural slope of the floor.

There, unmistakable to her opened eyes: a wand.

With the excuse of her camera leading the way, Beverly snapped pictures of the ground she
would later delete, giving her enough time to pocket the wand where some might hide a gun.

Her eyes tracked along the wire holding the victim’s wings afloat...fishing wire.

God damn her godson.

Beverly lowered her head as she approached the witch, taking pictures of her body now that
she catalogued the surrounding area and pocketed evidence. This case would be her break but
under no circumstances could she expose her godson, no matter his crimes.

She tipped the woman’s face back and really shouldn’t have found herself surprised to find
shards of mirror and glass in the woman’s eye sockets- after all, his father once left a tongue
as a bookmark in a bible.

Her fellow officers turned their heads away as she snapped a photo, the flash of her camera
reflecting against the mirrors, showing her own split reflection.

“This woman might have been a LARPer?”

“Wot?” one of the men asked, walking in a slow pace as he tried to avoid looking at the body.
Yes, Beverly could feel the story spinning around her lips.

“LARP? Live Action Role Play? It’s a community of people that create personas for
themselves and play as characters with their fellow actors,” she said, finished with her
pictures, she was able to reach gloved hands around the woman, searching for pockets.
She pulled out a wallet. Surrounded by people, Beverly held her breath as she opened it.

“Rita Skeeter, Journalist of the Ministry of Magic,” she said, turning the papers around to
show a real ID of a magical person, to her muggle superior, hoping to pass it off as a role-
player.

“Looks real,” he said, not touching the evidence.

“LARPer’s are known for their authenticity,” Reux Ni said, twirling the dusting brush over
the fishing wire. Beverly knew the killers well enough to know there would be no prints
found there.

“She’s completely in character, Jane Doe with no phone,” Beverly said, reconstructing her
camera to avoid looking at any other Interpol agents. “The killer is mid twenties, on the
shorter side, likely had some growth defect in his youth.”

Beverly pointed to how the strings were hooked on the lower supporting beams, indicating a
shorter stature of a killer. She aged Tom, his strength likely coming from his feathered
heritage- it would keep the agents away from her godson.

“It’s the first time he’s killed like this,” she lied. “He’s playing...eager…”

True.

The clean up crew had arrived, just in time for her superior to wave his hand over the mess he
no longer wished to see. These Europeans and their fragile stomachs…

“Develop the photos and your profile of the killer, Katz,” he said, turning away from the
crime. “It’s a good thing we have an FBI agent on our roster with this killer on the loose.”

Reux Ni clapped her on the back with an excited smile as she passed her, no doubt to warn
the clean up crew from deconstructing the scene too quickly.

“Yeah,” Beverly said to herself, looking over the photos on her camera as she made her way
from the scene an abandoned doorway. “Look at me now, Jack.”

With no one watching her, Beverly slipped the key from her neck and inserted it into the lock.
The key’s edge glowed a faint silver, sliding along the picks within the lock. When she
twisted the key, the door hinge flared with a dim light, not giving her position away as her
palm heated. A faint emerald border surrounded the split of the door.

She opened it and slipped into the walls of Hogwarts, safe within Severus' private quarters-
the one’s behind his potion classroom if she was correct.

It wasn’t long before Severus slipped from the door, ordering the students on the other side to
not blow any cauldrons up while he was gone.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, rushing to her side. It was not like her to barge into his
space during the school day- the man had a dangerous job teaching unruly and impulsive
children, she would not risk his safety unless it was dire.
“Do you mind pulling Tom aside after class, whenever you have him next?” She held up her
camera. “I need to have a quick chat with him.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. There was a muffled yelp from beyond the door,
followed by a chorus of hushes from other students.

“He’s in class with me presently. I am curious.”

“I’ll only need him for a moment, one long enough you can stay,” she said.

The muffled yelp came again. Severus glared at the door, unable to ask any questions as he
walked back to his classroom, slipping through the door to give nothing of her presence
away.

The remaining time the kids spent in class gave Beverly enough time to choose which photos
would best fit in a portfolio, adding them to their own folder as she deleted ones that could
potentially expose the magical world and, therefore, incriminate Tom.

Distracted in her and Tom’s work, she startled when she heard the door open.

“Beverly,” Tom said, his face breaking into a soft smile when he noticed her. Beverly’s heart
warmed at that.

Beverly walked over to her godson, saying nothing to him as she turned the camera’s image
to him. He stiffened, an immediate sign of guilt as his eyes tracked over the photos she
scrolled through. When he looked up at her, Beverly was satisfied the young Dark Lord knew
he was trapped by her own mundane power.

“The FBI would consider this a rookie mistake,” she said, reaching for her waistline to pull
the wand free. She twirled it in her hand, feeling nothing but an ordinary piece of wood, then
handed it to Tom. When he went to take it, she tightened her grip, waiting for his eyes to
meet hers. “I know these are important to your people.”

She looked up at Severus, judging by his extremely pale pallor, had understood what Tom
did.

“She’s still in her witch’s garb. I spun a tale about her attending some Comic Con.”

“What?” They both said. Beverly rolled her eyes, surrounded by the uneducated, these
children clearly needed someone to integrate them into her world.

“The point is, you get this one for free, Feline. Change her clothes or remove them. Take
away her valuables and ID. If I can thank you for anything, it's that you killed her in an area
with no CCTV.”

Beverly could admit within herself that Severus, vampire and Tom, cannibal, stunned silence
was beyond satisfying on her palette.

“I’m not breaking the law, only telling you what I’ve noticed...seasoned killers do.
Absolutely not giving you advice on how to get away with murder.” Beverly booped Tom’s
nose, making him scrunch it in his stunned guilt.

“Now, shoo. You have class.” Though Beverly flicked her fingers at him, she wrapped him in
a quick hug, turned his body around, and gave him a slight push out the door Severus
guarded. She and Severus both watched Tom look behind him with uncertainty as he gathered
his backpack and retreated from the Lab.

Severus pushed her against the wall, much like the time they celebrated after Beverly
grew...pushy with Umbridge.

“I want to eat you,” he whispered hotly into her ear before biting it, tugging on it so it took
her breath away with a gasp as he rolled his hips into her.

That’s right...Severus could no doubt smell her. He was always more excitable this time of
the month; Beverly’s own full moon.

“You’ll have to wait for lunch after class, professor.”

A war was a series of strikes between two parties with time spent between fighting to lick
wounds and gather reinforcements for the next brawl. Fighting a two-front war was never
wise, the Husk and Umbridge took up equal amounts of Tom’s energy, leaving him
exhausted.

Tom didn’t regret killing Skeeter and anticipated the increase of terrifying dreams from the
Husk and the additional decrees Umbridge nailed above the Great Hall.

With springtime came a spring fever that brought out the troublemaker in every student. With
Umbridge’s constricted rule pushing on the students, everyone took the opportunity to strike
at her decrees. With her iron fist came more members to join Dumbledore's Army as other
professors covered their student’s absence from the woman.

The Castle was guiding his aimless night wandering as Tom attempted to keep the Husk from
his mind. The lack of sleep was beginning to wear on him- black feathers falling from his pelt
when he shifted, increased lethargy, general moodiness but the nightmares only damaged him
further.

The silent peace of Hogwarts was disturbed by the echo of shouting. Tom cast charms around
himself as he walked towards the sound, curious who Umbridge was yelling at given the late
hour. Creeping behind pillars, Tom ducked down and saw it was Dumbledore she was
shouting at.

Ever observant of what was in his castle, Dumbledore's eyes flickered up to meet his own,
but did not hold contact long enough to alert Umbridge of his presence.

“So you admit that Voldemort killed Skeeter?” he said, sparing Tom a brief yet knowing
glance. “Or was it a muggle?”
Dumbledore smirked as Umbridge was forced to either reconcile the mounting threat or
admit the power a muggle could have over a wizard. She grit her teeth, looking a half step
away from stomping her foot like a child.

Then, an eerie kind of calm fell over her magic. She smiled as she looked up at Dumbledore.

“You are hereby removed from your position as Headmaster of Hogwarts,” she said, robbing
Tom of his breath. She went on: “Your delusional behavior of believing He Who Must Not
Be Named has returned will put the minds of these children at harm. Your incompetence of
hiring a long-term defense professor should have been taken into account sooner as well.”

Dumbledore did not seem surprised by her newest decree, smiling at her, he bowed his head
and walked away without any word. Tom followed him from above, tracking the Headmaster
as he began to walk to the stairs.

“Best of luck to you, Dolores, searching for next term's defense position…” he said, waving a
passive hand in the air as darkness swallowed him.

Umbridge seemed surprised, anticipating his outrage, his excuses and receiving none. Tom
would have laughed at Dumbledore’s use of senial behavior if his heart didn’t quake at the
thought of the Husk engaging the school in their little identity crisis.

Dumbledore, dare he say, was the Light Lord, a literal blazing phoenix that continuously rose
from Wizarding Europe from the ashes. When Tom was awake, lying in bed if it was too
dangerous to venture out with Umbridge on the hunt, he would ponder if their polars were
attracted to each other. Tom feared Dumbledore in his last life. In this one, Tom was distant
from the pain of his former childhood while remembering flashes of his atrocities.

Their relationship was as odd as their connection; Tom was a student and yet, he could
approach Dumbledore with the same pain of seeing so many die. Only, Tom was responsible
for the pain that caused Dumbledore’s guilt.

The Husk feared Dumbledore as an equal in power and likely felt the same for Harry as he
marked an equal.

Built on the foundation of years of magical power, seeping into the core of Hogwarts by the
pipes and limestone, the wards were mummified in protective layers. With the Light Lord at
the helm of Hogwarts, the Husk would hesitate to come for Tom or Harry.

“You can’t abandon us,” Tom said, meeting his professor at the stairs.

So long ago, Tom had thought of different ways to have Dumbledore removed as a teacher,
then as a Headmaster. While he might have conceded to the wizard when he applied to the
position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Tom felt so scorned he placed a curse
on his beloved home, his bloodline.

He knew of the man’s power as a student, not understanding it was his own power as a Dark
Lord recognizing it’s counter. The Husk feared Dumbledore, a skilled wizard protected in a
castle with centuries of protective magic.
With Dumbledore gone, it would open the doorway to war on the Hogwarts grounds.

“I cannot make a move against the Ministry without aiding Voldemort,” Dumbledore said,
walking around Tom to climb further up the stairs. It was the entire reason why Tom hasn’t
killed Umbridge yet, that another would take her place, that there was nothing Dumbledore or
Tom could do to stop the Minister until his sins were bare to the world.

“So what? You’re going to do nothing?” Tom argued, chasing after him.

“Think I leave this school without it’s defenses?” he chuckled. Dumbledore waved his wand
around the staircase moving towards them, revealing in a great flickering wave of energy- the
entire ward network of Hogwarts.

It was a netting of ivy, climbing up the walls and pillars, every point reaching and connecting
to another, climbing and spreading with little fibers of magical strength pulsing at the
unreached ends. Yes, the school was saturated in centuries of magic, having protected
generations of students and felt their magic within these stones. Every logical point in Tom’s
mind states that the Husk could not break through the wards of Hogwarts.

But he might be tempted now that his most feared enemy, Dumbledore, was leaving without a
fight.

“There is nothing more I can do here, Tom.”

No matter the pounding in his heart at Dumbledore’s surrender, Tom could not peel his eyes
away from the flickering misma of magic that comprised the wards.

They were breathing...a pulsing network of veins that carried power with the gentle ebb and
flow of a stream. He could hear it distantly, a rushing of energy with the strength of a tsunami
behind only to gently caress against Tom’s magic. He felt his magic flutter, his hand
extending without his command only for greedy, feathered colored fingers to imbed
themselves within the magic.

That very balm he found within the Herd, Tom...Tom could feel that here.

Lost in the sensation of his magic, weepingly close to whole, Tom did not care if Umbridge
caught him. For a brief moment, Tom could smell what it was like to have his magic
complete.

The wards, Hogwarts' foundational fortress of a defense, unraveled themselves from the
fibers of his being at the tips of his fingers. He stumbled back as they snapped around him,
closing him out as they rested away from view.

As much of a shock as the wards was Dumbledore catching him before he tumbled down the
stairs. He scrambled away, blushing as he brushed himself off, refusing to look at him.
Dumbledore hummed.

“The wards respond to you,” he said.

“Well, I am their heir,” he replied, attempting to keep his tone from petulance. Judging by the
scant look he captured, he failed at the task.

“So is Voldemort and yet,” Dumbledore looked at the walls and portraits of Hogwarts as if he
could see them without his exposure charms. Maybe with his age and experience, he could…
“and yet,”

His blue eyes met Tom’s in the impossible darkness.

“Hogwarts has chosen you as the One True Dark Lord.”

With such a statement, of course Dumbledore would seize Tom’s silence to sneak around
him, climbing higher up the Hogwarts stairs as Tom remained verbally stunned. He shook out
of his thoughts as he felt the stairs tremble to move on.

Tom leapt with the grace taught by a fawn and scaled the steps in time to catch Dumbledore.

“I thought you would relish this,” the wizard said, walking towards the hall of the
Headmaster’s office. “I will not abandon you,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder as Tom
felt blood rise to his cheeks. “Not as I once did.”

“You are,” Tom felt himself whisper. Tom was not strong enough to fight the Husk
magically- his magic would shatter in his core, he felt the splitting of that pain as he battled
the Husk to save Harry.

Dumbledore smiled sadly from where they both stood.

“You will survive this, Tom Riddle,” he said. “You’ll see that I’m never far from a Hogwarts
student in need. Even you, especially you, Tom.”

Tom shook his head, disbelieving the man’s words as he stepped away. Dumbledore said
nothing more as he turned and walked for the gargoyle, walking up the stairs as they rose
higher for the last time.

Sleep wouldn’t be found for the rest of the evening. Tom felt himself drift as he walked into
the Great Hall, under the archway of decrees, he took a seat at one of the tables and waited
with a blank mind.

He listened without thought as the buzzing of spring insects morphed into the chirping of
birds as the sun crested over the school in a strange parody of joy. He could hear the castle
begin to wake, the sound of elves working behind the scenes, owls fluttering their wings with
the first sign of postage. Students eventually woke, excited to start a new day with no idea of
what was to come.

In a daze of color, Tom watched his fellows walk into the Great Hall and tuck into the food.
When Harry and the Twins came to greet him, having noticed his mood, he shook his head,
unable to speak of the atrocity.

“Dunno,” Draco said to Neville when he asked what was wrong with Tom. “Been like this
since we got here.”
Tom couldn’t be prompted with food or drink, pushing the various offerings and orders that
he had to eat something.

Tuned now, to the sound of Umbridge’s heels that she attempted to crush their livelihood,
was approaching the Professor’s Passage. He felt the first wave of defeat as she walked onto
the platform, the students' conversation only holding for a moment as they acknowledged her,
going back to what they were saying. Tom felt as if his feathers were molting as she stopped
at the Headmaster’s chair, pulling it out with a creek across the limestone floor.

Silence filled the Great Hall as she sat down in the Headmaster’s chair, the other professors
unable to do anything about her new power but accept and work to undermine her.

“I can see why you can’t stomach anything,” A ginger twin said. His other twin unwrapped
something and popped it into his mouth. His face contorted as he swallowed it and only
twisted with more pain as it met the acid in his stomach. Within thirty seconds of
consumption, he turned at the table, bending double over and promptly vomited in the center
of the floor.

It was the first time Tom had laughed since he stumbled on Umbridge and Dumbledore that
evening.

The first thing Umbridge did was remove the Hogwarts crest from over the four tables,
ordering that all students were to wear their sorted uniform and sit at their appropriate tables.
The rivalry between houses had turned all but obsolete with Umbridge as the common
enemy. With students constantly changing their colors and sitting at whatever table of their
choosing, there was little infighting.

It seemed she wanted that division.

Meals were no longer a group of friends but their own houses. They tried to position
themselves together, but with so many friends across houses, it was impossible.

The twins took to spreading their knowledge of magical origami to transport messages across
the tables, even going so far as to send Howlers with positive affirmations. Umbridge burned
whatever notes she noticed flying over the tables at mealtimes.

“I think we’re getting a little old for this,” one said as they watched another note fizzle to
ash.

“What say we slip out?” the other replied. They each gave Tom a cryptic pat on the head as
they scrambled out of their chairs, leaving him with Draco and Harry.

Tom pushed the food around his plate as he resisted the urge to glare at Umbridge happily
eating her food.

Poison would ruin the work of the house elves.

A loud bang had students looking around. Tom looked up and put his hand against the stone
pillar behind him, wondering if this was the beginning of the Husk’s strike. The magic
surrounding the school was calm- an earthquake?

The rattle came again, shaking the glasses and water on the table as students began to
murmur with confusion. The professors at the table looked equally as confused, speaking to
themselves as Umbridge stood up in her chair.

Everyone, even Tom, watched as she walked down the middle of the aisle to the door, her
wand at her side as her stride was unsteady and concerned. Tom felt for the Husk, skirting
along the edge of their shared consciousness and not finding him active.

No, if the Husk was here, he would have brought forth all of his angered joy at the
opportunity of killing Harry and Tom. Regardless, Tom felt for the wards in Hogwarts,
knowing they were connected everywhere now and found they did not pulse with fear.

The rattling came again, larger this time that it had glasses tipping over on the tables.

Then, a little flicker of light flew into the center of the room, happily sparking near
Umbridge's face for a moment before darting behind her to the rest of the Great Hall and
exploding in a little puff of blue light over the students.

It fizzled out with a whirr, the sparks changing color as they drifted downward, then silence
over the entire school. She stepped forward, each movement brought a burst of sound from
her heels as she looked down the hallway.

A cheering came closer to them, wooshing over head as the Weasley twins entered the Great
Hall on their broomsticks, casting spells that kicked up the liquid on everyone with a burst of
laughter. They threw fireworks over head, color and dye bursting around them as they were
covered in the dust.

Tom laughed as he watched them build the chaos, tossing the fireworks around the students
and covering them in the colorful dust of Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw so
no student could tell which house they originated from.

He also noticed Severus and McGonagall both looking smug as they sat and did nothing to
contain the Twin’s chaos.

They high fived over head, students cheering on their chaos as fireworks spread along the
hall, covered in the colorful spray of their own creations. Students at every table were
cheering, casting their own colorful spells to add to the chaos. Umbridge couldn’t attempt
any spell to calm them, overwhelmed by the bombardment of the Weasley Twin’s chaos.

“Ready when you are,” one said, holding a firework sparking down the stalk. He tossed it
high into the air with a flip, backing his broom away as the fireworks turned from their small
bursts to a great Chinese dragon, a great face with two sparking whiskers, great teeth,
billowing nostrils of smoke and eyes looking right at Umbridge.
 She seemed to understand it was coming for her, turning and running with clipped strides as
the beast dove for her. Tom laughed at her fear, watching as she only made it as far as the
threshold of the decree door before it swallowed her in a burst of fire.

The fireworks exploded around her, the little balls of energy flickering up and shattering the
glass decrees above her. She stood there in a pile of smoke, flinching harder when the decrees
shattered around her, glass falling like rain, decrees floating around on fire as fireworks
celebrated her defeat around the room.

The sight of her being eaten by the dragon had every student hold their breath. The twins
cried out in joy first, above them all as they kicked off a chorus of cheers. Umbridge was
stunned, turning around enough she could see the Weasley Twins change the banners above
the tables from the four individual houses back to the Hogwarts seal.

“Remain,” Tom hissed to the brilliant crest of Hogwarts ripple over them, lacing his heir
magic into the Twin’s own, making it impossible for anyone to take down or change. His
parseltonge was lost under the din of his fellow students when the twins dove down on their
brooms, racing on either side of the Great Hall.

One of them, passing low on the Slytherin table, dropped something with enough precision
that the package slid on wood and into Tom’s napkin. Tom looked up at them, confused for a
moment as a second wave of fireworks burst from their brooms as they made a daring escape.
He reached for the package, hastily wrapped as if a last minute thought.

His dream catcher.

He smiled as he held the iron horseshoe in his hands, green and silver strings still intact while
holding the button in place along the knots.

Within the napkin was a sheet of paper, an advertisement for Weasleys Wizards Wheezes, a
shop advertising a grand opening in Diagon Alley.

When Tom walked around the still stunned Umbridge, his dream catcher in hand, it was to
join the shouting crowd looking up at the twins exploding advertisement in the sky. He didn’t
know if they could see him from so high up, but he would be sure to visit their shop over the
summer to deliver his thanks in person.

And maybe he would bring Beverly along.

Chapter End Notes

I absolutely LOVED writing Beverly in this chapter and how she used ComicCon to
cover up an actual magical person. My inspiration was on how Hannibal often tells the
FBI the truth of his meat selections by using puns and clever word play. I wanted
Beverly to emulate that in her own way while climbing the rank in Interpol. I hope you
enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing!
How did the twins get the money for their business- I will reveal that tidbit in the next
chapter!
 Generational Chaos
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone!

Sorry I am late- by popular demand, I was convinced to write another family fluff
chapter. (clear throat) it was supposed to be a SNACK. (i got carried away, officer...)
You get a Freebie!
As always, thank you all for being here and enjoy the unexpected feast!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Cedric Diggory found himself with a strange amount of power and authority within Hogwarts
since winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament. While he should have graduated the previous year,
the pressure he found himself under towards his final exams was monumental, leaving him
with a rather embarrassing final report.

Headmaster Dumbledore heard his concerns and agreed to let him stay an additional term. He
was warned that his fellow Hufflepuffs would have graduated, and he might find himself
lonely during the year. Cedric assured the Headmaster to not burden himself with his well
being.

In truth, he should have taken the man’s word with more salt. Cedric had some friends
outside of his house, and was friendly with many of his housemates, yet the easy
conversation he had grown accustomed to while at the school had vanished.

His status as a Champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament made things oddly complicated with
his housemates. In the beginning of the term, it felt like everyone wanted to talk to him. Or
the Cedric Diggory that they perceived, this man with a deep, smoldering look that was
attached to a body they thought could tame merpeople, a cool demeanor that held thousands
of tomes of knowledge, or a boisterous partner to tell the epic tale of the Three Trials.

When Cedric authentically failed their perceptions, people slunk away with a pinched face,
rolling eyes, or doubts that he really almost burst his eardrum trying to decipher the
mermaid's egg in the second floor bathroom.

Of course, he knew of some students outside his house in younger years. The Weasley Twins
were the first friends that he reached out too. They had a good friendship and a mutual love
of Quidditch. Cedric admitted many times both on and off the pitch of their excellent skills as
Beaters. When surveying the Quidditch Pitch above everyone on his broomstick, Cedric
could see how they communicated without words- moving in synchronization towards
perfect execution during a came of catch.
In any spare time that was not spent sleeping or rushing to finish class papers near moments
before they were due, the twins had shown many of their testing products to him. It was only
after a few painful lessons that he learned to stop eating the candy they handed him with
matched grins on his face.

After completing the second task and a snuck bottle of fire whiskey between the two, Cedric
made Fred and George a promise: that if he won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he would give
half of his winnings to their start up. They sealed the deal with another sound of three
whiskey glasses and mutually painful hangovers in the morning. The hangover was painful,
the realization that Cedric might not have as much winnings as he first thought, a little
moreso.

But Cedric was a man of his word and for whatever reason, he had a good feeling about Fred
and George Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. When the public celebration of his victory had
concluded, long into the afternoon of the next day, Cedric was finally able to break from the
crowds surrounding his door and get to the two.

“As promised,” he said, handing them a heavy coin purse with his fair portion of winnings.

“Mate,” Fred said, his hand awkwardly holding the black cloth bag.

“We were only kidding,” said George, his eyes trying to remain on Cedric, yet reeled in by
the bait of wealth in his brothers’ hand.

Cedric blushed, feeling slightly awkward that it was a drunken promise.

“What?” He toyed, snatching the bag back from Fred with his seeker reflexes. “You don’t
want it?”

“Now, now, now,” George started, shaking his head as his brother began to circle him,
looking for an opportunity.

“We didn’t want to appear greedy,” Fred retorted, holding his hand back out for the bag of
coins.

And like that, it was settled: Cedric Diggory became the main shareholder in Weasley’s
Wizard Wheezes.

There were a few other students that Cedric knew outside his house. Cho Chang, a student
from the Ravenclaw house. Before the Tournament, he had only spoken to her in passing the
library, quietly studying near what he considered to be his section. Once chosen by the
coughing of the Goblet of Fire, Cho was more bold in her advances, wanting to know what
secrets he had about the Tournament or his upcoming strategies.

It quickly became overwhelming, to be searching for solutions to his homework or a deadly

trial and be constantly, well, badgered.

Their relationships grew a bit murky when Cedric asked Luna Lovegood to the Yule Ball.
Cedric found Luna’s aloof personality welcoming in the din of his new fame. She did not
subscribe to the same mentality as many of the Hogwarts students. Luna walked much like a
dandelion tuft on the wind, drifting from place to place, conversation to conversation without
any bother of the past or worry for the future. Entirely in the present, Luna enjoyed every
moment of her day authentically happy, even if there were storm clouds in her way.

The second person Cedric found himself orbiting around...he didn’t know how to describe
their relationship. It started when Cedric left the Hufflepuff dorm outside of curfew. The
Hufflepuffs were not known for causing much trouble, so teachers tended to keep away from
their territory to search for prowling lions out of their den. Finding his way back to the
abandoned classroom he spent much time practicing in was easy in the cover of darkness, the
path memorized in his muscles.

In the nature of complete honesty, Cedric was expecting his nightly wanderer to be Luna. It
was the transfer student of Slytherin. There was nothing directly exciting about his arrival,
already sorted and seated with the snakes as the first years were sorted. The commotion came
in the morning, and was perhaps one of the few times that Cedric wasn’t hearing his name
being passed around in the Great Hall.

As it turned out, Tom Riddle didn’t know Cedric or the new title attached to his name. Cedric
offered him a smile and set the objects he had floating around him down. Rather than look at
his power with a sense of awe, Tom was impressed by the ability but not infatuated with how
he accomplished it.

It left an odd sensation in Cedric’s stomach that he tried to ignore to the best of his ability,
and failing, when he was near Luna.

To distract himself from the conflicting set of feelings in his body, Cedric reached for the
candies he took to keeping in his backpack. Tom seemed to have a prickly exterior, eyeing
the offered chocolate frog with suspicion.

The Slytherins were a suspicious bunch of students but if they were to make friends outside
their own members, it was with a Hufflpuff.

He split the chocolate frog down the middle then, extending the larger of the two halves to
Tom Riddle, who thanked him for the treat by eating it.

Much like Tom did not ever ask Cedric of the Tri-Wizard Trials, Cedric did not ask Tom
about his past and how it might connect him to Harry Potter as a soul twin. Whatever it was,
Cedric could tell it was haunting Tom in the mirror and shadows. When Tom thought people
were not looking, his body would slump with exhaustion, eyes dulling over as he stared into
space. If there was a time Cedric caught him alone, the teen would typically have a heavy
book on his lap, yet eyes closed with sleep, the book acting as a cover for whatever person
might try and disturb him.

A heavy burden laid indivisible upon Tom’s shoulders.

Building trust with a Slytherin was a slow battle for any Hufflepuff, yet Cedric was
determined to stick near him. Being so near to the Giggling Pear and kitchens, convincing the
house elves to part with leftovers was a simple matter. Food offerings seemed to be a way
into Tom’s headspace without meeting the barbs of his hedgehog like personality.

Perhaps finding a companion in oddness, Luna often found herself with Tom as well. Guided
by some force beyond his comprehension, whenever Cedric would find one, the other would
quickly arrive. The three did not always talk in abandoned classrooms. Tom would often keep
a book open for appearance sake, only to fall asleep in the chair he was in. Luna would
quietly hum to herself, occupied with whatever caught her attention during the day.

Cedric enjoyed the peaceful, mutual existence with the two, found himself craving it when
alone for too long with estranged Hufflepuff friends and glutting on the moments with both
Tom and Luna.

With a rainy day like this, most of the students were causing additional chaos indoors and
while Cedric wanted to spend his time with Luna and Tom, the general uproar of the students
would keep Headmistress Umbridge busy while he ran one errand.

As Cedric was eighteen, he passed his apparitions exam without splinching himself. In the
beginning of term, Dumbledore gave him permission to leave the Hogwarts grounds if he
wanted, as he was a fully fledged adult. There was never a time to leave Hogwarts until
now…now that he was needed at a Board Meeting.

Who knew being such a large investor to a joke shop would require his attention from
school?

Wrapping a final charm over his cloak, Cedric walked out onto the Hogwarts path that would
lead him to Hogsmead. The rain splattered above him, the charm keeping all but the edges of
his shoes dry before he broke free of the anti-apparition ward that surrounded the school.

The journey was still a painful one.

Cedric managed to get his bearings before walking into a busy joke shop. Bright colors and
sparkling lights attracted his attention to every shelf, object and noise around him. Laughter
and jump scares overwhelmed his mind with little surprises as he made his way around
fellow laughing patrons to find his two friends.

“There he is,”

“Our generous benefactor!”

The two voices came from above him, the ginger twins, dressed in new matching robes as
they waltzed down the metal grate stairs.

“You both sure know how to make a scene,” Cedric said, taking time to clap each of them on
the back as they embraced him.

“The talk of the town, we are,” Fred began, tipping his hat to two passing men.

“New people telling us how amazing business is,” George said, passing a random box of
jokes to one patron.
“And a round of people telling us were Nutz,” Fred said, showing him a new product, a blue
and pink chocolate bar called Nappin’ Nutz: one square and your head will be squarely on
the pillow in minutes. Side effects include, but are not limited to: dizziness, sleep paralysis,
lucid dreaming, random bouts of out of body experiences, and purple ears

“Has the Ministry tried anything?” he asked, putting the dubious box back on the proper
shelf, only to watch it be snatched by another shopper with a glorious look on her face.

A shared grimace passed over their faces, a silent exchange that Cedric was growing used to
allowing between a different set of twins.

“Since…since Dad and all,” Fred started, not making eye contact with either of them.

“Yeah, they tried to shut us down for unethical potion sales but we have the proper permits.
Mum’s mighty pissed but she thinks Dad would be proud.”

Cedric looked over the patrons walking into the store with looks of awe on their face, the
grimace that the rain normally brought evaporating from them faster than a Gigglewater. As
one came into the store, two left with their hands filled of products in brightly colored
wrapping. Nothing about this store screamed dull or conformity, a threat to the current
Ministry officials.

“I’m sure he would be,” Cedric said firmly, his tone conveying no doubt of his claim.

The two smiled at him, an identical expression of gratitude and sorrow shared between them.
It was quickly masked with their usually expected chipper.

“Should we begin the shareholder meeting?” George asked, holding up a colorful clipboard.

“Shareholder?” A voice said loudly from behind them. Cedric turned to see the two men that
had passed him early, the one with a longer, black robe approaching them with a swift stride.
“Hello, Sirius Black here. I love what you’ve done to the place and how it inspires the
mischief in us all.”

“Professor Lupin?” Fred asked. Cedric startled to see that the man ambling towards them was
his old professor. No longer was the man hunched behind his hair and poor robes. Now,
Cedric guessed he was the near the size of Hagrid and his robes did little to make him less
imposing of size.

“Oh, ignore him,” Sirius said, waving away whatever introduction their former defense
professor had to say. “He was always trying to manage our mischief anyway.”

“I wouldn’t discredit all my work, Padfoot,” Professor Lupin chuckled. “There is still the
vanishing step on the second floor.”

“Padfoot?” George said, sharing a strange, excited look with his twin.

“Mischief managed?” Fred asked, studying the two men before them. As Sirius Black and
Professor Lupin shared a knowing look, Cedric felt like he was missing something.
“Oh Merlin!”

“You’re our inspiration!”

“This place is an ode to your greatest work!”

“We have so much to ask you.”

“And even more to thank you for!”

“Really that map was the best thing we nicked off Filch, right Fred?”

“Honestly, George, we’d be scrubbing more than our fair share of cauldrons if not for you.”

That moment of silently shared communication passed over Fred and George, one twin
grabbing his arm and the other guiding the two adults to a back room labeled: STAFF
ONLY… or else…

What Cedric had expected to be a confusing meeting of finances turned into a long
conversation of generational pranks at Hogwarts. Cedric filled in the twins on what
Dumbledore’s army was doing now that the twins had left the school, Sirius and Professor
Lupin, no call me Remus, both intently listening with smiles on their faces.

“Dumbledore came over for tea yesterday afternoon and told us about Umbridge,” Remus
said, sipping on the tea that the twins prepared in front of them all; each guest assured it
wasn’t tainted with any substance.

“I fully approve of your academic and business pursuits,” Sirius said, sliding them over a
contract quickly discussed and drawn up. Fred read over the information, signed his name,
passed it to his twin for his own signature, for it to finally pop away with a burst of purple
and orange glitter.

“I bet Umbridge is loving that little spell we laced,” George grinned, as if only realizing of a
prank he laid.

“Oh yeah,” Fred said, reminiscing over chaotic times. At the look of eager glances, the twins
clarified. “We laid a spell in Old’ Dumbs office.”

“The most often used object,” George said, holding up a quill.

“Always out of place the moment you take your eyes from it.” Fred emphasized with one of
his quills, snapping his finger and having it disappear as if some muggle magician.

“SUre, its there an available when you don’t need it”

“But that urge to find it?”

“We thought it would drive the old man mad,” George explained.
“That’s actually kinda genius,” Cedric laughed. Fred took the best bow he could for sitting at
a table as George grinned wildly. Even if Cedric was a kind-hearted person, he had
limitations when it came to Umbridge, and hoped that her best cat china would disappear
simply to make her squirm in frustration.

“How do you feel about shipping items to Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, leaning on the table with
his hands shaking a bit.

“Your items are banned from Hogwarts,” Cedric pointed out, feeling no need to point out that
students were still getting the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes into the school. Contraband
currency was at an all time high at Hogwarts.

“How do you feel about not taking your NEWTS?” Remus asked, the two twins groaning in
their seats.

“Ugh, mum is still having us prep for them.”

“Honestly, we’ve got a full business to run.”

“We’re not going to take them, we’ve decided.”

“We’ll keep mum happy, but no, not degrade ourselves to the NEWTS.”

“Leave ‘em be, Moony. They’ve got quite the establishment running. I’m sure they have new
products coming out and their books managed- things they’ll never learn at Hogwarts.”

“Speaking of new products,” George said, looking to Cedric with an expression he learned
might mean a new item had a likelihood of harming him in some fashion. George flicked his
wand and a large envelope floated over to him.

“We’re trying to come up with card titles for awkward moments or explanations,” Fred said.
Cedric looked between them, beginning to fear for his humility or stomach contents.

“We first have the: Sorry roommate, I thought you were my boyfriend when I drunkenly
climbed into bed with you,” George read, putting the card down on the table depicting a
cartoonishly guilty man.

“This one is a personal favorite of mine: Apologies, but your baby is actually ugly- We are
only obligated to call it cute for the first meeting.” Remus laughed loudly at that one,
opening the card only to shut it quickly when a wailing sound emitted upon reading the inner
contents.

“What card do you think conveys: I actually like the both of you but don’t know what to do
about it other than wallow in self-pity?”

Identical looks were directed at Cedric, who could not escape the blush climbing up his
cheeks. Yes, Cedric had thought many times of asking both Luna and Tom out. But he was
eighteen, Luna fourteen and Tom three years younger than him. No, it was not proper, even if
he was a student for an extra year.
He would settle for their friendship.

“What about: Why choose one when I can have both? ” Remus offered the twins, thankfully
saving Cedric from their shared and unnerving eyes.

Fred clapped his hands together once.

“A maestro at work,” George said, writing the idea down on his notepad, a sunflower
growing from the end of his pencil the longer he sketched.

“Why don’t you court them?” Sirius asked, turning his attention to Cedric. The blush on his
face only grew redder but his heart began to thunder in his chest for other reasons.

Yes, now there was an idea…he could profess his intentions without feeling he was ever in a
position to take advantage.

Cedric cleared his throat.

“How…how would one hypothetically, go about courting two?”

Sirius’ grey eyes sparkled with amusement, the shaking in his hands coming from excitement
as he leaned forward.

“Now, I just love thinking a good hypothetical through…”

When the heat would begin to make itself known in the atmosphere with a lacquer of
moisture beating with the sun, small markets would open sooner. The farmers taking to their
task before dawn crested, passing shipments of wooden crates into trucks as the stars slowly
flickered out as a gentle whisper of dawn lulled dusk goodnight.

Hunting in the thickets of those long winding roads required a swift strike and removal of all
evidence before any unfortunate soul passed into unknown, dangerous territory.

Yet, something could be said for the convenience of hunting and gathering at the markets in
one trip. A quick touch within his pocket confirmed that, yes, trophies were safely contained
and concealed by the grace of magic.

Rounding the corner brought the man to the market that was starting to awaken as the dawn
crested over the town. Will picked up his pace, the list of ingredients his husband needed
nearly written and conveniently organized by the natural layout of the market. He smiled,
nodded and waved to the sellers that knew him, more accurately, Hannibal. Thankfully, the
mention of his daughter was an excuse that each person could relate too.

Will moved two of the plastic bag wraps further back on left arm as he extended his hand to
grab the final bag. Given that Hannibal refused to buy soft baby foods, choosing to make the
basic pate himself, the amount of produce on the list was congruent with the amount Mischa
ate- like daughter, like father. He loved his husband, truly he did, but sometimes, the man
drove him insane.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he heard the raspy growl of one of the meat sellers. Will winced, caught as if a
child sneaking through the night. If he had made it to the shaded part of the alley, he could
have relieved his burden and done the same to the meat. Now caught, he turned to face the
woman.

The apron was faded around the edges of her apron, years and all sorts of stains hidden by the
brown color. Old limbs still allowed her to kneel down and rise with only a muffled gasp. Her
thin, white hair was wrapped neatly in a babushka colored once a brilliant red that had faded
over the years to a color resembling the leftovers of her labors.

“Husband did not provide you crate?” she scoffed, her accent not of Italy, but of Poland.

How this information came about was when Hannibal approached the woman and attempted
a conversation with her in a shared tongue. Her swollen knuckles paused in her work as she
heard Hannibal speak a thick, accented language. Yulia was using a knife with years of
muscle memory embedded in the fibers of her hand as she stripped the rabbit of it’s pelt
without having to look down at her work as she glared at Hannibal with a gaze that Will
could only hope to muster.

“Absolutely not, young man,” was all she said, putting the topic to rest. There weren’t many
people that could scold Hannibal, leaving such an eloquent and strategic man speechless.
Will failed to hide his laughter in his hand as the elderly woman went back to her work as if
never interrupted.

Yulia lifted the crate over the quail meat covered in ice and a protective mosquito net laced
over strategic pikes. The weight of the crate slipped from her grasp, landing on the flat part of
the stand loudly. This woman did not like people, much to the degree that Will felt, and in
their mutual dislike of the overall human population, they tolerated their own presence more
than a business relationship, less than friendship.

“Thanks, Yulia,” he said, moving the bags into the crate with a Tetris level of obsession. She
grunted, either in response or due to the weight of the ice she was about to dump over the
quail. Yulia walked along her stalls and hunched over to grab something.

“He return crate. Then apologize for thinking you mule.”

Will laughed at the thought of having to explain this to Hannibal. Yulia perked up, spry for an
old woman as she shuffled around her stall. Will lifted his gaze, alerting the people that were
around him, the children that were beginning to beg their parents for sweets, the delivery van
unloading flour into the bakery cellar on his left, sudden movement from the hilltop, a
cyclist.

The local paper man, throwing the newspapers at doors with a study grip that went beyond
any teenager as they abused the wood with such force. And then charged Yulia, as fast as her
old bones could carry her across the street, the locals giving her a wide berth as she raised her
butcher’s knife in the air.

The same: “Ah, ah, ah,” that was growling at Will was shouted at the paper man as the look
of familiar fear pooled into his face, blood draining as he froze his pedaling for a moment. As
Yulia grew closer there several teens, parents, and local onlookers did nothing to prevent this
man from being cleaved if she caught him.

In a desperate attempt to defend himself, the man raised a newspaper from his bag and threw
it at Yulia, only seeming to enrage her more, given how she managed to lift up her skirt and
apron to chase after him faster, yelling at him in a language Hannibal would translate if Will
provided the memory.

Will jogged to the paper that was thrown at Yulia, the woman still giving chase even as the
man put more distance between them. He picked up the neatly bound newspaper in a napkin,
intending to pull a fingerprint. He waited for Yulia to clamber back up the hill, her hand
pulling herself up the railing, other holding the knife as people crossed the street to avoid her
path.

“Why do you stand here for old lady when you have daughter?” her accent heavy in her
throat after several labored breaths when she finished climbing up the hill.

“One day, she’s going to kill him,” a teen whispered from the stall next to Yulia’s.

“He deserves it for testing a god,” the other responded, voice quaking and scared.

Given Yulia’s age, she shouldn’t have been able to hear the teenagers by her stall; she only
raised her knife at them, nodded once, and began to shuffle back to her cart.

“Ah, rabbit, yes!” Yulia said, brandishing her knife safely behind her meat stall. Yulia drew a
sheet of yesterday’s paper, then crossed it with three other sheets only to slap a freshly
skinned rabbit on the paper. “Good thing you stayed, hmm?” she said, wrapping the rabbit
within the tape, tying it off with twine rather than tape. “Else I chase you down.”

Yulia smiled as she placed the rabbit perfectly wrapped in paper in accordance to Will’s
obsessive stacking system.

“What is your secret?” Will had to ask.

“Fountain of youth,” she said, raising a bright red hydro-flask, the image off putting and
oddly satisfying to see elders invested in the environment. Yulia drank. “Vodka.”

No further questions, your Honor.

“Tom doing well in school?” asked the judge.

Will shrugged his shoulders, letters harder to read than his son’s actual body language. He
had a past that ingrained old habits and tricks that were tested, analyzed and improved over
years. Tired and hungry as any teenager, Tom and Harry spent the majority of their time
sleeping and eating.

“Is he still eating?”

Will chuckled, remembering the abundant meals at Hogwarts.

“Yes.”

“Then he will endure.”

This was odd behavior for Yulia, rarely so talkative to anyone but the traders she spared a few
more sentences for. Yulia tilted her head at Will, her gaze always critical only now looking
through Will.

He did not know what kind of test he was under, yet Will held Yulia’s gaze, looking through
her own cataracts that were threatening to cloud further, the veins in her eyes visible due to
age, a hollowing of her eye sockets.

“Wait here,” she said gravely, leaving the cleaver behind as she shuffled beyond her stall.

“If you run now, you might make it too,” the second teen said to him, voice still as concerned
as when Yulia pointed the knife.

Will only gave a quick smile as he shifted his gaze between the two market stalls, watching
the woman hobble to her old truck. She paused with the car door open, looking at something
down in her hands, Will unable to see it from the way she was positioned by the car.

A quick side step that could be attributed to the dancing he learned for his husband had Will
standing next to his items, looking down at them with a sense of great inspection when Yulia
returned.

Yulia looked down what she retrieved, Will could over the ice that whatever item was
wrapped in newspaper similar to the way she wrapped her produce. The woman shook the
item up and down twice, then grabbed Will’s hand and placed it in his.

He startled at her grip, the way she gently placed the light item in his hand. Yulia did not let
go of him, waiting for eye contact.

“Your husband will know what it means.” Yulia’s veined hands slipped over Will’s knuckles
like rope.

The moment had shattered like the teacup when Yulia put her hand back on her cleaver, the
emotion in her eyes, whatever choked off feeling she was experiencing, buried beyond a wall
thicker than Berlin.

Will knew better than to break the moment with words, nodding his head to her as he placed
the wrapped item into the crate. When he went to reach for his wallet within his pocket,
checking to see that, yes, groceries were secure- Yulia simply lifted her blade off her
chopping block.

Removing his hands from his pockets, Will took the worn wooden handles, nodded his head
once more to the stern woman and left the stall with more than one set of eyes on him.

He walked further than normal to avoid the people who witnessed the entire interaction.
Thankfully, as the day woke more people and brought them to the market, he could lose
himself within the crowd. Finding an abandoned alley Italy was as swift as ever, stalking
away with a glance over the shoulder, looking above for cameras, before popping away.

“You have to apologize to Yulia,” Will said, deciding on the walk from the wards to the house
that he would unpack the story as he encountered it. Will was delighted with the sight of
Hannibal near blanching in fear, and he didn’t even witness Yulia’s chase yet.

“What could I have done to displease her?” he asked, leaving Mischa in her bouncy chair.
Will chuckled as he walked into the kitchen and set the burden down, greeting his daughter,
who was doing her best to get as many raspberries on her fingers as she could.

She protested as Will picked her up, grumbling when the berries fell off her fingertips and
between their shirts.

“This is one of Yulia’s crates,” Hannibal said, slowly dissecting the situation, removing the
numerous plastic bags with evidence of strain given how they were weaker in the middle and
tightly constrained. Hannibal turned on his heels, moving with a presence only a predator
could bring. Will knew himself safe as his psychiatrist, mate, husband, inspected the
indentions the strained plastic bags left on his forearms.

“My apologies to Yulia are secondary in turn to the care needed for your arms.”

Will rolled his eyes, pulling his one hand away to carefully set their squirming child back in
her bouncy chairs with raspberries before she pricked him with her feathers. Hannibal didn’t
seem entirely satisfied that Will brushed off his injury, but his own obsessive needs to inspect
the groceries called him back to Yulia’s crate.

“She’s keeping us well fed, I feel the need to do something generous.”

Will had a feeling he would have to inform him that Yulia already seemed to have a claim
over the paper man. Still, Will said nothing, waiting for Hannibal’s natural curiosity to land
on the other wrapped item. His eyes were no doubt attracted to it, the same English paper she
used to wrap her produce in.

Apparently, leftover newspaper were set to be burned near Yulia’s flat. She bought them for a
cheaper price than store grade and repurposed something sent to an incinerator.

“What’s this?” Hannibal finally asked, lifted the wrapped item.

Will shrugged.

“Yulia only said you would understand the meaning.”

With such a mystery tempting the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal pulled at the twine,
unwavering the edges of the paper as he set it to the side. Careful as he did everything,
Hannibal began to unwrap the parcel.

Something printed on the newspaper, the second sheet in Yulia’s standard three sheet
wrapping fashion, caught Will’s attention, yet his gaze could not interpret the glance of an
image, holes, a mirror, before Hannibal unwrapped the item, the paper tumbling on top of the
marble.

Two steps into Will’s pursuit of the middle paper drew his attention to Hannibal, who seemed
to stop breathing as he looked at the item within his palms.

Even by muggle standards, though Will did not know the true meaning of Yulia’s gift, he
could see for what it was. An old, generational doll, small enough to fit into the palm of a
woman with a body of linens that had seen the effects of time, cleverly covered with small
impressions of flowers or a spindled stitching pattern. The face was blank, covered in a cross
pattern of worn blue and yellow fabric.

Across the doll’s waist was a black branch, curved in a natural pattern as if the one who
found it intended for the item to keep it’s natural beauty even if it was smoothed, polished,
and painted.

Hannibal approached their daughter as if he might break her with his presence, shaking, as
his large hand engulfed the doll entirely. He knelt next to her bouncy chair, not stopping her
as she practiced her leg exercises, merely tracking her free movement to hold forever within
the depths of his mind. Mischa bit her index finger, growing at herself as her teeth no doubt
hurt her, squealing when she got the raspberry.

When the worn doll was presented to Mischa, their energetic daughter stopped her bouncing,
her face contorting into many emotions- fear naturally came to children with dolls and faces
that were not there, a hesitance at something unfamiliar.

Mischa tilted her head, like Yulia, entranced by the doll still held delicately between
Hannibal’s fingers.

She grabbed it, as all children did, simply holding it in both her hands as she looked into the
center of the barred pattern on the doll's face.

A tense and silent moment hung over the kitchen, for a moment, Will feared Mischa might
tear the doll apart. A sense of relief washed over him when Mischa looked up at Hannibal.
Then with wisdom beyond her years, she raised her arms, asking to be carried.

Hannibal obliged before she could whine, picking her up with enough care for the doll to lay
between their chests. He kissed her forehead, saying nothing as he cradled her to his chest,
moving around the dogs as he scaled the steps.

Rare it was, to find Hannibal so raw. Will ignored the second paper that the gift was wrapped
in to start brewing coffee, preheating the oven and grabbing the bacon and eggs from the
fridge. Will set to starting breakfast, cleaning and slicing potatoes only to throw them in the
oven before it finished preheating.

Hannibal may have spoiled and conditioned him to wanting a full breakfast but he was still
an old dog.
It was when Will settled to make the bacon and eggs that Hannibal returned with their
daughter in his arms, resting peacefully against his sternum in a hazy sort of sleep. As he got
closer to the stove, Mischa began to perk up, her hand stretching out in a grabbing motion.

“Soon, darling,” Hannibal said, voice thick in the very way when he had finished a long
conversation with Mischa in Lithuanian.

“Rawr,” Mischa growled, waking up further as Will flipped the bacon and oil scented the air
again.

While the majority of Mischa’s food was either formula or whatever concoction Hannibal
made, she was a ravenfawn, and had the appetite of one. Will tore the bacon strips into bite
sized pieces for her, settling them onto the plate with a playful fox, sectioned off at the ears
from the muzzle.

Immediately, Mischa dove for her food, humming happily with her fist in her mouth. Will
returned with Hannibal’s breakfast, a mug of coffee to his liking poured to his liking
alongside a set of silverware.

Never one to let a meal go cold, even within a turmoil of emotions, Hannibal began to
mechanically eat, his quaking hands taking the strip of bacon to his mouth, teeth tearing into
it with a predatory, injured ferocity.

“Rawr,” Mischa growled, having watched her father, smiling up at him.

“Rawr,” Will agreed, taking his own savage bite of breakfast.

“Rawr,” Hannibal whispered, eyes holding a storm of tears held back by years of walls built
to withstand them. As he ate, Hannibal came back to himself, his hands gaining their
deliberate touch, spine held straighter, hips squared. His head still hung low, looking into the
food, nearly becoming picky.

He closed his eyes, gathering the storm of emotions within him.

“It’s called a motanka,” Hannibal said, taking the napkin within his hands, nervously fiddling
with it. “Lithuania and Poland share a very small border but the land was known to
constantly change before modern maps marked a more permanent and accountable territory
claim.”

Folding the napkin in a neat square, he rested it on the table, placing the fork, knife, then
spoon, neatly aligned by the bottom of the utensil to set them like coffins within the dark
fabric.

“They are traditional peasant gifts to children, primarily between a mother and a daughter.”
The words were said quietly. Mischa grew more cautious in her movements as she ate,
sensing the tension in the air.

“The motanka, a doll without a face, inspires no soul to enter- leaving the vessel for
protection and fortune. The fabric crossed along the front…” He paused again, looking down
at the marble at the table.

Mischa whined, distressed. Hannibal smiled and fooled no one. “The purpose of the crossed
fabric is to take the presence of illness meant for a child. Protect against a curse.”

Will put a hand on his back, feeling the pounding of Hannibal’s heart through his spine and
muscle. He moved closer, his presence and scent always had a variety of effects on Hannibal.

“And be rid of all evil.”

Will moved away from Hannibal to take hold of his daughter and deposit her within his arms,
the natural instincts of a father lifting his arms with a steady grace that would break the shock
holding him hostage. Mischa did what they were calling her ‘happy shake,’ where she
wiggled her body as best she could when expressing her joy.

It was the exact thing that Hannibal needed, her warmth melting through the ice that formed
from the storm, the cracks and hold left hollow within his mind palace. When he looked at
Mischa, with eyes that were no longer bound in the hellscape of memory, she giggled again,
giving another happy shake.

Crumpled within her fist were the half eaten remains of a bacon bit, half slobbered and
gnawed off from small baby teeth still learning how to coordinate chewing. Face pinched in
concentration, Mischa unraveled her fingers and gestured closer to Hannibal’s mouth.

His face went blank for but a moment as he interpreted what Mischa was saying without
words. The grin that formed started from the corner of his lips, pulling upward in a gentle
arch revealing a hint more of canines than would be acceptable in public- meant for family.

And while the piece of bacon was slimy, chewed and crumpled, the two had regurgitated the
remains of some body for all of their children at one point or another.

Will sipped on his coffee, setting the casual scene as he grabbed the three papers Yulia
wrapped her family motanka in. He gave farce to skimming through the newspaper, flipping
it over on the edge to keep the image from Hannibal.

He dare not give too much away with his body language as Mischa giggled away on his
husband's lap, happily sharing breakfast. Will’s eyes cast over the image, his head only
skimming the ink to see the design and the first sound of a new cannon.

He folded over the newspaper and read the back, keeping Hannibal unaware of the new
development within the family. After he finished reading through the paper, he carefully
folded it over, rose from his seat and grabbed the scissors.

Hannibal noticed his odd behavior, watching him move back to the newspaper and cut along
some edge he could not see.

On the refrigerator was a solitary magnet leftover from a self-build set for Mischa’s room.
Will had a feeling that Mischa would soon present her own chaotic doodles to Hannibal with
 pride and the man would hang them on the fridge. Little did they know, one of their other
children had an art project he didn’t tell them about.

He hung the newspaper clipping on the fridge, pinning it with the magnet as he moved back
to his breakfast, waiting for Hannibal to comment after he took in the image.

Will took out his phone, quickly breaking the ‘no phone at a meal’ policy to snap a picture of
the title and sent it to Beverly.

Took you long enough

Will’s phone chimed a second time.

Do you want some closeups for the fridge?

Chapter End Notes

First, you wanted to know how the Twins got funded

And then I felt like there wasn't enough Sirius/Remus/Weasley Twin chaos so I am self
serving.
Did I feel the need to torture Cedric in the middle of it all to better explain a bit of what
might be going on romantically with another ravenfawn and seer we might know? yes,
yes I did.
Second, there was some serious demand for Hannigram talking to Tom about the Rita
kill. Since he is still at Hogwarts, I wanted a different way to convey they knew what he
did.
I will ALSO tell you that in no way was Yulia expected but I like her old lady energy at
market and how she butchered Hannibal emotionally. (Me, Sweet Caroline- So good, so
good, so good) I do enjoy knifing them.

SO yeah, in summary, I didn't expect you to want this chapter so aggressively (amazing)
and it took a little time to make. Thank you for your patience and for joining me. Drop a
kudos, comment if you enjoyed, be well fed!
 Reveal Thyself
Chapter Notes

Esteemed, Loyal Friends,

If I've been preparing for anything, all of these meals, snacks, and feasts, it is for these
chapters coming up. Yes, raise a glass as we begin the final of banquet of desserts. It will
be a long buffet, make no mistake; I hope to feed you as much as I do keep you hungry
for more. But the best part of eating a progressive meal, is the build up that can lead to
the dessert and I have been eagerly preparing this dessert for you since the earliest of
dining experiences.
There is a flutter in my chest as I present to you: Dessert

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Textbooks this year were thick, bound in glue that made pages tear and the spines crack.
There was one in particular, loathed by most of the students, that sat heaviest in their bag
both in physical weight and the oppressive burden burrowing in their minds. Yet even the
worst of textbooks had an end so as the year painfully flipped alongside the seasons,
eventually, the students of Hogwarts were approaching the final panel of their textbooks.

The unfortunate part of approaching the point of discarding such a textbook meant the final
exam of all materials- no matter how brain numbing the material might be.

A much needed break from the mind numbing task of reading Umbridge’s works would come
in about two hours, the final Dumbledore’s Army session as upcoming OWLs and NEWTs
approached them. Brushing along the students climbing to the library, Tom stifled a yawn.

He stifled a yawn.

His Husk was beyond frustrated with Harry’s lack of response to the dreams, dark whispers,
freezing voids, or a burning light. By now, Tom thought the Husk would have logically
figured it was not Harry receiving the nightmares, but Tom. Either the Husk’s mind was
molding or he simply chose to repress a truth he already knew.

Either way, the Husk’s frustration burned his mind in the night, pushing through the charm of
Beverly’s dreamcatcher.

“You should find a place to lay down,” Cedric said, carrying a stack of books in his hand
having clearly followed him from the library. Tom felt his cheeks lift but felt no humor flutter
in his chest. Head hanging lower, tired, aching, Tom moved further down the hallway. Cedric
laughed, catching up to Tom as he spun within his space.

Tom almost growled at him, his irritability tolerance near exhausted, but one stupid “come
on,” and a slight pep in the man’s step had the rumble die in his throat and feet dumbly
following. A light breeze drifted through the windows of Hogwarts as Tom followed after the
Hufflepuff in a bit of a daze. He turned the corner, walked a bit further with Tom before
pushing a random door open.

“Hello, Tom, Cedric,” a dreamy voice said as they entered. Tom said nothing to Luna as he
looked at the room around them, colorful hues of light pouring in from the stained glass
windows with large, plush chairs that swallowed Luna whole.

“He’s a bit sleepy,” Cedric said, taking a seat in one of the chairs and folding into it with a
chuckle, softly stroking the side of the chair as if it were a happy cat.

“Here is a perfect spot for cat naps,” Luna said, turning her hand upward to offer him the
other soft chair.

Tom felt his lips turn into a smile as his legs pulled him to stand within the patch of brilliantly
colored light. Inlaid within the expansive geometric steel were a hue of the Hogwarts colors,
clashing and colliding brilliantly with one another to cast such a perfectly chaotic blend of
warmth onto him. Breathing in the warmth of the moment, he found his magic turning
outward, reaching out to the strands radiating from the warmth as other parts of him searched
to connect.

“How long has this been here?” Tom asked, his own voice sounding far away from his ears.
He inhaled softly when he felt a brushing connection from Hogwarts, soothing that ache
within him as if he were groomed by his parents.

The internal warmth retreated as Tom returned to reality.

“Luna showed me this place when I was a Champion,” Cedric said, seeming to not take care
of Tom’s odd behavior. Then again, the wizard seemed quite content to spend his time with
Luna and Tom. Distracting himself from more stress, Tom made his way further into the
room the aroma of lavender coming from a small burning candle that reflected spots of green
and blue light through the lantern.

“I needed a place to practice without being disturbed. Had I known about the Room then…”
Cedric trailed off with a chuckle, pulling his wand from his belt. Cedric waved his wand in
the air, without speaking, pulling from the molecules around him to transfigure a tea set. The
teapot itself was made of iron while the teacups were fragile on the tiny saucers he included
to make.

Some odd fluttering was happening in Tom’s stomach that wasn’t green of envy at the
strength of another magical person. As he looked away, conflicted at the forefront of his
mind, he caught the piercing gaze of Luna from within her chair, who only gave a wink.

To avoid looking anywhere else dangerous, Tom dove for the books held in his backpack,
head lowered to the ground in case there was any blood at his cheeks. His maticulace need to
not be seen blinded him from Cedric’s approach.

“You really don’t look good,” Cedric said, walking over to him with a tea cup in his hand.
Closer, enough to smell the honey stirred in the earl gray, Tom forced himself to remain
composed as he sat up and took the offered tea.

He did not thank Cedric, taking a sip instead. His eyes must have slipped closed to savor the
tea warming his physical body because when he opened them, Cedric’s smile seemed to be
proud enough he did not desire verbal gratitude.

Odd feelings and magical or mental exhaustion had Tom’s tongue loose as he said, without
thought of repercussions:

“It happens when the Husk rips at your soul while plaguing your dreams.” He took a sip of
tea, only pausing when the hot liquid slid down his throat he said those thoughts out loud. His
eyes tracked to Luna, who was observing the entire situation without blinking. When Tom
looked at Cedric, the wizard’s brow was furrowed.

“The Husk? You’ve mentioned that a couple times,” Cedric said. Stalling his response, Tom
leaned forward to put the teacup back on the saucer. As his hand connected to the fabric of
the plush blanket hanging over the edge of an ornate trunk, Tom remembered he’d long ago
come to the conclusion that the truth was painful, yet revealed the intentions of people if used
correctly.

Tom sighed as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the chair, settling the blanket
over him. He could honestly say he enjoyed his time with Cedric and Luna. Their magics
were powerful and peaceful all at the same time; Luna’s the might of the ocean at rest while
Cedric stood with all the foundation of a mountain. He felt happier in their presence, a
different kind then when spending time with Harry or Harry’s friends. There was a sense of
bonding between the three that he didn’t feel with the Herd.

“Voldemort,” Tom said, closing his eyes as more sun cast over him. “I have the most of his
soul,” a yawn. “He doesn't like that.”

Best to rip the painful bits off quickly, in Tom’s opinion. There, the painful and ugly truth
spoken from the very source. While Cedric never asked anything of Tom and Harry’s
connection, the article Skeeter wrote about their Twin bond circulating once more in the
event of her death, the Slytherin had little doubt the wizard was curious.

“Won’t be long now,” Luna said, her eyes distant as she saw something.

At this point, so long without sleep or the balm of the Herd, Tom didn’t care if he met the
Husk this evening.

Cedric looked between Luna and Tom, his finger waving between them as the puzzle aligned
to his vision. They both knew of Luna’s abilities and their truth, the great Cassandra taken
mortal once more. Cedric respected Luna- her silent reputation as a Seer.

“You’re...you’re the Dark Lord?” Cedric questioned, disbelief and fear in his tone. Tom
opened half of an eye, moving deeper into the chair. He was standing in the circle of light,
having taken a couple steps back, scent wild with disbelief and a twinge of fear.

Tom avoided analyzing what emotions were bubbling at the scent of Cedric’s fear.
“Yes,” Tom said, pulling the blanket over the part of him that was exposed so he could
unravel his feathers under the fabric. Wanting to avoid the situation entirely now, Tom
allowed his magic to settle his mind, mellowing in the blank space the Husk left as he was no
doubt awake and plotting very evil, evil things with that molding mind of his.

Burrowing deeper into the chair now that his exposed feathers were hidden under the
blanket, Tom felt himself drifting to sleep, missing the startled gasps and hushed argument
Luna had with Cedric.

It meant he also missed Luna telling Cedric to: “look at the kitten, he’s harmless.”

He would have disputed that fact.

Some amount of time had passed with his mind in a blissfully silent haze. Gentle pressure
squeezed his arm, slowly bringing him to wake. The sun patch had moved to cover some of
him, leaving him to stretch in her presence.

“Come on, Tom,” Luna said, Tom opened his eyes slowly, feeling like sandpaper as he
blinked and took in the room.

Cedric, it appeared, had not been scared off by Tom’s confession. He cleared his throat as he
stood up from his own chair, slinging the backpack over his shoulder to signal they were
leaving for the Room of Requirement. There was an awkward smile across Cedric’s lips, but
he was still within this beautifully colored room even after his confession.

Tom looked up at Luna, who put a hand on the side of his cheek in an uncharacteristic way,
no doubt feeling the heat of his face. She winked at him, which only served for his heart to
beat a bit faster.

Only one more confession it seemed…

Cedric walked ahead of them both, opening the door with a slight bow as Luna passed
through it, Tom following after her.

“Don’t want to miss the last DA meeting, my Lord?” Cedric said, playfully elbowing his side
as he walked out of the door.

Surely, Tom’s face could not burn hotter, could it?

The Room of Requirement was already bursting with life as Tom, Cedric and Luna entered
the room. Students came up to him, eager to learn with him and Harry for the last time this
year. Tom felt reinvigorated by their excitement, standing near his twin he spoke of
perfecting the patronus charm.

Students broke into their groups of friends, in the center of the room, to the corners, spaces
along the walls. All sorts of colors and ages of students were in the room, and working with
members outside their houses, outside their years.

Tom could feel his magic was calm, as if telling him this was how it should have been the
first time.
“I’ll make it right,” Tom promised the castle as he observed the first animal sprout from
Neville’s wand, a group of students immediately surrounding the teen as they clapped him on
the back or asked for another demonstration.

When the mass of students dispersed, Harry went back to instructing others, Tom rolled his
eyes with a fond feeling as he saw Neville blush as red as his tie when Hermione snuck him a
kiss on the cheek.

Now that one student had gotten the spell, others followed suit, wisps of white energy and
happiness pushing back whatever pain the Husk might have once caused here. Harry’s stag
burst from his wand, prancing around the sky until he landed with the students, accepting the
touch from students even if he was only vapor.

A shock of pain vibrated from the center of Tom’s head, forcing a hand up to his third eye as
his Husk grew a new emotion in his chest, something vindictive and gleeful that only bode
ill-will.

“Try it,” Luna said, standing next to him as her horse cantered next to Harry’s stag. Tom
smiled sadly, tapping the wand he made in his hand. Harry’s patronus pranced over to Tom,
already lowering his muzzle to Tom’s outstretched palm. A contrasting passing of magic
tingled at the ends of Tom’s fingers when touching the brilliance of his twin’s magic
manifested in physical form.

“Only those with a complete soul can cast the patronus,” he muttered, a false smile on his
lips. As other students learned the spell, the room glowed brightly, no doubt casting what
must have looked like a star from atop Hogwarts spire.

“I don’t believe that,” Cedric said from his other side, bumping his shoulder, Luna doing the
same and effectively pinning him between them. Tom hissed in overstimulation, breaking
from them both. He took a steadying breath, settling the edges at his magic from flaring
outward as the Husk probed him again.

“The lack of a full soul means my magic is under constant strain,” he explained, distracting
himself. “I try to limit the amount I stretch my magic for when I might need it.”

“Oh,” Cedric said. He raised his wand and squared off his shoulders, commanding the spell, a
burst of white and blue light tumbled from his wand, a falcon’s cry piercing the air as it
joined the other animals. “How do you plan on getting your soul back from Voldemort?”

“I plan to eat it from his heart,” Tom said, watching as the bird flickered with the
subconscious fear that Cedric had. Tom tilted his head when the bird brightened, swooping
over them as it made another pass around the perimeter of the room.

“So that’s how you lost this ear?” Cedric asked, reaching up to pull on the jagged scar of his
ear shell. Tom’s hand swatted at it, growing used to the amount of people touching it, yet his
slap did not have the malice or force as he gave other students.

“No, my baby sister ate that.” He blushed further at Luna’s laugh.

A rattling bang interrupted some of the talking. The talking died to murmurs, joy still in the
air, but every patronus flickering with a sense of anxiety at whatever might have caused the
sound.

Tom felt the feathers on his spine rise to the threat, his eyes immediately finding Harry’s in
the crowd, he could see his twin had the same reaction. The wards rippled, not with enough
panic for Tom to think it was the Husk leading the attack, but enough that they were wary.

The bang came again, louder, or with more force as the limestone bricks on the doors
entrance began to shake with dust much like when Tom almost brought the ceiling down on
himself and Beverly. The patronus that had flown around the room in great arcs of light had
fizzled out like a snuffed candle.

“We need to go,” Harry said, waving the students away from the wall. Thinking ahead of
Harry, Tom rushed back to the furthest wall from the hidden doorway. He pulled back the
tapestry, his arms rolled at the sleeves and tinged with feathers as he intentionally connected
his magic to Hogwarts for the first time.

He could feel the limestone, almost like the stones were of his own skeleton, the wards
surrounding the school like the flesh around his body. Tom put his forehead to the stone as
students cried out in alarm when a second attempt at breaching the room came.

In his mind, he willed the very stones of Hogwarts to shift, bending the veins of pipes along
his intention to create a staircase, some pathway, leading from the Room of Requirement to
the Chamber of Secrets. On his brow, Tom could feel the stone transfiguring to the cooler
temperatures of iron, his hand coming to grip a door handle with a resounding creak .

Sweat dripped from the bridge of his nose when Tom opened his eyes, laughing in time with
the third band that came from the other side of the Room’s hidden door. Cracks and some
dust kicked from the stones forced inward, allowing the muffled voice of Umbridge to be
heard.

“It’s done,” Luna said, putting a hand on the shoulder that he fed his magic into. Tom gasped
as he stumbled back, caught by Cedric.

“You really do save your magic for when it matters,” he chuckled, calmer than he had any
right to be in the situation. Tom righted himself, standing taller as he opened the door to the
darkness.

Tom and his twin shared an entire conversation with one look between their eyes.

“No,” Harry said.

Luna and Cedric were both ushering students down the stairs, the students of all houses
whispering in confusion as they began to descend down the dark staircase.

“You are the only one that can open the door from the other side,” Tom said, leaving out the
fact that the Basilisk would not attack the students if Harry was leading them. When Tom still
thought Harry an orphan, his intention to make Harry his heir, he ordered the Basilisk to
remember his scent, one she would never hunt. “Umbridge is vindictive, she can sense my
signature.”

The bang that came against the wall started to crack at the top, fracturing around the
perimeter only allowed them so much time.

“You have to go,” Tom said, pushing Harry to the crowd of students. He noticed that Draco
was still standing at his side, Neville and Hermione flanking the students with their wands
raised as they cast spells against Umbridge to buy even more time.

Another twinge of pain erupted through his head, black and white marble towering over him
with a room filled with prophecy. Tom excused the pain by throwing another spell at the
wall.

“GO!” he shouted, unwilling to waste anymore of his magic on Umbridge.

Today, he would kill her with his hands for this final infraction.

His unusual shout shocked Harry, pulling a flinch from his twin as the last of the students
descended the stairs, leaving their group of friends nervously standing.

Neville and Hermione understood first, the necessity of playing the long game in a way.
Neville put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a nod once, before he touched the railing of
the stairs. Hermione launched herself at Tom, wrapping his neck with both her arms as she
squeezed him.

“You’re very brave,” she whispered, flinching at the explosive sound erupting from the other
side of the wall, shaking the room hard enough one of the glass windows shattered under the
warping pressure.

“Come on, Harry,” Draco said, taking in the entire situation. “You can’t win this one.”

“He’s right,” Luna said, looking sadly between Tom and the door. She raised her hand to
press it against Tom’s cheek. He hoped that his blush, the way his head might have folded
completely into her palm, could be excused for magical exhaustion. “So was Hermione.”

Luna pulled her hand away and with a parting smile, walked into the darkness.

“Just,” Cedric startled when a limestone brick crumbled above them, the hole too high for her
to see who was on the other side. “Eat his heart in bite sized pieces, I guess?” Cedric said, his
playful smile coupled with a shrug. He lifted his hand and pushed a curl away from his face,
smiling sadly as he left Tom behind for the sanctity of the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom felt dust come with the next blast to the wall.

“Warn mother,” Tom said, grateful for Draco pulling Harry away from him. Harry no doubt
could feel echoes of Tom’s fear or exhaustion, but it seemed he couldn’t bear the thought of
leaving Tom behind. “Go, little brother,” he said, flicking his wand to Harry so his feet lifted
off the ground.
“Good luck,” Draco said, the wall beginning to close over him. In a last movement, Tom
tossed his wand through the shrinking hole, knowing that Umbridge would snap it the
moment she got her grubby fingers on it or, if the Husk got his hands on the very key to his
territory’s wards; it was best to let his wand go freely.

His parents taught Tom that he was far from defenseless without his magic.

Tom watched as the Room of Requirement dropped a sage tapestry over the wall, protecting
it from view as an ornate chair, a near throne, formed at the center of the room with a sage
green cushion that matched the fabric of the wall behind him. He walked to it calmly against
the blast of magic that pushed a limestone brick where he was once standing.

He hummed, casually waving his hand so that the debris that Umbridge had already cracked
to hide behind him, transferring the stones' broken wards behind the sage tapestry as another
protective barrier between the Chamber and the Ministry’s puppet.

With that settled, Tom raised his hands, his magic flowing with Hogwarts in favor. Tom
inhaled, collecting his power within his chest, holding the lessons of his parents against his
beating heart.

“Let her in,” he whispered.

Tom was quick to form a white shield around himself and the throne he sat on when the wall
crumbled under Umbridge’s wrath, forcing her to stumble into the Room at the lack of
meeting pressure. Snape and McGonagall, who had no wands in their hands, did nothing to
stop her stumble.

“Welcome, professor,” Tom said, with the welcome smile he learned from his parents;
enough teeth to unsettle someone, not enough to rouse them to be curious. “So glad you
could finally join us.”

“Us?” she hissed, recovering poorly from her stumble as she attempted to walk through the
field of her debris.

“Us,” Tom nodded. “I did tell you. Tea with the Dark Lord?”

He held up the little magical pager for her view, his eyes landing on the Ministry seal. Was it
bold to tempt Umbridge with the very item that could trace each and every member of
Dumbledore’s army directly to their pockets, yes, but Tom’s mother taught him the right prey
needed the right lure.

“Seems I’ll be meeting him tonight then,” he murmured to the lure, knowing Umbridge was
hungry for any scrap, any morsel she could wrap her fat fingers around. His eyes spared a
glace to Severus, his most loyal of followers, seeing the man stood a bit taller, head nodding
minutely in understanding.

Before Umbridge could summon the coin, Tom tossed it out the window behind him, letting
gravity take care of the problem.
He smiled at his defense professor, seeing that Snape, for all he was tired of Umbridge,
appeared to roll his eyes as Tom played with his food.

“You are under arrest, Mr. Riddle.” Umbridge said, stomping her foot much the way a toddler
might.

Tom looked around, feigning disbelief.

“Is that so? On what grounds, professor?”

Any time that Umbridge was with Tom, she was away from searching for the students. Snape
and McGonagall had the alibi of being with her, therefore, also not knowing the whereabouts
of the other students. They would need time to make it to the Chamber and then into their
Houses where they could collectively come up with excuses.

Umbridge raised a wand at Tom, who tilted his head down as if he had antlers and felt his
teeth pull back to reveal a hint of a menacing snarl.

“Accio wand,” Umbridge said, pointing her wand at Tom. When nothing happened, Tom felt
his smile break into a feral one. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said truthfully. He hoped that either Draco or Harry found his wand,
wherever he tossed it.

“The students?”

“Don’t know,” he confessed, not knowing if they were still making their way to the Chamber,
in the Chamber or if Harry had begun to lead them out. Or if Tom miscalculated and he killed
Dumbledore’s Army and fed them to the Basilisk.

“What do you know?” she said, marching right up to him. Oh, even if Severus did give him
veritaserum, every answer Tom gave to her questions was true and it seemed Umbridge might
be smart enough to know that, given her cold wrath.

He smiled.

“That I am the one, true, Dark Lord.”

Tom felt the magic of Hogwarts ripple around him, as if confirming his claim to power in the
moment. Umbridge must not have noticed it, for her smile grew in size. Tom’s wrists collided
painfully with each other in front of his waist. She grabbed where the cuffs were connected to
haul him out of the throne.

“Then we will speak with the Minister,” she growled, dragging him through the debris. Tom
felt his arms pull painfully at the sockets as she dragged him past McGonagall and Snape.

The Beta gave a slight nod of his head, relieving Tom of his worry that Harry, somehow,
wouldn’t get a message to his parents. Severus, his best spy, knew what was coming for them
and had enough experience to prepare for the battle ahead of them all.
Other students watched from the corners or pillars to hide behind as Umbridge walked to the
gargoyle with a sense of victory. Tom made no movement to resist, putting her further and
further from the rest of Dumbledore’s Army, Umbridge went to the floo network.

“Ministry of Magic,” she shouted, waiting little time for the flames to change before pushing
Tom into them, leaving him slightly burned on the arm.

He growled as he tumbled out of the floo onto the cold marble tile of the Ministry. Rather
than look heedlessly for an escape, Tom looked at his surroundings to find the Ministry was
empty, only stray papers flying overhead.

While it might have been years since Tom last stepped within the Ministry of Magic, the
epicenter of British Magical Law was never quiet. Even during the graveyard hours, there
were journalists, researchers, law specialists and a plethora of aurors surrounding the
entrance. That presence of magical life was gone, voided as if never there. The marble tile on
the ground was clean and waxed enough that Tom could almost see his reflection.

This was not good at all- the Husk had vacated the Ministry for long enough the cleaning
charms could re polish the floor. He felt his eyes haze over as his magic stretched outward,
sensing that, yes, there were Death Eaters patrolling the Ministry.

He missed the sound of flames that escaped from the hearth, jolting out of his magical
scouting with a hiss that would hopefully send triggering shivers to the followers listening or
watching.

“Quiet,” Tom said, testing the lengths of Umbridge’s self-preservation.

Tom salivated. If the Husk’s followers were around, then he could wrap his hands around her
throat and squeeze, fight her struggling form to the ground even as she dragged him foolishly
closer to a larger enemy, could take revenge-

A flash of green barrel to her chest, smacking dead in the center and the life leaving her eyes
as Tom watched her crumple to the floor- stunned.

The rasp of a cane approached him. Tom felt his white feathers flare along his back, likely
tearing the cotton shirt he had under his blazer with his anger.

“I had wanted to do that,” Tom said, clutching his hands together even as Lucius Malfoy took
his wrists to remove the binding. Tom felt the vein in his own head throb as he tried to rein in
his wrath for the man that took his kill, one that he’d been waiting, so patiently for.

“I can only imagine, young Lord,” he said respectfully. Tom growled at him, baring his teeth
with an inhuman sound coming from his throat. The man might have flinched, satisfying
some small part of Tom, but no, this infraction would not stand.

Tom smiled, his hands free now, at the man’s fear.

“I suppose you can take her place,” he said, walking ahead of his new capturer.
 Tom knew the layout of the Ministry by heart now, or the path that the Husk wanted him to
take. Tom blazed the trail to the elevator where Lucius was kind enough to open the door for
Tom, waiting to board, then opened the door as they walked deeper into the Ministry. For all
that Tom promised the man’s death, he was rather good at keeping his manners about him.

When he arrived at the large door, black archways that hung over Arthur Weasley’s dying
form, two other Death Eater’s flanked him. The double doors were pushed open by the grunts
in masks, opening the same hall that was haunting him since he started Hogwarts.

In a strange sense, it was like walking through a lucid dream. So many nights he’d walked
the path, Tom found himself reaching out to touch the edges of the stacks of shelves holding
prophecies as if he wasn’t held at wandpoint from several magical killers at his flank. He and
his Husk were oddly together in their state of separation- Tom leading his followers deeper
into the heart of the Ministry.

The nearest door was fifty strides from where the orb the Husk wanted. Tom turned down the
aisle as he plotted his escape, noticing how easy it might be to push over some unstable
stacking systems. Tom hummed, breaking the sound of silence as he turned down to the
middle of the room.

Death Eaters surrounded him and the Husk both only at two separate spaces, stages, within
the same timeline.

Tom looked to Lucius for permission, he received a head nod, and he grabbed the prophecy.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have
thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his
equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of
the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the
Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

Tom’s eyes fluttered in his head, the Husk no doubt hearing the prophecy echoing through his
mind, growing closer if the sensations of anger and glee were anything to go on.

“Huh,” Tom said, coming out of the vision of his Husk flying into muggle London. He
shrugged his shoulders as he turned to Lucius, his eyes attached to the orb, hair obscuring the
smirk on his face.

Tom smashed the orb into the ground, a wisp of grey vapor lost to the air around them with
nothing more than a whisper.

Chapter End Notes

Oh my lovely friends, I am very, very, much looking forward to next meal. Be well, you
won't want to miss it!
 Sins, Bare to the World
Chapter Notes

Hello guests,

"Let it be known that nothing here is vegetarian..."

Please enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gobsmacked would be the word Tom would slap onto Lucius’ forehead as he gaped like fish,
looking at the wisps of prophecy evaporating before his very eyes. Tom felt his lips pull back
beyond his canines to smile. This only made him more terrifying as he roared, rushing
forward with his fists.

Lucius caught the first strike in his sternum, the force of Tom’s strike knocking him into the
other Death Eater. Tom narrowly dodged a non-lethal spell thrown by the other flanking
Lucius- it sizzled in his ear, distorting the sound of the shell Mischa had bitten.

It seemed his Husk needed Tom alive and was willing to sacrifice his servants.

Well...Tom wouldn’t ever say no to a free meal.

Using the advantage of his small stature, Tom reached up and grabbed the man by his mask,
knocking him into Lucius and the second stumbling Death Eater. Wrestling the Death Eater
in his grasp, Tom wrapped his hands around the man’s skull and twisted, snapping and
popping the bones of his neck around as the thrill of murder echoed in his magic.

Growling low in his throat, Tom dropped the body, turned tail and ran.

He could hear voices and the sounds of feet closing in on him. Leaving the main path, Tom
ducked behind a shelf of orbs. He gathered magic into his palms, a bright emerald green ball,
and blasted the magic to the prophecies before him. The glass shattered around him, shallow
cuts tracing his forearms, Tom drew his feathers to his hands and gripped the wood.

He grunted as he pushed, the weight monumental until it tipped enough that gravity could aid
him. The orbs fell to the ground, the stacks of shelves clapping into one another as the echoes
of Seer’s covered the sound of Tom rushing for the nearest door.

Tom barreled through the door, stumbling into a hoard of Death Eaters, their wands held
nervously at their sides as masks looked to one another for instruction. Chaos and the sounds
of screams set the stage as Tom looked at the five-
And smiled.

He brought his hands to his cheeks immediately, casting a shield around him as three of his
old followers shot stunners at him. They ricochet off the shield, one bouncing into a masked
witch. Tom calmed his breathing within the bubble, turned his hands as if scooping sand and
willed the marble to do the same.

The cold black and white tiles obeyed his command, contorting inward as the Death Eaters
stumbled, their ankles catching in the grinding stone. Like quicksand, the ground swallowed
them, shattering bones and leaving behind screams as their inevitable demise left Tom
without worry of being attacked from his flank.

Tom closed the caged elevator door in front of him, hitting the button to rise to the main
levels. The outer door closed as Lucius seemed to stumble out from the Mystery Room.

“Well that’s bound to be a problem,” Tom said, the jaunty elevator music the only other
sound breaking the silence.

The elevator door opened with a ding and Tom was greeted with spellfire. It pushed him back
against the cage, knocking the wind out of him. Another wave of spells was directed at him,
this time, catching the bars that comprised the elevator. They were manipulated around his
body with creaking precision, constricting him as he was lifted above the ground like a bug in
a web.

Tom shouted in pain as they twisted like barbs around his ribs. Feathers came to his skin on
instinct but offered little protection against the strength crushing him. He gripped the cold bar
that wrapped itself around his neck, trying to pry the bar off as it squeezed the soft cartilage.

There was no saying what state the Husk wanted Tom and alive is a surprisingly wide
margin.

Growling as spots blinked over his eyes, Tom felt the bar around his neck give, breaking
under his magic and allowing air into his lungs. It was enough air to allow him a full scream
when the other bars around his ribs cracked the bone.

The pain was blinding, ringing in his ears, different from suffocating. With no ground to
stand on, the bars were the only support keeping him upright, painfully shifting along his
ribcage. He squirmed, no place safe from the heat and fire erupting with every breath. He
tried to cry out, tears coming around his eyes, but could only gasp as he tried.

He did not hear a series of shouts, curses and furious spellfire directed at the Death Eaters
containing Tom in the elevator. Tom only dropped his tears when he felt hands come around
his torso, eyes opening with the pain to find it was Cedric’s hands on his body, Draco and
Hermione at his sides breaking the iron bars.

He cried out when he fell into Cedric’s arms, shaking in pain, aborted breaths trying to push
through the sensations. He could hear Cedric hushing him, telling him to open his mouth.
Burning tears obscured his eyes from seeing Draco pass a large potion to Cedric, who tipped
it into Tom’s gasping mouth.
Oh, the sweet wonders of magic.

Tom’s ribs were by no means healed completely, but he could feel the ligaments and sinew
that snapped along his bones shifting back into place, the brilliant throb no longer blinding
him with each inhale. Cedric was still supporting him, a hand running over the back of his
head as he caught his breath.

A short, however brief moment, Tom simply basked.

“How did you get here?” Tom rasped, pushing himself to stand upright as he looked at his
twin.

“Through the chimney!” Harry said. His twin walked to him, holding the very wand he
created within the territory of his Herd. At the feeling of the wood against his fingers, he felt
a warm pulse- reminding him of what he had in this new life to protect.

“Ginny and Ron took the lead once Harry opened the other end of the Chamber,” Hermione
said, returning to Neville’s side room where he scouted down the hall.

“I reckon once Dumbledore hears of this, he’ll summon the Order of the Phoenix,” Neville
whispered, taking cover behind a pillar as they began to move out.

“I’ll lead,” Luna said, pushing ahead of the group. The others fell around her, eyes looking
above for any attack, scanning into the dark hallways as they silently moved.

They approached the staircase with a concerning degree of ease. Tom’s heart was pounding in
his chest, knowing that each student was thinking the same as he: the Death Eaters were
laying an ambush for them in the floo foyer. It was a strategic play on their part, seeing as the
floo’s were the only way out.

A clicking caught Tom’s ear, his head turning down from where they came. He looked at his
twin, who had heard the steady sound of footsteps approaching.

“They are trying to flush us,” Harry growled, Tom seeing evidence of his feathers mixing
with his hair.

Tom hissed, his left hand reaching for his third eye as a new migraine tore through his skull.
He blinked through the dazing pain, shaking his head as if it could shake the Husk from their
track.

“Look!” Hermione said, pointing at the floo.

Fires erupted in a tangent, the temperature of the room rising as magic whipped around them.
Tom grounded his stance, looking into the foyer as the hearths sputtered a rainbow of colors
with the first to emerge being one cloaked in all black with a sneer on his face as he launched
into battle. Glee filled Tom’s mind at the sight of his most loyal follower leading the charge
of the Order of the Phoenix as they poured from the flames.

Gathering a bombardment spell, Tom fired it above the foyer. Sounds of all kinds distracted
attention from the group of teens as they moved down the circular staircase. Protecting each
other from the Death Eaters that spotted them, the seven made it to the main foyer.

Tom only needed to see them to safety.

Sirius spotted them first, waving a hand signaling for them to wait. Neville did not follow this
order, raising his wand, he shot a spell at the threshold above the two Death Eater’s standing
between them and the Order. The rocks tumbled onto the unsuspecting wizards in time for the
group to scurry over to the excellently timed shield by Severus.

“How did you get here?” he asked. He shot a spell at a Death Eater, a violent curse that made
his target’s blood spatter against the surrounding walls. “You used a chimney, didn’t you?”

“They’d be barking mad not to,” Sirius said, taking Harry’s side as the group began to move
back towards the floor.

A circle of Order members had surrounded the group of teens, a legion of magical people
combating against the darkness that spanned generations, politics and magical beliefs.
Hermione and Neville stood side by side, picking off the Death Eaters from the sides and
high above. Draco and Harry were quick with their spells, standing behind seasoned witch’s
shields as they tossed spells in the heart of the siege. Luna followed along the group with a
supernatural sense, sending spells with a sense of carelessness, only to see that Death Eaters
ran into those very spells she cast. Cedric stood behind her, shielding Luna from present
threats that tried to remove her, acting as her eyes when they moved.

Tom saw himself, flying over the lights of muggle London with a sickening sensation in his
stomach, a hunger and repulsiveness. His head felt as if it was splitting in two, cleaved down
the center, as the last shard of his soul was so so close to him, painfully trying to reach and
connect to Tom once more, to be whole again.

Tom looked at his friends, his legs slowing as they moved away from him and his Husk
entered the foyer. He came with a gust of chilling air, though maybe only Tom could feel it as
a sense of fear struck him, once again close to a horrible creation of his.

The being was tall, cloaked in the very darkness that swept at his sides, extinguishing the floo
hearths that were nearest to the Husk. His magic poured around the perimeter of the Ministry,
reflecting a dark void against the mirroring dark marble.

Tom swallowed the ball in his throat, his hand coming to grip his wand tighter. The Husk
tilted his head as he looked at Tom, as if sensing his trepidation.

A spell fired at the Husk had him hissing, taking several steps back as they both looked at the
one who threw the spell.

“Severus,” the Husk hissed, his head dipping like a cobra, robes billowing like one. “Today,
you die.”

“We shall see,” said Severus.

Three quick spells were violently thrown at one another, meeting halfway in the middle. A
pause, four more spells. And then, the violent dance began for the two.

“Get them out of here,” he heard a voice say, coming from a man with a rolling eyeball and
peg-leg. He, Remus and a woman with bubblegum hair began to move as one unit, flanking
around the man before making their way to the kids.

“Tom!” he heard Cedric shout, taking notice that tom did not keep up with the group. The
shout of Tom’s name alerted Harry, who was now beginning to turn around and interfere with
their overall movement to the floo network.

There was a growing siege at the floo, spellfire raining down from every which way as every
magical being attempted to avoid the duel between the Husk and Severus Snape. Tom aimed
his wand from the corner wall he was taking cover behind, taking down a Death Eater that
was keeping the group pinned in one location.

“We need to move,” a woman in pink hair said, wrapping tendrils of golden light around
Cedric and Harry as they tried to move back into the fray. Tom winced as he heard Harry
yelling for him to get to the floo.

That couldn’t happen.

As much as Tom’s instincts and logic screamed that he should dive for the floo network, it
would only draw the Husk’s attention to his friends, to Harry, to Cedric and Luna. Tom could
see that with every spell the Husk cast at Severus, his attention was still firmly on Tom.

Tonight, one way or another, this would end.

With his attention split on protecting Severus from stray spells and taking out Death Eater’s
preventing the group from making it to the floo network, Tom could see from the corner of
his eye the moment that Severus was disarmed.

He felt it too, the Husk’s inner joy that a rodent, a parasite, would be squashed before all
magical eyes. The Husk’s slit nostrils flared with success and Tom could taste the victory on
his tongue as his other shot that oh so familiar green curse towards his most loyal follower.

Tom refused.

The man who had spent years under his command as a collected Potion-Master who’s sole
task was to heal his mangled followers. Through strife and triumph, a lowly Death Eater had
become the Beta of his Herd.

Tom would not be the one to kill his most loyal of followers; years of terrified dedication in
his first life who delivered him a great sham of a prophecy, taking care of Harry when he bit
into his own wraith, creating a vaccine against the Husk and still loyal to Tom Riddle, the
fawn.

Tom roared as he emerged from his shelter and fired an exhausting maelstrom at the Husk
spell with draining power. He snarled as he whipped his wand, pushing Severus to the
ground, sliding him along the path of his wand until the vampire was with Remus. With
Severus there, Tom could stand against his Husk and know the Order members could defeat
those that laid siege to his friends.

Tom felt an odd grace wash over his body as he stepped around the debris, ignoring the cry of
his name from his twin. His body was shaking, exhaustion and shock having long set into his
body. The ribs that broke on the elevator were not healed, further aggravated by the running
and disrupting any healing the potion might have done.

Standing firm, Tom let the din of the fighting around them dampen to small muffled bursts of
the floo networks being primed for use.

Either must die at the hands of another.

“Come with me, boy,” the Husk whispered, the sound of his chilling voice reaching Tom’s
mind, not his ears. The Husk stretched his hand, wand held limply in the other, and beckoned
Tom back into the lonesome darkness.

HIs ears rang, head splitting with pain that made him wince, his stance weakened as the Husk
tempted and tormented him.

A phoenix cry broke whatever connection the Husk was manipulating, the sound of Fawkes
like a bomb reining down over muggle London. Much like the bombs, it exploded in a wave
of fire, bringing forth Dumbledore standing in next to Tom.

The three wasted no time, no moment of hesitation, as they violently threw spells at one
another.

Fighting against his own parasitic magic was draining him faster than the pain in his ribs
distracted. Tom focused on the spells that his Husk threw around the two in the hopes they
would distract the two. Tom allowed Dumbledore to lead the centermost attack.

As his will waned, the grip of his wand slick with sweat and blood, the feathers along his
back rose as if they were radar. In his magic, along the white tines of his feathers, Tom could
feel a new burst of protection and happiness, the feeling of being rescued.

Motivated, Tom curled a spell to form a ball, watching it glow as he remembered the Weasley
Twins fireworks show. Behind the Husk’s head stood a colorful glass mural of the might of
the Ministry of Magic. Tom felt vindictive pleasure as he threw the ball of light at the glass,
stunning the creature as glass rained down behind him.

As the waterfall of glass finished cascading to the floor, Tom saw his parents charge the
Ministry corridors to the group of Death Eaters that pinned his friends from safety. While
they might have pounded on the wizards, outflanking the Death Eaters, Tom could see they
were looking for him.

Tom smiled as he lifted the shards of glass on the foyer floor, his sense of smell beginning to
fill with blood as he pushed his soul to it’s capacity, erecting a wall of glass between him and
the entire floo network. He curled his hand in, solidifying the glass to something impossible
to break into, calcifying it as he transfigured the stone to the very same of Hogwarts, the
wards reaching for every space to connect to the others in a web of crystalline protection.

Tom panted as the reserves of his magic slipped from his grasp- his family, his friends, his
Herd, safe; even from himself. He watched his mother rush to the glass, both hands
slamming over it with his name falling silent now the glass stood tall.

When he looked at Dumbledore, there was a fragile moment of silence, resignation, then a
head nod.

Blood dripped on his wand, the scent of blood coming from his own nose.

The Husk roared with rage, something monstrous that made his soul ache in pain and ice
found only in the depths of Wool’s Orphanage.

The Death Eater’s were closing in on them. Those that were closest to the floo, trapped
within Tom’s wall of glass, were easily disposed of since they were cut from their numbers.
The woman with purple hair hauled Hermione and Cedric to the fire, shoving them in as the
wards around the glass wall flashed- indicating they would be going to Hogwarts.

Tom’s friends, his twin, his Herd…Cedric and Luna…they were safe from every monstrous
thing he created.

Tom found himself lucky that enough members of the Order were on his side of the glass to
combat the remaining Death Eaters.

Dumbledore pushed his shoulder, Tom knowing he would have to find another angle to attack
the Husk. A forward charge would be suicide, but with Dumbledore keeping the Husk
occupied, Tom could outflank him if he was fast enough.

He waited until the wizards were locked in a beam of magic before he forced his legs to carry
him to the perimeter of the room. He kicked out a Death Eater from his path, taking cover
behind a pillar. The Husk sent a curse his way, taking a chunk from the marble, but was
forced to defend himself from Dumbledore.

Tom was not brave, he was smart; smart enough to know he could not beat his Husk on
magical ability alone, only his teeth could defeat him.

Scrambling away from an electrical blast that frayed along Dumbledore’s magic, Tom
stumbled away from the fraying parts of their locked magic as he tried to gain further ground
to ambush the Husk.

From his blind spot, a determined Death Eater suffering from blood loss with enough breath
to cast one more spell.

Pain erupted along Tom’s chest, the cracks and fissures that were trying to heal with whatever
potion Draco fed him were obsolete with the new injury. It sent him stumbling to the ground,
curling in a fetal position with his ears ringing. As he writhed on the floor, he watched as the
Husk used Dumbledore’s shock to disarm the elderly wizard.
Tom smiled at the inevitably of it all- neither one shall live while the other survives; no
matter how hard Dumbledore might have tried, it appeared that Tom’s name would find itself
in his diary again. The Husk, caught in a split second choice between killing Dumbledore
disarmed or himself...

Tom Marvolo Riddle hadn’t the energy to heal his ribs and the sensation of geyser-like pain
kept him from shifting to save himself from the Killing Curse hurtling towards him.

Tom could smile though; his Herd was safe and that was what mattered.

Impossibility struck again, time repeating itself as someone threw themselves in front of the
Killing Curse.

“No,” Tom whispered, breaking free of his physical paralysis when his mind was petrified at
the image before him.

Dumbledore, falling to his knees as he faced Tom.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, the Husk...they’d killed so many people
with that curse. All noticed there was a brief moment, fragile, when the victim was caught
between life and death, commonly a single breath and a blink of the eyes.

Tom raised his body to catch Dumbledore’s between that moment.

“No,” Tom whispered, his magic fluttering in his body painfully.

Dumbledore blinked.

“See?”

Tom was in Dumbledore’s office again, this time, far too early in the morning. To the man’s
credit, the two accidentally bumped into one another on an evening stroll.

The stars were brilliant that night too, he recalled that he felt at peace that evening, even if
the Husk did wake him. It was a spring morning, cold enough that Tom should have put a
sweater on, but it made him feel closer to Herd when he wore his feathers under his robe.

He did not greet the man as he approached, both knowing of the other’s presence,
Dumbledore stood next to Tom as he overlooked the sleeping Forest slowly coming to life.

“Why hasn’t he attacked Hogwarts,” Tom asked, recalling the murder of Arthur Weasley
before Yule. It was a dreary spring evening, the windows only cracked slightly to allow fresh
air in, closed enough to keep the cold out.

“I imagine for the same reason you have difficulty fighting Voldemort,” Dumbledore said,
filling his cup of tea. “He loves this school, as it was both your solace and haven. He would
not harm that image any more than you are willing to harm your own soul.”

“By that logic, he shouldn’t be able to harm me.”

“He hates you; loathes that he envies you.” At Tom’s look of confusion, Dumbledore smiled
as he clarified. “That you were chosen by a family.”

The family that was now trapped on the other side of the glass with the same wards that
echoed Hogwarts- impossible to break.

“How do I get the shard myself?” Tom asked, petulantly sitting back in the chair as he looked
out the window, able to feel the ache of his soul searching for the last piece. Dumbledore
tapped on his teacup twice with his finger, his eyes tracking over Tom with a gaze that held
knowledge beyond wonder.

“Do you hate the part of yourself that has killed other magical beings?” He asked, Tom
immediately blushing with shame as he hid his gaze for the wooden knots on the floorboards.
The wizard hummed. “You are both fearful of each other- the image that stands before the
mirror.”

Tom didn’t understand his feathers at first. Now, they kept him warm at night, assured him
that he had a family, a Herd in the silent drops of time when he was alone in the darkness of
nightmares awoken. Was Dumbledore suggesting he drop his feathers.

“How?”

“Defeating inner demons takes monumental courage,” Dumbledore said, giving him a smile
that reminded Tom he was once the lover of Gellert Grindelwald, his magical father as Dark
Lord. “And it takes forgiveness, Tom Riddle.”

The man chuckled at Tom’s bewildered expression, not at all thinking those were the words
of advice he was willing to impart.

“You’ll see.”

Dumbledore’s weight dropped heavy into Tom’s arm, the pain in his leg crippling him to the
marble.

“No, no, no!” Tom whispered, said, shouted , his hand running over his chest, searching for a
heartbeat. To his neck for an echo of a pulse.

There was no way.

It was impossible…

Tom didn’t think, never would have imagined, in all his greatest dreams of slaughtering
Dumbledore and worst nightmares of being killed in turn. Yet the heavy weight as blood
ceased pumping, the lungs deflated, the brain cut out and magic was burned.

Death.

Tom was devoid of everything. He felt his feathers fall from his body, shedding with welts on
his side, the bruises exposed from his cracked ribs turned blue and purple. Glass from
prophecies that fell over his shoulders, bits of them left raw.
Dumbledore’s body finally sank over Tom’s own, effectively keeping him tacked to the
marble tiles under his injuries. Tom could hear nothing, hardly see anything, only feel the
dull vibrations of his Herd trying to break through his glass.

All sensation, every reaching point, synergy and wholesome magic connecting to him even
as the Husk pulled his hair back to painfully arch his spine.

“Pathetic boy,” the Husk whispered. “I will take everything from you.”

A cold and scaled thumb pressed painfully against his third eye and Tom was assaulted with
pressure, a hot brand searing into his skull.

Tom told Dumbledore he could do nothing to prevent the Husk from entering his mind, only
keep Harry oblivious so he didn’t needlessly scratch at the wall and the Husk from figuring
the true recipient of the dreams.

He was useless to watch as the Husk dove into their shared memories. He watched his own
encounter with his father and mother teaching him to hunt for the very first time within the
basement- slaughtering a witch to himself holding Mischa only months ago, her hands always
reaching for the bit of ear she chewed off as if hungry for the rest of it.

Tom could feel blood dripping down his nose as he desperately attempted to keep the Husk
from his mind any further...the blood might help...hemorrhaging would stop the flow of
memories.

Their minds this closely merged allowed for Tom to feel the zing of euphoria as he ripped
himself from Tom’s mind, smiling with his pale lips exposing long fangs dripping with
venom.

“There it is, weak child,” The Husk said, hand still in his hair, back painfully arched.

Even in this painful position, his leg trapped between marble and Dumbledore’s corpse,
cracked ribs finally snapping at the angle, Tom could find his twin through the tears of his
eyes. He couldn’t afford to lose time.

Harry’s green eyes were desperate as Remus held him back, dragging his kicking, screaming,
and feather wracked body towards the floo fire.

Harry, he spoke through their bond. No matter Tom’s broken ribs- the beginning of their
relationship wasn’t verbal, spoken through writing of mind, the meshing of magic. Tom
needed no aborted lungs to reach and connect to his twin.

His magic flinched at the feeling of his first wand pressed against his chest. His heart
quivered.

He’s going for Mischa. Tell mother and father-

Tom blinked.

He exhaled.
Chapter End Notes

"Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time...He felt powerful."
 Pumped Up Kicks
Chapter Notes

Me at the dinner table: "yeah, I killed him."

Oh man, I spoil y'all rotten. Please enjoy this long chapter I cooked up for you!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Everyone halted at the stunning display of magic from a young Tom Riddle; shards of glass
that cracked and merged with the marble, raising with towering force that brought down
several ceiling panels. He panted, magic sparkling around him as blood wept from his nose,
standing tall next to Dumbledore with more courage than any child had right of earning.

When Voldemort screamed, Sirius found himself back in the fray of battle. Standing next to
Mad-Eye Moody was a welcome ally, capable of handling numerous wizards attacking as
Sirius stuck at those not keeping in line.

“These aren’t his Inner Circle,” Moody said, taking a Death Eater down with a jinx to the
stomach. “Where are the bastards?”

Sirius heard the sound of shoes clattering on the marble from behind. Perhaps the bastards
were attempting to outflank them. Sirius turned with spells on the tip of his tongue, walking
to the threshold of another door. Dust covered the room, the sound of death eaters panting
behind masks the only indication he was not alone. Explosions and other spells rang behind
him, but an ambush from the tail was suicide.

A cutting hex from a familiar voice was thrown his way, Sirius making cover behind an
ornate bookshelf. Sirius growled as he took cover around the perimeter of the room in the
hopes of striking from their sides. He popped over a desk and tossed one Death Eater in the
air by their ankles, striking the second who gazed at their suspended friend with surprise.

“You, you get the binders,” Sirius said, hissing in Latin as thick white straps wrapped around
the third Death Eater that attempted to ambush the foyer. “Nurse Kenson, I should have
smelled the filth on you.” The white bindings constricted around his form, wrapping arms
around himself until leather buckles clipped him tight. The wizard was left squirming on the
floor, his mask askew on the ground, gagged beneath it.

Sirius’ intention was dark as he approached the wizard that ‘aided’ him in St. Mungo’s by
withholding pain potions and pressing on his wounds. As he lifted his wand, his ring finger
burned with white hot intensity.

Grimmauld’s floo wards has been used. Sirius shot a stunner at Nurse Kenson, rubbing the
black opal of his ring. The crest of the Black Estate vanished to show small printed initials.
Narcissa’s was in the typical spot, Remus arrived and with him: DM and HP

His pup and cousin.

A sense of cold fear poured through Sirius as he raced past the unconscious heap of Kenson
and back into the foyer, practically colliding with Moody.

Voldemort, standing with one hand lowering from his chest, walked away from the foyer and
the floo network. Several dark clouds of apparating death eaters approached him, Lucius,
Bellatrix and Fenrir, he recognized with seething rage, hardly noticing the other masked
wizards he summoned.

The large marble pillar that provided them decent cover, prevented Sirius from seeing the
horror as he removed wizards from his path. Voldemort took hold of the followers he
summoned and apparated away with a cloud of darkness.

And perhaps the dismissal of Voldemort was what drew his attention to the center of the
room where two bodies laid atop one another. He gasped, stumbling as air was punched from
his lung. His eyes tracked in a painful line to the glass.

Where Will was sobbing as he slammed against the glass, Hannibal standing shellshocked
with Severus equally as stunned. High pitched ringing filled his ears.

Sirius shifted forms, panting with the acidic smell of magic contained in one area. A smaller
and more agile form allowed him to dart around the debris, dodge spells and tear at Death
Eaters from their ankles. He felt a spell graze along his shoulder, but this did not stop him
from making a charge to the two in the middle of the room.

The animagus did not notice that with the disappearance of their Lord, the Death Eaters lost
sense of confidence and found themselves painfully subdued by members of the Order.

With the dust beginning to settle, Sirius slid along the marble tiles, his nose searching for the
impossibility of any scent. He felt himself shift, his hands coming to rest on the wounded
flesh of Tom Riddle.

“Ah pup,” he said, hot tears falling down his eyes. He looked up, his eyes falling on the sight
of his parents, held by Severus, the man pushing them with all his might, teeth bared. Sirius
could see he was shaking Hannibal, insisting something as he looked at Will.

None of them spared a glance to their son, their little fawn, as they popped away.

Sirius couldn’t find words in his mouth, a hot ball of emotion strangling him. Left with
nothing to do, Sirius gently moved Tom’s body out from under Dumbledore’s, turning them
both so they laid next to each other.

A fresh wave of tears pooled down his face as he though of lowering more of those he cared
for into the ground. He felt like throwing up as he removed Dumbledore’s glasses so he could
close his eyelids.
Tom’s eyes were still caught on the floo network, where Sirius, any of the members, should
have seen the pup to safety. Sirius felt silent tears slide down his eyes when his hands
touched his cooling flesh, mangled and bruised, welts and injuries making the image of his
death that much worse.

Years of being a patient of St. Mungo’s meant Sirius had learned a couple of healing spells.
While it would do nothing to bring him back, the Alpha’s would have to collect him; they did
not deserve the image of their son so broken.

Sirius’ magic was drained, his emotional state exhausted, but he could summon enough
magic for the young Dark Lord.

Though his magic fused the bones together, ribs pulling out of his punctured lungs, the jolting
of his body was not one of life. His magic healed the teen, freshening his hair, removing the
blood from his body to mend the smallest of wounds.

There were still welts, bruises, and the spots from where every feather had molted but the
worst was mended. Sirius felt his hand quake as if he first was free from Azkaban, putting it
over Tom’s chest, to check, to make sure that...

As if…

...as if the twin of Harry Potter could survive the Killing Curse.

Beneath his palm was the same scar Harry had on his forehead, his chest never to expand
with air again. Sirius shook himself out of the grief long enough to grip under Tom’s limp
body and shift him onto the robe, running his hands over the feathers that Tom molted before
he died.

The feathers of the very boy that proved to Sirius' brother Regulus was a brave man who
defied the Husk in every way; sacrificing himself to one day make a monster mortal.

Sirius was glad he was not the beta of the pack- Remus was right, as always, that the easiest
way to kill the Alpha’s was to hunt their fawns. He and Remus only saw Harry as a means the
Husk would destroy Hannibal and Will.

“I’m sorry, pup,” he wept, looking at the glass barrier the pup made to protect his Herd. Sirius
was the only Herd member on this side of the glass, the others having retreated to Hogwarts
and his mate with Harry and Draco to Grimmauld as the Order members picked off the Death
Eaters.

Tom’s eyes were still open, gazing helplessly at the floo he couldn’t make it to, which the
Order failed to protect. His fingers pulled the windows of his eyes shut, moving
monotonously to take hold of the robes edges and close him until funeral rites could be
prepared.

*
Minerva McGonagall found herself pacing the lengths of the Headmaster’s office, ignoring
the murmurs of the portraits above her. Every window was open, letting her hard gaze pierce
into the Forbidden Forest, the treetops covered with the thick humidity that came with
summer’s night.

Umbridge was quite displeased to find that while she could sit within the Headmaster’s
office, she had no control over any of Hogwarts foundational powers until Dumbledore
retired them to another or died. In the event of his death, McGonagall title of Deputy
Headmistress would no longer apply to her as the control of Hogwarts securities and wards
would transfer to her.

Fifteen years ago, eerie and uncertain nights like these, McGonagall had a war torn and
shielded heart. She understood the duty of assuming the role of Headmistress should anything
unlikely happen to Albus. Fifteen years of peace, glorious and flourishing peace, broke down
the walls and barbs that protected her heart, eased her mind, and steeled her tongue.

Even with the man gone, Hogwarts was still under his command. Try as Umbridge might,
Hogwarts was more unified than ever.

A wounded pride burned within her heart and provided enough magical power to break
through the bricks of the Room of Requirement. Yes, McGonagall was aware of the students
‘secret’ club. Yes, she was getting older, but her students underestimated the extent of her
aging ears.

She and Severus were both expecting to find the students trapped, huddled, and awaiting
judgment. Yet instead, they found Tom Riddle sitting with one leg crossed over the other,
hands on his knees as if he had no cares in the world of Umbridge’s presence. His cool,
indifferent demeanor, laced with an undertone of darkness, this was the Tom Riddle she
remembered from her school days. The boy with a silver tongue, only slightly madder now
he was resurrected.

Minerva felt the brief touch of the responsibility of Headmistress when Tom Riddle declared
himself as the One True Dark Lord, as if Hogwarts itself was agreeing with the teen’s
statement and wanting her to witness his ascension to the throne. The feeling only left her
with anxiety as Umbridge escorted Tom Riddle to the Ministry of Magic.

“Be ready for anything,” Severus said to her. They shared a silent look, old comrades
readying for war once more, dawning the armor and mental forts before diving headlong into
the grime and bloodshed. A mutual nod passed between them, then the wizard turned on his
heels, cloak billowing behind him with more speed than he commonly displayed.

And so Minerva prepared with caution, keeping the students calm. The Heads of Houses
immediately recalled students to their dormitories, using Umbridge as an excuse rather than
panicking them with the truth. As the students returned to their dorms, they could account for
the missing students that took part in the ‘secret’ defense club.

Seven students were missing, an alarming, powderkeg mix of students that likely were the
ones who organized, communicated, educated, and mobilized such a movement under
Umbridge. At least one student from each house, an ear in every corner of Hogwarts to
whisper, had vanished without any student willing to speak.

Cedric Diggory

Hermione Granger

Neville Longbottom

Luna Lovegood

Draco Malfoy

Harry Potter

Tom Riddle

“One of the students has to know where they might be!” Filius demanded, looking at the list
of names of students that did not return to their Houses.

“Binns has assured me, the ghosts have looked through all the hidden rooms and pathways
that lead to Hogsmeade,” Pomona said, wringing her hands together.

“The students are restless and already asking for answers,” McGonagall said, feeling as if her
headache would foreshadow how the rest of the night might progress.

One of the many floating contraptions around the Headmaster’s office brightened, the
professors looking up at the blinding light. McGonagall’s heart began to pick up in pace as
several others illuminated, others chiming in alarm.

“Go back to your students, we’ll communicate with the patronus.” McGonagall walked
around the desk, flicking her wand at the warding alarms. “Evacuate the students to the
kitchens, then-” she paused, looking at her fellow professors as more alarms blared overhead,
warning them of the fight approaching. “Protect the students.”

They rushed out of the room, leaving Minerva to silence each alarm individually, turning the
spells within to activate the protections of Hogwarts. With a sparing glance at the list of
unaccounted students, Minerva left Dumbledore’s office for her own students.

She wasted no time in getting their attention, the slam of the oak door on the brick walls loud
enough for students to raise their heads.

“We are moving to the kitchens, immediately,” she said, ushering the students forward.
“Prefects lead the way. Stay together, move quickly, and be silent.”

Her tone of voice conveyed the gravity of the situation. Students grabbed their wands and
bags over their shoulders, forming a single file line as they shuffled out of the tower with
whispers trailing between them.
“Ginevra,” McGonagall called, spotting the redhead camouflage within the wallpaper of the
room. She waved her hand, the teen following after without a word.

“Professor,” she said, standing away from the students piling out of her Common Room. It
seemed that, as the youngest of seven, this had hardened her against those standing above her.
McGonagall smiled at her resolve, unraveling the list of names for her eyes to track.

Ginevra chuckled, shaking her head once.

“I may catch snitches, professor, but you don’t see me flying like one, do you”

“Watch your cheek,” McGonagall growled, shoving the list back into her robes. Her fingers
moved to the cold vial sitting next to the parchment. She removed the vial, holding it up to
the light for the witch to see.

Ginny was excellent at potions and it did not take long for her eyes tracking over the brown
bottle to widen in realization at the contents.

“You don’t have to rely on veritaserum, professor,” Ginevra said, walking away from her
without dismissal, bringing up the rear of students. “Fred and George are never apart for
long, they always end up searching for each other.”

She ran her hand along the threshold of the Gryffindor room.

“And you know where Tom Riddle went…”

Ginevra Weasley caught up with the rest of her classmates retreating to the kitchens.

Tom Riddle and Voldemort would both be at the Ministry and it seemed they would both be
joined by a host of rebel teenagers holding the charismatic idea that they could save the world
from monsters.

She righted her witch's hat as she twisted her wand. Standing square before a crypt of marble,
Minerva raised her hand and voice:

“Piertotum Locomotor!”

A cracking of marble sounded as the magic animated within all of them at her order. The first
leapt from its cocoon, landing on the steps without fracturing them. A second landed in a neat
kneel, rising slowly to keep a shield by its side, sword in other hand.

The two flanked either side of her, leading a mass of marble statues with weaponry and
protective magic surrounding their structure.

“Hogwarts is threatened!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Man the boundaries, protect us,
do your duty to our school.”

They marched out in uniformed droves, an imposing force of expressionless marble to greet
those that dared come and harm the children of this institution.
Minerva could feel the anxiety in her lungs, but there was the excited flutter of butterflies that
came with it too. She couldn’t help but hold back a smile as she watched the protectors march
to the perimeter.

“I’ve always wanted to use that spell,” she said to herself, feeling a little extra spark of magic
course through her in anticipation.

The undercurrent of danger did not leave Ginny as she left the Chamber of Secrets with her
brother and Dumbledore’s Army. The students, every house and year, could sense something
changed that evening. Tension only swelled as every professor summoned students back to
their Common Rooms with no information as to what was going on.

All of the students moved in the cover of darkness, the candles slowly flickering out as they
moved to the Kitchens. The ghosts that shuffled them along hushed the students, encouraging
them to move faster through the dark without the use of lumos.

When they all shuffled into the kitchens, Professor Sprout stood in the middle of the door,
looking over all of them.

“Stay quiet no matter what you hear,” she warned, the door closing slightly with her stepping
away from the kitchens. “The Hearth of Hogwarts holds some of the most protective spells.
Don’t. Leave.” and closed the portrait door with a resounding click that had the younger
years whimper. They all watched as the threshold crease shifted to solid bricks. A Slytherin
student rushed to the door, her hand running along what was once the crack of the door and
found nothing.

The Army communicated to each other with their coins, huddled around fellow members
within their house until the moment each were told to rush towards the kitchens. Reuniting
with all the houses crammed together, members of the Army naturally scuffled amongst each
other.

“We’re locked in,” she said, her voice panicked. A Hufflepuff student went over to her,
taking her shoulders and moving her back to the masses.

The first years were practically huddled within the fireplace of the kitchen of Hogwarts. They
were scared and confused, the second and third years as well, at why they were being moved
and locked within the Hogwarts kitchens with only some senior elves for company.

“So,” Ginny said, finally breaking the silence of students she was surrounded by. “Are we
just all going to ignore the Death Eaters outside the Hogwarts bounds or…”

“You don’t really think…” Colin Creevey trailed on, the familiar camera in his hand to give
him something to fiddle with.

Ginny didn’t feel the need to say anything further at the sound of a blast rocking the
Hogwarts foundation to such a degree, the shaking could be felt from within the depths of the
kitchen. Several cries broke along the students, a huddle of colors hugging each other to find
comfort.

Her hands shook with the first signs of panic setting in. Ginny took a slow breath in through
her nose, held it, then exhaled through her mouth. She had picked up this exercise during her
first year, noticing a greater quantity of anxiety than usual students her age. The first months
of Hogwarts she had trouble recalling but her coping mechanisms taught to her by Neville
helped her navigate that first year.

The sound of her brother chewing brought Ginny out of her meditative state.

“Could you stop eating,” she growled, slapping her brother as he shoved another Yorkshire
pudding into his mouth. “What were we even training for with the DA?”

“Ugh, our NEWTS?” Seamus Finnagan said, wincing as another blast came.

“Well,” Cho Chang said, her hand running over the texture of the DA coin as she spoke. “I
mean, we all figured this might happen.”

Ginny felt the hairs on her arm stand, a slight chill taking over the room. Her anxiety spiked,
settling in her stomach and telling her to run as fast as she could.

“Get away from the door,” she hissed, gesturing for those closest to the bricks to huddle
close. Students around her must have sensed the cold, the unnatural feeling seeping into the
room. Muffled whines and grunts from students pushing into each other fell silent when the
first images of frost began to take over the bricks.

Army members had wide eyes looking amongst one another as they stood in front of the
younger students. Ginny swallowed a dry throat, standing her ground, unsure of what to do
with dementors on the other side of the bricks.

Hogwarts seemed to take care of the problem. The Hearth did not waft with flames, rather,
the embers beneath the grates were seemingly absorbed by the stones, and their heat
transferred in an elaborate display of the warding network along the bricks.

Muffled echoes of whines and cries left the door with only the steam flowing from where the
ice seeped through.

“We’re just students,” Parvati Patil said, her hands fiddling with the length of her hair, eyes
darting at any sound that escaped from the room.

The Army members gathered away from the huddled group of students by the hearth,
forming a circle of heads as they whispered to one another.

“Our professors are out there,” Dean Thomas said, pointing to the brick wall.

“I don’t think they’ll be able to handle everything alone,” said Colin, looking up to his friend
Dean.
“Look,” Dean interjected. “I talk to the ghosts a lot to help practice my Quidditch
announcements and found they’re really fast at spreading a message.”

Ron wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

“Uh,” he said, blushing when eyes fell on him. “On that, if we can get out of here,” here
being surrounded by stone, marble and a massive set of iron locks every professor turned to
keep them safe, “and stick to groups of four to six, we can maximize everything we learned
this year.”

“How could we do that?” Cho asked, looking around for any feasible exit.

“Well,” Ron said, “If we can get an eye in the sky,” he looked at Dean, who wore his winning
announcer smile. “Dean can report on where the fighting is and what to avoid with the aid of
the ghosts.”

“I can send you messages with these,” he said, holding up the DA coin in his hand. The
members pulled theirs from their pockets, looking at them with a rush of excitement that
combated against the fear.

“I’ll stay up with you for backup,” Colin said, nudging his friend with an elbow of support.
Cho nodded her head even as she bit her lip in nervousness.

“I don’t want to sit around being scared,” Cho said, maneuvering around students as she
searched for an exit, pulling open doors of foods and spices with a shake of her head. She
shooed students away from the pantry doors as the Ravenclaw continued to search for a way
out.

“We would have to only ambush them, skirmish like flying, erm, fighting.” Ron recovered
from his error as he looked over the students. One by one, volunteers stood up, looking to her
brother for instructions. “There are only three points to enter Hogwarts and if they decide to
take the bridge…”

All eyes fell to Seamus Finnigan, the one with a proclivity for pyrotechnics magic.

“Dementors can’t fly without direction,” Ginny recalled her dad saying to her before he died.
She grit her teeth, nodding her head as she recalled the way he used to speak with pride about
being a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

Ginny and her brother would honor his legacy.

“First, we need a way out of here,” Ginny said, watching as the senior elves helped the
younger students to keep their tears at bay.

“I think I found something,” Cho said, opening a hatch large enough to fit a human. It was
dirty, smelling of old food rot and had some sludge coating the inside of it. She had her nose
turned up at it.

“A trash chute?” Patil said with a stable voice for the first time since they were trapped
within the kitchens. “Count me out.”
Ginny almost, almost, lost her tongue at her fellow housemate but the comment was lost
when she yelped at the sound of another cannon like collision. Much louder, much closer.
And with such force that it shook the stones around them.

“Count me in,” Ginny said, putting a bubble head charm around her head. She walked over to
Chang, pulled the chute door until it yawned open with a mouth large enough to swallow her
whole. “Bottoms up,” she grinned, diving headfirst into the abyss.

Ginny honestly couldn't help laughing at the slide, how it pulled her down and away from
Ron shouting after her. She hoped that as she got further away from him, the shute changing
from brown to a bright orange, that he would follow along.

A quick buzzing sensation passed over her before she was spat out into water. Ginny blew
out bubbles in the water as she kicked herself to the surface, coming up for air and coughing
as she tread water. Fumbling for her pocket, she removed the DA coin and slid a message to
prepare for water.

Ginny swam away from the butt of the shute in the knick of time before her brother splashed
into the water. He too, came up for air gasping.

“Calm down,” she said, swimming over to her older brother and putting a hand on his
shoulder. His eyes found her and calmed immediately, his legs able to keep his head above
water. “This way,” she said, beginning to swim to the shore.

The closer she got to the shore, the more cautious she was, looking for any danger as her legs
gained foot on the stones under water. Still a head floating, she didn’t see any immediate
danger. Then more students that were quick to make the dip into the water, their laughter
quickly silenced by the fighting wizards above them.

“Expecto Patronum,” Ginny whispered, a smile brought to her face as she watched the horse
leap from her wand and stand over the water. Her brother followed suit, his terrier standing
by his side.

When more splashing came, Ginny smirked to see that other DA students must have heard
their conversation and followed after them. Handshakes and soft claps on the shoulder was
the common greeting of DA members as they all gathered around Ron, looking for his
instruction.

“Still time to turn back,” Ron said, magic having dried his clothing. The students that took
the dive made no movement of retreat, even Parvati who might look the most nervous of
them all.

“Do you think Accio will work from here?” Dean asked. “I’ll need a broom to see.” Even
Ginny found herself shrugging. With the entire plan riding on Dean being able to direct their
movements, the student closed his eyes, wiggling his fingers and bouncing on the balls of his
feet.

He pointed his wand in the direction of the Quidditch pitch and said as loud as he could
without blowing their cover: Accio.
Dean looked at the sky, his arm lowering a moment later.

“I think we might need a plan B, mate,” he said, “I don’t think it-” his broom smacked into
his hand like the most crisp high-five ever given. He smiled even if it might have been one
mixed with pain.

“Wicked,” Ron said, nodding his head. “Okay, get in the sky and get the ghosts talking to
you.”

As the students stepped away from Dean, Colin broke from the rank to run up to the wizard’s
side with his patronus floating by his side.

“Let me watch your back,” he said. Dean looked at him once, scooted up his broom and let
his friend get behind him. The two nodded their heads before Dean kicked them off the
ground and into the cloudy sky.

“Right,” Ron said, nodding his head. “Quidditch players,” he addressed, those that were on
the teams stepped up. “Get your brooms and stick to your formations- you’ll be the quick
skirmish.” Several quidditch players of different houses teamed up, having already worked
well and practiced together, Ginny suspected they would be a dangerous force of nature.

“Keep your patronus on you at all times,” Ginny whispered as the group of students began
trekking around the commotion heading into the castle for the Quidditch pitch.

“Seamus,” Ron addressed his friend, the teen stepping up. “The bridge, take out the bottom
truss with a team of four. I don’t know how you manage to make everything explode but
now’s your time to shine.”

Seamus had a very dangerous look on his face. The structural integrity of the bridge was
under threat from two forces now.

Ron turned his attention to Parvati and those that stood nearest to her.

“Parvati, if you want to stay away from the fight, focus on getting the injured out and to the
Hospital wing. Take a group with you, have them split to gather supplies and bring them to
the outside of the Ticklish Pear.”

“Should we use the W’s products?” a student asked, holding up their backpack, stocked full
of the Weasley Twins most valuable explosive materials.

“Absolutely,” Ginny and Ron said, leading the group back to the Hogwarts fighting. They
trudged up the hill of the black lake, the few dementors that tried to approach them were
quickly banished by a glowing cast of blue and white light, making them scream for the
darkness.

The sound and aura of light must have attracted some attention from the Death Eaters as
when they arrived at the very entrance most first year boats docked, they encountered their
first masked wizards.
“Hey, look here,” a grown voice said from one of the perimeter walls of Hogwarts. Ginny had
a spell on her tongue, blasting the Death Eater with enough force he slammed on the stone
wall and crumpled to the floor.

And the fighting began. Ron threw a shield in front of her as two other Death Eaters
approached them. A Hufflepuff student worked alongside their Slytherin friend to remove the
two Death Eaters from their path.

The group of Death Eaters went down quickly with their collective fighting, outpacing the
seasoned wizards with spells. The group shared a moment of victorious euphoria, a savory
and exciting tint of revenge feeding into Ginny’s own magic.

Ginny felt her pocket heat, looking at the others, they must have felt it too. She looked up to
the sky, seeing now two glints of light hiding in dark clouds.

Sprout in Greenhouse, hurry.

“Professor Sprout,” Ron said, waving his arm. “Greenhouse,” he instructed. “Get your
patronusus ready.”

“Patroni?” Ginny asked as she ran, her horse patronus giving no winded expression.

“Patronee?” asked Cho.

“I don’t think we should worry about the proper grammar of many patronus,” Ron snapped
back as they raced along the perimeter.

And Dumbledore’s Army had mobilized with Dean Thomas as their eye in the sky, calling
out activities and spells, he was able to lead students away from swarms of dementors and to
the Death Eaters leading them.

What Dean did not have the capacity to tell the other members of the DA was the ferocity the
Death Eaters were fighting. Spell after spell was thrown, to the teachers and whatever
surrounded them in means of diversion. He called out shots to Colin, who typed them quickly
in his coin, together working to maneuver the Army to outflank and surround the Death
Eaters.

A rippling explosion started to rumble through the ground, wood cracking and splitting that
shattered the spells thrown around the castle. Everyone stopped for a brief moment as the
Hogwarts bridge crumpled, taking with it whatever Death Eaters and marble soldiers with it.

“Seamus really has a skill,” Ron said to his sister.

“Could you imagine if he was on their side?” she asked, throwing a nasty spell right at the
mask of another Death Eater.

Ginny felt the dementor’s chill frozen on the ground beneath her feet as she raced into the
darkness. Her patronus cantered ahead.

“Ginny!” Ron shouted her name.

Her eyes couldn’t see in the dark the dementor’s hoard they stumbled upon. She gasped as
the cold air consumed her lungs, pushing into her body as they dragged her happy memories.
Ginny looked at her glowing patronus flickering in the mass of dementors. She heard her
brother groaning and the sound of her friends.

Ginny attempted to push herself up, to focus her magic and breathe through it, to channel any
sort of happy memory of her father carved into her mind.

“Expecto-” she gasped, the wand in her hand slick with nervous sweat. Her knees quaked as
the darkness began to consume her eyesight.

A miasma of starlight, a borealis of color almost blinded Ginny from where she was curled in
a fetal position on the grass. It washed over her in currents and waves, pushing away the
dementors with ear splitting screeches. With each passing ripple of energy, Ginny felt her
magic returning to her.

She gasped as she looked up. From the Headmaster’s tower, a beacon of light shot into the
sky, causing the colorful, brilliant light to spread around the grounds like a dome. The light
banished the darkness, casting off the dementor shadows beyond Hogsmeade with no sign of
return.

“Come on,” Ginny said, reaching to pick up her brother. She gagged, nausea hitting her like a
wave.

“You alright?” Ron asked. Ginny only nodded her head, worried any other words would
cause her to lose whatever she had in her stomach.

“What the hell was that?” Cho asked, reaching her hand out to the next wave of brilliant light
as if she could catch it.

They didn’t have time to ponder what Hogwarts was up to when they approached the orange
glow of the greenhouses. Though their lungs were burning, they picked up the pace when the
embers began to greet them.

It seemed that only the dementors were banished with the light as the approaching group saw
two Death Eaters, their backs to the ambush, silently taken down and left near the flames as
they split up.

Ginny circled with her brother along the length of the greenhouses. She shielded her brother
from the attack of a Death Eater that caught them through the hazed glass of the second
greenhouse pod. The group that joined them broke off towards the flaming greenhouse,
casting water spells at the fire as braver students dove into them.

Her brother saw an advantage that Ginny did not. Ron cast a curse at the glass the Death
Eater stood by, pushing the shards into his body until the man was moaning in pain on the
ground.

“Scum,” he sneered.
“Hey, she needs help,” Cho said, Professor Sprout hanging on her shoulder. Ginny and Ron
ignored the Death Eater, Ron putting his other shoulder under her to better drag her to safety.
Their group surrounded them, looking over their shoulders and around corners as they
retreated.

“We need to take Professor Sprout to the Hospital wing,” Ron said, looking over her burns.
Ginny felt her hip burn with a new message from Dean. She reached for her hip and paled at
the message:

Fall in. They’re regrouping at the main gate.

“Hurry,” Ginny said, ushering her group along. She blasted a hex above the threshold of three
silver masked bastards, bringing the stones down on top of them, stepping over their blood to
get into the main body of Hogwarts.

“We’ll take her from here,” Cho said to Ron and Ginny when McGonagall finally spotted
them. Ginny and Ron covered them with shield spells, flanking their friends and professor as
they rushed to the hospital wing.

“And just what do you think you’re doing out from the kitchens?” McGonagall’s voice
shouted from down the hall, easily handling the three Death Eaters she was facing. She took
one of them down by biding their robes around like a jacket, the other two she threw curses
that had them crumpling.

“Better die fighting,” Ginny said, jogging to her Head of House.

The fighting at the Hogwarts entrance halted for a brief moment, a dangerous lull in the battle
as both sides refocused their troops. Ginny didn’t listen to her professor, ushering members of
Dumbledore’s Army back in. Seamus was easiest to pick out from the crowd, face covered
with ash, hair burnt at the edges and a wild, self-satisfied grin on his face.

Two bright falling stars caught Ginny’s attention from above, seeing Dean coming to land
with Colin behind him.

“They are all collecting for one final charge, pushing up the main gait,” he said, pointing to
the silver masks that were coming on the ridge. “We’re outnumbered.”

McGonagall hummed as she looked over all of them.

“That may be, Mr. Thomas, but clearly you lot have more resilience than they do.”

Students had amassed, their wands held at their sides with stances held strong- ready to
defend their school no matter their assigned house. McGonagall, Flitwick, Ponce, they could
do nothing to convince Dumbledore’s Army otherwise.

They faced the approaching Death Eaters that walked towards them, each side waiting on
bated breath for the other to strike from a distance or choke.

“Wait,” McGonagall ordered, checking some of the more eager members of the Army from
striking first. It was a slow approaching fear, settling into her bones as they walked closer
rather than charging. Their silver masks glinted in the darkness, disorienting in defining how
many were upon them.

Ginny could almost sense the moment the magical tension would pop, yet a Death Eater in
the front line suddenly shrieked and dropped his wand, another hand coming to grip his arm.
They all watched as the pain brought the Death Eater to his knees.

Then, another Death Eater was quick to follow with the same kind of blood curdling scream
that brought them to their knees. A domino effect passed over the Death Eaters, all coming to
the same condition of gripping their arms in pain.

“What’s happening?” Professor Flitwick said, his wand held in front of him, unsure of how to
respond to the entire group of approaching Death Eaters now writhing in pain.

“I don’t know,” McGonagall confessed, her want poised in front of her but not knowing
which spell to cast as no harm was coming to them.

“Blood hell!” Ron cursed.

Whatever affliction affected the Death Eaters, whatever caused them to grip their arms with
such pain, clearly had a deeper grasp on their limbs. Cracking and crunching bones echoed
around the Death Eaters, only bringing more screams until the first limb was ripped off a
wizard.

“Silencio,” McGonagall said, covering all the Death Eaters. Ginny was not sure this spell was
any better. They could still see the witches and wizards, their mouths screaming violently
with no sound emanating through their throats as limbs were severed from their body.

And if Ginny remembered her dad’s nightmare stories of before each one of those arms
laying in a pool of blood, detached from their wizard, was the arm carrying a Dark Mark.

“What the hell is happening?” Ginny asked to their Head of House as the blood of Death
Eater’s painted the walkway red.

McGonagall spared a look at the Headmaster’s tower, a myriad of emotions in her eyes
before she looked to Ginny.

“It’s done,” she said, her voice stern even as her lip quivered. Professor McGonagall flicked
her wand at the Death Eaters, the collective mass wrapped up like Yuletide packages.

As an FBI agent, there was more time standing and waiting than action. The moments that
called for action, hunting a killer, attempting to save a victim, or being a victim herself, those
were the times that were terrifying. No matter how many times she’s done it, the threat of
being hunted was ingrained in her makeup.

Beverly now wondered if that was because she didn’t have magic or if she had better self-
preservation instincts than the psychopaths she now surrounded herself with.
When Severus came to her apartment as she was walking in from work, informing her that
the Husk would likely make his move tonight, she only asked for enough time to gather the
gun she acquired in London’s black market.

As an FBI agent, she was trained to look for them; living in America for so long made her
attached to a plate of iron on her hip.

Severus took her to Will and Hannibal's house in Italy where he explained to the three of
them that Tom had been arrested by the Ministry mole and he alluded that the Husk would
meet him there.

“The Ministry is only accessible at three points: the floo, front door, and then an old servants
passage that runs into the, now, Muggle underground.”

Beverly was lucky to have still been in her uniform, therefore, with her badge and keycards.
She passed them to Will and Hannibal, telling them the white one would get her anywhere in
the Underground- a common tool used for Interpol agents, she was learning.

Will ushered the dogs into the basement, pushing the three headed dog named Hercules.

Not the strangest thing in the house.

“He’ll call in the rest of his forces when we’re forced to exit through the floo. By the time
you navigate the Underground and get past the old wards, we’ll need reinforcements.
Minerva has assumed the role of Headmistress and summoned the Order to the Ministry.”

Beverly did not understand the true extent of this fight but given the energy both Hannibal
and Will carried, they must have expected this day from the moment they adopted Harry and
Tom. They spared little words for each other as they armed themselves with magic.

A brief reprieve was served for their daughter, passed between the hands of Will and
Hannibal, giving her a kiss on the forehead before she slipped into Beverly’s arms. She
seemed to sense the tension in the air, whining as she reached for them, kicking out a leg in
anger as they wasted no time- popping away.

“They’ll be home soon, little strudel,” she said, hypnotizing her with the key Tom that could
open any door to Severus and Hogwarts. Mischa took it between her hands, immediately
shoving it into her mouth.

“Beverly,” Severus said, turning his lips to her. The kiss was rougher than she would have
imagined him to give when she held a baby in her arms, a sharp twinge of pain in her tongue.

She could forgive the sloppy kiss for his desperation and the fact Mischa was squirming
between them.

Now, she wasn’t so sure Severus had pure intentions. It seemed after five minutes of Severus
departing that her tongue began to tingle. The next symptom that came was registered by
Beverly’s wrist watch indicating that her heartbeat was at exercising levels, even as she sat
with Mischa on the couch.
With the news of a killer on the immediate horizon, one who had a penchant for murdering
babies, Beverly would not dare part with Mischa for a second. The little girl seemed to enjoy
being held so close, the chain or key’s backing always in her mouth when she was awake.

The TV was on, but Beverly paid no mind to the noise in the background, low enough that
she could still hear what was happening in the house.

Like the popping sound she had learned was the effect of the teleportation habits of wizards.
Anyone in the...Herd would know that unexpected arrival would be met with deadly force.
Beverly’s heart changed beat, not faster, but her blood pressure increased as she needed more
oxygen to fuel her adrenaline filling brain.

Beverly put a finger over Mischa’s lips, mimicking the motion to her own. Though she knew
the baby didn’t understand, Beverly figured there were some extra senses she might have as a
transforming, cannibal Bambi. She picked Mischa up, putting her along the right side of her
chest, left hand supporting her entire body.

There was a knife on her left thigh, right boot and a gun with a muffler in her hand.

She took a slow breath, knowing Mischa would naturally respond to her heartbeat and
needing her calm, Beverly had to be as well. Little fingers scratched along her chest,
kneading, like a kitten would.

The first sound of a footstep tracked through what Beverly inspected to be Mischa’s room.
Beverly reached for the TV remote, gradually increasing the volume a few degrees to hide
the sounds her steps would make.

Moving in tandem on two stories, Beverly crept closer to the back kitchen door. She observed
the wall of knives hanging for easy use, once glad to be in a cannibal’s kitchen. Beverly put
her hand on the doorknob, only for her mind to halt.

If this were a muggle, running would be the right thing to do. Beverly, she could not predict
magic.

But magical people could bleed as easily as she could.

Beverly put foot in the lip of the door, cringing when it made the slightest of sounds. With the
draft entering the house, a smart predator would be drawn to it. There was only one way from
the stairs to the kitchen and that was through Beverly’s line of fire.

A convenient lamp above the stairs began casting a shadow of a haunting skeleton, tall and
thin, dangerous as it was repulsive. Beverly lined her gun up to the shadow, grimacing as she
realized math might save her life.

The shadow got thinner, further from the light, closer to Beverly.

She pulled the trigger as the figure turned, miscalculating the head as the bullet grazed his
shoulder. Mischa whimpered as the man screamed, Beverly went to fire again only for the
gun to click with the sound of a jam.
Beverly needed to bop the bottom of the gun after she pulled the muzzle; she would need
both hands.

She gasped when the creature rushed her through the pain, coming to grip her neck with one
hand as the other went for the arm holding Mischa.

Beverly snarled, snapping her hand over the monster’s wrist and squeezing against the ball
joint. Though distorted, he was human, cringing at the pain as his arm unnaturally bent.

Then, Beverly felt the gauntlets that Tom slung over her arms spread. Her right hand wrapped
in silver, and while the small snakes normally curled around her wrists, lifted off her own and
for the creature. The metal snapped with constricting ferocity around the bones of his arm,
cracking and shattering them.

Beverly wasted little time pushing the figure screaming louder and louder as his arm was
being constricted apart from itself.

Rushing through the door with Mischa in her arm, Beverly ran as fast as she could through
the meadow, trying not to feel like Bambi’s mother. When she broke into the lining of the
woods, she stopped for long enough to fix the jam in her gun, picking Mischa up and running
again.

Two cracks to her left had her freeze and turn.

There were figures wearing black, their faces covered with silver masks and lifting their
hands for a weapon Beverly knew was a wand. She didn’t give them the chance, raising her
gun and firing two quick shots that buried themselves into the chests of the target.

Mischa squirmed in her arm, growing as her body began to shift, growing heavier and some
white feathers cutting Beverly’s now exposed arm. Beverly had to let go of Mischa so she
could finish shifting on the ground.

The fawn, hardly any black feathers on her spine, stood on four legs, she fluffed her feathers
out and began to prance, looking to Beverly for direction.

“Yes, strudels,” she praised, running her protected hand through the feathers on her skull
before breaking into a run.

More popping sounds echoed around her. Anyone wearing the mask she assumed would kill
her- so Beverly shot them first.

In an unfamiliar forest, Beverly ran past the growing pain in her leg from an old injury,
keeping her protected hand on Mischa’s shoulders as she cantered next to Beverly. As they
traveled deeper into the woods, Beverly felt a cold draft pass over her. She looked around for
anything, listening for the sound of running trying to attack.

A drowning like fear washed over Beverly, the hairs on the back of her neck rising and sweat
on her body leaving her chilled. Beverly moaned as her head filled with cotton, slowing as
her legs began to give way. Something felt like it was being ripped from her, her mind
splitting open as the cold, numbing feeling traveled up the length of her body.

Beverly groaned in pain as her mind was filled with images of bodies piling, things outside
the bounds of her control, the feeling of her leg being split open and operated on. She could
see herself again, younger and before the days of an FBI agent as she was told she would
never be able to Cross Country compete again. That feeling of hopelessness and despair filled
her mind with the same weight that nearly cost her life.

Through the tears in her eyes, Beverly could see that Mischa had her teeth wrapped around
something, her posture digging white hooves into the ground with a snarl that revealed
something like black cloth was held between sharp teeth. The further Mischa was able to pull
whatever creature away from Beverly, she had a clearer head.

Beverly tired to get up, to help, but she wouldn't point her gun at a target she couldn’t see, a
target that Mischa was digging her hooves into the soil to pull away. The fawn growled, her
white feathers around her like a hedgehog, as she tried to drag the creature away from
Beverly.

The pressure in her mind popped when a bright light bounced around her. Beverly gasped for
air, clutching her throat on the ground as her body tremored. Hands came to grip around her
shoulder, pulling her up to reveal Severus. She sighed in relief as she embraced him.

“Don’t eat that!” Severus growled, pulling from Beverly to growl at Mischa. Beverly
watched as he pointed his wand to the glowing white spider that pranced in the air without a
web towards the white fawn.

Severus reached into his frock and pulled a vial. Not caring for the contents, Beverly knocked
the bottle back like a shot.

“Was that, hot chocolate?” she asked, an odd energy settling in her belly as she stood, the
warmth must coming from more than the drink. Severus didn’t say anything, his attention on
the glowing white spider that Mischa was now trying to catch with her jaws.

The fawn stopped, her nose twitching in the air as she caught a scent. Mischa stomped her
hooves twice, her tail flicked as she pranced over into the darkness. Beverly went to chase
after her, only to stop when Severus hand gripped around her own.

The darkness of night gave way to the image of Hannibal and Will, large and imposing as
they trotted around her, sniffing and nuzzling her feathers. Beverly breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s not over,” Severus growled, his fangs exposed as he handed her another round of bullets.
Beverly nodded her head, keeping the smirk off her face as she reloaded her weapon courtesy
of Severus. When she looked at the three Ravenstag standing in the darkness, their snouts
buried in Mischa’s feathers, passing over her neck, she could sense something was wrong.

Will and Hannibal raised their heads, noses briefly touching, before Will nudged Mischa
along his side to entice her to follow after him. The fawn bleated after her mother, cantering
deeper into the forest for safety.
 Pawing at the ground, kicking dirt underneath him, Hannibal approached with an air of
wrath. Anger dripped from his feathers, expanded and terrifying. The great stag puffed his
chest out, antlers thrashing from side to side as great breaths of air were expelled from his
lungs.

Beverly checked her gun to prevent jams, Severus stood at her side with the odd white sider
floating near her shoulder, and Hannibal growled a threatening sound towards the creature
emerging from the darkness with a bone white wand gripped in his hand.

Chapter End Notes

So, some of you said the last meal wasn't satisfying... did this one do the trick?
Please, tell me your grievances in the comments
 Teeth of the Lamb
Chapter Notes

Dear friends,

Happy Valentine's Day. I got you chocolates, some wine, roses with thorns and, ah yes,
your hearts- each and every one of them.

Eat your heart out!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco was wrong.

He was so wrong.

There were no amount of potions in his backpack, spells that he learned at Hogwarts that
could have ever prepared him for the siege in the Ministry.

It happened all too fast for Draco to comprehend.

The Husk’s arrival and the petrifying terror of seeing his godfather face the very creature he’d
heard of. Pale skin, a slit for a nose, a hissing creature with magic beyond might. Stronger
than his godfather, who lost his wand in the duel.

Tom Riddle, all but throwing Severus out of the way and back to Draco’s side. Draco recalled
reaching for Severus frock, pulling him behind the marble that split upward, creating them
some form of cover.

Dumbledore’s arrival followed swiftly by Professor Graham and Doctor Lecter.

The glass wall.

He dodged a spell, laying flat among the dust and leaking water from beneath them. A hand
grabbed the back of his shirt, hauling him away from the remaining Death Eaters that were
trapped on their side of the glass. Draco only pulled his eyes away from the imposing wall
when he heard Hermione shouting in rage.

His estranged, metamorphosis cousin all but threw Hermione into the fire after shouting for
Hogwarts.

“You need to go!” Remus shouted at both Harry and Draco, shielding Severus from a Death
Eater spell. Severus returned the favor with a curved curse, smacking the Death Eater firmly
into the ground. They backed up, moving closer and closer to the floo chimney’s.
“Tom!” Harry shouted, continually trying to pull from the protection of Severus and Remus
in attempts to race towards the wall of glass. “He needs help! We have to help him!” Harry’s
voice was desperate, pleading, looking at all of them for some kind of assurance.

Draco took hold of Harry’s hand, black and covered with inky feathers. The sensation of
Harry’s feathers prompted his own to sprout. Draco knew they could not help Tom from the
other side of the glass, watching as he and Dumbledore faced off against the Husk.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see several flashes erupt from the hearth. Draco took
notice of only Cedric remaining of their rescue party, pivoting back and forth between two
Death Eaters. His cousin, Tonks, he thinks she went by, ambushed the wizard from behind
with a cord spell, all but dragging him into the fires.

Distracted, Draco did not hold onto Harry, his mate slipping from his grasp. Before he could
shout Harry’s name, Remus scooped under Harry’s torso, heaving him off the ground.
Severus grabbed Draco by the back of his neck, forcefully guiding him away from the
fighting.

Harry was fighting against Remus Lupin with every weapon he had, kicking and thrashing,
feathers pouring over his body and crawling up his scalp. Harry looked demonic as the
shifting continued, little antler nubs breaking from his skull as he dug barbs into Remus
chest, tearing the fabric and leaving blood staining down his shirt.

When that failed, Harry roared like a monster, his jaw widening with sharper teeth than
human to bite Lupin. The only indication that Remus gave of feeling Harry’s teeth was a
slight hiss.

And just as Draco thought that Harry would fight harder, his body went completely limp.

An ear splitting scream caused Draco’s magic to flinch internally, the feathers on his spine
curling around his ribs at the sound of something carrying so much grief. He turned his head,
unable to see fully with how his godfather was all but scruffing him, to see that the Husk was
holding a limp and broken Tom Riddle.

“Get them out of here,” Severus all but hissed, shoving Draco at Remus as he turned around
to protect them. In a state of shock, Draco could do nothing against the other arm that
scooped under his chest. The position gave him opportunity to take it all in, the Husk holding
his chest in pain, Will sobbing against the glass with magic erupting from his wand, climbing
the length of the glass with no mark left behind.

The unblinking eyes of Tom Riddle directed at Harry Potter.

“Grimmauld Place!” Remus shouted, all but falling into the hearth.

More ash and the burning sensation of fire traveled around him as the green flames came
over their skin. He could feel the pressure of which Remus was gripping them, keeping them
held close from splinching.
All but spat out of the Grimmauld Hearth, Draco grunted at the weight of a full blooded
werewolf atop his body. Kicking out from under the man, Draco felt his heart pounding in his
chest when he crawled to Harry.

“Harry,” he said, hardly recognizing his voice. Draco tapped Harry’s cheeks several times,
trying to get a response. He was breathing, that much was evident from the shallow rise and
fall of his chest. Harry’s eyes were open, but Draco saw they were devoid of life, mirth and
that mischievous energy that followed him.

“Back up, darling,” His mother’s soothing voice came. Draco didn’t move, kneeling on the
ground next to Harry holding his hand.

“Wake up,” Draco pleaded.

He recalled the darker texts in the Malfoy library Draco got his hands on before they were
excommunicated from their home estate. In the short time that Harry revealed he was Tom’s
twin, Draco’s fear led him to the extensive library, searching for any information on soul
twins. The texts were far and few between, the instances a rarity themselves. Of those
documented, often they had a tragic ending: one twin dying before the other.

He read the few documented cases of a soul twin perishing and the results it had on the one
left living: devoid of life, a shell of a magical being, the widowed twin would waste away,
magic draining against itself in a parasitic fashion.

What was most likely to happen to a widowed twin: suicide.

“Harry, please,” Draco cried, his lip trembling as his mother chanted in Latin, a white mist
falling over Harry like a blanket. It shone brightly, attempting to sink into his bones and
revive Harry from within. Draco tilted Harry’s head in his hand, running fingers through the
stalks of feathers, looking into those voided eyes as his mother’s spell attempted to breathe
life back into his body.

His mother growled, shifting her wand so it pointed directly over Harry’s heart. The next
strand of light seemed to pool directly into Harry’s heart.

That got a reaction.

His back jackknifed and with it came Harry’s magic. It erupted from his chest like a dome,
pushing Remus and Narcissa away as he opened his mouth to scream. Draco held onto his
hand, feathers pooling around his entire body as Harry’s magic attempted to push him.

“Harry!” he tried to call him. Harry’s eyes were shut completely, wrinkled and streams of
tears pouring down the side of his face. Unsure what would happen if he let go, Draco let his
other hand come to rest on Harry’s face. He looked up to his mother, searching for any
answers as Harry’s magic began to solidify around them with a terrifying similarity to the
glass wall Tom created.

Unsure of what to do, Draco pointed his wand at Harry’s chest and shouted a stunner.
Harry’s magic halted in the air, the feeling of electricity making every feather stand on edge.
Harry gave a heaving sob, his eyes open enough that Draco could see a sliver of life. Never
letting go of Harry, Draco pulled him until they were embracing.

He could feel tears collecting on his neck, the shaking sobs that Harry couldn't voice. A
sparking caught his attention- his mother and Remus beginning to crack at the glass.

“We have to go home,” Harry whispered in his ear, the sound wet and terrible with agony.
Draco buried his head in Harry’s shoulder, rubbing his back in comfort. He spared a glance at
his mother, seeing her magic bury into the fissures that Harry did not seal like his twin.
“Please, Draco,” Harry begged.

Draco felt his own fingers dig into Harry’s spine, the adrenaline starting to spike once more.
He spared a glance to the floo, noting the proximity of the powder.

Harry pulled his head from Draco, their faces held close enough to feel the others' breath.

“They’re still connected.”

His green eyes were filled with tears, rimmed red from the debris. His uniform was tattered,
half of his Slytherin tie missing, grime covering the right side of his body, blood from Remus
dripping down his chin and staining the once-white button down shirt of his uniform.

A crack had Harry and Draco turn their attention to Remus and Narcissa, both focusing their
magic against one of the splits in Harry’s own glass dome. The crack fractured,
compromising the rest of the barrier between them.

In a desperate move, Harry lunged for the floo powder, knocking over the clay urn so ash
spilled on the ground.

Having never let go of Harry, Draco felt the green flames consume him as they traveled to the
Lecter-Graham house.

... was he dead…

Tom felt like his body was made of cotton, densely woven together in a small bundle but if
left to burst, would float away on any breeze's whim.

...where was he…

Tom attempted to lift his head, so heavy within the shell of his body, thick with burden.

He groaned, a strange sound coming from his lungs as he moved on the floor, attempting to
summon his body back to his control. Limbs moved like lead, his fingers and toes feeling so
very far away from him.

A nudging came at his shoulder, an insistent nose nuzzling his side as he moved his head.
The nose returned to his side, under the crux of his neck and shoulders, attempting to pry him
off the ground. Tom groaned, his hand timing to touch the small snout of the creature, hardly
strong enough to grasp.

He felt the creature huff on him, moving around Tom’s body to the middle of his stomach,
nudging there, moving to his legs as if it could make him stand. With every touch of the nose,
he felt little parts of him come return, his toes twitching, ankles rolling, knees bending.

Like the first fish crawling out of the water, Tom pathetically floundered on the floor,
attempting to hurl his limbs under him to push his torso. All the while, the creature
encouraged him, nudging, snorting, and licking the side of his face.

His hands managed to find purchase on something sturdy, it fit in the palm of his hand with a
rough and bumpy texture. The creature heaved Tom off the ground, the teen stumbling onto
its chilled side as he felt his legs come under him. He panted, the experience tiring on him-
the creature shuffled forward with the need to go somewhere.

Tom blindly stumbled as he tried to orient himself to the light around him, blinking painfully
as the creature led him. He was still holding onto whatever he latched onto, moving his hand
as he tried to think of the pattern.

Smooth, bumpy where there were other jagged smooth points.

Tom felt the creature stop and his eyes were finally allowed to adjust.

He turned to the creature and felt his head dip against it.

“Thank you,” he said to the stag, brown, tawny with black hooves and a pelt of hair. “I’m
sorry,” he whispered into its neck as he picked his head up.

It was no ravenstag, much like the doe that visited him after the Husk’s own resurrection
ritual. Though he was covered in a film of wispy energy, Tom could feel the cold hair that
grew under, see the brown and copper color of a common buck.

One that he knew in a past life.

The buck gestured with his rack to walk through the threshold, pushing his antlers near Tom
to entice him to walk through the archway.

There was the same void on the other side- or so it appeared.

Tom figured he was already dead- what laid beyond the arch that was worse?

Arguably, his body felt in better condition than before he died.

Oh, Tom really hoped this wasn’t a coffin.

His hands moved, twitching at the soft sides of the darkness, only for it to be ripped away to
bright light. Tom hissed, arms coming to cover his eyes from the light.
“Pup?” a voice, Sirius’ voice said. Tom sat up, the chill of the marble blocked by new
feathers that sprouted from his spine as he looked at the wizard.

“Grim,” he said, beginning to laugh as he reached to embrace Sirius. The very dog that was
buried in churchyards, to guard over souls and be a lost one's loyal guide. “We have to find
Mischa.”

Sirius took Tom under his shoulders, lifting him up to lean against him. Other wizards and
witches laid around them, the ones alive, the Order, all looking at him with astounded
expressions.

“Grimmauld was the rendezvous,” Sirius said, helping Tom limp to the floo network, passing
over numerous Death Eater corpses. Tom closed his eyes, shaking his head as he recognized
the landscape of his home.

“No, he’s,” Tom looked at Sirius, his panic making itself known in his chest as he thought of
his home territory being invaded by his own hands. Sirius put a hand on Tom’s chest, silently
instructing him to breathe before they engaged in another firefight.

Magic collected and calmer, Tom felt ready to end this...to eat his own heart.

He reached his hand out the glass, chuckling as he felt the warm zing of the Hogwarts wards
race along his magic. The glass wall rumbled against his hand for a brief moment, cracks and
splits branching from where he touched. Tom exhaled slowly, letting his magic flow along
the glass.

The glass changed to snow, crisp and white, falling in a large mountain with a path clear
enough for Tom to walk to the floo hearths. Laughing, Tom walked forward, hearing the
clicking of heels to know Sirius was at his back.

He gathered a handful of floo powder in his hand and lifted his ash covered fingers to the
blood that collected from his nose. With his blood in the powder, he would be able to travel
through the warding of his home. Sirius wrapped an arm around Tom, nodding his head as
the teen tossed the powder into the hearth and walked through.

Tom’s home was in disarray.

The dogs were furiously barking and snarling from the basement door, blood spattered on the
back wall with a suspicious hole in the wall. Tom walked to the kitchen, seeing the blood
spatter led there and to the back door.

The very back door that Harry escaped from Verger’s men.

At the threshold of the door was an arm, his Husk’s arm holding…

“Is that Dumbledore’s wand?” Sirius asked.

“Not anymore,” Tom said, noting that the severed limb was only made so by the gauntlets he
wrapped around Beverly’s wrist. This was their intention- in his panic, he thought the best
way to keep someone from harming him would be a person without the ability to hold a
wand.

That appeared to be true.

Tom opened the backdoor and charged out, following the mixed scents into the meadow.

On grass, Tom and Sirius shifted forms. There was too much blood around to get a proper
scent, everything smelling like prey, the canopy of trees was painted with it.

Sirius stood straight, his one leg pointed forward as his tail stood stiff. Then, the Grim began
to run, Tom following after him with a slight limp. How his leg was healed, he didn’t know
but he could still feel the bruising around the muscles.

His feathers stood, the white ones on his back flickering towards the house.

It was warm; a synergy he’s been connected with for years.

Harry had arrived, probably through a chimney, and was likely hunting for the Husk having
found their connection. Tom growled, feeling his white feathers spike as he charged forward,
honing himself in on the Husk. The faster he charged, the further he got from Sirius.

The dog barked, veering to the left as if to say he would handle the other Death Eater’s that
invaded his Herd’s territory.

With a supernatural sense, Tom leapt over the logs that had fallen on the floor, finding two
bodies on the ground, mauled by one of his parents judging by the teeth marks. And
uncharacteristically left behind in the wake of their rage.

A gunshot in the woods drew his attention, rippling with an echo through the tree line, Tom
broke into a gallop at the thought of Beverly, his godmother, being killed by his Husk,
possessed with the same rage as when the creature went to kill Severus.

“Tom,” Harry’s voice cried in his head, the thundering stride of a larger ravenstag catching
up to his smaller legs. Harry barreled into his side, their feathers meshing together as one,
Tom selfishly leeching some of Harry’s abundant magical power to bolster his drying
reserves. In unison, they galloped towards the sound of a skirmish between monsters.
“You’re alive,” he said, his attention on Tom more than his surroundings as they ran. “ Why
didn’t you say anything about the connection?”

“You would have picked at the wall,” he said in lieu of an explanation, knowing Harry well
enough to know he would- after all, that’s what started them on the path to twinhood.

A plan formed between them as they crested the hill, Harry slowing marginally as Tom only
picked up the pace, gathering magic in his teeth as his feathers began to ripple.

He saw Hannibal, Severus and Beverly all on different sides of the Husk, even with one arm,
and managed to keep them from harming him. Beverly fired her gun, taking cover behind a
crag of rocks, Severus attempted to rush forward, but a wall of fire prevented the vampire
from striking.
Hannibal, he was salivating, roaring as he charged only to be met with a wall of magic and
tossed to the side.

Tom rushed the middle of their triangle, both coming from the Husk’s blind spot, no one saw
Harry slide to a halt as he shifted, hands coming around his mouth to shout:

“Hey!”

The surprised pivot was all the time Tom needed. He could feel magic bursting at his
feathers, the green color of his combined heritage wrapping around his feathers.

Tom was in his feathers, no matter if his pelt was still speckled, he dipped his neck down to
catch the Killing Curse, cool and energizing energy wrapping around his black and white
feathers, Tom roared. He charged the one armed Husk, barreling into his chest with enough
momentum to force him to the ground- belly up, organs exposed.

Tom snarled, giving no hesitation or bravado, he willing the Killing Curse from a protective
down of feathers into his jaws, to weave like floss through his incisors and canines.

The Husk had their first wand in his hand and attempted to point it at Tom. Tom was faster
this time, green sparks of magic wrapping around them as Tom pinned him to the ground
much like he was in the Ministry, his legs crushed beneath the weight of his hooves at the
center. He reared his head, his tongue tasting the magic on his teeth when he sank them into
the Husk’s neck.

Tom buried down into him, pushing his magic around the twitching body as he gargled,
waves of obscural magic pulsing around them to keep anyone from interfering with the ritual.
Tom felt his sternum begin to snap under his jaws, moving his hooves, he cracked the bone in
the center of the Husk’s chest to dig for the heart.

Enough pain, enough bloodshed. This Husk was Tom Marvolo Riddle’s creation, like the
diary and all other horcruxes, this shard was no different. Magic would weep no more tears of
blood shed by his hand.

His heart was red, as they all were, beating and throbbing with fear as the little ball of light
rested within, that only Tom could see. He felt himself, his magic, swell as he wrapped his
teeth around the organ, his hooves planted on the body so he could tear the beating organ
from the Husk’s body.

With the Killing Curse wrapped around his teeth, Tom severed the connection between the
Husk, his heart and the last horcrux- flesh throbbing against his tongue as he tossed his head
back with the need to swallow it whole. The sensation of the organ sliding down his
esophagus was less than comforting.

The Husk blinked.

His horcrux, the final piece of his magic, slotted together with nothing more than a click.
With it, he felt the cracks along his soul heal, fuse together with warmth and peace, the sense
of wholeness he’d been missing since his resurrection that even Herd couldn’t fill. Tom could
feel the fibers of his magic greet him- pressing along every part of his body that was once
broken or bruised, healing it, near growing with power.

The Husk exhaled.

Tom’s knees were shaking as he panted above his kill, the empty body resting as lifeless as
Verger once was to Harry. He felt energy pouring into his skull, no doubt the memories of his
Husk slotting themselves into his mind for later review.

A soft sound, a breath of air, had him bring his heavy head up.

His father, still taller than him, was looking at Tom with his ears forward, scenting with every
step that he moved. When he shifted to human skin, Tom tilted his head in confusion to see
the normal put together man quake at the very sight of him.

His large hands came to find Tom’s face, cupping it between his fingers until they weaved
beyond the stalks of his feathers.

“If this is a dream,” he whispered, his eyes unblinking as they searched over Tom’s face. He
snorted, rippling his feathers along his father’s finger to confirm his survival. Tom saw from
behind Hannibal, Beverly and Severus making their way closer to him, still giving them
space.

He shifted, feeling his feathers curl into his body as the weight from his head dropped and he
stumbled into his father’s embrace. Tom shuddered in his father’s arms, a dampness and ball
of something coming up to his throat as he recalled the expanse of nothing that waited
beyond the veil.

“I’m here,” Tom said, the grip on his father tight and suffocating, clawing into his father’s
clothing to ground himself. He found himself very glad his ribs were healed between dying
and resurrecting, given how tightly his father held him in return.

“Tom!” his voice was shouted from the trees, his mother running towards them with Mischa
trotting at his side. His mother collided with Hannibal, hugging him tightly in his scent as
Tom found himself weeping in his arms. He sensed Harry approaching, opening his arms so
his twin could find space in their embrace.

“Don’t ever do that again,” it was said to him by each member as they took their own time to
hug Tom near death’s arch again.

A cold nose nuzzled his arm, nibbling at his fingers with more care than she took for his
ears.

“Mischa,” he said, bending down to embrace his little sister, petting the sides of her black
feathers even as she attempted to bite the last of his ear off.

“That was a neat trick, Feline,” Beverly said, the two making their way to the Herd, equally
covered in blood as the other. “With the lightshow and antlers.”

Tom titled his head at her, confusion in his body, then his eyes lit up.
 “Antlers?”

Chapter End Notes

I realized, rereading the original, that I had completely forgotten to use the Ravenstag
power of catching a killing curse.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone. I love writing for you, I am so honored to be here, and
I wanted this to be my gift to you- giving you back your hearts.

I do hope that this finale lived up to the expectations you all have of my writing!
 Phoenix Ash
Chapter Notes

Guests, I open my door to you once more.

I apologize for the delay of this chapter. My buildings fire alarm went off twice this
week, I've midterms to prepare for, and then came the emotional blockage of me not
wanting this story to end, so I stalled. I hope to have moved past this emotional blunder
because you are all deserving of an open door and to be seated at this table.

Some of you ordered Hannibal taking care of Remus- have some shaken Herd feels

Please enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A sense of numbness, the raw and exposed kind of feeling that left the ash on tastebuds,
consumed the Herd as they walked away from the body of the Husk. Tom was limping, and
while he or Will could have carried their fawns' weight, Harry’s need to be close to his twin
took precedence. Harry carried most of Tom’s weight on his shoulder, the teens arm slung
over his neck as they trudged back to the house.

Breaking through the treeline, Hannibal could see movement coming from within the house,
the curtains only revealing a silhouette. Will stood in front of their children, Beverly by his
side as Severus and Hannibal approached the house with their wands in hand and teeth
bared.

The door opened to reveal Narcissa, ushering them inside. The pack of dogs rushed out of the
house, wagging tails and nervous panting as they inspected every member. Climbing the
porch revealed no scent of blood, no tainted magic or damaged furniture. It seemed that
Narcissa had taken to creating a makeshift infirmary- potion bottles floating near the
bookshelves and crisp white linens lining every flat surface.

Severus burst through the door when he caught sight of his godson, sitting on the couch
wrapped in several bandages and a thick blanket covering his lap. Remus had taken one of
the deeper chairs, a pained grimace on his face and bleeding through several of his bandages.

“It’s clean,” Narcissa said, taking Hannibal’s offered hand to lead him in. “It’s over.”

The house smelled clean, void of any of their scent markers, empty with the need to remove
the stench of blood and invasion. The only evidence of the Dark Lord entering their house
was the metal box that once contained the Cup horcrux, locked and sitting innocently on a
counter.
Hannibal and Will both brought Tom to the kitchen, a cushioning charm over the marble, a
white sheet over that. Unceremoniously, Hannibal lifted Tom from under his arms, hoisting
him onto the makeshift gurney. Their fawn did not protest, which was concerning as his eyes
appeared to be glazed with shock and magical exhaustion.

Harry was at his side immediately, their hands touching with black feathers pooling up the
lengths of both arms. Will, clutching Mischa to his chest with one hand, began running his
other through Tom’s hair, humming to their son as a means to ground him.

Hannibal sliced through Tom’s shift with a spell, peeling the cloth away from his chest to
look over the extent of his injuries. Harry and Will both gasped at the wound in the center of
Tom’s sternum.

A swollen and still weeping blood wound, identical to the one on Harry’s forehead. The
jagged spell line of the Killing Curse where the Husk placed his wand on Tom’s chest within
the Ministry.

Hannibal’s hands almost couldn’t touch it; hovering over desperately quaking as he recalled
with perfect, horrific, clarity at the sight of his fawns feathers molting off his body, his
ribcage snapping into his lungs, the spurt of blood that escaped his mouth as his eyes reached
and connected to Harry.

When the Killing Curse rippled over Tom’s chest, Harry went as limp as Tom’s body and
Hannibal, he felt gutted twice, forced to move to check his fawn while Will, the mother,
desperately ran for his son.

“I’m alive,” Tom gasped, wincing as his ribs strained to speak. Will hushed their fawn as he
lifted Tom’s head, a Skelegrow potion tipping into his mouth with a leftover grimace.
Hannibal turned around with a needle in his hand, injecting Tom’s vein with a small amount
of morphine to help with his pain.

The combination of pain relievers weakened the last of Tom’s will to fight, his body slipping
into an unconscious heap on the kitchen table, his chest still rising and falling as Will gave
him more potions with the use of a syringe in his lax mouth.

The next patient in need of tending- Beverly.

Her adrenaline wore off slower than the wizards in the room but when it did- the pain
crippled her. She gasped as she went from walking upright in one step to falling to her knee
in the next. Severus was immediately at her side, moving her to the couch as Hannibal came
to her aid.

Severus found the wound first, knowing his mate well enough to look for old injuries that
were aggravated, he tore at the jeans around her knee.

Beverly held back a shout as the denim released the extent of the injury. Hannibal had never
seen scars like hers wrapped around her leg- twisting like her whole leg was snapped in the
middle and turned around. The old muscles that broke with her old injury snapped along the
fragile points, leaving her muscles...unraveled from the tendons on her bone.
Immediately, the wound rushed with blood, Beverly’s face paling as her blood pressure
dropped. Severus began to chant healing spells in Latin, running his wand over the purpling
injury. To keep Beverly from passing out, he too, gave her some morphine.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Severus growled when her leg was no longer in a
questionable state of amputation. Beverly hummed, her mind and tongue slurred with the
effects of the morphine.

“Gotta take care of the kiddies,” she said, closing her eyes when Hannibal made sure to check
the dilation of her pupils. Hannibal noticed her eyes reacting slightly like Severus in the light,
a mild reflection that should not appear in the human retina.

“You kept up with Mischa when she was a fawn?” he asked, checking her blood pressure
now that her leg was healing, wrapped, and elevated on the couch. He noted her blood
pressure. “You would have blown your heart out, moving at such speeds.”

Beverly hummed as the combination of morphine and healing chants settled her weight into
the couch. She lifted her finger, pointing to the papers on the coffee table. Hannibal reached
for them, noticing the blush dusting Severus’ cheeks.

She had cataloged her symptoms since the moment she was left with Mischa, writing that her
heartbeat had increased and filled with: a distinct feeling to run...venom?

“Sneaky,” his nearing unconsciousness Beta said as she drifted in the haze of morphine, her
hand reaching out to paw at Severus until he weaved his fingers with her. “If you say sorry,
I’m going to slap you.”

The nervousness that surrounded Severus dissipated after her slurred statement.

After tending to Beverly, Hannibal shifted his attention to Remus. The large werewolf was
taking up most of the chair, Sirius hanging on his shoulder as he attempted to put pressure on
a wound that continued to bleed. Hannibal took one of the blankets hanging over the couch to
wrap around Sirius’ shoulders, his tremors beyond that of his prolonged dementor exposure.

“Finally got your justice, Moony,” Sirius whispered as Hannibal began setting his ribs. The
werewolf had a strong pain tolerance, grunts and rushed exhales rather than shouts and
curses. There were large, swollen bruises around his kidneys that would have killed a normal
human, claw marks weeping with blood around his belly.

Remus growled without the sound threatening Hannibal as he moved to tend to the wounds
on his chest.

“Justice for anyone that Fenrir turned,” was all he hissed.

Hannibal looked at the odd wound pattern on his chest, several punctures that left Remus
gasping. Following the last of the injuries, Hannibal saw a familiar set of teeth marks on
Remus’ arm. He cleaned the wounds on Remus’ chest first, blotting the puncture marks with
poultice as he realized what caused them.
Remus was the one who scooped Harry into his arms in the Ministry, attempting to pull their
fawn away from the fighting. In his violent need to be near his twin, Harry must have lost
control of more than just his feathers, sprouting small antlers to gouge Remus, bringing forth
his teeth to shred at the arm holding him hostage.

“It’s not the worst bite I’ve had from a creature,” Remus said, his tone soft enough that only
the patient and doctor could hear as they both looked at Harry, the culprit.

Children bit adults because they didn’t know any form of self-defense other than the one their
bodies had for centuries. When a human was cornered and defenseless, biting often occurred
if they had no other weapon.

“Not many can say they’ve survived a Ravenstag bite,” Hannibal said, the methodical
movement of tending to wounds taking his thought away from the glass wall that separated
him from his fawn. He poured rubbing alcohol over the wound, human and Ravenstag teeth
often were covered in bacteria, before blotting it with a magical antibacterial. “You and
Severus match.”

Remus chuckled as he rubbed over the bandage, the bleeding having stopped, adding yet
another scar to the large collection on the werewolf’s flesh.

Will came to him then, moving a gurgling Mischa into his arms as the mindlessness attributed
to mending bodies drifted and he was forced to think about the events that occurred in the
heart of his territory.

Severus stood from where he was kneeling on the couch by Beverly’s legs, transfiguring her
clothing into something more accommodating for her bandage, removing the scent of the
Husk’s blood and cleansing the air around the room for safe measure.

“I will handle the body,” Severus said, pointedly looking at Hannibal, seeing the vein pop in
his forehead. “It needs to be placed in the Ministry with…” he swallowed a dry ball in his
throat. “With Dumbledore.”

No matter their thoughts on the man, Dumbledore paid the ultimate sacrifice for a student he
did not save the first time.

As Severus went to the door, he was joined by Remus and Sirius, stating in a hushed tone
they would handle the other Death Eaters.

In the hour it took for the three members to return, the house was filled with the sound of
parents listening to their children breathe. Tom was moved from the kitchen table to a
transfigured chair long enough to lay his body, Will holding one hand as Harry held the other,
Hannibal sitting on the floor with his back at Tom’s chest, Mischa laying on his own so she
could touch her older brother. Narcissa was sitting on a chair with Draco’s head in her lap,
petting at his hair as he rested against her.

When Remus and Sirius returned, they too sat on the floor of their living room, content
within the silence of their Herd’s survival.
Severus returned last, carrying no scent on his body and only nodding his head once for
everyone to know he had taken care of the Husk. He walked close to Will, holding something
in his hand.

Severus had retrieved Tom’s wand from the Ministry.

The return of their son’s wand brought forth the reality of the battle.

Hannibal...he couldn’t bear the thought of the Herd leaving. While he had beds to house each
of them, the thought of having them beyond his eyesight, beyond his grasp, shook him and
his Ravenstag. Tom was so close to him, and yet, the barrier he created was impossible to
cross to save him. Frazzled and raw from the experience of losing his fawn, Hannibal could
part with no member tonight.

“Can always camp outside,” Beverly said, instinctively waking as Severus walked into the
house, her hand coming up to take his. Humming, Will was the first to stand, flicking his
wand over Tom’s limp form. Harry was quick to follow after his mother and twin, trotting to
the door. Draco and Narcissa were the next to rise, followed by Remus and Sirius. Beverly
was assisted by Severus, who offered his shoulder to her as she limped down the foyer stairs
with Hannibal, holding Mischa in his arms.

They moved outside.

Narcissa had lowered her wand to the grass, transfiguring the stalks of grass into a large
natural mattress on the ground, complete with what looked like sod blankets. Harry shifted
into his pelt, Mischa immediately noticed and began shifting in Hannibal’s arms. When his
fawn changed, her brilliant white feathers with no imperfections of blood, he and Will
shifted.

Mischa noticed Tom sleeping on the ground, her ears flicked forward and she went to him,
sniffing at his neck, moving along the side of his face. It was Beverly that noticed what she
was doing, even drugged, the Beta was fast enough to reach her hand for Mischa’s scruff with
the protected hand before the fawn could eat the rest of Tom’s ear while he was unconscious.

“He’s been through a lot,” she growled, Mischa showing no signs of regret as she attempted
to gnaw at Beverly’s protected wrist. “Snack on him later.”

His magic might have sensed he was going to be cannibalized by his sister and prompted him
to shift into his pelt, allowing for everyone to finally look at his new form.

Tom had white feathers as he dueled his Husk next to Dumbledore, splayed over his back as
he cast spells using nothing more than his willpower in a stunning display of magic, skill, and
unlimited potential. He lost all of them, molting as he caught Dumbledore’s body, shell
shocked.

Hannibal’s mind palace was impeccable, the image of his son…

Through the red haze of wrath, Hannibal thought his eyes bestowed an apparition, a
hallucination of his grief at the sight of a fawn on the cusp of adulthood, charging in unison
with his twin. Harry halted in the middle of the clearing, drawing the Husk’s attention with a
shout as Tom, freshly resurrected or a newly minted ghost, charged ahead.

For a third time, the Husk cast the Killing Curse towards Hannibal’s fawn.

This time, Tom roared as he opened his jaws wide, catching the ball as teeming sparks of
energy rippled along his feathers. The green curse rippled over all his feathers, coloring like
oil over water. Without fear, Tom galloped into his Husk, knocking him to the ground.

Hannibal, a skilled hunter of all worlds, no matter the form, froze.

Tom Riddle, the little fawn that came from the diary, as small as Harry when he first shifted
with his growth stunted with the lack of his complete soul, had savage jaws capable of
ripping into the Husk’s chest. The Husk struggled against the weight of Tom’s hooves as his
teeth settled around a bright spot in his chest.

Prying that ember free of a hollow cavity, Tom’s white feathers began to shed, leaving
Hannibal in a state of denial as he thought of losing his fawn a second time.

HIs metamorphosis was beautiful. Antlers sprouted from his skull, growing taller as Tom
tossed his head back with the Husk’s heart and final shred of horcrux held within.

Hannibal was not focused on his fawn’s antlers, only that his son was miraculously alive.

He felt a hand fall on shoulder, the horrors banished at the sight of his mate.

“He’s alive,” Will whispered, their eyes falling onto their sleeping son.

Tom’s mass had near doubled in size. For the first time since his return, Hannibal could
observe the differences in his son. His neck had grown a pelt large enough to support the new
set of antlers above his skull. Hannibal could see, his antlers were not common bone with
felt, walking to his once fawn, along the base of his skull were small scales, traveling upward
in smooth aches.

Will pet over his son’s flank, pulling back the new feathers, thick and abundant enough
Mischa made her way in the swell of them. He crouched by Tom’s face and smoothed along
the feathers of his lips, pulling them back to expose the longer fangs of his mouth.

Eating Quirrell left Harry with painful consequences, with the Beta’s vaccine protecting Tom
and the magic of absorbing the final piece of his soul, a fawn was transformed into something
powerful.

Harry boxed Mischa in on the other side of Tom’s belly, Hannibal resting behind him with
Will wrapped around the other side. Draco had transformed as well, gaining another set of
pikes on his antler after killing his father and laid down near Will, Sirius coming to lay next
to him as Remus put his head on the dog’s body. Narcissa shifted to her shrike animagus and
landed on one of Draco’s antlers, fluttering her feathers.

Beverly, in the throes of morphine, dragged Severus to the spongy grass mattress with such
force, it was impossible for him not to follow her. She positioned herself atop his body,
claiming he was trapped and wouldn’t run away.

The children might have slept, Beverly forced there only by the drugs fighting against her
will to stay awake, every adult of the Herd had their senses open, picking up the slightest of
sounds with their ears, scenting the wind that summer eve’s carried. Every muscle was tense,
anxiety of another ambush, and the complete denial to greet the haunting images their
imagination might have cooked up in the dreamscape with the very unpalatable reality of
earlier in the evening.

It had taken several days for the Ravenstag’s instincts to mellow out after Tom died. Harry
would not go anywhere without his twin, insisting on sleeping in the same bed for the length
of the evening, following Tom as they explored the outdoors and frustrated when Harry
refused to spar with Tom’s new antlers. He felt Harry’s magic pull against Tom’s soul, as if
checking he was still alive.

His parents were worse.

One night, when Tom was sleeping with Harry in the bed with him, he woke to the feeling of
hands grabbing him. As he was ripped from sleep, Tom thought he and Harry were under
attack, his magic gathering and ready to strike until the whispered humms of his parents
snapped him out of the panicked haze.

“You died ,” Will said, rocking him back and forth on Harry’s bed as he cried, clearly
awakened from a nightmare. Tom suggested they all lay in the woods that night and found
himself curled and protected within the Herd as much as Mischa.

When it came time for Hannibal to hunt, the family haven eaten a large supply after the fight
ended in desperate need of calories, he found himself anxious to leave the Herd, insisting
they would need every bit of protection without ever saying it: he changed the entire warding
system around the territory while strengthening it with chants and blood rituals.

The Ministry was in complete disarray. From the depths of the Department of Mysteries to
the main foyer laid the result of years of negligence and the consequences of turning a blind
eye. The Order was silent about the Ministry attack until Severus brought the eaten remains
of the Husk and dropped him in the center of the room, sneering at his corpse.

“I need to return,” Severus said to Mad Eye Moody, trusting his years of service to the
Ministry to aid him as he explained what occurred. With the senior auror’s assurance that he
would handle it, Severus left the Ministry with a final look to Dumbledore, apparating to
Hogwarts wards.

Severus was greeted to the sight of writhing Death Eaters, their marked arms laying on the
ground in a puddle of blood. Minerva met him across the bridge.

“Say it isn’t so,” She asked, silencing one of the moaning Death Eaters.

Severus’ look must have conveyed his pain. She closed her eyes, a hand coming to her heart.
“Oh Albus,” she said, shaking her head. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were
steeled beyond her emotional pain. “He would have wanted to be…to be buried here.”

The wards of Hogwarts had shifted to her command, her duty actualized.

Explosive news rocketed around wizarding Europe with pictures of the destroyed ministry,
calling for massive reform as the Light and Dark Lord killed each other in a violent battle.
The lack of information on who was responsible protected the Herd from their involvement.

The attack on Hogwarts from Death Eaters, capable of maneuvering the dementors without
the control of the Ministry further stoked panic within Britain. Parents pulled their children
from Hogwarts prematurely, children hidden away in homes, held close by loved ones.

Hannibal and Will absolutely refused Harry or Tom to return to Hogwarts to finish their
exams. They both insisted some kind of accommodation could be made, given the Ministry
of Magic had been laid siege overnight with not a single auror on duty.

The Herd capitalized on the panic of others, hiding away their own involvement in the Husk’s
death while keeping the youngest members safe in their territory.

Minerva McGonagall, managing the chaos of it all, accommodated their desires with a kind
letter and a stern owl that Severus would administer the exams since they are one of his few
friends.

Severus came to proctor their exams, bringing Draco along...

...with an entire gaggle of children.

Hermione, Neville, Luna, Cedric, poured through the fire and into their house, all scolding
Tom with different tones about him putting up a wall between them, fighting without his
wand, not being aware of his surroundings, it went on and while he felt their grief, he
couldn’t help but find himself smiling too; all the more glad he put that wall between them
and himself.

“I couldn’t stop them,” Severus said to Hannibal and Will, taking his stance next to them as
the children turned on Tom.

“Let them continue,” Will said, pleased and agreeing with each argument his former students
made. They surrounded him completely, bombarding him with their admonishments as they
touched his arms and shoulders, assuring themselves he was alive.

“Social pressure has a way of influencing teenage behavior.” Hannibal looked over all the
students with a smile, the energy of the house lightening against the pain that once splattered
against the walls.

They all could recall with perfect clarity the sound of each of them screaming as they saw
Tom die at the hands of the Husk. Order members were hauling each of them back, fighting
the students almost as hard as the Death Eaters to drag them back to Hogwarts. Draco and
Harry were the hardest to round, the last to push through and only at Remus’ aid to
Grimmauld Place- to his den where his instincts would trigger and keep the two within until
it was safe.

As the student’s arguments began to die down, trading more hugs with him than scolding,
Will did a headcount of students and found that two were missing from their NEWTs exams.

“Where are the Weasley Twins?” Will asked, looking over all of them as they were silenced
by his question, various grins growing on their faces.

“They dropped out,” Severus' voice said from behind him, stalling Will’s thoughts as Mischa
giggled from her high chair.

“What?”

“But it was so cool,” Neville said, prompting the gaggle to erupt with the story of how the
Weasley Twins flew into the Great Hall to light it with fireworks during the busiest mealtime,
apparently crafted an explosive set of animated fireworks that ate Umbridge, humiliated the
professor who called herself Headmistress by tearing down her decrees.

“And why were we not made aware of this?” Hannibal asked, mainly looking between his
fawns, but sparing a glance towards Draco and Severus as well. Tom tipped his head back as
he laughed, his fangs exposing themselves slightly.

“Oh,” he was bashful now, “I asked everyone not to tell you because I knew if you learned of
Umbridge, you would kill her.” Tom stepped forward, beseeching them. “And I really wanted
to be the one to kill her. But Lucius Malfoy got to her before I could strike.”

“Sorry about that,” Draco said from behind Tom.

Draco had killed his father in order to protect his mother. He had charged a killing curse
meant for her as a Ravenstag, having snuck in with Harry through the floo network after he
and Harry ambushed Remus in Grimmauld Place. Narcissa was fighting a two-sided battle
between her sister and her husband when Draco found her. He was running to her aid, spurred
when he saw his father cast a killing curse towards his mother locked in a beam of magic
with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Draco caught the spell with his feathers, the green magic rippling around him as he charged
towards his father, his jaws instinctively finding his neck, the cuse rippled off his feathers and
onto his father.

Narcissa killed Bellatrix swiftly so she could rush to her son.

“Don’t ever, ever, jump in front of a curse meant for me,” she scolded, gripping his antlers
even as the bone cut through her hand, shaking him once until he shifted back to himself,
able to wrap her hands around her son.

“I killed my sire once,” Tom sighed, defeated by the only person he got to kill that day,
himself. “I can understand the desire.”
“Do you have extra exams?” Will asked, trusting Hannibal to reconcile his son’s
manipulations as he looked at Severus. The man held up a large bag, his glare intensifying.

“Obviously,” he drawled, having clearly experienced students attempting to sabotage an

exam.

“Good,” he said, kissing Mischa on the forehead, nodding to his mate. “Give me an hour.”

Will returned in half that time, towing along a very sheepish and blushing red Weasley
Twins.

“You are cruel, Professor,” one said, sitting in the transfigured tables left for them.

“And terrifying,” said the other. Tom laughed from his desk, shaking his head at the small
classroom they all worked on transfiguring as they waited for his mother’s return; Mischa
squealed with joy as she scented and tasted the magic within the house, of Herd and new
friends with young magic.

Hannibal smiled softly as he listened to Severus drawl on the common speeches about
cheating and the nature of the tests they were taking, no doubt having read it numerous times
it was seared in his mind.

With Will and Severus proctoring the exam, Hannibal picked up his book and was quite
content reading with the sound of quills scratching in the background as if he were in a
scriptorium or the Library of Alexandria. When Mischa began to grow fussy, he quietly
closed his book and removed his daughter from the students' concentration.

Having to take so many tests in one sitting meant that Hannibal could not work in the
kitchen. While he could use a silencing charm or stifle the scent from wafting and distracting
them, it ruined the experience of cooking for him.

He also suspected that Will would disapprove of anything but a vegetarian meal- which he
did not have enough ingredients for.

His mate was a traitor.

One that texted Beverly while he was with Mischa in the forest, wearing her energy down,
about the food crisis on hand. Beverly, ever wanting to get back at Hannibal for tipping her
into the flames, brought pizza and ice cream into the house.

“Ben and Jerry’s is a staple ingredient,” she said as she loaded the ice cream pints into the
freezer without an ounce of shame. “I’ve also done a lot of pizza research since I moved- this
is pretty good.” Beverly was very assured of her claim but needed no more approval than the
hungry students that dove into the boxes like wolves to the slaughter.

Mischa, ever the ravenfawn, thought with her stomach; she observed what others around her
ate and determined it safe to eat. Mischa reached for the pizza, her fingers making a small
grabbing motion.
Tom noticed her, putting his slice on the bare countertop he plucked a small piece of his
pizza for her. He walked without paying any attention to his father, his eyes and attention
solely on Mischa with the obsessive need to please her at any cost.

Even that of his life.

Mischa reached for his broken ear as she habitually opened her mouth, hypnotizing Tom to
her will without a breath of fatigue. She chewed on the slice of pizza, her hand lifting for the
‘more’ motion they were teaching her to sign.

A chorus of awws and gentle noises came from the children around the table, having noticed
her smile and happy kicking- easily interpreting her command even if they didn’t know sign
language. To his begrudging joy- they then offered her food from their own plates.

How could Hannibal be upset with any of them if it led to this: Mischa happily preening her
feathers as her magic reached and connected to everyone in the room, ensnaring them with
her charm- even for demands of pizza?

In raising the white flag to Beverly, he too, ate a slice of pizza and...conceded...it was rather
well made; clearly someone had made this a labor of love and Hannibal found he could
appreciate that.

It was well into the evening now, candles making it appear as if it were day. Hundreds of
people were gathered within Hogwarts and yet, silence was the loudest thing singing in the
walls. The construction of the new bridge had halted, spells and stone guards keeping anyone
from crossing.

The funeral was held in July, the middle of summer on a day when the trees wafted their
natural aroma peacefully, carrying the scent of life among the mourning while keeping the
heat from their formal robes.

The ceremony started in the morning with the students. With the chaos left behind in the
Ministry, Umbridge died among the lives of many Death Eaters, others bound, bleeding and
broken. The authentic Mad Eye Moody was part of what the media was calling: The
Witching-Hour Siege , a seasoned and hired auror that was left to control the collateral
damage that began in the morning.

Dumbledore’s body was preserved in the crypts of Hogwarts as the Ministry investigated.

They only found more questions when it came to answering what killed the Husk, forced to
look at themselves and their own creation.

“Still quiet?” Beverly asked, standing next to Will as she tugged on the binding around her
shirt. In order to attend the ceremony for Dumbledore, the Light Lord that sacrificed himself
for the young Dark Lord, she had to dress in the formal garbs of witches.
Will, equally as uncomfortable in the formal robes hummed, drinking from the small flask be
tucked away for events like these. He offered it to Beverly, who took a quick swig from the
bottle.

They were both looking at Tom, who was sitting alone on a bench looking over Dumbledore's
grave as people paid their respects. Those that finished paying their respects but wished to
engage in hushed conversation with one another spoke at the benches but none gathered near
Tom, some kind of energy coming from him in his silence.

He was overlooking the white marble closed tomb. It was caught between the view of
Hogwarts cliff and the school, able to look over landscapes at the same time. It was a humble
grave, Dumbledore’s name etched into the marble with his family’s insignia, a phoenix that
could have been embellished and made gaudy- simply, elegantly carved in small lines above
the center of his name.

As proverbial members of the Order of the Phoenix, the Herd arrived at Hogwarts to pay
their respects after the students of Hogwarts were consoled and returned to the Great Hall for
a meal that would hopefully starve their grief.

Tom had no words from when he set foot within the castle, his hand coming to the stone and
closing his eyes. When he walked down the stairs behind his parents, in front of Beverly,
there was something about the way he trailed his hand down the railings, intentionally,
searching…

Beverly handed the flask back to her friend and walked towards her godson. She nodded her
head to the few witches and wizards that made eye contact with her, hoping that her
awkwardness could be excused as grief.

She sat next to Tom on the bench.

“Why did he do it?” Tom asked immediately, as if he were waiting for the right person to
listen before he could find it in himself to talk.

“You were always his student,” Beverly said, nodding her head to the castle that overlooked
his grave.

Beverly and Narcissa were the ones that took care of the severed arm. Beverly handled it like
any other case, grabbing enough olive oil to slip his limb free. Narcissa was able to interpret
the etchings that Beverly couldn’t understand, telling her that if any magical person wore
this, their magic would literally be cut from them.

As Beverly didn’t have magic, she never had to fear that power.

She could see that the teen was still unconvinced.

“Why did you sacrifice yourself for the Herd?” she asked, by now having heard the story of
the Husk sending the killing curse to Tom’s chest, killing him for long enough to forever
haunt even creatures like Ravenstag.
“Because I love her,” Tom said, his eyes turning to search for Harry, finding him, then
moving until he found Mischa, happily giggling on Severus' chest as she ate the key Tom
gifted them both.

“Dumbledore loved his duty, his students, and he understood that responsibility. That he
would give his life to see the youth, even a young Dark Lord, grow up with something better
to look forward to.”

Beverly knew Tom well enough to know he no longer wanted to speak about this topic
judging by the way he dipped his head in thought. She had been pondering something for a
while, with Tom as knowledgeable as he was, maybe he would have the answer.

“There’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around,” Beverly said, prompting Tom’s curiosity
and need to untangle puzzles he must have picked up from Will. She hid her smirk as he
perked up, awaiting her question. “Why did the Husk take Dumbledore's wand- is there some
symbolism that I’m missing?”

Tom arched his back as he gasped, his eyes fluttering in his head. Beverly put her arms
around him, catching his limp body before he could tip over. She saw Will, who was
watching their conversation and shook her head, hoping he would stay put.

His nostrils flared and he took Mischa from Severus in retaliation.

Tom laughed as he began to come back to himself.

“Do you know what you did?” he asked, a stray tear falling from his eye, manic or humor,
she could not tell.

Tom began to tell her a fanatical children’s story about three wizards that conquered death. It
followed many of the archetypal paths, of the gifts Death gave the men harming them, a
lesson learned in the impossibility of resurrecting the dead or becoming immortal.

“Harry has a Cloak,” Tom said, his eyes finding his twin.

He looked down at his hand, turning the ring on his finger, the gemstone split down the
center from where he once held a shard of his soul.

“I, the Resurrection Stone,” he said with a huff, face turning to a smile.

“And you,” he said in that language that only certain magical people could speak. That
Beverly could understand due to the organic nature of the Mark on her arm. “You, a muggle,
with the Elder wand, the most powerful.”

Tom looked from Beverly to the tomb of white marble. He smiled softly, a smile shared for
old enemies, for old friends:

“Dumbledore would approve.”

Chapter End Notes

My lovely guests, my friends, my family...

This story is coming to its close as all books have an end cover. I cannot have ever
imagined, years ago and in the beginning of this pandemic, that Crowned Family would
look like this, would have so many at my table, feasting eyes on words. Every chapter
humbles me, and shows me just how much we yearn for LGBTQIA+ writing. I have two
more chapters, two more meals for us, but then, this story will close.
I am consistently honored by your presence, kudos, comments...I will soon see you for
our next meal, be well and love freely.
 Red Robin
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone and welcome to the feast.

I do apologize it has come late, the chapters got away from me and then refused to write
themselves. thank you very much for joining me, enjoy this meal.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tom moved the kettle onto the stovetop, the clicking of propane popping as flint clicked
against itself, sparing a ring of blue flames. Ignoring the sounds of the dorm room, though
shut and with a muffling charm, Tom starting making three mugs of tea. There was a small
speaker in the kitchen that Beverly gave them, part of her plan on integrating some muggle
technology into their lives.

Honestly, it was working wonders for efficiency.

Soft jazz music filtered through the air, the soft melody and tempos exchanging chords that
distracted the sounds behind him.

His mug was filled with dark tea, earl grey with an inevitable splash of honey. Draco’s mug
was similar, but of his own morning blend- cinnamon and spice. Harry’s, abysmally, had
three teaspoons of sugar after Draco finished his own teabag.

With little else to do and in need of distraction, Tom pulled out the sausage his father shipped
them and set for making breakfast. The scent would surely rouse them as well.

Meat soon sizzled on the pans, oil splattering and wafting through the air. Tom felt himself
salivating, the beginning marks of his feathers sprouting from his fingers. Well, if neither
Harry or Draco would wake, he could eat as much food as he desired.

Alas, the sound of the shower and pipes popped through the walls of the apartment. He
hummed, dumping frozen potatoes in another pan. It was a rather lovely spring morning in
London, the sunlight peeking through the windows, a gentle breeze bringing in the scent of
the pollinating trees that were sprouting on the sidewalk.

Tom waved his wand as the windows opened, curtains waving with the wind as if greeting
him. Across the other flat, a muggle opened his window manually. They shared a glance, an
mutually awkward wave, and both went about starting their morning.

Nova Synergia Boulevard was indeed an interesting mix of young magicals and muggles of
London.
Rather than stalk his innocent neighbor, Tom was distracted by the whistle of the kettle,
signaling for everyone to get-the-fuck-out-of-bed with much less subtly than a bird.

“So kind of you to bless me with your presence,” Tom said, jiggling the pan as he heard their
approach. In the time their tea steeped, Draco’s was ready to be transferred to Harry's sugary
concoction.

Tom gave them silent credit at Harry and Draco’s half-decent attempt at a glamor charm to
hide the bruises on their necks.

As their sausage and potatoes came up to temperature, Draco was kind enough to silently
start cleaning the dishes the muggle way, taking care to put on the pink gloves. Harry began
to set the table, cleaning off the counters that Tom might have missed. As a team, they
listened to jazz, cleaning as they made breakfast.

Tom placed breakfast down at the table and all but the serving dish needed washing.

“Thanks for helping with the dishes,” Tom said, extending an olive branch before digging
into a well earned meal.

Draco and Harry mumbled their thanks for breakfast and tea being made, a slight blush on
their cheeks.

“I think if we can just be honest with each other,” Draco began, cringing as he looked
between the two of them. Om nodded his head in agreement, the awkward feeling having
long since built beyond his comfort zone, thus, able to handle it as he thought of the situation
obsessively.

“If I am being honest,” Tom said, cutting a bit of his sausage. “I would like to vacate your
space. This is no longer our Hogwarts days.”

That is not to say that Harry outgrew that habit of needing to sleep with someone. He simply
went to Draco, the natural choice, a practiced one.

In the beginning, Tom was less stable with such a decision. Thankfully, there was a benefit to
Harry and Tom spending time in the muggle world. Tom, studying muggle politics, spent
time in the same university as Harry. His twin, who was studying to become a nurse. Within
four years, the two of them had earned a degree that would have respect in either world.

Such as their parents taught them.

During their four years, Draco was carried into the fold of their apartment. A two bedroom in
a muggle and magical city that all of their parents agreed upon. It was safe in London, close
enough to the wizarding population that aurors were protective over the area, yet had enough
muggles to integrate their young children.

Hannibal and Will wanted the young Dark and Light Lords to be flexible in either world.
They did not save their children from war to make them rigid and fearful of the muggles.
Thus, after Hogwarts, Harry and Tom were off to tour muggle Universities.
And settled for Muggle London.

“Tom,” Harry said, drawing his glare, “you know I love our parents, but how are we going to
pull this off? They hardly let us go out of the Herd when we agreed to muggle University.”

Tom tapped on the kitchen table, looking at the simple ward that he burned onto the wood,
soldering the spell of protection as they ate. There were several other etchings and burnings
of his creation around the apartment, keeping them all safe and secure. Yet, it appeared that
his fears went unheeded as the fellow muggle students that lived in the building wanted to be
left in peace as much as Tom did if he ever encountered one.

All the same, Tom freely experimented on the protective wardings on their street.

Shortly after Harry, Tom and Draco moved into their apartment, they were joined across the
street by some familiar faces. Hermione and Neville were rooming together down Nova
Synergia Boulevard, shortly becoming dubbed NSB.

Hermione had taken an entry level position in the Ministry of Magic, determined to be part of
the revolution. Her organizational skills and tenacity allowed her to quickly rise in the ranks.
She became a muggle reformist, creating educational documents and the go to expert when it
came to muggleborn introduction.

“Luna wants us to meet at the Cemetery for lunch.” Tom stabbed some of his sausage and ate
it, anticipating what she had to say. Her note to him was brief: that the Cemetery is the
answer

Realistically, in the four years that everyone had spent in the small town, whenever they
gathered in the Cemetery, their little band of misfits had epiphanies and answers.

There was a substantial and beautiful hunting ground to be found in the local cemetery, eight
kilometers beyond their apartment. It was how Neville became a professor at Hogwarts,
working with Professor Sprout. Rather than living at Hogwarts as he was a young professor,
he remained in his apartment with Hermione. He aparated to the edges of Hogwarts in the
morning and left when his shift was over.

“I’ll have to Cacti spines for Neville,” Draco commented, standing from his plate to fetch the
plant hiding under a warming spell. He placed it in front of his plate, waiting for the
temperature difference to naturally drop the sharp barbs that were ready for harvest.

“Tom,” Harry said, taking his attention away from Draco’s moody plant. He looked at his
twin, feeling at peace with this decision.

“Don’t apologize,” Tom smirked.

There was little else to do but wait until lunch. They made it through the time though, sensing
it would be the last time together. As they did with breakfast, the three made lunch,
sandwiches that were vegetarian, smoked fish and herbed cheeses. Fruits and nuts were
placed in small containers, all kept in a cooler.
The three apparated to their agreed meeting spot in the cemetery. There were tombstones,
long withered against time, forgotten and yet, included in a strange mix of witches and
wizards.

Two pops, coming in one after the other, signaled the arrival of the Weasley Twins, the hour
must have meant they were on limited time for midday break. The two came with grins and
empty hands, all having long since learned to not trust anything edible in their hands unless
watched created.

“Don’t think Hermione and Neville are going to make it,” one of the twins said, taking a seat
atop one tombstone.

“Can’t imagine class with those rascals,” said the other, taking a pass to rub Harry’s hair.

“Or being part of the Ministry at such a time,” the replying teasing voice was directed at
Tom.

Harry smacked the twin closest to him as Tom rolled his eyes to the other.

“Following in mummy-Graham’s footsteps of becoming a professor, Potter?”

“At least you’re going about taking over the Ministry in a practical way, now, twit,” this time,
the ginger managed to strike Tom. He growled at the wizard, tossing a mild stinging hex,
perhaps not the wisest of choices against a Weasley Twin, but their tussles were always
entertaining.

It was true, their teasing. Harry had accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts
teacher now that he finished his nursing practical's. With his unique history and muggle talent
for healing, Harry was a natural pick for the position. During their last years at Hogwarts,
Dumbledore’s Army continued to meet for defense practice outside of class with teacher
approval. Harry had already taught many students alongside Neville Longbottom.

Headmistress McGonagall hid truth with humor when she hinted at making Head of
Gryffindor House if Harry survived two years.

With spring came the start of a new season in Tom’s life. Having graduated with a degree in
political sciences, all the while writing numerous magical papers on warding and the uses of
their expansion within muggle technology, Tom Riddle had gained quite a reputation.

The Ministry was drooling over themselves to give him an opportunity to fix some of the
major problems in Magical Britain.

Tom felt his feathers sprout along the length of his spine, hidden under the warm under armor
and sweater he had. He turned his head, sensing magic beyond his twin: Luna and Cedric.

They came as one, popping in, hand in hand. Luna smiled as she skipped over to Tom, her
sundress bright and carrying her happy aura as she bestowed a hug to him. Cedric’s approach
was calmer but no less tactile, giving him a soft nuzzle along his cheek, quick as a peck.
“Some Lemonade,” Luna said, waving her wand to sprout a bright yellow gourd. The group
gathered within the tombstones, sitting on the pleated blanket in traditional fashion with food
and a ceasefire in effect.

“We need space,” Harry said, sitting next to Draco, the two almost touching.

“They fuck so much,” Tom said, his expression blank and emotion numb.

“Aww, don’t worry,” A Weasley twin said.

“It’s natural to outgrow your roots,” said the other.

Cedric nudged Tom’s shoulder, a silent conversation passing over his eyes. It was a familiar
expression over the last couple of conversations between the triad. Recently, they gained the
approval of two parents. Soon, it would be time to go in for the kill. Tom, Cedric and Luna
had to have patience- for this was a dangerous pair of predators.

“I had recently gotten approval for a spacious one bedroom on NSB- the penthouse, which
has rooftop access, Draco.” Cedric smiled at the blonde as his eyes widened marginally. Tom
smirked, impressed that Cedric had thought of that collectively in his plotting.

Draco, achieving his dream of working as Severus’ apprentice, had easy access to Hogwarts
greenhouse. His friendship with Neville allowed him further grace to the castle. The
greenhouse that Draco had transplanted into their apartment had abundant spices and herbs
for cooking in the windows. The little space they had in their shared apartment was nothing
compared to the space Draco was accustomed too.

A fresh wind carried a wild robin, the male with a red belly and grey wings. It was a slight
bird, small talons bouncing from branch to branch as it sang a song overhead. Tom listened to
the high pitched chirping of the bird, a very old memory dusting away from his past life.

“Red Robin,” Tom said, his voice in trance. He smiled at the bird, eyes fluttering back in his
head, body stabilized by Cedric and Luna gripping him. He chuckled as the robin flew off,
beating his wings along the wind force. “A game we used to play at Wool’s if we needed to
sneak out.”

Tom turned to look at Cedric, trust held with eye contact in a warm honeyed embrace. Luna’s
hands were slight, excellent for finding the weak parts in a magical creature to heal them.

“I know that evil grin,” Harry said, encouraging his twin.

“Cedric rents the penthouse but rather than move into it, Harry and Draco take that
apartment.” Tom was pleased to see that Draco was already nodding his head, knowing that
the penthouses on the Boulevard had no luxury unnoticed. “I remain in our apartment, Cedric
and Luna move in.”

“How do I pay your parent’s back?” Cedric asked, clearly thinking he was taking advantage
of Tom’s mum and father. Draco sat back on his wrists, picking up a glass of lemonade.
“With the rent in the penthouse, you would be paying your fair share to my mother and
Harry’s parents for the two bedroom.”

Tom watched with poorly held glee as Cedric mentally ran the numbers in his head, cross
examining them with previous conversations about approaching a move together, leaving
Draco and Harry to themselves. The Weasley twins, not to be left out, chimed in while
picking at one of the fish sandwiches.

“We’ve thought of investing,”

“But our safety is our security.”

“Best held together,” they said in unison.

Tom didn’t care to know if there were any intruders in the Weasley’s joke shop. Tom thought
it would be suicide at best, an unwilling test subject in the least. Poor unwilling souls who
dare…

“Aren’t we forgetting who our father is?” Harry asked, skeptical of their plan. Before Tom
could retort to his twin, there was Luna to tongue tie him.

“The very same man who cannot see that Cedric, Tom, and I are nearing the final stage of our
initiation courting?” she said, calmly peering into her lemonade, reading the pulp within her
teacup. Tom looked down, his hair hiding the dusting blush on his cheeks.

Harry flicked his wand over the table, muttering a spell to reveal a map of the little magical
and muggle town. Cedric pointed out where the penthouse was located, high up on one of the
new buildings, glass encasing half of the apartment. Draco had practically drooled over the
image of the greenhouse he could create. Harry moved his wand to point out their current
apartment, marking the distance between spaces to be three blocks.

They were within the familiar space, protected auror ground, and if there were muggles
inhabiting some of the apartments, they were of a younger generation- oddly accepting of
other.

Harry bit his lip as he looked at the map, his eyes dating between two locations. His green
eyes pinned each of them down. Tom could not help the smug expression that formed on his
lips, unable to hide his intentions from his twin.

“Doesn’t seem like moving would be too difficult,” Harry acquiesced.

Tom put a grounding hand in the center of Cedric’s spine, his nails biting between the fabric
of his shirt to convey his pleasure. Luna’s hand rested over his own, fingers slotting between
his to put a similar amount of pressure on his spine. Cedric shivered under their touch, Tom
unaware if the others knew and rather not think about revealing themselves in such a display.

Never ones to waste motivation or energy, they finished their lunch, planning how to best
move things. Tom has assured Cedric that whatever wards his parents set on the apartment
had grown used to Tom shifting them around. The alarm would go off that Tom was
modifying the wards, yet the frequency of the chirping would go ignored.

Tom could expand his bedroom, shifting the one that Harry and Draco shared into something
smaller. The bathroom could be moved if the pipes were traced along with a specific warding
that Tom created.

By the dawn of the next day, both places were changed, keys exchanged and paperwork
forged in Cedric’s name. Sure, Harry and Draco were listed as emergency contacts. Luna and
Tom were in return, a constant circle and feedback loop that kept their parents out.

Naturally, at the centermost of their chaos, the Weasley Twins, who kindly offered their
services as mutual Secret Keepers, further reinforcing the feedback wards that Tom linked to
his twins new apartment that Cedric funded. Twin magic reinforcing twin magic- a powerful
set of bindings rippled through the streets, flickering the solar light posts for a moment, the
fountain that filtered rainwater for plants ceasing, starting back up with a brief moment of
terror.

Of course, Tom and Draco wanted to keep this exchange very legal as to not arouse
suspicion. Therefore, they swiftly wrote a contract with all parties, explaining and consenting
to the agreement. They signed their names in magic and sent it to Hermione Granger, who
would see to it’s filing without warning anyone. Keeping legal and secret.

As they were all adults, there was little need for anyone to truly see the need to send copies to
respective parents.

Tom chuckled as he ran his fingers over the threshold of the door, Luna and Cedric flanking
both sides of him. There were still three keys, slightly changed now that they had new
owners. Tom unlocked the door, pushing open the brass doorknob to a new apartment
interior. The kitchen bones remained the same, too dangerous to shift all at once.

Luna gripped his hands and spun him around in the spacious living area, full of light that
would bring in the morning rays for her to flourish in. He added a balcony, hidden behind a
thin mirage, disguised as a fire escape.

“It’s beautiful, Tom,” Luna said, lifting his arm so he spun on his heels, lightness taking hold
of his stomach.

As with any space they envisioned sharing, Cedric brought his wand to the nearest blank
wall. He raised his eyebrow to Tom.

“May I?” he asked politely. Tom nodded his head, eager to see what the architect would
create. The walls shifted within themselves in several rectangular shapes, their depth pushing
within the pipes. Tom smiled as the image became clearer, a wall of bookshelves.

Tom walked to the wall, his hand touching the remnant of Cedric’s magic, rippling and warm
against his palm.
“Perfect,” he hissed. The three of them had a large collection of books, frequently taking to
rearranging them as an activity to bond, revisit theories and expand their opinions.

The combination of muggle appliances, stove wear, radiator and other such equipment was
kept. Carefully balanced through years of tweaking and mastering. Cedric, Luna, and Tom
continued to improve upon it, taking their experiments to conserve magical land for people
and creatures.

Given that Tom and Hermione were in the Ministry of Magic now, they could use their
network to influence powerful members into allowing dark magic studies reinstated under
institution study and practical, safe demonstration. Magical creatures of all kinds were
pardoned, given land that wizards marked unsafe, yet thick magic could protect such
creatures.

Luna Lovegood had taken to London to learn the complex trade of magizoology. Creatures
found her in all and odd places. Seizing magical preserves with Tom and Hermione’s help
allowed her to relocate animals. Cedric would build them natural shelters, reinforcing them
with wards.

And each one of this band of misfits accomplished this while separated and disjointed, in
mild secret.

Luna reached her hand forward, alone now, leaving Tom to feel content when fingers carded
through his hair, prompting his feathers to sprout in enjoyment.

“Come lay down,” Cedric said, yawning as he moved to the bedroom, the mattress larger
than it had right to be.

Dawn was creeping in through the windows as exhaustion began to settle through all of them.
They worked quickly, tirelessly through the night to move supplies and their things from one
apartment to another. Now that everyone was settled in their respective homes, they could
sleep the day away.

Cedric closed the blinds to the bedroom, waiting for Tom to dive under the sheets. While it
felt unnatural to be in the center, since his transformation after eating the Husk’s heart, he
noticed it was harder for him to keep a regular temperature.

Luna and Cedric didn’t take long to notice this and thus, he was the one who slept in the
middle of the mattress. The rid him of his touch starved nature, coming to crave the skin on
skin contact that came when heat surrounded Tom from both ends. He learned to trust that
neither Luna nor Cedric were in danger.

…Oh, one final protection.

“Nagini,” Tom hissed, reaching for Luna’s neck as she cuddled up close to his front, Cedric
pressing his skin against spine. The snake, charmed a smaller, no less deadly, Nagini slowly
grew larger as she shed the spell from her scales. The snake slithered on the headboard above
them, startling none of the members in the nest of blankets any more.
“Thank you, Nagini,” Luna whispered, yawning into Tom’s chest as her eyes fluttered shut.
Cedric, with either no coherency or enough to feel fearless, kissed his fingers and touched
Nagini’s middle in gratitude for protecting them.

Tom felt something flutter through him as they all seemed to snuggle closer to one another,
sharing heat, warmth, and protection in the night. Too tired to ponder, tangled in the nest as
Tom was, it was impossible not to fall asleep.

It wasn’t so much morning when Tom woke, trapped, content, between the two of them. The
sun was high in the air, the sound of the street awake with common traffic. The blinds
blocked most of the light but the breeze still managed to drift in through the slits that were
stubborn enough to break through.

This may have been the first time they had come together in a nest of their own, but this
mutual cuddling- Cedric behind Tom, Luna resting her head or hand over the scar on his
chest. Neither of them are afraid of the death mark. Such bonding was typical for them when
studying.

So why did it make his stomach flutter at the mingling scent of them, combined, drifting to
imbed itself in the walls like a sweet mist.

“Master smells aroused for his mates,” Nagini hissed from above the canopy.

This was unusual indeed. Tom rarely felt arousal, not that they did not complete him, he
simply did not participate physically. Yes, oh yes, Tom had a very clear and welcome image
of Cedric and Luna coming together, molding their bodies together long before they had a
space to call their own.

Now that their scents were mingling, and his instincts called for him to reinforce that,
something stirred within Tom. He remained still, listening to Cedric’s longer breathing,
deeper in sleep, always binding him close and sending waves of heat. Luna, in protest, curled
towards Tom’s front, her neck always nuzzling Tom’s sternum during sleep.

Cedric woke from the slumber first, his arms tightening around them both without word,
sliding his legs to intertwine with Tom. Luna woke slowly, drifting in and out, humming as
she muttered nonsensical words into the scar on Tom’s flesh, pebbling his skin with her
breath. As she came closer to coherency, Tom watched as Luna took in her new surroundings
and smirked.

It seemed their mating ritual would commence even in the new space. Tom reached his head
back to nuzzle Cedric’s cheek. Squirming against the strange and conflicting sensations
surrounding his stomach and smell. Rolling over Luna, he gave the two a bit of space, feeling
the room heat to accommodate the exposed flesh.

Cedric was as a gentleman as always, taking Luna slowly, opening her until her scent was
sitting on Tom’s tongue, beyond permeating in their nest now. Cedric pumped pheromones
into the air, combining their scent, the two of them triggering Tom in a continued onslaught
of sensations that fired along his body.
As they so quickly caught onto everything, panting bodies connected and sticky, the two
quivered as they stilled, reaching for Tom across the sheets.

“Only what you feel is natural,” They each said to him, reassuring Tom of his place within
the nest. Knowing the mechanics, awkwardly, Tom took himself in hand, jolting in sensation,
hips bucking as he throbbed.

Pheromones saturated the air, sweat and musk, the combined aroma of their completion
staking a firm claim on shared, mutual territory.

“Sticky,” Tom hissed, sneering as he waved his hand free of the mess that accumulated on his
hands, his body. The sheets were refreshed as well, yet he did not completely purge the air,
oddly content to let such a thing sit along the nest.

Luna and Cedric both shared laughter at the sensation of sheets ripped around them. Not to
be deterred by tradition, the two scrambled over to him, rearranging themselves back so that
Tom remained snuggly in the middle of the mattress.

###Insert: Daily Prophet###

Nova Synergia Boulevard (NSB)

Up and coming community of young wizards and witches! Located within aparating distance
to the Ministry of Magic. Avoided Witching Siege Damage.

WARNING: Muggles live within the community!

Located not far from several Muggle Universities and Magical Populations, this metropolis
attracts eccentric young adult muggles and middle graduate Hogwarts students, aged 19-29.
This growing demographic of muggles and magicals finds itself in silent harmony on the
Boulevard.

Young adult Witches and Wizards comment that: “oddly, accept confusion with a sense of
numbness and community.” Another comment: “Muggles that want connection without
asking questions.”

A muggle, our clothing oddly similar in styles, corrected us: “It’s NSB. Anything else is a
mouthful.”

The elder wizarding generation, embedded with years of stigma, finds itself combated against
this cohabitation with muggles on Nova Synergia Boulevard. Young Hogwarts graduates are
swarming the apartments on NSB; some simply for rebellion.

Perhaps war on both sides has tired the youth, and this hesitant acceptance of strange and
other will forge a new path. So far, no conflict has broken, pushing no action to justify
separation.

It is certainly an interesting community of humans to observe…

###
Chapter End Notes

I wanted to give something where the kids are five years into the future, showing off
what they are going to do beyond Hogwarts. Again, I wanted them to have some time
outsmarting Hannibal and a house swap seemed to fit nicely. Some have speculated if
Cedric and Luna can turn into ravenstag if Tom is an asexual, I have an answer for that
in the next chapter.

Thank you so much for joining me. I am so happy to have this gift of you all here with
me! Feel free to comment so we can continue the journey!
 Return of the Ravenstag
Chapter Notes

Hello guests, friends, family,

Thank you for coming to the near end of this journey. I am so happy and honored to
have hosted you over the years. It has been an amazing adventure that pushed the
boundary of what I thought possible. thank you for being here with me. Please enjoy this
chapter, where Hannibal goes home.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Never let it be said that Hannibal was not capable of manipulating people into becoming his
friend when he was really trying. Now that he had a daughter, sweet, little spitfire that she
was, Mischa offered him a cover of a protective and attentive father.

Ever eager to learn from her father, Mischa ate up languages as fast as she learned to
consume meat. Lithuanian being the first of languages her father taught her. While English
would be the most frequently spoken language, Hannibal would not neglect his daughter
from learning his mother tongue.

In doing so, he needed an extra voice to expose his child to the language. Thus, when visiting
Yulia, he brought his daughter, speaking Lithuanian to her while wandering the market.
Hannibal’s fawn rapidly babbled, slurring some words together but too enthusiastic for him to
correct.

Yulia caught onto Hannibal immediately, her eyebrow raised into the bandana wrapped
around her forehead. She and Mischa regarded each other, the girl smiling up at the woman.
Yulia waved her over, hobbling to the edge of her cart and lifting the stand.

Mischa yelped with joy as she ran to the woman.

“Go,” Yulia said, speaking in her native language. Hannibal considered that a victory. “She is
mine until you return.”

Though Mischa was surrounded by red meat, she was now six, old enough to hunt rabbits and
eat them with the guidance of some family. Human fingers were still learning how to grip and
twist, but Mischa would learn as she spent more time in her human form. Spending time with
Yulia would reinforce her language and her human behavior.

As with Spring's nature, what was born only came after a period of winter. The new season
would no longer host Yulia’s butchery. The woman had lived a long life, her eyes coming.
Her meat cleavers and knives were packed away, going to be traded before Will confiscated
them. With no family of her own, Yulia was to be buried in an old paupers grave.
Hannibal found himself pulling strings, casting magic and claiming the body.

While this all might have happened in the muggle world, Narcissa caught wind of his rather
impulsive move. Will filled her in on the details when she invited herself over to the house.
Narcissa hummed, walking to the man standing in the kitchen, overlooking the paperwork
nightmare he created for himself.

“It’s time to go home, Hannibal,” Narcissa said, her eyes swiftly reading the papers, grasping
more of the situation. “Your instincts are calling on you.”

Hannibal’s skin tone had paled several shades, hands stiff as he looked over the papers. Will
watched as Hannibal's teacup began to come together, the fractured edges that had long gone
untreated, revealing themselves with the action of claiming Yulia’s body.

Yulia’s body left little time for Hannibal to stall or delay his return to Lithuania. At first,
Hannibal had only planned for himself, Will and their daughter to bury the woman in his
ancestral graveyard. Tom and Harry immediately protested that they would be joining their
father.

Where Harry traveled, Draco was not far behind him.

Bringing along his mother and Severus.

Who in turn brought Beverly.

Sirius understood perhaps better than anyone what it felt like, returning to a place of trauma
after years of putting it out of mind. The silence of whatever ghosts haunted the Herd Alpha
would be better displaced with his company. Remus followed after his mate, assured of the
Dark nature's protections that, if he encountered a full moon, everyone would be safe.

Narcissa was pleased to know that the Grimmauld would not be left to the destructive hands
of her cousin left in lonesome.

“I’m bringing Cedric and Luna,” Tom demanded. He steeled himself before his father as they
prepared to leave in the morning. “Harry gets to bring friends, so do I.”

As Tom was busy presenting the correct image in front of his father, he missed some of his
cues to his mother. Will watched Tom, standing his ground, and felt something else click in
his head. He smiled fondly, walking to Hannibal and resting a reassuring hand on his
shoulder.

“There will be room,” Hannibal said, his eyes distant and clouded. Tom sensed the change in
his father, striding over to offer a quick embrace of thanks, of consolidation. Ever tactile,
Hannibal gripped their son tight.

The arrival of the entire Herd come morning distracted Mischa from asking questions about
Yulia. Sirius and Narcissa were quite well versed in distracting her with quick bubbling spells
or animated stories. Severus and Beverly arrived together, followed by Draco, Luna and
Cedric, who aparated as a unit from Nova Synergia Boulevard.
“We are sorry for your loss,” Cedric said, Luna next to Hannibal, offering up a bounty of
locally picked flowers that commonly grew in the London area.

“They’ll carry the joy of all your homes as you move through grief,” she said, adjusting one
of the flowers in the center. A white snowdrop, near luminescent with its purity.

Being the center of…not pity, but the concern of others was a foreign sensation to Hannibal.
He had grown used to the pride of having a Herd. His daughter- six years old, two sons
graduated college, and a strong Herd of creatures around him with Will standing stronger
than ever beside him.

The Herd parted from the path to the hearth as he approached the flames. With his right hand,
the small pot of floo powder that sat on the banister felt as if filled with lead. HIs hands
moved through the guidance of muscle memory, grasping a large amount of the grainy
mixture, mechanically throwing it into the orange flames.

In a stranger gesture, Hannibal removed a scalpel from his sleeve. Turning his hand, he made
an incision into his skin, the pain grounding him as his Mind Palace was to be reunited with
his oldest of traumas.

With a shaking hand, Hannibal extended his wrist over the fire and whispered his family
motto in his first tongue. A cracking in his mind split when he exhaled the words, his magic
pooling in the space the pressure released, a long dam over his magic stifled.

Hannibal Lecter could only stumble forward into the flames.

The warmth of spring in Italy had not yet come to his old home in Lithuania. Immediately,
the cold plunged him back to the pelt of a fawn, helpless on the marble floor as the snow
surrounded him, piling higher and higher, the pounding of soldiers at the door, screams of his
sister for him even as he ran.

“Hannibal,” Will’s voice, his arms, coiling around him as if his arms could suffocate the
memories that tired stifled him. A numb feeling gripped him as his mate pulled away, looking
down at the wound on his wrist. His thumb came to push on the split, Hannibal wincing only
out of reaction, the pain still distant from him.

Generously, his mate pulled his wand free, a soft spell whispered over the wound, blood
clinging to the sides of dark wood as flesh bound. Before Hannibal could say anything, Will
lifted him from the marble he was sprawled upon, drawing him away from the hearth.

As if sensing the arrival of their children, Harry and Tom trotted through the flames together.
While Harry had his eyes set on Hannibal, Tom was the one scanning the castle for danger
and threats, taking note of the extensive cobwebs that made themselves homes in the corners
and light fixtures.

The fire changed, bringing forth members of the Herd in pairs of two. Hannibal would have
found the Noah's Ark progression of everyone’s arrival humorous if it wasn’t into a place of
his nightmares.
“Wow, Daddy,” Mischa said, squirming out of Remus’ hold. He placed her on the ground,
every step leaving behind a little imprint of dust as she moved closer to him. “You used to
live in a castle!”

As much as his little daughter might have looked like his sister, shared her name, his child
had a wildly different personality. His sister was kind, a soft feather of a fawn that was too
innocent for the cruel world she was born into. His daughter, she was a little spit fire that
barbed anyone who got too close when in fawn feather, would bleet loudly, buck and charge
as if she had a full set of antlers. Mischa, his bright little fawn, did not care for tea parties, but
sword fights with her brothers, the great Hercules as her faithful companion.

“We’re going to be here a while,” Will said to her, looking away from the moth bitten
portraits, several of the boarders hanging with only a sliver of what once was there. “Daddy
will have time to tell you all about it.”

Having done this before with Grimmauld, Draco groaned, remembering the amount of dust
that was caked under his fingernails after all the grime was removed. Thankfully, there were
even more magical people in the Lecter Castle to help with the cleaning, magic no doubt able
to lend a larger hand.

Hannibal led the Herd through the main foyer of his Estate, years of his memory palace
reviewing itself in his head. He paused as his hand touched the railing, one foot on the stairs
covered with cracked and war torn marble.

“I forgot about something stewing in the basement.”

A moment of silence passed over the house, the echo of absence heard as the wind battered
against the glass that stood against time, some old door hinges creaking under it’s strain.

“Naturally,” Will said, and while the man was shaking his head, it was with that soft smile on
his face that shared years of horror and triumph between them. “We’ll split up.”

It was decided.

As always, Harry stuck to Hannibal’s side while Tom followed after Will. Knowing that her
father wanted her, Mischa carried along with her father, a small hand darting up to take his,
swinging it side to side as she began pulling him up the stairs.

Severus and Narcissa followed Tom and Will as they searched for whatever, or more
accurately, whoever, was stewing in the basement. In an awkward position, Beverly decided
to take Draco, Cedric and Luna with her to explore whatever was outside. She claimed she
might need magical assistance but wanted to see what kind of muggle technology the castle
held.

Sirius and Remus decided they would take responsibility for checking the location of any
wards or old protections. A war, years of isolation and the natural elements had to have
degraded some of the common protections around old homes. Sirius was familiar with some
placement of territory wards, given his status as Head of House for the Black Name.
Those that ventured outside made sure to remain beyond earshot of whatever might be
happening in the house. Over a period of five years, all had grown used to the idea of
consuming human flesh, it was impossible not to at least become desensitized. Yet, coming
close to the active sounds of torture were difficult for some to stomach.

Their avoidance meant that Sirius and Remus found three wards that would need Hannibal’s
attention within a week if they were to remain hidden from outsiders and two that they could
reinforce all on their own.

Cedric took to repairing part of the exterior wall that had been left open to the wilderness for
years, water damage no doubt destroying whatever was inside. Years of working with Luna at
the reserve hones his architectural skills. Limited funding meant Cedric learned how to use
his resources and Tom taught him several things when demonstrating his connection to
Hogwarts.

Beverly and Draco stumbled upon an old cellar, filled with preserved food and a disturbing
amount of equipment to survive an air raid.

“We’ll make sure neither Tom nor Hannibal come down here,” Luna said, taking only the jars
of old medicines, potions and food preserves that were not calcified. They collectively agreed
in silence, Cedric the one brave enough to approach the gas masks. He waved his wand over
them, transfiguring them into matches. Shuddering, he swiped each into his pocket.

As the sky began to darken, an unspoken agreement came to those that were outside to return
to the Lecter castle. It appeared that the group who hunted for the basement had received the
same message, calmly preparing dinner.

The dining room was large enough to fit all of them without any need for magical charm. Old
Pureblood families were meant to have large trees, sturdy Heads of House that bore strong
children. Hannibal found himself in the odd position of being told to sit at the table and wait
for dinner to be prepared for him.

The children flicked their magic around him, conversing loudly, sharing jokes and spells as
they charmed the dining room to a more acceptable status. The once dazzling chandelier had
many of it’s jewels removed to pay the heavy taxes, others stolen, some simply withered with
time. Luna carefully floated small lumos charms, giving the impression that it had regained
its crystals as soft light illuminated the room.

Tom transfigured his blue tie into a wide table cloth, the pattern shifting in the middle with a
beautiful silver table runner. Perhaps using his own pureblood heritage to sniff out the old
dishes, Draco brought them back in, rolling enough plates and silverware for each to dine.

“Dinner is served,” Will said, bringing out several dishes of pheasant that someone must have
hunted in the tall grasses.

Even with the entire Herd gathered, the first dinner at the Lecter Estate was a silent affair.
Hannibal had spent the time with his daughter and son, exploring old places long forgotten.
He didn’t know if he was imagining the echo of screaming or if it came from his own twisted
imagination of killing the man in the basement. He stood with his children, aimlessly
walking, taking time to explain each thing his kin asked him of.

At one point, Mischa grew sorrowful that her friend Yulia had passed away. As a rawnfawn,
she had a unique understanding of death that few other children were exposed to. Their
daughter knew what the family consumed and the importance of keeping it secret. It seemed
this was the first time that death had such an emotional impact, a tangible loss, to his
daughter.

After the meal, they would all gather in the ancestral plot to bury Yuila.

He ate mechanically, his eyes unable to help themselves as he took in each member of the
Herd and how it progressed down the length of the table. The children, humorously and
without prompting, all collected down at the farthest end of the table. While they were eating
silently tonight, he had little doubt the ‘kids table’ would be filled with mischief come later
meals.

Hannibal felt his cheeks lift as he took his next bite of food- sorrow, but not in solitude.

Yulia’s burial was more of a ceremony than it was a funeral. In the cold of spring, bundled in
warm furs that were fished out of the backs of closets and spelled cleaned, the Herd stood
outside in the marshy part of his family graveyard. At the threshold of the gravesites, the
pillars of marble protected by a broken and twisted iron gate, Hannibal froze, his eyes locked
onto the grave he least wanted to see.

Beginning with his fawns, Hannibal watched as his boys walked into the graveyard, slowly
weaving around the stones in their path until they happened upon the freshest of them all.
Working in silent tandem, his fawns cleared the brush and debris from Mischa’s, his little
sisters, marble headstone.

Other members of the Herd moved around him, the light from their candles casting a bright
light in his otherwise horrible memories. Narcissa found herself next to Tom, pointing her
wand at the ground until a mound of dirt cracked, rising and forming a grave large enough for
Yulia’s body to rest.

“Come on, Daddy,” his daughter said, hand tugging him beyond the iron gateway. “We need
to say goodbye to Yulia.”

The majority of the Herd did not know the woman in the market yet they stood with Hannibal
in solidarity as he lowered her body next to her sister, another person laying in the ground to
keep her spirit from loneliness.

Being a graveyard filled with death creatures, there was a broken ward that Sirius and Remus
missed when they were hunting for them the other day. Luna noticed it in the dark, her human
eyes no way able to see it, directed by magic. She broke from the group, a small floating
candle of light directing Luna to the center of the back iron gate.
A split through one of the metal bars had the ward contorted. Magic had held some of the
protections, but with such a damage, those with evil intentions could slip through the barrier
if they found a crack.

Powerful magic existed within the iron cauldron of a graveyard. The Alpha of the Herd had
returned to his homeland, bringing with him a mate, three fawns and complete creature
collection.

“Welcome us home,” she whispered. Luna lifted her candle, tilting it over the split in the iron.
Her fingers burned with the flame coming from the wick, she withstood the pain in her hand,
the wax sliding along the base of the candle. A fountain of wax dripped over the iron bar,
colling on impact with years of cold neglect. The wax found its way into the crevice, building
as it cooled, surrounding the metal like a scab.

Luna felt the iron call to her as the candle went out, wax having dropped onto the metal and
grass below her. She reached her hand out, flesh coming to contact with such cold iron it hurt
the burn from the candle. Her fingers dripped blood onto the bar, kickstarting a chain reaction
within the graveyard.

A dark wave of magic hovered over the perimeter of magic and metal, warping the metal
back into shape, the headstones righting themselves, names etched into the marble as if never
seeing the battering edge of time.

Luna fell back into the arms of Cedric and Tom, who rushed to her side the moment magic
began to pool around them, taking only notice of her safety as she touched the ward magic.
With such a pinnacle ward, Tom knew the amount of magic that must have been sapped,
feasted, from Luna would soon have her unconscious.

“Luna,” Tom chided, catching his sweet light. She smiled dumbly, her eyes blinking in and
out of focus as Cedric looked over her with his wand. He and Cedric shared a look, knowing
that she overtaxed her magic. The magic that Luna invoked would lay the foundation for the
remainder of the wards in the Lecter Estate, the bones of the dead serving as the first sacrifice
recently fed.

Hoisting her into his arms, Tom arranged Luna so she could wrap her arms around his neck.
Tom was pleased to know it was dark enough that his family could not see the blush on his
cheeks as he carried Luna through the graveyard, Cedric at his side, to where his father
assigned their rooms.

The magic of the graveyard fed from the light of their candles rather quickly after Luna’s
second feeding. As their candles died, they were to leave for the castle. Remus and Sirius
went out with Narcissa. Draco’s candle burnt at the end with Severus and Beverly’s. As
Mischa grew more tired, beginning to grow fussy, her candle burned at the end with Harry’s.

She bid her final goodbye to Yulia, her older brother scooping her into his arms for a warm
bath and a bedtime blanket.

Hannibal’s numbness cracked when the man fell to his knees, hands taking hold of the grass
that grew over his sister’s remains. Will set his candle down in front of her stone, the light
reflecting off the marble to provide more light.

The two wax candles burned slowly, providing heat and light through the night as Hannibal
broke down in front of his sister, in front of his mate, at the ground of his entire family.
William, filled with a dark reflection of empathy that drove him to slaughter the one in the
basement, held him in the soft light of the wax candle, drippings seeping into the grass.

Hours or minutes had passed, Hannibal could not tell, but as the numb feeling cracked from
his skin, peeling away like a second skin that he no longer could fit, he noticed his candle had
gone out. His shiver did not go unnoticed by his mate, a warm blanket draped over him, his
body too tired to even summon his feathers.

At the guidance of Will’s strong embrace, he was led back to the castle of his ancestors,
slowly filling with a scent that was not decayed and rotted. As he was guided up the stairs, a
hand supported on the marble railing, he could feel a warm presence of magic calling him
home. Passing through the hallway, Hannibal could make out the individual scents of his
Herd, safely tucked away in the night.

The bright afternoon sun finally roused Hannibal from his sleep, the bed empty, sheets pulled
back to keep him warm. He needed not extend his hearing to hear the mischief of the children
exploring his family home, broken yelps and shouts echoing through empty hallways. As he
sat up in bed, Hannibal was pleased to see a dark potion bottle, an overall pain reliever with
Severus' signature wrapped around it.

He drank the potion and in the time it took for him to charm enough hot water into the old
rattling pipes, the overall ache that surrounded Hannibal had broken. With the hot water
washing over him, Hannibal felt refreshed as he dressed, ready to confront his Herd.

Hannibal noted as he approached the broken marble stairs with a lighter attitude, no longer
caught in the webs of his mind palace as he walked through reality.

“I was beginning to wonder if I should worry,” a drawled voice said from the other end of the
stairs, emerging from the shadows. Hannibal smiled as he greeted Severus.

The vampire looked over him with a raised brow, his hair neatly tied back and unable to hide
his scrutiny. Before Hannibal could feel anything like awkwardness for whatever emotions he
might have expressed at the funeral, the man asked: “As you are awake and would no doubt
like to avoid the absolute chaos of repairing the east wing, would you care to check on Luna
Lovegood with me?”

“I will lend my assistance in any way needed,” he said, turning back for the wing he exited.
Severus walked next to him without a word, stepping around the broken debris or crumbling
wood that made a pile on the floor.

The two stopped at one door, the teal paint peeling from the frame, decorative etchings
splintered and termite ridden. Severus knocked twice, warning the occupants of their arrival,
only to open the door.
Luna’s scent filled the majority of the room, assuring Hannibal that Cedric, who was sitting
on her bedside, did not spend the night with her. He steadied his mind, blaming whatever
initial thoughts he had on the exhaustion in his mind.

“Luna was able to drink a half glass of water when she woke in the morning,” Cedric said,
pointing out the tall glass of water, a purple tint to it hinting Tom’s use of muggle electrolyte
powder.

“And what might Tom be up to if he’s not here?” Severus asked, causing Hannibal to look at
his beta in confusion. He knew there was something brewing between the three adults, having
seen some affectionate hugs passed when Tom was in Hogwarts, but Severus made it seem as
if his fawn was in a serious relationship.

“He’s checking to see if the wards are sapping any more of her magic. Luna said they
weren’t; he needed to feel useful.”

Well, Cedric seemed to have an understanding of Hannibal’s son.

The man walked away from them, around the bed for a potion vial, clearly empty. He pulled
out a book from the drawer underneath, flipping to the page marked with a blue ribbon.
Returning to Severus, Cedric extended both the book and the vial.

The potion master lifted the empty vial to his nose, smelling the remnant of the potion as he
read over the ingredients and methodology of his creation.

“Very impressive, Cedric Diggory,” he praised, snapping the book closed and returning the
items to Cedric before Hannibal could look over the notes. The beta looked over the boy, his
gaze falling on Hannibal for a brief moment. A nod passed between them and Severus left for
the door.

He was greeted by Will, another silent conversation passing between the beta and his mate.

Hannibal was feeling very left out of something, growing more concerned with each passing
moment. Luna’s gentle breathing was the only thing that broke the silence, Cedric fidgeting
under their collective gaze. Will seemed to give a prompting sort of gesture with his hands.

Cedric, standing on what appeared to be unsteady ground, looked at Hannibal.

“I have intentions to court Tom Riddle.”

Luna calmly took a breath cycle as Hannibal attempted to process what he heard. Cedric
looked at Luna, as if in sleep she could provide guidance.

“Luna’s father has given us-”

“Us?” Hannibal asked, rudely cutting the man off. Cedric stuttered, his hands twitching at his
side.

“Yes,” Cedric said, his voice attempting not to waver. “Tom and I have permission to court
Luna.”
Hannibal felt as if his eyes were to pop from his skull, his lungs ceased to work. The two of
them were courting Luna? Had gone to her father, beseeched his good nature and received
welcome arms? And here Cedric was, attempting to do the same, to take his fawn, even as
Hannibal had just reclaimed his homeland.

“No,” he said simply, turning before he could hear any more of Cedric’s reasoning.

Severus only barely managed to hold onto the tea he drank as Will broke the news to him. He
swallowed the bitter liquid, a small cough covered up with one hand.

“Hannibal said no?”

“Claims that Tom’s not interested,” Will said, rubbing his scalp as he wished his tea cup was
filled with something stronger than coffee. Severus growled as he looked out the door, as if
he could summon the Alpha of the Herd with his glare.

“Not interested?” the man sneered. “Did he miss the entire display of Tom all but sweeping
Luna off her feet, Cedric by their side the entire time.”

“Evidently, not well enough.”

Severus refilled his tea cup, having a feeling he would need the caffeine to break through the
inevitable headache this was bound to cause at dinner.

“And how is Tom taking this?” Severus asked, likely knowing the answer of the Young Dark
Lord.

“Oh, not well,” Will said, smiling with no humor.

Whatever words Severus was going to say, he paused, turning his head to listen to the
approaching footsteps. He calmed, the wind bringing along the scent of his godson. Draco
arrived, calmly looking at the two of them and nodding his head in commiseration.

“We have another problem,” said Draco, holding a scroll to Severus for review. “The Weasley
Twins,” Draco explained to Will as Severus read the specifics. “They were experimenting on
an animagus potion and have run into some…technical errors.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Severus said, flipping the parchment over for Will to observe.

The magical picture had a pair of Weasley twins, their ginger heads adorned with large ears
that flicked around the room. Alongside their hips, a set of tails puffed wildly with anxiety
that gave away the clever expression on their faces.

“Invite them over,” Will said, smiling at Draco. Severus put his hand on his godson before
he could escape.

“You know you are inviting more chaos into the castle, yes?”
“Naturally,” Will said. “Let Draco go, give them the location and I will let them in at the
wards.”

Severus slowly exhaled, knowing that he would need to switch to headache relief potions to
bear whatever chaos adult Weasley twins would bring, now equipped with years of successful
pranks pulled off in Diagonally. Though Draco was practically vibrating with excitement, he
walked away with the grace of a pureblood ready to begin the legal battle of his namesake.

Draco returned to the room, a finger held up in the air with a question on his tongue.

“Are we telling Hannibal about this?”

Will barked a laugh, shaking his head.

“No Draco.” Will calmly sipped his coffee. “We’re not.”

And so, within the span of four hours, Will, Severus and Draco had invited the Weasley
Twins over. Will recalled the special friendship Tom had with the twins. He was glad for
whatever accident befalls them, they would help his son. It seemed that Sirius and Remus
along with Fred and George were in a feedback loop of excitement, already planning spells
and adventures within the castle that were sure to liven the place up for Hannibal.

The man who was never rude to take on guests in need, at his door, with some sort of ailment.
One look at his mate and Will knew Hannibal figured this little game of revenge. All the
same, the man allowed the ginger twins, wearing atomically fused fox adornments on their
bodies.

“Drank the potion and waited three hours,” Fred began after the initial inspection. Mischa
was most fascinated, bringing some of her feathers to her golden hair.

“Using the full moon to give us a boost of transformative power,” George said, the two
bowing to Remus, their tails even showing a sign of submissive stillness..

“We managed to both shift into the animagus form.”

The two collectively showed off, their clothing morphing onto the ground, ginger hair
expanding over their spines, faces shifting to better accommodate the ears that remained
attached to a human skull. The two were average sized foxes, a beautiful copper pelt that only
had a slight dusting of white on their paws.

Mischa immediately giggled, shifting herself and beginning to chase the Weasley twins on
the marble floor, their paws sliding on the ground for traction as Mischa’s hooves stumbled
with each step for traction. Will let the chaos build for only two circles of chase before he
stepped in front of his daughter, stilling her. She huffed, her feathers puffing along her pelt.

Even so, she laid her hooves down onto the ground next to his feet and looked at the two
Weasley twins, panting as they returned to their spot in the circle.

When they transformed, robes returning to cover flesh, there was the tail and ears stuck to
their head.
“Can’t lose them,” George shrugged, the tail flicking from side to side with low levels of
anxiety.

Severus rubbed his brow, shaking his head.

“We will all have to run our own tests,” he said, looking at Hannibal and Luna, for her own
magizoology expertise. He looked back at the papers. “Given the timeframe…”

The two cringed, looking at each other with small micromovements of expression shifting
between them. Their tails curled around one another, briefly passing.

“We’ve predicted this might be permanent,” George began.

“After we discovered they responded to our emotional status…” Fred shrugged as he ran a
hand over the soft fur of his tail.

“Mum’s gone a wee bit mad though,” George said, nodding to his brother.

“It’s what caused us to write,” his brother agreed.

Hannibal and Severus told the other members of the Herd to leave the twins in peace for their
examination. With Luna silently trailing behind Hannibal, having said nothing of his rejecting
Cedric’s courting proposal, filled him with a strange sense of unease. All the same, Hannibal
opened a parlor room that his father used to entertain gentlemen. Behind the stifled air, the
odor of cigars remained relevant in the dark colored room.

Severus and Luna cleaned an area for the twins to stand in as Hannibal opened the windows,
letting in enough cold air to cleanse the room of the stifling energy. Seeing the twins shiver,
their tails flicking closer to their bodies, he charmed the fireplace back to life, smoke
coughing out the top of the chimney.

Luna began her inspection first, calming the twins with her friendship as she snapped her
fingers near the men’s triangular ears where human shells used to be. Each copper colored ear
responded to her inspection, flicking to the side, tracing her movement.

“Fred and I have run some of our own tests,” George said, remaining still as Luna ran gentle,
clinical fingers over the bones in his tail.

“We have better night vision than before the experimental potion.”

“This is why you confirm with other scholars before you test on yourselves,” Severus
muttered, making his own notes on the potion, attempting to configure some type of cure
given the amount of time that the potion had to set in their bones.

“Both your ears and eyes have changed drastically,” Luna said, moving her wand over Fred’s
eyes. “It’s quite fascinating, really? Do you eat raw meat?” She asked George this as she
tipped Fred’s mouth open, the man giving a weak growl as she inspected his teeth.

George chuckled nervously.

“We picked up on that change too,” he said. At Severus’ glare, he raised his hands in
surrender, tail flicking to submission. “What? Just because we experiment on ourselves
doesn’t mean we aren’t taking notes and precautions.”

Luna, having finished looking in Fred’s mouth, gave him a scratch on the head, between his
ears. Hannibal couldn’t help but find his reaction similar to many of the dogs when receiving
the same attention, drooping ears, a slow wagging tail of happiness.

She backed away from the twins, coming to take a stand next to Severus, leaving them both
at Hannibal’s mercy. Before they could scamper away, he flicked his wand over them, pulling
an image of their skeleton forth. He took note of their tailbones, seeing that the bones
extended from their human hips, several nerve endings connecting along their spinal cord.

Their ears were equally complex in their heads. Hannibal assumed that the transformation of
an animagus, allowing the full capabilities of their animal form to take place, transferred
within the twins human structure.

Looking at it, knowing that they responded to Luna’s sensory tests and the Weasley twins'
confession of their new night vision.

“It’s likely permanent,” Hannibal concluded.

Twin tails puffed with copper hair and anxiety, flicking once before they curled around each
other, finding comfort with their touch. Fred and George looked at each other much the same
that Harry and Tom could, their heads tilting slightly, ears flickering as if they could hear the
internal dialogue spoken telepathically with their new appendages.

The two looked back at Hannibal, devilish smiles on their faces.

“Wicked,” they said in unison.

Severus snorted, looking the least surprised of all of them.

“Gentlemen,” Hannibal said, taking a closer look at their x-rays. “You have several nerve
endings that are swollen. They will need time to heal, get used to their new existence.”

“That means no pulling on your ears or tails, limited rapid or spontaneous transformation,
extended rest and an increased game diet,” Severus rattled off the list, a parchment taking his
notes for the twins, having no excuse to not follow them. He was their Head of House for five
years…

Luna turned to her blue knitted bag that Hermione gave her. The endless extension charm
came in handy when she was tending to the creatures on her reserve. Given the situation the
twins were in, she had little doubt some of the magizoology harm them.

“I have several potions carnivores can ingest,” Luna said, pulling two bottles free for her
friends. She passed them along to the twins. “And this salve,” she passed a clay pot covered
in ivy vines, “use it on the base of your ears and tail. It will help with the swelling.”

Fred took the two potions as his twin took the salve.
“You’re a gem, Luna,” George said. They began to walk out of the room.

“Yeah, Lover Boys are lucky to have you.”

And with such a simple comment, such a wave of guilt could slam into Hannibal with the
force of a tsunami. His breath hitched as the twins made their escape, no doubt excited to
greet their other friends, unknowing of the current tension that Hannibal created.

He spared a look at Luna, who was calmly cleaning the area the twins left behind, running the
floor with a sanitation spell commonly used in hospitals. There was no way that Luna was
unaware Hannibal rejected Cedric’s courtship proposal- he hadn’t seen Tom all afternoon, the
first time he saw his son was when he greeted the twins.

“This spell,” Luna said, looking at the hovering x-ray image. “It will be very helpful on the
reserve for my creatures. Thank you for teaching it to me today.”

With her things packed up, Luna slung the strap across her body, humming a tune to herself
as she sauntered through the castle.

“Dinner has certainly gotten more chaotic,” Severus said, calmly accepting the upcoming
storm. There was little he could do, other than enjoy whatever he and Hannibal hunted.

Tom, still giving Hannibal the cold shoulder, absolutely refused to sit at the dinner table with
his father. In joint rebellion with his fellows, they renovated one of the rooms next to the
kitchen that was once used as a simple tea room. The collective children had repaired and
cleaned the opaque glass that crested along one exterior wall, lifted the dust and smoke
damage caused by a small fire.

Much to Beverly’s displeasure, Harry repaired the fireplace.

It was Cedric and Tom that repaired the exterior of the building, the old stones repaired with
fresh mortar. Draco had found the old pottery, taking a series of whispered spells to fix the
cracks along the edges, lifting the damage and restoring it to its former glory.

As Fred and George were both pranksters, they were used to cleaning up a variety of messes.
The wooden floor had become damaged with termites, the wood dangerous to stand near.
They collected the bugs for potions, removed the old wood, and began to repair the damage
to the floor. Their mother would have been proud of their work, given how often they had to
fix the floor by hand in their youth.

The group of children merged enough circular tables until they could transfigure it into one,
setting the middle with a group of candles and mirrors that bounced light around the room.

“Thanks for dinner,” Harry said, beginning to steal plates of food that he had prepared in the
kitchen. As Hannibal went to protest, his son flicked his wands at the floating plates, taking
them further from his grasp. “What are you going to do? Put Tom and the Weasley Twins
together.”
“That would not be wise, Hannibal,” Severus said, his tone near beseeching as he poured his
wine.

“Let the children have their fun,” Narcissa said, standing between him and Harry, shooing
him away as Hannibal would never attack her without prompting. Defeated, Hannibal felt
guilt eating at him more than the hunger as he served the adults.

Hannibal’s stomach churned at the happy laughter and conversation echoing in from the
children, knowing that he was the one who caused such a split in the table.

“He really said no,” Fred asked, looking at Cedric when the laughter of their reunion had died
down. Some of the feathers on Tom’s shoulders had prickled, bunching his clothing in a
strange manner.

“We’ve been turning the guilt up to ten,” Luna said, calmly spearing the red meat on her
plate, taking time to chew and eat it. “It seems to be working.”

“I just can’t believe he doesn’t see it,” Tom said, reaching for the bread that Harry smuggled
to the table, tearing into a loaf. When Cedric put a grounding hand on his shoulder, he calmly
skinned the butter for his roll.

“I mean,” Harry said, looking at Draco with a coyish smile.

“It did take him a while to see Severus as his Beta.”

“And the only reason why father might have seen the two of us together is because-” Harry
was cut off by Draco.

“We practically advertised our connection from day one.”

There was a collective aww from everyone at the table, the purpose to make Draco and Harry
blush, who only retaliated by kissing at the table until Tom’s face expressed a need for mercy.
The two were smirking as they pulled away, laughter breaking out through the kid table.

A gentle hand ran through the back of Tom’s locks, one of them petting on a feather that
perked up through his neck. He turned to look at Luna, her pale blue eyes gazing into him
with a sight that he only felt with Cedric.

“Let’s go out, after dinner.”

“I like the sound of that,” Cedric agreed, their voices hidden by the sound coming from
around the table.

Before his father could corral Tom, Cedric and Luna dragged him out one of the windows to
escape. They were promised cover by the Draco and the Twins at the table. Knowing that
escape had to be swift, Tom shifted his form.
He had changed with eating the Husk, the scales on his antlers in need of more shedding than
velvet. When hunting, he needed to be cautious with any venom he released in his fangs. No
matter, with Luna and Cedric, Tom was gentle, never fearing his natural and unnatural traits
would harm them. He knelt on the ground for Luna, tilting his antlers for her to ground
herself as she mounted his back.

Cedric was on the ground next to him, his tail wagging as he took on his own animagus form.
His bright golden hair made him easy to spot in the dark, but Tom would not lose his small
canine companion. Ever loyal, the golden retriever stepped far enough away from Tom he
could extend his hooves. Luna had long learned to stay on Tom’s shoulders, her hands
coming to grip his feathers, legs around his barrel.

Tom cantered through the meadow, the tall grass giving him little trouble as he cleared way
for Cedric to run behind him safely. With dusk approaching, Tom took care to not wander too
far into the treeline. While he had a pelt that was designed to keep warm in the cold
Lithuanian territory, he would not allow for Luna and Cedric to keep warm under heat spells
for long.

Finding a toppled over tree, Tom slowed to a walk and halted. Cedric panted as he ambled
over, clearly as exuberant as he was tired. Luna dismounted, her hair tangled in knots and
scent wild with adrenaline. She was laughing, her sweet sound always lightening his heart.
Tom huffed as he laid down on the ground, providing his warm pelt for the two. Cedric took
his usual spot under Tom’s chin, providing a comfortable and fluffy pillow as Luna rested in
the swell of Tom’s warm belly feathers, head on Cedric’s rump.

“There is so much wild magic here,” Luna said, looking up at the tree covered sky, the
occasional cloud passing through a break in the tree buds cover. Soon, leaves would cover
this entire treetop, providing a beautiful canopy come summer. “His instincts compelled your
father back to his homeland, Tom,” Luna said, pulling on several of Tom’s belly feathers so
they covered her body more fully as the wind passed over them. “There is no reason why he
won’t want to share that with a little time…and guilt.”

Cedric barked in agreement, turning his muzzle to lick at Tom’s feathers. The ravenstag
huffed, shaking his crown as he did when he was upset. When he turned to start gently
grooming over Cedric’s neck, they knew he was trying to convey he was not displeased with
them. Luna buried her fingers into his withers, gently scratching at his sensitive point.

They remained in the wilderness until Luna needed to cast the first warming spell over her
body. Tom roused them, his pelt that rested over Cedric causing the dog to yelp as a new chill
covered him. Luna quickly mounted Tom, pulling on his mane of feathers as he began to
canter through the woods. Her eyesight was slightly better than a humans in the night, but
nothing compared to Tom’s. She trusted the ravenstag to lead her through the forest safely,
making sure to not knock her from his back.

When they broke free of the forest, Tom slowed to a trot as they crossed the meadow, Luna
could see movement from within the back window they escaped from. Out climbed Will
Graham, his expression causing Tom to come to a sudden halt, almost jostling her from his
back. It seemed from the yelp Cedric gave, that the animagus was not expecting Tom’s stop
either.
Luna took the opportunity to swing her leg over Tom, the feathers sliding over her body
smoothly until her feet landed on the floor. Avoiding her former professor's gaze, she
smoothed the ruffled feathers on his back for a moment, making sure that Tom’s pelt would
be comfortable when he transformed back into his flesh.

“I’m an adult,” Tom justified as he shifted into his human skin. Luna laughed, her head tilting
high enough to see the other adult watching through a window, cracked so he could see their
arrival and hear their argument. “I don’t need a curfew.”

“Keep that attitude up and you will,” Will said, unimpressed.

Cedric, shifting his form, laughed. He plucked several twigs from his hair, brushing it with
his fingers.

“We didn’t want to stay away from the Herd too late,” he said to Will, looking at the two
standing by his side.

Though Tom and Cedric did not know it, Luna knew this was the right thing to have echoed
through the night, into the ears of the one watching above them. Will welcomed them back
into the house, a soft order to get to bed as quickly as possible.

Tom took to leading the three of them through the castle. Judging by the back way they were
taking, the stairs cramped and cracking along their climb, he had found another way around.
The three of them arrived in their hallway, but Tom did not allow Luna in her bedroom, or
Cedric in his, taking a hand from both as he brought them to his room.

“Don’t worry,” Tom said, easing Cedric’s natural worry that his father would kill him. “He
will have to kill me first.”

Luna giggled at that, watching as Tom hissed in Parseltongue, no doubt laying a couple of
locking spells to prevent his father from entering. She peaked into the bathroom and saw it
had a shower. Nudity was not new to them, she felt comfortable stripping as she dipped into
the shower. The cold water startled her, it waring gradually even with spells.

Cedric was next in the shower, following the natural routine of their morning ever since
living together on NBS. As Luna’s hair was drying, Tom took to gently toweling it, running a
comb through her already curling locks. As the water was cold, Cedric was quick out of the
shower, meaning that her hair went unbraided by Tom’s nimble fingers.

“Tomorrow we fix the heat plumbing,” Cedric muttered, in his pajamas and quick to burrow
under the thick comforter. As Tom went to prepare for his shower, Luna joined Cedric in the
bed, their body heat quickly collecting within the bed.

Tom’s shower was as swift as theirs, his shivering body blue as he quaked within the sheets.
Cedric and Luna both gasped at his cold hands and feet, chrms tossed between their bodies
and the fabric to boost the residual that was already between them.

“First thing on the list,” Tom muttered, burrowing deeper in the sheets as Luna’s warmth at
his chest began to seep into his body, Cedric a blazing inferno settling behind him. He felt his
body relax, the scent of them nowhere near as potent as their nest in London, but better than
his scent alone.

Tom slept with little problems that night.

Hannibal had little else to ask. He had looked everywhere for Tom, hoping to console his son
and apologize. He could not find Luna either, her drifting aura and presence always seeming
to find him before he could hunt her down. Nor could Hannibal find Cedric, the man he
observed was a golden retriever, his animagus reflecting the core of his psyche of a loyal
companion and friend.

Then the infuriatingly humble man had confessed he returned Tom and Luna to the Herd,
back to Will, his mate and Alpha.

Will made him promise when they encountered Tom’s locked door he would wait until
morning to speak with the three of them.

And now it was high noon and he could find none of them.

Hannibal feared the worst, that his son, angered with his father for refusing what was so
clearly a love, must have left with his potential mates.

He stumbled into a room filled with empty portraits, Narcissa, her son, and Sirius all flicking
through them as the Weasley twins rested in their fox form on the ground.

“Have you seen my son?” he asked, the desperation in his voice must have carried over the
idea of which one he was speaking of.

Draco put down one of the ripped tapestries that his mother was observing.

“Harry said that he’s been feeling echoes of Tom being wet and cold,” he offered. Sirius
nodded his head, a hand coming to his temple as he tapped it several times.

“Check in cellars and boilers,” he said, nodding along with the tapping of his skull. “Yes,
they might be exploring the wells.”

“I think your dear Harry would have felt Tom’s absence and alerted you,” Narcissa said,
going back to prompting Draco to lift the portrait back up. “Lords know those boys are
inseparable.”

Their clues calmed his beating heart. With a direction in mind, Hannibal set out to explore the
‘wet and cold’ places that Draco reported Harry feeling. The nearest was an old butcher cellar
that had long gone emptied. He crossed through a couple meters of an old stone path, cutting
down the tall grass that damaged it.

When he found his son, Hannibal would later take to restoring his estate.
The butcher’s cavern was stone, cold, dripping with a faint water flow and empty of any fresh
scents. It had long since been abandoned. Hannibal left for the well ahead of him, hoping that
his son was not foolish enough to hunt down there.

Thankfully, his children were not in need of a scolding as he found no evidence of Cedric,
Luna, or Tom.

Returning to the estate from a different angle, he paused when he saw Beverly and Will on
the roof. They had numerous pieces of equipment, yellow and blue wires running along the
top.

“It needs an overall update,” Beverly challenged, having the high ground. “You want wifi to
help you hunt, right?” She asked.

As Beverly shouted her argument from the rooftop, Will was hiding his no doubt smug
expression behind retiling the roof with the muggle wires embedded.

Hannibal felt himself laugh as his mate and beta dismembered, gutted, transplanted his old
home into something new, something that reflected the very Herd living within. As he walked
into his estate, content to let Will and Beverly do as they please, he caught the faint smell of
his son.

Pursuing, Hannibal stalked it to one of the servants' passages, the narrow walls forcing him to
turn his body as he navigated through them. He listened, pausing at a three pronged impasse.

The sound of his son echoed, but it was distorted, not coming from the three hallways. He
backtracked, attempting to find his son by going deeper into the heart of his castle.

That's when he remembered…his little Tom Riddle, the Heir of Slytherin, who once took
shelter in the Chamber of Secrets, would find a natural habitat in the depths of the Lecter
Estate. Hannibal stalked down the stairs, taking faster routes that would lead him to the boiler
room, long ago broken with time.

It was on the list of repairs but the damaged roof and exposed exterior had to come before
heated water without the use of spells.

The creaking door gave Hannibal’s arrival away. Luna telling Cedric and Tom to hush
exposed her position. While he could easily stalk them down, he did not want to further stoke
his son’s ire.

“I was worried you had gone,” Hannibal said in the dark, his voice carrying over to his son
without needing to see him. “I came to apologize, to each of you, to all of you.”

Part of Hannibal was grateful for the dark, keeping the shame off his face. He had harmed his
son, hurt the potential of his son to find happiness because he was selfish. His children were
meant to fly out of the nest, to explore where their hooves could take them, knowing that
home would always be open to them.

Hannibal jeopardized that integrity with one hasty word.

He heard some shuffling, footsteps approaching him. From the scent, he could tell it was not
his son, but Cedric. When he stepped close to the light that pooled from the door that
Hannibal opened, the man was smiling.

The two walked out of the room that he, Luna and Tom were all hiding in. Hannibal walked
no more than five steps before he stopped the man, facing him with the need to apologize
sincerely.

“I’m not taking them, sir,” Cedric said before he could speak. “Not that I could overpower
either of them,” he said this with a dreamy, dazed expression towards where they walked
from. “Tom and Luna…they go where magic takes them.”

Cedric looked up at the man, his hand outstretched to initiate a truce.

“I’d follow them anywhere,” he said.

Hannibal shook the man’s hand.

“I apologize for not being more observant and for the harm I caused you these past days.”

Cedric stuttered and blushed under his apology.

“My parental need to protect him has blinded me and hurt him, as well as the two of you.
Tom is comfortable enough with you to be in his pelt, to allow Luna the same privilege. He
understands the gravity of sharing that and you have both dined with us as humans. I have
been foolish and I hope that you can forgive me as you court my son.”

Cedric slowly bloomed with the kind of happiness that Hannibal only wanted to see in his
children. The young man nodded his head, an excited smile forming on his face when his
eyes rested on the dark hallway they exited, clearly wanting to tell the two.

“We’re all family, it all worked out, see?” he said, the tail end of his sentence must have
echoed something that Luna said. Cedric nodded his head to the man, retreating to the two
trapped in the boiler room.

Hannibal was unsure why his son and his two courting mates had chosen to venture into the
boiler room, but he would rather leave Cedric to deliver the good news. While it hurt him to
walk away from his son rather than seek him out, Hannibal knew it was for the best.

As the boiler room and basement was filled with dangerous bits of metal and residue magic,
Tom could not pace away his anxieties. Luna instead helped him by fixing the piping. After
spending his first lifetime in the Chamber of Secrets, he had learned some usual patterns.

With his skills in warding and Luna’s natural talent building habitats for creatures, they
worked side by side, magic coiling around each other as it traveled through the pipes like a
lacquer. As they were together, neither felt their magic sapped as Luna’s was when in the
graveyard. The network of pipes was old, but embedded in the infrastructure and relatively
intact.
They didn’t know how long Tom’s father had spoken to Cedric but upon his return, a bright
smile on his face and bounce in his step, Luna and Tom had finished fixing the pipes.

“You can’t just wear yourselves out any time I’m not here to supervise you,” he said, pulling
two potions from his pocket, handing them to rejuvenate the both of them. Top flicked back,
Tom drank the liquid, the taste of lemon immediately waking his senses. Luna looked equally
as energized after drinking from the vial.

“You have good news?” she asked, prompting, hesitant.

It was the bright smile in the darkness that made Tom’s heart thunder, his blood pump
through his body. Moving to Cedric, he pulled the man in for a hug, his face buried in his
neck, taking in the man’s warm scent and signature.

“Wonderful,” Luna said, taking her side in Cedric's embrace. With Tom snaking his arm
around them, he calmed his magic and aparated the three of them to his room. With the spell
he hissed the previous night, his father would be unable to sense their change in location

“Never seen you so eager,” Cedric said, slowly taking Tom’s first outer layer off.

“The scent,” Tom said, desperately pawing at his clothing to remove them, somewhat calmed
by the presence of last night's nesting scent clinging to the bedsheets. “It’s not like home.”

Luna made sure to walk with Tom to the bed, the three of them kneeling on the thick duvet
that kept the spring night chill away. While there was some sun peeking in through the
windows, too long above the sheets and Tom might freeze or fall asleep in self preservation.

Quickly stripped and back under the sheets, Tom purred and spread his feathers over his
spine and hands, allowing several to dip into his hair. Cedric and Luna were always
fascinated with petting through the thick pelt of feathers when he shifted in his ravenstag
form, it was no different when he allowed his body to transform slightly.

With his pelt loose on their flesh, Tom could smell the faint oils merging with that of their
natural scent. Luna, who smells constantly of the outdoors, wild magic flowing through her.
Cedric’s own scent happened to be as warm as his personality, honey-like and managing to
attract someone as prickly as Tom. His scent deepened when the sheets warmed.

“Are we allowed to play, Tom?” Cedric asked once Tom calmed, his body floating in a flood
of happy chemicals. He opened his eyes and looked at Cedric, his mate. He could smell his
arousal, and the arousal coming from Luna. Tom nodded his head, shifting around to allow
Luna to climb over him.

His mates took their time with each other. They whispered how happy they were to court
each other. How in trouble they would be, giggling as they continued to kiss.

“Harry and Draco were relentless,” Tom muttered, easing the rather unneeded concerns of his
mates. He was close to them, closer than he normally got. They were touching- Luna's hands
on his chest when Cedric would kiss her lower, Cedric taking care to make sure one of Tom’s
legs was always touching his side.
Cedric brought Luna to her height once with her mouth, the smell of their sweat saturating
the nest as Tom watched over them. Tom’s own skin and feathers only deepened the
combination of their scent, oils pooling into their flesh, heightening it.

He hissed a spell, further concealing the room from any interruption.

With their magic so close to the surface, Tom felt it dancing along his feathers, absorbing the
oils as Cedric finished enticing Luna with his mating dance. As they grew closer to
completion, their scents growing higher with Tom’s he began extending his own magic to
touch theirs.

Luna and Cedric both gasped, their eyes rolling into the back of their heads as sparks danced
from within them, Tom pushing his magic within connected flesh. Each body flushed as
magic was introduced to each other on a level that only Tom could achieve. It felt natural, the
three of them pushing and pulling, merging together in one union.

Starting within Tom, a zing of almost playful magic shot through his chest, galloping to reach
and connect to whichever parts Luna and Cedric touched. He felt his feathers channel the
magic, pushing it further into them, feathers trying to pull some of their own from skin.

Tom knew there was something different about their scents when they settled for a mid
afternoon nap. It didn’t seem to concern his instincts, pleasantly purring as his mates flanked
either side of him once more, their collective scent not concerning him as they burrowed
close.

Of course, when the full moon caught Remus’ attention, bringing forth a wave of excitement
from the Herd, Cedric and Luna were going to have to reveal themselves. Mischa was
chomping at the bit, ready to transform at a moment’s notice when it came to speaking of the
full moon. She took herd bonding very seriously.

“I want a family picture,” Luna said, holding up a magical camera, a modern one that Beverly
helped her pick out and Tom charm. “One of us before the moon and after,” she asked,
looking at the Alpha of the Herd.

There came an expected silence before the man relented, sensing each one was excited for the
opportunity to have a new family photo.

Tom, Luna and Cedric were all in silent agreement.

Harry raised his eyebrow, expecting something from his twin but saying nothing on the
matter. He, like many others in the Herd, had grown relieved when the stress had dissipated
at Hannibal’s acceptance of their courting. In no way, did Harry wish to disturb such peace so
quickly.

The Weasley Twins took Luna along as afternoon started to bleed into dusk, scoping out the
perfect place for a picture that would be sure to capture the moon within the camera shot.
Luna used her wand like a compass, plotting the moon and running along the shadows with
the twins.

“Here,” Luna said, looking at the moon’s path with the sun acting as a counter guide. There
was nothing revealing about the backdrop, hidden on the off chance that anyone found the
picture.

Narcissa carried after them, setting up a few charms to provide artificial light on all the
members.

“You should know that Hannibal is taking this very seriously,” Narcissa said, making sure the
camera had several protection charms on it.

Luna didn’t need to reply, seeing Tom carrying his sister in his arms. She was dressed in a
smart white dress, shiny black shoes with little neon blue socks. Tom wore a dark black suit,
crisp white shirt that had slight etchings of scales, winking at his nature. He wore a green tie,
neatly and smartly tucked against his neck and laying down his front.

“Tom Riddle,” She said, giving a curtsy. Tom chuckled, lifting her hand to kiss the top of her
wrist. Though she blushed, Luna attempted to brush it off by shaking her head.

Harry was dressed in a similar fashion, his tie a darker shade of green that accented his eyes.

“You appealed to Hannibal’s vanity,” Will said, dressed in a suit for the occasion, his hair
neatly curled to the side. “Well done, Luna.”

Sirius and Remus were dressed for the occasion. Sirius joked that he wouldn’t dare let
Remus’ suit go to waste when he shifted at the pull of the moon. Narcissa had chosen a pale
blue dress that came down to her mid calf, allowing her to walk through the long grass
without getting tangled or dirtied. Draco followed after his mother in a teal suit, quickly
catching up to Harry’s side.

Narcissa had a smug expression on her face as Cedric sauntered out from the castle, making
his way to the Herd in a steel grey suit and a deep chocolate brown tie. She knew Hannibal
would be pleased with her transfiguration skills. The man looked quite dashing in the suit as
he approached his two intended.

As Severus walked out, his potions frock pressed, blanched and tightly buttoned with Beverly
in a deep purple dress, Narcissa went to Luna’s aid. A bright child, she transformed her
clothing into a warm spring gown, light green in color. To tie in Cedric’s colors, Narcissa tied
a bow around her waist, the fabric fading to give the impression of rope. Adding her own
blue flare, Narcissa embroidered bluebells into her dress.

Thank you,” she said, spinning around to test the dress.

The twins' chaotic magic was capable of transfiguring their own clothing into brightly
colored suits that took on the shade of the twilight.
As a group, they all took their places, quickly rearranging based on height and logical order,
trying to scramble within the frame as the sun began to set and the moon climb higher.

Several photos were taken, one of them sure to be good enough.

Quickly, a scramble to get sets of pictures. Hannibal with his family. Narcissa and her son,
Severus and Beverly joining in. Sirius and Remus, Harry jumping into the shot with a mad
dash. A group of all the children, then a fast shot of all the adults.

Luna set up the camera for the last of the shoots as the sky turned purple. Her heart began to
pound in her chest as she knew what was going to occur for her and Cedric. With Tom
waiting for her in the photo line up, she was sure she had made the right choice.

The camera was timed to go off on her own magical shift with a one second delay. Luna, with
her power of sight, would be the last to shift, assuring that she would get the perfect family
photo before Hannibal caught wind of their transformation.

It started with Remus, then a wave of shifting skins into pelts and animagus. She and Cedric
would be the last to change, the moment that she felt a shift in the moon.

Go.

Luna shifted, Cedric following along.

The camera, waiting one brief second, flashed a light with the moon high in the sky behind
them, each in their true form.

And then the chaos of the reveal broke.

Luna and Cedric found themselves playfully running from Hannibal, Harry and Tom bucking
and prancing in celebration of tricking their father. Will huffed, his feathers extended with a
content pulse. Mischa was happy to join in the chaos, spurred onward by the Weasley twins
nipping at her hooves. Sirius and Remus were barking at one another, play bowing as they
took off running.

It wasn’t until morning, during breakfast when the children were all gathered in the kitchen,
making breakfast with each other. Of course, they were making double the quantity, but
Hannibal observed them all speaking amongst one another, sometimes talking over each
other to get a point across as they bantered. Tom and Harry were at the stove, Draco, Luna,
Cedric flanking them as sous chefs. The Weasley Twins took wild orders, passing items or
transfiguring things that were asked of them.

It was entirely too domestic for living in the Lecter Estate.

Rather than say anything directly, Hannibal waited until they were all seated at the table once
more. Hannibal was sitting at the head of one end, Tom Riddle at the other. It was a balanced
table, chaos and order, the children and adults, creatures hungry to feast on breakfast.

“You are far too interconnected,” Hannibal said, getting the attention of each young adult at
the table. They all cleverly avoided making direct eye contact with him, thus implicating
themselves in a crime he had yet to uncover.

“We formed our own sub-Herd,” Harry said.

Will chuckled, pointing his knife at Harry.

“I accept this answer. But it is not the answer to the question we want.” He calmly went to
butter his toast. “What did you do?”

The children all eventually connected eyes with each other, small shrugs, guilty expressions,
and a few smug smiles eventually broke down to Tom and Harry explaining their ‘Red
Robin’ scheme.

“I am so proud,” Sirius said, blotting away fake tears from his eyes as the children depicted
moving all of their items around the houses in one day.

Beverly was silently laughing into her hand, from the looks of it, her diaphragm in pain.
Severus, with years of servitude to the Dark Lord and the Head of House to many Slytherin’s,
was simply happy they filed the legal paperwork for such a house swap. Narcissa might have
found herself upset if not for how she knew Harry doted on Draco. Seeing the bond between
Tom, Cedric and Luna erased any other doubt.

The children were adults, capable of making their own decisions.

Will chuckled as he took Hannibal’s hand, nodding his head down the length of the table.

“Is this not the task of a parent, Hannibal? To teach our children to become smarter, faster,
stronger than us? We have met our defeat at the hands of our children.”

Hannibal observed his daughter happily eating at the bacon Tom prepared for her. His two
sons, the Dark and Light Lords, happily mated yet still safe in the territory of his home.
Hannibal found not just one, but two Betas, strong witted, clever, and intellectual madminds.
Folded into the family was Draco’s mother, gradually bringing forth the ancient beauty of his
home with Sirius Black. Remus Lupin, who had taken to caring for Mischa with a special
place in his heart when he and Will needed to attend to hunts or urgent tasks.

Then came each of the children, grown into strong adults with passion, ambition and youthful
abundance. Draco, Cedric, Luna, even the Weasley twins, all somehow fitting into the puzzle
that made up the table eating breakfast after a night of wild running. Post feast, there was sure
to be a Herd nap, further prompting each member to bond together.

“Do you feel obligation?” Will asked him. Hannibal smiled, sharing the same breath as their
lips touched.

“I feel responsibility.”

Luna didn’t know what woke her in the night. She listened for any sign of danger, but none
came to her. Not wanting to disturb the men sleeping in the bed, she charmed a very dim
 light, bringing her journal to her knees. A dark ravenstag quill, gifted to her by Tom before
they came to Lithuania, inked itself.

While I cannot take direct credit, I have achieved my greatest accomplishment yet:

The reintroduction of the Ravenstag to their native land in Lithuania.

After almost fifty years of near extinction, a single Ravenstag Alpha grew his Herd of one, to
a Herd of plenty. Now at a total of 8 Ravenstag, one a fawn to date, it appears this species
will make a steady recovery. Three breeding pairs is enough to sustain a sentient species,
especially considering their diet.

It should be noted, this Ravenstag chose to extend beyond common symbiotic pairs such as:
thestrals and unicorns. The mated pair of Alpha Ravenstag chose to integrate with more
common dark creatures as a means of survival from other magical forces seeking to destroy
them.

Observe: werewolf, vampire, and the most dangerous of all, muggle.

Chapter End Notes

Hannibal needed a reason to go home and that could only be one thing, death. Yulia
served that and ended up bringing the entire Herd together. I hope that I gave every
character a little something. I have a surprise bonus for you that might cover some holes,
but I really needed some time to make sure this one came out right.
I loved writing everyone exploring the castle together as it was filled with joy rather
than pain. That's one of the themes I've been working with throughout the story- a
personal journey of mine and something we all need a little reminder of right now: that
light is found in the darkness, its simply sparked within ourselves.
 The End
Chapter Notes

My dear guests, this is the final chapter together at this table.

It offers a little further insight into some of our characters while giving some tooth
rotting fluff. I wanted this to always have dark themes and topics, but come out with a
fluffy, happy ending that made sense.

Thank you to the ones that have joined me since the very first meal, those that picked up
along the way, and those that continue to feast. I am so honored that you all
accompanied me here on this journey.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Mail was sometimes hard to have delivered where they were located. After years and years of
searching, Emily and Maron finally found a safe place to settle the Pack, a large enough
territory they could travel without worrying about any muggles or wizards and even more
space separating themselves from any civilization if any pups did wander outside the
territory.

Their territory had diverse wildlife- deer and rabbits that made easy prey in both forms and
mountain lions and the small family of bears that made the pack wary. It made them vigilant
and free to be so close to their instincts. They all survived on the land around them, used their
resources as best they could, and endured every storm together as a family.

Emily jogged out to the mailbox, the summer heat wouldn’t find them today with the wind
coming off the mountain. The thick trees and rough terrain made this land
inhabitable...undesirable for most people. To a pack of werewolves, it was the perfect place to
have a house. The mailbox was located seven miles outside their nearest home, impossible to
access by anything other than foot.

While it was tedious to go to the mailbox, something called Emily to run for it. She drank
water down the length of the stream that would turn into a river further into their territory,
several offshoots hydrating their territory.

Emily opened the mailbox and was pleased to see it had been worth the journey- finding a
thick envelope wrapped in twine with her name and…

As much as she wanted to open the letter, the Pack would kill her if she opened it before they
all got a chance to look at it with fresh eyes.

But first, running back to base.

Emily pushed open the door, her legs shaking with exertion.

“Maron,” she shouted, stumbling to the sink they built together. She chugged one glass of
water, filling it and drinking obsessively once again. When she saw him coming down the
stairs, the youngest of pups in his arms, she told him to summon the others.

Unable to help herself, Emily ripped through Will Graham’s protective seal.

The first thing she plucked from the envelope was a black ink imprint of a deer hoof on
parchment. Next, she pulled a picture of Will Graham, surrounded by so many people. Her
smile was growing on her face, growing almost painful as she looked at the members that
filled his house, no longer silent like when she first met him.

A scroll was next in the paper.

“What is it?!” the pups voices came, having aged but long remembered the name of Will
Graham. In retrospect, none of the pups were children, the youngest on the cusp of adulthood
and the oldest in the beginning of their twenties. To the elders of the pack, they would be
pups no matter their age or maturity.

“He’s found his pack,” Emily said, turning the picture for the pack to view while she
unraveled the scroll, reading over the words.

From this, another precious picture dropped, to be forever guarded. A picture of four great
horned beasts and black and speckled white deer stood in the center of the frame. Emily
looked closer, noting that these were no common deer that she’d hunted- covered in a pelt of
feathers, the very same that changed the youngest’s coat.

There were five humans in the picture clipped behind one of the creatures, all matching the
position of the great deer creatures. Emily could see it- the tallest of the stags was a head
higher than Will. Between them were two boys on the cusp of adulthood and while they had
no physical markers but even in a photo, Emily could sense something powerful between
them.

On the hip of the teen with a missing chunk of his ear was a small girl with a bright smile-
the mirrored images made obvious in their juxtaposition.

“This one has some notes,” Maron said, sliding the photo with the large family of people.

He pointed to the aristocratic woman, clearly standing beside her son giving the structural
similarities of their faces.

“Narcissa, Heir Observer to the Malfoy name, leaves the wizarding world to pursue a career
in muggle gynecology with the hopes of incorporating magical practices. Her son, Draco
Malfoy, will go on to have an apprenticeship with his godfather, Severus Snape. Draco and
Harry are long established mates.”

Narcissa had spent enough time waiting on her husband and the Dark Lord’s resurrection.
Reinstating Draco to the Malfoy name would take time; Lucius needed to be labeled as a
traitor to Wizarding Britain before they were allowed to petition for his rightful heirship. As
Lucius was a high ranking member within the Ministry, his death caused quite the uproar
among the Wizengamot.

Draco’s summer months as Severus’ assistance lead to the natural transition of becoming his
potions apprentice. Narcissa was so very proud of her son, holding back her own tears as he
graduated Hogwarts without any mark maiming his skin.

With her son safe in the hands of Severus, Narcissa found herself yearning for something
beyond the magical world. It was a preposterous thought, yet it pulled on her mind when she
could think of no other task to tend to. The life of a wife was no longer her own, she had no
obligation to her husband or a family name.

Before shackling to the career as a wife, Narcissa has aspirations of becoming a healer. Her
donations to St. Mungo’s alleviated some of her shameful yearning in the first and second
rising of the Dark Lord- keeping her true desires hidden away from even herself.

Yet now that she was free, and with a family far more supportive than any of the Malfoy’s,
that yearning burned within her heart- to be fulfilled and help other mothers as she once
needed.

Hannibal Lecter, Alpha Ravenstag, and psychiatrist, was her natural ally.

“How might one become a midwife in the muggle world?” she asked one sunny summer’s
day, Mischa held contently in her arms and growing bigger by the week.

“One typically attends a nursing university for four years,” he explained, his legs crossed
over from ankle to knee. “After graduation, a year or two is spent alongside a nurse with a
specialty in gynecology. Once completed, an additional graduate level program is necessary
before you may take a final exam.”

Narcissa hummed, her body swaying Mischa side to side even as the baby tried to fight the
natural pull of sleep.

“Assuming one could acquire proper muggle-magical documentation,” she proposed, her
cold eyes meeting Hannibal’s warm ones, “do you have any recommendations?”

Hannibal smiled, his lips pulled to reveal the sharp teeth he was known for as a killer in both
forms.

“Why Narcissa,” he said, sitting forward with glee, “I have plenty.”

A pup plucked another note from the pile.

“Sirius Black, a dog animagus, and Remus Lupin, a fellow werewolf, assist part-time at a
local magical library where Remus can comfortably accommodate for the moon with his
mate.”

The children erupted with questions about the men in the picture, easily spotting Remus
Lupin based on his sheer size and bulk all werewolves gained with their transformation.
For their own reasons, Sirius and Remus could not work a full-time job. Sirius attempted to
work a full week, only to find his magic overtaxed and his mental health declined. Too much
exposure to magic made his own fray at the ends, much like Tom’s before reuniting with the
Husk’s soul. He would never work for the Ministry, in any field- having long lost the respect
for aurors when he was in Azkaban.

It was Remus that found the job at the library, as if Magic herself provided the opportunity
for the both of them- two, part-time positions ready for the first hires. Remus inquired about
the position, mostly looking for the hours in conjunction with the moon phases. The old
wizard running the shop looked hesitant to hire a werewolf and a convict, but the massive
piles of books and disorganization of shelves were overwhelming in his age.

For the very first time in his life, Remus had a home, a partner, and now, a steady job.
Reorganizing and shelving the books was an easy and entertaining task for Remus. He
needed no stool to reach the tops of the shelves and even the heaviest of tomes he could stack
in one arm without any strain.

As the library grew more organized, more customers entered. The librarian, Mr. Bates, was so
pleased with the number of customers returning to his shop, he reinstated his children’s
reading corner.

Sirius Black was not the most studious member of the Marauders, he tended to the simple
tasks of shelving and cataloging books without complaint. When the Children’s Reading
Corner began again, Sirius took it upon himself to transform into his animagus form and sit
with the children as they practiced their reading skills.

Children who were shy or hated reading suddenly burst from their shell when Sirius laid
down in the circle of kids; a constant, non-judgmental companion seemed to unlock their
own potential as they struggled over elementary books with Remus teaching them to read.
They pet over his body when they were nervous or struggled over the pronunciation of a
word yet were not discouraged by their fear. Students passed around the book in a clockwise
motion, each taking time to read aloud from the book of the day with Sirius as their support
and Remus as their instructor.

Any parent that protested their children being taught by a werewolf and a recovering
Azkaban inmate was either bullied into polite submission by their own children’s found joy
in reading or had a private conversation with Mr. Bates, who was taken by his stellar
employees.

“Beverly Katz, former FBI now muggle Interpol agent, managed to snag the heart of a half-
vampire, Severus Snape, who retired from his position as a Potion Master of Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to pursue his own potion aspirations with his godson.”

“I didn’t know vampires and werewolves could get along?” a new pup asked, his head just
able to peer over the lip of the table, arms too short to reach for any pictures with his grubby
paws.

“Of course we can,” his sister scolded, “we’re not animals.”

When Severus entered the Headmistress office, in more capable hands than Umbridge, and
arguably Dumbledore, she looked as if she was waiting for this moment. The portrait of
Dumbledore was looking over her shoulder, smiling kindly down at him.

“You have served this school well, Severus,” Dumbledore’s portrait said. Severus rasped his
knuckles on the table.

“Only in the more recent years,” he confessed, knowing that he could have been kinder to
students during his first years as a professor. The hole in his heart left behind by Lily, the
rightful accusations of the Ministry and his own shame for serving a madman made him a
poor professor.

When Harry, and therefore, the Herd, allowed him into the fold, Severus found himself
changing as he taught students, becoming more patient, understanding of their confusion or
blunders. He did not tolerate any of the common shenanigans that student wrought in his
class but his ire and biting tongue had surrendered.

“This was never the path he was meant to tread, Albus,” McGonagall said, serving a finger of
fire whiskey between two coworkers. She signed his resignation letter with a smile on her
face. “You are happier than I have ever seen you, Severus. As a student and as an adult.”

Severus, half-vampire and spy, found himself blushing. The cold chain of Slytherin’s locket
turned key was cool against his flesh under his robes, resting against his heart just as
Beverly’s would. He resisted the urge to touch it, the tangible mark of his happiness.

“Thank you, Minerva,” he said.

While he was no longer teaching a gaggle of children, Severus spent his days teaching the
most studious of subjects, his godson. Draco had persisted in his youth, from the age of six,
to be his potions apprentice. As Draco’s first year at Hogwarts closed, Severus agreed to take
him as an assistant as he could not practice magic outside the school year.

Seven years of assistance made for a wonderful potions greenhouse, magical charms and
spells etched into the glass that kept the plants in perfect living conditions. Draco learned
more than botany and potions in those years, but different wards that would maintain such
ample living conditions that made for the most potent of potion ingredients.

As his apprenticeship progressed, the two using the very ingredients they’ve grown for years,
both noticed a stark difference between the potency of their own potions and other potion
makers. With such rich soil and years of magical toil, the ingredients themselves were
powerful.

The two made a significant amount of money on their potions.

Then, Severus and Draco were given a new ingredient to work with- ingredients they would
have to keep hidden from the public: feathers and antler velvet of Ravenstags.

Severus started experimenting with the Drought of Living Death, a potion meant to help a
person’s insomnia, one he was very familiar with experimenting. As death creatures like
thestrals, Severus was careful when he took a small dose of the first batch of potion, Draco
watching over him to catalog for any adverse reactions.

Like sleeping for two-weeks.

Severus woke from his sleep immediately, feeling more refreshed and rejuvenated than ever.
Only to be immediately assaulted by his godson, Beverly and the rest of the Herd for
experimenting on himself.

“What in the name of science were you thinking?” Beverly shouted at him from his bedside.

Once the Herd members were finished scolding him, Draco presented him his own leather
bound notebook with their collective annotations on the use of Ravenstag feathers.

“Apparently, humans have this thing called: Sleep Debt,” Draco said, looking up at Hannibal
for confirmation, who nodded his head. “Turns out, Ravenstag feathers don’t help you get a
deeper sleep, but put you under a spell until the debt is paid.”

Severus was silent as he looked over his notes.

“So we should test Sirius next?” he asked, a smirk on his lips as several people told him no,
save, of course, for Sirius himself, who was more than willing to be a guinea pig for magic.

“Who’s this?” the pup in Maron’s arm asked, pointing to the white fawn in the picture. Emily
searched for her description.

“Mischa Verity Graham-Lecter, youngest of the...of the ravenfawn. She is responsible for the
bitten portion of Tom’s ear yet loves both of her older brothers dearly. No pun intended.”

“That pun felt deliberate,” Maron argued.

Emily rolled her eyes, silencing the group around her from their giggling with a playful
glare.

“We chose Narcissa to act as Mischa’s godmother and Remus to be her godfather. Their
individual teachings will turn her into a fierce young lady.”

“Brothers Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, respective soul twins, will attend a muggle
university for further education after a much needed gap year before they cultivate their
collective skills as Light and Dark Lords.”

Emily and Maron were the only ones that could understand the gravity of such a statement.
Maron recovered first.

“I’m not saying I should be surprised, but Will Graham did pet a bunch of aggressive
werewolves without any sense of self-preservation.”

Emily read over the next section of people, chuckling as she did.
 “Tom Riddle is in the beginning courtship stages with his mates Luna Lovegood and Cedric
Diggory.”

“Perhaps the only people braver than Will Graham,” Maron chuckled, looking over the three
lovebirds in the photograph. The adults of the pack had to warn the children not to ingest
experimental potions when they spoke of the Weasley twins, apparently not wearing fox
equipment.

By process of elimination, the pack came upon the man standing next to Will, powerful and
yet so much joy could be seen in his eyes if one knew where to look in the gaze of a
desperate, lonely creature.

“Hannibal Lecter,” she read, “my mate.”

There was a final photo, clearly taken at a different time as the moon was cast high in the sky,
shining light ethereal over the dark canopy of trees, giving a light birth to the creatures within
the photos.

The five Ravenstag all stood with imposing crowns atop their heads, expertly weaving among
each other to form a bramble without stabbing each other as the young fawn flared her white
speckled feathers. Mirroring the image of the humans in the picture, there was a hulking
werewolf and a tall black dog sitting next to him. The other side of the photo a grey ravenstag
stood closest to Harry, his antler’s topped with a bird, his mother, always watching over him.

The only humans in the photo were the vampire and the muggle, standing proudly and
without fear among creatures that were fabled to kill and eat them.

At the bottom of that picture was one simple, beautiful word:

Herd

Chapter End Notes

This story has such a special place in my heart. you all trusted me with Severus, Tom,
Beverly, Narcissa, Sirius, hell even Dumbledore. I am so thankful that you took a chance
on a crossover and that you stuck around as I approached topics of taboo and uncharted
natures.

It brings tears to my eyes, the community that has come together here for Venison
Special. Thank you so very much for your support and encouragement through this
story. I have learned so much because of you all here on AO3- I owe this story to each
of you.

This is the last meal for this story, I do hope that you have enjoyed all that I have fed
you, in body and for your eyes. It has been such a pleasure writing for you, to restart this
adventure with a set of fresh eyes. I am so happy to have every person along this ride. I
wish you all health and continued growth as people. Pursue what gives you pleasure,
what makes you feel like you have passion and worth beyond value. I am privileged to
have written Venison Special for you.

If you wish to continue the conversation, you can feel free to drop a comment! I would
love to hear from you on what you thought of Venison Special!

Thank you, Be well, I love you all!

 A Daughter's Great Hunt
Chapter Notes

Hello again guests and welcome back to the table...

I have begun writing another story- a short one, but was inspired after reading A Cursed
Child. I thought, now isn't there a family that could take you in, Delphini? A family that
might understand you...

Welcome to the continuation

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Delphini was tired of being alone and powerful enough to do something about it. Trapped
with little human connection for company, Delphini heard word of a time-turner that could
change her fate- the fate of her Father…

“Your father prepared me if this day were to come to pass,” the woman said, smiling at her
sadly. “I only wish I were sending you to a better world.”

Delphini could feel the chain of the time turner, it was cold, ice cold, almost burning a hole
into her neck. The cold sensation traveled down her shoulders, into her spine, almost
connecting to her skull.

Though she wanted to pull away, her hands were drawn to the time turner, clutching each end
of it as the gears spun and clicked around, sparking copper magic around Delphini. Her
headscarf was thrown back as a supernatural wind collected from within the chain, pushing
the woman away from her.

The door to the room broke, three aurors standing with their badges gleaming and their
wands pointed at a child. Delphini was frozen, literally and magically to the spot as the
woman took to defending against the two aurors. Yet, a spell escaped.

And as Delphini was whisked away in a copper circle of magic, an unnamed spell was shot
directly at her heart.

Chapter End Notes

I hope that you enjoyed this little teaser- you can find the story in the next part of the
series. See you at the table
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!