Fic: Kitsune (part 1 of 2) - R

[corvidae9.livejournal.com]

Title: Kitsune (part 1 of 2)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: corvidae9
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death, twisted folktales, dark themes, death by het :P
Word Count: ~11,000
Summary: Hermione discovers her true Animagus form... and it's not really an Animagus form. (Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Harry, mention of several Hermione het pairings)
Author Notes: Written for femgenficathon (prompt 18 - No good deed goes unpunished, -Clare Booth Luce). Quote again warped and bent to spawn this. The idea and first part of the outline have been floating about for quite a long time, but it took the fest and the quote to pull it together... and then wibble complete with nail chewing about its appropriateness or lack thereof for this challenge. I apologize in advance on behalf of the rabid bunnies that made me do it. Research material cheerfully gacked from wikipedia entries on Kitsune, foxes, red foxes, fox hunts, as well as other online and print sources of Japanese and Chinese folktales, and twisted them all (severely) to suit. As such, nothing at all is quoted directly, but oh man, am I educated now. One more spoilery note/disclaimer at the end. And dude. I'm totally late. :"> So much love for juice817 for the beta.


Hermione found it amusing at first - the first time she truly felt the bones in her hands shift and click, sliding together to form a petite, rust-colored paw. Clever as she was, her true Animagus form immediately became obvious to her and she had giggled, considering the potential for bad jokes and innuendo. Marvelling at the soft toes and sharp claws now in place, she began shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Standing, she glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the very end of a furry red and white tail peeking out from under her skirt, and she dissolved into gales of laughter. It took her a full ten minutes to become centered enough to force the paw back to normal and the fox tail to disappear.

###

The first time she managed the change completely, she ran around her room wild with joy, sliding under the bed and surprising Crookshanks, who batted playfully at her bushy tail as she ran past. She jumped onto her bed and turned three small circles before curling into a tight ball just to see what it was like, and found herself drifting almost immediately into a resting state unlike any she had ever known. Eyes shut, her ears remained alert, mind digesting all of the subtle sounds from around the room, as well as those of the entire floor around her. Springing up, she leapt gracefully from the bed only to land in a very graceless pile, licking a paw more to ease her wounded pride than to soothe an actual hurt.

More practice was called for, then. Willing her body to slide back into her natural form, she began to change, pulling away from the ground into a crouch before standing fully upright. Examining herself in the full-length mirror, she immediately caught sight of the lingering foxtail, lips pursing slightly in concern before willing it away with considerably more effort than should have been required.

Regardless, she had achieved the complete transformation, and after staring into the mirror once more, she collapsed laughing onto her bed, flushed with victory and fully exhausted. Hugging her pillow and grinning, she soon fell into a deep sleep, dreaming dreams of rabbits and burrows and outsmarting the men's giant hounds; dreams promptly forgotten upon waking.

###

At the Junior Order's post-game happy hour, Hermione sat between Neville at the edge of the table, and Harry, who was followed by Ron, Luna, Ginny, Fred and George at the other end of the U-shaped booth directly facing Neville. There was obviously no such thing as a Junior Order officially, but the eight youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix had adopted the name out of hearing of the remainder of the group. For all that they were real members, it was difficult to believe that they were being taken seriously by their parents, former professors and various other people who insisted on calling them "the children".

The discussion at the warded table was even louder and more animated than usual, fueled by butterbeer and the recent re-incarceration of the Lestranges and a small group of their followers, thanks mostly to a scheme planned by Ron and Remus, carried out by Luna, Ginny and the twins, with the Ministry taking credit officially for the capture.

It was a harsh reality that the post-Voldemort world did not in fact consist of kittens and sunshine. The Order had followers to round up, and quickly lest the former Death Eaters find them first. After all, none of them were precisely happy with Harry or his ilk when the Ministry came calling, appropriating property and incarcerating heads of influential Pureblood households. More than one Order member had met 'accidental' ends even after Voldemort's defeat. Still, it meant the world was a safer place in general, and though they all kept Mad-Eye Moody in mind and did in fact take measures toward constant vigilance, at least once a week the Junior Order found a new place to relax a bit and just be with one another.

This week, it took several rounds before the flush died away from the topic of conversation and Hermione took advantage of the fresh silence to share her news.

"I finally did it."

Harry and Ron cheered, pulling Hermione into a tight three-sided hug and whistling for another round before beginning a barrage of questions.

"When?!"

"How long?"

"How?"

"Did it hurt?"

"What did Crookshanks think?"

"Who gives a toss--what did it feel like?"

Hermione burst into laughter at their excitement coupled with the blank stares of the rest of her friends at the table. Neville pulled at the elbow of her sleeve, mumbling, "Erm, Hermione...?"

Fred slammed his mug on the table and half stood, cutting him off. "Brilliant! She finally gave in to Longbottom's manly charms!"

Following suit, George stood briefly to reach over the table and clap Neville on the shoulder. "Well done, old man! If it wasn't us, or any of our brothers, or Ginny or Luna, I'm glad it was you."

Neville's entire face and throat flushed a true Weasley red to his hairline as the table erupted in more wild laughter. He stuttered, "I...errr... I...", as Hermione threw an arm over him to ruffle his hair before letting it rest on his shoulder and addressing the table.

"No, No. Although Nev here is quite a catch, ladies and gents. No, what I haven't shared with anyone at this table other than my siamese twins here is that I've been training... studying to become an Animagus, and last night, I finally succeeded in completely transforming into a red fox and back."

Luna's quirked eyebrow and quiet commentary were drowned out by an extra loud cheer seemingly timed to the waitress' return with eight more butterbeers and eight shots of firewhiskey.

"Brilliant!"

"Smashing!"

"Bloody well amazing!"

"To our foxy Hermione! Cheers!"

Seven shots of firewhiskey were knocked back and followed by another loud cheer that filtered somewhat throught the heavy Imperturbables surrounding the table. The eighth was held quietly in Luna's hands as she stared at Hermione over Harry and Ron's mugs of butterbeer, trying to recall exactly why she was concerned. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when Hermione turned her attention to Neville.

Neville, who had tried to nudge her leg under the table to get her attention quietly, nearly jumped as she fixed her reddening eyes upon his. Neville, who'd had a silent crush on Hermione since fourth year at Hogwarts, now sat petrified as he had not been in years.

Hermione smirked, eyes glittering. "Yes, Neville? Are you feeling neglected? Allow me to remedy the situation."

She pressed herself to him, kissing him directly on the lips, moving the hand on his shoulder back to his head to pull him closer. For a brief moment Neville sat stunned as her lips touched his, arm braced against the table to keep from falling from the booth.

No longer able to hear the small group cheering or catcalling, he pulled himself back fully onto the seat with one quick motion and used the hand that had braced him to grab onto her upper arm, pulling up a handful of jumper. There was no point in analyzing the situation; there was only time to seize the moment. He shut his eyes and deepened the kiss, making some guttural sound in the back of his throat and feeling as though he could faint or die or both simultaneously if it lasted much longer.

When they finally pulled apart, she smirked again at him before turning to the rest of the table and asking breathily, "Alright. I suppose that's resolved. Now, where were we?"

Still laughing and drinking and ribbing each other good-naturedly, they threw questions at her until there was nothing left to say and Ginny declared herself too drunk to Apparate and too tired to stay.

Luna Flooed home with Ginny, but later wished she'd stopped Hermione to ask her a few more questions privately. There were few ways, however, that even her open nature could work out to peel Hermione from Neville's side after they'd left the pub and walked back to her flat. And truly, not even Luna was paranoid enough to make a serious issue out of a half-remembered Muggle fairytale. Yet.

###

The day was far from stormy; still and quiet, with birds chirping too far away, but the black-clad group of mourners took no comfort in the temperate weather.

Once again Hermione stood at a friend's funeral, though this time, she and Ron were not in their familiar bookend posistions around Harry. Instead, Harry slipped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and Ginny looped her arm through Hermione's opposite elbow to make sure that she was at the center of an unbroken chain of the broken Junior Order. In one direction, Luna stood just a little behind and leaning on Harry, her fingers tight through George's; in the other, Ginny used Ron as a handkerchief while Fred's hand held Ron's back steady, his head bowed silently sharing his grief with his twin at the other end and thus completing the circuit.

Eyes tight, Hermione clutched the white and yellow roses to her side, no longer listening to the officiant. She had stopped approximately when the pastor had begun speaking about lost opportunities and Ginny squeezed her arm and murmured, "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Hermione for her part was numb. Numb to all of it; to Harry rushing in and portkeying her to St. Mungo's muttering about Nev being hurt; about his having strolled whistling into the Ministry, late for work and on cloud nine and being tackled and stabbed repeatedly before he even exited the Apparition point. Numb to the fact that the Ministry's official position blamed escapees from St. Mungo's criminal wards though the Order knew better. It had been retalliation for the raid and arrests, specifically the one they'd been celebrating not two weeks prior.

Numb to Gran Longbottom standing straight and tall and ashen-faced in the St. Mungo's waiting room; her only words to any of them was a murmured swear as she crossed the room to slap Remus soundly and left it to see Neville. Or by then, she supposed it had been his body.

Numb and would stay numb because she couldn't give thought to what had happened and what might have happened between them. Numb because there would be no more ever-less-tentative visits to her flat, always flower or plant or green living thing in hand, and no more unexpectedly tackling him, more sexually agressive than she'd ever been in her entire adult life. Numb to the fact that their friends had not yet stopped teasing Neville and Hermione about their blossoming relationship, and yet Neville, who had stuttered and barely made it through his first few years of school; who had come from behind his classsmates to excel at every subject (except Potions), who had made it into the Auror corps and the Order of the Phoenix, and had saved countless lives with hard-won skill and bravery, was now dead at the age of twenty-one.

Numb because she felt responsible and she couldn't articulate why, and for Hermione, this was the most frightening thing yet.

Ginny nudged her and she realized that it was time to move. She stepped up and dropped the flowers onto the casket, shivering as they struck the rich wood with a slight thunk, and let Harry pull her away.

###

Sitting at her mirror, Hermione swallowed hard and took a breath, reminding herself that it was time to revise. It had been two days since the funeral; four since he'd been gone; five since she'd seen one of her oldest friends who'd so recently turned out to be more. She'd had to fight the rest of them to leave her alone; swearing she was fine, making solemn oaths to Floo or call or email or something if she was otherwise, practically shoving Ron out her front door late last night.

It was true that she was fine-- after all, if there was one thing Hermione could turn to, it was her studies. She held her wand aloft and and began the transformation slowly from her toes and slipped directly into her fox form without incident.

Once again low to the ground, it was as if a switch had been thrown; the world was cast in sharp relief; the people in it that were not herself took on a secondary importance. All that mattered was staying alive, eating, protecting her territory.

Somewhere deep in her mind, the part that was still just Hermione knew that in an Animagus transformation, the wizard should still be in control-- that the animal's consciousness and instincts flickered and influenced the wizard's own, but ultimately, the human should remain in contol. The fact of the matter was that at this moment, she didn't care to assert it. It didn't hurt to be her fox self and so for once, she gave in.

She set to trotting about the living room looking for things to discover.

###

Eventually, a small red fox slept curled in a ball on top of the covers on a bed that belonged to Hermione Granger, accomplished researcher and theoretician, and shifted fitfully as her dreams took shapes that in humans would be referred to as nightmares.

She hunted in thick wood; her prey a fat squirrel that smelled of tree and berries and branches and fear. The vixen had stalked it, but the wind had shifted at the last minute and the foodthing tried to run, stupidly panicking and taking to the ground rather than the trees. In the split second that the squirrel hesitated, the vixen downed it and sank her teeth into its lovely neck from behind where its dirty little claws couldn't touch her thick coat. Already gnawing to stop the flow of blood and oxygen, the vixen could taste the squirrel; could hardly wait to feast on it. She released it as it stopped writhing, flipping its body gracefully to get at the best parts first.

Her head came up however, muzzle stained red from having just torn into its soft underbelly, eyes wide with panic of her own. Dogs howling. She should have smelled them earlier, but she'd had her face buried in the squirrel, her senses overwhelmed with the kill.

Panic panic panic. Dogs. Wolves. Panic panic panic.

She ran away as fast as she could on strong legs made for running and chasing, but the dogs were taller and the men were on horses. Though her heart pumped blood through her body as quickly as it could and her muscles felt as though she could run all night, she could smell them now, hear the men shouting, the horses snorting; the dogs on her heels snarling and barking and betraying their kind for the promise of a hearth and a soup bone. Still, she was clever and fast, and she'd run from them before, and so she darted left into a thicket.

The dogs followed as the horses crashed through and the vixen dove for a bolthole, veering at the last minute when she realized it had been filled in. A clap of thunder sounded and she crumpled in sudden pain, yelping and whining and failing to move her hind legs no matter how hard she tried. The dogs closed in and bared too many sharp teeth.

Terrified, the vixen bared her smaller teeth just as viciously, though she could feel her life slipping from her body. The first man slipped from his horse, smiling. He was smiling.

Of course he was.

She satisfied herself with snapping at the first dog to come close enough to reach, biting down on the wattles of his neck as they closed in. And then she was being shaken, and the men laughed.

The last sound she heard on this sweet earth was the harsh laughter of men as she died, heedless of the old magic inherent in the bodies of red foxes.

No matter. They'd feel it soon enough.


The dreaming fox had fallen asleep on the bed not a foot from a fat, orange tabby cat that watched her twitch, first with concern and then with dread, but didn't dare leave for fear for his mistress and friend. When she woke with a start, popping onto all fours with a snarl, the cat jumped back, hissing, ears pressed flat to his head, one paw just off the duvet and ready.

Hermione melted away from the fox, breathing hard and staring, her voice dripping with adrenaline and fear. "Oh. Oh God. Crookshanks. That-- was..." She forcibly unclenched her hand and reached for the comfort of her cat, only to hiss in pain as he slapped her arm, claws extended.

"Crookshanks!"

The cat backed away another step before fleeing, and Hermione had to squash the urge to lap at the three neat slash marks on her forearm. Collapsing back onto the bed, she closed her eyes and set her forehead to the pillow, exhaling loudly and wishing it would all just stop.

It wasn't fair that she had to dream of death, too.

Her fluffy red tail snapped and then curled around her hip for comfort, and went unnoticed for a good, long while.

###

Employees of the Department of Mysteries don't as a rule call for happy hour celebrations, nor are they normally invited to those that the other departments host. This isn't necessarily because Department of Mysteries employees are social lepers (though to be fair, some are). In fact, it's because in the former case, people tend to forget they've been invited, and in the latter, people tend to forget where to find them or who even works there.

The Friday morning that Auror Connor Markham stopped Hermione in the canteen, therefore, was a momentous event for Department of Mysteries employees everywhere. A tall, smiling young man, Connor offered to buy her the tea and fruit she had selected- rather insisted, really, though Hermione could pay for her own tea and fruit just fine on her own, thank you. Normally, she would have dressed him down for the very idea, yet she found herself unexpectedly drawn to the deep dimples that transformed his face when he smiled or laughed.

Normally, she'd have thought it was a little inappropriate with the funeral not far behind her, yet she harbored a secret that she had yet to share and likely never would. The morning after the dream of the hunt, she'd woken exhausted yet oddly lighter; her memories of Neville fond and yet not... crushing. Certainly she missed him, but there was a curious lack of grief; no sadness and no pain. Just a hollow she thought could possibly use filling.

Connor had walked her back to the Department and mentioned that the DMLE had been plotting a farewell for a senior Auror later that evening at The Cat's Tale, and if she wanted to come and bring a friend, she should.

Hermione's first instinct had been to say no; to point out that researchers such as herself had...well. Research to attend to rather than lollygagging about pubs. Or rather, that is what her first instinct ought to have been - what it always had been.

This time she smiled and clutched the unbuttoned collar of her fitted oxford shirt and agreed, but only if he'd be there.

Connor was a simple wizard, it was true, and easily entertained by the overt flirting of pretty witches. He'd flicked a finger against the back of her hand and grinned and promised that he would be and he'd find her.

He had. Hermione found he filled that hollow rather admirably. Once after the brief stay at the pub and at least twice the following Saturday morning, as a matter of fact. After that, she'd lost track.

###

Hermione stood in the Ministry ladies room with a thick stack of damp paper towels pressed to her forehead, one hand braced on the sink, eyes shut tight. It had been a hard morning in the office, and by ten AM, she'd had a raging migraine. The kind that had started only a few weeks ago... just after Neville died, to be exact. Potions, philtres, holistic herbals and Muggle remedies had failed utterly in controlling them; sleep and dim light did nothing but make them manageable until they ran their course. Going home this early in the day rankled Hermione; it offended her sensibilities, and yet her head hurt so badly she was unsure she could even spell the word. Any of them.

She dragged the paper towels down her throat, imagining she could hear her flushed skin sizzling with the contact. The shock of cold was welcome, and she let her hand drift further down into the deep v-neck of her new jumper, smoothing just under the top of her brassiere with a sigh of relief.

Just then, the door creaked open and Hermione yanked her hand out of her jumper, only to find her bracelet had caught on the lace of her bra. Unable to even begin imagining what the rumor mill would do with her having been caught in the ladies room with her hand down her own bra, she did the first thing that came to mind.

The paper towels fell to the ground as she shrank and sprouted bright red fur, hand coming away from her chest easily now that it was a paw. In fox form, she darted to the furthest stall, under the door and jumped up onto the toilet tank, where she curled up intent on making no noise whatsoever.

Two women walked in; Hermione would have noticed that there were two separate voices, but in her fox form she smelled them first instead-- yes in fact, two human females. The first woman had been speaking in a high, small voice as they walked in, and showed no signs of stopping.

"--such a shame; he was so young. And so fit and single and by all accounts not gay."

The second woman's voice was thicker and darker, and she answered without hesitation as she entered the first stall, "True enough." After a pause, she added, "dunno about 'single', though. Heard he went home with that Granger woman from the.. erm. The Department of-- damn. You know. That one department around the basement somewhere? Right. Just last Friday after the pub crawl."

"Hmmph. Those spooks are always so mysterious... I wonder what she's up to, all the gussying up all of a sudden," the first woman answered, Hermione cocking a fuzzy ear to hear better. "Say - wasn't she with the other Auror that died a few weeks ago? Was in all the papers - Longbottom?"

"Yeah. Said they were 'school friends', though," the second woman said as she flushed and slid open the lock on the door. "Who knows. But showing too much leg these days when there was a doubt she even had them before. In the market for a man, that much is certain."

"Not that it'll do her much good. Aurors are a superstitious lot - once they get it in their heads that she's been involved with their last two casualties, she'll have to start picking off of the other departments or move on."

"Ugh," the second woman snorted, grumbling as her foot made a scuffing sound on the ground, "is it so difficult for people to reach the wastebasket with their dirty paper towels?" A little louder as the tap came on, she added, "Have they? Started point out that she's somehow connected?"

"No," the first woman answered, her voice lifting in amusement. "But they could with a word to Jeannie in the DMLE secretarial pool. Honestly, it'd serve her right for suddenly poaching when honest girls like you and I have been working on them for ages."

The second woman laughed, her shoes clicking as she shifted in place. "Oh! How rude! You're just devious."

"Yes, well," answered the high and reedy woman, her voice growing more faint. "My biological clock is ticking just as loudly as anyone else's. I've got a bloodline to carry on, after all. Did you kn--"

Their nattering was finally cut off as the door swung shut behind them and Hermione stared blankly at the door of the stall for a brief moment before hopping down and trotting back to the sinks. Careful to stop before she moved under them, she slid gracefully back into herself, blinking and turning over what they'd said about her. And Connor? Oh god. She hadn't heard anything, but... what they'd said... she had to find out.

Conscientious to the last, she stooped to pick up the damp paper towels that she'd left behind, her eyes widening as she dropped them in the wastebasket.

Her migraine was gone, and had been from the moment she'd shifted into her fox form.

###

Upon arriving at her desk, Hermione firecalled down to the DMLE and coincidentally spoke to Jeannie, whose voice was a little shaky as she informed Hermione that Auror Connor Markham had been killed in the line of duty just this morning. Apparently it had not been reported as of yet and details had not been released, but seeing as how... well. He and Hermione had been friends, and there was no harm in saying. Apparently, the department's grief counselors would be available in the canteen for the next few days as well.

A cold weight settled in Hermione's stomach as she cut Jeannie off with a detached 'thanks' and pulled back from the green flames.

###

Hermione didn't go to Markham's funeral. It wasn't as if she'd known him all that well-- one fantastic weekend does not a friend or confidant make, after all.

She had, however missed a date with the Junior Order the Saturday night he had stayed at her flat. A stern knock on her door early the following Saturday morning (and consequently the day after the funeral she studiously had not attended) roused her--it was two of said Junior Order ready to take the necessary measures to ensure it did not happen again.

Uselessly finger-combing her hair as she squinted in the bright morning light, Hermione padded to the door in her pyjamas and looked out the peephole, swearing under her breath before opening the door.

"Christ, woman. What happened to you?" Ginny grimaced, looking Hermione up and down, taking in the lacy shorts and matching, rumpled camisole, half off one shoulder. "And who did you steal the pyjamas from?" She kissed Hermione's cheek as she walked in, leaving Luna still standing just on the other side of the threshhold, and still inspecting Hermione.

"Oh, don't start, Weasley. It's been a long fucking week," muttered Hermione, briefly going through the motions of returning Ginny's cheek kiss before turning her attention to Luna. "Coming in?"

Obviously confused, Ginny spun on her heel behind Hermione and locked eyes with Luna, who gave no indication of such as she walked in with a careful smile. "Good morning, Hermione." She held up the small paper bag in her hand as Hermione shut the door behind her. "We brought croissants."

"Thank you, yes," Hermione grumbled as she took the bag already moving forward. "As soon as I'm awake, I'll appreciate it properly, I'm sure. Kitchen?"

Luna shrugged and followed, though Ginny looped her arm through Luna's elbow and gave her a significant look. One that clearly said, "Exactly what the hell is going on here?" and all Luna could reply by way of one delicately arched eyebrow consisted of, "I don't know. But finding out over croissants sounds nice."

Hermione deposited the bag of pastries on the counter and started the coffeemaker. "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go grab something that'll keep Ginny from staring." Her tone was closer to the in-jokey sarcasm usually reserved for Ginny, but it was still apparent that something was off. Ginny did her best to play along however as she pulled up a stool at the high counter.

"Bah. I've seen better."

Luna had stopped at the refrigerator, examining the photographs attached with a variety of magnets; mixed Muggle and Wizarding like everything else in Hermione's flat. Her finger traced the outline of one of the Junior Order, most notably looking at where Neville was standing next to Ginny, arm draped over her shoulder in a careless, friendly way, though it was apparent that the camera was making him nervous. She giggled as little photograph Neville dragged Ginny in front of him to block her view, Ginny struggling and laughing and bumping Fred and Ron in the process.

"What, you don't think so, Miss Lovegood?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow cocked as she caught Luna's attention and nodded violently toward the seat next to her.

Luna moved to take it, speaking loudly enough to be heard, "Don't know. Those were rather nice pyjamas."

Hermione's voice rang from down the hall. "Shut it, the both of you!"

As Luna sat, Ginny grabbed her forearm and hissed, "What the bloody hell is that about? Did you see her? Did you hear her? Coffee and not tea?!"

Turning her wide eyes on Ginny, Luna nodded her head slightly, whispering, "I saw but--"

"Alright, fair warning, stop talking about me," called Hermione as she drifted back down the corridor and into the kitchen in her dressing gown, heading straight for the counter near the coffeemaker. "Suppose you heard, then."

Luna was in favor of waiting to see what Hermione thought they'd heard, but in true Gryffindor fashion, Ginny piped up, "No. Because you ditched us last week, and Luna and I have been dispatched to ensure that it does not happen again. Are we on for tonight, then?"

Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead and swore again under her breath. "Last Saturday. Bugger, sorry. What'd I miss? Who're your brothers shagging this week?"

"Hermione, when was the last time you forgot an appointment?" Luna ventured quietly.

"Last Saturday," Hermione answered peevishly, "and I've already apologized, so let's move on."

"Nah, she's got a point," Ginny added, eyebrow arched as she decided that it was time to break into the bag of pastries. "Alright, Hermione? It's... I mean. If you need to talk, you know we're here. It was... quiet enough without... and then this - Merlin, you should have been up hours ago - don't you have some sort of wildly classified research that can only be done at the crack of dawn to attend to?"

Hermione waved it off as she turned to stare at the coffee pot in an apparent attempt to will it to percolate faster. "I'm fine. Just having a lie in. And I'm honestly, truly sorry about last week. I was... preoccupied."

"Preoccupied," Ginny repeated, raised eyebrow threatening to crawl up and meet her hairline. "...you're serious. Because I know what that's code for."

Luna watched the exchange with interest, saying nothing, even as Hermione shot back, "It's not code for anything, Gin. It means I was caught up doing something and--"

"Someone, more like. Only time you use 'preoccupied' to excuse yourself, it's that someone's gone and 'preoccupied' you, and to this magnitude of neglect, it had better have been a spectacular preoccupation," Ginny said, cocking her head at Hermione, leaving unspoken any opinion of whether it was appropriate or not.

"...damn it. Fine. Yes, I was preoccupied like that. Happy now?"

"No! I mean, how--" Ginny looked away and took a breath before looking at Hermione again. "Who?"

Hermione turned at the sound of the coffemaker reaching the bottom of the reservoir, pulling down three mugs and the sugar from the cupboard. "Just... someone I met at the DMLE happy hour last Friday. Spent the majority of the weekend here, actually, but I sent him home early Sunday night."

At hearing "DMLE", Luna's eyes snapped to Hermione, currently retrieving cream from the refrigerator, her suspicions about Hermione's animagus form mingling in her mind with the news her father's paper had reported just this week. "Markham."

The small ceramic pot tumbled from Hermione's hands and cracked on contact with the tile, spilling cream around Hermione's feet, though it didn't occur to her to lift up the edge of her dressing gown. Hermione was busy peering at Luna. "How did you know?"

Luna peered at her. "You have read about the fox spirits, haven't you? I know you must have--"

"It was a freak coincidence, Luna, not ancient fairy tales. Leave it alone," Hermione growled, though her tone was more an indication that it should not be left alone and Ginny picked this up immediately. Her eyes darting from Hermione to Luna and back.

"Wait, wait-- who's Markham, what'd I miss?"

"The Auror that I shagged last weekend was killed in a freak accident on Wednesday. And Luna's going to try and tell you that it's my fault because of a ridiculous legend."

Luna blinked, not backing down in the least and not surprised that Hermione knew exactly what she was referring to. "Kitsune are as much a fairy tale as dragons and mermaids, Hermione. Muggles get it wrong, but they exist nonetheless."

"I am not a malignant fox spirit! Mainly due to the fact that they don't exist. I'm a fox animagus and that's that." Hermione flicked her wand at the mess, repairing the miniature pitcher and Banishing the spilled cream.

Speaking calmly, Luna said, "Hermione. You excel at putting facts together. I think maybe you owe it to him to at least make sure."

Flushed, Hermione jabbed a finger in Luna's direction. "Don't you dare." Her eyes narrowed and she advanced a step, the other hand raising her wand ever so slightly.

Ginny hopped to her feet, ready to stop an absolutely unthinkable confrontation. "Alright, hold up! How about we not be completely mad for a second and it explain what the bloody hell just happened?"

Luna nodded once and stood, her hand on Ginny's elbow. "No. It's ok. I think I'm going to go now."

"You do that," Hermione spat as she relaxed ever so slightly.

Luna on the other hand remained calm as she drew her wand, leaning far enough to kiss Ginny's cheek though her eyes didn't leave Hermione. "Watch your shadow, Hermione, and then tell me I'm wrong." With that, Luna Disapparated. Straight to Harry's doorstep.

###

Harry shook his head at Luna in complete disbelief. "Luna, you're brilliant, I know, and I know better than to ignore you, but this... it's impossible. There's no way. Hermione is not being taken over by an evil spirit and she had nothing to do with Neville's... with what happened to him."

Luna shook her head, despairing of making the point she'd been researching since Hermione's announcement. He was one of the two closest of her remaining friends, and he was closer still to Hermione-- if he would just listen and believe her, he might be able to do something about it. She reached across the space between their seats and squeezed Harry's hand.
"She isn't being taken over, per se. It was already there." She sighed. "Kitsune are magic; Muggle folklore can't agree on whether they're good, bad or in between, but Wizarding lore points to the fact that Kitsune are the result of an early interbreeding of wizards and fox spirits in human form. The species has undergone some evolution, most notably traced back to cross-breeding in fox form in the early sixteenth century. Legend has it the new strain... wiped out the existing male kitsune population for some unknown reason and began preying on human males next, though some slipped into human form and insinuated themselves into the population for good. When wizards started hunting them, they stopped surfacing as often and became more of an old wives' tale than reality, and their hunting patterns became more of an innate curse."

"...so Hermione isn't being taken over by an evil, man-hating fox spirit. She's descended from one," Harry deadpanned.

"Finally!" Luna exclaimed. "Yes, exactly. And she will absolutely not listen to reason. She won't even investigate it. I thought maybe if you spoke to her...?"

Hesitant, Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Neville... I mean. Nev wasn't the first bloke she... y'know... why now, then?"

"She hadn't released the fox yet," Luna answered, making it sound as though it was the most obvious and reasonable explanation.

Harry peered at Luna, sighing heavily before he spoke. "Luna. We all miss Neville, y'know. Blaming it on Hermione... it's not... not going to..." his sentence trailed off as her gaze bored through him.

"Oh. No," Luna breathed as she stood, releasing his hand and straightening her skirt. "No, I suppose it won't." She looked up and mustered a smile for Harry. "Thanks for listening all the same. I'll... see you tonight?"

"Luna, wait," said Harry, confused over what words went next. "I'm sorry."

Luna picked up her bag and kissed him on the cheek. "Me too, Harry."

###

Hermione buried Crookshanks in the far corner of her parents' back garden. She didn't tell anyone about how she'd been shifting in and out of her fox form and fighting with the tail that always lingered and wouldn't stop being difficult to transfigure back. She didn't want to explain how she'd one minute scolded Crookshanks for worrying her fluffy tail and the next slipped out of her fox form with blood on her hands and orange tufts of fur under her nails, a sickeningly familiar copper tang in her mouth. She couldn't remember what had happened, but how she had found him couldn't have made it more clear.

Obviously, he'd died of old age. Hermione refused to believe anything else.
She needed to study harder.

###

Luna didn't make it to that night's happy hour. She wasn't particularly happy and didn't have an hour to spare pretending to be. Instead, she asked Ginny to pass on her regrets, and told her she had to go see her auntie.

It just so happened that great auntie Mariel was the head librarian at the Edinburgh Library of Magical Beasts and Dark Creatures.

###

Part Two