Born Unto Darkness

by corvusdraconis

[HG/SS] In her third year, when Hermione throws herself in front of Harry to protect him from the Dementors something strange happens. She awakens to a legacy she had no idea she even had, and it turns the entire school upside-down— and beyond. Crackfic. AU. EWE. NC. (all that jazz). Rating changed to M for language since some people seem to think teens don't curse.

3. Brewing Up Trouble

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard, and Hollowg1rl

A/N: Uhhh... crap where did my last month go

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Born Unto Darkness

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis

Chapter Three

There is no darkness but ignorance.

William Shakespeare

Hermione stirred the mixture in her cauldron very carefully, adding a sprinkle of crushed snakeweed leaves from one hand and using the rod with the other. She watched it fizzle and burble before she added a small measure of aloe juice. Her face scrunched up in thought as she stared intently at the gently bubbling potion.

The Dementor continued to hold the cauldron, hovering silently. She sat in the other's lap, watching the potion bubble and swirl. She dipped in her stirring rod and went clockwise, closing her eyes to help her focus on the feel of the potion. Her hand went forward, back, forward a little, and then just a bit back again to adjust. She stopped and pulled the rod out, opening her eyes. The pot burbled once, twice, and on the third one she slowly added seven drops of honeywater, just as it popped.

Hermione stirred it backwards just in time to see the liquid turn a shimmering gold, then silver, then azure. Tiny gold bubbles popped at the surface. She smiled. "Okay! You can remove your hands now."

The other Dementor did and she touched his hands, stroking them with affection. "Thank you very much!"

The Dementor engulfed her with a hug, covering her with his robes as he lifted her to her feet to give her a proper embrace. She smiled at the pair of Dementors as she put the cauldron on the table.

A flash of black wool whooshed by her, and Hermione smiled as her master walked in to check her work. She stood silently as he peered into the cauldron, wafted the scent, examined the texture, and watched how the liquid dripped smoothly from the ladle. He watched as the bubbles rose and popped, even listening to the faint sound they made when they did.

Blodwyn peered over his shoulder, watching, having fastened herself securely to his collar with a strand of silk.

"The texture, scent, and consistency seems perfectly on track," he said. "We will have to test it to find out if it works the way we were expecting."

Hermione nodded.

"You did well with the brewing," he said. "It took a few adjustments to get the texture right, but you did not add anything until it was, and that is what matters. Your use of whippoorwill feather to counter the heavy texture was correct, but the use of the iron filings instead of the ore is what kept you trying to adjust the turns so much. The result, however, did exactly it was supposed to, even with the added time. We will have to allow it to sit for a few hours before it is stable enough to decant."

Hermione smiled. "Yes. Thank you, master!"

Snape's lip twitched slightly, but Hermione didn't pay it any mind.

"Please go feed your charges before they decide to eat each other."

Hermione smiled and nodded, rushing off, the Dementors following her like bodyguards.

Snape ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.

Blodwyn bounced on his shoulder. "She did good, right?"

Snape sniffed. "She did."

"Aren't you going to congratulate her?"

Severus frowned. "I did."

The Mark Spider shifted all of her eyes to peer at him. "You really need to work on your delivery system."

---

Amelia found Hermione half-buried alive in books, tomes, and scrolls as the sound of a frantic quill scratching away came from deep within the stacks. "Hermione?"

A Dementor rose up from the pile of books, pulling Hermione up and over them so she stood on both feet.

"Oh! Hello, Madam Bones!"

"Hello, my dear. What are you studying today?"

"Master Kane bet my master that I couldn't find out how to stop the Chizpurfles from invading the offices upstairs," Hermione explained.

"Oh, up in the Ministry offices?" Amelia looked somewhat amused. "They've been trying to get rid of them for quite a while now."

Hermione pointed to one text. "They don't like cold at all."

Amelia tilted her head. "Oh? Would you like to show me?"

"You would—?" Hermione gasped.

"Of course I would take you up there to show me."

Hermione brightened. "I have a plan!"

Amelia held out her hand. "I cannot wait to see what you have in mind."

Hermione took Amelia's hand eagerly. "Okay!"

---

Hermione had to admit, even if it was just to herself, that her move to Snape's domain and into the DoM had opened a strange new world of freedom, acceptance, and openness. She felt… younger. She even acted younger— frolicking and revelling in simpler pleasures she hadn't allowed herself when she had first come to Hogwarts. She had been far too busy just trying to prove herself.

Now, as she stood in the middle of the Ministry administrative offices, surrounded in a black cloud of floating Dementors, she felt their brushes against her, their bodies providing a comforting warmth even as the air around them frosted over with hoarfrost and even froze the contents of the mugs that had been left on the desks.

The largest Dementor, whom she thought of as Grandfather, stayed close by her side, his gnarled hand wrapped snugly around her waist in a protective gesture. She peeked out over his robes, looking up at him with amusement. Whether he was the oldest or just the largest, Hermione didn't know, and no books existed that seemed to know anything other than "Dementors were Dark, evil, soul-sucking fiends that consumed all of the happiest memories within their prey."

Grandfather didn't seem like an evil being— but just how they fed themselves, she wasn't entirely sure. Hermione had guessed— even asked— but none of them seemed to be able to tell her anything but they weren't hungry. So, apparently it wasn't a concern until it was a concern. When that was— she had no idea.

The other Dementors drifted in and out, touching her as their base camp as they spread their frozen influence around the offices. All of them had been cleared out as a precaution— or rather word had been sent to leave if they didn't want to come face to face with a Dementor— and everyone had promptly taken the afternoon off to be anywhere but there. Amelia had talked a few of them out of rushing in to rescue "the poor, addled child", and only one person had gotten so far as to meet Hermione's entourage as she kindly guided each one to a new place in the room. That one had left babbling things about evil masked as children taking over the Ministry.

Amelia hadn't been amused in the slightest.

Hermione looked up and saw the dark shadow of her master standing beside Amelia, and she found no small irony in the fact that she seemed to prefer the comfort of Dementors and the dour, black-clad wizard over those she should have called her peers. She found herself smiling to herself. Dementors made very loyal friends, protecting her like something precious, and she found that comforting. To feel that she was worth protecting or fighting for felt safe.

Snape, she realised, rarely wasn't paying attention to her, even when she figured she was performing mundane, everyday, utterly boring tasks. The exception seemed to be when he himself was brewing something complex that required his full attention.

Usually that something was her— or so it seemed.

Yet, she didn't really find that as horrible as her ex-Gryffindor fellows would have. They would have had the most awful nightmares if Snape had been hovering around them as much as he did as her master. She rather liked knowing he was there making sure she didn't blow herself up by accidentally adding something the wrong time or stirring the wrong way. He was far less snappy and much more practical outside of Hogwarts— admittedly far less horrible from the moment he had accepted her as his apprentice. Strictness she could handle. Rules were rules. Being chewed out over random contradictory rules, however— she didn't miss that at all.

As she and Grandfather walked the offices together, the plague of marauding Chizpurfles seemed to move as a dirty-looking cloud from place to place. After many back and forth waves, repositionings of her Dementor friends, and frustrating gaps where warmth protected the escapees from being frozen, all of the Chizpurfles flooded under the door to one particularly large corner office and could not leave. The Dementors floated around the room in a ring, inside and outside, and even under and over.

Hermione eyed the door with suspicion, wondering why a bunch of Chizpurfles would all try to make for one room above all others. They were enthusiastic magic eaters that liked to munch on wands and magical objects, artefacts, and—

"Madam Bones? Master?"

The pair quickly walked over to her as the wall of Dementors moved.

"Yes?"

"Do you maybe store magical artefacts in this room?"

"No, that leads to Madam Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge's personal office," Amelia answered.

"Do they collect magical things? Undersecretaries?"

"How many Chizpurfles went in there?"

"A large wave of them— all that weren't frozen solid and killed went in there— in that crack under the door."

Amelia and Severus exchanged significant glances.

Amelia sent her falcon Patronus zinging off out of the offices. "I'll bring in Alastor. We'll need an official warrant to break down those wards."

Just as Amelia and Severus guided Hermione back from the door, the door suddenly flew open as a shockingly shrill shriek came from the other side of the doorway.

"Get away from my kittens!" a voice yelled. There was a thump, a crash, and the sounds of tortured kittens. "No! Get away from that draw-"

KaTHOOOMMMM!

A heavy cloud of Chizpurfles flew out of the door, a large amount of ornate quills suspended mid-air in their gathering. Some of the quills poofed into so much dust as all their magic was eaten away, but the majority remained as the frozen auras of the Dementors closed in, freezing the Chizpurfles and the remaining quills into one solid block of highly damning evidence.

A woman with a face that looked very much like a flesh-coloured toad stormed out of the office wearing a pink jumper and a red scowl. "What is the meaning of this!? I demand you go back to Azkaban at once! You are not allowed here at my office!"

The Dementors floated, unmoving save for their robes.

"Get out of here! Get out!"

"But Madam Undersecretary, the Chizpurfles will just—"

"You!" the woman spat as she saw Hermione standing out of the way. "You are not permitted here! I want you out of this office immediately!"

The witch seemed to shiver, hugging and rubbing herself to keep warm. "Out! Get OUT!"

Grandfather stood in front of Hermione, gently pushing her back into another Dementor's arms. He glowered down at Umbridge, almost seeming to swell with fury.

There was a strange sucking in the air as the temperature dropped even more. All of the Dementors abruptly closed in, drawn to Umbridge as though she were very interesting, indeed. They all drew in breaths— the sound like a wheeze. The temperature dropped even more, and the light in the rooms slowly dimmed to a total blackness.

A minute passed before light returned with sound. One Dementor was embracing Hermione against its body as the others surrounded Dolores. The witch groaned as they flitted away, no longer interested in the weird, toadlike woman.

As Severus rushed over to check on Hermione, she frowned at the woman. "She made them hungry," she said. "They've never been so hungry before. They fed on her— twisted pleasures. Odd things. Horrible things that make me shudder inside."

Severus gently lifted her chin to look into her face. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded.

The Aurors had arrived, surrounding Umbridge with a loose ring.

Dolores groaned and sat up. "I'm sorry, do I know you fine people?" she asked, rubbing her head. "Why am I on the floor?"

Severus and Amelia exchanged glances as Moody's expression soured. He held in his hand one of the fallen quills. A spell had caused it to light up with bright red.

"Madam Undersecretary, you are under arrest for possession of a Dark object," Moody said. "Your office will be searched and any and all magic will be seized and searched while you are being questioned."

"I'm sorry, dear, do I even know you? Who is this Madam Undersecretary?"

Moody blinked. He gave Hermione a sidelong glance. "This is going to require a lot more tea."

Hermione swallowed hard and hid herself in Grandfather's robes. The Dementor held her to him and offered comfort.

"Not to worry," Severus said grimly. "I think, if anything, you're going to end up getting an Order of Merlin for service to the majority of the office here at the Ministry."

Hermione brightened, but she looked over to where Umbridge was and frowned. "Her head was so full of really horrible thoughts," she said.

Severus nodded grimly. "Of that, I am quite certain. The question, however, is how much was left behind when all of that was taken away?"

Amelia stood with her arms crossed. "Not much."

---

Alastor sat and watched the young girl watching over the happy Nightmare Hound pups as they played in the fountain, steam rising off their bodies as they were hit by the water. He kept a safe distance from the steam clouds, knowing they were as toxic as the volcanic flows as they hit seawater. Somehow, whatever bond the girl had with her charges, they gifted her immunity to their most dangerous aspects. It was as if they desired her companionship so much that each gave her the gift to truly be with them— as if the unnerving sight of her sleeping in a pile of volcanic hounds and Nundu cubs— or dementors— didn't prove that sufficiently.

The molten hound bitch would often groom Hermione over, leaving trails of molten stone over her body. It would cool rapidly and then fall off in probably the most effective skin exfoliation treatment she could get. The elder hound loved being cuddled, ear-rubbed, muzzle stroked, and even tolerated her ears being posed in various positions— provided it was Hermione doing it.

The other Aurors, Savage and Proudfoot mostly, called Hermione Babyface because of her glowing, absolutely flawless skin. Snape looked like he wanted to murder them both, but Hermione actually seemed to really enjoy having an affectionate nickname that wasn't derogatory, for once.

What really surprised him, however, was that the bond between master and apprentice was so strong that Snape himself seemed to gain a personal immunity to the molten pups and accidental Nundu disease breath to the face. While he never seemed to test this when Hermione wasn't around, it did seem to prove (at least to Alastor) that the girl felt a deep, unshakable trust for her master, and through her all of her charges. It was a lot to think upon.

As if the new lack of Dark Mark wasn't also a lot to think upon.

As if the happily dutiful Dementors floating about her just wasn't enough either.

Gods. She and her ever-growing entourage of beasts and beings were somehow managing to defy everything that was common knowledge about, well… everything.

Leopards don't change their spots. That's what he'd been crowing forever, yet—

Maybe he'd been misinterpreting those spots from the very beginning.

Maybe it wasn't so easy to judge a person, thinking them easy to read whether good or bad. Perhaps, he thought, it was better to get to know Snape through his apprentice. Their conversation at the festival had been sombre and suspicious, but even Alastor couldn't deny that the Mark had left him in the most conspicuous way possible in front of a great many witnesses, right in the middle of the Ministry atrium.

Most of them had been Obliviated— but the fact remained that there had been witnesses.

And he— he had decided that guarding Snape's young apprentice was in both his best interest and hers. The last thing anyone wanted was another confrontation with Molly Weasley.

The Wizengamot had placed a restraining order on Molly and an cuff on her ankle that kept her from going within a few hundred paces of Snape, but since she had not attacked Hermione, it had no condition on that. Still, they weren't stupid, and Amelia had asked him to watch over the girl when he could— especially when any member of the Weasley family was scheduled to come to the Ministry for any reason.

Arthur wasn't included in his wife's Wizengamot-mandated anger-induced magic classes and two years of community service, and Alastor really didn't see him as being the same unstable threat as his wife, thankfully. Still— Molly was his wife, and, well, there was no telling what things married couples did behind closed doors. Alastor was worried more about what things Molly might try to pressure Arthur into, but Alastor knew Arthur had been noticeably quite concerned at the Wizengamot session. There was a good chance that Molly would find no succor in lambasting her husband to do her will for her.

Browl!

Alastor looked down to see a magma pup chewing on his bootlace, trying to make it come undone. Its molten mouth made quick work of the lace and the pup went tumbling backwards when it snapped.

The pup gave the bootlace a forlorn look of wistful longing.

Alastor sighed and mended his poor, abused lace, tying them together again so his boot didn't fall off.

"Auror Moody," Hermione greeted him. "I'm sorry, did Kai find you fascinating?"

"My bootlace."

"Oh! I hope he didn't ruin them!"

"No, lass, for once I am glad I paid extra for dragonhide boots," he said.

The girl smiled up at him, and Moody found himself captured by her sheer genuineness. Her hair was a fluffy, bushy mess, made worse by tussling around with the pups, and her teeth had a somewhat bucktoothed look that were almost overshadowed by her perfect canine fangs. All of her teeth shone like pearlescent opals of perfection despite it. The fangs though— that was new. He wondered if it was some gift from her familiars, some sort of trait of solidarity or just one more trait that made her more like "them"- accepted and approved of.

"This can help," Hermione said. She brazenly touched his wrist, and a coldness moved into his hands and arms. She picked up Kai and put him into his arms. "He likes being rubbed here."

Kai panted happily, drooling magma. Alastor cried out, flinching away with one hand as it touched his hand— but the magma cooled on his skin, flaking away and disappearing. The Auror stared with wonder. "Well, I'll be damned. What did you do to me, lass?"

"Aine calls it the blessing. It's temporary," Hermione said. "She says it's beast magic, a different flavour of what most people learn. It has to be willingly given."

"And who is Aine?" Alastor asked.

The Volcanic Nightmare bitch stretched and yawned, exposing all of her jagged, half-molten teeth as she huffed and lay her head on top of Hermione's, making it look like a two member totempole. Hermione rubbed under her chin. "This is Aine."

The volcano hound licked her chops and rubbed her jaw against Hermione's hair.

"Aine means fire," Moody mused. "Or joy. Celtic language."

"She liked it," Hermione said. "We went through a name book together."

Moody made a face, but Kai slurped him under the chin, tail wagging as lava flung off it. Without thinking of himself and thinking of the poor foliage in the atrium, he put his hand over the beast's lava rump and tried to keep the lava from escaping. His eyes widened as the protection remained. The lava gathered in his hand and cooled almost instantly, crusting over and falling to the floor.

"My master says not to go hugging a volcano. We haven't proven if the protection only works for the hounds."

Alastor frowned.

"Did he hurt you?"

Hermione took his hands and looked, a worried expression on her face.

The pup pegged his face with its tongue, getting lava drool everywhere, and the lava cooled, covering his face like a charred mask. The pup yipped as he fell when Alastor clutched his face, trying to pry the hardened rock off his face. Hermione caught the pup, who cuddled into her, licking her chin happily.

Moody let out a loud gasp of air as sucked in his breath after prying off the "mask" and he plucked the magical eye out from the leather strap that had been fused to the cooled lava. But as he held his precious eye, his free hand went and touched his eye where the artefact had once lay.

"Auror Moody," Hermione said. "I don't mean to pry, but— why do you wear an eye over your eye?"

Moody stared at the eye in his hand as he closed his eyelids on each side, the crinkles on his face wrinkling a little extra with concentration. His hands drew across his face, tracing his skin as if searching for something. He staggered over to the fountain, peering in. His fingers touched his cheeks and forehead and even his eyelids where he had worn the "mad eye".

Hermione, patting the pup and setting him down, gently stroked Aine's muzzle before tending to Moody. He stared at her, his blue eyes boring into her with something akin to panic.

"Are you okay, Auror Moody?" she asked.

Moody gave her a long, searching look, both of his eyes staring into hers. "Lass, you are no witch," he said with a look of wonder. "You are a ruddy miracle worker, girl, just as surely as if you'd suckled upon the teats of the goddesses, anointed with ambrosia, and had your mortality burned away in the coals of the hearth."

Hermione stared at him, puzzled. "I am just a girl— with some pretty special friends."

"No, lass," Moody said. "This eye— this new eye— sees you differently. It's what they see," he said pointing to the hounds. "You are a beacon. You are the flame that others would willingly throw themselves in to be burned if only to experience the brilliance."

Hermione fidgeted. "I'm just a girl," she said again.

Alastor touched Hermione's hand, laying his no-longer-gnarled hand over hers. "You may not have been the one to do it, but it was by your hand that the opportunity was given. Is that not what true gods do? Those that wish to believe themselves gods threaten and posture. Those that truly are influence and inspire. You may think such things to be blasphemous, my girl, but I can see the powerful magic swirling around you. It is not something I would normally see. That anyone would normally see."

Hermione swallowed and frowned, discomfited.

A swirl of seemingly endless black came in, and the pups all ran up to greet him. They screeched to a halt beside him, staring up at him with tails wagging and lava drooling. He knelt, gently patting each one, tolerating their lava licks and wriggling enthusiasm. He stood after a while, giving them stern looks when they tried to jump up on his legs.

They instantly stopped their rude accosting of his person and bounce-romped back towards Aine, growling, tugging, and roughhousing all over her.

"Apprentice?"

"Yes, Master?"

Hermione approached him.

"Amelia asked if you would be amenable to showing some of the Adepts how you protect others from your Entourage."

Hermione brightened. "Oh! I mean, would that be okay?"

Snape arched a brow. "Yes."

She smiled. "Thank you, Master! When should I go?"

"They are waiting right now."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "I mean, is that okay, Auror Moody? You don't mind?"

The old Auror shook his head, and Hermione sighed with relief.

"Let's go everyone!" she called, and all the pups, Aine, and the Dementors trailed behind her.

"I believe, Alastor, that even though Miss Granger is probably the least likely to let anything like godhood go to her head, that allowing her to grow up would be the prudent choice."

"You knew?" Moody's voice was accusatory.

"I suspected. Knowing such things is something for the gods, not I."

Alastor's eyes furrowed. "What made you suspect?"

Snape tilted his head. "One must usually be born of the Dark to commune with the Dark— others can only learn how to use it, survive it, and pray it doesn't kill them before doing what they intended."

"You said usually."

Snape nodded. "Only those who have been touched by the divine can see the beauty in all things, Alastor." He looked into the fountain, brows furrowed. "She inspires. Both the greatness in those around her or the selfish cruel. Good or bad, she inspires— with one key difference. Those that stand against her find themselves staring into the Abyss with the yawning Void in front of them and her wrath behind them, succor in one hand and damnation in the other— yet there is no doubt that she had a domain in which she thrives: the beasts and beings often left to the side and thought lesser than men and women."

Alastor pondered. "Most who have been touched by the divine exchange sanity for the insight— or walk so close to the Astral that they can no longer remember the boundaries. Pandora Lovegood was one of those. Like Icarus, she flew to high and close to the sun, and she both isolated and fell to reality." His blue eyes stared through Snape as he thought over many things at once. "But Pandora was mortal, human— she did not have the spark of magic that swirls around your apprentice."

"If you studied the story of Demophon of Eleusis, if Demeter is the one that burned her mortality away, then unlike Celeus the King of Eleusis's wife, Metanira, found Demeter 'roasting' her son in the embers of the fire and thus broke the ritual with her, screaming as well as invoking the ire of Demeter Herself. Depending on the story, some say Demophon was burned to death due to the interruption— a testament to the broken ritual and lack of trust to the gods." Severus sighed and rubbed his chin. "But what if the Grangers were visited when Hermione was but a babe, taken while in care of a midwife or a nursemaid, by none other than Demeter Herself. It is not uncommon amongst well-to-do families to have nannies and other such assistance when they have two doctors in the family. They would never have known. Or, perhaps, they did— and they realised the gods were real and respected the goddess' actions. Who can say but the Granger's themselves— and the Goddess, Herself."

Moody rubbed his new eye, marvelling in its presence and the gift Hermione had unwittingly given him through her charges. "What does this mean for Britain?"

Severus sniffed. "For now? Nothing. She wishes to learn, and we shall teach her. She gives freely of herself as a child is wont to do— but she is so much more than just a child. She is an extraordinary, compassionate soul who thrives on the small touch and kind word and yet shrivels in the face of disapproval and scorn."

"Were you not one to give her both?"

"Yes, before."

"And yet, she seems to trust you implicitly now ."

Snape gave him a tight smile. "It did not take her long to realise that we shared a common history of mistreatment at the hands of our supposed peers." Snape inhaled deeply. "She, like me, was betrayed by someone she trusted, blamed for something said in the heat of anger, and tormented by the chosen heroes of the ruling headmaster."

Moody scowled. "Who?"

Severus' head moved back and forth like a cobra following a flute. He eyed Moody with an evaluating glare. "When I was but a student, as you know, Slytherin and Gryffindor were at odds far more often than at peace. I was often the target of much supposed mischief. But while some called it harmless boyhood pranks, I would argue otherwise— but I was sworn to secrecy to protect the reputations of a number of them. Even now, I cannot say their names in that regard."

Moody narrowed his eyes. "Someone put you under Oath?"

"A promise made under the threat of being Obliviated."

Alastor's eyebrows lifted as he startled. His face reddened. "You promised not to say anything, yes?"

Severus nodded.

Moody's expression darkened. "Why don't you extract the pertinent memories and "accidentally" leave them on my desk?"

Severus' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Auror Moody, have you exchanged your badger for a snake?"

Moody's lip curled. "Even badgers have their ways."

"So it would seem."

---

Hermione discovered, much to her delight, that a certain Whomping Willow had transplanted itself into their habitat abode within the DoM. The tree seemed ecstatic to see her again, whipping her up into its branches and passing her from branch to branch before allowing her to sit on one of the branches and relax.

The Nundus seemed mighty interested in the tree, and the mother Nundu was already up in the tree and lounging, all four legs dangling, leaving her cubs at the bottom to ponder life's unfairness that mummy was a much better climber than they were.

Master Edevane, Hermione's trainer in the care of magical creatures at the DoM (or at least the trainer in how things were traditionally done), was flabbergasted by the rather sudden arrival of the willow. He also had quite a few lumps on his head to show off his rather unfortunate and unexpected introduction to the willow's infamous protective ire. Any of Hermione's entourage seemed to be immune, having been approved in advance— Master Edevane, however, had come without permission (at least in the willow's opinion) and thus was marked for a vigorous pummelling.

Hermione had rescued the rather bewildered wizard from becoming a oily splotch of red on the ground after having been stunned so hard by the first whomp that he'd fallen unconscious for the rest. He'd woken up some time later in a hastily-conjured cot with a dour-looking Severus Snape pouring a foul tasting potion down his throat with the threat, "Drink this or else die painfully."

His bedside manner was pretty much like his Hogwarts teaching demeanor. Hermione found it quite amusing, and she wondered if that made her a bad person. Her master had become calm and much more attuned to her way of learning now that he didn't have hundreds of other students to keep from blowing each other up. His personality around most others, however, remained—well, rather abrasive, to say the least.

There were those that let it slide off their back, and there were those that seemed to want to throw Unforgivables at the very sight of him. While it didn't seem to bother him, the moment it transferred to her, he became fury incarnate, defending her honour with either silent disdain or threats of a duel of honour.

She had no idea how that would go over, but she imagined it would be harsh— for the other guy.

She wasn't sure why some people didn't like her just by meeting her once, either. She was always dressed in her apprentice robes, spoke only when spoken to, silent otherwise as was expected—

Sure, she looked like a miniature dungeon bat with her flowing robes, but surely that wasn't the reason? Maybe?

When she thought about it, people reading really wasn't her thing. The beasts were always an easy read, ever straightforward and direct. People— people were so complicated.

Her one trip to Gringotts with Master Edevane to check on the beasts that guarded the lower levels had ended with her having an Ukrainian Ironbelly wanting to follow her home.

When the goblins used their strange bells to drive the dragon back, the fear and anticipation of pain from the dragon had caused her to rush forward and give the dragon comfort, hugging its muzzle and stroking its eye ridges, offering a comforting touch over pain. She'd summoned a pot of oil from her prized beaded bag and enlarged it, oiling the dragon down until every scale was glistening with a healthy coat of oil.

The Dementors floated in, carrying a large haunch of something quite dead, and much to the goblins' surprise, she sat down on the ground and used her wand to cut off small slices, feeding her new friend by hand, little by little.

Master Edevane was busy trying to explain to the goblins how it was possible that a little wisp of a human girl could possible subdue a Ukrainian Ironbelly, but the evidence was right there in front of them.

By the time the dragon was oiled, fed, and quite scarily released from its chains, Hermione was sitting on the dragon's back, draping herself on the dragon's neck and rubbing its neck as it carried her deep into its "lair" where most of its beloved treasure lay.

Hermione had taken the next few hours introducing the goblins to the dragon one by one and having them destroy the shakers and rattles in front of the suspicious reptile. Since it was a vault dragon, she pondered something that would signal that it was okay for someone to be down there, and the goblins decided that any goblin coming down to that area would carry a very specific dragon plushie that would only be brought down when they were bringing down food or guests.

The goblins were, of course, suspicious of how well that would work, but after a few test runs, and a few flaming arses later, they were convinced.

Hermione and Master Edevane had said their goodbyes after giving new instructions on how to handle their dragons.

When Severus had found a huge box of fine crystal potion vials, leather bound handmade paper journals, rare quills, and extremely rare potion ingredients on his desk the next day, his eyebrows looked ready to launch a rocket into space. He stared at his apprentice with concern, and she gave him her best sheepish, halo-wearing smile.

He gave Hermione her pick of the journals and quills first, and then they both sorted, labelled, and organised the potion ingredients in their personal storage room. He taught her how to tell the age by how the ingredients moved in the container without having taken the lid off, colour of the best ingredients, and what made the rarest potion ingredients so rare. By the time they were done, the entire day was gone, but Hermione felt like she hadn't wasted a single minute.

Much to her delight, her new journals and quills were resistant to Nundu and Nightmare hound lava-teeth, and she was thankful for that.

When a ominous-looking red, smoking letter arrived on her master's desk, Hermione immediately wondered what she had done wrong, thinking the worst and that it had been her fault— somehow.

The outraged male voice that spewed abuse from the twisted letter was not remotely happy about "interlopers" and "brainwashing" his perfectly trained dragons to the point where the goblins had supposedly tendered him the pink slip.

She didn't recognise the voice, but judging by her master's smashing the letter into Aine's burning hide to make it burst into flames, he did.

"Am I in trouble, Master?" she asked nervously.

"No," he said. "There will always be dunderheads who think because they came first that they are in the right."

She wanted to ask who the person was, but she recognised the look on her master's face. It was the "ask me no questions lest I set myself on fire and burn down everything around me" look.

A quick conference with Master Edevane had sent the elder wizard storming off towards Amelia's office— the direction everyone in the DoM knew to be a portent of doom— and no more Howlers came to visit.

Hermione decided to be thankful for the favour and not question it.

Her lessons were going extremely well, she was allowed to brew and study with her charges milling about as long as they didn't stick their noses, claws, or any other body parts into the cauldrons or chew on the books and parchments. Many of the people thought she was training to be the librarian with the time she clocked in the library doing her research.

While the Dementors helped with cold-brewing, the lava hounds seemed perfectly happy cuddling with the cauldrons for superheated brewing. While she was not so quick on the adjustments as her master, Severus seemed to be able to keep up with the accelerated adjustments to the recipe, making a few new, improved potion recipes that the clinic in the Ministry was mighty interested in. Potent burn cream, concentrated sun protectant, and first ever Lava Drops, which could heat an entire cauldron of base to boiling with just one drop and not leave any side effects. It was easier to make (well, at least for them) than trying to convince a firedrake to drool into a collection tube, and it could be used to heat water in emergencies even if a person didn't know the spell (or perhaps was incapable of it) in a crisis.

Her master mumbled that he wasn't sure who was happier, the healers, the potions makers, or the people who wanted hot tea right now, thank you.

Hermione promptly recommended all of the above, but that earned her a trademark scowl.

Still, a number of patents later, their list of potions, creams, ointments, and tinctures were growing, and the number of people who wanted them was also growing. No one would replicate them, though Snape suspected they were trying, because no one outside the DoM knew how they were creating the specialised conditions for each potion.

"Have Dementor hold cauldron; three makes the best balance," was seen as a joke because it was "ridiculous." "Have Volcanic Nightmare pups cuddle your cauldron" went over just as badly.

Hermione was distressed that people thought she was lying, but Snape told her not to worry. Sometimes, he said, people think the obvious is the wrong answer. The best lies, he continued, were the truth and having someone believe you were lying.

Hermione thought that seemed little strange, but she promised to think on it more.

Severus was convinced that her skills and results of her brewing proved enough. He was not so coddling (as if the man could ever) as to tell her when something was wrong or that something could be improved, but he was honest with her that there were a lot of things she did right. The rest, he was there to teach her the better way or guide her into finding it herself. Either was fine for her. She preferred it to what their very negative relationship had been before.

When she thought over it, she realised that had she had a choice between this newer, stable, even healthy teaching and learning relationship with Severus Snape and the shallow friendships she had before— she'd pick him as her master over that any day. The revelation was bit jolting to her, as always before she had thought she needed the friendship of her peers to be strong… brave.

At last, she had begun to realise that the faith in those she could trust, even if they were not her friends, was important, much like her parents had been. Her parents weren't her friends, but she never doubted their support. Even when they found out she was a witch, they seemed to only be grateful to know there were others with such gifts she could be around. They'd always seemed to think there was more to her than met the eye, implying she was more than just a little talented— in something they never quite disclosed.

Only one thing was for sure: she wasn't meant to be a dentist, unless you figured in how many times she had to pull something out between Tesfaye's sizeable Nundu molars.

Classes were going by fast, at least she felt like it was, and she loved how attentive all the masters were in the Department of Mysteries. They all knew their stuff, and they all knew how to best teach their stuff, and unlike at the school where they had hundreds of students to teach at a time, they enjoyed one on one, two on one, or at the most three on one, never higher.

It wasn't that she thought the Hogwarts teachers were inept— well most of them, excluding Lockhart who had been a sham from day one and Quirrell who had been faking so much it was hard to tell what he really knew. She knew that it took a different sort of person to juggle a classroom and be able to teach many versus a few. Her master was an example of that. He was brilliant but not a crowd pleaser.

Hermione wasn't even sure if she was a crowd pleaser, truth be told. She did like to please, but— well, not everyone.

Not anymore, anyway. She'd learned her lesson well.

Perhaps, it was lessons in plural. There had been quite a few things she'd had to learn, after all.

Hermione flopped up against Tesfaye, yawning as the mother Nundu groomed her head, which she was convinced was her attempt to rid her of her hair altogether. She rubbed the big cat's ears, causing her to rumble in approval. "Did you want to do anything today?"

The Nundu seemed to shrug.

Hermione thought it might be a lie in day for the Nundu mum— all her cubs were out cold, having worn themselves out chasing the Whomping Willow branches. "You know, Auror Moody said we could come visit his flower garden if we wanted."

The Nundu perked, whiskers twitching. Hermione smiled. "He does seem a lot more likeable when he isn't trying to make up things about our master, yes?"

The Nundu nodded decisively.

Hermione flopped back against the Nundu and smiled. "Maybe Master Snape will let us visit on the weekend."

Tesfaye laid her head on Hermione's lap, rumbling.

One of the pups came bouncing up with a Daily Prophet clasped between his jaws, only part of it surviving due to the exposure to the lava. Hermione took the paper gratefully, lavishing the pup with love and praise, trying to hide her mortification on what her master would think if he actually wanted to read the paper.

Hermione stared at the holey paper and wondered if a repair spell would work on incinerated paper.

"Not likely," Snape said as he walked by carrying a mint condition Prophet.

"Nothing gets by you, Master, why is that?" Hermione said, frowning.

"Years of avid practice watching children try to blow each other up," he replied, opening his own paper to read it as he sat down on a willow branch. The happy willow drew him up to nestle him with the Nundu cubs, who happily tried to crawl into his lap all at the same time. Snape rolled his eyes, fluffed up one cub, and used him as a fluffy feline pillow.

The cubs, deciding that their sibling was getting more of the attention that they wanted, tried to wriggle under him and be pillows too.

Hermione snickered into her sleeve, trying not to be obvious, but failed completely.

"You look pretty comfy," Amelia observed, looking up at the willow.

Snape grunted but said nothing.

"Moody is having a house-warming party this Friday. Moving into a new place before he accepts that DADA teaching job at Hogwarts for a year. Scrimgeour wants him to feel out how things are going there. You can imagine how well he took the plan."

Snape sniffed. "He is, most undoubtedly, ecstatic."

"He's not exactly the ideal representative of teacherly understanding and tolerance, no," Amelia said with a sigh. "But Severus, it would make me very happy if you could go and give him a few pointers on what to expect so he doesn't murder anyone while he's there."

"You wish me to teach Alastor how not to murder dunderheaded children?"

Amelia smiled. "It's a personal goal that I think the DoM shares."

Snape wrinkled his nose. "I suppose I will humour you, then." He eyed Hermione as she played with Fenrir, who had materialised out of nowhere with a highly gnawed on stick that seemed to heal itself after being chewed on: a werewolf's best friend.

A group of bouncing Monstrous Books of Monsters flitted about, bounce squeaking as they chased each other around.

"Who gets to tell her she can only bring a few of them?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes at Amelia, daring her to make him the bad guy.

Amelia shook her head. "Fear not. Your reputation shall not grow worse. I'll handle it."

Snape's nose wrinkled. "You had better not make her cry. Every single Dementor from here to the ocean on each side will make their way here to comfort her."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Do give me a little more credit than that, Severus."

Severus fluffed his Nundu cub and leaned on his side to read the Prophet. The cub mrowled happily, using its rough tongue to peg his arm a few times before settling in a log formation.

"You realise that no one out there in the normal world would ever believe what I'm seeing right now, yes?"

Snape smiled. "It seems to be working for us."

Amelia shook her head. "I think I'm a bit jealous."

Severus grunted. "Good."

---

Severus had not expected to arrive to find Moody's new place looking like a battle zone. A spilt silver flask lay on the floor along with the remains of what might have been a fry up. Cushions and pillows lay scattered about in total disarray. Shattered bits of glass littered the floor. Papers, books, and even the Daily Prophet covered the floor in shreds.

He stood in front of Hermione, protecting her with himself, silently putting a shield over her in case some spell came from behind.

Moody was talking to Arthur Weasley, of all people, waving off the other wizard's obvious concern.

"Alastor, the neighbours were awfully concerned. They said there was a horrible struggle, like bombs going off during a fight."

"It was just some rampaging cutpurse looking to help himself to me things," Moody huffed. "Arthur, you can stop hovering like a mother hen. Just hurt me pride that I was too lazy to properly ward the place before I moved my stuff in."

Moody brushed off Arthur's concerns and gave Snape a glare, his face scrunched up with annoyance. "What did you want, Death Eater?"

Severus felt Hermione's hair bristle as shock warred with loss of respect. Moody had always been abrasive, but ever since the incident in the Ministry atrium, he'd been remarkably tolerant towards him— sometimes even amiable. He'd been downright fatherly to Hermione, and something—

Something was definitely off.

Mind you, he was no expert on the most recent, helpful, reasonable Moody, but he had both cleared Sirius Black of murdering Muggles and subsequently charged him with attempted murder by werewolf. Black had been seventeen when he'd so kindly tried to murder him using Lupin— and even Potter couldn't stomach outright murder, even if it was "the greasy git."

The Wizengamot gave him credit for time served for the wrong crime— but at least he was officially charge for the crime that had gone under the radar under Dumbledore's watch. Dumbledore, while having convinced the Wizengamot that the damage that could have been done to Remus Lupin's reputation due to the act and his innocence in the matter, managed to wriggle out of severe punishment— but Moody had implied that he was being watched closely in case similar situations reared up.

Severus, narrowed his eyes at Alastor, and Hermione picked it up much as she picked up the silent ways of her charges. She'd grown used to reading his body language over his words in the silent world of social balances that came with being his apprentice so close to the Ministry. Words were a luxury, and when they were alone or amongst more accepting company, he was more apt to direct, teach, and encourage— or correct, admonish, or voice disapproval. A part of him wondered if he was inadvertently creating another spy, but he reassured himself there was nothing wrong with having such skills for survival.

Reading people was a practice few people indulged in short of the basics. Reading subtle tells, tightening of muscles, posture, and the unsaid word combined with tone of voice or lack thereof was— Hermione was a master of reading the beasts, beings, and creatures. It was applying that to humans he had been encouraging her to practice.

Thankfully, she was picking up his tells, which Amelia would argue was far harder than anyone else.

Hermione straightened. "Auror Moody," she gushed sweetly, her voice terribly innocent and almost childlike. "You promised to give us a tour of your new place!"

She squeezed her Nundu cub with artificial insecurity, puckering out her lip with a pout worthy of Pansy Parkinson. Fenrir was picking up her cues, and he rolled on his back and writhed in the grass, pretending to be a normal, if a bit wolfy, dog. The Dementors hadn't made their appearance— yet. He knew it was only a matter of time. They seemed to require her hugs and cuddles as much as she did theirs.

Dementors were surprisingly needy. Who knew?

He had his suspicions that the fact no one wanted their cuddles and comfort was the main reason they went off sucking the happiness out of people. Hell, most Death Eaters found them completely unnerving, if anything because they could suck out their soul and leave them an empty, breathing, but utterly lifeless in the mind husk.

Hermione's Dementors were— dare he think it— happy beings. Happy to serve. Happy for cuddles. Happy to help. Had he not seen it before his very eyes, he'd thought himself mad even considering the words "Dementor" and "happy" in the same paragraph, let alone sentence.

Then again, he thought, Hermione's first (second if you considered the raging orange fur-ball the first) familiar was a sodding formerly homicidal werewolf. Crookshanks was probably sitting in Amelia's office, pillaging her stash of the tuna sandwiches that she loved so much. Sharing them, Amelia would correct, but everyone knew that she and Crooks had mutually foodophile relationship. She even shared her sashimi on the occasions she indulged. Now that was love.

Moody, who apparently was so occupied in reassuring Arthur that everything was fine, didn't catch Hermione's tone of familiarity— just as Severus suspected he wouldn't.

"Why would I waste time on showing a young thing like you such a boring, empty place as a scruffy old Auror's hovel?"

Hermione's face pouted with extra pout power as she put out her lip a little more. "Well, can I least let the little ones down?"

Moody curled his lip unflatteringly. "Whatever, girlie. Just keep—"

Hermione beamed so brightly as she released Zorion to the ground. The Nundu cub mrowled and was immediately bowled over by a happy Kai. The pup and Nundu tumbled and pounced Fenrir, who still lay on his back, knowing that was where Hermione wanted him— for now. The pup and cub tussled with Fenrir, chewing, playing, and tugging on all his various places— save one particular area that got both of them swatted at, teeth clicking and just barely missing their tender noses.

Pup and cub nuzzled and rubbed up against him in apology, and the werewolf seemed to harrumph before flopping back down. Fenrir yawned widely, tongue lolling. He kept his eyes trained on Moody, watching him intently— especially his hands and feet— unblinking with one eye open and both ears perked and swivelling to whatever noise was around him.

Kai cocked his head cutely, looking like Nipper the RCA dog, and he made a swift beeline towards the house door.

"Oi! Where're you going?" Moody barked.

Kai screeched a halt, head cocked again. His ears swivelled forward and back, homing in on something.

Barroo!

He was off. His tail wagging as he took off towards the house again.

Crack-CRACK!

Moody had Apparated from one side of his yard to the door, his large hand wrapping around the pup's belly to pick it up.

Even more excited, the pup wriggled and slurped Moody right upside the face, his body setting itself to smolder and ooze lava from every crack that formed over his transforming skin. The pup panted with excitement, happy to have his friend back and wanting to play, and he wriggled and slurped under Moody's chin and up his face— glowing orange-yellow lava slathering all over the Auror's face.

Severus couldn't help but smirk as "Moody" screamed, obviously in extreme pain, instinctively trying to get it off his face only to sink his fingers into even more burning hot lava, and he cried out in agony as his skin quickly blistered, charred and smoked, setting to flames from the intense heat.

Moody was screaming, burning alive, and writhing on the ground. He started running full-tilt towards the neighbour's garden. He blew through the hedge like a cartoon character busting through a wall and then threw himself headlong into the rain barrel.

Kai tilted his head sadly , whimpering that his "friend" had gone away.

Zorion, meanwhile, had found a trail she wanted to follow, and Fenrir was hot on her heels to keep her disease breathing end in line.

Severus stood, arms crossed as Arthur sent Patroni out in various directions. His face was stern, but inside he was chuckling with dark amusement. There could only be one reason why Moody was burning, and that was that Moody wasn't really Moody. His apprentice had given him the hounds' blessing— sympathetic magic from the bond of her familiars— as protection against their magma cores and resulting lava excretions. The real Alastor Moody had that blessing. He had the blessing. It was still yet to be proven if it worked if Hermione was not around, but it was very rare that any of the more "dangerous" charges were around and underfoot without Hermione being close by.

Aurors were buzzing around like a swarm of bees now, even as the distinctively purple robes of the Obliviators came in to deal with the poor family whose lives had been shattered by some literally flaming bloke who decided to use their water trough as a way to counter the molten attack on his flesh.

People were swarming around him, ignoring him completely, and Severus had to admit that was… different. Normally when things went screaming straight to Hades, he was the one that people inevitably stared at.

Hermione was staring up at him, looking somewhat distressed. "Master?"

"Hn?"

She scrunched her face a little. "Fen says that Auror Moody is still inside."

Severus furrowed his brows. "Can he lead us to him?"

Hermione nodded. She looked at Fenrir, and the werewolf promptly jumped up and trotted along, staying just ahead but not too far away from his mistress. Unlike the ornery half-Kneazle, Fenrir was far more of a physical be-there-all-the-time sort of familiar. Crookshanks simply showed up whenever he was needed— even if it was only if he thought so.

The rest of the time the ginger-furred traitor was off with Amelia Bones, buttering her up for a bit of sashimi.

Severus followed, his wand at the ready, he himself ready to throw himself bodily in front of Hermione if someone or something with nefarious intent were to leap out. Fenrir, however, was an excellent judge of hidden things, and he seemed quite unconcerned. Werewolves as bodyguards were apparently pretty trustworthy— provided you had a strong familiar bond with one. Maybe he could convince Lupin to get himself a nice collar and submit to someone.

Hah.

That would be the day.

The only thing Lupin would think was worse than being a werewolf was being a werewolf permanently. He still didn't believe Fenrir was happy being his apprentice's loyal wolf-guard either. Somehow, someway, old Snape was pulling on his chain again.

Pity the ol' werewolf was chilling his jets with Black in Wizengamot-ordered therapy and— what was the term— rehabilitation? Whatever you called being forced into classes about awareness with regard to the safety of children or the safety of people in general.

From what Snape had heard, Potter the younger was having some issues dealing with a godfather that was not out to murder him, didn't murder his parents or a dozen Muggles, but did try to murder his teenaged Potions teacher with a werewolf.

Sure, he had already, technically, served enough time for crimes he wasn't guilty of to see him released— but both he and Lupin were now being watched for child endangerment—well, it wasn't a perfect end for Black in Snape's mind, but it was a bit validating to at least have him come to justice on the attempted murder.

True, they had both thrown hexes, curses, and everything else at each other, but more often than not it had been the entire gang against him. It was never a one on one sort of conflict. The worst day of his life, save the night he had gotten rip-roaringly drunk and woke up with a tattoo, had been because of his torment in front of the entire school chanting "Snivellus! Greasy!"

The essential rules for life had been learned.

One, no matter how angry you were, don't show it by exploding into someone's face.

Two, no matter how angry you are, don't get drunk over it. (Truly, he should have known better given his own bastard father's legacy of intoxication and abuse.)

Three, you can lose your best childhood friend with just a word being said. Just one. Years of friendship could be ruined with one stupid world said in anger and mortification.

And the fourth was, of course, no matter what prophecy you think you heard, don't go blabbing it all to a reigning psychopath— or anyone for that matter.

Fenrir stopped his trek through the house and sat next to large trunk that was half hidden in the "debris" of the half-destroyed house. He whuffed and lay down, tail wagging, let his mistress know whatever was important was within that trunk.

Hermione, wisely, lavishly praised the werewolf and led him away, allowing him to deal with what was in it. Snape moved Hermione behind him and unlocked the trunk with his wand. The lid flew open and a cascade of mini-trunks rose up from it, also opening with a distinct series of clicks.

A continuous stream of colourful Gaelic cursing issued from within.

Hermione's face reddened with mortification, and she hugged Fenrir tightly.

"Alastor?" Snape yelled down the opening, throwing a strong Lumos into the darkness.

Alastor, completely starkers save for his pants, bellowed up. "Snape? Get me the hell out of here, man. I'm going to kill him!"

Blodwyn popped in amidst a cloud of aether and pulled a rope ladder out of "nothingness" and knotted it to the lid with her silk. "Oh hai! I brought a ladder. Good thing too. Looks like he needs one!"

The ladder went clattering down the hole as the spider disappeared.

A half-dehaired Alastor Moody with fresh bruises and a giant goose egg on his head climbed out of the trunk and stood in all his starker glory—

Hermione meeped and hid behind Snape, while Severus averted his eyes in self-defence more than politeness as he threw a thick wad of hastily-conjured clothing at Moody. He'd already seen far more of Alastor Moody's impressive scar collection than he'd ever wished to see, even with his face and hands being newly pristine thanks to exposure to Volcanic Nightmare lava-slobber.

"Bloody Barty Crouch Junior— he was supposed to be in sodding Azkaban!" Moody frowned as Barty Crouch Junior's screams of agonising burnination carried from outside. He blinked. "Is that?"

"That would be Barty Crouch— Junior."

Moody let all of the air out of his lungs, righted a chair, and sat down on it. "Oh." He stared into space.

Blodwyn popped out of thin air bearing a tray of tea, biscuits, and a large bowl of maple glazed popcorn. "Oh hai!" she greeted. "I brought snacks!" She set the tray down, crawled onto Moody's head, wiped it with a damp silk cloth, and then poured tea into the various little cups. She chucked a few cups of sugar into one cup, added a splash of milk, and then whisked it into Moody's hand, using a bit of silk to keep the cup from falling from his hand. She then grabbed a cluster of popcorn, crawled up his chest, and stuffed it into his mouth. "Chew. That's a good human. Okay! The rest you can do yourself!"

Poof! She was gone in a whirl of aether.

Hermione touched Snape's hand, letting her fingers brush against the inside of his wrist, a silent bid for audience.

Severus turned to her. "Yes?"

"Grandfather says they hadn't been looking for him because he was already dead. Barty Crouch— or someone that looked like him— was buried at Azkaban." Hermione allowed herself to be embraced by the elder Dementor. His cold aura sent hoarfrost under their feet.

"I was there." Alastor's head had jerked up. "I saw the body, it was— we thought it was— Barty Crouch's body." Moody stared up at Severus. "His mother visited shortly before he died. A last wish before she died." Moody's face turned into a scowl.

"When he died it was such a relief— one less Dark wizard— we never even thought that his mother's dying visit had set him free. If anything, we thought she slipped him poison or something to make sure he never left. We were willing to turn a blind eye to that after the things he'd done. He'd had a life sentence anyway."

Hermione touched Snape's wrist again, her eyes wide.

"What is it, Apprentice?"

Her eyes darted as she swallowed before speaking. "They are angry that he tricked them," she said. "They don't want me to go out there. Grandfather forbids it until—"

Snape shuddered instinctively.

Hermione's entourage had been nicked from Azkaban's original guards. If anyone could hold a grudge, it would be them— an angry Dementor could only mean one thing.

"Stay here with Alastor," he said, "and keep your entourage close."

Hermione nodded, sinking into Grandfather's icy embrace. "Yes, Master."

Her distress called them to her, and the lava pup and Nundu cub were both bounding in to tend to her.

"Gods! What the—"

"I've never seen—"

"I'll never unsee this—"

Various calls of distress came from outside, surprisingly not just from Barty Crouch Jr. Severus arrived outside a second later to discover that Kai had "kindly" relieved himself all over Barty's shoes, both burning him to the bone while encasing his lower legs in obsidian lava-cooled stone. The gathered Aurors looked ready to hurl from the disgusting sight as well as the ungodly stench of burnt flesh and urine.

Severus, having been accustomed to much worse during the Dark Lord's infamous "parties", found the entire scene as quite tame, all things considered, but he knew it wasn't exactly normal fare for those outside the Dark Lord's "good" graces. Barty Senior, had always been the most hardcore stickler to the letter of the law. Barty Junior, on the other hand, had always been the same on the opposite spectrum of chaos and wanton violence— first in line to torture and make someone feel like shite's runny shite, no second to even the likes of Bellatrix. Bella, by far, no matter how genuinely ooked up the dooker he was, surpassed him and everyone else.

Only the Dark Lord was worse— and that was because he was nothing like Bellatrix. No, he was his own unique brand of twisted psychopathy incarnate. Whatever humanity he might have had, he had sacrificed it early on and thrown it screaming in front of the Hogwarts Express.

No thanks to one Albus sodding Dumbledore.

That was the secret Severus had never revealed he knew either to the Dark Lord who had provided it nor to Dumbledore, who had first set it in motion. Had it not been for Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle would never have become Voldemort.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

Severus had done his research, found the old Wool Orphanage, and learned of a twisted young boy who had demonstrated all the signs of clinical psychopathy. Yet wise, kindly, interfering younger Dumbledore just had to take him under wing and help him acquire his magical training.

So, after all his supposed perfections, Dumbledore was human and fallible after all. Fatally so, if you were to consider the fact that he supported the first Dark Lord and then created the second—

Those were facts Severus had very tightly woven into his security plan, just in case Albus sent him in to die under the power of the Oath. Should he die and not refresh the timer on some very special vials of memories, they would automatically transport themselves to every magical Ministry's Department of Mysteries.

He'd be dead— but there would be no saving the truth. All of the secret truths he knew from both sides.

Things were a little different now—

He had Hermione under wing, and he had some very special instructions and arrangements that he had pre-made just in case something were to happen to him and she were to be left adrift without her master. It was his job to protect and provide, and he took that responsibility quite seriously.

Even if something did happen to him, which he wasn't really planning on, she would be taken care of. Their already bursting coffers had been funnelled off into many different goblin savings and investments, both magical and Muggle. She would not be like he was as a student. She would not suffer hand me down clothes and neglect. She would not… become what he had.

She could make decisions, some could be wrong, but it would not be because she lacked knowledge of both sides of the equation. That was far more than he had been given, his teenage mind addled with hatred for his drunken Muggle father, his abused, powerless mother, and even that blinding grief of being repudiated by his only childhood friend.

No, he would be what he had not been given— a master that took care of his apprentice, a confidant, and someone she could trust with herself. It was something her own house could not do for her. One single whiff of danger or darkness had sent them all screaming into hysterical finger-pointing and unsubstantiated accusations.

Slughorn had been— well, he had taught him some things, but not much of it had been potions. Most of it had been the typical Slytherin bill of fare taken up perhaps a notch or five. He had given him access to some pretty amazing potions, however, and those he made himself in practice.

Grandfather floated in, Hermione quickly caught up in his protective embrace. He had placed a blindfold on her, and she, in perfect trust, had not questioned it.

Oh, to have such trust again. Such things, for Severus, were long gone.

Grandfather hovered with menace, his hoarfrost radiating with more of an all-encompassing zone of frigid effect that was far greater than the others. Whether this was due to his age or some other indicator of his power, Snape wasn't sure. The Aurors and other gathered stumbled hurriedly away from the area, petrified by the very presence of Grandfather. The powerful aura that gave so much comfort to Hermione had the exact opposite effect on the uninitiated.

Grandfather extended his hand over Barty's charred, lava-covered body, and the still molten stone cooled almost instantly, sealing the wizard in a cocoon of freezing cold stone.

"No! NO!" Barty screamed, but it did not seem to be the agony of his situation that made him wail so piteously. "He's at the old Riddle Manse! A shrivelled, hideous thing like a baby mated with a snake. So twisted. So oddly beautiful. No! Just don't take my soul! I like it. Broken. Twisted. But it's mine! Mine!"

The Dementors hovered, seemingly unconvinced. They hissed and floated, long fingers moving like the spread of tree roots beneath the earth.

Hermione lifted her head. "It's okay, you know. You caught him, right? So, you don't have to eat him— I mean, unless the Wizengamot thinks you should. Who argues with them?"

The Dementors floated, hissing, but Grandfather patted Hermione on the head as one would reassure a young loved one. He glared at the other Dementors, and they slowly floated off— if one could float away mollified, they were doing quite a good interpretation of that.

Barty had descended into unintelligible babble, and it was hard to discern what was real or made up in his tortured mind. Pain may have addled him, but he was obviously a hogshead short of wine cellar, and it wasn't helping his mental state.

"We should check on this at once before word gets back to the Dark Git— if it can be trusted at all," Moody muttered lowly as he watched the healers trying to make heads or tails of how to even begin to fix what had been done to Barty's ravaged body.

Browl.

Mrowl.

The pup and cub seemed a little confused as to what all the fuss was about.

Hermione knelt, and the fuzzy duo bounded over to her, eager for pets and scritches. She did so without bothering to remove the blindfold. Her hands sought out their favourite rubbing places, and she smiled as they licked her face.

Grandfather seemed to hover protectively over them until the Aurors took away Barty's body. Then, and only then, did he gently lift the blindfold off his charge.

Hermione squinted a little at the light, frowning and burying her face into the Dementor's black robes. "It's awfully bright out here," she whinged, wincing.

Severus extended his hand. "Hold out your wand, and make this motion." He made a motion with his finger as though it were a wand. She imitated it. Now say this incantation."

He said, "Oculorum lumine vultus."

Hermione repeated it her eyes closing as she imprinted the spell on her memory.

"The counter to this spell is Lux restituet." Severus waited as she repeated the words over and over. "The gesture is the same only backwards."

Hermione bit her lip, tracing the gesture she had shown him and then carefully reversed it.

"This is one of the few times you will ever point a wand at yourself. Do not do so when addled in anyway, no matter how hung over you might be and think it wise."

Hermione frowned, having never gotten drunk in her life, but she did understand the reasoning. "Yes, master."

She took a deep breath, point the wand to herself, did the wand motion, and said, "Oculorum lumine vultus."

She smiled, her eyes no longer squinting. "Thank you, Master!"

"Pas de problème," he said, "and the latter, which you use as the counter spell, can also be used to restore areas shrouded in magical darkness when you suspect it has been artificially induced."

Hermione's eyes widened with excitement. "Can it be used to extinguish a wand light if you take out the oculorum?"

Severus smiled tightly, just enough that the tips of his lips tugged at his mouth. "Yes, it can."

Hermione looked ecstatic at the new knowledge and she broke protocol and gave him a hug, her face plastered against his line of endless buttons.

Snape jolted, unaccustomed to anyone accosting his person in a way that wasn't trying to hurt him or simply running into him by not paying attention. For a moment he was utterly paralysed, wondering where his anger was, but as his hand gently touched her hair of infinite bushiness, his muscles relaxed as a distinct fondness for her intelligence and fascination for learning reminded him that at least some students were not blithering dunderheads. Some people did possess a genuine kind of compassion that didn't fade with a single sin committed for whatever reason.

Snape's eyelid twitched. Maybe he was a little bitter. Still.

"Master?"

"Hn?"

"Are you angry with me?"

He frowned. "No."

"Your eyelid was twitching."

"Just thinking, Apprentice. On many a thing that did not include you. I promise you that."

Hermione smiled. "Okay." She lifted up Zorion and the cub purred and tried to snuggle him.

Snape sighed and cradled the cub against his shoulder, receiving rough Nundu licks and a face full of "happy" disease. He mentally thanked Hermione for her sympathetic protective magic. He also thanked the beasts for having taught her that trick, just to cover all the bases.

"Savage, pick your sorry arse up off the ground and get a team together to survey the Riddle place in Little Hangleton and determine precisely where that scaly bastard is located. Why the hell are you hugging yourself, man?" Moody's voice, as usual, brokered no softness.

Savage stared at him accusingly. "D-Dementors, boss. They chill you to the bone!"

"Suck it up, Savage. Take Proudfo— where the hell is Proudfoot?"

Savage pointed to the garden hedges.

"Proudfoot, stop quivering in the damned leaves like a ninny and go help Savage find a snake-faced baby-looking thing. Shouldn't be too hard. Be ready for anything, though."

"More Dementors?" Proudfoot bemoaned.

Moody snarled at them. "Get your arses moving! You want to see the end of the war don't you? Then get cracking!"

The two other Aurors scrambled to obey, looking sheepish.

A soft hissing came from Grandfather. It took a moment for Moody to realise Grandfather was… laughing.

"I guess that was pretty funny," Moody muttered.

"Why are they so afraid of you?" Hermione asked Grandfather.

The Dementor shrugged, hissing.

"Because he's one bonafide scary m— ah, bloke," Moody said, adjusting his speech to not sound quite as crude as he would normally.

Snape raised a brow.

"Oh, well, I guess you are kind of scary when you haven't been hugged in the morning."

Grandfather lifted Hermione up and she snuggled under his chin. "I'm still not sure what you did to that man, but if he's as bad as you say, then I trust you did the right thing."

Moody shrugged. "He'll be going before the Wizengamot, lassie," he said. "Once the healers can stabilise him, that is."

Hermione's expression saddened. "Zorion and Kai said he wasn't the real Moody. They wanted to prove it. I said okay. Was that— did I do a bad thing?"

Moody shook his head. "The man you helped catch today, lass, was a horrible man. A long time ago, he helped torture a couple of Aurors— the Longbottoms, you see— along with Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus Lestrange. They're all in Azkaban now, but ol' Dumbledore is convinced the Dark Lord will return. If what Barty was saying was true— he has, if only partially. He probably has some other plan— but what that is, I canna say fer sure."

Severus rubbed his temple. "Power and immortality has always been his ultimate goal. Making the world pay for the greatest sin against him the second."

"That being?"

"Being born."

Hermione boggled. "That's contradictory."

"But true."

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing in this screams validation for making war on an entire country."

"Nothing wrong with that, lass," Moody said. "None of it makes sense. That you can't see it isn't so bad a thing. One thing I can say is that the start of a war seldom makes sense, but sometimes we have very good reasons to finish it."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose," she said sullenly. "It must be naive of me to want everyone to get along."

"Idealistic, but not so wrong to want such a thing," Snape replied. "The problem is people have different ideas of what is ideal— and there is no compromise when such heads beat together. Even the pantheon gods have different ideas of the ideal, hence their domains differing."

Hermione nodded, hugging Kai close to her as she snuggled into Grandfather's lap.

"Do you require us to assist?" Severus asked Alastor. "If not, I would recommend that we clean your place up and have it properly warded and searched just in case Mr Crouch left behind some playthings that no one would wish upon themselves."

"Aye, let me take a look 'round then. We can set this place to rights and then I'll go help Savage and Proudfoot find anything else over at Little Hangleton. They're good at achieving general goals, but not so much at looking out for smaller, well-hidden threats."

"We can help," Hermione said as Grandfather hissed. "Help is but a portable hole away."

Snape shook his head. "You are obsessed with the portable hole."

Hermione grinned. "I am happily schooled in the advantages of having one."

"And the dangers?" Snape asked.

"Arguably less danger than others considering what is on the other end," Hermione retorted.

Snape shook his head. "Not everyone with a portable hole can count on there being a rampaging horde of dangerous creatures on the other side guarding all of the important things."

Hermione grinned. "All the better, Master!"

Snape took that moment to realise that perhaps he had corrupted Hermione Granger into a fine example of a Slytherin, after all.

"Fine, bring in the fuzzy and floating then," Alastor said. "Let's clean this place up."

Hermione bounced with excitement, happy to have something to do of a practical nature. She pulled out the portable hole from her already heavily enchanted, reinforced to handle and survive creature teeth, claws— lava— and whatever else, beaded bag. Master Pennyworth had been fastidious in teaching her every useful enchantment required of DoM field agents, even though she wasn't even cleared for field duty.

Snape was, Pennyworth reasoned, therefore she had to be ready for whatever might come at her master.

Snape wasn't quite sure if he fully agreed with that logic, but she was happiest whenever she was learning, and learn she certainly did.

An hour later, the house was cleaner than Moody ever remembered any of his places being. The Volcanic Nightmare pups were piled up in the hearth, providing plentiful warmth and light. Wards were in now place, suitably adjusted, tweaked, and redone until Moody declared them perfect. By the end, Hermione was sleeping soundly on Moody's neatly mended and reupholstered couch, sinking deep into the plush cushions as Tesfaye and her cubs lay on top of and all around her.

"I will watch over her if you need to go check on your crew, Alastor," Pennyworth said as he sipped his tea. "I much prefer watching over this place than wrestling barmy Dark Lords over the last sausage on the platter. Besides, the young lady and I get along famously."

Pennyworth gave Severus a slight bow of the head, and Snape nodded. "Very well."

"Take Grandfather with you," Hermione mumbled into Tesfaye's warm fur. She smacked her lips and snuggled into the purring mother Nundu as Grandfather floated over.

Severus raised a brow as Grandfather made a hissing noise of smug Dementor satisfaction.

Fenrir padded up with a whuff, shaking himself thoroughly from nose to tail tip like he was trying to dry himself off.

"Et tu, Fenrir?" Severus quipped.

The werewolf yawned toothily and wagged his tail.

"Fine," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

The werewolf seemed pretty chipper about the entire adventure, but having an extra nose like his definitely wasn't a hindrance, so Snape readily accepted his companionship.

"Alright then, we're off. Take care of Hermione, Pennyworth. Keep the guests happy while we attempt to end the war, yeah?"

Pennyworth waved his hand. "Off with you, boy."

"I stopped being a boy many decades ago!" Moody objected.

"You'll always be a boy to me, boy!" Pennyworth muttered, waving him off.

Moody grumbled and headed off with Snape. They disappeared with a double crack.

Pennyworth pet the Nundu cub in his lap, smiling as she purred and rolled over on her back, batting at his hands clawlessly.

"Much finer company here, anyway," he said, loving on the playful cub.

---

"Pssst, 'Mione!"

Hermione awoke, yawning drowsily in her comfy cocoon of warm Nundu cubs.

"Mione!" the familiar voice hissed, slightly shrill with an edge of extreme terror.

Hermione blinked and sat up, Aine groomed her hair until it was sufficiently plastered in a strange formation that looked like a fluffy shrub. "Whaa?"

Somehow her Nundu cocoon had been supplemented with Volcanic Nightmare hounds.

"Tell this ruddy huge beast to let me up, yeah?"

Hermione sniffed, rubbing her bleary eyes, still pretty groggy. "Ron? What the heck are you doing out there?" She walked over to the window to find Ron Weasley had been pinned in place by a most unamused Aine— outside on the porch steps leading to Moody's front garden.

"Dad brought me here with him. Said Hogwarts wasn't safe right now."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Even sleep-addled, she remembered well that Ron only spoke to her when he wanted something. "You aren't supposed to be here, Ronald. Where is Mr Weasley?"

"I dunno. He wandered off, said he had to go do something," Ron mumbled, rolling his eyes. "Dad's always doing that. Usually about Muggle stuff, though."

Hermione, highly suspicious signalled Tesfaye to move off of Ronald, but she did not even attempt to say anything about the house's anti-evil, anti-malicious intent wards. Anyone who neglected to notice wards deserved to get zapped. Hermione didn't control them, regardless. They were Moody's wards, but she wasn't going to say anything. They were protective wards, after all— all put up for a reason.

Tesfaye padded over to her, having done her job well in detaining the interloper until her mistress was awake. Now, she padded into the house and rubbed up against Hermione and purr-rumbled.

"Blimey, Hermione, why did you get all cozy with a bunch of animals? Studying to be like Hagrid instead of a real witch?"

Hermione frowned. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Ron."

Hermione pet Tesfaye and sat down, making no effort to try and explain herself to Ron of all people. The Nundu mother "helped" groom her hair that Aine had started, giving her a half-and-half lava sculpted and Nundu swirled hair cone. She felt her hair with a sigh, knowing that as long as it was her hair, she'd never be a model on a shampoo commercial.

At least the beasts didn't seem to care. If anything they approved.

"Just be glad it was Tesfaye that detained you instead of Aine. Aine tends to drip lava when annoyed."

Ron's eyes widened.

Hermione felt a little awkward around Ron— any of the people who didn't understand. It was odd being around people from her "old life" that had shunned her if not for talking to Dementors but for being a traitor Slytherin after Snape had taken her as an apprentice. Then there was the matter of her leaving with her master for private tutelage. No one wanted to imagine anyone being okay with Snape as their master.

Hermione couldn't really imagine anyone else— well she did have quite a few masters to learn from down in the DoM, but Master Snape took care of her, made sure she was safe, taught her in a way she could understand—

They just didn't understand that outside the mass classroom he was a far better person. He just wasn't made for teaching groups of dunderheads who only wanted to pass and do something more "fun."

"The animals going to sit on me again if I come sit down?" Ron asked rather grumpily.

"They won't do anything to you unless they feel threatened," Hermione said. Or that I am, she added mentally.

Ron shrugged and walked over, muttering to himself in a way that made Hermione's skin crawl.

There was talking to yourself, and then there was talking to yourself like it was someone else. Ron was doing the later of the two. He hadn't always been like that, but ever since their little escapade in first year with Fluffy, falling through the devil's snare vines and the real Wizarding chess game, Ron had developed a bit of a complex. He had started talking to himself, a lot. At first it had been seemingly normal enough; people did talk to themselves, after all, but somehow it had changed. Now, it seemed, it was much worse than she remembered.

She could hear Master Pennyworth talking with someone in the kitchen— Mr Weasley, if she recalled the voice correctly. His voice was not as loud or distinctive as his wife's, but she was pretty sure it was him. A number of other voices were mingled in with theirs— that of the guests for Moody's original housewarming party invite.

The cubs and pups, mothers included, were off mingling and lazing about, mostly sticking close to their mum and thus close to Hermione, but they had distributed themselves around the room in dark corners and under things. There was a pup's tail sticking out under the china cabinet, much to her amusement, and a cub's paw dangling out just under the curtains, apparently one of them had fallen asleep in there.

Most of the pups were curled in a pile in the hearth, making a kind of makeshift living fire, their tendency to stack on top of each other and sleep was much like the normal puppy habits. Aine, on the other hand, didn't like leaving Hermione's side for long if they were away from "home". Whether it was to protect her or just a bit of discomfiture at being away from the familiar, Hermione wasn't altogether sure.

She curled up on the couch with Tesfaye, amused by how her coat matched the upholstery a little too well. How spots blended in to Scottish thistle patterns boggled her, but magic had a way of making things that seemed impossible, quite possible, indeed. One thing was for sure, she never wanted to be on the prey list of her Nundu friend. She'd never see her coming.

Almost in answer to things she didn't see coming, Ron headed right towards her looking like he was on a mission, and as he attempted to pass through Moody's newly-set wards, there was an alarming shudder that shook the entire house, and then the shockingly un-manly screaming began.

Adults came rushing through the kitchen doors, and they all took one look and turned green even as Pennyworth had the wherewithal to send out a quick Patronus to St Mungo's.

Hermione, startled, calmed her furry charges first, and then looked over to see that Ron had collapsed into a fetal position on the floor, groaning. His backside had been sheared completely off at the buttocks, having been cauterised by the wards' magi-electrical zap. The shaven off other half lay smoking on top of what had been the rear of his trousers and pants— the horribly twisted face of an angry-looking, much older man with some distinctly less-than-human characteristics was screaming bloody murder from the left cheek of Ronald Weasley's neatly severed bum.

Ron abruptly stopped screaming, having traded agonising pain for a blissful unconsciousness, and the adults were scrambling about, barking orders, warding, re-warding, even as Pennyworth tried to put a containment ward around the amputated bum. Other were struggling to prepare Ronald for emergency Apparition to Mungo's.

"You cannot vanquish me!" the disembodied bum raged. "Destroy them all! Drink their unworthy souls dry!"

A dark spectre spewed out of the face's open mouth, forming into what appeared to be a newborn Dementor. The room temperature dropped multiple digits very quickly as a deep hoarfrost covered every surface of the room. The Dementor attempted to float into the house, but the wards held. The creature shrieked as a deep, gnawing hunger filled their minds— but the being was trapped between two of the wards— the inner and outer wards— one to keep evil from coming in and one designed to keep it from escaping to harm innocents.

The Dementor was trapped with only one living "thing" nearby.

Hermione placed her hand on the invisible ward. The Dementor slowly drifted closer, but it was unable to reach her. Hermione's eyes had taken on a eerie, glowing purple. Her voice seemed to float as her eyes gazed through the here and now to someplace distinctly neither.

"They say you are what you eat, but I say one cannot be what you truly are if you are terribly hungry." Hermione's eyelids closed and opened slowly. "You have a choice. Eat and become more than what your hunger makes you. Starve and become the beast everyone believes you to be."

"Become more and be with me— or do not. The choice is yours. What did he offer you?"

The hungry Dementor floated closer to the wards, his long fingers reached out to the wards. For just a moment, Hermione's hand pushed through it, her fingers aligning with the Dementor's— her tiny fingers rising against the creature's elongated digits.

For a moment, Hermione seemed to weigh the dangers before she stepped through the ward. Her eyes were filled with purple fire, and her skin was alive with magical markings. Fire seemed to crackle forth from her skin like the skin of cooling lava— her skin blackening to the colour of obsidian. The Dementor floated closer— and enveloped her completely. Tattered, frayed robes covered her.

"Hermione!" Master Pennyworth cried out, moving toward the warded barrier. He pulled out his wand, and it glowed brightly as he summoned his English bulldog Patronus. But as the Patronus hit where the Dementor was, it let out a soulful shriek. A swirl of vibrant purple magic created a barrier around them, driving the Patronus away. Rivers of purple miasma flowed off Hermione, entwining with the Dementor's robes and body. Its arms wrapped around her, hands moving gently across her skin like a lover's caress.

Hermione's eyes were closed, and she fell back into the Dementor's embrace, her eyelids fluttering as though she were enjoying a relaxing bath. For a moment, her appearance seemed less flawed. Her jawline was fine, her cheekbones chiseled, and her teeth less like the mammal she was often teased about resembling. Then she seemed to awaken, rivulets of power trailing in her wake as she stood and walked back through the wards.

She stood, turning to face the Dementor. The creature hissed and spun on the one who had "created" it, lowered its head, and began to feed…

And feed.

And feed.

The Volde-bum screamed curses, demanding that the dementor obey it— saying that they were both Dark creatures, but the Dementor continued to feed, pulling the spark of soul from the cursed piece of freckled flesh. Yet, even as the entity trapped in the flesh screamed, it was joined by multiple other screams— blackened vapour swirling around the Dementor, attempting to attack it— other fragments of souls joining in the frenzied, desperate attempt to save themselves.

The Dementor, however, was growing stronger, far stronger than the fragments could even dream of controlling. The tattered black robes were mending, the cloth becoming thicker and more substantial. Deep emerald light glowed from beneath the Dementor's hood. A silver locket hung from the Dementor's neck, transforming from malevolent to purified. A ring set with an odd stone adorned one elongated, skeletal finger— a blackened curse travelling through the Dementor's body and turning into shimmering purple tattoos of magic as the Dark taint was driven out. A diadem with a dull blue sapphire lost its tarnish as it sat on the Dementor's head just above its glowing emerald eyes. The sapphire spewed out a foul cloud of screaming hate and Darkness, but a rampaging mob of Monstrous Books of Monsters fell upon it, shimmering with bright white purity as they tore the cloud to shreds.

Brrrruup!

Tesfaye belched up a golden goblet and a cloud of angry Dark soul only for the Volcanic Nightmare pups to let out a chain of lethal volcanic nightmare flaming and sulfurous puppy farts that set the cloud on fire. The charred soul-stuff fell as motes of greyish ash, just as silent as the grave.

The silence lingered like a white elephant in the room as the new Dementor, purged of his hunger, floated across the wards without being challenged. Hermione allowed him to take her up into his arms.

"I think I shall call you Bling, because you have the most of all the Dementors I know." She smiled up at the Dementor's diadem-crowned, glowing green-eyed face. "Do you mind?"

The Dementor shook its head, seemingly okay with whatever she wished.

She slid down to the ground and called the beasts to her, loving on each one individually, making sure none of them lacked fondness or care. "I'm so proud of all of you!" she said with a smile. "Thank you so much for your help!" She smiled at all of them and then her expression became serious. "Now, do not attack Master Pennyworth. I crossed the warding line. I must submit to whatever punishment he deems appropriate."

With that, Hermione squared her shoulders and walked up to Master Pennyworth. "I am sorry, Master, for crossing the ward line and for repelling your spell. I submit myself to your punishment."

Master Pennyworth's jaw went up and down like a fish out of water. Her bond with the Dementors had been grudgingly accepted thinking that only the ones that were with her were neutralised, but the day's events proved that it was not just her known Dementors that willingly submitted to her will.

"Apprentice Granger," Pennyworth said in a half-stammer. "In penance for your disobedience and lack of common sense, I want you to do whatever you can to help stabilise young Mr Weasley for Apparition to St Mungos. He may not be bleeding, but I know you have some things up your sleeve that can make certain that he is stable for transport."

Hermione stiffened but nodded. "Yes, Master."

Hermione closed her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked over to where Ronald had been moved. The adults had already given him potions, but she could tell from what her master had taught her that they were only staving off symptoms. He would, most likely, be fine, but—

Honour demanded she do her best with him, despite how much she loathed him. She was obligated to keep her master's name clean of dishonour due to her, and she would suck it up and deal despite her misgivings on the subject of one Ronald Bilius Weasley if it meant not bringing shame to her master.

She could hear the adults chattering frantically about what had happened "when the girl had charmed a Dementor" and shook her head. Not all of them had been DoM— that much was obvious.

She pulled a vial out from her robe pocket. "Bling, do you mind helping me?"

The Dementor floated over, curious.

"I need you to help me activate the potion. Could you place your hands over mine?"

Bling encircled her hands with his, his long fingers like the bars of a cage.

The potion began to glow bright blue-white between their joined hands.

"Okay, thank you, Bling!" Hermione leaned over and kissed the Dementor on the cheek, and the baffled Dementor touched his cheek with one hand in astonishment.

Hermione uncorked the potion and sniffed it carefully, swirling it around and watching it mix. She then put the potion to Ron's lips, wiggled it between his teeth, and the pinched his nose to get him to open his mouth wider. As soon as he did, she poured it into his mouth, rubbing his throat to get him to swallow. Fortunately, he didn't choke or spit it up in her face, and she thanked the cold numbing properties of the potion for that great gift. At least she didn't have to pass it through her mouth to his like some potions.

Ugh, she thought. Gross.

A hundred Dementor hugs before having to pass a potion from my mouth to Ronald Bilius Weasley. Ew. She knew what (and the vast quantities) the boy ate. No thanks.

The skin on Ronald's bum was starting to granulate, turning from the charred black to a healthier shade of pink-red, treading the line of looking a bit like beef. It was already starting to pull the edges together, new skin seeming to knit in and pull closer. Vessels were growing and the tissue looked— less like a burned hotdog on the grill. If anything, his breathing seemed more even— less pained

She wasn't a professional healer by any means, but she had come to know enough from the testing of her potion under a healer's guidance. Her Dementor-aided potions had all been cleared for use by Mungo's, having no dangerous side effects— still, she didn't use them unless absolutely necessary. There were quite a few that required one of her Dementor friends to be around to activate them. The others, she and her master had filtered off to Mungo's for their trauma-emergency wards. Some went to the field agents such as the hit wizards and witches, while others went to Aurors assigned to far-off places that were not close enough for a direct Apparate to a local hospital. They always made them in small, carefully controlled batches, she and her master, to guarantee that they we made correctly. All the places paid very well for the service, but there was only so much time in a day and there was only one person in the whole of the wizarding world who happened to have Dementors on hand that were willing to help out with potion-brewing.

"Master Pennyworth, I think he is stable now," she said, making sure to step away from Ronald just in case he tried to reach out and touch her. The mere thought of that made her skin crawl.

"Arthur, you should accompany Ronald to Mungo's and make sure everything turns out okay. I'm sure the rest of your family will want to be notified as well, yes?"

Arthur nodded dumbly, almost zombie-like, but considering everything that had gone down, his behaviour didn't trigger any alarm bells. He shuffled over to Ron, kneeling by his side.

"Hermione, I think it best you stay here with me," Pennyworth said. "Let the others pick up the pieces and file the reports. We do our own reports on what happened here before the others return from Little Hangleton."

Hermione nodded with no small amount of relief.

"Your penance is done, child. Go back to sleep in the guest room, and let the rest of us take care of the clean up."

Hermione stifled a huge yawn. " Thank you, Master Pennyworth."

The older master grunted and shooed her off, and Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She found the side room and plunked down on the soft mattress, snuggling up against Bling as Tesfaye and Aine curled up around her. The pups and cubs mrowled and whined as they tried to climb up on the higher mattress, not quite big enough to make it. One cub seemed to get an idea and used her mum's dangling tail as a rope ladder to get up the rest of the way. The others piled on top of each other to help the others up, but it left one little pup staring forlornly at the top of the bed, whining sadly.

Hermione's hand dipped down and picked the little guy up, cuddling with him as she snuggled into Bling. The Dementor's arms wrapped around her, bringing peaceful darkness and coolness, perfect for sleep, even as the little lava pup kept her core blissfully warm as he settled in to the perfect cuddle in her arms.

As her eyes closed, she hoped that no news was good news and that her master and Alastor would return to her victorious. She also hoped Master Pennyworth would explain all that happened so that she wouldn't have to. Things were getting a wee bit too complicated to keep it all straight in her head.

She sighed happily, allowing the mixture of cold and heat lull her into the perfect sleep.

When Master Pennyworth came to check on her, he shook his head at the sight of the pups and cubs all tucked in around her, plus one blinged out Dementor, and two full-grown beasts all managed to cram into one bed with her.

Silently reinforcing the wards to keep the bed from burning up (or any of the house for that matter) he reinforced the protective wards around the guest room and shuffled off to continue working on the mountain of paperwork to explain what the hell had happened at Moody's new house while the original team was off saving the world.

So far all he'd managed to write at the top of the report was the name, date, time, and the subject— Voldebum.

Everything else just went straight into the can after that.

Maybe he could finally get the Minister to sanction a paranormal investigative division to the Ministry for things that were strange even to fully magical people. Skulhey and Mawldar would be perfect for that. Those two were like fire and oil, but once they sunk their teeth into something, they might as well be Nifflers with a mountain of gold.

Someone had to have a better name for what had just happened than the return of Voldebum only to be defeated by Bling, the Dementor— guardian of all 5 minutes of one Apprentice hermione Granger.

Maybe he should work on opening the windows and getting the charred butt smell out of Moody's new house. The last thing he wanted was a cranky Auror Moody complaining that they had barbequed someone's arse inside his home.

"Why the hell does my house smell like roasted pork?" Moody's voice bellowed from the direction of the kitchen Floo.

Pennyworth sighed and walked over. "Do you want the long or the short version?"

Snape grunted, setting down a cage with a small, almost adorable ball python inside it as Lucius, his face as pale as milk and accompanied by a new Mark spider that resembled a fluffy snowball, sat down in the nearby chair.

Snape wearily wove his hand, and a coffee pot, a bottle of firewhisky, and four large mugs that said "I heart Scotland" written on it. He poured the strong black coffee, mixed in the whisky, and passed a mug to each person.

Lucius drank it without a word, the colour coming back to his face— albeit slowly.

Moody chugged his in short order and poured another for himself and sipped less like it was the last drink on earth.

"The 'baby' was guarded by one Imperiused Lucius, who we cured just in time for a gigantic possessed snake to come out and attack him— and then things went straight to hell as the snake and the Voldebaby began to convulse as clouds of black soul-vapour came shrieking out of their mouths. They tried to go after me, but Snape threw himself over me and that little fluffy spider of his threw something at it screaming "You are not prepared!" and fiendfyre destroyed the cloud."

Moody had emptied his cup again, and he refilled it— again. "So when the smoke clears, there is this wee ball python lying in the dirt and looking mighty confused, the skeleton of a almost-baby-but-not-quite, and Lucius bleeding out after being bitten by ruddy giant snake fangs. Severus put that potion into him thanks to Grandfather here— "

Moody blinked as Grandfather gently took the python out of the cage and carried it back towards where Hermione was. He raised a brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Figures."

"Anyway, Lucius is now the second ex-Death Eater with a pet Mark spider."

"Oh, hai!" the spider said, peering around the room through multiple eyes. "I'm Baeg!"

Moody sighed, gesturing at Pennyworth. "Now, tell me, why does my house smell like roasted pork?"

Pennyworth's eyebrow twitched. "Well, it all started when Arthur Weasley brought his son Ronald to your housewarming party… "

Meanwhile, back in the guest room…

Grandfather shooed the new Dementor away from his accustomed spot, wrapping himself around Hermione as he let loose the ball python. The little serpent slithered up and around her neck, happily seeking her soothing warmth and the shelter of her bushy dark hair.

Bling hovered, seeming like the odd Dementor out.

Hermione's hand reached out and wrapped around his fingers, and the Dementor settled in on the other side of the bed, happily enjoying the warmth of his mistress' compassionate touch.

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End of Chapter Three

A/N: I have a lot of extra responsibilities stacking up IRL lately, so chapters/updates/etc will not come as often as you may have become accustomed to in previous months. Thank you for your understanding in this.