Gerald

by corvusdraconis

SSHG, AU, Crack: When Professor Lockhart thrust a book at Hermione Granger to get her to stop talking and find something inside to occupy her mind, he had no idea what he set in motion and how utterly f*cked he was going to be. (COMPLETE)

Summary: SSHG, AU, Crack: When Professor Lockhart thrust a book at Hermione Granger to get her to stop talking and find something inside to occupy her mind, he had no idea what he set in motion and how utterly f*cked he was going to be.

Prompt: "Hermione, why exactly are you summoning a demon during your DADA classes?" "Don't be rude. His name is Gerald."

Prompt for #scratchthatniche: Inked, Pinky promise

Rare Pairings: multiple

Warnings: Blood, gore, daemonic shenanigans

Beta Love: A cackling DeepShadows2 appeared. Don't ask, she is keeping her evil plans to herself. Dragon and the Rose snuck in here like a stealthy dragon-shaped phantom. Dutchgirl01 may or may not have been here in her perpetually overworked almost-ghost self.

---

Gerald

I confused things with their names: that is belief.

Jean-Paul Sartre

---

Hermione frowned as Professor Lockhart thrust a dusty old leather tome from his satchel into her arms and nudged her aside with a muttered "go find something in here to entertain yourself while I teach the class what is most important about the history of me. Go there in the back and— make yourself disappear."

Hermione frowned but took the book, dusting off the cover with one hand as she sat in the back of the classroom. "Okay," she muttered, curling up in the back of the classroom.

Ronald and Harry were giving her the rolling eyes and shaking their heads.

Ever since she'd saved the class from the Cornish blue pixies, her classmates had given her the stink-eye.

Ever since Professor Snape had thoroughly wiped the floor with Lockhart in his dueling "demonstration", Hermione's crush on Professor Lockhart had crashed and burned appropriately.

The book Professor Lockhart had given was crafted from the hide of some ancient creature, and Hermione lowered her nose to sniff it experimentally. It smelled of far away and forgotten places, and she puzzled over where that place might be, her brows knitting together as she speculated on its possible origins.

The front cover had a hand-shaped indentation, but it refused to open— as if the pages were somehow glued together. She tried the unlocking charm, but she got the strange sense that the book was scoffing at her in derision.

As she tried to pry it open to look for a hidden latch, she yelped as something unexpected and very sharp cut into her palm. She hissed quietly in pain and attempted to dig into her bag for a cloth to staunch the bleeding.

But when she turned to look at the book, tendrils of— something was emerging from the hand-shaped surface and—

They sank into her palm and dragged her hand toward it with an odd sucking sensation.

Hermione struggled not to scream … the feeling of having her hand devoured by a random tome was not her idea of a peaceful afternoon. She didn't want the others to stare at her— or even worse, make fun of her again.

Suddenly, she felt a strange warmth travelling up her arm.

You needn't worry about the opinions of those fools, she heard the voice like a pulse in her head. Ever again.

Hermione trembled, her hand still stuck to the lid of the book. She tentatively whispered, "Who are you?"

A throaty chuckle, deep as if from the very depths of Creation.

Erebus is my name. I am all dark places. I am the concealing shadows. I am the place between Earth and Hades.

"Born of Chaos," Hermione recalled her mythology.

A chuckle again. Very good.

Hermione looked around tentatively. The classroom and its inhabitants seemed to be frozen in time.

Waste no thoughts on the likes of them, Erebus scoffed. I have an offer.

Hermione swallowed hard. It wasn't every day that a primordial god struck up a conversation with you. "I'm listening."

A mortal whelp once tricked me into giving him forbidden knowledge, and I do not like being made a fool. He is not bound to me, so he did escape my vengeance. I cannot allow this indignity to stand— but no extraordinary being or god can take what has been— rightfully stolen under the rules. There are rules. Always rules that bind us— but they did not bind him. Do you understand, young one?

Hermione eyed the book thoughtfully. "Yes."

But you— Erebus chuckled again. You, they would never see coming, and I think we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.

Hermione stared at her trapped hand.

A gesture of good faith.

Hermione's hand abruptly came free of the book, and she rubbed it with the opposite hand. The cut, however, was gone as if it had never existed.

Hermione bit her lip, contemplating the word of a god, the book, and if she was truly speaking with a god at all—

There were so many questions.

The tome now lay open, ink and figures moving across the surface, beckoning with forbidden knowledge that nothing to do with beauty secrets.

The part of Hermione that had grown up the swotty child of two dentists questioned whether anything demonic could claim to be a true god. The part of Hermione Granger that had come to know magic and the feel of it sensed that this Erebus may well be the genuine article. But could she truly trust such a being such as He? That was very much still up for debate.

She swallowed. "What would you want me to do?"

The darkness seemed to swirl around her vision just out of the corner of her eye.

Take back what is Mine. You shall never be alone again. You will never need to fear the Dark again— Hermione. You will never hide under the bed covers, trembling for fear of the night or its secrets and mysteries. You will never again need these fragile trappings. These crude sticks. These stifling walls. You needn't be confined to a rigid mould. A meaningless label. Those are the sort of things that mere mortals desire. They wish for eternity, but they cannot escape the trappings of time. Serve me, and you will defy them all.

Hermione looked around at her frozen classmates, their faces twisted in cruel mockery as they whispered and gestured back towards where she was sitting— frozen in their attitude of condemnation.

You may even save this fragile mortal world from an even greater— monster. Just imagine their surprise and displeasure upon realising that the Dark takes care of the Dark and that they have never left behind the fear of it— trembling by their fires and lanterns, clutching their magic sticks so very tightly in their feeble hands.

"And when would my service to you end, Erebus, Son of Chaos?" Hermione asked.

The Darkness chuckled around her.

When Darkness is no longer needed, Hermione, it purred.

"But there will always be Darkness while there is light."

Clever girl, Erebus whispered. And there will always be the caretakers of either side, but the Darkness does not equate to evil just as the light isn't always pure. One must choose a side and embrace it to be protected by it— otherwise, it is only a hollowed thing in name or a fear that it will rise up and consume you. We are an element. We are ubiquitous. We are hidden and the unknown. To those born of it, it is but life, but you have a choice, Hermione.

Erebus' voice was a rumble of distant thunder, a growl, and a purr. You may choose your evolution— or stagnation.

Hermione's eyes widened. "The gesture of good faith. You gave the wizard, the knowledge, as a gesture of good faith— but he simply took it and fled."

The Darkness around her swirled more jerkily. Yes.

Hermione closed her eyes. "He chose stagnation. I choose evolution." She placed her hand upon the book once more.

This is why you are the brightest witch of your age, came Erebus' low growling chuckle. Come. Let Us adore you.

The book glowed, and a trail of "ink" slithered up her arm, darkening her blood vessels and turning them black. It travelled through her entire body as her eyes filled with inky darkness. She fell backwards, but the swirling Darkness caught her, lowering her gently to the floor.

She twitched, suddenly convulsing with the flood of sensation as the primordial met her body, fusing with every single cell. She gasped, and the Darkness seemed to slither into her nostrils and mouth. Her eyelids fluttered, her slender fingers clenching and unclenching.

The Darkness seemed to take on one form, then another, then another, but each one cradled her securely, never letting her fall as her young body and mind began to rapidly grow and mature into that of a full-grown adult witch of indeterminate age.

Chaos and war shall become our marriage bed, my fierce and lovely Hermione. As you grow in power, we will dance through the ages and amongst the in-between worlds where both the living and the dead will learn to fear our names. I shall be your mentor, your lover— your mate, for so very long I have waited for your return.

"Erebus," Hermione whispered, her voice a sigh, a delicate tremble.

"Welcome Home, my beloved," Erebus whispered against her skin as he suddenly materialised in the time-frozen classroom. His warm mouth covered hers and a bone-chilling cold followed by an undeniable searing heat blew outwards from them like a supernova. The very ground itself seemed to shake as if in the grip of a violent earthquake.

Magic blew outward, shaking every protective enchantment in Hogwarts, breaking some, creating others, turning things upside down. Every light seemed to extinguish as the sun seemed to flicker and die out, snuffed like a candle flame.

As the light started to return, Severus Snape cradled the transformed Hermione Granger in his arms— his elegant fingers splayed across her face in an intimate caress. "Do you remember me, my love?"

Hermione's eyes opened wider as she looked into the strangely familiar black eyes. Her hand wove into his oily hair as she savoured the sensation.

"Severus," she whispered.

"Seventeen long years have passed since they last stole you from my embrace," he rumbled. "Stole you from our bed in the heat of day. Stole you from my arms when I was at my very weakest— before no manner of magic could have parted Us or stole our memories of each other. Cursed Us apart in their shallow and petty little war. As if stealing my knowledge was not enough. They would steal you from me, hide your true identity within a mortal child's body, buried so deep that even I could not recognise you until you willingly accepted Us again."

"By chance a tome, cleverly disguised as a book of puerile beauty charms— genius, if not so utterly infuriating—"

Severus' lips pressed against her forehead. "But let us stir the cauldron and play their little game for just a bit longer, my beloved. Let us seed chaos while they foolishly believe themselves immune. For a time, let them believe you are but thirteen years old again. Let them assume me quite oblivious to their little game. Let us break their minds a little at a time, much like they drove me mad for want of you, only to erroneously believe that I was missing her. Are you with me, my love?"

Snape's expression was predatory, blackness seeping from the corners of his eyes.

"I remember you promised me something," Hermione said, her lips turning into a frown.

"Oh?" He looked into her eyes, his fingers brushing against her lips. "Whatever did I promise you?"

"A puppy," Hermione said, recalling.

His lips curved into a smirk. "Then, who am I to argue my beloved's betrothal gift?" he asked. He leaned in closer. "Kiss me, my love, and let us begin the farce anew."

Hermione's lips parted in clear invitation, and Snape's mouth swiftly covered hers as a low growl of pure desire escaped his throat. Their kiss became heated quickly as years of memories came flooding back. The frozen classroom seemed to be even more trapped in time as the flagstone floor then became a most luxurious bed shrouded in a dark cloud of shifting vapour.

Buttons popped as hands searched and found bare skin, and tongues eagerly tangled, progressing quickly into a heated embrace. Hermione's moans rose as her hands clawed at his back, his enthusiastic thrusts laying claim to seventeen years of separation and denied consummation. Hermione's body shuddered against his, her eyes rolling back as waves of ecstasy blurred her vision.

"Severus," she cried as she was thrown off the cliff into the primordial darkness, and it eagerly claimed every inch of her in celebration of her return to its devouring embrace.

My love. We shall never be parted again.

---

Hermione Granger opened her eyes to find the entire class staring holes into her.

"Hermione, why did you summon a demon during DADA class?!" Ronald blurted.

Hermione hugged the squirmy, warm, slightly tentacled, definitely horned, and extremely snuggly puppy tightly against her body.

"Don't be rude, Ronald. His name is Gerald, honestly." Hermione cooed and pet the pup lovingly.

The pup wriggled and slurped her face, leaving a sticky trail of black goo on her face that seemed to steam before it evaporated into a puff of smoke.

One sneaky tentacle reached out and bit Ronald square on the nose.

"Ow!" he cried, stumbling backwards as he broke out in a rash as thorns sprouted all over his face.

The witches all pointed and gibbered, screeching loudly in horror.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" Professor Lockhart demanded as he stomped dramatically over, making sure to flick his golden mane just so.

"She's summoning demons!" Ron blurted, pointing at Hermione as he swiped at his bleeding nose. "She's going straight to Azkaban!"

Hermione huffed. "You gave me the book, Professor." She pointed to the book that clearly marked "Beautification Charms for a Better (and much Prettier) You" and flipped to one page in particular that read: A little known fact about hellhounds is that each breed shares a rather startling ability outside of their natural guarding skills. The finest anti-aging agent known to Wizardkind is hellhound spittle (thus arose the entire Muggle rumour that dog licks kept you young), but the process of summoning one, let alone taming one, takes an extremely focused mind and the personal blessing of Erebus, Primordial God of the In-Between Places or barter with Hades, God of the Underworld, to obtain one of his prized bitch's pups. Neither of which are recommended for the faint of heart, those who are mentally unstable, those who lack sufficient bargaining skills, or the generally inexperienced witch or wizard. However, if one truly wishes to do so, the following prayer can be recited—"

Lockhart hastily snatched the book out of her hands before she could finish her recitation. The book promptly clamped onto his face and clung onto his lower lip like a burr.

He went screaming out the door, beating on his own face to try and get the clingy book off himself.

The students all took one slow look at Hermione and her hellhound puppy and went screaming out the door after him.

Hermione hugged the pup to her chest. "Looks like it's just you and me, Gerald," she said as she snuggled him.

Browl! Gerald agreed, his long, spade-ended tail swishing back and forth as it reached over and set a chair back up on its legs and pushed it back under the desk.

"Such a good puppy!" Hermione gushed.

Gerald panted and wagged his tail happily, pleased to oblige.

---

"You— gave this book to Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, disbelief written clearly across his face and trickling down the ends of his beard.

"It was a book on beauty charms," Lockhart muttered, his face still half-covered by the book. "I hadn't been able to open it. I figured it would keep the girl busy trying to open it up!"

His voice was somewhat muffled by the book, but Dumbledore and Minerva heard him well enough.

Dumbledore wearily rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

Miss Granger was currently sitting out on his balcony with "Gerald," and the happy pup was sporting a brand-new familiar registration collar around its neck complete with about three metric tons of Ministry paperwork that the Headmaster had to fill out detailing precisely how a young witch like Miss Granger managed to get her hands on a hellhound puppy to begin with, let alone form a remarkably strong bond with it. And at a magical school, no less.

Dumbledore sighed. "We must address, of course, the fact that Miss Granger has somehow managed to get herself exiled from Gryffindor Tower—

"I can speak with them again, Headmaster—" Minerva offered.

"I don't think a tenth time is going to help, Minerva," Albus sighed.

Filius looked nervous at the very thought of allowing the witch in with his Ravenclaws, knowing that they had already made life for a certain Luna Lovegood about as horrible as they possibly could without actually breaking any school rules— and she hadn't managed to tame a hellhound.

Pomona was shaking her head in dismay, knowing full well that her Hufflepuffs were definitely not ready to accept a "demon summoner" living amongst them with any amount of grace or understanding.

"I will take her into Slytherin," Snape said coolly, his voice as caustic as ever.

"Surely that is not a good idea, Severus," Minerva protested, wringing her hands. "She's a Muggleborn witch."

"My snakes know better than to defy my will."

His expression did not change one iota.

His implication had Minerva flustered, but she could not deny that in this particular case, he was right. All of the other heads squirmed in their seats but had no room in which to protest.

Dumbledore, unable to argue under the circumstances that no other house "wanted" Hermione Granger amongst them, let alone would tolerate it outside Snape's iron will, sighed. "I will see her sorted appropriately."

Snape bared his yellowed teeth slightly and nodded, making his distaste plain.

"Severus, if you could please—" Dumbledore eyed Lockhart and his severely swollen face.

"Me, Headmaster?" Severus drawled. "Is he not the DADA professor? Our very own expert in all things Dark and dangerous?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and tugged his robes in closer. His brow arched on one side as he tilted his head and sneered.

"He can hardly cast with a swollen face," Albus objected.

"Oh, what a pity that he is incapable of casting wordlessly."

Lockhart glowered at Snape, which did not do as well with a swollen face.

"Surely there are other experts lining up to service him," Snape said, his dark eyes seeming even darker.

"Severus, please," Albus said, giving him the look.

Severus pulled back his head and curled his lip. "Fine."

He waved his left hand lazily as if dismissing an errant child.

Pop!

The book unclamped itself from Lockhart's lip and face, dropped to the floor and proceeded to chomp the wizard's pristine, pampered ankle.

Lockhart yowled in pain, kicking furiously, knocking over Dumbledore's globe, a shelf, a table, a lamp, and a planter before staggering out towards the balcony.

GrRRRRRRRRFWOOOSH!

Lockhart stagger-screamed as his rear end smouldered and burned from the irritated hellhound's breath weapon, toppled over Fawkes' perch, and landed on the poor startled phoenix.

The phoenix spontaneously combusted into a pile of ash, and a beady eyed (and super disgruntled) phoenix chick pecked furiously at Lockhart's eyes.

Dumbledore rubbed his head harder as his staff seemed caught between morbid fascination and abject horror—all except for Severus Snape, whose expression was decidedly smug as the smirk just grew across his pale face.

---

Albus paced in his office.

Things were not going as planned.

He had told Lily Evans to make certain that the tome locking Snape's pathway back to Erebus had been put somewhere Severus would never even think to look.

Albus paced harder. Of course Snape would never imagine it could be hidden within a book of beautification secrets. It was a logical, even downright brilliant plan on Lily's part—

How could they have guessed Lockhart would find it years later and then give it to the one person who could figure out how to open the seal on it?

And Granger—

She had been perfectly poised to keep Harry Potter alive with her brilliance and devoted, if rather blind, loyalty—

At least until she had successfully summoned and, unbelievably, tamed a hellbeast from the realm of Erebus Himself.

Now, the Potter boy wanted nothing to do with "that" and "her" just like most if not all of the school, and Granger was actually a much happier young individual with a devoted hound at her side—

A hound positively dripping with primordial Darkness that made lights flicker and die as it passed by.

Not that Granger seemed to notice.

How much of that Darkness had already infested itself in the Granger girl to give her an unquestionable immunity to something such as an Erebissian hound?

She cuddled the beast like it was the sweetest and most huggable thing on the planet, and she cooed over him in a manner that made Albus want to up his beloved lemon sherbets like lava out of Vesuvius. Worse, the "pup" was growing rapidly as their bond strengthened, and it seemed to be absolutely devoted to her.

She breathed in the hound's Dark vapours as if it was as intoxicatingly fragrant as a glorious English rose in full bloom, while most others caught the merest whiff of it and promptly broke out in all manner of odd ailments and fantastical mutations.

At least the mutations and such were, while quite dramatic, thankfully temporary.

Watching her, he saw her rub the happy hound's belly and ears, even caressing the beast's snappy tentacles like they were endearing. They'd hiss and rub against her like snakes— that is, if snakes were like affectionate felines and wanted to bask in her loving attention.

How in the nine hells had Granger survived to parlay with Erebus?

With an anchor to this world again, Erebus would be eager to find his way back to his original "body" and wreak havoc upon—

Albus paused in his pacing, swallowing hard.

It had taken much to seal Erebus away and keep him from returning the Hallows to Death. Dumbledore had worked far too long and hard to have that stolen away from him—

Erebus, like most of the gods and Forces, did not like having his trinkets stolen, and while Erebus Himself couldn't have cared less about the Hallows, gods loathed the theft of what was "theirs" by mortals and their duplicitous trickery.

Gods, fortunately for mortals, did have rules—

Otherwise the entire war would have ended long before it had even started.

They had worked so hard to suppress the ascension of Erebus in the mortal world, lest he choose to play his hand in mortal affairs. But then Severus had met Melantha, the bookish young witch who had somehow befriended him despite temptation in the form of flame-haired Lily's feminine wiles.

Melantha had been an innocent of the ways of both gods and men, but she had a unique sort of compassion about her that had thawed away the multiple layers of Erebus' malevolent ice and given Him a new focus to live in the mortal world for her sake— something Albus simply could not afford to let happen.

A primordial god amongst men was not something the world was ready for— especially one as temperamental and ancient as Erebus.

So, Albus and a few others had made certain that the human vessel destined for Erebus was kept blissfully oblivious, and while the young Severus Snape had no clue (at least at first) that he was destined for so much more than squalor and an abusive homelife.

He'd deliberately ignored Sirius Black's growing obsession with taking Snape down in any and every way possible, hoping that the growing animosity between the two would keep Severus busy and thus less likely to sense the presence of the gods' trinkets around him.

Albus simply refused to permit Erebus to take the Hallows back to Death. He had worked too hard and far too long on his ultimate goal of becoming the Master of Death.

But Sirius had gone a bit too far in using Melantha to lure Snape to the Shrieking Shack.

Lupin had escaped— something the Gryffindor had practically trained the werewolf to do so they could romp on the grounds together— and attacked.

The act meant to punish Snape had instead inspired a protective, seething fury, and Severus had tapped into the pool that was an ancient god protecting what was His. He had almost— in that very moment of concern for someone other than himself— ascended.

Had it not been a requirement for the seal to be broken by a willing consummation with a pure, innocent soul— a soul who knew what (and who) He was and loved him anyway—

Erebus would have been released upon the Earth.

The war would have come to a sudden halt as Tom would have been summarily flung into Hades without any fanfare for stealing a god's knowledge and reneging on a promise, and the Hallows would have been taken back to Death.

And that one act of almost-murder on Black's part had given Severus knowledge of who he truly was— and what he could be. He had confessed this revelation to the love he had rescued, and she had, unfortunately for Albus, loved him anyway—

He had proposed, and she had accepted, and none would have been the wiser to the consummation had Albus not already been keeping such a careful watch upon him.

So he had gone to Nicolas Flamel and crafted a special prison for the god's power— a phylactery designed to house the primordial energies— and then had his favoured Gryffindor loyalists rescue the witch who loved a god from their shared bed under the cover of bright day— the only time Erebus's power was that of a mere mortal man and his vessel limited in the scope of primordial darkness.

They had been incredibly lucky, Albus realised even now.

So very lucky.

Honour had kept the pair from consummating their bond before marriage— a desire to honour Melantha's parents and silly human "quibbles." Perhaps, it had been the part of Severus the host that clung to the more mortal concept of marriage.

Perhaps, Albus thought, Erebus had truly wished to honour his future mate's life by paying his respects to such things.

Regardless of the God's learnt compassion, even tenderness, Albus couldn't afford to have Him running amok in the world, for even as the Master of Death, he would not have been able to face a true God in all His majesty.

So he simply did what needed to be done.

Flamel had promised to seal away Melantha so Albus would have sufficient time to do his part to seal away the god a second time, but he had warned Dumbledore that should the seal be broken again, there were no alchemic ingredients strong enough to temper and hold the god a third time.

At least Severus showed no sign of softening his regard to anyone. Even with his acceptance of Miss Granger into Slytherin, his distaste for people in general seemed utterly unchanged. His fixation on the late Lily Evans Potter had, fortunately, not been broken.

That, at least, gave Albus some time.

It would at least give Severus some distraction while the Oath kept him in check. The compulsion that twisted him into thinking he was honouring a life debt in protecting Potter's son in penance for the only witch he had ever cared for, or so he thought.

They just had to find a way to stop Tom without rattling the cage.

And if Severus should happen to die along the way to that ultimate goal, well, Erebus would then be forced to find himself a new anchor— an anchor that would have to be tempered, growing up long enough to fully contain a primordial god without being torn to pieces.

Wait.

Albus halted his pacing.

If Severus were to die, Erebus would have to find a new anchor, but he would also be free of any of the bindings they had worked so hard to anchor in Snape.

Oh, no.

Severus dying would only make things worse!

Sure, the body might take some time to mature, but there would be nothing stopping Erebus from manipulating his way back into power the old-fashioned way.

And he would be vengeful.

Had Sirius actually succeeded in his spiteful little plot to get rid of Severus—

Oh, Merlin—

They had almost brought forth a god into the world twice over.

What was it that Flamel had said?

---

"You're playing a very dangerous game, old friend," the elder wizard warned, his frail body seemingly held together by silk and a prayer. "Every power has its price, every immortality, every spell we use to cheat one force of the universe to give us water when we expect a drought— We are dabbling in the affairs of gods, Albus, and while some gods may tolerate such things and even consider it amusing, Erebus was lured into this world by the Prince family only to be foiled by Eileen Prince who attempted to escape her fate by running off to marry a Muggle. Before that, your young orphan turned Dark Lord lied to the ancient god to obtain forbidden knowledge and fled. This phylactery— this soul trap— it will only work once, and it will be the third and final strike."

Flamel's expression grew very serious. "Three is the magical number, Albus. Fail in this, and the god will have his pound of flesh. It is only the ancient rules that keep us safe— rules that we have bent to our advantage. "Thrice our manipulations will be overlooked as the actions of children testing their boundaries, but should you attempt a fourth, Erebus will come looking for you. As it is, I can help you no more in this, as there are no spells I know or ingredients strong enough to make a phylactery stronger than this."

"It will work," Albus replied. "It has to."

Flamel's brows knit together. "It is not normally our way to ask of the other's business, Albus, but I must inquire as to why you think trapping an ancient god is anywhere near a good idea. Erebus is not one to usually meddle in the affairs of mortals, but to turn His Dark eye upon you on purpose—"

Albus closed his eyes. "He was already brought here by the Prince family, old friend— but there are other unforeseen complications that must be dealt with."

Flamel tilted his head. "For whatever reason the Prince family may have had in binding their family to a god's will, they will surely pay their debts one way or the other— but this, Albus— this is purposely thwarting the gods and fate. You are parting a god from his intended— souls meant to meet and evolve together on a scale we can hardly fathom. Surely you remember what the gods were willing to do to those committing far lesser offences in the history of the Greek and Romans?"

Albus shook his head. "Erebus cannot be allowed to ascend. It was a mistake the Prince family should never have made."

"But it is not your karmic duty to rectify that, Albus," Flamel said, visibly quite puzzled. "Why then take this upon yourself?"

"The Greater Good, old friend. It's all for the Greater Good, Nicolas."

Nicolas sighed, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his muscles painfully. "You may find, Albus, that only balance sets the world to rights. One cannot have light without the darkness, for even if everyone is light, there will always be shadows cast. The brightest of the light, old friend, can cast the longest of shadows."

"I aim to banish the shadow, and I will," Albus said confidently.

Flamel's lips pursed into a line. "You may succeed— but for how long? And, consider well if you even should try— for when the brightest light is cast upon us, what will people see in themselves or in you when there is no shadow left to hide behind?"

---

Severus ran his thumb across his lower lip as a slow smirk spread across his face and inky darkness pooled in his gaze. He watched as Hermione loved on her new hellhound familiar with the very same exuberance that one would with a cherished "normal" pup. Every so often the pup would share his food with her, the tentacled maws enticing her to take a bite of a dark-dripping construct of pure living Darkness.

To the horror of the students and staff of Hogwarts, she would, but much to the pup's pleasure and his—

Especially his.

Oh how he so enjoyed the expressions ranging from appalled shock to sheer nauseated terror on her fellow students' faces.

Not from the Slytherins, though, oh no.

No, instead they were all paying extra close attention to the witch who could tame a hellhound, hoping to bask in the wake of her power and perhaps have just a little bit rub off on them.

Ah, but for every touch, every single time she took a little more of His Domain into herself, he grew that much stronger. And all right under dear Albus' overlong and amusingly oblivious nose.

And as he grew stronger— so, too, did his beloved, her body finally able to assimilate his gifts denied by their forced parting so many, many years ago. His eyes closed as he savoured the blissful feel of their joined energies.

Somehow, they had stolen his precious Melantha from him. Deaged her. Suppressed her memories, deprived her real family of both her and their marriage. Somehow, they had wiped her memory off the face of Britain so no one missed her, not even him.

Well, he hadn' t been willing to risk that happening again.

No.

She would not be stolen from him again.

She would not be lonely.

Ignored.

Underestimated.

She would want for nothing.

If she wanted to wallow in the world's most impressive library and touch tomes that had not seen the light of day for centuries upon centuries, she would have them.

Because she had believed in him.

When no one else would.

Touched him.

Befriended him.

Cared for him.

Loved him.

It had never been Lily.

Severus scowled.

It had always been Melantha.

And now it was Hermione—

Yet Albus did not know. No one did. He hadn't until she had accepted him a second time and allowed his Darkness to taste her anew.

Some mad genius had managed to hide his beloved in plain sight, taking the memory of her away from everyone.

He had to rather admire their gall.

He would forgive them their foolish little game now that Melantha was back with him again— provided they stayed the bloody hell out of his affairs this time.

Three strikes, Albus.

Tom Riddle, strike one, for tricking him into bestowing him with forbidden knowledge of how to evade Death, something he had given as a token of good faith, only for Riddle steal said knowledge and flee, never having intended to keep his own end of the bargain

Eileen Prince had been strike two, with her trying to renege on the longstanding agreement between the Prince bloodline and their patron god by having a child with a mortal man in the hopes to quell and ruin the birth of Erebus into the world.

The stealing of his mate from his embrace only a few nights away from their marriage— that was strike three.

And now Severus was all out of patience, let alone tolerance.

He would take back Death's own trinkets— something he could simply not abide being left out in the world to be groped and fondled by greedy and undeserving mortals. Death could stop pouting and griping that his toys were galavanting on Earth without him. It was making him sloppy and— broody.

Severus could relate, he supposed.

He had been pining away for how many years for someone that he'd been duped into believing was Lily Self-Righteous Evans?

Well, the supposed Dark Lord was already losing his grip upon the younger generation of Slytherin now that his Hermione was there as living, breathing proof of one who had won the blessings of a Dark god.

And Gerald—

Well, he was literally born a charmer.

Who couldn't love those little fanged tentacle mouths, the cute little horns, that dagger-like spade tail, and loads of oozing Dark drool?

He watched with amusement as Hermione placed a fresh-baked biscuit on Gerald's muzzle. The pup went cross-eyed to stare at it, whinging in canine protest.

Twitch.

Twitch.

"Okay!" Hermione laughed and SNAP!

The biscuit promptly disappeared down the happy hound's gullet— 'cept for the one piece dripping with Darkness that one cheeky tentacle shoved into Hermione's mouth to "share."

Hermione spluttered and fell back on the floor dramatically, pretending to die.

Gerald whinged again, wiggling-snuggling into her warmth, placing his head on her chest. He licked her over and over until she was positively sopping with Darkness.

"GAHHH!" Hermione suddenly cried, leaping up and giving the hound a hug. "How can I not love you?!"

Gerald wagged his spade tail that— whoops?

Oh dear.

"Gerald, no choking the students!" she admonished.

She tilted her head as the known bully, one Cormac McLaggen, staggered off down the hall before sliding into a drooling and unconscious heap... right in front of the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"No matter how much they might deserve it."

Browl! Gerald said, playfully tagging her with his tongue and giving her quite an impressive cowlick up one side of her head.

Severus smiled under his hand.

Such a good puppy.

McLaggen, on the other hand, woke up some time later with bright blue skin covered in a profusion of heart-shaped yellow spots and sported a stylish new mohawk in a particularly disgusting shade of vomit green.

As if that weren't embarrassment enough, in place of his school robes and trousers was an extremely tiny pair of lacy red knickers that left very little to the imagination—

And an assortment of hot pink marks that looked disturbing like hickies were plastered all over the boy's neck—the only place on McLaggen that wasn't bright blue with the aforementioned yellow spots.

The rumours of the humiliated Gryffindor lad's alleged "spurned lover" spread further and faster than the most virulent strain of dragon pox.

---

Draco frowned as he sat down in the common room and watched Goyle scowling at where Granger was sitting— leaning up against her new "dog" as she read Rescuing Complicated Potion Mistakes Through Arithmancy.

"Oi, Goyle. Why're you brooding?"

Goyle scowled even harder. "So just like that, she's one of us now?"

"If you haven't noticed, idiot, she tamed a Erebissian hellhound."

"That makes her good enough to be Slytherin?"

"Mate, that makes her good enough to have my father invite her to join us for dinner."

Goyle abruptly stopped chewing the snack he was munching on and slowly slid his eyes over to peer at Draco. "He what?"

Draco leaned back into the soft sofa and sighed. "Right? Damn formal affair it was too. Your own father and mum were there as well. Everyone's—" Draco scratched his head. "I mean sure, Parkinson didn't believe that Gerald was real at first, but that sure didn't last long. Her trunk and everything in it turned to so much ash when Gerald arched his leg and pissed on it."

Goyle's eyebrows knit together as he took a moment to digest Draco's words. "He seems legitimately— Dark."

Draco sniffed. "Oh, I think the Dark part is more than sufficiently covered," he said.

"How?" Goyle asked, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Why her?"

"A natural affinity, I suppose," Draco speculated. "None of us could have done it. Take Pansy, for instance. She starts to turn green the moment Gerald decides to share his food with Hermione."

Goyle's expression wrinkled.

"Fetch!"

About fifty-odd kilos of excited hellhound pup promptly went tearing out the exit.

Hermione stood up and brushed herself off, Darkness dripping from her body like raindrops. The places where it landed steamed and seethed for several moments before disappearing in a puff of black smoke.

"He's always covered in that stuff," Hermione chuckled.

"Highly flammable, touch it and you die horribly kind of stuff?" Draco mused.

Hermione huffed. "It's not quite that bad yet. He is still a puppy, after all."

Draco's face puckered. "Yet."

Hermione shrugged.

"That thing is just a puppy?" Goyle asked, his eyes widening comically.

"Of course he is," Hermione huffed. "Haven't you taken a look at his paws and noticed how huge they are? He still has to grow into them."

Goyles expression clearly stated that no, he had not taken a look nor had he bothered to think about it.

Gerald stampeded back into the Slytherin common room, sounding rather like a herd of Tyrannosaurs had decided to invade. He skidded to a halt and sat down, his tail wagging like mad.

Browl!

"Who's a good boy?" Hermione cooed, petting him affectionately. "What did you bring back?"

Pathoooo!

Hermione suddenly had an armful of damp phoenix with an enormous jar of lemon sherbets clutched in its beak and a—

"Did you bring me a crown, boy?" Hermione patted him and kissed him on top of the head. "You're such an overachiever."

"Um, Hermione?" Draco looked a bit shifty.

"Huh?"

"I don't think that's a crown, actually, " Draco said, scratching his head.

"Of course it's a crown," Hermione said. "It has jewels on it."

"I mean—" Draco huffed with frustration. "I think that's a diadem."

"A diadem is just another type of crown," Hermione said, trying to cross her arms but failing because they were full of dripping phoenix.

"Kek," said Fawkes, burying his face into the crook of Hermione's neck.

Draco shook his head. "I mean that's specifically Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem," he elaborated. "The lost one that no one has been able to find in hundreds of years. The goblin silver eagle shape with a bright blue sapphire right in the middle? The picture of it in my father's first edition of Hogwarts: A History looks exactly like that."

Hermione peered a bit closer at the crown. "Inside it says, 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure'."

"That's definitely the diadem, then," Draco said confidently.

As he finished speaking, the Dark drool on the diadem suddenly began to fizz and smoke, and the crown itself rattled about like it was possessed. Clouds of black smoke billowed out of it as if fleeing in a desperate attempt for sweet survival, and then it formed into the livid face of a man screaming in outrage.

Snape immediately came billowing out of his office suite, his face wearing the kind of scowl that said "If you blew something priceless up in this common room, so help me, you are going to DIE."

The screaming soul-cloud screeched and dissipated as the empty diadem clattered to the floor.

Snape's eyes traveled from the soot-tarnished diadem to the tail-wagging hellhound, then back to the diadem.

"Good puppy," he said, his expression barely changing.

AROU! Gerald agreed, his tail smacking a silver-filigree vase over onto a poor (not quick enough) firstie.

Kek! said Fawkes.

Severus' brows knit together. "Miss Granger, please tell me, precisely when did you acquire a phoenix?"

"Gerald brought him to me along with the diadem when we were playing fetch."

Severus' temple vein seemed to throb. "And what exactly did you have him fetch for you?"

"Candy," Hermione admitted, pointing to the jar of lemon sherbets sitting on a nearby table.

Fawkes pecked at one and swallowed it whole, clearly unrepentant.

Snape seemed to gather himself. "Tonight we shall work on making much more... specific requests of your new familiar, Miss Granger." His lip curled slightly as he used his wand to levitate the diadem up in front of him. "After I put this on the Headmaster's desk."

He glowered at Fawkes.

The phoenix peered back at him with steely black eyes, clearly refusing to budge.

"Shouldn't you go back to your own master, bird?"

Fawkes put his head on top of Hermione's as if to make a statement.

"I am not going to explain to the Headmaster why his phoenix has chosen to claim someone who already has a familiar," Snape said to the stubborn bird, his scowl turning up in intensity.

---

Later, in the Headmaster's office…

"And so your bloody bird decided he wanted to remain with Miss Granger." Severus' lip curled. He grit his teeth. "Sir."

---

Dark Artefact Created from Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw Found at Hogwarts!

After panicked reports came in from worried parents over a "billowing cloud of evil" that spewed forth from an unknown object, a team of Aurors visited Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to find that the lost diadem of the legendary Rowena Ravenclaw was found and had been cleansed of a curse so foul that many would shudder to even give it a name.

Horcrux.

The ancient art of splitting the soul via cold-blooded murder transformed the Ravenclaw diadem into an object of pure evil whose purification released the enchantment and gave the Wizarding World back a priceless artefact from the time of the great Founders of Hogwarts.

The question raised, however, after Aurors sampled and traced the residual "touch" of magic on the object is how did someone named "Tom Marvolo Riddle" find and turn such an artefact into a Horcrux, and are there any others out there?

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has reluctantly allowed the Aurors to search the school for other such hidden artefacts that may have been left there, but so far the exhaustive search has turned up nothing further of note.

The residual magic is being used to trace Riddle, whose record and Hogwarts dates back to the time when a teenaged Rubeus Hagrid (the current Hogwarts gamekeeper) was accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets and setting a dangerous beast loose to kill a fellow student named Myrtle Warren.

Suspicions have caused Aurors to question whether or not it was Mr Hagrid who opened the chamber but this Tom Riddle— who was obviously capable of using the darkest of magic in corrupting an artefact. The Headmaster, who has long proclaimed Mr Hagrid's innocence, did not seem overly happy to find out the magic traced back to this "Tom Riddle" as the old records have had to be dug up and released to authorities.

An investigation is underway in an attempt to determine the extent of Tom Riddle's involvement in certain other unsolved murders and mysterious incidents, but the history of the student, a child whose mother was traced back to a family of Parseltongue-speaking hermits, the Gaunts, and the father to the rich Muggle, a Lord Riddle, paints the grim tale of an outcast orphan who found his way to magic thanks to none other than the great Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had apparently "rescued" the boy from the orphanage when he discovered young Tom was magical, and the rest of the story is still under investigation.

The biggest question, however, is if there are any more of these corrupted objects, and if they are not at Hogwarts, where are they?

---

Bodies of Dueling Dark Wizards Found Throughout Britain

A shocking number of ugly duels have swept across Britain of late, exposing a number of Dark magic sympathizers, practitioners, and Death Eaters as news of Tom Riddle has spread over the last few weeks. Suspicions have risen that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord and You-Know-Who was actually a half-blood and former Hogwarts head boy, one Tom Marvolo Riddle— a highly charged revelation that has turned the pureblood supremacy movement squarely on its arse. A sharp rise in self-maimings and missing arms have risen at St Mungo's leading authorities to believe that the once-impressive ranks of You-Know-Who followers have been shrinking significantly.

Minister Fudge is most adamant in his claims that You-Know-Who has not, in fact, returned, and that there is absolutely nothing to worry about. The outbreaks of duelling and violence, he insists, will be taken care of by our good Auror department.

The citizens of Wizarding Britain seem rather reluctant to simply take the Minister's word on that, however.

---

Severus felt the grin spreading across his face as his mouth wrought utter pleasure to his mate's willing neck.

The trail of her "student" clothes led from the door along with his own vast collection of layers reminding him of the first night he had come home from his new job and ended up in a heated pile of legs and arms right in the middle of their brand-new flat— so many years ago.

They had never, quite, fully consummated their relationship, despite their wanting to—

Melantha far had too much respect for her parents to go that far before marriage, and he had respected that if only for a few more months of tedious but necessary torture.

Such quibbles were beneath him, anymore.

Beneath her—

Gerald lay sprawled by the fireplace chewing on the haunch of something very large and quite dead— something that may or may not have foolishly attempted to kill Hermione earlier that day.

Something that probably wouldn't be missed by anyone other than, perhaps, Hagrid.

So sorry.

Not.

The rather graphic sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bone serenaded them even as Hermione whimpered for his touch—

And he did oblige her.

Again.

And again—

He worshipped her body until she was cursing at him to give her what she so desperately needed, and he took great, great pleasure in burying himself deep until their very souls merged with their bodies in perfect, ardent agreement.

The humans liked to pair him as a lover to his sister, Nyx, but Erebus knew that, like so many other things humans believed, was a lie. Aether and Hemera had not been born of his seed, for his soul had never found the blessed completion of a true mate until—

"Hermione," he whispered, the Darkness dripping from his mouth like thick rivulets of blood.

"Severus," she whispered as his mouth descended upon hers, and they steadily worked themselves up in a frenzy yet again as if making up for all the time they had been forcibly kept apart. With each plundering thrust, she exalted his name, accepting him as no other had or could. With each shared climax, he could feel— see— the Dark settling inside of her, making a home, claiming her body and soul.

Yes!

His eyes rolled back as she gnawed on his neck and placed suction upon her kisses.

No one would part them ever again.

Not now, not ever.

As they lay entangled, he felt the pleasant ache of complete physical exhaustion settle upon him.

Yet their power grew—

He could feel it stretching— seething out of every pore as it explored their joined bodies— evolving into something even more powerful.

Severus felt it building in his chest, and before he could stop it, he was laughing.

Laughing so hard, the bed shook.

Laughing so hard the dungeons became blissfully warm.

The Gryffindor tower froze over, literally. And the students were horrified to find their common room was now infested with miniature polar bears the size of mice. Unfortunately, the "polar mice" roared like full-grown African lions and kept the unlucky Gryffs wide awake all night long.

The divination tower tilted like the Torre pendente di Pisa.

The giant squid suddenly became a giant octopus (albeit a very confused one).

The Whomping willow broke out in a profusion of stunning pink flowers and wanted to hug everyone.

The Hufflepuff common room was filled up to the ceiling in honest-to-Merlin badgers.

Cranky, live badgers.

The house-elves were buried alive in socks that stuck to them like glue, causing frequent sightings of wailing animated sock-balls slamming into random things throughout the castle.

Trelawney was found trying to drown herself in bottles of apple cider vinegar in the kitchens, claiming "it all tastes like watermelon!" She was startlingly quite sober, much to her horror and every else's utter bafflement.

Professor Binns suddenly woke up, realised he was dead, and serenely drifted off to the Afterlife.

Ravenclaw found that all of their bullies had been rendered shoeless and inexplicably bald overnight. In addition, countless vials containing memories of said bullies tormenting their fellows appeared in a heap on the desk of their head of house along with a Pensieve that had Crumple-Horned Snorcacks artfully embossed upon it, much to the surprise (and secret delight) of Luna Lovegood and the absolute horror of those housemates who had done their level best to make her time at Hogwarts a living hell from day one.

Slytherin house found that their common room had been transformed into a gorgeous white sand beach and tidal pool complete with plentiful fish, crustaceans, and a bevy of playful sea otters. Quick to take advantage of a good thing, Friday fish fries became a Slytherin tradition from that day forward, with the resident otters more than happy to join the students and share in the bounty of fresh and tasty seafood.

Farther away, in London, the unsuspecting Ministry was suddenly flooded with entire herds of supposedly extinct tarpans, aurochs, Irish elk, and very, very hungry scimitar-toothed cats of the Homotherium latidens variety.

Meanwhile, Knockturn and Diagon Alley now had rocs nesting on the rooftops of every large building in the area. The giant predatory birds were more than happy to prey upon any and all unwary passersby, rendering the Wizarding shopping district a virtual ghost town.

Even the Muggles didn't get off entirely scot-free with the local pigeon and dove population being inexplicably replaced by non-native flying foxes, the huge megabats taking over the UK nightlife with joyous abandon.

Severus lit a solitary black candle after he and Hermione had finally managed to crawl out of his much-abused bed, bowing his head.

"A little chaos unleashed in your honour, Father," he said.

Hermione leaned in and kissed his cheek before lighting her own candle. It was thin, black and silver.

"What is that for, love?" Severus asked, curious.

"It's for your sister," Hermione said. "A thank you to Nyx for not loving you in that way and bearing your spawn."

Severus burst out into laughter, giving her a passionate kiss as the megalodon and Livyatan Melvillei made a miraculous comeback in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.

"My love, the only one I want having my 'spawn' is you," his voice was low and rumbly, positively dripping with sensual venom.

Hermione shuddered. "Nnnngh. I want you. Again. Right now."

Severus' lips curved into a smug smile. "Whatever will our dear Headmaster think if I am actually— Late. To. Class?"

Her skillful hands were already travelling down into his pants to massage his highly-interested bits.

Severus' eyes rolled back in his head as a low growl escaped his throat. He captured her hands, throwing them over her head as he gave her a searing kiss.

… as the entire office of Aurors suddenly found themselves (along with their coffee and biscuits) surrounding one very much alive Peter Pettigrew, his eyes wide in shock (and his mouth stuffed full of stale crisps), frozen in their midst with a naked rat tail bursting from the seat of his disreputable trousers and one red-headed and freckle-faced Ronald Bilius Weasley standing there staring at him, screaming his ever-loving head off.

---

Peter Pettigrew Not Murdered After All!

Aurors have finally uncovered the truth in the nearly twelve-year-old mystery of the murder of a dozen innocent Muggles, once thought to be the ghastly handiwork of one Sirius Orion Black.

Peter Pettigrew was captured after many years masquerading as the familiar of first Percival Weasley and then that of his younger brother Ronald, cleverly disguised in his unregistered Animagus form, that of a common garden rat.

Arthur Weasley, who had originally found and brought home the "rat" to his middle son, Percival, stated that he couldn't afford to purchase a proper familiar for his son. Many felt that having a familiar— even one as short-lived as a rat— was better than nothing. When said rat turned out extraordinarily long-lived, many believed it to be a positive sign, the blessing of a tight bond to the Weasley family magic.

Now, however—

Pieces have quickly fallen into place, telling the dark tale of a terrible chain of events that began with the deaths of James and Lily Potter via the killing curse and the framing of Sirius Black for their murders and causing a massive explosion that took the lives of a dozen Muggle passersby, as well as the faked demise of Mr Pettigrew.

While the arrest and conviction of Peter Pettigrew normally should have resulted in the immediate release of Mr Black from Azkaban, when Aurors arrived at Black's cell, they were greeted by an inexplicable and very literal rain of evidence of other shocking activities that seem to have been perpetrated by Black in the form of multiple vials of memories, incriminating photographs, numerous cursed objects, and a journal containing an astonishing amount of nasty spells, which also happens to detail Black's activities as a member of a malicious gang of bullies called 'the Marauders' who apparently terrorised Hogwarts throughout much of the seventies.

The evidence found is still under review but has already resulted in some very pointed questions being aimed at the Hogwarts headmaster back then, who just happens to be the current head: Mr Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

---

Hermione stood out on the Hogwarts green as the Aurors who came to question Albus Dumbledore suddenly found themselves bowled over by a very happy pupper that just had to show his mistress what great accomplishments he had achieved.

Thump.

Gerald dropped the body of one slightly mauled, maybe more than slightly mauled, giant snake who had definitely seen better days. The body thrashed around as Gerald's daemonic saliva corroded its body and ate away the scales before a cloud of soul-filth billowed out like a failed potion done by Seamus Finnigan.

The cloud formed a screaming face before it dissipated completely leaving only the corpse of a very dead snake.

"Who's a good boy?" Hermione cooed, hugging the happy demon pup and rubbing his ears.

The Aurors practically fell over each other to pick up the pieces.

---

Severus stroked his chin with his fingers as the Great Hall adjusted to the change in regime as Albus was currently "detained for questioning" with the Aurors as they attempted to figure out the precise nature and depth of his involvement in Sirius Black's pre-war activities as a (frankly homicidal) Hogwarts student.

The Gryffindor table had been suffering through a great number of startling revelations in the past few months starting with the discovery that hellhounds were, in fact, very real, Ronald Weasley's familiar was actually a disturbing older rat-man, illegal Animagus and murderer, the famous new DADA professor they had all been idolising had been proven a certified idiot that had fled the castle the moment the Aurors had come looking to question him over harbouring a certain Dark tome—

Yes, Gryffindor definitely had some issues to iron out with regard to their perceptions of others. They were still convinced Hermione Granger was or should be locked away in Azkaban for summoning a hell-beast, but Lockhart had admittedly given it to her, so she could hardly be held accountable for being skilled enough to actually do it!

It warmed his chaos-and-dark-loving heart that Hermione and her beloved hound were causing so much disorder. Gerald, was, like the majority of his species, eager to please his family in every way he was capable of.

And the stronger his "masters" became, the stronger he became.

It was a win-win situation for their soon to be growing family. When Hermione had foiled the Dark Lord (oh how he wished he could have introduced Tom Riddle to his real father— mm, to smell the human's piss and blood as Chaos tore him to pieces while allowing him to live through the experience) and returned the Hallows so Death could stop sulking around, they would concentrate on more important things like raising the kind of family fit to rampage across the Earth in the way Voldemort couldn't even dream of.

Each time Hermione slept in his embrace and accepted the Dark-saturated food offerings, her bond to him and his father's Get only grew. Darkness would be her shelter and comfort while others feared and frantically struck flints in the hope for light.

But light was always finite.

Darkness always returned, eventually, just as light did. That was the cycle.

That was the balance.

Fearful beings had tried to foil the darkness, creating fire, lights, and lighting spells, even pulling on the most complicated magic to enchant the Gubraithian Fire— the eternal flame. But like most things, there was a price; there was always a balance. Creation of the Gubraithian fire took a piece of your soul to power it as the soul was eternal.

It doomed the creator to a lesser life, one way or another. Either the unfortunate mortal would suffer some sort of life-long disappointment they could never overcome or Death would come knocking sooner than before.

Only immortals and the divine could create the eternal flame without such limitations, hence the many stories of fairy lights and the like. People always seemed to think themselves exceptions to the rules. They were capable of great and fantastical things, but they didn't always follow the rules.

Some rules could be bent, but some came to collect.

Sleep long enough in the territory of a Lethifold, and you were going to court your death being suffocated and digested.

Severus smirked as he watched Hermione dancing with the Lethifold Gerald had brought her back in a game of fetch. Well, they could sleep safely in the territory of a Lethifold. Hermione had, as always, made friends with it, and it served as her outer robe— dutifully keeping her dry, amused, protected, and ready to devour her enemies. It was also immune to Gerald's need to play tug of war with it, making it the most ideal playmate.

Probably most especially that last part.

Alas, she was still a bit sentimental about not killing off the student and staff population, so she kept "Walter" well fed by teaching him how to siphon the excess energy off the multitudes of emotionally charged students and transfiguring rats into human shape for the hungry Lethifold to have more "traditional" options.

Merlin knew, they weren't needing all that punchiness to do their homework and snog in the hallway corridors at night, and the Hogwarts rat population was disturbingly unaffected by predation.

He had to admit that Hermione's innocent approach to being a Dark-aligned being was entertaining and even endearing. Apparently even Dark creatures appreciated affection and love. He supposed that wasn't so out there since he was the ultimate in Dark aligned being and most definitely appreciated love and affection.

Well, Hermione's love and affection.

The blob of black "cloth" absconded with his mate and floated off to the bedroom without had apparently decided it was bedtime for Hermione, and it had taken it upon himself to tuck Hermione in for bed without Severus.

Audacious Lethifold.

Gerald had apparently decided to entertain himself by playing "fetch," and he had returned victorious from some adventure somewhere in the castle. The hound dropped a slobbery, smoldering leather-bound journal-looking book in his lap, his tail strangling and subduing the ghost of Moaning Myrtle. The ghost looked severely distressed at being able to be caught.

Severus cracked his neck. "You are a very good pup, Gerald, but you shouldn't bring home ghosts. You don't know where they've been."

He poked the still-smouldering journal in his lap, his eyes narrowing as he sensed the residual traces of a soul that had been anchored there. His lips turned up into a tight smile. "Such a good tracker you are," he praised. "Why don't you take this to Mr Moody's desk."

Severus smiled with dark amusement. "And be sure to take Myrtle with you."

"What?!" Myrtle cried. "No! I don't want to leave Hogwarts! I don't want to leave! I want to be here!"

Severus pulled out his wand to silence the ghost.

"I know where Dumbledore hid his wand and ring!" the ghost blurted.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me."

"D-don't take me out of Hogwarts! I'll show you where it is! I swear! I'll never come around you again! I'll never say anything! I promise! Just d-on't take me out of Hogwarts!"

His eyes flicked over in the direction of the bedroom where Hermione was sleeping knowing that if she woke while he was gone, she would sneak back into the Slytherin dorms, and he would be without her comfort for the night.

"If you are lying, ghost, undeath will be the least of your problems."

Myrtle's eyes bugged out, a disturbing sight even knowing she was a ghost. She nodded frantically. "I'll show you! I won't say a word to anyone else!"

Severus stood, annoyed that his time bonding with his mate was disturbed. He pulled his cloak around himself. "Come, Gerald, let us go for a walk." He put the smouldering journal in a magic-dampening box and sealed it.

"If you would be so kind, Fawkes, if you could deliver this to Alastor Moody at the Ministry. His desk would be acceptable."

The snoozing phoenix chirp-warbled from his perch by the bookshelves, having claimed it as his place after utterly refusing to go back to Albus' side. He yawned widely and poofed out his feathers. Fawkes took the box in his talons and disappeared in a whorl of flames.

At the mention of a walk, the demon pup perked and wagged his tail, bashing Myrtle against the wall over and over again. The ghost looked like she was going to be violently ill.

Severus sneered. Good.

---

Alastor Moody wasn't quite sure what to make of the last year. Far too many things he had accepted as immutable were being turned arse over tit. A young witch had summoned and bonded to a hellhound thanks to a sealed tome given to her by her Defence Against Dark Arts teacher. The world was having event after event of random and utterly chaotic happenings. Peter Pettigrew showed up alive and posing as a rodent familiar for the Weasley boys. The man who should have been proven innocent by that, was neck deep in other trouble regarding events that had occurred during his student days— events covered up by a certain Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was not anywhere near as trustworthy as he'd believed, as he had covered a great many things up that should have served as alarm bells for dangerous behaviour long before the night he had been accused of murder. While innocent of that particular crime, Moody was certain that his time in Azkaban wasn't exactly unsuited— he was just there for the wrong crime.

What that crime was, however, remained shrouded in vague answers from Dumbledore— a man who was either highly resistant to Veritaserum or else so senile that he couldn't remember what really happened the same way twice. It made questioning him almost useless, and Moody highly suspected that Dumbledore had done something to ensure he was made invulnerable to interrogation.

Had the evidence not been so convincingly stacked against Black and required Dumbledore's testimony, so much would have changed. As it was, however, while they couldn't quite figure out what to make of Albus, Black's fate was to remain in Azkaban.

The Auror vaults had ended up with a collection of highly gnawed on items that sported a nice coat of demon dog drool on them, and while it had left the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw intact but in need of a good scrubbing, the other things were mutilated beyond repair.

First, the diadem. Then the snake. The next had been a drool-soaked journal. A week after that, the Auror teams had tracked down a goblet in Gringotts after a message from the goblins brought them in to investigate an unknown person having been buried alive in replicating objects— murdered by the weight of countless items. The week after that, an earthquake had caused a cliff face to fall into the ocean, and Muggles had found countless bodies in the water that led them to a cave where a mysterious locket had lay under a potion. The news of it reached the Wizarding World, and teams were sent to both investigate and possibly deal with the Muggle involvement.

A large Obliviation team later, curse-breakers, and some Unspeakables sent from the DoM brought back a locket dripping in dark and soul magic. It was promptly cast into the DoM's Fiendfyre oven and emerged only as ashen, molten remains.

And the last puzzling "gift" to the Aurory had been drooled-upon fragment of a broken ring that Severus Snape had sent from Hogwarts after finding it in a hidden cache. The infuriating man, whom Moody realised may not have been as horrible as he'd once believed, gave him some ridiculous story that one of the ghosts had led him to it.

Right.

Suuuuure.

Still—that was six Horcruxes destroyed that had borne the exact same soul signature. All of the objects in question were somehow linked to Hogwarts and back to a former student known as Tom Riddle.

Was this Tom Riddle actually the "Lord Voldemort" the Death Eaters had been spewing before they started dueling each other in the streets and removing their arms?

Giggling broke his concentration, and he saw Savage's little girl playing with the letters spelling Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, and a few areas where Death Eaters had attacked. The toddler was hardly aware of what was on the board, so no Ministry secrets were going to be leaked from her, but she was moving all the letters around to make proclamations like "doll love" and "tort deli" along with random gibberish that had no rhyme or reason.

"GAHH!" she exclaimed slapping the board, and the board spun around, sending all the letters to the floor. She started to pick them up and throw them, chew on a few, and then get bored.

As Alastor came over to clean up the mess and put his board to rights and possibly distract the witchling with a game that was actually made for children, his eyes bulged as he caught sight of " i a m lor d vol dem ort" arranged haphazardly together.

"Well, shite," he muttered.

---

"My love."

Hermione looked up from the desk where she was finishing up an essay. "Yes?"

"Your hound seems to have gotten himself tangled up in something."

Hermione raised a brow as she put down her quill and looked over the desk to see Gerald's rump sticking out of thin air along with half of his muzzle. The demon was happily chewing on a meaty bone, but the entire midsection of his body was missing.

She walked over to where Gerald was eating and shook her head. She felt around and her hand met—

Cloth.

She frowned. Harry's cloak?

She tugged and manoeuvred as Gerald kept crunching, amused that his tail kept beating the ground even as she moved him around.

Suddenly, the fabric gave way, and she went tumbling backwards. The cloak came with her, exposing Gerald but covering her instead.

"Nnghf," she said, her rump smarting as she ended up on her posterior.

"Is that—" Severus' hand pushed the fabric away from her head, making it look like her head was floating in mid air. His eyebrow arched. "An invisibility cloak."

"I think it's Harry's. He got it from someone last Christmas," Hermione said.

"So that is how—" Severus mused, shaking his head. He ran his hand over the fabric after she pulled the cloak off herself and sighed. "I think, beloved, that our quest for the final Hallow is now complete. This is not just an invisibility cloak. This is Death's cloak— well, a part of it."

Hermione's eyes widened. "It was right here all this time?"

Severus nodded.

Hermione's expression beamed. "Gerald is such a good dog!"

"Browl!" Gerald interjected, giving them both fond, Dark-dripping licks.

Severus' eyes darkened as his pupils swallowed the whites of his eyes. He gave a predatory growl as he pounced his mate, showering her with heated kisses as they made love on the invisibility cloak.

Gerald wagged his tail and entertained himself by chasing around Fawkes, who had been until that point surreptitiously eating all the grapes in the bowl on the table.

---

"Erebus, old friend," the skeletal figure said as he floated into the sitting room. "It has been some time as mortals say."

"Death," Severus said with a tug of the lips, "indeed, it has. I think there have been some new developments you would be highly interested in.

"More than you fulfilling the prophecy of finding an anchor in the mortal world?" Death stroked his jaw with bony fingers. "I always thought being anchored to such a place to be so terribly limiting."

"For some," Severus said, sniffing thoughtfully. "But you never linger long upon the Earthly realm, always flitting about from place to place, from death to death."

"And yet, you wish to?" Death seemed rather dubious.

"There are certain things that do appeal," Severus said, rubbing his fingers slowly along his chin. "The physical realm can be just as amusing as it is frustrating. Having a body familiar with its unique quibbles is also useful."

Severus' eyes seemed to leak Darkness as his human form appeared to experience a glitch, the mortal shape swapping places with the shadowy, menacing Dark. He cast a clawed "hand" over the table to reveal a stone, wand, and a cloak. "I believe these are yours."

Death's eye sockets smouldered with fire. "My Hallows—" He jerked his head up. "The rules—"

"I did not find them myself," Severus explained. He tilted his head, the bones cracking slightly. "My mate's pup did— he's such a good boy."

Death cast his hand over the objects reverently. "It has been so very long." His flame eyes flickered and went out, his hand closing on the objects as they merged with his body, tendrils of particles joining with Death once more. His body seemed to flesh out, covering bone with tendon and muscle and skin. His eyes opened, flames set in obsidian orbs that transformed into a more natural eye. He let out a long, ragged breath, the smoke-like vapour exiting his nostrils and mouth like a dragon's breath. His feet touched the ground, no longer cursed to float just above the Earth, never touching.

He took in a sharp inhale as his connection to his Hallows reconnected him to the vibrations of the plane that had stolen them from him so long ago.

Death's gaze was umbral. "I wish to meet your mate, Erebus. And— her fine dog."

Erebus' mouth curved into a tight smile. "Of course."

---

With the collapse of the Dark Lord and the return of the Hallows to Death, the golden throne of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore lay empty, replaced by a far more modest oak chair covered in the McGonagall family tartan. Filius Flitwick took up the mantle of deputy headmaster, and a lasting peace fell upon Hogwarts and Wizarding Britain.

As Death ascended back into his natural state, Dumbledore's strange case of sudden-onset amnesia was exchanged for a non-stop stream of scandalous confessions—and Melantha returned to the memories of all who had known her.

"An early wedding gift for an old friend," Death said as he pressed a gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead, "and His reclaimed bride. May your glorious reign together make your Father's Get proud."

A smile spread across Death's face, a hint of the skull flashing over the flesh. "I look forward to seeing your childrens' footprints spreading across the universe."

And so, Melantha, who had decided to keep the name Hermione Granger in honour of the life that brought her back to Erebus, finished the normal span of her education as Hermione would have naturally, and graduated after taking her N.E.W.T.s (because Hermione Granger could not be satisfied otherwise, nor could Melantha) and accepted Severus Snape's offer of marriage.

Again.

The wedding was said to be a thing of legendary Chaos and raucous festivities, where the couple's kiss inspired some rather heated couplings between various unmarried guests— and perhaps some of the married guests as well.

Some blamed the Weasley twins, convinced they had spiked the punch.

Rumour had it that Dolores Umbridge had come along with the Minister for Magic, and that she was last seen enjoying an amorous tryst with a rather baffled Argus Filch. It was only a rumour, however, so of course everyone knew all about it.

Lucius Malfoy was reportedly seen emerging from a hidden alcove in a scandalous state of undress with an equally disheveled Professor Sinistra, while his wife Narcissa was enjoying the company of Charity Burbage in the Muggle Studies classroom— Draco would have been utterly appalled had he not been so busy snogging Padma Patil.

An explosion of decidedly oddball, unexpected pairings spread all across Wizarding Britain as Erebus and his lovely wife continued their kiss, and Gerald (dutiful as ever) guarded the cake and punch bowl from the unholy mischief of a certain pair of Weasleys.

And perhaps the Aurors might have thought something was a bit out of place, but the infamous Alastor Moody was a bit too enamoured with a rather vivacious Minerva McGonagall to pay much attention, and his charges were far too interested in watching the chaos of magical mating Wimbledon unfold.

And if the ancient gods just so happened to visit while the mortals were otherwise occupied, Severus and Hermione certainly weren't telling.

The reception was said to be divine in a very literal sense.

---

Eleven years later...

---

The Hogwarts Express waited patiently for its young charges to board and take their seats as it did every year, but in this particular year, a few more cars were added to make room for the large influx of magical children who were conceived on the infamous graduation day of the Hogwarts Class of '98.

"Mum!"

Hermione tilted her head before kneeling down to look her son in the eye. "Yes, love?" The flow of Walter the Lethifold fell about her, her favourite velvety "cloak" acting as her uniform, just as dutiful as ever.

"Do you think they'll like me?" the black-haired boy asked. He clasped a large stack of books to his chest like a shield. At his feet, a young hellhound pup attended him adoringly— ready for adventure and the gnashing of teeth where appropriate.

"I think you'll be fine, love," Hermione said with a smile. "Your father and I are very proud of you, Mathias."

The young boy beamed. "I want to be a Ravenclaw!"

Hermione chuckled at her husband's rather loud snort of disapproval. "I am sure you'll be sorted to wherever suits you the most."

"I want to be a Slytherin!" the curly-haired girl beside him announced.

Mathias wrinkled his nose. "You just want to be in Slytherin because mum and dad were Slytherin, Rebekah."

Rebekah crossed her arms across her chest, tilted her head up. "So?"

Hermione put her hands on her spawns' shoulders, a flicker of Dark vapour leaking from her eyes. "Any house will be proud to have you. But your house does not make you. You must make the most of yourself. Do not fall into the trap of unknowingly setting limitations." For a moment, the ends of her fingers were tapered into dainty black claws, and her hair seemed to writhe with a halo of Dark flames.

A black-furred sulfur-eyed hellcat meowed from the carrier as if in fervent agreement.

"See? Zoey agrees," Hermione smiled.

"Wuff!" the hellhound pup barked.

"And so does Gage."

The children hung their heads together. "Yes, Mum."

"Your mother and I will be proud of you regardless of what house you make your home for school," Severus said, his voice a deep rumble. "I expect your behaviour to reflect appropriately upon our Family."

The two children looked rightfully intimidated. "Yes, s-sir!"

Hermione gave Severus an amused look as she kissed her children on the forehead and gave them each a hug. "Have a good ride on the Hogwarts Express."

"Come on, Mathias, Rebekah!" a petite brunette witchling called out from the nearest train car, her musical voice thick with a Scottish accent.

"Coming, Ailsa!" The two children hurriedly hugged their father before dashing off to the car. They slunk back a few seconds later to pick up their abandoned pet carriers, looking utterly abashed.

Hermione smiled up at Severus, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly.

Severus' eyes darkened with heat, Dark smoke-like vapour leaking from his mouth. "Hrr," he growled.

A clatter and crash drew their attention, and a disturbing collection of orange-haired Weasleys gathered on the platform— their hair disturbingly as orange as the fruit and— smoking.

It was most definitely smoking.

"Henry! Taylor! What have I told you about bringing Uncle Georgie's rubbish with you to school!" a frustrated, stress-wrinkled Harry Potter yelled. "Get your things and get on that train right now before we decide to take you back to the house and home-school you both!"

The former Tracy Davis stood beside him looking utterly ready to explode.

"I wonder what their home life is like," Hermione said quietly.

Severus smiled darkly. "Chaos."

Draco stood down the platform, pointedly ignoring Harry Potter as he helped his wife Padma usher their son Scorpius onto the train and balance the owl cage that was obviously far larger than the poor boy could handle by himself.

A haggard-looking Ronald Weasley attempted with some failure to help his wife, Millicent Bulstrode-Weasley, herd their quadruplets into the train. They were far too busy beating on each other with their school supplies to listen to either of them.

Hermione could feel her mate's jaw clench without even seeing it. Severus cracked his neck, pulled his cloak tightly around himself, and stepped into the role that sent firsties crying for their mummies and pissing themselves in equal measure.

"Mssrs Weasley, Miss Weasley," his voice seethed. "I would hate to think that your first experience at Hogwarts would be finding yourselves in Headmistress McGonagall's office explaining why you shouldn't be expelled on the spot for bad behaviour."

The four children paled immediately, staring up at Severus in terror like he was an angry and vengeful god.

Well, he was a god, Hermione mused.

Severus said nothing, his head swivelling to fix them with an extra-slow steely regard.

The children immediately picked up their things and fled into the train car, completely intimidated and utterly silent.

He narrowed his eyes at a gobsmacked Ronald and Millicent, spinning to return to Hermione's side, his robes billowing out impressively behind him.

Hermione stifled a smirk as her husband took his place beside her with a huff, smiling genuinely as he gave her an exasperated look.

"I look forward to travelling the world with you, my love," he said with a sigh. "I would far rather sow chaos and Darkness than herd hormonal dunderheads ineptly wielding wands and volatile potions ingredients. And I'm quite sure our spawn will be more than happy to do their own sowing in our honour."

Hermione leaned into him. "I look forward to having you all to myself," she confessed, a heated puff of breath leaving her mouth to tickle his cheek.

Severus' eyes narrowed as he turned his head to regard his ever-tempting mate. Darkness pooled in his eyes and started to leak from his very pores. He pulled her against him as the chaos of the other families brought together by their marriage swirled all around them.

His answering smile filled his black eyes with Darkness as his tongue flicked across his lips in anticipation. "Shall we?"

Hermione hummed as she clicked her fingers, and Gerald promptly leapt up and bowled over the crowd of people to get back to her, a collection of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff scarves gathered in his mouth.

Gerald wagged his spaded tail excitedly.

"Ready to help sow chaos and Darkness, hound?" Severus asked, placing a hand on the hellhound's great head.

"Br-owl!" Gerald agreed, giving Hermione's and Severus' hands fond licks.

"Excellent," Erebus said, as Darkness began to pool around their feet and time itself slowed down. He took Hermione into his embrace, covering her mouth with his as the Dark consumed their bodies in pitch black vapour. Their hands curled gently around Gerald's collar as they disappeared in a whorl of endless night.

Time restarted as a sudden thunderstorm broke, painting the skies in low, threatening, ominous clouds as the rain poured down in frigid sheets. People scattered, crying out as the platform was lashed with wind-driven rain, all of their charms and attempts to block the elements failing in face of the storm's fury.

Erebus' and Melantha's children waved gaily out the window as the train left the station, grinning at each other.

"Think we'll get a new brother or sister?"

Rebekah sniffed. "Probably both. Father is nothing if not thorough."

Mathias chuckled. "I can't wait to see what happens."

Rebekah sat back on the train seat and smiled. "Let's go make our Family proud."

The twins linked their pinkies together in a solemn promise.

---

Mischief Managed—in Chaos

---

A/N: Thanks to Dragon and the Rose for staying up way past her expiry pumpkin hour to beta this fic while DeepShadows2 was passed out in a pile of tea leaves experiencing the sleep coma. Praise her.

Thanks for all the encouraging reviews. I appreciate every single one!