The Gates of Hell open quietly, for they are well greased and many a sinner has walked through them in the past hour. But none of those sinners had four softs legs. They patter down the scalding walkway, the pink pads not burning as they thread quite lightly over the coal hot asphalt.

Pit-pat. Pit-pat.

He whistles Guantanamera, Guajira Guantanamera. A funny little Cuban quip and tilts his head side to side as he purrs the lyrics through his nose. He thinks of himself as the best singer in the world. Well in Hell at least, and who can stop him from that little pleasure. He was all about his little pleasures.

The steps ascend upwards towards the throne room. He pitter-patters up them humming his little song as burning hands try to grasp his feet. But the burning flesh cannot crimp his style now. He tosses his step over each finger in his way.

Now up above, the large doors open as he utters his name.

Alexsander.

Inside the throne room, in a throne of leather sits the High Overlord. He startles forwards when Alexsander approaches waving the deadly choir to stop their incantations and they dissolve into flames.

"You've decided to give up one of your nine lives for me?" He taps impatiently.

Alexsander cocks his head and gestures a motion to his lips. The Overlord sighs, a cigar appearing in his grasp. A good one too! Romeo y Julieta, his very favourite. He waits for the tip to light and takes a blissful drag, the smoke nearly burning off his whiskers.

"It's been many years since you've visited, you scoundrel."

But Alexsander hardly has time for apologies. He continues pulling at the cigar until it's halfway done before gripping it with his canines and bouncing into the Overlord's lap.

"I've come asking a favour, not for myself."

Now the figure blasts in anger. "Twenty years Alexsander, and you dare come to me asking favours. You are not only a scoundrel, but a shameless one at that."

"True," he purrs, "But would a shameless scoundrel give up his seventh life to come down to Hell?"

"Then you want something from me?"

"That I do." His eyes glisten in the flames. The Overlord refuses.

"One measly little soul…unnoticeable….murrr…you have so many…."

The Overlord cannot believe the audacity of Alexsander. His red hairs gleaming as the flames of his own castle. And his eyes glowing quite bright and quite shamelessly.

"And besides, you owe me one my Overlord."

"Remind me."

"Well, have I not entertained you but fifty years ago? Remember Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Well you must have forgotten, but fifty years ago he was the object of your greatest amusement. Who had whispered the prophecy to that mild witch Trelawney? Who had pitted the greatest wizard Tom Riddle against a mere boy?"

"You." The Overlord grumbles.

"Rrright. And did you not laugh at the hilarity of Riddle trying for almost fifteen years to corner the boy during his academic years to destroy him. Oh you did. You were sitting right here, laughing so hard the Dead Souls below swirled around in the melting pots faster than ever. Come, you've really enjoyed yourself."

"What is his name?"

"Severus Snape."

"Only Snape?"

"Exactly Snape…my Overlord. Just one useless little wizard."

"Fine." The Overlord snaps his fingers and the Soul floats into sight. Alexsander grasps it in his teeth. The Soul gently swirls around. Around his pink tongue.

The Overlord hopes Alexsander will visit sooner, but he should know better. Cats come and go as they please and Alexsander Crookshanks disappears into the distance.