Gift From Hell Chapter 1: Dark Beginnings, a harry potter fanfic

Summary: Sanguini/SS/HG: AU: Hermione finally gets a seeing-eye dog after all the others were afraid of her. (M for reasons)

Beta Love: I'm publishing unsupervised! Hrm, DeepShadows2 found me. Dragon and the Rose did too! (Hrm, not so secret anymore) Dutchgirl01, and Shady Commander Shepherd

Warning: Probably crack.

This story had its own mind. It will not be like the others in that it will contain a relationship that includes more than just SSHG. If that is not your thing, please wait for another story that is.

Gift From Hell

There is nothing truer in this world than the love of a good dog.

Mira Grant

She'd been on the waitlist for a service dog for months, but every time they'd bring one over, the dog would start whining and growling and pulling the people out of the house as if a dog possessed.

Hermione had pretty much given up hope on getting one both in the Muggle or magical world.

Hagrid had attempted to give her Fang, but the old boarhound was frightened when thunder clapped miles away, so he was pretty darned useless as a service-animal.

The boys hadn't been by in weeks, and she figured that was about guilt more than anything else. They'd been the ones who had brought work "home" with them to their Saturday suppers. Ron had been tracing out the glyphs he'd seen on an amulet right on her dining room table, so when she put the plate of food down—

She had woken up in St Mungo's in total darkness, and it had been constant darkness that had followed her ever since.

Oh, and Ron's amulet was embedded into her sternum as well.

Yeah, thanks for that.

Hermione cricked her neck back and forth and sighed as her fingers ran over her countertop and found her pitcher. She felt for her tumbler, thumped it on the counter a few times to make sure she wasn't going to drink down a spider or something, placed her finger on the lip of the glass, and filled it with water until it hit her finger.

She put down the pitcher and drank, smacking her lips as she evaluated whether she felt satisfied or not.

She set down the glass, flipping it upside down so she wouldn't get unwanted interlopers in it, and felt her way around the counter to the old Chesterfield that she loved so much, pondering if she was going to listen to music, read, or just be a vegetable for the rest of the night.

She was leaning towards being a vegetable, feeling very uninclined towards much of anything but brooding. Her hand traced over the book Ginny had brought her over, feeling the grooves in the tooled leather of the cover. It had been a thoughtful gift, she knew, but Ginny hadn't realised Hermione's true predicament due to a few omissions on Harry and Ron's part.

Hermione wasn't entirely helpless, despite feeling so at times, but when Ginny had come over thinking everything was fine only to realise things were most definitely not fine, there had been a bit of a— discussion.

Ginny, as usual, had two modes: hot and volcanic, and she'd spewed like Mount Vesuvius all over until Hermione was sure her entire home was on fire.

One, Hermione got yelled at for not saying anything, to which Hermione had replied that considering who she was married to, she'd thought logically Harry would have told her. That only got her even more upset, and Hermione had to listen to her spew vitriol all over again.

Two, Ginny yelled at her for not asking for help, to which Hermione could only explain she'd seen countless healers and even Muggle doctors to determine what was possible as treatment. That, of course, just caused another eruption about that "not being the kind of help she meant!"

Hermione could only sit on her poor Chesterfield and listen to her friend flail about and generally vent her frustrations to her captive audience.

When all was said and done, Hermione provided tea, and all was well again, and Ginny fixed all the things she had thrown around and broke during her epic fit of temper. Hermione had a feeling that Ginny was going to thoroughly ream her husband and brother and give them what for, but she was glad it wasn't going to be in her poor abused house.

Hermione sighed, running her fingers over the old leather, taking in the pleasing scent. It smelled old—

"I don't know what book it is," Ginny had confessed. "I mean, it's in some language I don't even know, but it just screamed Hermione, right? I'm hoping that— well, even if you don't like it, it looks really nice and— fuck, I'm so sorry Hermione!"

Hermione took in the scent of the book and smiled. It did smell comforting with its parchment, leather, and ink scent.

Before she knew it she was asleep, the book cradled in her arms like a cherished plush toy.

Lick.

Whine.

Lick, lick.

Whine.

Hermione woke to the sensation of the sun on her face and—

Lick.

Being licked.

Hermione held her hands out and met warm, soft fur.

"Oh, hello," she said with a little confusion. "Did Maryanne find a dog for me?"

The beat of a tail smacked against the side of the Chesterfield, and she smiled. She felt around the dog's face and ears, thankful that service animals for the blind were trained to be used to such inspections.

"Maryanne? Are you here?" she called, listening for the sound of the woman using the loo or perhaps strolling around in the garden.

Nothing.

How strange. Maybe she was busy with work and didn't want to bother her—

She felt around for a harness, but instead found the dog had some kind of odd bumps on its back, kind of like spikes. It didn't seem to hurt the animal, so she wasn't worried that it was some sort of accident, but she did find them rather curious.

She felt around for the collar and name tag, but there was nothing.

"Did you lose your nametag?" she asked.

The dog made a sour garruf sound, and she chuckled. "It's okay. I'm glad you're here. I wonder if you have a name."

The dog didn't answer, but she stood and walked over to the charmed food cabinet she had made to look like a regular Muggle fridge. Her entire house had looked very Muggle down to the timepieces, but only magicals would have realised she wasn't running the place on electricity, and even then they would most likely believe she was living fully Muggle just to keep the Muggles from being suspicious.

The technomagery, as she had come to know it, had been taught by a very unexpected teacher and master of the art. The art was so advanced and secretive that even most magicals didn't know it existed. The common belief was that Muggle science did not blend with magic in any way. It was, however wrong, the common truth that "everyone" knew.

Sworn to the art and now her own master, it seemed very natural, and it was in the art itself to make it seem utterly natural to both magicals and Muggles. Magicals would think it was utterly mundane and Muggle. Muggles would think her things were just technology as they knew it. The art was wonderfully subtle and complex— something she had loved from the very start.

A quick knock on the door caused the dog to growl, but Hermione hushed him with a gentle check. "Visitors are rare, and the knocking ones even more so."

The dog whinged but seemed to settle.

She made her way to the door and opened it. The scent of ancient places wafted in and she smiled. "Come in, Master," she said with a smile. "Out of the sun."

The man's chuckle was warm and fluid. "Thank you, my dear, but you are your own master now, Hermione."

"Well you will always be mine, Master." Hermione sniffed, head tilted up.

"Fair," he replied as he walked in, the scent of him moving past her. "But you of all people may use my name."

"Which one?" Hermione said cheekily. "You have so many."

"Tsk, child, do not be flippant," he said with no heat. "Sanguini is probably the most common of the names, or you may call me Mihail— the name I was born with so very long ago."

Hermione smiled despite herself. "I think I like Mihail. It's fitting. It feels like your name."

"You, my dear, are one of the few who feel names— the sound and the music, the tone and the song. Few people say any of my names as they are. It is no wonder they both use spells and give insults so easily. To hear my name upon your lips, Hermione, is more of a gift than you know."

Hermione heard the dog growl as her master moved into the house. She closed the door and waved her hand over a plate near the wall, and the room became cooler as the sun was blocked out. "It used to bother me when I accidentally shaded the house, but now everything is black, it actually feels cooler and more comfortable."

Sanguini chuckled. "Your living cells thank you," he said. "For not condemning them to sizzle and burn in the sun."

"I will hardly combust, Master," Hermione said. "Nor will you, despite what tradition says." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Mihail."

The vampire chuckled. "It is still uncomfortable to feel yourself sizzling in the sun, my dear. No matter the sun cream, it has always been so."

Hermione smiled. "What brings you to my humble home?"

"Cannot an old friend visit?" Sanguini asked, chuckling.

"Now, we both know you are usually neck-deep in drama from the unfortunate one who was Turned during puberty of all times."

Hermione sat down on the old Chesterfield and the dog hopped up and nestled against her, his head on her lap. She pet his ears affectionately.

"There are rules against such things for a reason," Sanguini said with a huff. "You preserve the essence of a person when you Turn them, and if they are not ready and mature enough or gods forbid stable enough—"

He sighed heavily.

"You may have no real idea what a great thing you did for us on your crusade to free the elves, liberate the goblins, and see to it that everyone is being treated like intelligent rational beings. My people gained their autonomy back from under the Ministry's bootheel— in public at least— and you have so many allies amongst the Sânge that I had to fight for the honour of apprenticing you. Because of you, I can deal with the Turned child before things end up going very, very badly. It is not something that humans can usually stomach. Such— brutality to what they would consider an innocent. But to leave one such as him alive— it would be folly, and hundreds would die to his whim and hunger with no chance of reason. And you have given us that ability to check ourselves again, and that is something the Sânge will not ever forget."

Hermione smiled. "I had no idea that you fought for me."

Sanguini harrumphed. "The heroine of a war, a survivor, a powerful witch— that alone would have turned heads, but," he said, chuckling, "you were far more than they had originally thought. And the Sânge have known magics of all sorts since darkness and fire met. It was only finding the one I knew would challenge you and entice you under my wings."

The dog growled lowly, and Hermione gently placed a hand between his ears. "Hey, for once, the dog isn't growling and snarling at me," she said with some amusement.

"You have spent a lot of time with the Sânge, Hermione. It tends to rub off. You have my Mark that keeps you from being casually targeted, and you have the Mark of the Sânge Council, which definitely puts you on a do not disturb list when it comes to supernatural manoeuvring. Alas, it can make the more natural animal quite leery. They may not know why they are uncomfortable, but they know you are different."

"Natural, normal things will tend to shun you, pet," Sanguini said seriously. "Supernatural things, however, will find you far more interesting."

"To think, I had no idea that dinner you took me to was with the bloody Sânge Council, Mihail," Hermione said sternly before laughing. "I can laugh about it now, but you could give a witch some warning before doing that? I felt like I'd just insulted a hundred generations of royalty all at once."

"Ah, and where would the fun be in that, love?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, hoping that Sanguini would see it— or that he was even looking in her general direction.

"They were impressed by you, pet. Believe that," Sanguini said. "The fact you did not cow to Radu's posturing or Mircea's attempt to make you look lesser gained you only respect. They've been getting away with such posturing for centuries and no one other than you has had the balls to tell them that their shite stinks."

"So you had me do it?" Hermione cried, crossing her arms.

"Better from you, love, than all the vampires of this side of the ocean. Immortals forget what the true spark of life is sometimes, and those like you remind them of what they've forgotten. There are very few of us, you see, that keep such passions for when we were Turned— passion was hardly the reason that most of us were given immortality."

"And what is your reason for being Turned?" Hermione asked.

"For me? Influence," Sanguini said, his voice a purr. "They said, back in the day, I could convince a snake to part with its skin."

"And now?" Hermione asked, chuckling.

"Well, the change in times has hardly altered the fine art of persuasion. The topics have changed, the things people want specifically, but the general art is the same. Names change over time, but really it is all the same in the end."

"Is that why you're the ambassador to the vampires at the Ministry?"

Sanguini laughed. "Yes. That the fact that I happen to look less like death warmed over than most."

"Speak for yourself," Hermione muttered.

"Tch, my heart. It truly bleeds," Sanguini said, and Hermione could hear him putting his hand to his chest.

Hermione blew a puff of air at her hair, aiming for a stray curl that was tickling her eyebrow.

Thunder rumbled, and a strong gust of wind blew open the shutters.

"Oh bother," Hermione muttered, standing up and dislodging her new dog. She felt her way around the Chesterfield and the nearby table and lamp, then worked her way to where the wind was rattling the shutter.

"Feels like it's less spontaneous combustion weather, Master. Would you like to go outside? My new dog-friend may also appreciate a chance to relieve himself. Or herself. I haven't checked yet, how embarrassing."

"Hermione—" he chided.

"Mihail?" Hermione said sheepishly.

Sanguini chuckled. "It would be nice to sit outside and not feel like fire ants are eating me, yes."

They walked outside into the garden, and Hermione touched a small tile to float a water pitcher in from inside along with some lemons and a knife. She sliced the lemons carefully and threw them into the pitcher to infuse with the water.

The dog bounded off into the garden to do his business, and Hermione heard him digging about with abandon and then rolling around in the grass.

Hermione smiled as she heard the dog groaning in pleasure as the grass and dirt saturated the air enough to reach her nose.

"You never answered what you were doing here, Master," Hermione observed. "Humour me."

Sanguini sighed. "That thing on you is not simply a cursed object, Hermione."

Hermione frowned, sitting up. "What is it then?"

"It is an ancient artefact meant to call upon Dark powers— daemonic powers— bringing such a creature to this world be at the beck and call of the one who wore it." Sanguini's voice was terribly soft. "But the oldest stories claim that something went wrong in its creation. It summoned the power, yes, but— it took something until the bond was made. The completion of the contract. The surrender of one's self to the other, so the other could do the same. Those who want such power do not want to give in or come to terms in such a way. They want the power. They would have rather killed hundreds and gained a demon under their thrall than surrender to one in symbiosis."

"Symbiosis with a demon?" Hermione asked. "Is there such a thing?"

Sanguini huffed. "Just as there are different humans, vampires, and werewolves, there are different demons as well. But the most powerful of them must always watch their backs for the next interloper. Some of them, rather than suffer that roam free. The allure of a symbiosis with someone who would never betray them is— like the tastiest and riches of creams."

"But power relationships are rarely about— peaceful coexistence," Hermione said.

"Mmhm," Sanguini said. "You, pet, are being evaluated for a partnership."

"With a demon."

"A greater power than most. Whatever we call it. God, demon, artichoke— really have little meaning but is something better to say than simply babbling incoherently."

"So, this blindness is a— test?"

Sanguini hummed. "More like a," he paused, sighing. "What is the word? Bother, and I'm supposed to be an ambassador."

Hermione smiled. "Nobody is perfect."

Sanguini bahed. "You are a beacon, Hermione. You are a lighthouse. The supernatural will flock around you, basking in your potential, wanting, needing to be with you. Until you accept a bond, they will keep courting you, hoping to be the one you choose."

Hermione sipped at the lemon water, her brows knitting together. "And I am supposed to do this— blind?"

"Hn," Sanguini said. "Yes."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And here all I wanted for the last few months was a service dog that didn't want to either run from me or attack me."

The dog wedged his head under her arm and encouraged petting of his head.

Hermione chuckled, petting the canine with a smile.

"What does he look like, Mihail?" Hermione asked.

"Like your mail carrier might never survive meeting your new friend."

Hermione huffed. "He's perfectly well-behaved."

Wuff, the canine agreed.

"I can practically feel your eyebrows rising, Master," Hermione said.

"He's a hellfiend."

"What?" Hermione's voice was toneless.

"Multiple tails, horns, a few tentacles, elongated muzzle filled with unnaturally huge sharp teeth— well he is dog shaped, at least."

Hermione was still petting the hound's ears. "Well, he seems like a perfectly decent hellfiend."

Wuff, the beast agreed.

"As hellfiends go, I'm sure he's quite a looker," Sanguini acquiesced.

"I like him," Hermione said. "I don't even have to see him to like him."

The dog snorted, glowering at Sanguini.

"As long as he doesn't mind wearing a harness for going out in public, he's ages ahead of those other pups who wouldn't even give me a trial run."

The dogs multiple tails wagged wildly, creating a breeze.

"At least allow me to create a glamour collar for him, Hermione," Sanguini said. "I don't imagine you taking him into the supermarket would go over very well. Hell, what would your parents say?"

"Probably about what they'd say if they met you, Master— well, on a bad night when you're very hungry."

Sanguini sighed heavily. "Quite probably." He shrugged, brushing his hands over his sleeves. "Do you have a collar for him?"

Hermione nodded, tracing a sigil in the air just before a collar and harness set slammed into her outreaching hand. "I hope it's the right size— I'm not sure I can resize very well with not being able to see him properly."

"I'll take care of it," Sanguini said.

"Has he told you his name?"

Hermione frowned. "No."

"Well, I can't very well write 'Dog' on it as his name."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "What colour is he?"

"Black at pitch."

"Does he look— intimidating?"

"Very," Sanguini replied dryly.

"Eye colour?"

"Pitch black as the rest of him."

Hermione pondered, her hand never leaving the dog's head. She started to grin evilly.

"I know that look, child. What are you thinking?"

"How about Snape?"

The hellfiend's ears perked at once. Brou?

"Well, he's all black, and he's so intimidating. It's fitting!" Hermione protested.

"Snape" gave her a gentle lick on the cheek with a forked tongue and a few wily tentacles.

"See? He likes it."

"Whatever you say, child," Sanguini said as he passed her the glamour collar and harness. "He will look like— a very stern-looking guard dog of some sort. At least doggish enough to not make the mail carrier piss himself in terror, nor will he be fluffy and attract stupid people that want to hug him."

Snape growled lowly.

"See? He agrees."

"What if I want to hug him?" Hermione said, mock-pouting.

"I'm sure he will allow it as long as it is you."

Browl.

"What is a hellfiend anyway?"

Sanguini was silent for a while. "Some say they are simply daemons locked in a bestial shape until their conjurer orders them to be otherwise."

"But I didn't conjure him," Hermione said.

"Uncharted territory, pet," Sanguini soothed. "It's hard to say what he is capable of, but— he does seem quite devoted to you already."

Sanguini said nothing, but he watched as Hermione's expression seemed far off as she pet her hellish canine, her eyes fluttering as he licked her other hand in what would have seemed a comforting way had it not been a hellfiend that was doing it.

"So, how does one even accept such a bargain?" Hermione asked. "I have a feeling it isn't like a parchment contract signed in blood like they say in Faust."

"Doubtful," Sanguini agreed, "but also unknown. This is an artefact, whose entire nature may have been tweaked and adjusted by some witch or wizard as far back as the Dark Ages, perhaps even older. Back when getting power over another was so important that they didn't really pay heed to matters such as possible consequences or beneficial long term relationships. Many believed the soul wasn't something that could be bartered, so they bound themselves to contracts thinking one can't lose what one cannot be parted from. Not exactly the brightest bunch."

Hermione shook her head. "So, let me get this straight. Ronald brings home an ancient artefact of daemonic origin, traces the runes on my dining room table, and bonds it to me— somehow— completely by accident."

Sanguini was silent for a time. "Yes."

"Sheer dumb luck, indeed," Hermione muttered.

"He thought it was a puzzle locket," Hermione suddenly said, recalling. "They'd scanned it with the standard identification spells, and it hadn't so much as flickered to indicate that it was of magical origin."

"Wrong kind of magic, I fear," Sanguini said. "Much like our technomagery. If you don't know precisely what you are looking for, it never even comes up."

Hermione finished putting the harness on Snape and rubbed his head and ears affectionately. "Thank you for tolerating me," she said warmly.

Wuff.

Hermione smiled as she found herself under attack by multiple fond licks.

Sanguini had to smile as he realised it had been a while since he'd seen her smile so openly. Perhaps whatever odd fate had been at work was actually something that was meant to be.

"Blimey 'Mione!" Ron blurted as he stood outside the garden fence.

Snape was snarling at him from the other side, foam flecking his muzzle.

Hermione stood in the doorway to her house. "Ron? What are you doing here?"

"I can't visit?" Ron protested.

"Most people would call or send an owl before just showing up!"

"When the hell did you get a dog!"

"It's my service dog, Ronald," Hermione said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Did you have to get the most vicious and intimidating service dog?" Ron squeaked.

"He's not vicious," Hermione said, making a clicking sound.

The hound bounded back to her, shoving his head under her hand. She hugged him, allowing his licks and somewhat sulfurous breath to the face.

"Oh so you're not arguing that he's intimidating?"

"No, that everyone seems to agree on," Hermione said, smiling as her pup's heated breath made her smile.

"Can I come in now?" Ron asked, flustered.

"Yes, you can come in," Hermione said, shaking her head as she retreated back into the cooler house.

Ron stared at the dog with unease.

The dog seemed to scowl at him, lips curling up from its very sharp teeth.

"Come on, Snape, let's get you some food," Hermione called, and the dog bounded inside, tail wagging.

Ron warily opened the gate and came in. He was all the way inside the house before something hit him. "Snape?!" he blurted.

Hermione put a bowl of food down for the dog and cocked her head at him. "Yes?"

"You named your bloody dog 'Snape'?"

"He's big, black from what my master said, brilliant, and perfectly terrifying. It's well suited."

The dog vacuumed up the food in a few minutes, licked the bowl clean, and then picked it up between his jaws and nudged her leg.

Hermione felt around until she found the bowl in his jaws and took it. "Thank you, love."

The dog looked up at her adoringly, tail thumping.

"That's just not right, Mione."

Hermione washed the bowl and set it in the drying rack as Snape thumped a paw on a lever, and his water bowl filled with fresh clean water. He eagerly lapped the bowl clean and then stood waiting. Hermione felt for his harness, and he guided her over to the old Chesterfield. She sat down, patting the cushion, and Snape jumped up and settled with his head in her lap, tail thumping with approval.

Ron looked at her with horror and then realised with guilt that the only one noticing was the dog, and the dog had a very— well, Snapeish expression on its face. His eyes were narrowed, and he wore a scowl that made him feel like he was eleven in Potions class.

Worse, those eyes never left him, and Ron felt like reciting his sins from when he was a child dating all the way back to his nappy age.

"It's kind of stuffy in here," Hermione said. "I had the shutters closed because there was this cat trying its best to beat up another cat and the noise bothered me."

She stood, and Snape went with her, guiding her to the window. She felt around until she found the latch and opened the shutters to let in some fresh air. She sniffed appreciatively. "Better."

"So what brings you to my home, Ron? There must be something because you never visit."

Ron shifted uncomfortably under Hermione's blind stare. She tracked him somehow, her eyes staring right into him despite her blindness. She tugged on Snape's harness and they moved forward. He guided her around the lamp, counter, and the coffee table so she could sit back on the Chesterfield.

"Look, I'm sorry for bringing that thing here into your home," Ron said. "I want to try and remove it."

"Ronald, St Mungos, the Department of Mysteries, and the Goblin Nation tried to remove this thing. I don't think whatever you are going to try is going to work," she said with a wrinkled expression.

"At least let me help you in the house."

"Ronald," Hermione said sternly. "I'm fine. I'm doing fine. Now that Snape is here, I'm doing even better."

Snape licked his chops, and Ron could have sworn he saw a cloud of smoke exit its mouth. "Hermione, can you at least let me try? I'm the reason it's there, and maybe it has to be me that takes it off."

Hermione's expression darkened. "I am fine, Ronald. I don't want you making things worse, and with your particular track record, the chances of it ending up worse rather than better is astronomical."

Ron frowned. "Come on, Mione, please? You have no idea how much flak I've been catching from everyone about being the one who cursed his girlfriend—"

Hermione stiffened. "How dare you."

"Wut?"

"How dare you call me that after— you deliberately sabotaged my masteries so that only Master Sanguini would take me on because you thought a real witch should stay at home making babies and tending the house. How dare you call me that after how many witches you've shoved your cock in over the years! Don't even try to deny it. Even in the— how exactly did you put it— 'arsehole of the leeches' I had people who kept me in the know about what was going on. As I was working so hard on fighting for the rights of house-elves, goblins, and vampires, you stood there and belittled me. Said I was foolish because I could have just married you and not had to worry about anything. How DARE you—"

Hermione was standing up, and so was her hair. It writhed like the reptilian coils of Medusa herself, and her eyes seemed to glow with an eerie light. She snapped her hand up and then down, and her wand came to her beck and call with a smack. "I may be blind now, Ronald Bilius Weasley, but I was not blind while you were shoving your cock into any random witch who cooed your name and called you a hero. I may have still called you my friend after everything you did because that was what we were supposed to be, but we were never truly that."

Her wand had turned into a walking cane, and she slammed it down so the red tip smashed into the ground, and the house shook violently as it responded to her call.

Snape was standing on all fours now and growling menacingly, his hackles raised up like spikes. His dog-like shape seemed to shimmer and fade in and out into an image of the most hellish of nightmares made form.

Ron's eyes were now almost comically wide, but even as Hermione stood there glaring at him, he spotted the glowing amulet embedded in her chest.

That was the source of his ongoing ridicule at work—

Ron hurriedly cast the spell he had written on his arm, aiming his wand at the glowing amulet even as the dog snarled and launched itself at him—

"Evanescunt Ligaturam Cucurreris!" he yelled, and the spell struck Hermione's chest, hitting the glowing stone dead on.

Hermione shrieked, and there was an earth-shaking thunderclap and a yelp as something very large hit the far wall. The room was filled with the swirling dark of the Abyss as the stench of burning flesh and brimstone filled the room.

Everything went black.

As Ron began to see again, he made out the towering shape of—

Of—

He wasn't even sure what he was looking at.

It was big.

Its massive head touched the ceiling.

Its wings were shoved up against the opposing walls.

It— his cock was both proud and erect with no attempt to cover or in any way conceal its size or presence.

The daemon growled, licking its multiple rows of jagged teeth even as its talons ever so gently caressed Hermione's face. He tucked her onto the chesterfield as it stomped one cloven hoof against the floor with a clack.

"You must be a god's own fool," the creature chuckled. "To attack a summoner at all is sheer folly. To attack one who has yet to make her Choice is even greater folly. What kind of idiot attacks one who has but the choice of millions to bind her power with— who would gladly bind with her to walk the wretched Earth together?"

The daemon smiled. "You must be a gormless fish. Perhaps, you are better off looking like what you are," he seethed, pointing a talon at Ron. A beam of darkness hit Ron squarely in the middle of his forehead, and Ron rapidly shrank and turned into a gasping orange guppy.

The demon snapped his fingers, and the guppy was thrown into a small bowl shaped and decorated to look like a burning hellscape.

The daemon turned back to Hermione, who was still unconscious. He slowly passed his talons over her, frowning. "Ahh, little summoner. You are a true treasure amongst mortals." He reached out and caressed her head and hair. "If you were to choose me, what wonders we could create together."

The demon lowered its head to hers. "Such power we would have. Such freedom."

Suddenly, a darker cloud of wrath, fangs, claws, and protective fury landed on the larger demon. The larger demon roared, but where it swiped and attempted to attack, the smaller was faster and more fierce. Daemonic magic surged and crackled, seethed and burned—

Boom!

The larger demon disappeared in a plume of darkness back into the Earth.

Snape shook himself off from nose to tail tip, dripping with dark energy and darker ichor. He limped over to Hermione and jumped up onto the chesterfield and snuggled into her, shoving his head under her arm and hand.

A seething sort of darkness exuded from his body, surrounding her, exploring her from his body to hers. Yet, Hermione pulled closer to his body with a content sigh.

Snape's multiple tails thumped against the chesterfield in a steady beat.

Hermione found herself surrounded in piles of crumpled parchments as the familiar and intimidating figure of her Potions professor slaved over a desk, his quill working furiously. The room was dimly lit, save for the flickering of candles, and the shutters were securely drawn.

Snape looked like death warmed over, the weariness in his body seemed to hang about him like a heavy curtain of exhaustion.

Hermione approached cautiously, waiting to be yelled at, but Snape didn't look up. She frowned and tried to pick up one of the crumpled pieces of paper, but her hand passed right through it.

Was this a dream?

Wait. She could see—

It had to be a dream.

But— why was she dreaming of Professor Snape?

Yet when she saw what the man was writing, her curiosity filled to bursting, she reeled back in shock.

It was a letter to her.

Dear Miss Granger,

If you are reading this, I have most likely met a sticky end. I cannot say I did not deserve it playing two sides of a war, but I cannot help but think had I never heard that prophecy so long ago, that much of this would have been different.

In my last will and testament, I leave you all that I have, though it is not much, I fear. Most of it is a treasure suitable only for those who can read. My savings, while not terribly exorbitant, could very well make certain that you are well provided for should you wish to pursue a mastery.

I have enclosed with this letter, a letter of recommendation. You may use it as you wish, when you apply for whatever mastery appeals. I have no doubt you will succeed in any field you wish— even potions, Miss Granger.

While I was not permitted to encourage or be kind, you had more talent than the lot of them, and while you could not beat Mr Potter while he was using my old book to cheat his way to the top, had you been encouraged, I think you would have surpassed them all.

One thing I would have you know, whether you choose to believe it or not, is that Albus Dumbledore was not a scion of Light and promise. He was a manipulator of the highest order, and the only thing that kept him from being the next Dark Lord was that a long time ago his sister was killed when he and Grindlewald had an argument on a far away beach somewhere.

He kept his secrets close. He kept me as close as he could to pull my chain, my Oath, my promise— my penance for having told the Dark Lord the prophecy. But think very hard, Miss Granger, on how a man as brilliant and insightful could have not known I was there listening— a young boy with so little to lose and so much to gain scraping at the inn door to listen on a rising coot who just happened to give a real prophecy that night.

I ran and told like a good little Death Eater in training, and it bought me a brand that I wear to this day. Then, when I realised my folly, the only one I could turn to was waiting to bind me to his service— for after I did, well, there was nothing he could do to save them since they made their own bad choices.

He couldn't have said something.

Convinced them they were in danger, no.

I digress.

I give you everything I was, Miss Granger, in the hopes that you alone can appreciate the collection of parchments and tomes I have hoarded over the years, both Muggle and magical. And I give you my monetary gains in the hopes you can forgive me for so many things I had to do.

I will admit, I am not a nice man. I was never a nice teacher. Had times been different, I would have taken you on as my apprentice and made sure you were the best bloody Potions mistress on this side of the pond, but it was not to be.

Albus was adamant that doing so would ruin everything.

So he pulled my chain again, and bade me to heel.

Don't think I didn't notice you setting me on fire, Miss Granger. Stealing my potion ingredients. Brewing polyjuice in your second year.

Had I been able to cultivate that talent— what a reckoning you would have been.

Whatever you decide to do with my property, Miss Granger, I can only hope there is something in my collections that will remind you not of the terrible person I was to your face but the man I wish I could have been.

And if you can find it in your heart to believe me, I have but one request to make of you.

When I was your age, my best friend from childhood believed me to be the very worst of people. She believed me to be a Death Eater before I was even a real one. I called her a foul name while I was being strung up by my ankles and had my mouth washed out with soap. She never forgave me, and when I tried to apologise, she cursed me to live eternally with the Dark I loved so much.

If I loved the Dark and wanted to be the Dark Lord's lapdog, then I could roam the world on four legs like the dog I was for all eternity unless some "stupid gullible twat actually had the capacity to love someone as utterly worthless" as me.

Perhaps, you know this already being the well-read individual that you are, but intent and emotion can twist our magic to something beyond our control. A curse in words becomes a spell, and it did not matter that she may not have meant it, though I highly suspect she did.

I have a feeling that, upon my death, I will not be permitted to rest. I can feel that in my very bones.

Amongst my items there will be an amulet. It has a green stone with runes carved into the metal that houses it. I have altered it to allow you to find me, and I beg you, Miss Granger, to put me out of my misery. I have no idea how, but I have faith that you will manage to figure it out. If anyone can counter a vicious spell from an angry seventeen-year-old witchling, it would be you.

The amulet is a relic of a time when daemons and men walked together, Miss Granger. Many of them would fight tooth and claw to be chosen by you— that exquisite symbiosis of partnership that has long been lost in lore and stories and obfuscation. The magic is so ancient that it doesn't even register on scans or traces. It was a cast-away priceless object because its very nature was to be a true partnership— something those who want power rarely wish to share.

I have charmed it when you use the incantation "Invenire Spiritum Meum" it will lead you to me. Be careful not to do anything else with it, Miss Granger, or it will do what it was originally made for and act like a beacon to the kind of creatures that will most likely create quite a mess competing for your favour— but such things come with price, always. I cannot say what it might take from you as the daemons fight for your favour, but I can almost guarantee it will not be something you might actually be thankful for, such as not smelling the youngest Mr Weasley's manky unwashed socks.

Once you find and— put me out of my misery, and believe me when I say it will be misery— it would be safer to destroy it lest someone less honourable than yourself should stumble across it.

I can only hope you are agreeable to this one last task, Miss Granger. While my small fortune or tomes and patents gains may seem like a small thing to a childhood of ridicule, I beg you to release me from this curse. After serving two masters and enduring a lifetime of unhappiness— I cannot imagine the horror of living forever alone with that weight on my shoulders.

You have my gratitude, Miss Granger, whatever you decide.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Hermione watched as he passed his wand over the letter and the text changed from English into the glyphs of Sumerian save for the surprisingly neat but distinctively spiky script that clearly addressed the folded letter to Hermione Granger. He vanished the other crumpled parchments with a wave of his hand.

She watched him finish the letter with magic and sealing wax and tuck it into an official Gringotts carrier envelope. He shrank the envelope down and tied the bundle to the leg of a dignified-looking owl, gave the owl an owl-nut, opened up the shutter, and let the bird fly free.

Snape thumped as he sat heavily down into the old, battered leather chair by the bookshelves. He threw his head back and let out an exhausted wheeze just before he clutched his arm in pain, hissing.

He stood, put on an even more depressingly black robe, placed a silver mask over his face, and Disapparated.

Hermione's vision of the small world of Severus Snape abruptly went dark.

Hermione woke to the sound of frantic knocking on her door. Her brain still felt fuzzy, and her body lethargic. She was tangled with Snape's large body, and the hound was seemingly just as groggy as she was. She opened her eyes and still half-expected to be blinded by sunlight and realised the strange dream had been just as vivid as if she still had sight.

She snuggled deeper into Snape's body, the warmth from his fur too irresistible to hold out against. Her eyes drifted closed as she burrowed into him, and the hound seemed perfectly happy with that. Tendrils of darkness swirled around them, binding them tighter. Snape licked her face before surrendering to her embrace.

Hermione drifted peacefully in that comfortable warmth, yielding into the Dark tendrils without even realising they were there.

The Dark swirled around her like a blanket, and she let out a soft sigh of utter contentment.

Pounding on the door jostled her out of her comfortable space, and she flew off the chesterfield, stumbling over the coffee table, and staggering over to the door, her body slamming into it as she felt around for the bolt, latch, and handle. Snape fell off the chesterfield with a yelp-growl, shaking his head so hard the tags on his collar clinked loudly.

"I would highly recommend you stop pounding on the door like a brute, Mr Potter," a voice said quietly from the other side. "The neighbours can hear you and they are quite distant from here."

"This is important, Sanguini!" Harry's voice yelled. "Someone important is missing!"

"Oh no, what a tragedy," Sanguini said, his voice with exaggerated emphasis. "Quick, call the Aurors! Oh, wait, you are an Auror."

"You wouldn't understand, leech," Harry hissed.

The air was deathly quiet before Sanguini's even voice replied, "Do be careful, Mr Potter. Someone might think you are incapable of being unbiased under the law."

Sanguini lay his hand on the door and whispered, "It is I, Hermione, and your young heathen friend."

The door opened as a groggy Hermione blinked rapidly as if the sun bothered her. "Come in, Master," she said, stifling a yawn. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

Harry pushed by her and stomped into the house. "Ron is missing!"

"Have you tried Lavender's bed?" Hermione said dryly as she closed the door, feeling around for the lights for Harry's benefit but closing the shutters for Sanguini's.

"Ron was here last night, and he wanted to try some spell on me to allegedly fix my amulet problem. I got completely pissed off at him, he cast a spell at me, and the next thing I know, here you came pounding on my door."

She rubbed her head.

Snape trotted over to the counter to where a small hell-scape aquarium had appeared with a terrified-looking orange guppy swimming in frantic circles inside. He cocked his head to the side and let out a half-whine.

Hermione felt her way over, and her hand landed inside the aquarium with a splash. "What the— Ma— Mihail? Could you— be my eyes for me?"

Sanguini walked over and peered at the curiosity with raised eyebrows. "It is a very creatively decorated aquarium, child. The theme appears to be Dante's Inferno. There is a small orange fish, I believe it is a guppy, swimming around inside like his tail is on fire, not that the colour of it doesn't fit the theme."

Hermione dried off her arm. "I don't have an aquarium. Well, at least I didn't last night."

"Curious, indeed," Sanguini said, rubbing his chin.

Hermione rubbed her head. "I had such strange dreams, but I can barely remember them now because of all that racket."

"I could help you, if you desire."

"Have you fed yet today?"

"No."

Hermione scowled in his direction.

Sanguini sighed. "I did not expect, in my defence, that I would need to perform a dream walk this early in the day."

Hermione felt around until she found a cabinet and then dug into it. Her hand felt around until she found a bottle, and she uncorked it, sniffed it, and then drank it down with a wrinkled face of someone who just ate a lemon thinking it was an orange. "You have my permission."

"Hey, can we discuss Ron being missing!?" Harry butted in.

"My dream might be important since it was the only thing that happened between him being here and attacking me and you waking me up, Harry Potter."

"Can't you just pull the memories out and look at them in a Pensieve?"

Hermione glowered in Harry's general direction, and despite her not being able to see him, Harry cringed.

Sanguini approached Hermione. "Dream walking is a vampire skill gained when no less than five centuries have passed, and even then, one must be of a line that can. It is far more— precise than what you would use as it requires both knowledge of Legilimency and Occlumency of sorts because to walk through a dream one must be able to filter through what is and was, what could be real and what is. To attempt to use such skills before one is old enough amongst our kind is to jump into dark water and not know how to swim or where the bottom is."

Harry stared at the other wall, pointedly not meeting Sanguini's gaze.

"If I wanted to see within your brain, Mr Potter," Sanguini said. "I would have already. However, I do not need your gaze to see your thoughts for you broadcast them as loudly as a nightingale in the dead of night. Instead of imagining your enemies everywhere, perhaps you should— sit down and contemplate your life existence."

For once, Harry sat down and stared at his navel, utterly quiet.

"Master," Hermione said, knowing what that silence meant.

Sanguini tutted. "I would rather savour your blood, my dear. Not be vultured over like every breath is a sin."

Snape was staring back and forth from Hermione to Sanguini, seemingly torn between accepting and growling.

"It's all right, Snape," Hermione said reassuringly. "Mihail has been both friend and master when so few others could be relied upon."

Snape growled in suspicion, but as Sanguini carefully lay Hermione down against the chesterfield, his gentleness seemed to calm the anxious hound.

The vampire touched her forehead and tilted her head to the side. In a flash, his fangs sank in, and then he drank from her, his paler than pale skin flushing pink as her blood spread through his system. After a few minutes he pulled away, pressing his fingers to the wounds on her neck to encourage them to seal.

He bit his wrist, wincing slightly. "Blood to blood, my child. Allow me to see what you cannot remember." He brought the blood to her lips and let her lips seal around the offering.

His body jolted slightly as her consciousness opened to him, and the vampire allowed himself to be pulled in for the ride.

When Hermione awoke again, she found herself drooling on Sanguini as Snape was cuddled up against both of them, smooshing them against the back of the poor, abused chesterfield.

"Oh my Merlin, I'm so sorry," Hermione apologised as she wiped her mouth and pushed off her old master in total mortification.

"Fear not," Sanguini said with an amused rumble. "I have acquired drool from both you and your canine friend."

Hermione flushed with embarrassment as she heard Snape panting loudly.

"I remember now," she said, shaking off the grogginess. Her expression suddenly darkened as her fingers touched the amulet embedded into her sternum. "Where is he?" she seethed.

"Still contemplating his life's existence," Sanguini replied. "No need to hare off and clock him, though— I have heard about your punches, my dear. As much as I would love to see them in action, he is, at least right now, dealt with."

Hermione growled, and it did not sound particularly human.

"So," Sanguini said. "Now you know the truth. I will admit— I had no idea they had targeted you for such hardship. Even amongst my kind, the female is hardly treated as inferior. Those that have attempted to do so learned quickly that a female vampire is never to be underestimated."

He touched her hand as he saw it tremble. "I had wanted you as my apprentice even without knowing such things, Hermione. You earned our respect the old-fashioned way. Make no mistake about that."

Hermione centered herself slowly, taking deep breaths.

"He didn't hate me. Professor Snape."

"I doubt that anyone who truly knows you ever could," Sanguini said kindly. "You were a beacon long before that was in your chest. Those around you could not help but be swept up by your warmth and passion. Even those of my kind find it fascinating."

Hermione brightened. "Did you hear that, love?" Hermione said joyfully, pulling Snape to her. She pulled his head close and hugged him tightly, then lovingly placed a kiss upon his muzzle.

Her warmth was a wondrous radiance, and the startled dog's eyes grew quite wide. His tail beat slowly, then faster, then so fast that it nearly knocked over the coffee table.

Hermione was saddened suddenly. "I hate that he was so alone, Mihail." she said as she pet Snape's head. "That he never had a true friend, someone to treat him well. I don't want to kill him, Master. I want to give him the life he deserves— even if that is not with me."

Sanguini touched her shoulder. "Child, I do not believe he was thinking that it would be you who cared for him. In that moment, that dream memory— he was very isolated and alone and full of self-loathing. Had he known there was something better out there or even a person who did not hate him, he would perhaps have considered fighting. Living for something greater than his torture. Maybe. I fear, no one can say for sure."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Is it sad that I would have wanted to know him? Really know him. He was so brilliant. I could have apprenticed with him— gods— it would have been like apprenticing with you, Mihail. All that knowledge. And he wouldn't have tried to push me out because I was a witch and not a wizard or— getting told not to have career ambitions. 'Think of the children, Hermione! If you're going to have lots of kids, you can't have careers like that! You've already wasted so much time freeing the bloody elves! Giving the goblins rights! Hell, you even advocated for the damn leeches'!"

Hermione's anger resurfaced as her voice echoed that of a certain red-headed menace that she had thought, at the very least, was her friend.

Snape gave her a few tender slurps upside the face, and Hermione's anger abruptly defused as she hugged him tightly.

"But," Hermione said after a while. "My dream didn't have any clue about what happened to Ronald. As angry as he makes me, I have no idea what happened to him. I'll admit, I wanted to strip him of his balls, but— well, that wasn't anything new after finding him with so many witches over the years."

Sanguini looked over to where Potter was still contemplating his life's existence and long-buried truths. "You want me to release the heathen then?"

Hermione huffed, sniffling in amusement. "Can I think about it?"

Sanguini's laugh was an all-surrounding chuckle. "Oh, child, you may think all you want. I have forever to wait."

"Not that long," Hermione laughed. "You may have forever, but I have only so much time."

"Easily remedied, pet," Sangini said. "You know my offer stands."

Hermione pat his hand. "I know." She smiled cheekily. "I'm just not sure I could live with you forever."

"Insolence!" Sanguini huffed. "To think I defend you."

"I feed you," Hermione said. "Surely that counts for something."

Hermione tilted her head, smiling warmly. "I will admit, certain revelations of late have accelerated whatever goodbyes I might have for this life. As you've said, it's not like I'm leaving life altogether. I just feel I need to tie up a few loose ends before telling them all to go to hell."

Sanguini patted her hand. "Speaking of loose ends, perhaps you should go visit the goblins and see if the original will and testament are there. I'm sure they have seen so many things get "lost" by the Ministry over the years."

"Fancy a trip to the bank, love?" Hermione asked Snape.

Rrrrou? he replied.

Hermione beamed. "That's a great idea. I think I'll go do that."

She paused as she felt around for the harness and put it over Snape. "Would you like a fish, Mihail?"

The vampire raised an eyebrow. "Me? An aquarist?"

"Well, I hardly find looking at aquariums relaxing in my current state," Hermione said.

Sanguini stretched, shaking his head. "I suppose I can find someone who wants a fish," he said.

Hermione suddenly smiled brightly. "Master."

Sanguini perked, knowing that tone very well. "Apprentice?" he replied.

"Why not send Harry home with some fishy aspirations?"

Sanguini stood and kissed her forehead. "My child, forever I will hold you in my heart. Have fun at Gringotts. Don't worry. I will clean up—"

His expression was altogether devilish.

"I can hear you smiling, Mihail," Hermione said. "I will leave you to it."

Sanguini kissed the air just above her knuckles. "Be safe, Hermione."

"I will."

Hermione's trip to Gringotts went strangely smoothly. She had expected to bump into a long, tedious line of people, but it seemed the milling crowds were all too eager to get out of her way.

She walked right up to the counter and waited.

"Ah, Lady Dragontongue," the goblin said cheerfully. "Welcome back to Gringotts."

Hermione sighed heavily, knowing that her name would forever be linked to two major events: riding off on a Gringotts dragon and finding a way to give the Goblin Nation autonomy. She bared her teeth respectfully, and the goblin touched her hand to guide it to the place on the desk she needed.

She pressed her palm to the special indentation, knowing the unique goblin sorting magic would find whatever items were meant for her in their very large collection of miscellaneous "things."

The goblin sniffed. "I can take you back to the reading and sorting area, if you wish?"

"I would appreciate it," Hermione said, eager to get away, as the noise level surrounding Gringotts' main lobby was truly dreadful for her senses.

The goblin hopped off the chair and tapped the desk as he went so she'd know where he was. "If you will follow me?"

He unlatched the wooden gate and let her pass through, closing it behind her, he hustled in front.

The walk to the reading room was a bit of a jog as the main lobby of Gringotts was notoriously huge. When he led her into the room itself, however, the clatter of the outside lobby was cut off like a switch was thrown. Hermione sighed with relief, and Snape shook his head as if to agree, his ears flopping this way and that.

"I will be back with the documents, Lady Dragontongue," the goblin said.

"Thank you, Gnarlgash," she said with baring of teeth as she found the seat and sat down.

The goblin froze in place.

"I recognised the sound of your shoes. It squeaks on the right side just so."

The goblin chuckled. "Just wait until I change my shoes."

Hermione laughed as the goblin shuffled out the door, and the loud noises from outside went silent again.

"You know, Snape, I tried to pay back the goblins for the damages of the war— I did ride a dragon out of the building with my two best mates. It had to be done, but— well. I hated feeling like I'd done something awful and not fessed up to it. The Ministry insisted it was a casualty of war. Turns out, they found the entire thing very exciting and the most danger they had seen in hundreds of years. That and my advocacy for their right to autonomy— they said I had more than paid any amount of restitution they could have ever asked for."

Snape lay his head in her lap, and she pet it fondly.

"They don't think too well of Harry and Ron though."

Snape growled.

"Right? I'm not sure how I feel about them anyway." Hermione chuckled as the door opened and Gnarlgash walked in with a few other goblins. She heard the distinctive stride of something not goblin.

Snape growled.

"Hello, Master Granger, I am Cyril Torrance from the Department of Records at the Ministry. I was informed that there was a will to be read regarding the property of Severus Snape."

Hermione frowned. "Why was this not done before?"

"I'm sorry, Master Granger, this is the first I heard of it. From what was explained to us previously, there was no will and his property was given to the blokes in the Aurory to be sorted and sold at auction to benefit the war reclamation fund."

One of the elder goblins growled, and Snape echoed it.

Hermione soothed Snape by rubbing his ears, and he licked her hand affectionately.

The chairs moved about, and Hermione smouldered silently, but Snape's soft chuff and snuggle against her lap

She listened to the older goblin read the letter she remembered from her dream and then the will itself. Her hand trembled, and Snape licked it gently.

Hermione could practically hear the representative from the Ministry simmering in his own sweat.

"I can see that there must have been an unfortunate misunderstanding somewhere down the line."

Hermione twitched, and Snape growled.

The man shuffled through papers. "All property that was sold or moved will be retrieved, of course. Those that cannot be— restitution will be served by the Ministry with what was listed in the inventories—"

"We have the full inventory of his estate and vaults," the elder goblin said. "Signed, verified, and bound under Oath before being registered with us."

The Ministry official seemed to shift even more uncomfortably. "Of course, we will go off the copies of the verified list."

"Mr Torrance," Hermione said evenly, her mouth a thin line. "Why was I not informed of this before the assets had been divvied up and sold?"

Mr Torrance sighed. "I swear upon my magic, Master Granger, that I truly had no idea. I got the message today to come here, and I did. I was, admittedly, quite surprised to learn it was in regard to Master Snape's will, as I had been told around the time of his death that no will had ever been filed."

"May I ask who told you?"

"Someone from the Aurors' office. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They had gone through his items shortly after the war to make sure there were no Dark artefacts among his possessions."

"Was this before or after they exonerated him as a hero and awarded him a posthumous Order of Merlin First Class?"

The uncomfortable silence filled the room. Hermione could almost see the dagger-like gazes flying around the room even in her blindness.

"I—I am fairly certain it was before."

Hermione's expression was stony. "I expect everything that was taken will be returned to me, and that you will explain to whoever you sold the place to precisely why they are being evicted."

Torrance swallowed hard. "I believe the Spinner's End property was demolished by the current owner—so, uh, a new home could be built in its place."

"Who is the new owner?"

Snape's low growl filled the room, and Hermione could hear the chair scraping across the floor as the man stumbled backward.

"Harry Potter," Torrance squeaked.

"And who is living in that property now?" Hermione made the last word sound like it was seething for her.

"A Ronald Bilius Weasley."

Hermione's teeth clenched together. "Under Magically Owned Property Law 34.B.74-56-2, I demand that my property be returned to me at once and that restitution is paid in full with interest."

"These are your friends, Master Granger," Torrance sputtered, obviously quite surprised that she could be so cold.

"Had they asked me? Had I had a chance to maybe look through things first? Maybe. Maybe I would have given them the property to build on. But they didn't bother to tell me about it. Instead, they seized that property and denied me any ability to make my own choices. Then they destroyed a home to get petty revenge against a dead man. Apparently, I left my friends behind when they died during the war. I don't even know them now."

Hermione's jaw ached from clenching her teeth. "And I want their names removed from any and all documents pertaining to my death at once. If anything should happen to me, it will fall to my Power of Attorney, Master Sanguini, to settle my affairs."

"Of course, Lady Dragontongue," the goblins agreed immediately.

"Master Ironfang, my thanks for your indulgence and duty."

The elder goblin grunted. "You are most welcome."

"Fortius Quo Fidelius," Hermione said with a bow of her head.

"Fortius Quo Fidelius," the goblins all replied together.

"Your wand, my Lady," a goblin said.

Hermione could practically hear the Ministry representative's jaw drop to the table as she passed her wand to the goblin without hesitation.

The goblin took it and carried it over to a receptacle on the wall. A glass tube closed over it and magic flashed, and the goblin took the wand and brought it back. "Your wand, my Lady," the goblin said, tapping the table. He tapped the table to alert her, and Hermione opened her hand. He placed the wand into it, closing her fingers over it with his gnarled hand.

"Thank you," she thanked him.

"You are welcome, and the requested adjustments to your account have all been made."

Browl, Snape said as he thumped his head against her lap.

Hermione sighed and mused over whether it would be worth it to allow Sanguini to Turn her just so she could have the pleasure of tearing out Harry's throat legally for having the nerve to take what was rightfully hers.

Ginny came by with a parcel of food from Molly the next weekend, and the witch was torn between who to kick between the legs first, her husband or her brother.

Ronald, of course, was still missing in action, but Harry had apparently built himself an enormous wall aquarium and began obsessing over fish-keeping. At least until the other Aurors came with some Ministry officials as they tore apart their home looking for evidence of malfeasance.

Ginny had been absolutely livid, screaming at them to get out— at least until they found the actual documents that were signed to give the house on Spinner's End in Cokeworth to her brother.

The trials after the war had made it clear that it had been Snape's personal residence.

Molly and Arthur had been under the impression that Harry had purchased the property to preserve it in the hopes of perhaps finding something to connect to his late mother. They, like Ginny, had no idea that was where Ron was now living. They had all assumed he found a flat with his Order of Merlin stipend and was using it as a bachelor's pad— somewhere closer to work.

Molly, completely mortified that not only her son but her son-in-law had taken such liberties with not only Snape's last wishes but Hermione's life (even without the entire ancient artefact fused to her chest debacle) ended up in a bout of angry cooking. Ginny always said the angry cooking produced more food than even the entire Ministry could eat over the course of a week, and when Hermione heard Ginny packing it all into her fridge and freezer, she was inclined to believe her.

Snape seemed rather unsure about what to make of the youngest female Weasely, not that Hermione could blame him. Ginny was a true force of nature when riled up, and when Hurricane Ginevra hit the shores, it usually resulted in a whirlwind of upheaval for anyone caught in her wind.

The large and meaty shank of beef, however, won Snape over if the sound of his crunching was any indicator combined with the enthusiastic thumps of his tails against the side of the chesterfield.

That poor old chesterfield had seen a lot of love and abuse over the years, but Hermione couldn't help but love the thing.

As for Ginny, she was glad that at least some of the Weasleys hadn't lost their minds trying to bury her in bad press. Apparently Molly and Arthur believed that Ron had fled the country for some reason, as his vaults had apparently been emptied save for the last pay deposit that had occurred after he disappeared.

Harry, on the other hand, could only babble helplessly about fish, and Hermione wondered if maybe her old master had rolled his mind a little too effectively.

Not that she was complaining, really.

Restitution was coming out of Harry's vaults since Ron's were empty, and the remains of his stipend from the Order of Merlin was being funnelled back into her account at Gringotts. The items that had been sold were being taken back, and in some cases such people were arrested for other shady dealings discovered during the location of said items—

The Ministry was, undoubtedly, quite busy indeed.

And backpedaling.

And swearing up and down that they hadn't known.

And doing their level best to officially look less like the biggest flatulent arsehole of the whole wide Magical World.

Even if most people seemed to think otherwise—

But Ginny came round to visit more often, having far less relationship maintenance to do with Harry now that Harry was an inpatient at St Mungos being treated for various inexplicable fish-related compulsions. Ginny had sold off all the aquariums and fish to a collector in Wales who fell in love with the "positively smashing Dante's Inferno inspired decor". Ginny was seriously considering going back into sportscasting for Quidditch, and Hermione had to admit her friend was showing a lot more spunk now at the thought of having her own job again.

Sometimes, Ginny would visit when Sanguini was around, and Hermione would amuse herself listening to the red-head sputter incoherently at the Italian vampire's, well, vampireness.

Hermione knew from experience that the eerie way vampires seemed to be still as the dead was unnerving to most, their eyes missing very little, and their feral quality demonstrating a bit of the wild side that one could not quite place unless they had experience in being stalked by an apex predator. Sanguini seemed to enjoy toying with her, too, which made Ginny practically fall to pieces as Hermione listened with great amusement.

Snape seemed to enjoy the free entertainment as well, his tails thumping rapidly in approval of Sanguini playing with his— food.

She had no doubt whatsoever that Ginny would probably bare her neck right then and there for Sanguini if he truly wanted her, but the vampire seemed to enjoy making her squirm with desire and unrequited lust more than desiring an actual feed.

Hermione had asked him after Ginny had (very flustered and probably still aroused) left for the night why he had never done such craziness with her.

"I have too much respect for you, child," he had replied. "If I were to inspire such feelings in you, I would want them to be real, not a mere game."

She knew it wasn't an insult to be called a child by a vampire as old as Sanguini. Anyone younger than him was a child, and he was most certainly older than most mortals knew. As an experienced dream walker, it put him at the very least over five-hundred, and the experienced part guaranteed a few hundred more on top of that. In a way, she knew it was a compliment because it meant he would protect her fiercely from all comers.

Besides with Snape, she felt safe with Sanguini, and after having been deceived and cheated by her two best friends, well— that was really saying something.

And smooshed between Sanguini and Snape on the old chesterfield as she listened and they watched the telly with her— old vintage movies being a much-cherished treat for her—she couldn't help but feel like it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have for life.

Neither of them seemed to complain when she fell asleep on them, either.

It seemed like the kind of life she wanted to keep.

It was the kind of life she wanted Severus Snape's spirit to have, wherever it was, and she resolved to dig more into the research that could possibly help him. She just hoped that Harry and Ron hadn't done something utterly stupid and burned anything from Snape's belongings.

Hermione awoke one morning to find that Armageddon had hit her front garden. She couldn't see it, but she could certainly smell it, and poor Snape took about an hour just to guide her to the front gate to collect the post. She sat down on the wrought iron bench outside her yard and wondered what could have possibly brought the cataclysm to her humble home.

Snape whined, tugging on the harness, obviously attracted by something. Hoping she wasn't going to end up with a shipwreck pulled into her garden, she released his harness.

Snape promptly tore off after something at the approximate speed of Ron attacking a heaping pile of sandwiches, leaving her sitting alone in the sun. She smiled at his obvious excitement, shaking her head, happy to hear him having a good time doing what most dogs did whenever they weren't working.

She did feel sorry for whatever the dog caught, though—

Hopefully it was a garden gnome and not a litter of baby rabbits. As terrible as it was to say, gnomes had no predators save for Jarveys, and she hadn't seen one of those in the area when she was looking around for a place to settle down. Gnomes were like out of control rodents, only instead of getting into your grain stores, they covered your garden in holes and laughed as you broke your ankles. They killed off the native flora and fauna, often living rather grisly visuals on spikes in the yard to cause children to cry and the fuming land owners to consider Fiendfyre as a possible solution.

It was starting to make sense to her just why Grimm's Fairy Tales were so downright morbid and horrifying.

Hermione had tried hard to find some redeeming quality about them, but she was starting to realise they were an invasive species that had spread far beyond a point where native predators could keep up. That had partially been the fault of thoughtless humans for driving out the Jarveys and other larger and hungrier predators.

Then again, no Wizarding family wanted their babies to be eaten by magical predators.

Hermione sighed. If anything, working as an advocate for all beings from house-elves to vampires, she'd learned that humans had a real knack for pushing out or using species that had been around long before themselves.

Hermione heard Snape shake something vigorously and then drop it. The rapid patter of canine paws signalled that he wasn't quite done playing, and then Hermione chuckled as he dashed off yet again.

She savoured the warmth of the sun on her face and wondered what it would be like to have to live her life in the shade. Though, she thought, she enjoyed the kiss of the night's chill on her skin as much as the warmth of the sun. Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn't be so bad in the right company.

Whuffft.

Snape's warm breath hit her face as he snuffled her. His breath smelled like charcoal burning in a Muggle grill, and she wondered what on earth he'd been chewing on. She pet him fondly, tolerating his affectionate licks.

"What were you chasing around, pet?" Hermione asked.

Rrrrrf, Snape replied, his tails thumping happily on the ground.

"You better not have gas tonight," Hermione warned him. "You'll lose your cuddle privileges."

Snape whined, making soft sounds of entreaty.

"I draw the line at hellfarts," Hermione said firmly.

Hermione was suddenly glad she couldn't see because she was sure he was giving her the best puppy dog eyes on the planet.

She put the harness back on Snape and allowed him to guide her back through the minefield that was her front garden. "I'm going to have to hire a landscaper. I can't even see the yard to know how bad it is, but I feel like it's in a horrible state."

Snape whined softly.

Hermione stopped walking and looked to where she thought Snape was. "Did you happen to have a fight in my front garden last night?"

Snape whined again.

"Whatever could you have been fighting that required my front garden to be the apocalypse now?"

As if to accentuate her question, a bit of rubble fell off another piece of rubble, causing a plume of dust and shower of debris to billow upwards into a distinct skull shape.

Snape whined and hung his head in shame.

Hermione frowned. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm actually very glad I can't see the current state of my formerly beautiful front garden?"

Snape guided her back into the house, his tails drooping and head hanging low.

That night, in the wee hours of morning, one hell-fiend leapt out the open window, bounded about a kilometer to the nearest neighbours' yard, and passed a prodigious amount of gas. He bounded back toward the house, leapt back in through the window, and rejoined his mistress in the comfort of the bed.

The next morning, Hermione slept in, blissfully unconscious, never hearing the impotent screams of her neighbour upon discovering that his prize rose bushes had mysteriously given up the ghost and died, seemingly overnight.

A certain noxious fume expelling hell-fiend pinned his ears back and snuggled closer to Hermione, his tails wrapping around her body either protectively or for his own comfort.

Only Snape knew for sure, and he wasn't exactly talking.

Hermione was starting to feel like something very odd was going on with her poor, abused garden. Maybe it was the lack of songbirds, or maybe it was the lack of peaceful tranquility that she remembered from before. Or, maybe it was because she could at least walk through it before without a service dog…

Well, whatever he was.

Service hellfiend just didn't have a proper ring to it, no matter what Sanguini claimed.

Judging by Sanguini's reaction to the woeful state of her garden, it apparently looked like someone's attempt to turn it into the set for a Mars movie— or an epic battleground.

Or both.

"The bodies of gnomes on spikes like something from Vlad the Impaler's time is a nice touch," Sanguini said with a sniff. "If your wish is to discourage any would-be visitors via sheer intimidation factor."

Hermione frowned. "I don't even have visitors, really." Hermione shrugged. "The only ones that do— well, two of them are rather occupied at the moment, one came by anyway regardless of what my lawn looked like, and the other— well, I don't think I could get rid of Ginny even if I wanted to."

"She is a very strong-willed friend as friends go," Sanguini said after a while. "Alas, she is also a very young soul, and sometimes I feel I must take her over my knee. "

Hermione snort-laughed, almost spilling her tea. "I can't even imagine that without laughing, and that makes me feel horrible."

"Horribly amused, perhaps," Sanguini said with a voice that smiled for him.

Hermione sniffed, but she leaned into him with a content smile. "So, exactly how bad is my garden?"

"It could definitely use some landscaping," Sanguini observed, clucking his tongue. "I could assist."

Hermione pondered if Snape was all about destruction and Sanguini was creation and between the two of them they would cancel each other out. "No cupid fountains, Master, I beg you."

Sanguini smiled mischievously. "Of course, pet."

Hermione had a feeling that it would be far worse than cupid fountains—

"Must you battle gods and demons at our mutual friend's door?" Sanguini asked dryly as he leaned up against the door frame.

Snape dropped the leg of something that had clearly once been massive and intimidating— not so much after being unceremoniously de-legged.

Snape wagged his tails.

"That might work in some circles, my large furry fiend, but some of us know better." Sanguini shrugged. "Don't be bringing that dreadful thing inside. She just cleaned the floor."

Snape looked to the side a bit fishily.

Sanguini pointed to the ravine well outside the yard. "Go bury that somewhere else, not in here. Hermione deserves to have a place to sleep that doesn't involve sleeping on top of the mouldering corpses of the recently vanquished."

Snape wrapped his jaws around the limb and carried it off somewhat dejectedly.

Sanguini sighed as the sound of frantic digging came from some distance away. "Dogs. Regular dogs. Demon dogs. Spirit dogs. Vampire dogs. They're all the same."

Snape trotted back looking pretty smug.

"Wipe your feet," Sanguini said.

Snape wiped his paws on the welcome mat and bounded in.

"Aw, there you are, Snape," Hermione laughed, hugging the hellfiend with her affectionate warmth.

"You going to come inside and watch the movie with us, Mihail?"

"Wouldn't miss it, love," Sanguini said as he closed the door and joined her on the chesterfield. "What are we watching tonight?"

"Vertigo."

"Ahhhh, Hitchcock," Sanguini tutted. "Classic film."

He picked up a remote and turned on the telly.

Within moments, Hermione was tucked into his side with a bowl of buttered popcorn as Snape nestled snugly against her in a perfectly mundane image of domestic tranquility— quite oblivious to the random demons pinging off the outer gates of the property as they tried in vain to come closer.

Snape's tails thumped against the chesterfield in approval, though as to what he was actually approving of remained to be seen.

"I don't think I can do it," Hermione said softly, shoving the parchments away from her with a sigh.

Snape startled from where he had been snoozing at her feet.

"I cannot condemn a person to death just because he never knew someone who could care enough for him to make living worthwhile, let alone desirable" Hermione argued with herself. She cancelled the reading spell she had cast over the parchments and books and slowly felt her way to her bedroom.

Days had passed into months, and her constant research into how to release Severus Snape from his cursed existence (wherever he was) still remained utterly grim. Whatever Lily had done to him, the intent was a greater part of it along with the strength of emotion, and those were two combinations she well knew could cause just about anything for kids with accidental magic, let alone a person who was on the cusp of adulthood—

She had her nightgown on in a matter of seconds, and she crawled under the covers with a weary sigh. Snape jumped up and joined her, snuggling into her. She wrapped her arm around his warmth and nuzzled into his fur.

She felt a sudden wave of melancholy. "Do you think he would have even given me the time of day?" she asked Snape with a heavy sadness. "I wonder what it would be like to be in love. To be loved. Who am I to judge someone who did so much for the world and only asked one thing— to be allowed to die? But I'm too selfish. When I think of someone I want to spend time with, I would want it to be him, and I never even knew him that well. Did any of us?"

She burrowed even deeper into her pillow.

"I am a fool," she told Snape. "A dreaming, selfish fool."

Snape whined and licked her face.

"I hate her, you know?" Hermione said into the pillow. "Harry's mum, Lily. She had friendship and utter brilliance right there and she couldn't even see what a gift it was, just because it didn't shine like something well polished and radiant"

Hermione huffed. "No better than Harry or Ron, I suppose. Sometimes you do so much to try and maintain a relationship, but those you are trying to help never see it. They didn't even know I was a girl for the longest time."

Hermione sniffed. "I wonder what it would have been like to have a friend who would read with me. Debate me. Challenge me but not just in some blind thing like what sports team would win. Would they have liked watching old movies with Mihail and me? Encouraged me to finish my mastery? Been happy for me?"

Hermione's murmurs went silent as she fell asleep, and Snape felt her arms wrap around his body, fur, horns, and whatever else. His tails wrapped around her protectively as he joined her in slumber.

Hermione woke to the sound of breaking things in the front yard and a lot of ferocious growling. It directly contrasted to the lovely dream she'd had having a rather deep conversation with Severus Snape the human, and her brain was having a problem reconciling the two things into full consciousness.

She felt her way along to the door, hallway, and front door, opening the latch to get a feel on what was going on.

Alas, being blind did make that sort of evaluation a bit more difficult.

"Why do you fight so ferociously, dog?" a low voice boomed. "We wish to court her as you have courted her, and you have spent so much time monopolizing her favour and keeping us from what is both our and her right to choose."

She could hear Snape growling menacingly.

She grabbed her white cane, moving it across the ground, and everywhere she went there were pot holes and divots torn in the ground.

As she swept her cane back and forth to make her way forward, the cane touched something.

There was a heated blast of movement and a burning sensation even as her cane went flying—

Hermione went crashing backwards, her body's agony cut short as her head hit something hard.

The sound of sharp yelp followed by an inhumanly deep snarl came from all around.

"Idiot hound," the voice growled. "You call this protection? She cannot even rely on you to keep her safe."

She heard whining as the other voice boomed, "Begone, dog. You've done enough. I am no longer feeling magnanimous to tolerate your posturing."

And then, all the sound faded out, and the blackness of Oblivion swallowed her whole.

Hermione woke to a pounding headache.

"Do not move too quickly," a voice warned. "You injured your head in a fall."

Feeling that moving quickly wasn't even an option, she slowly sat up and peered in the direction the voice had come from.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are," Hermione said, rubbing her head.

"I am Raka'ku'santi, Summoner," the voice rumbled a reply. "I am here to petition for your time to consider me for your Bind."

Hermione was silent. "My— Bind?"

"None had been able to get past the hound," the voice rumbled. "He has been defending you mercilessly."

"Yet, here you are," Hermione said.

"He hurt you," Raka'ku'santi said. "To wound your Summoner is a great disgrace. It is within your right to banish him."

"He hurt me?" Hermione frowned "I don't think he meant to."

"Meaning to is irrelevant," Raka'ku'santi said. "We must always be aware of where our Summoner is."

"For someone like me, I can understand being swept up in the moment. If he was protecting me from one as powerful as you appear to be, Raka'ku'santi, then he was probably wound very tightly."

"You are just as they say you are, Hermione," the demon rumbled. "Fair and considerate. But, now that I am here, will you deny me my chance to earn your favour?"

"I do not know the rules, Raka'ku'santi," Hermione said. "I do not wish to offend, but I am unsure of my own rights in this."

"You are within your rights to find me lacking and banish me from your side, Hermione," Raka'ku'santi said. "But, I would ask that you actually find me lacking before you do so."

Hermione closed her eyes habitually. "That would be fair. Might I ask you please not punish Snape for his misjudgement?"

The demon propped her up with his arm. "He is doing that to himself effectively enough, I believe," he replied. "But you have my word to not seek harm for him unless he seeks to cause harm to me."

"That is fair," Hermione said. "Where is Snape?"

"I believe he's currently chewing the head off an unfortunate rodent in an attempt to feel useful."

Hermione frowned. Then she clicked her tongue.

Warm, wet, wiggle-nuzzle-tentacle-slurps with a dash of char-breath promptly met her face as Snape tried his very best to merge with her lap.

"That had best not be charred rat breath you just slurped me with," Hermione told him, clearly suspicious.

Snape whined, exposing his belly and throat in supplication.

"Do you want the truth?" Raka'ku'santi asked.

Hermione sighed as she pet Snape's ears. "Not really. Is my face covered in bits of charred rat?"

"Do you wish it to be?"

"No, not really."

"Humans have such odd quibbles," Raka'ku'santi said. "Allow me to assist you."

Hermione thought a while. "Okay."

The demon was surprisingly gentle, and he worked over her face with a warm damp cloth.

Hermione's curiosity was piqued again. "May I touch you?"

"You may touch me anytime you wish," Raka'ku'santi rumbled.

Hermione flushed at the tone of his voice, but she reached out to explore the demon's features.

His features were quite alien to her mind's eye, and she gently explored the ridges and contours of his bestial muzzle, eye ridges, horns, and mane. His hot breath was strangely calming, and the feel of him so much larger than life made her life seem more real.

While magic had been an almost natural adjustment, even for a daughter of dentists, seeing magical creatures hadn't really held the same sense of alien wonder for her as Raka'ku'santi's rather obvious differences. Flying horses, dragons, and three-headed dogs were all over the Muggle stories despite the common belief that they were only make-believe.

Demons, however, had so many conflicting stories and myths, rooted both in and out of religions as well as cultural differences.

But, what Raka'ku'santi felt like both to her magic and her touch—

It felt like something completely outside the boundaries of what those who would summon a demon for power would attempt to harness, and yet that alienness strangely felt comforting and natural.

He nuzzled her, and the feel of his muzzle against her cheek and neck caused her eyes to flutter.

She wobbled.

"You feel it, don't you? The draw. The pull," Raka'ku'santi said. "That is what we feel and must answer. That need for completion."

"Do you all feel like that?" Hermione asked, her voice a whisper.

"No," he replied. "There are those whom you would find repugnant. Just as you would find those people amongst your kind that are not compatible."

"So— those that are trying to make their way here—?" Hermione asked.

"They are more— compatible, yes."

She nestled into the crook of his arm even as Snape lay his head in her lap. "When you aren't trying to murder each other, I find your presenses comforting. That probably makes me a horrible example of humanity."

The demon huffed, sending tendrils of dark vapour out from his nostrils. "It is why you are you and not them," he rumbled.

Hermione was silent, pondering. "What is it you do, Raka'ku'santi? What is your specialty?"

"I am not a Lord with a domain and innumerable supplicants and syphocants," he said. "Under contracts, I have provided one service or desire, bound by whatever rules govern the belief system used to summon. Though, if I were to pick a favoured area, I suppose I would be a demon of retribution, as it seems most of those who summon me wish for that. To ask for more would require more sacrifice on their part."

"And, what will I have to sacrifice if there is a bond between us?" Hermione asked.

"There is no sacrifice save, perhaps, making space for me in your life, my dear. What we would have is a partnership. What they want is for me to do as they command— to the letter. The biggest boon for me would be that I could exist here with you on this plane of existence without the limits I would have otherwise. The biggest for you would be the same, and very few of my kind find it," he said, pausing as he scratched his skin with his claws, "worth the effort to fight another demon just to get to you. The exception would be if someone contracted them to do so, and then I would be obligated to tear them to shreds. Mind— it would be no obligation to protect one such as you, Hermione. It would be an honour and pleasure."

"You hardly know me," Hermione said.

"I know more than you would think, Hermione," the demon said. "We read people very well and very quickly. It is something we have to do in our—" He chuckled. "Line of work."

"Would you lie to me?"

"Never."

Raka'ku'santi chuckled. "I know it is hard to believe with so many stories of my kind, Hermione. But you know my Name, and I would not lie to a Summoner. Even the contractors must know the terms of the deal. We do not lie to them, but they often forget to ask the right question, which we do not correct, usually. Since I am courting you to keep me in your favour, to lie to you would be equally damning. The Bond requires truth and mutual agreement. To build it on a lie would void the Bond and call me out, so to speak. We must be compatible for both our sakes. Better to know than live a powerless lie."

Hermione explored Raka'ku'santi's fascinating skin texture with her fingers. "I look forward to getting to know you then, Raka'ku'santi."

"And I you, Hermione."

Snape whined and licked her hand.

"I hope you like dogs."

Raka'ku'santi chuckled. "We have reached a mutual understanding."

"Oh? What is that?"

"You are more important than our fight."

Hermione's face wrinkled. "I suppose that works. But, is it too much to ask for you both to fix my poor garden which you have mutually destroyed for a second or perhaps third time. I've lost track."

"As you wish."

Snape whined, licking Hermione's hand more frantically.

"Do I need to be specific, or will my request result in a garden hellscape complete with the screams of the damned?"

Raka'ku'santi's chuckle seemed to come from everywhere, deep and earthy. "No, Summoner. I know what you want."

"That's slightly creepy."

"You will get used to it. What is the use of having a demon if that demon is an idiot?"

Hermione sputtered. "You make a fair observation."

Raka'ku'santi stood, and Hermione found the absence of his warmth like a void.

"Come, hound," the demon said. "Let us fix our warring state of the yard so our mistress can enjoy it again."

Snape gave Hermione apologitory licks before slinking off the chesterfield to assist Raka'ku'santi in the garden.

Hermione couldn't help but think her life was never going to be normal the way she remembered it, and she was equally unsure if she ever wanted it to be.

"The garden is very shady, Hermione," Sanguini said as they sat together during the day.

"I hope you like it. I will admit, I could only feel the bigger things, but at least I can get to the post without tripping."

"I will admit, most people who desire a garden do not consider vampire comfort."

"I'm hardly oblivious to vampires in my life, Mihail," Hermione muttered.

"No, child, I know," Sanguini said with a chuckle. "Raka'ku'santi tells me that there have been a few fracas out here since his arrival, but Snape and he have teamed up to defend your patch."

Hermione shook her head. "I am hardly used to being fought over," she confessed. "Or taken care of," she said. "Between you, Snape, and Raka'ku'santi, I feel like a queen."

"You are a queen, my dear," Sanguini said. "But you do not need sovereignty and arrogance to be so. You are worth defending because you are you. You are worth being taken care of for the very same reasons. That your once best friends could not see this is but a disgust to those of us who know better."

Hermione leaned into him, and Sanguini wrapped a protective arm around her. She pressed her face into his neck, taking in the scent of him. He smelled of ancient places and deep earth with a hint of citrus. It pleased her. His growl she was used to, and it sent a shiver down her spine but not in a bad way. He nuzzled her neck and cheek, lips parted as a soft hiss escaped. She yielded to his tender licks even as his fangs lengthened and very lightly dragged across her skin.

"You needn't think of yourself as being unloved, Hermione," he whispered against her skin. "While I can be forced to file what we have as only a friendship, I would be lying to you if I said I did not dream of more."

His low growl reverberated against her skin. "I would even time-share with the dog and your daemonic butler if they became a permanent fixture in your life."

Hermione's fingers explored his face and hair, the tips of her fingers touching the flat line of his lips and gently touching his fangs. "You really know how to sweet talk a witch."

"That's why I'm the ambassador," he purred, his voice heavy with desire.

"I'm sure there are rules against being in an intimate long-term relationship with the ambassador," Hermione said, a sadness in her eyes as she seemed to look at him and through him.

His voice tickled her ear. "Not if that person is my mate," he said, his fingers pressed against the back of her neck as his claws ever so gently touched her skin.

"You truly wouldn't mind that I come with a hellfiend and a greater demon masquerading as my butler?"

"Hermione," Sanguini said as he brushed his thumb against her cheek. "You would keep both me and the entire Council on their toes. Life would never be dull, and that is saying something from one like me who has seen so very many lives come and go."

"I still need to find Professor Snape," Hermione said softly. "And release him from his curse."

"We can work on it together, pet," Sanguini said. "He was a very brave man caught between two worlds, and while he did not trust anyone, let alone me, I had the utmost respect for the man."

"You would do that?"

"For you and for him, my dear," Sanguini said. "He deserves to find peace after all he has done. He may not have done it for fame, but that does not make a lifetime of suffering any less significant."

His breath tickled her cheek, and she reached to cup his head between her palms, her fingers weaving into his hair. His head dipped to allow his mouth to cover hers, and she felt a surge of pleasure travel from head-to-toe as the kiss deepened with promise and heat.

The crack of someone suddenly Apparating in caused Hermione to sit up straight, rigid as a board, and Sanguini snarled in annoyance. Snape barked furiously as Raka'ku'santi walked up to the gate, his footsteps clacking against the stone path.

"Mrs Potter is here to see you, ma'am," Raka said with a deep rumble.

Hermione gave Sanguini a moment to gather his instincts before replying. "I'll be there in just a moment."

She bent her neck to him, allowing him to press his face into it, even as she felt his fangs moving against her skin as they retracted. He took a few steadying, grounding breaths to shove his nature back into the controls that would keep him from murdering one of Hermione's last remaining human friends in cold territorial blood.

His hand wove into her hair as he placed a chaste kiss upon her temple. "Thank you."

He stood, cracking his neck as the mask of the very polite vampire ambassador snapped into place.

Hermione took out her white cane and walked toward the gate, sweeping it back and forth in front of her to find her way. Snape shoved his head under her hand, harness jingling. She grasped it gratefully, allowing him to guide her the rest of the way.

"Hermione! When did you get a butler! How did you— whoa, what in Merlin's name happened to your garden? Hey, let me in, you big lug!"

Raka had his finger pressed to Ginny's forehead, effectively pinning the bewildered redhead in place. His eyes glowed red as his gaze raked over her. "Do you wish her to be permitted entry, my Lady?"

"No." Hermione's lips twitched as Ginny screeched. "But she is allowed in regardless."

"As you wish," Raka said, releasing Ginevra from her frozen struggle in vain. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. I was not expecting any other guests. Please excuse the delay."

"It's fine, Raka, thank you."

"Hermione!" Ginny protested as she ran up to her giving her a hug.

Hermione was startled at the lack of warning, but she mechanically gave the witch a return hug. Ginny was always so boisterous, and for someone who was carefully listening to small noises to navigate her way through the darkness, Ginny Weasley was the loudest of sirens.

"Hermione! I found something I think might help you release Snape's spirit from his curse!"

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. "What?"

"Are you certain that you did not read any of this out loud?" Sanguini asked Ginny as they sat around the dinner table.

"No, I didn't!" Ginny swore. "Well, maybe a few words until I realised they weren't in any language I knew!"

Sanguini cursed fluently in a language Hermione knew wasn't spoken anymore, and cringed.

"What is it, Master?"

"It is a journal, child," Sanguini replied after he was done spewing creative vitriol. "And essentially a recipe book for damnation."

"What?" Hermione gasped, her hand pausing as she was petting Snape on the head. He nuzzled her hand and encouraged more petting.

"It is a roadmap to successfully binding a demon to your service for the purpose of one wish," Raka'ku'santi said with a rumble. "Fear not, Hermione, the human witch thinks I am humming to myself."

Hermione frowned.

"Wishes are a dangerous type of summons," Raka said with a growl. "Depending on the wish, if it requires changing what is to something else or creating what was not, then the demon requires an innocent soul to power that wish. Hence the legends that demons barter for souls— but it is rather more than that. A human soul is mutable. It can be light or dark depending on the inclinations of its owner. It can be transformed, and the energy is capable of powering a spell through a lifetime. Such as a wish for—" Raka'ku'santi looked at Hermione meaningfully. "Love."

The elder demon licked his teeth, the sound distinctive to Hermione's ears. "Only the strongest demons meddle with love because even the smallest error breaks the contract and the demon is left without the power of the exchange, the soul, or the terms of obtaining the reward stated in the contract . It would be like selling a lemon as the mortals put it."

Sanguini's skin seemed to grow even paler as he tapped the journal with a finger. "I believe that Mr Potter's mother wanted to obtain someone's love and perhaps whatever influence that would beget her— so much so that she was willing to barter with demons. Only, like most summoners who do it for all the self-serving reasons, she did not wish to give up her own soul to power the demon's spell. She gave the demon Snape's soul instead, as a condition upon his eventual death— marking his soul with her spell and her fake curse. So, when he died, he would no longer be around to complain to her, and she would get her wish for undying love for her long life. Or so she believed."

"That's horrible!" Ginny cried. "How could anyone do that to someone else?"

Hermione's lips pressed into a line. "I doubt she was thinking of who it would hurt, Ginny. From what I understand of typical summoning for power or a boon, it is quite different from rational."

"What language is that?" Ginny asked.

"It is a cipher," Sanguini said. "A fairly basic one that an experienced person who knows cipher would know almost immediately, but to the uninitiated would seem like gibberish or a language that they didn't know. It was probably done with a spell like one would use to hide the contents of a diary from casual prying eyes. Quite clever against less determined interpreters. The problem is, and why I must know for sure if you read any of it, Mrs Potter, is ciphered spells of this nature still hold power in the intent of the magic recorded if said out loud. The magic is insidious and formal, but it is also unlike typical magic that requires perfect intonation and intent."

Ginny shook her head adamantly. "Only a few words at the beginning after the name 'Lily Evans'. I saw the name and realised maybe there could be something in there that could help Hermione's project trying to save Professor Snape."

Sanguini sighed with relief. "You are most fortunate. The spells are not listed until a few pages in."

Ginny wrung her hands, a habit that she had picked up from her mother.

"Does it help us free Professor Snape from the curse?" Hermione asked.

"Give me a few days to read this and translate it, child, and we can go from there. We do not want any misunderstandings of what this Lily Evans has done. Any stumble could cause problems for us releasing Snape from curse, and when demons are involved— we want far less problems not more."

"Hermione," Raka'ku'santi rumbled. "There is one thing you may have to do soon if another demon is involved."

Hermione turned to face the elder demon, her brows furrowing.

"Please consider a formal bind between us, lest whatever demon comes to barter with you over your old teacher, wish your soul in return. Since this was an old bargain made between them and a contractor, they could threaten you, and those of us who would wish to fight for you could not do so without the bind. The bind both merges the soul and protects it from being contractually stolen. You cannot steal what is already bound."

Ginny said, "Does your butler always hum to himself?"

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

"How would this work, Raka'ku'santi?"

"To make the bind it must be mutual. It is strange that we will be technically sharing you because you do not wish to choose between us. While this is not against the rules, it is— rather unique of you. Most summoners want power only, but you care for us and you do not mind us caring for you." Raka touched her knuckles with his talons, brushing the pads of his fingers against her.

"But to include the vampire within our protections requires a bond between you both as well, or rather completion of the bond you already have," Raku said. "I do not say this to pressure you, but you must know the risks that should he not be protected, the demon that comes to answer the challenge of releasing that soul will—"

"Take me out," Sanguini said, "with all due prejudice, to weaken you."

"You have been living for some time now with uncompleted bonds between all of us, Hermione," Raka'ku'santi said. "While this was fine for our courtship of sorts, to bring another demon here to fight them requires different rules. Once bound, a threat to you is a threat to me, and I can do everything I wish to protect us in the heat of battle."

"How do I know if Snape wishes to Bind with me?" Hermione asked. "He has not spoken to me."

"He is devoted to you, Hermione," Raka'ku'santi said with a chuckle. "He would not be here defending you against all comers including me if this were not so. It was his choice all along or he would not have come at all."

Snape's head was in her lap and he was licking her hands as if to tell her the same.

Hermione smiled, her expression softening. "Forever is a long time to consider. Perhaps not so much for those of you that measure time so differently, but I feel I must ask you all if you are sure this Bind is what you want. My feelings are genuine, but I am— I have always been against relationships that are of duty or enslavement rather than actual desire."

"I have thought of forever between us a long time, Hermione," Sanguini said. "It is but a formality if my feelings are returned."

Hermione felt a rush of warmth with his confession, and she had to admit that thinking of a life without Mihail in it seemed bleak and lonely. With that realisation, she also felt the truth settle in her stomach that it would be equally lonely without Snape and Raka'ku'santi.

They had become her normal.

Trusted.

Comforting.

Even needed.

Snape licked her face, and she felt a few tentacles wriggle against her cheek to add their own commentary.

"Believe me when I tell you that even if I were to find a mate amongst my kind, it would pale in comparison to what I feel for you. You will always be the first who ever felt genuine care for my well-being. Not for power. Not for contract. Not for manipulation. You wish for an equal and a friend, and I would gladly be so until the very universe burns. That can never be stolen from us."

Wuff, Snape agreed.

Hermione cradled Snape's head between her palms. "I wonder if you are one of those hellfiends who gain the power to shapeshift once the bond is made.

Snape's tails wagged.

"What would Ginny say to a shape-shifting talking 'dog'?" Hermione mused.

"She'd probably be jealous," Sanguini said. "In her mind, you seem to get the best toys. She might change her mind once she realised the dog was a hellfiend, however. Most people do not react well to that."

Hermione placed a kiss on top of Snape's head between the ears. "I think he's lovely."

"And you wonder why we would swear our fealty for all time," Raka'ku'santi mused. "It is not so hard to believe when you can accept us as we are."

"I haven't always been so accepting," Hermione confessed. "There were those like Luna that seemed so different even to me, and I was not always kind."

"Yet you grew from the experiences you've had. You have matured," Sanguini said. "Accepted things you could not or would not when you were younger. Think of all the things you see now without sight. What would your younger self say to such epiphanies?"

Hermione chuckled. "Probably run screaming."

"See? Improvement," Sanguini teased. "Hermione, you know we do not Turn the young. There are some ancient vampires that were turned on the edge— what we would consider children now but not then. Back then, you grew up fast or you died. Today— it is a luxury to be given the time to mature at the rate physiology demands. You have been there many things in a very short time. You have matured beyond your age, and your age has not always been as young as your peers. We— vampires that is— have a sense of true mental maturity after a time. It is why Turning a child is such a crime. One, they will never be able to travel alone without a guise or servant. Two, they can never be stable because they have never known stability of the mind. No matter how talented or powerful they might be, control will never be possible. They are frozen in that place between child and adult forever. Teenagers are a potions experiment teetering on the edge of explosion."

"You were quite mature before your time, but you are most definitely more mature now than you once were," Sanguini said. "Your years deflecting the Council's drama only hastened it. Your dances with the Ministry were an art form in itself. You needn't think yourself so flawed, child. We are all flawed. But your flaws are not what you are. They are simply a piece of a greater whole."

Hermione trembled.

"Draga mea," Sanguini whispered, pulling her hands in his. "What is wrong?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Why is it when you say something so logical it sounds so beautiful?"

Sanguini touched her cheek, brushing it with his thumb. "Mă faci să vreau să fiu o persoană mai bună."

Hermione leaned into his touch. "I accept your bond, Mihail, but I am afraid I will disappoint you."

"Scumpi, you could never disappoint me," Sanguini whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "Your childhood friends, however—"

His lips met hers, and the resulting kiss started out gentle but transformed into something undoubtedly heated. Hermione whimpered when his touch left her skin, and his growls reverberated through her body as she struggled to touch him everywhere. He hoisted her up, causing her to cry out, and he carried her to the bedroom.

The bed tried to suck them both in, and it took a great amount of finesse to undress himself and not lose contact with Hermione's skin. He trailed kisses down her neck and shoulder before capturing her breast in his mouth, his tongue flicking across her nipple.

Hermione cursed, her body arching up against his, and he worshipped her body, tracing every scar with his tongue and lips as he left a trail of invisible fire that ignited her nerves. Hermione moaned, clinging, clawing, running her hands over his body as if trying to map every contour in her head.

His hand trailed down her belly and between her legs, and the moment his slender finger flicked across her clitoris, she cried out, her hips driving upward to slide his fingers deep into her waiting vagina.

Sanguini's eyes bled completely black as his nature surged forward, multiple hungers rising in his body.

"Gods, woman," he groaned into her skin. "I want you."

"Please, Mihail," she whispered. "Please."

Her magic sang across her skin, and it tingled as it met with his touch. His erection stood up proudly, and his normally pale skin was flush pink with blood. He slid into her easily, the combination of delicious friction and lack thereof caused his fangs to lengthen.

He thrust, slowly at first to test her reaction, and her primal, needy growl and grasping at his back told him all he needed to know. Growling, he thrust his hips against her with increasing speed. Hermione's voice was a mixture of groaning and crying, twisting into something nearing a shriek. Her rising pleasure was causing her magic to spike; her hair was writhing around like it was alive. Her body spasmed as she climaxed, and he felt her clamp down on him.

His fangs flashed— burying into her slender neck in the height of their combined passion. Her blood flooded into his mouth, rich with her arousal and oxygen. His arms wrapped around her like the arms of an enamoured octopus, and he felt the bond between them struggling to complete itself.

He bit down on his own tongue, wincing with the instant of pain, and their combined blood flooded his mouth. He pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her, feeding her the unique cocktail that would bind them as mates. His fingers stroked her throat, encouraging her to swallow. The moment she did, he could feel the sublime rush of ecstasy flooding every nerve in his body with the bond's solidification.

He collapsed back on the bed, panting as their bodies seemed to vibrate together.

"Flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin," Sanguini whispered. "My heart and yours shall beat as one in this world and the world unseen. My beloved. My mate."

Raka'ku'santi was there, the looming shadow in the darkest of darks, and he lowered his head to delicately lap at the blood from Hermione's neck— Sanguini and Hermione's combined blood singing with their combined magic.

Raka'ku'santi growled, his eyes glowing, and he stepped aside to allow Snape to lick the wound as well. Snape licked her neck gently, laving the blood away and into his mouth until it slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

Snape jumped up onto the bed and nestled against Hermione, his tails wrapping snugly around her and Sanguini's legs. Raka'ku'santi lay beside Sanguini, turning into a twisting shadow form that slithered across them all, weaving around them until their skin seemed to blacken and absorb the dark tendrils.

The room was suddenly devoured in a black nova until only four sets of deep purple eyes glowed in the Dark and the glowing green amulet that had set itself in Hermione's sternum shattered into millions of tiny particles, peppering their skins with glowing phosphorescent flecks resembling glitter.

Hermione awoke to the sun in her face.

She bolted upright, her hands outstretched.

Sunlight danced between her fingers.

She could see.

She could SEE!

She pinched herself.

No, it wasn't a dream.

An arm grabbed her and pulled her back down, and she felt an immediate rush of contentment—

Until her eyes focused on the vampire-pale and oh-so-painfully-familiar countenance of Severus Snape.

Hermione's mind had a sudden spontaneous potions explosion, and she went careening off a mental cliff screaming "Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

And then she noticed that Severus Snape was quite naked indeed and had an exceedingly attractive and well-built body.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"Draga mea," Sanguini rumbled into her ear as he pulled her closer.

"P-p-professor Snape!" she whispered, her voice barely able to form a coherent word, name, or even syllable.

Sanguini sat up, rubbing his nose as he brushed his hair away from his face. "Oh, there you are, Severus. Thank you for saving us the time and energy required to find you. I may have something in your size, but I rather doubt you would fancy ruffles."

Snape's eyes opened groggily as he took in the first blurred and then a much clearer image of a nude Hermione and an equally nude Sanguini. "Oh gods, now I know I'm in hell."

End of Chapter One

A/N: I swear the characters did what they wanted, and they did not ask me for permission. I apologise to those who are more used to my normal writing which is strictly ss/hg, but Hermione was adamant in this one. I really didn't get a say in the matter.

This story was meant to redeem Sanguini after The Scent of Moonflowers (who was an unmitigated arseface) and I might have done it a little too well. Oops?

Beta Late-Night Love: to Dragon and the Rose for rising from the dead to beta my crazy and DeepShadows2 for cheerleading my total and utter derailment into— whatever the heck this is.

I will be working this weekend, and this entire next week promises to kick my arse at work. (sadness)