Summary: SSHG, AU, Severus Snape never has things easy, and even if he could have something, he has an annoying habit of self-sabotage. What's a headmaster to do when he finds himself falling for Hogwarts' DADA professor?

Beta Love: Dutchgirl01, Dragon and the Rose, DeepShadows2

Hair of the Bat That Bit You

A Short Story by Corvus Draconis

"Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it."

― Ann Landers

To die would have been much easier.

Simpler.

But if he had learned anything at all in his life, Severus Snape knew that nothing was ever simple—at least, not for him.

He could have minded his own business and not been almost mauled by a werewolf in his fifth year, but he hadn't.

He could have held his tongue and not made Lily cast him aside like a rotting carcass, but he hadn't.

He could have never made the mistake of taking a prophecy back to Voldemort, but he hadn't exactly thought that through, either.

He could have grown past his father's dark shadow and not tried to blame his entire Muggle heritage for his pain, but he had, and he'd gone and joined a ruddy cult.

He could have not gone on a sabbatical to some ancient ruin looking for a rare potion ingredient that bloomed once in a century only to be bitten by a sodding bat and had to have both Muggle and magical treatments to ensure he would not foam at the mouth with rabies—but he had.

And now, he found himself utterly fascinated by the one person he should never, ever have even so much looked at, let alone allow himself to evaluate in that way: Master Hermione Granger.

Master of what? many asked.

Master of wrangling several idiot friends who couldn't do their own damned thinking? She'd gained those laurels in her very first year—

Master of impossibly difficult situations thanks to those same impulsive, idiot friends? Check and check.

No, he thought as he sighed to himself. Master Granger was a master of the ancient summoning arts—supposedly because some idiot at the Ministry had pushed her into the midst of an ancient summoning circle and gotten her bonded to something unspeakably horrible.

What that horrible thing was, however, varied according to who was telling the tale. Rita Skeeter had, of course, accused Granger of many, many things from whoring her way through the male population of magical Britain to an obsession with Dark magic, but since it had been a fellow Ministry employee who had cast her into the summoning circle—

They couldn't exactly accuse her of intentionally being thrown into a summoning circle and end up binding herself to a Dark creature, now could they?

No, the irony of ironies, Master Hermione Granger was a Ministry-sanctioned Dark Artist—and no, it didn't mean she created edgy paintings in dark corners while listening to the screams of the future damned.

It also meant that Master Granger was ideally-suited for teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts—a position that no one had really wanted thanks to the well-known jinx on the position. Even with the infamous Rom Tiddle (and people still couldn't bring themselves to say his actual name, so they changed it just enough to make it sound a touch less homicidal megalomaniac) very dead and only so much ash that had been cast to the four winds, people just weren't all that enthused about being the next to take on the Hogwarts' DADA position.

He'd be lying to himself, however, if he said that Granger's aura of Darkness wasn't as alluring as Dark Magic had been to him when he first tasted its unique splendour. It had been the same sort of magnetism that had drawn many to the Dark Lord, once upon a time, but there was something more fascinating about Granger—

She was forbidden fruit—

Potter's loyal sidekick.

He scowled. No, not a sidekick. She was the reason the two feckless bumblers had survived to win. Of that, he had no doubt whatsoever.

The Prophet said the Weasley family had been quick indeed to blackball her from their family the moment she was labelled "tainted," but Severus strongly suspected that the "unnamed" idiot who had pushed her into the middle of an ancient summoning circle had been a certain dunderheaded menace with far more freckles than brain cells.

That particular boy weasel had subsequently swanned off to fuck his brains out across Europe with every single war hero groupie he could stick his (no doubt) undersized cock into—

The string of legal cases that were being filed against him involving paternity spoke volumes and had reached even the sheltered halls of Hogwarts.

Whatever monetary rewards the boy, and Snape refused to call him a man or a wizard, had gained for his part in the war would hardly brush the surface of the trail of gormless ginger sperm he'd spread across the whole of Great Britain and beyond.

"Headmaster," Granger greeted, a respectful nod and brief tug of her lips into less of a scowl.

"Master Granger," he replied, tilting his head. There was a time when he'd thought Granger couldn't be serious outside of studying, always smiling when around her friends, but the adult Granger was—so very outside of what he had expected.

An enchanted, almost silver-hued chain hung around Granger's neck, bearing a strangely shifting amulet that seemed to be both intricately runed and carved. It was hard to look at because it seemed to shift and alter even as you looked at it.

"It's my contract," she explained, her fingertip tapping the amulet. Her fingernail was elongated, rather like a delicate claw, and he noticed that the moment she touched it, her eyelashes fluttered as a shiver went through her body. "The Bind."

Severus himself was not intimately familiar with summoning magic—it was Darker than he had ever delved, formal, intricate, and fraught with demonic landmines that would gladly rip your soul out for even a single word spoken out of line. To address a demon was to court doom for your soul, and even the Dark Lord had stopped short of summoning. Demons, Dark Powers, and Dark Gods were not the kind of things that took well to being used or swindled. The Dark Lord had not been one to admit he couldn't handle a situation on his own. To summon was to admit you couldn't do it on your own, and Voldemort was, above all else, a master manipulator who always made it look like his power was absolute—he had never conceded and he never once admitted fault.

"Please forgive my ignorance in such matters," Severus said. "What is the Bind?"

Hermione's eyes seemed to flicker as if a stream of dark oil was oozing its way across her eyes. "It is the manifestation of my connection to the Elder God who placed His mark upon me that I might be allowed to return to the world while still alive."

Snape startled slightly. "You—"

"There are a number of ways to survive an ancient summoning circle that is inscribed to hold out—like a fence—a far greater, infinitely darker power. An escape clause of sorts, if you were so fortunate as to know it, a swearing of service, a bartering of souls, a payment of agreement, or assimilation." Hermione looked skyward. "There are other more detailed things, but those are the main ones."

"And which one was yours, Master Granger?"

"Assimilate or else die messily being torn apart by the Dark domain," she said gravely. "I was not ready just then to die. I waited a very long time hoping for rescue, but none came. I was on my own."

"And the person who cast you into the circle in the first place?"

"On the condition of my sanctioned bond to the Dark, I am not permitted to reveal the one who did it lest their mistake mars their character and follow them through life."

Snape scoffed. "Any more than Skeeter mars any and all characters she runs across?"

Granger shrugged, and she gave off the aura of having lived through worse.

Severus tilted his head. "I will admit to being curious. Again," he confessed. "What is a sanctioned bond to the Dark—officially?"

Hermione's eyes were black again, the irises giving off a soft, eerie glow. "On parchment, I am an XXXXX creature. A being. But, I also have a wand and magic. I think they knew if they tried to take that away from me, there would be repercussions of their own making. They allowed, however obliviously, an Elder God to awaken, and they cannot put such things back to sleep."

"So they consider you impossible to train or domesticate?" Severus asked, visibly amused.

Hermione's lips twitched into a tight smile. "Indeed."

"How unfortunate for the Weasleys," Snape said, his nose wrinkling.

Hermione snorted. "That ship, as the mariners say, has long ago crashed upon the shore."

"And burned?"

"Most definitely," Hermione said. "If not for several obvious incompatibilities—then certain other reasons."

Snape read between the lines and nodded. "He was and is an idiot," he snorted. "I doubt much has really changed since he was a child. He simply has loftier goals now."

Hermione snorted. "Avoiding child maintenance."

Snape's lips twitched. "Indeed."

"I thought at one point that he was a clumsy and stubborn but well-intentioned friend," she said, a touch of wistfulness in her tone, "but there were a lot of things I was blissfully ignorant of as a student. Things I can only shake my head at now. Sometimes, I miss that ignorance. The child's blindness. Then, I realise that while it was nice to not be fully aware of what was looming out there, it left me woefully unprepared for reality."

Snape was silent, his own ignorance through much of his own life having resulted in certain repercussions that had given him more than enough stress while fighting to atone for his mistakes.

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and Hermione looked up, closing her eyes as a gentle breeze drifted their way from Black Lake. She smiled. "Sometimes you have to lose something to truly appreciate what it was to you."

Severus flinched, his face hardening as he realised that Potter must have shared his memories with her.

"Do not assume that you know anything about me, Master Granger," he growled through gritted teeth.

The easy camaraderie came to a screeching, screaming halt as Granger abruptly stiffened. For the briefest of moments, he could swear that he saw a white flash of teeth. Wickedly sharp, inhuman teeth. Her cloak fluttered noisily around her, yet there was no wind. "Not everything is about you, Headmaster."

Granger pulled her cloak more securely around her, but he could swear that it wrapped itself around her even tighter without her having done so herself.

"Good eve, Headmaster," she said, her voice quite cold.

She walked into the almost tangible dark of the Forbidden Forest and seemed to disappear completely.

Snape's body jerked as a wave of pain hit him, and he clutched his scarred neck with an automatic clawing of his fingers, digging them into his skin, muscle, and tendon. Many things hit him all at once, even as the pain paralysed him: heat, cold, guilt, hunger, and lust. He tried to drive his emotions back with Occlumency, but the physical pain mixed with the loss of that small bit of solace he had gained only to drive it away.

The attraction he had felt for Granger had only grown with her nearness, but he had always pulled away as his conflicting desires had laid waste to his highly structured norms, and much like the young fool he had been with Lily, he had heedlessly allowed his emotions to fuck over his hard-won moments of peace.

Of course, he'd never actually told her.

He'd never once actually admitted to her that he—

He—

Cared.

No, instead of getting over his rigidity and letting go of his past in an attempt to work towards a future, Severus had instead clammed up and admitted to absolutely nothing.

She had no reason to think he was anything but the Hogwarts Headmaster with shite social skills.

Well, he was the Hogwarts Headmaster with frankly shite for social skills—that was undoubtedly a given.

He felt a sharp pain in his stomach as hunger suddenly gnawed at him, but the mere thought of food made him feel nauseated. He dreaded going to see Poppy as it never ended well for him. The elder witch had been taking care of him since he was a young boy, and she not only took his rancour and snark but dished it up and served it back to him in spades.

He'd brewed himself a good supply of various strong anti-emetics, but while it kept him from actually throwing up at the Head Table, it didn't ease the discomfort at all. Nutrient potions were, at the very least, staying down, but his creativity with regard to flavouring had been horrible back when he'd originally come up with the formula, and he'd never bothered to make them any tastier.

He had a great many regrets in that area.

Well, he decided, nothing inspired better than need. He needed something to distract him from his inability to stop fucking about with his abysmal social life. He might as well do something productive.

Flavoured Nutrient Potion Line Takes Apothecaries by Storm

The newest invention of war-hero and potioneer Severus Snape can barely stay on the shelves as Aurors, Ministry workers, and those from all walks of life have been all but breaking down doors to snatch up a supply of this wonderful new line of potions.

The current headmaster of Hogwarts, Master Severus Snape has released fifty separate flavour combinations ranging from various tea blends to coffee, pumpkin, chocolate, vanilla, caramel, a number of child-friendly fruit flavours, peppermint, licorice, bubblegum, and even butterbeer.

Designed for the busy witch or wizard on the go, the potion vials are tiny enough to easily carry in a small purse or lunch bag and are nearly ideal for high-stress jobs where catching a good meal is simply not as easy as it should be.

Caffeinated and non-caffeinated versions are readily available for purchase at your local apothecary.

"Let me get this straight," Snape said as he crossed his arms across his body to tug at his robes. "You want to report a teacher of this school for not giving you an exceeds expectations on an essay that was plagiarised out of the restricted section to which you had no permission to access?"

Snape cast a spell from his wand at the parchment, and more than half of it turned bright red. "Tell me, Mr Wright, why shouldn't I expel you from this school?"

Mr and Mrs Wright gasped in horror at their son, immediately tearing him to pieces verbally and threatening to magically castrate him, disown him, and feed him to the giant squid to preserve the honour of their family.

Snape smiled. Sometimes he didn't even have to dress down the student when parents could do all the work for him.

"Since this is your first recorded infraction, Mr Wright," Severus said as the flames died down, "I will not expel you from this school, but rest assured every parchment you turn in from this point forward will be checked against every book in the library. Should you infringe upon the school rules again, for any infraction, I will personally walk you out of the school and make sure every school from here to Ilvermorny is informed of your record. For now, you will be restricted to your dormitory when you are not in class for the next month or detention, which you will be serving every night with Mr Filch for the remainder of this month."

Snape scowled. "You are dismissed. You will return to your dormitory after your parents are finished—discussing your situation with you."

Mr Wright paled and tried to sink into the floor as his parents looked relieved.

"Please give Professor Granger our sincere apologies, Headmaster!" Mrs Wright gushed.

Snape narrowed his eyes, inwardly amused that his body language still caused adult witches and wizards to cringe. "It is not my place to apologise to Professor Granger after the humiliating howlers set loose on the Head Table this morning. If you wish to apologise to our esteemed DADA professor, you will need to do it yourself."

It was the parents' turn to pale, but they nodded. "If you could please allow us to meet with her?"

Severus sniffed. "She is teaching her class by Black Lake," he said. "You may meet with her there before you leave."

Mrs Wright pulled her plagiarising son by the ear. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said.

Mr Wright looked at his son with a shake of his head. "Thank you, Headmaster, for the opportunity to make things right."

Snape lifted his head. "Mistakes are often made," he said grimly. "It is what happens after that can define us."

The Dark Arts were, Severus knew, very much an art. There was preciseness to it that required absolute focus and intent for it to work the way you wanted without unforeseen consequences. Many practitioners did not pay heed to the warnings, and the spells they used consumed them.

The intent was only part of the equation.

Vincent Crabbe had experienced it, and it had very literally consumed him, and Gregory Goyle had almost been taken by his friend's Fiendfyre in the very same battle.

No, most witches and wizards that used Dark Magic were not truly schooled in it further than the ability to use it. Eventually, however, magic had a tendency to bite you back.

As he watched Granger teach her class, demonstrating certain spells and describing others with detail and the use of spell illusions, he realised that she was teaching the truth of magic.

Magic was not black or white; it was grey.

There were no bastions of light or looming citadels of Darkness inherent in magic. Magic was magic, but what a person did with it determined how it was judged. A cutting spell used for fabric could be a weapon if used against the body. A Fiendfyre could be used as a weapon or a tool of helpfulness. The Imperius Curse could be used to stop someone from killing.

And while Hermione never outright taught students the words and motions for the killing curse or any of the more notorious Unforgivables, she was not one to let the truth of what such spells could do bounce off her students' brains.

She made clear that any spell, no matter how harmless they thought it could be, could be made into a weapon, and protecting against the Dark Arts was more about protecting themselves against Dark intent. The principles of protecting one's self remained the same no matter what type of spell was being countered. Magic was magic, and desperation could make any witch or wizard a killer.

That gave them much to think about.

Severus realised why the grades coming out of the DADA class were the highest they had ever been.

Hermione Granger was changing the outlook on Defence Against Dark Magic to be Defence Against Magic.

It was no longer about defending against the forbidden. It was simply defending against magic that could harm or kill in the hands of one willing to do so. And when any spell could be a weapon they realised that defence class was just as much about being aware of the world around them as the spells they used.

It was admirable, really.

Even he had taken "sides" with Dark magic, thinking that it was superior in his schooling days. Perhaps, it had taken a war for him to realise that taking sides with magic was asking for trouble.

Nature was indiscriminate, and magic was, as much as some argued otherwise, a part of nature.

Hermione had often had classes out on the green, and her teaching style had often attracted students from other classes to sit and watch and none more so than she summoned actual creatures from the Planes. Regardless of which plane she summoned from, students would be in rapt attention, marvelling at both her ability, the being she attracted, and the rapport she had with them. They served as duelling partners for her or sometimes stood as a blatant example that some things exist beyond the ken of typical mortals.

Despite her ease with such things, she reminded them that each Plane had different rules, and each creature had different attitudes and levels of skill. While some followed the tenants of law, others revelled in Chaos and destruction, and to summon anything without knowing that was tantamount to suicide.

"But, Professor!" one student protested. "You summoned this creature and it's not attacking. Why couldn't one of us do the same with preparation and study?"

The creature she had summoned leered over the class, flames and ash swirling around its fire-cracked skin. "I would kill you in a heartbeat if not for her, human whelp."

Severus remembered how confused the students had been.

Why, they probably wondered, could she do what they could not?

But as the demon recited each student's hidden shames and secrets, they realised just how vulnerable they were. How exposed their every thought was. Their deeds—their private beliefs.

"She is a Summoner," the demon rumbled, one talon stroking Hermione's cheek as he growled in pleasure. "It is in the blood. The soul. There is no faking it. There is no learning that you can do that will make this obtainable. You can try with your rules. Your circles. Your intricate cages—but eventually your minds will wander, forget, falter. And those like me will gladly devour you."

"Professor, why? What makes you so different? Why can you be that powerful but not us?"

"I was torn to pieces," Granger said grimly. "Agonisingly, harshly, and my tremendous pain fed the legions as I was remade to their exacting standards. It is not something I would ever wish or want for anyone else to experience because even knowing full well what you are going into—you may never be able to crawl back out. You may still die. You may keep on dying for all eternity. Is that worth a bit of power—any power when you could simply study magic and become powerful without experiencing such agonising torture and grave personal risk?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side, and her gaze was strangely eerie in nature, as if she was looking into and reading their very souls. "Every great wizard and witch that ever existed started out just like you. As a student. Learning. A person much like any other person. Magical, yes, but talent is nothing without growth and experience. And experience is nothing without wisdom. And that you must learn here, in this place of learning. At Durmstrang. At Beauxbatons. At Ilvermorny. It doesn't matter which school or whatever place at which you choose to study. What matters most is your level of dedication to your studies. Learning what all must learn: the basics. How you choose to apply yourself in life is what will determine if you become a mediocre witch or wizard or a great one."

Hermione looked skyward, and her eyes flashed—a simple trick of the light or perhaps something more. "I am bound by Rules, Oath, and my Service. You are free to choose your path and become something remarkable with only the limitations you put on yourself and the laws of the world we live in, but first, you must learn the rules of the here and now or you will not understand when you are free of them—or caught in them."

Severus knew from that inspirational lesson that Hermione was a teacher who challenged her students to think hard and question themselves as much as the world around them. Even so, she taught them structure. She encouraged them to find power in the limitations that all witches and wizards were given for being human, and not to seek out the quicker paths to power through dangerous and reckless pacts or attempting to become a Summoner. The fact that she actively discouraged her students from even considering it a viable option said much about her character.

She wasn't one to hide the truth. She wasn't trying to hide her skills or make herself out to be some kind of elite guru where they could kiss her boots and somehow glean the innermost secrets of the universe from her. And even the demons from the Lower Planes seemed to have no problem whatsoever with telling any naïve would-be Summoners exactly how bad of an idea it was.

In fact, they seemed to relish the tortures they would inflict upon the stupid, the brave, and the ignorant.

Perhaps they had to under the conditions of her summons. Severus wasn't quite sure. Again, it really wasn't his area of expertise, and he trusted that Hermione had it handled. She took her contracts very seriously, and as a teacher, it was her job to do her best to keep the children from harming themselves needlessly.

He had a feeling that Master Granger was most definitely not the girl he had once taught. She had become something more, but unlike most who simply change upon growing up and into a role, she had matured into something beyond what others her age had.

He suspected that Hermione was not the kind of person to do anything half-arsed. She'd seen the bitterest ravages of war, and she'd seen firsthand what sort of ghastly things people did to each other even without adding Planer beings and gods into the mix. He did wonder, however, what the Ministry may not have known to restrict her on when they had given her conditions—

It wasn't like any of them were Summoners to know the truth.

The truth was as mysterious as the woman that had become a sanctioned Summoner.

But like most things that people did not understand, they tried to give it rules and regulations while knowing nothing about how it really was. The Ministry, perhaps meaning well, may have only sealed their doom in just one more fateful way. The difference was, at least as far as Severus could tell, that Hermione was not an inherently selfish or evil person, even if she was capable of sending centaur after Dolores Umbridge, jinxing Marietta Edgecomb's face, or even setting him on fire in her first year.

But how much of Granger had been changed by her experience?

How much did anyone truly know about her?

"Headmaster," Rolanda said in a pant as she leaned over the still Mr Bizkit as Poppy Pomfrey ran down to attend. "Someone jinxed the brooms."

Severus' frown caused many of the gathered students to instinctively recoil.

"Who did this?" His eyes smouldered, and he swore he could see their arteries superimposed upon their skin. "Tell me, or so help me, all of you will be in detention until the truth will out, and I have no problems leaving you in detention until you are forty-two and no one remembers your names save in furtive whispers of your ultimate failure at life—even your families."

The students trembled, eyes darting frantically as if waiting to see what someone else would say before them.

Snape straightened, his lips pursed lightly. "I will not tolerate harmful pranks, jinxes, or spellwork outside of the duelling platform and in class under supervision with a teacher. You have injured a fellow student, and you will all serve detention for one week for each hour that Mr Bizkit lays in the infirmary. You will report to Mr Filch at the end of your classes. If any of you even so much as breathe out of line for the term of your detention, your lack of social life will be very the least of your problems."

He grit his teeth. "Get out of my sight, and get to your classes. Now."

The students scampered off, and Severus set his jaw as he helped stabilise and levitate the young, limp Mr Bizkit to the infirmary.

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked, her eyes flicking toward the lake.

"He will be paralysed and in stasis for a few days until the bones and nerves mend properly, according to Poppy," Severus said. "He was lucky."

Hermione looked grim, her eyebrows pinched. She snorted suddenly. "You really said they'd serve one week of detention for each hour Mr Bizkit stayed in the infirmary?"

"Unless someone confesses, truthfully, to who hexed the brooms, yes," Snape said with a sniff.

Hermione tilted her head as she did some mental maths. "That's two and a half years of detention, not including holidays."

Severus' neck cracked. "Mr Filch will be ecstatic."

"The chandeliers will be spotless," Hermione said with some horror. Her expression hardened. "Had he been irreversibly hurt, however, it would have been infinitely worse."

Snape nodded grimly.

There was a moment of comfortable silence before a dark shadow moved closer. Severus felt his hand on his wand instinctively as a towering, winged shape stood in front of Hermione.

"Summoner," the demon rumbled.

"X'atak'sa'z," Hermione answered.

"My task is complete. May I be permitted to leave?"

Hermione stood and nodded. "Yes, thank you for your time," she said. One taloned finger moved around the circle of her Bind, and she held out her arm. "In Darkness we are one," she said formally.

"In Darkness, we are Legion," X'atak'sa'z rumbled, and with a flash of fangs, he buried them in her arm.

Hermione flinched, but the demon lapped almost tenderly at the blood, not allowing one drop to be wasted even as the wound where his jagged fangs had torn at her flesh glowed and healed from the demon's ministrations.

For a moment, Severus saw their eyes glow together in a deep, malevolent purple.

The demon growled, his huge hand cupping her head as a human might touch her cheek. "You know my Name, Summoner."

"And you mine."

The demon rumbled as his body disappeared in a wisp of smoke, and Severus caught Hermione as she wobbled.

"Sorry," she mumbled, woozy. "The release takes a little energy to allow them to return smoothly." She touched her head with a wince.

"Whatever could have been so important to summon a demon of such power?" Severus asked. He may not have been an expert, but he could recognise power when he felt it. The demon had been no ordinary, common sort.

"X'atak'sa'z saved Mr Bizkit from a fatal fall," Hermione said.

Severus inhaled sharply. "What?"

"I had summoned him to watch over the green to ensure no student was fatally hurt during the lesson," Hermione said. "When Mr Bizkit slammed into the roof and fell, it still satisfied the conditions of his task. He made sure the fall was not fatal."

"But he did not simply catch him and prevent the injury?"

"Demons are not altruistic, Headmaster," Hermione said. "It was enough to ask as a condition to ensure that no student suffered mortal injuries while he was summoned here. To ask for more would require a more complicated Bind, one that would have restricted the terms of who he would have helped and the time he would be bound to stay."

Severus scowled slightly, having a hard time grasping why she had not made more specific requests to prevent injury before it happened. Surely specifying that no student be harmed during the time it was summoned wouldn't have been that complicated?

"The more specific the request, the shorter time they are able to stay," Hermione said as if sensing his thoughts tumbling around in his head. "The more you tack on, the heavier the request. If it was to only assist me, the conditions are less time consuming, but whenever it is to assist someone who is not a Summoner, the clock is ticking."

Like a potion, the more you added, the harder it was to keep it from exploding—

It made sense.

"I am sorry," Severus said quietly.

"Whatever for?"

Severus knew he wasn't exactly the most communicative sort when it came to his emotions, and it had been weeks since he had practically accused her of diving into his memories without permission. While he had defended her against irate parents and the like, he hadn't exactly told her. He hadn't attempted to make amends with her.

He took in a ragged breath.

"I'm sorry for accusing you of delving into my memories uninvited."

She was silent, still. She blinked once, turning her head to the side and down, pulling at her cloak with her hand. It seemed to hug more tightly around her.

"I have been accused of worse," she said, sombre, "but you are forgiven."

He frowned. He'd expected more emotional backlash before any if at all forgiveness.

"If you expected emotional flogging and elongated torture," she said, "it is far too exhausting."

Snape snorted out his nose. "It is—appreciated."

He winced, struggling. "I—" He fidgeted quite a bit before slumping slightly. "Wouldyouliketojoinmeforacoffeetonightaroundten?"

Smooth, Severus, he thought to himself.

"I was hoping you'd ask," she replied, her voice almost a whisper.

He blinked. She did?

There was a slight thump, and Hermione slumped against him. With a startled revelation, he realised she was still in his arms from where he had caught her wobbling after her summons release—a place she had remained the entire time.

But now she was dead asleep against him, utterly exhausted by her efforts, and he felt his arms wrap around her warmth like a man in winter with only a fire between him and freezing to death.

The startling revelation that Hermione did not shy away from his touch or his awkward affection settled like an unexpected visitor on his mental settee. He found her touch warm and appealing as well as comforting, but it also stirred some other more frustrating bouts of desire he did not desire to confront.

Desire mixed with certain other more primal stirrings, possessive feelings, and some other instincts he couldn't even sort out, and all of it grew out of the simple fact she had sought rest in his arms rather than away.

But the feel of her nestled against him, even if it was her simply falling asleep against him while sharing company, coaxed a variety of poignant emotions out of his heart he'd thought long abused and buried.

Once, he'd shared company with Lily, but while she had sat near him, she'd never shared physical closeness in the way Hermione gave freely. A part of him seemed to struggle with the revelation as if he was betraying Lily's memory by comparing her to Hermione, but the feelings he felt for Hermione eclipsed whatever dream he might have had or wanted with Lily once upon a time.

Whatever guilt and penance he had done for his contribution to her death he had long since paid in helping keep her trouble-prone, drama-inducing, thinks-my-parents-were-so-perfect, tip-toe-around-the-truth-because-his-parents-were-dead son alive.

Lily had, for an insufferably long time, been the brightest memory in his past, but if he were honest with himself she had not been a fraction of as accepting as Granger. Granger was, he conceded, a grown adult and more mature than her age group long before she'd come of age into adulthood. Lily hadn't really had long as an adult before she had been cut down by the Dark Lord—but then he hadn't exactly been long in adulthood when he'd joined a cult.

Granger had grown up in a time of war, and whatever maturation she had had to do happened on the razor's edge.

Whatever decisions Granger made with whomever she wished to spend her time with—it was her choice. She was no longer his young student or an immature witch with spastic hand-waving proclivities.

It did not, however, stop him from thinking himself utterly beneath whatever person would be worthy of her. He was a broken wizard with enough baggage to fill the entirety of the Hogwarts Express.

The longing, however, did not agree.

Something inside of him wanted her, damn all the looks he would be given, damn their age difference—

There was something inside of him that was trying to rip and tear its way out just to have her—to stake his claim and tear any fool who would dare challenge him into bloody screaming shreds.

It was not like anything he'd ever experienced before.

What he had wanted from Lily had been some deluded wish based on what had not ever been truly there. What he wanted from Hermione was simply more of what she had already given him—to linger, to last, to be there when he awoke and when we went to sleep.

It wasn't really so much to ask, was it?

Just forever.

Just always.

But feeling her snuggled close into his side even as her book looked ready to slide off her lap, the warmth of her hands curled into his robe—it was pure bliss.

He pressed his face into her fragrant curls, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her skin. He closed his eyes with the almost-pain of their closeness. His hand twitched, but he did not notice how his nails had tapered into points or how his canine teeth had elongated as a soft hiss escaped his mouth.

All that mattered was her—

Safe.

With him.

Hermione sighed as Harry prattled on endlessly about his latest Auror adventures, Ginny, married life, Ginny, being married, Ginny, wanting Ginny to be pregnant, Ginny, family life, and, yes, Ginny.

Apparently, Harry had missed that memo about her having to stay away from all things Weasley as per her agreement not to bring shame down upon the Weasley family name. It wasn't as if the Ministry said she couldn't talk to them, but Hermione knew well enough that talking to any Weasley would inevitably lead to questions about her settling down and having a nice family with Ronald, and that was one can of Nifflers that most definitely did not need to be opened.

It aggravated her that Harry's obsession with family inevitably moved on to bring attention on her and laments about her not having found "a good wizard" to settle down with, and his trail of ghastly attempts at matchmaking had not ended well for any of those so-called "good wizards."

One, she was a summoner, and few men (if any) wanted to be second broom to their witch both in fame and notoriety—whether real or imagined. Two, her ever-dutiful Lethifold-cum-cloak kept on attempting to murder any and all potential suitors that Harry forced upon her, and it took a lot to get a hungry Lethifold to give up his prospective meal once he had decided that enough was bloody well enough.

As Lethifolds went, Walter was admittedly the best Lethifold in that he was quite mellow and attached to her strongly enough to keep him from prowling around at night and eating people. It was so hard to fit in with polite company when your trusty "cloak" regularly ate people.

Thankfully, Walter was perfectly content to share her food (as long as it wasn't a vegetable) and creep out random passersby who heard the sounds of mastication but had no idea where it was coming from.

It amused Hermione to no end.

Especially while on Muggle public transportation.

People would try to back away from her for a variety of reasons hoping to be safer. It was a good idea on paper, perhaps, but what they didn't know was probably better for their sanity.

As it was, Walter had already devoured a few would-be muggers and rapists, and Hermione couldn't scrape up enough pity to care. The old Hermione would have been frankly appalled, she knew, but being thrown into an ancient summoning circle and torn to pieces (but put back together) by an Elder God tended to reset the emotional responses in a person.

Walter had been the first gift to her upon reawakening—a warm and loyal companion that would literally have no problem eating her enemies.

She was sure that if the Ministry knew that her cloak was actually a Lethifold, they might have tweaked the parameters of her sanction.

Too late, now.

Hermione's lips curved into a small smile.

The sanction was signed and sealed in blood and magic.

Oops.

There were some annoying things she had to abide by, however, and one of them was that she (or anything summoned that served her) could not in any way lift a finger physically or magically against the Weasley family in retaliation for their youngest son having (accidentally) thrown her into the circle to begin with.

The easiest thing for her to do to avoid drama in that area was to simply avoid the Weasley family altogether, and they were doing their darndest to paint her as tainted goods not fit for them to be associated with.

It was, unfortunately, harder to do in practice than on paper, since Harry kept trying to drag her back into all things Weasley because of his hangup on family.

She suspected some sort of geas on top of his proclivity for wanting a family, but she was all too cognizant of Harry's status as an Auror. To cast some sort of spell, even a detection spell he may not even be aware of would lead to drama. If it was attached to the Weasleys—then triply so.

She could not interfere. The contract was very clear on that.

Walter grumbled hungrily, tugging on her arm, and Hermione smiled as she surreptitiously handed the Lethifold some of her bangers. The warmth of his "fabric" engulfed her hand hungrily, gently taking the protein and cleaning off her hand with a slight tickle.

She wondered if "wild" Lethifolds could understand the benefits of such a relationship instead of having to creep around and stalk people in the rainforests.

"You ate all those bangers?" Harry said, pausing in his talk about Ginny. He looked baffled as if he'd never seen her before.

"Haven't eaten all day," Hermione replied easily.

Harry looked somewhat dubious.

Admittedly, Hermione had always eaten more balanced meals growing up as a daughter of dentists, but she had turned a bit more—carnivorous, along with her other lifestyle changes. Perhaps that, too, was a bit of a lie, as there was a difference between eating and being satisfied. What would truly satisfy her remained ever elusive.

Hermione's stomach growled loudly, and Harry's eyebrows stopped knitting together in disbelief. "Blimey, Hermione. Have you been neglecting yourself?"

"Not on purpose," Hermione replied. She jabbed at some of the cruciferous vegetables on her plate, making sure to chew them extra slowly in front of Harry to the point where he had to turn away to keep from being purposely impolite.

"Amelia thinks it's a vampire plague," Harry said as he sipped his tea and attempted to steer the conversation away from Hermione's health. "But she makes it sound like it started with the Muggles. Not likely, right?"

"Much of our vampire myth and legend started out with Muggles, Harry," Hermione said. "Their fear of them is what created so many ways to ensure they were driven away or defeated, even if what they believed would help them ultimately wouldn't work against a real vampire."

Hermione's expression darkened. "Though, even magicals seem to have conflicting ideas about what to do when confronted with the supernatural."

Harry shifted his eyes rather nervously, seeming to realise that he'd hit a nerve but was he unsure as to what he should do about it.

Hermione sighed, her long curls hanging about her face. She impatiently brushed them back with a hand. She sipped from her mug of butterbeer slowly as a loud burp came from—

Harry stared at Hermione with wide eyes, but she hadn't moved and continued to sip her drink. He tilted his head, visibly confused.

"Harry, it is still considered rude to stare."

Harry winced. "Sorry, Hermione, it's just—I heard—it sounded like—"

"Your interrogations as an Auror must be truly outstanding, Auror Potter," a familiar voice drawled.

Hermione jerked her head up and smiled in welcome. "Headmaster."

Snape's eyes flicked over to Hermione, and for a moment his dour expression softened. "You were due back at the castle an hour ago. Minerva grew concerned when you did not return as planned."

He gave Harry a tight, narrow-eyed glare, and Harry did his level best to slide under the table in utter mortification for sins he hadn't ever confessed to.

"I'm truly sorry to have troubled you, Headmaster," Hermione said politely, standing.

"I'm sorry too, Sir," Harry said, standing as well. "I'm afraid I lost track of time."

"Lost track of time or time lost track of you?" Snape asked drolly, his expression unchanging.

Harry frowned, clearly unsure as to his meaning.

Snape gave him a look of concentration, his black-eyed gaze penetrating. "I recommend that you visit the lower vaults of Gringotts some time soon, Auror Potter," he said after a while.

Harry frowned again, the creases on his face sharpening. "Why, Sir?"

Snape sniffed. "I think you would find it easier to concentrate on more important matters."

"Going to a bank, Sir?"

"Specifically the lower vaults." He curled his lip at Harry. "Might want to take a quill and parchment with you as well, to take note of certain rather important revelations."

Harry frowned, obviously still confused, but his curiosity had definitely been piqued. "I'll do that, Sir."

Hermione looked from Severus to Harry, her eyebrows knitting in consternation, her suspicions that Harry might be influenced by a geas seemed all the more legitimate if Severus was telling Harry to go get himself dunked in Thieves' Downfall. That Severus could tell that just by a cursory glance, however, made Hermione consider if the Contract for her sanction as a summoner also included those related to the Weasley line via marriage—this making it impossible for her to use her magic against a multitude of people that weren't Weasleys but related to Weasleys.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. If they had slipped something in there without telling her, their Contract would be null and void, and her Patron would personally see to it that she was rightfully avenged—

She wondered if they realised just how possessive those who made Contracts with Summoners actually were.

It wouldn't save her from being attacked in the first place, but once done, retribution could be swift—the likes of which only the gods could dish out. Much like the initial making of the Contract, life as a Summoner wasn't painless. It tended to be painful as people were allowed to get in that first blow. What happened after depended on the god, demon, Power, or interplanar being the Summoner was bound to.

Summoners were their ties to the Prime Material Plane—an asset that none, no matter how Dark or light, neutral or otherwise ever wished to lose.

"Harry, may I cast a spell on you?" Hermione asked.

"What kind of spell?" Harry said, suspicious.

"A Lumos."

"You want to cast— okay." He stared at her.

Hermione's hand trembled, and she made a fist. For a moment, her eyes glowed violet, and her nails flashed as claws.

Harry flinched as he caught the sight of dark, swarming tentacles flailing about her head and a cloak that seemed to form into a strange looming shadow of eyes and teeth, so fast that it was gone in a single blink—easily dismissed as an optical illusion brought on by too much alcohol.

Nothing.

"Bastards," Hermione whispered in a low hiss.

Snape's eyebrows knit together for a beat before he put together what had just happened. He immediately placed himself between Harry and Hermione, a familiar dark scowl on his face.

"Good night, Auror Potter," he bit out as he moved Hermione away from the table. "If you wish to speak with any member of my staff, I'm afraid you will now have to make an appointment, as the school term just got infinitely busier."

Harry gaped after them, his jaw slack and flapping in the wind, as Headmaster Snape swiftly herded Hermione in front of him and out the tavern door, pausing only to flick a few coins on the table to pay for the food and drink.

Auror's Office In Uproar as Head Auror Found Under Geas

Head Auror, Harry Potter, has taken a leave of absence to deal with the unwelcome revelation that he's been held in the grip of an unknown geas for an undetermined amount of time.

After the news, Minister For Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has arranged to have the entire Ministry sprayed down by the Goblin Nation's famed purgative before they are permitted to return to work, starting with himself.

"This is absolutely dreadful news," Barrister Mason Jaer proclaimed at an after-hearing. "If any contracts were made with someone held under the influence, they would be rendered immediately null and void! What a mess! Why, the legal ramifications from this predicament are truly terrible to contemplate!"

Families are already astir and petitioning on behalf of prisoners that they demand be released due to potential compromises, but it will depend on the nature and length of the geas and those they are eventually traced back to.

Minister Shacklebolt promises us that it will be sorted out, one way or another.

Rita Skeeter Flees Britain During Ministry Sweep

Equally famous and notorious gossip columnist, Rita Skeeter, has fled Britain during the first of the Ministry sweeps that traced a number of unauthorised spells cast on various high-ranking public officials.

Her large and luxurious estate was found to be abandoned and in a state of disarray with obvious signs that she had left the premises in a hurry. Her Gringotts vault was completely cleared out down to the very last knut, and shred of parchment.

Rita Skeeter is wanted by the DMLE as a person of interest in having ensorcelled and bribed multiple officials at the Ministry and beyond, and it is suspected that many more that have not yet been exposed to disenchantment so are still suffering under the effects.

Some pureblood families have placed a bounty on Rita Skeeter's head ranging from a few thousand galleons to a million or more.

"How did you know?" Hermione asked as she leaned into Severus' side.

He let out a deep breath and pressed his nose into her hair. "Minerva had a feeling. She said you kept to your appointments like clockwork, but the only time you didn't was when Potter was involved."

Hermione frowned. "I didn't even suspect that my magic wouldn't have worked on Harry. It wasn't as if I used anything on him normally. What if there had been an emergency? What if he'd been hurt?"

"He would have died," Severus said, his face schooled into utter impassivity.

"Hagrid said something back when I was in school," Hermione recalled. "In a nutshell, he said that most wizarding families were heavily interrelated, but I didn't think anything of it until now. I wouldn't have been able to cast spells on any person connected to anyone of Weasley blood. Whether for good or ill."

Severus took in a deep breath and held it before letting it go in a loud exhale. "Someone counted on you not being aware of such things," he said. "That, or they simply didn't care who suffered as long as their main goal was obtained."

Hermione frowned deeply. "I have a barrister meeting this Saturday. To determine if my Contract has been breached." She looked out the window of his private chambers. "Would you come with me? I could—use the support of someone I can trust."

"Unfortunately, I must meet with the Board of Governors Saturday. They have called an emergency meeting to deal with the repercussions of the chain of geasa across the Ministry and beyond," he said, his expression grim.

Hermione straightened her shoulders. "It's okay."

"Hermio—" he began.

"I understand." She shook her head. "The headmaster's job is rarely ever complete." She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and moved to exit his chambers.

He moved in a flash, his arms caging her against the bookshelf as he let out a frustrated groan. "I want to be there." He was panting as if winded, and he had a grimace about his face. His fingers clenched against the shelf.

His head dipped, his lips brushing against her temple as a shudder went through him. He growled deeply, his mouth seeking hers to confirm what he had been trying to tell her all along but couldn't get the words out.

"Allow me to kiss you," he rasped, his voice barely more than a rumble.

She touched his face, her eyes filled with disbelief. "Yes."

His mouth covered hers, his tongue seeking entry, and she groaned as her fingers fisted into his hair, pulling him down against her as they entangled.

What started as a desperate clash of a meeting of tides transformed into a seeking of skin against skin, and they slid down from the bookshelf to the settee, as fingers found fasteners, buttons came undone, and the heat of desire passed from the touch of skin to caressing need.

His hands moved lower, but he hesitated, even as he pressed his mouth to her neck as he caught his breath.

"Please, don't stop," she whimpered, her body arching against his body.

"I want you," he breathed against her skin. He looked into her face, his fingers tapered into pearlescent claws, eyes glowing with an eerie red glow. "Need you."

"I want to be yours," she said, her voice so terribly sad, and Severus realised at that moment that she remembered all too well Harry Potter's declaration in front of the Dark Lord that Severus Snape's loyalty was to the light—to the memory of his mother.

She believed she would never hold a candle to a ghost.

She had no idea—

No idea that the ghost of Lily Evans held no candle to her.

"There is no one else but you," he swore against her skin, his body filled with hunger, need. "I would be yours, body and soul if you would but want me the same."

"Take me," Hermione said, her hands cupping his face as she looked into his eyes. "I want you. All of you. No one else."

Her hand wrapped around the shaft of his very eager and not-so-patient cock as his trousers and pants vanished, and his eyes rolled back into his head as she guided him between her legs. Her hand found her own moisture there, and she made good use of it to slicken his shaft.

He made an animalistic growl as he thrust inside her, unable to stop the instinctive drive, and her pelvic muscles crushed around him. He spasmed inside her, his eyes glowing brightly red, and she panted as her hips drove up as he thrust inside. Her voice built up into a scream as he lost himself inside her as his cock moved in and out.

His mouth parted, fangs emerging as they seemed to slide out of his gums with an unnerving fleshy sound as his body worked into a frenzy.

"Hermione," he whispered, the moan of pleasure seeming to start from his feet and work his way upward to the grey matter of his brain and beyond.

"I want you," Hermione affirmed. "Claim me. Please, Severus."

Instinct took over where his mind came undone with her consent, and he thrust madly like a wild thing and the bright, ecstatic convulsions of orgasm washed over them both with frightening speed. His fangs flashed, and he buried them into her neck before he drank in her hormone-filled blood, saturated with her desire, her magic, and most quintessential her.

She cried out, but her hands did not push him away, no. They clawed at his back as her legs wrapped around his posterior and pulled him tightly against her as her body quaked in acceptance of his body, his seed, and his bite.

His eyes fluttered, his mind so completely lost in the waves of pleasure that he didn't even realise the settee had become a bed and that Hermione's cloak had wrapped around them both like a cocoon.

He saw magic around him like swirling vines and sparkles, Dark vapour-tentacles, the Aurora Borealis come down to earth to wrap them in their glory even he heard a deep, otherworldly chuckle rumble through the very floor and walls.

His eyes drifted closed in that pleasurable cloud of rightness.

Severus woke to the feeling of being submerged in warm taffy. Not one limb wanted to move, and his bones felt like they'd just walked off without permission. He'd never felt so sated after the war, so peaceful, so content.

Vaguely he remembered hearing Sinestra muttering that he really needed to get laid when she thought he couldn't hear her, and he'd let it slide because he really shouldn't have been able to hear her from across a room—

But he was starting to understand why he could hear her now that certain other realities were settling in.

Apparently, that bat that had bitten him had been a bit more than just a bat.

A part of him expected a bit of a nervous breakdown, but it never came. Perhaps, he thought, it was Hermione's fault. Her acceptance of him in all his confused, frustrated, possessive glory—

It was strange, however, that even surrounded by living, breathing creatures he had not felt hungry for students or staff or even the crowds when he went to places like the tavern or Diagon Alley. Hungry, yes. Hungry for their blood, no.

It was a bit baffling considering he most definitely had wanted Granger in blood and more—

And she hadn't fled, hexed him, cast him into some otherworldly dimension, or some other creative way to put an abrupt end to his ardour. No, she'd accepted him.

Who he was.

What he was.

Perhaps even sooner than he could himself—

He wasn't even sure what he was, so the learning curve was most definitely going to need a few test runs.

He looked towards the mirror. He had a reflection.

Sun was coming through the window and warming his flesh, so no spontaneous combustion. Excellent.

He sluggishly moved to touch his mouth, and no elongated fangs greeted him. Social graces at the Head Table would be safe.

He'd already been pale, so he sincerely doubted that he'd get more pallor to go with his condition.

He stared at his nails, and while they tapered into the most perfectly even points, they didn't scream undead monster.

What did scream "undead monster", anyway?

Did anyone even know?

Even Muggles couldn't seem to sort that out. At least he wasn't sparkling. He'd have to castigate or flog himself if that were the case. Maybe both at the same time.

Definitely both.

Hermione stirred against him, lazy and comfortable. She snuggled into his chest, her arms pulling him more closely against her with a happy sigh.

It sent ripples of pleasure through him, just that one act alone—

The sound of her obvious contentment hit so many buttons he hadn't realised he'd been harbouring.

But had the night's sudden passion been something she wanted in her life for more than scratching some biological need?

Did she truly want—him?

His cock stirred as she placed both palms against his face and pulled his head down for a kiss, and a fire ignited in his body once more. He groaned, trying to fathom how he could possibly be so aroused again so soon after such a night.

"Severus," she breathed his name, sending blood directly to his yes-please-and-thank-you cock. So much for the notion of the undead not having a proper circulatory system.

He panted, feeling the sting of points emerging from his gums as another hunger rose to the occasion. He grimaced as the exquisite pain of desire mixed with worry that she would refuse him.

Could he be enough?

Would he?

Her hand touched his cheek as she used the other hand to pull him down against her neck. With one raptor-like claw, she scratched her neck, and blood welled up from the cut. "You have my permission, Severus. You will always have my permission."

He descended upon her with a groan, his tongue catching the dribble of blood as it snaked down her neck. He wasn't sure what blood was supposed to taste like with only vague memories of what his own tasted like after his numerous run-ins with Potter's gang—but she tasted like how Amortentia smelled: perfect.

"Hermione," he whispered after swallowing her offering, his voice thick with emotion. It would break him if she turned from him, found someone else to catch her fancy—so much more than Lily's repudiation had done.

The fresh infusion of blood seemed to awaken the rest of him, and he used his fingers to bring her pleasure, starting with her clitoris and delving into her channel to seek out her seat of pleasure. Her eyes flew open wide, pupils swallowing up her irises as a radiant purple glow enveloped them both. Her mouth opened in a silent screech, inhuman canines bared in lustful pleasure.

He realised then what she had been trying to tell him for months: she wasn't just a Dark Artist. She was a Dark creature—having been remade into her Patron's glorious desires.

He looked into her eyes, seeing her desire and her fear—

Fear that he would reject her.

Fear that he would be unable to accept her.

He wasn't quite sure what love really was, but he wanted the only name for her to scream to be his. He wanted her to be ruined for any other past or present. He wanted all of her, and he would gladly relinquish all of what and who he was into her warm, seeking hands.

She let out a ragged cry, a gasp, a scream as he brought her over the edge, and the force of her arching against him caused his mouth to sting where he bit himself, still unused to his own fangs. He captured her mouth with his, their tongues battling, writhing, struggling against each other as their bodies attempted to find the best position in which to merge.

He buried himself inside her, claiming her inside and out until she bucked wildly against him, her body spasming as her pelvic muscles clamped down on him and drove him straight into the oblivion of orgasm.

He let out a keening sound that ended in a roar, and crushed her against him as they twitched together, the warm curtain of newborn wings pulling her tight against him as a delicately scaled, spaded tail slithered around his legs and pulled them tight against hers.

Hermione wasn't a big fan of the Wizarding legal system, but she played nice and went to her Ministry-scheduled appointment with her Ministry-appointed barrister.

People gave her a wide berth in the waiting room due to her highly intimidating-looking robes. She imagined she looked a lot like Severus did to a first-year: black clad and intimidating as fuck. While she did have some hints of colour in her robes, they were mostly a severe black. Walter hated attempting to imitate bright or pastel colours. There was only so much a decent Lethifold could take.

She'd argue that doom and gloom did come in pastels, but Walter wasn't the type to argue as much as sulk, and a sulky Lethifold was a cranky Lethifold. No one wanted that.

The last few days had been horribly lonely after she had been forced back into her regular teaching schedule and Severus to his headmaster's duties. He'd proven to be an attentive, passionate lover who seemed utterly devoted to a mission of obliterating any thought of having anyone else in her life— not that she was looking. She was a one witch, one wizard sort of creature, and that had always been a bone of contention with Ronald. He'd wanted her to be solely devoted to him while he could happily sow his oats in whichever fangirl came to fawn on him.

It was only natural, he said.

It was her state of distraction following that conversation that had kept her off-guard when she'd been shoved into the summoning circle. He'd informed her that he'd found someone else. Someone well-suited to him, and the next thing she knew she was floating in the space between the Planes of Existence being offered up as either food, sacrifice, servant, or supplicant depending on who or what got to her first.

Maybe, Ron had thought that she'd learn some humility out there in the Nether of Planer travel. Maybe, he had just wanted to get her out of the way. She wasn't sure, even so many years later and after the fact. He'd certainly left a trail of pregnant witches long enough to indicate that whoever he had found hadn't been well-suited enough to cause monogamy.

Perhaps, she mused, she had been lucky. She'd been fortunate enough to be "adopted."

She did not fancy some of the fates certain others had suffered in being caught in-between one side's fiends and the other side's good without a Patron for protection.

There were things far, far worse than being reborn as a creature of the Dark.

She did find it amusing that once she'd been ridiculed for being a Muggleborn, often ostracised as a mere "fluke" for being magical, and now she was feared because magic had taken a shine to her— just not the magic they might have hoped.

When the attendant called her name to go back, Hermione sighed and stood up, rolling her eyes as frightened witches pulled their children away as if her very presence alone would devour them. Children held very little interest for her. They were too young, their souls too malleable, and their life experiences too few to make for interesting memory food. It would be like eating a plain rice cracker—better than nothing but not very interesting.

Hermione wasn't exactly starving— not after a few nights spent with Severus. She'd never felt so sated or alive after his devoted worship, and she had at least attempted to date, no thanks to Harry's bungling matchmaking attempts.

As she sat down in the barrister's office, she looked around at the rather plain and sparse decor. Or the lack thereof. There were no pictures, only certificates, and even those emblazoned the school in large letters and the name of the barrister like some sub note in a miniscule, almost invisible writing.

"Ah, Miss Granger," a feminine voice said.

Hermione tilted her head. It sounded familiar. She was willing to overlook the lack of title primarily because titles were often more formal than she really cared for—save for when she was speaking as a master of her field or putting some random upstart in their place when they dared to doubt her expertise.

"Barrister," she replied evenly, waiting for a name.

"Oh, we go back so far, Hermione," the voice cooed as her barrister came out into the room. "I've been waiting ever so long to catch up."

Hermione's head snapped up, and she focused on the heavily made up face of Marietta Edgecombe. Her forehead was practically plastered over with foundation and filler. Despite it all, the witch looked not a day older than Hermione remembered from Hogwarts.

Marietta simply tossed aside the body of a young woman whom Hermione assumed was her actual barrister and stepped over the corpse, her tongue flicking over her lips to sweep away the stray drips of crimson that had been left behind.

"I've been doing so much to pay you back for that nasty little jinx of yours, Granger," Marietta said. "But I don't think you're suffering enough yet."

Hermione tried to lift her wand, but her arm just trembled.

Marietta was related to the Weasleys somehow.

"It was soooo easy to convince darling Ronnie-kins to give you a little shove for love, but you didn't know when to die like you should have." She scowled, her malformed index claw tapping her tip. "You just had to come back alive, and when you should have gone to Azkaban—I had to pull some strings to make it so the sanction at least had something of use for me, namely how you can't use a spell against me. It was brilliant, really. You never did pay enough attention to the ramifications of blood purity. You were always such a goody-goody little swot."

Hermione struggled against the chair, but she found herself helplessly stuck to it. Walter struggled helplessly against the chair, unable to free himself from the sticking charm.

"And then, you had to go and get a job at Hogwarts, so I arranged for that Death Eater-cum-Headmaster to get a little bite in the jungle, but they couldn't even get THAT right. He was supposed to Turn and be under our control, but someone bloody well botched the job, and he never Turned!"

Marietta threw up her hands, snarling in anger.

"I suppose, as they say, if you want something done right—" Marietta grimaced, her fangs flashing.

"Well, I'd start with not confessing that you purposely altered a contract that served as the sole limiter for the safety of magical Britain," Hermione said, her lips pursed as her eyes seemed to flicker.

"You think you are so smart, Hermione," Marietta seethed. "But there are some things even you cannot foresee."

"Ron!" she called out. "Come and feed, Darling!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she saw what might have been Ronald Weasley if he had milk-white skin and blue lips. Blue veins criss-crossed over his body making his head look unnaturally blue-tinged. He stared at her glassily, hungrily, fangs bared as his nostrils worked.

"You know, old friendships and loyalty are such annoying traits," Marietta pouted. "He kept trying to come back to Britain when I told him to get lost out there and fuck himself silly. At first, he did, but then he wanted to come back here and see his family. He wanted to see his best mate. He even wanted to patch things up with you— but I had to convince him of the error of his ways. Didn't I, Darling?"

Ron hissed, shambling closer.

"Now, he has no more inconvenient distractions," Marietta said with a cruel smile. "Just hunger and what I want from him. And what I want is for him to drain you dry, Hermione. I want to watch you die."

Marietta jabbed a claw into Hermione's chin and jerked it upward. "I want very bad things to happen, Granger."

She used her claw to slice a gash into Hermione's neck and then stood back.

Ron instantly fell upon her like a beast, snarling and moaning, not even the slightest bit cognisant of anything but the scent of her blood. Hermione fought and strained, but the chair only fell over, and Ron fell along with it, not relinquishing his latch onto her neck.

Marietta giggled in glee, enjoying the scene far too much. She didn't even notice the pale curl of talons around her neck and head as something suddenly jerked her back.

"Rejoice," Snape drawled deeply. "For very bad things are about to happen."

His fangs bared as his eyes glowed red, and he buried his fangs into her neck and drank her dry. All she had time to do was whimper and struggle but a little as her legs kicked and she collapsed limply, her vessels pulsing as all the blood she had fed the krsnik that was taking very great pains to make her suffering as long as possible..

He pulled his mouth away, still stained with crimson, his lips curling in disgust as he broke her neck and tossed her aside like a cloth doll. He clutched her liberated heart in one taloned hand, and he crushed it.

The heart burst into flames and turned to dust almost immediately, and her body followed.

He advanced on Ronald, a snarl on his face leaving no doubt as to what he would do to him.

"Stupefy! Incarcerous!" Harry Potter yelled, and Ron fell to the floor bound in ropes, his face covered in blood.

Harry held his Invisibility Cloak over his arm as his other arm brandished his wand. His face was torn between both horror and grief.

Snape's hair seemed to cyclone upward like a twister had a hold of it, his eyes glowing malevolently, but he snarled sharply at Weasley's restrained body and made a few quick steps to Hermione's side. He waved his wand, disintegrating the chair into atoms, and cradled her tenderly in his arms.

"Hermione," he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she winced as her neck continued to ooze blood "That was not nearly as pleasurable as yours."

Snape scoffed, lowering his head down to her neck and capturing the seeping blood. His tongue gently laved across the wound until it knit and healed into a neat pink line.

"That was a very dangerous plan you hatched," he said, his eyebrows knitting together. He pulled a flask from his robes and pulled the cork with his teeth. He sniffed it once and brought it to her lips.

She drank the potion without hesitating, closing her eyes as she leaned against his chest. "I knew you were nearby."

"She could have just as easily broken your neck," Severus admonished.

"Marietta always was one to play with her food," she said tiredly. "I did expect Harry to be a little quicker on the draw, though."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I saw him—all veiny and pale and—I just froze."

Severus wrinkled his nose. "Some Auror."

Hermione let out a ragged breath. "Give Harry at least some credit, Severus. We all thought Ron was off sowing his oats across Europe."

"Molly is going to completely lose her mind," Harry groaned. "I should have gone and checked on him—"

"I don't think you could have even if you wanted to." Hermione looked at him rather grimly.

"What? Why?" Harry stared at her accusingly.

"The same geas would have kept you from interfering in any Weasley family affairs. That meant him, too."

"I—" Harry wilted. "Damn it all."

Hermione snuggled in tighter to Snape's chest, her fingers curling around his buttons. "I feel terrible that she killed my barrister, though. I thought—I really thought she would have just compelled her or disabled her somehow."

"She will never kill another," Severus said with finality.

"How did you come to suspect Marietta, anyway?" Harry asked, frowning.

"The other night when you were talking about the vampire plague," Hermione said. "You mentioned that one of the scenes of the crime had the word 'sneak' written in blood. It got me thinking about who I hadn't seen in a very long time and who would hold a grudge. I didn't—"

Hermione sighed. "I hadn't expected her to use Ron. I expected her, but—Ron had been with a great many witches, even before he began to travel to get them. Marietta got her hooks into him, and when he failed to do what she wanted, she Turned him into a thrall to guarantee it. It does make me wonder who Turned her, though."

Severus grunted. "One of the vampires at the Battle of Hogwarts, most likely," he said. "But, if they were not wise to her ambitions, they probably paid for it in death so that she could free herself and do whatever she pleased."

"We took out a master vampire a while back," Harry mused. "Was preying on Muggles in the nightclubs in London. It was a pretty big deal because we had to Obliviate the entire club. There were a lot of victims, and we had to burn them all to keep them from Turning."

Snape tilted his head. "She could possibly have been one of his. Without a master, Ms Edgecombe would have been free to do her own thing entirely unchecked—it might explain how she infected me via a proxy instead of doing it herself. She was never taught the right way to go about it, and apparently her vampiric instincts were not very strong."

"Only Marietta would attempt to make a vampire and manage to create a vampire who only fed on other vampires," Harry said, shaking his head. "Remember that time she turned her family Crup into a cat just so she could have it at Hogwarts?"

Hermione winced. "The barking cat with a wagging tail. Crookshanks absolutely hated him. She did say that she had sent someone else to do the deed, though, Severus. Maybe she didn't do her research into exactly what a South American vampire is. Most of the vampire mythology involves bats."

"Horrible excuse for a Ravenclaw, then," Severus said with a gusty sigh, scratching at the side of his neck. "Still doesn't quite explain me, though."

Hermione touched his cheek, pulling his face back to look at her. "Maybe you're like me, Severus. You defy the plan."

Severus snorted and shook his head. "Perhaps."

Harry stared down at the stunned Ron and sighed. "What am I going to do?"

"Tell them the truth," Severus said simply.

"Where do I even start?"

"Start with telling Master Granger that she's free of that bloody Contract," Snape growled.

"No need," Hermione said, her claws flexing. She pointed up to where a pair of rings floated in the air with a Ministry ribbon in it. "A magically sealed marriage was the escape clause. I think someone was trying to make it so mummy wasn't magically useless when married because the chances of not marrying someone who was a Weasley in some way would have made it nearly impossible to cast any sort of helpful spell to help a husband or children. But then, I think most of the people who drew up the contract figured no one in their right mind would want to marry a Dark witch with a history of speaking her mind."

Severus plucked the rings out of the air and placed one on her ring finger and one on his own. "Barbaric old Wizarding laws." He helped her up as he stood. "I happen to like your mind— and certain other things. As well"

"Please, my brain is already broken enough today," Harry whinged. "For the love of Merlin, please don't talk about those certain other things."

Harry squared his shoulders as he levitated Ron's incapacitated body along with the body of the deceased barrister. "I'll take care of notifying the family and burning the body," he said with weariness. "I guess I'm going to have to find out if they have finished the trace on the geas I was under. Sooner now than later."

Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm truly sorry, Harry."

Harry shook his head and sighed, "No, I'm sorry, Hermione. I should have questioned more when you had that so-called 'accident' at the Ministry. I should have been more of an Auror and less Ron's best mate. I should have believed you more."

Hermione looked back at Severus and smiled. "I dunno, Harry. I think some things just work out for the best."

Harry frowned. "How?"

"I don't have to worry about Severus dying on me ever again," Hermione said with a smug look. "And he won't have to worry about me doing the same. None of it would have happened like that if it hadn't been for Marietta trying to kill us both."

"Wait, you Turned Hermione?" Harry blurted.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter," Severus snapped. "Not that I wouldn't, if she were to ask."

Hermione gave Severus a heated look but then turned to Harry. "I'm a Summoner, Harry. I live just as long as my Patron exists, and as my magically bonded, consummated mate—so does he. Since he is, already, effectively immortal thanks to Marietta, we are a bit doubly insured. Triply so, if you consider that when he takes blood from me, he's sharing the blood of an Elder God. Hrm, does that count for more than one bonus point?"

Harry passed out cold on the floor.

Hermione blinked. "Too soon?"

"Perfect," Severus said as he captured his wife's mouth with his.

Weasley Drama Leaves Family in Turmoil

When the youngest Weasley son, Ronald Bilius Weasley, was recently found, having been Turned into a vampire by fellow former classmate Marietta Louise Edgecombe, a trail of carnage had been left in their wake.

Weasley, who is currently undergoing an experimental rehabilitation programme, had been under the influence of the vampiress for a number of years which included the act of throwing his then girlfriend, Hermione Granger, into a preserved ancient summoning circle at the Ministry.

While many are familiar with the story of Master Granger's fate after the circle swallowed her up, few realised that her 'accident' had in fact been planned by Ms Edgecombe in frightening detail. A thorough search of her home by Aurors has revealed a diary detailing several years worth of meticulous planning and manipulation including the assassination of her vampire sire, the brainwashing of Weasley, attempted murder of Hermione Granger, attack on war-hero and Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape, Turning of Weasley, the murder of barrister Bernadette Anne Walsh, and multiple vampire mind-controls of various Ministry officials.

To add to all this, Madam Molly Prewitt Weasley was found guilty of placing a family geas on war hero and Head Auror Harry Potter to prevent him from digging too deeply into Weasley family affairs and concentrating more on protecting them from any threat, real or perceived. Ongoing Auror investigations will determine if this was her first attempt at such spellwork or if the entire Prewitt family was known to engage in such spellcraft to ensure loyalty to the Weasley family.

Madam Weasley apparently broke down before the Wizengamot when evidence pointed to the fact that had she not ensorcelled her son-in-law Harry Potter to ignore Weasley-related actions, her youngest son would probably not have been Turned by a wicked vampiress to be used as a pawn in her diabolical plans.

Rumour has it that Auror Harry Potter is seriously considering a divorce as he feels that he can no longer trust what he had previously believed to be unquestionable. Ginevra Potter (née Weasley) has adamantly denied that any such discussion has occurred.

"Walk through, Harry," Hermione called as she carried the giant serving bowl of spaghetti and meatballs to the table.

Harry stepped (or rather stumbled) out of the Floo with a grunt. He brushed the floo powder off himself and sighed.

"Are you a wizard or are you not, Harry Potter?" Hermione chided, sending a spell towards him that cleaned all the dust and powder off him.

"I'm not," Harry confessed, scratching his head. "I'm done with magic today."

"Bad day, Potter?" Severus rumbled from the line of shelving.

Harry sighed. "I work with idiots." He closed his eyes. "I know you're giving me that look that says "how is this different from any other day?". But trust me, today was worse than usual. The new recruits fell into the Bog of Flatulence."

"Do they smell like farts?" a curly black-haired child asked. She sniffed experimentally. "Ew, you do smell like farts, Uncle Harry."

"Hahahha, Uncle Harry smells like farts!" a boy cackled from the next room.

Hermione lowered her head, her eyes narrowing. "Sebastian."

"Sorry, mum," the boy said, slumping. "Sorry, Uncle Harry."

Harry shook his head. "It's okay. It will take a few days to wear off."

Severus walked up to Harry, his lips curled in disgust, sprayed something from an atomizer onto him, and then walked over to kiss his wife on the temple.

Harry sniffed himself experimentally. "Thanks, sir."

The girl child walked over and gave him a hug. "You smell lots better, now" she said.

"Thanks, Holly,"he said, giving her a fond pat on the head.

She smiled up at him, and then wrapped a spaded tail around his wrist. "Come see my potions experiments!" She dragged him off into another room.

Harry gave Hermione an apologetic grimace as he was promptly dragged away.

"Wrapped around her finger that one," Severus said, chuckling.

"That's not fair," Sebastian protested. "He never wants to come see my screams of the damned and tortured souls collection."

"Baby steps, love," Hermione said, giving Sebastian a kiss on the forehead. "Not everyone can take that in at birth."

Sebastian wrinkled his nose. "But they are so fascinating."

Severus sighed. "You will find that a great many things that fascinate us are not understood or easily accepted by most people."

Sebastian crossed his arms across his chest. "People are idiots."

Hermione slid her eyes to the side and narrowed them on her son.

Sebastian slumped. "Sorry mum." He made it up to her by setting the table.

"How is it that a krsnik and a demoness have the best spaghetti nights ever?"

"We know all about temptation?" Hermione offered as Harry sat down at the table. She passed him a fragrant loaf of garlic bread.

"Fringe benefits of being bound in both blood and magic to a sultry demoness," Severus said with a purr.

Hermione eyed Severus heatedly, her tail curving into a loop.

"Hey! I didn't ask for any of that!" Harry yelped, hastily covering his eyes.

Sebastian and Holly looked back from their parents to Harry.

"They're just trying for another brother or sister, Uncle," Sebastian said matter-of-factly.

"I'm hoping for a sister," Holly giggled.

"Brother," Sebastian said, scowling.

"Eat," Severus said, slamming the platter of spaghetti bolognese down in front of his spawn.

The two children gulped. "Yes, father." They dutifully shredded a liberal amount of parmesan cheese over their pasta with extra dedication as their mother poured them each a glass of their favourite Muggle sparkling grape juice.

The children clinked their glasses together. "To eyeball pudding!" they cried joyfully.

Harry cringed.

Holly whispered to Sebastian.

"To pudding that Uncle Harry doesn't mind eating!"

They drank their juice and hungrily tucked into their pasta.

Hermione placed a dish of tiramisu in front of Harry, and he nodded in clear gratitude.

The candles on the hearth flickered purple and yellow, and Hermione looked up. "Oh! Your great uncle is visiting!"

"Yay!" the children cheered.

"Sebastian, please fetch him one of your best tortured souls."

"Yes, Mum!" Sebastian quickly wiped his mouth and scurried off to dig around in his room. He came back with a dusty box with very old, barely legible writing on it. Under it was a new parchment label marked: 1581, Christman Genipperteinga, Prolific German Serial Killer and Paedophile.

Sebastian placed it on the empty table space and grinned. "I picked the best one!"

Hermione smiled brightly as a pale, platinum-haired man with rather feline-esque yellow eyes appeared near the fireplace, and she rushed over to embrace them.

"Ahhh! How is my favourite niece?" they rumbled as he embraced her.

The children bounced up and down in excitement, barely able to contain themselves.

"Thank you for coming, Uncle Rasmus," Hermione said with a laugh. "Sebastian picked out his very best soul for you."

"Ah hah!" they exclaimed. "How kind of you. I am feeling a bit— peckish." They gave Hermione a wink as they scooped up the children and twirled them around. "And how are my little mutants doing?"

The two children laughed with glee as they spun them around.

"Now, now, it is time to sup. Let us not keep good food waiting, hrm?" Rasmus herded the children in front of him with ease back to the table as they sat down at their place. "It is good to see you. My how the time flies. Was it not just yesterday you called me to babysit so nothing spontaneously combusted during parent teacher conferences?"

The children looked a little guiltily into their food.

Hermione laughed. "You know you've been here more than that, Uncle," she chided.

"Have I?" they asked, tapping a talon against their chin. "So hard to tell anymore." They smiled, taking up the old container and sniffing appreciatively.

"I'm still trying to figure out how you didn't realise your Uncle Rasmus was—" Harry trailed off.

"Different?" Rasmus finished for him. They smiled eerily, the tug of their lips making their face seem more feral and dangerous. "It wasn't time for her to know. It's hardly something you bring up when your niece is born looking boringly human, afterall."

"Uncle!" Hermione cried, huffing.

"It was fixed," Rasmus protested as he broke the seal on the soul container and took some of it into his mouth with a savouring smile. "What is time for an immortal being?"

Severus shook his head. "You could hardly have predicted the manner—"

Rasmus shrugged. "Well, there was some debate on if you would fall for some nice demon from the Lower Planes, but they do tend to be a bunch of blowhards that don't know how to take care of a proper demoness. Too much selfish billowing and sulfur. All the torture and screaming get old after a while. I dated one back in the 14th—or was it— bother, it was a while ago. Didn't end well. For them. It took Manfred a century to get the smell of sulfur out of the rugs. You don't want to deal with a cranky dragonbat for a century. Might as well have been a few eons. Anyway, that was before Manfred and I had to face the fact that we were stuck with each other. No one else can put up with us like we do— and survive."

"I truly feel for the DoM," Harry said quietly.

Rasmus snorted. "They've had worse. Believe that or not as you will."

Harry wore a very odd expression, obviously not wishing to consider that rather horrifying thought.

Rasmus grinned, clearly enjoying Harry's discomfort. "So, when are you going to introduce us to your— what do they call them now?— Paramour? Girlfriend? Object of your unbridled lust?"

Harry tried really hard to slither under the table and die.

"He's afraid to introduce us," Sebastian said as he finished his meatballs.

"We do have an intimidating family, Uncle," Holly said, sipping her juice.

Rasmus cackled, pressing his fingertips together and smiling. "Best kind."

"I'd die right now, if I didn't think you'd do something even worse to me," Harry muttered.

"Well, you're safe until after we figure out who your inamorata is, hrm?" Rasmus said.

"It's Luna Lovegood," Severus said, utterly deadpan.

Harry buried his head in his hands.

"I don't think there is going to be a problem then," Hermione said. "She already knows. She's Luna."

Harry shook his head adamantly. "Not about that!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think I have tea with every other Saturday? Bob the Builder?"

The maths in Harry's head managed to piece together two plus two and then took a nosedive into imaginary negative numbers. "Oh."

"I have more self-control than to sup upon our guests, Potter," Severus said, sipping his wine. "Besides, Hermione provides everything I would ever require."

"I don't want to think about that either!" Harry said, closing his eyes.

"You're so hard to please, Uncle Harry," Holly said with a heavy sigh. She dabbed her napkin against her mouth and stood. "May I be excused so I can take Uncle Harry for a walk? He's looking pretty peaked. Or, maybe he just needs to vomit? It's so hard to tell sometimes."

"You may," Severus said with a smirk.

"Come on, Uncle," Holly said, wrapping her tail around his wrist and dragging him away.

Harry's protests fell on deaf ears as the adorable little demoness dragged him off toward the back garden.

"Has he met the new puppy?" Rasmus asked, raising a brow.

"Hn," Severus said thoughtfully.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "I forgot to tell—"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

WOOF!

"Fonn, please stop sliming Uncle Harry!" Holly's voice yelled. "Down boy!"

Severus smirked wickedly. "He knows now, my love."

Hermione leaned against Severus as they watched their mutant spawn board the Hogwarts Express.

"Thought I'd never see this day," Hermione said wistfully.

"I figured they'd surely blow each other up before making it to the ripe old age of eleven," Severus said, deadpan.

"Severus!" Hermione huffed.

Severus shrugged. "We know our own genetics, love. Who better to blow things up than our spawn?"

Hermione tapped the bridge of her nose before rubbing it. "I'd have put more money on any child of Seamus Finnegan, honestly."

Severus sneered. "I'd rather not contemplate the horror of Seamus Finnegan procreating, thank you."

Hermione looked at him with a smile.

"Browl!" Fonn said, conveniently charmed to look like a perfectly ordinary Crup instead of an eleven ton monstrous (and drooling) alien frost beast.

Hermione and Severus wove their fingers together as they patted the loyal beast and waved back to their children.

The Hogwarts Express horn tooted as it chugged off towards Scotland.

Hermione watched as the train bearing their children disappeared into the horizon, her hand grasping the amulet of her Bind with her clawed fingers. She closed her eyes, smiling as the warmth of the Bind shivered through her and the dark, malevolent chuckle of approval startled the other parents standing around them on the train platform.

"Tnellecxe."

A little boy was playing on the side of the train tracks, and he slipped, losing his footing and tumbling as his parents screamed, all of it happening far too quickly for spells.

Hermione's eyes flashed, and a dark, winged shape caught the boy and promptly deposited him back on the platform. Dark vapours dripped from the figure as small red shapes glowed where the eyes "might" have been if any observer could have made any sense of what they saw.

The figure seemed to float as it neared Hermione, bowing.

She held out her left arm as her right hand tapped her Bind. "In Darkness we are one."

The demon bared its teeth in a smile. "In Darkness, we are Legion," he replied, taking her arm into his mouth to drink her offering of blood before disappearing in a wisp of vapour.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" the boy's parents cried, practically kissing her dragonhide boots. "Whatever can we do to thank you?"

Hermione's lips curved slightly. "It was nothing, but one day, I may require a favour."

"Anything is yours! Thank you so much for saving our son!" They extended their hands to her.

Hermione clasped their hands, a violet flash in her eyes flickering as their hands warmed. "I will remember you."

Walter swirled himself around Severus and Hermione, and they disappeared in a swish of black fabric, leaving the startled couple to wonder if they had ever been there at all.

dnE ehT

And they lived Cthulhulically ever after.

Spider one: Rut-roh! Sounds more like ominous beginnings to me!

Spider two: Uh huh!

Spider three: But Fonn came back for a cameo!

Spider one and two: True!

Spider four skitters across the scene, a bucket on his head. He thunks into spiders one through three, toppling them off the stage.

The spider sigh together and pry the bucket off his head.

Spiders one through three: Let's go get some flies and tea. This way, Bucket!

The spiders all scurry off into the darkness together.

A/N: It's crack, yup. If you guys don't know what my stories are going to be like by now, then I got nothing. XD This story was actually inspired by reading someone's random story where Snape becomes a vampire but then gets cured, but I was not satisfied by this outcome. At all. Therefore, this crack story came forth. Rasmus, of course, is the visiting brain dump of DeepShadows2, and they and Manfred are pretty much a mated pair at this point, so they're probably going to be visiting a lot. So sorry. Not.