A/N: *Scurries in, grinning*

*Does a happy dance*

*Squeaks with excitement*

*Runs away, giggling*

xx-Kitten.

Relligo Spiritus

By Kittenshift17

Chapter Six

Hermione woke several hours later with something heavy and ungrateful resting on her chest and repeatedly headbutting her chin. Groaning, she opened her eyes to a face full of whiskers.

"Crooks," Hermione grumbled at the evidently hungry feline.

It was still dark, she noted, and the house was cold. So cold, in fact, that she'd snuggled into the warm body lying beside her and Hermione froze, her heart skipping a beat and her stomach flipping in fear when she realised she had a second, heavy and ungrateful creature resting on her chest. Stretched out on her back, she had Crookshanks standing on the middle of her chest, and a heavy head of dark hair pillowed on her breasts. Her arms were curled around the shoulders belonging to that head and Hermione's whole body tensed in shock and concern.

"Not good," she whispered, realising that any moment now, Severus Snape was going to awaken with his head on her chest and Hermione doubted he was going to be overly thrilled about it.

"Meow," Crookshanks complained loudly, shifting his paws on her chest and flicking his tail back and forth in annoyance.

"No, Crookshanks," Hermione whispered. "Stop. Get off. You're too heavy for this."

Another pitiful yowl escaped the contemptible feline, before he arched his back and kneaded her flesh with his paws. He also made a point of moving his back paws around until he managed to kick Snape several times, and to squat on the man's head instead.

"Damn it, you little beast!" Hermione whispered, reaching quickly for the cat, thinking to lift him off Snape before he could be sent flying for waking him.

"Where…?" Snape's voice suddenly invaded the dark, gravelly with sleep as he tensed against her now that her arms weren't curled around him.

"Meerrowoow," Crookshanks yowled again, even louder as Hermione tried to lift him off the man with little luck. She got two front paws and a collections of claws to the face for her trouble when he almost overbalanced as Snape jerked in surprise at the sound.

"Where the hell…?" Snape growled.

Crookshanks meowed plaintively again.

"Erebus, not now," Snape grumbled, burrowing his face back into her boobs as though planning to return to sleep.

His nose bumped one of her nipples, startling her, and Hermione squeaked quietly in shock. She felt Snape freeze. Sensing the danger, Crookshanks used the back of Snape's head and Hermione's cheeks for his springboard as he bounced away, scampering across the room where he couldn't be caught in the crossfire. An inhuman sound of annoyance escaped Snape before he jerked his head from her chest and twisted quickly to look at her, his eyes narrowed hatefully.

Hermione's now empty hands – which moments ago had been attempting to wrangle her cat – hung limply in the air near her face. She didn't know what to do with them considering that Snape was well and truly lying on top of her. With his head lifted it was evident he'd also slung an arm across her stomach, and thrown one of his legs over both of hers, clinging to her as he laid on his side to avoid tumbling off the back of the couch.

"Granger?" he asked, squinting in the low light from the burned-down fireplace.

"Yes, sir," Hermione said quietly, nodding and resorting to burying her hands in her own hair to made it look like she hadn't been cuddling him. Right at that moment, Crookshanks yowled a long, echoing complaint from the doorway to the kitchen where his food dish was, and Hermione winced.

"Not now, Erebus," Snape grumbled again, narrowing his eyes further and squinting in the cat's direction.

"Erebus?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"My cat," Snape muttered, his eyes darting back to her face before he glanced down at where he'd been pillowing his cheek, and then lower, taking stock of how intertwined they were.

"You have a cat?" Hermione asked, surprised to learn he had a familiar.

Snape nodded, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen him look so disoriented.

"Oh. Well, he's probably hungry. But you're at my place, sir. That's Crookshanks yowling because he wants his dinner."

"Your place?" Snape asked, and when he turned his eyes back to her, Hermione noted the wrinkles on his cheek from the fabric of her shirt, his hair mussed and his expression one of confusion.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Hermione frowned. "You're at my flat, remember? We both depleted ourselves after those Death Eaters showed up and tortured me."

"Shit!" Snape grumbled unhappily, lowering his face back to her chest and burrowing it between her breasts like he wanted to hide from the world. Crookshanks complained again at the idea that they were getting comfortable rather than feeding him.

Hermione shushed the cat, unsure what to do with the wizard on top of her.

"I thought that was a nightmare," Snape confessed quietly into her chest.

"Not this time," Hermione sighed. "Not a morning person, Snape?"

"It's not morning," he said, burrowing into her even more and Hermione shivered at the spirals of warmth and magic that curled through her at the touch. "It's still dark. And it's cold. And the cat is complaining."

Crookshanks agreed loudly and Hermione giggled.

"Alright, Crookshanks," Hermione chuckled. "Just hold your horses, could you? Sir, if you could just slide sideways, I'll feed him, so he stops complaining."

Snape's limbs tightened around her and he burrowed into her even more, evidently not liking the idea and Hermione wondered what had gotten into him. She'd always imagined him the type of man to immediately jolt awake, and to maintain as much dignity as possible at all times. He held her tightly for a long minute in silence before sighing heavily and releasing her, making her wonder if he was feeling alright or if he still imagined himself to be asleep.

Free, Hermione sat up quickly, jostling him a little when she stretched her arms over her head and twisted left, and then right, her body stiff from being laid upon, and from sleeping on the couch rather than in her bed. Gripping the back of the couch, Hermione levered herself up, her stomach flipping nervously as she threw a leg over her former professor and had to hop a little in order to rise to her feet. Snape groaned again, rolling to his stomach and snuggling down into the warm spot she'd left behind while Hermione stood unsteadily.

Her head swam and she realised she was still impacted by the magic depletion; her body aching from the torture. Blearily she stumbled into the kitchen and fed Crookshanks on autopilot. She should just go back to bed, she thought, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair before turning on the light. She knew she'd feel better and refuel her magic faster if she fixed herself something to eat. Rummaging through the fridge, she located the large block of chocolate she kept on hand for emergencies, breaking off a large piece for herself and gobbling it down before looking over her shoulder into the lounge room where Snape was fussing with the cushions, evidently uncomfortable now that she wasn't there for him to cling to.

Breaking off another large piece, Hermione set it on the counter briefly to put the kettle on, her mouth dry and her tongue fuzzy, leaving her with a craving for tea. While it boiled, she carried the chocolate to Snape and nudged him, offering it to him when he rolled to his back and opened his eyes to glare at her. His exhaustion was evident in the bruises under his dark eyes and in the way he still squinted at her.

"Eat this," she instructed. "You'll feel better."

He huffed at her bossiness, but accepted the chocolate, taking a large bite while she watched.

Satisfied, Hermione returned to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes before fixing two cups and pouring them both tea.

"How do you take your tea, sir?" she asked.

"One sugar," he answered, and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see he'd risen to his feet too and followed her to the kitchen, looking rumpled and sleep deprived and tired.

"Any milk?" she offered.

"None," he answered, accepting the cup from her when she handed it to him.

Hermione watched him bring it to his lips and drink greedily before she did the same.

"You didn't have to get up, sir," Hermione said. "I could've brought you the tea…"

He grunted and finished his mouthful before looking toward the garden.

"We'd better clean up," he answered quietly.

"Clean up?" she asked, looking around the tidy kitchen in confusion.

"The bodies," he reminded her, nodding toward the garden and Hermione frowned.

"Oh," she said. "I… yes… I suppose you're right."

"Do you mean to report their attack?" Snape asked, frowning at her.

"Um… I… Do you think I should?" she asked, realising that his having killed them when they weren't attacking him, and this no longer being a time of war technically qualified their deaths as murder by his hand.

"No," Snape answered.

"But they're dead," she said. "We have to… what do we do with the bodies? Won't the Aurors keep looking for them if they don't know they've been killed? Wouldn't that be a waste of resources?"

"Take a picture and submit it anonymously to the Ministry if you're worried about that," Snape replied quietly, shaking his head.

"And the… corpses?" Hermione frowned at him.

"Will need to be disposed of."

"How?" she asked.

"Transfiguration into something easy to conceal and easy to carry would be best," he said. "Then you can do what you like with them. That, or they'd make excellent fertiliser for your garden…"

"Oh, my god," Hermione breathed, horrified.

Snape shot her a nasty smirk, evidently amused by his own suggestion and by her horror. She was reminded with startling clarity that he was a dark wizard and had been a Death Eater and committed terrible crimes in that service. She'd killed her own share of people during the war, so the act itself wasn't what horrified her. She'd been attacked in her own home, after all, and she wasn't a particularly charitable witch, nor one prone to forgiveness of those who wronged her. She could hardly claim to be saddened by the deaths of the three men who'd assaulted her, but the thought of turning them into fertiliser for her garden was horrifying.

"No?" he asked sardonically, raising that infernal eyebrow at her.

Hermione shook her head.

"No matter," he shrugged. "My garden will be grateful for the blood and bone, I should think. And werewolf parts are so useful in potion making."

"You can't…" Hermione protested.

"They're already dead, Miss Granger," Snape reminded her unkindly. "Anything we do to them now is no different to dissembling a collection of potion ingredients; no different from many of your lessons."

"They're human beings," Hermione argued, feeling ill.

"Well… one and a half of them are, anyway," he rolled his eyes.

"One and a half?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

"Scabior tried to flee. He got splinched mid-apparation when I hit him with the killing curse," he shrugged.

Hermione's stomach turned at the thought, recalling the horrible sight of Ron when he'd splinched during the war.

"Oh, god, is he…?"

"Still out there?" Snape asked. "Part of him. The rest are Merlin only knows where."

"What if a muggle finds the remains?" Hermione squeaked.

"They'll have a gruesome case to solve," Snape shrugged. "You have no interest in their remains for your uses?"

"You're actually going to… to…" Hermione asked, too sick to finish the statement.

"Knowing all that I know of the things they have done to people, both living and dead, Miss Granger, I will take quite a large amount of joy from defiling their corpses for more useful employment now that they're dead, themselves. When you've watched such vile men rape the corpses of young women; seen that werewolf devour what was left afterward; it is hard to much care what becomes of them. And as I said, werewolf parts are hard to come by and extremely useful in the art of potion making."

Hermione covered her mouth, shaking her head and feeling sick to her stomach. Snape furrowed his brow at her as though annoyed by her reaction.

"I take it I can't count on your assistance in cleaning them up?" he asked idly, and Hermione's eyes widened in horror and a little fear.

Snape sighed, shaking his head and setting aside his cup before he stalked out of the kitchen, and then out of the house, letting himself into her back garden and lighting his wand to see. Unsure what else to do, Hermione followed him, and she felt sick to her stomach when her eyes landed on what was left of Scabior.

"Fuck!" Snape cursed, holding his wand aloft and looking around quickly, searching for something.

"What?" Hermione asked, lighting her own and moving closer.

Scabior's remains were bloodied and red upon the ground in the middle of the lawn, and Dolohov's prone form laid by the edge of the garden she'd been digging when they'd invaded her home.

"Greyback's gone!" Snape snarled. "Lumos solem."

The great ball of magical sunlight illuminated the entire garden and Hermione looked around for the third body he spoke of, horrified by the large pool of blood on the grass, and a trail of red leading away from the scene of the murders toward her back fence.

"I thought you killed him," Hermione frowned, watching Snape stride to the back fence – which bore some bloody hands prints and smears of crimson, turned brown where it'd dried.

"I did," Snape growled. "I used the Killing curse multiple times and I removed his heart with a silver dagger. He should've died!"

"The one from my potion set?" Hermione asked.

Snape nodded.

"It's not pure silver," Hermione sighed. "It's titanium inlaid with silver. The marketers making them claim that the tendency of silver to tarnish contaminates potions if you don't clean them often and thoroughly."

"Urgh!" Snape made a sound of disgust, as though the very idea of using anything other than a silver dagger to prepare potion ingredients was sacrilege.

"You really think he'd survived several curses and the removal of his heart to pick up the severed organ and shove it back in his chest to get away?" Hermione asked.

"Do you have another explanation for his missing corpse?" Snape asked, returning to the other two. "Ah. As I suspected. He even stopped for a snack before he left."

"What?!" Hermione gasped, hurrying over.

"Scabior's heart is missing too," Snape pointed out. "Consumption of a wizard's heart is said to sustain werewolves and revive them even from certain death. Dolohov's is likely missing as well."

Hermione hurried over, using her foot to roll the corpse of her torturer, revealing a ragged hole punched through his chest cavity, his heart obviously missing.

"But you removed his heart," Hermione frowned. "You said you…"

"Without using a pure silver dagger, it wouldn't have killed him."

"How can he live with his heart removed?" she frowned.

"I left it next to his corpse," Snape shrugged his shoulder, running an annoyed hand through his hair. "And given the form he was in, technically, I only removed his human heart."

"Meaning?" Hermione frowned up at him in horror.

"He's a werewolf," he said, glancing at her as though she was a moron.

"So?" Hermione frowned.

"So, he has a lycanthrope heart, too. I forgot to remove that."

"He had two hearts?" Hermione gasped.

"Yes," he repeated. "He's a werewolf."

Hermione blinked, not appreciating the expression he wore that suggested he'd conversed with rocks in possession of more intelligence than she was currently displaying.

"But he wasn't in wolf form," she frowned.

"No, but the wolf form would've taken over when his human heart was removed," Snape sighed. "This hole was made with claws, not human hands."

"I thought he'd have had to be in wolf form to be in possession of his wolf-heart," Hermione frowned.

"So did I," Snape answered. "But given that his corpse is not here, and that my other two victims are missing their heart's, there is no other logical reason for Greyback to have gotten up and walked away after what I did to him."

"Oh, god," Hermione breathed, turning away and hurrying to the garden before the chocolate and tea she'd ingested made a reappearance.

"Get a hold of yourself, Miss Granger," Snape commanded without sympathy.

When she wiped her mouth and turned back to him, he had transfigured both corpses into two large bones that made her think of dinosaur excavation sites instead of wizards. Next, he shrank them and slipped them into his pocket. A third sweep of his wand removed the blood and gore from their crime scene, leaving her garden pristine, but for the overturned birdbath and Hermione realised how horribly easy it was for a witch to get away with murder.

She stared at him in confusion and horror when he looked at her expectantly.

"What?" she asked warily.

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Go and pack your things, Miss Granger," he said, sounding, again, as though he believed her to be stupid.

"What? Why?" she frowned.

"Fenrir Greyback lives," Snape answered. "And after what I did to him, I expect he'll be seeking revenge. He knows how to get to this house now. You cannot remain here if you don't wish to receive him again – next time potentially without me to intervene and protect you from him."

"What?" Hermione asked blankly, everything taking place too fast for her sluggish mind to follow.

Her head was pounding just from standing and walking around.

"Are you being purposely dense?" Snape asked, frowning at her.

"No… I… You want me to pack?" she asked.

"Unless you wish him to return and eat your heart. Likely after defiling your body in ways I cannot begin to adequately describe, given the true horror of their nature," Snape said.

"But… where will I… I don't have… This is my home," she frowned.

"And now it is the scene of a murder, your torture, and the place to which Greyback will return to finish what he started. With Dolohov dead, they will no longer be able to track you, but if you're still here when he returns, he will simply wait for the full moon, cross your wards as a wolf, and devour you. This is no longer your home. Pack your things."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Hermione asked. "I sold my parents' house."

"You cannot stay with a friend for a time?" Snape asked.

"Who?" she scoffed. "Harry? The guy training to be an Auror? What would I offer as explanation for not staying here? 'Oh, sorry Harry, I'll just camp on your couch for a few days because a werewolf Snape failed to kill is going to eat me?'"

Snape frowned.

"Weasley?" he suggested.

"Ron and I aren't on speaking terms, at present," she admitted uncomfortably.

"The Burrow?"

"Still requires an explanation for my sudden upheaval," she pointed out, noting with some concern the way he strode back into the house and began flicking his wand at things, shrinking her furniture and levitating her books and dishes and everything else into a large trunk he found in the cupboard under the stairs.

"You are not making this any easier, Miss Granger," he frowned when she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Stay in a hotel if you really have nowhere else to go."

"This is ridiculous," Hermione complained. "I can't just move into a hotel. What am I supposed to do? Just put the house on the market and stay there until I find something else?"

"Yes," Snape answered coolly.

"You can't be serious."

"I am," he said bluntly when even her bed and everything from the top floor shrank and danced in a long line down the stairs, folding itself all into her trunk just like she'd once seen a wizard do in a children's film when she'd been just a girl.

"You need to stop," Hermione said, leaning heavily against the wall when the display of magic he was performing began eating into her barely regained strength.

"Miss Granger," he said sternly. "Do you wish to die?"

She frowned at him.

"Of course not," she huffed.

"Then stop moaning, and collect your feline," he answered.

"No hotel will take Crooks, too," she argued, dizzy once more.

"The Leaky Cauldron takes familiars," he frowned at her.

"I'd still have to explain me sudden presence in a hotel shortly after purchasing a lovely home, Snape," Hermione reminded him.

Snape emitted another inhuman growl of complaint and stomped over to her as the last of her belongings folded into her trunk and closed with a snap.

"You don't have a choice, Miss Granger, and unless you envision yourself shacking up with me until a new residence can be purchased, that is what you will be doing!" he said firmly, catching hold of her upper arm and hauling her toward the door while Crookshanks hurried after them, alarmed by the missing furniture and mistreatment of his mistress.

Hermione stooped to collect the feline into her arms, though doing so left her lightheaded and seeing spots.

"Didn't I read somewhere that close contact with one's bond-mate was better for strength replenishment?" she asked innocently, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze when he froze, realising what he'd just said about living together.

"Unlikely," he answered stiffly.

"Didn't we prove the truth of that notion when you woke up snuggling your face between my boobs and once again able to perform this kind of magic, even though a scant few hours ago, neither of us could walk?" she offered, trying not to smile when he narrowed his eyes on her hatefully.

"Miss Granger, it would be a mistake to misconstrue my actions today for anything more than a desire to avoid being haunted by your ghost for the next several decades," he said coldly. "Had your strength not been drawing on mine, I'd have left you to your fate this afternoon."

"If that was true, you wouldn't have packed all my things out of fear of Greyback returning to have his wicked way with me, Snape," Hermione pointed out primly.

"You're not staying with me," he warned her. "I have yet to forgive you for landing us in this mess in the first place, Granger."

"It was your suggestion that I stay with you, sir," Hermione argued, smiling winningly now. "And doing so would arouse the least suspicion about my relocation because no one knows you're still alive, so no one will think to look for me at your place."

"Greyback knows, after today," he pointed out.

"No one who wouldn't seek to make a fuss about the idea, as opposed to seeking to kill you, sir," Hermione clarified. "Were I to show up at the Burrow and claim I have to move because three Death Eaters invaded my yard, I'd need to explain how I got away with all of my belongings, who saved me, what had become of those Death Eaters and why it was that you – a man supposed to have been dead – happened to know the exact moment I was attacked and sought to rescue me."

Snape curled his lip.

"And the only logical explanation I could offer would be the truth, Professor," Hermione went only slyly. "I am, after all, not a particularly gifted liar."

"You're a vile manipulator," he accused, looking displeased.

"I learned from the best," she said, eyeing him indicatively and he made another of those impatient sounds that frightened her; all the more animalistic for the damage done to his throat during Nagini's attack.

"If you get in my way…" he threatened darkly.

Hermione laughed.

"What are you going to do, soulmate?" she teased. "Kill me?"

Snape's expression was thunderous, but Hermione just laughed and reached over to tuck her hand through the crook of his elbow while he picked up her trunk. He scowled down at her hatefully before twisting sharply to the left, disapparating them both, along with Crookshanks and her overstuffed trunk, with a resounding crack.