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The disclaimer disclaims my claimage to any claims in Chapter 1.
Thanks for being patient with me! Here's the latest chapter!
Oh, and WARNING: mentions of suicide, non-Euclidian horror, and this chapter is lemon-scented.
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Chapter 9:
The Narrow Path
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Evening, July 6, 1994 CE
Spinner's End, Cokeworth, English Midlands
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Severus Snape was having a bad year.
To an outside observer, such as his well-mannered elderly neighbor Widow Bethany, this wouldn't seem much of a to-do, what with the man's seemingly constant scowl and less than cheery disposition making it appear as though he were bitter at the entire world by default; truly, even most students at the school he taught Potions (Chemistry to his Muggle neighbors) would agree: Professor Snape had a grudge with whoever made the Universe and was in a permanent sulk due to his powerlessness in filing a formal complaint against said higher power.
That didn't stop the kind Widow Bethany from welcoming the young lad home each summer with her famous wildberry pie and an offer for a friendly ear, should he need a chat.
Not that Severus, who was currently observing the final stages of a personally-modified version of The Draught of Peace come to fruition, ever felt the need to take her up on the offer. He preferred the solitude his chosen art brought him over human company, these days at least.
For some others, the losses they suffered in the previous war were merely physical in nature. For Severus Snape, it was as if all the light had been taken from the world, turning it a muddy grey. Though, such distant pains weren't why he was having a bad year.
No, those reasons were threefold, and all had names: Black, Lupin, and Potter.
Sighing as he was finally able to remove the Draught from its flame to begin bottling, Severus used the few moments of monotonous labor to look back on just why he was feeling wretched this year.
First, Black; it wasn't enough that the irreverent rake of a mutt had escaped Azkaban, causing that empty-headed buffoon of a Minister to station Dementors, of all things, around Hogwarts, but then the utter bastard had gone and made everything worse with his sporadic break-ins, resulting in Severus himself having to brew more Calming Draughts than he ever had before in order to deal with overly-stressed and terrified students. Never mind that Black got cleared of all charges after the… events… of a month ago came to light.
Severus didn't think he'd ever seen that many Unspeakables in one place before, and he'd seen the aftermath of Bellatrix really letting loose; Lucius' gazebo came to mind, along with a horrified shudder. Wood wasn't supposed to behave like that, magic be damned.
Then there was Lupin; oh, he needed Wolfsbane in order to teach DADA safely, Headmaster? Well, let me just drop everything I'm working on so I can brew one of the most expensive and complex potions on the planet so your cockamamie plan comes to fruition! Honestly, Severus didn't know who he was more furious with, Lupin or Dumbledore, but it was easier to pin the blame on Lupin for reducing the sallow-faced Potion Master's ingredient stocks to the point where he actually had to go out and collect some of the rarer ingredients himself. Oh, and of course he'd had to pay for it all out of pocket, with the bonus in his paycheck barely able to cover even half the costs!
At least the man had the good decency to get badly concussed at the end of the year, sparing Severus to have to deal with a rouge Werewolf on top of everything else that happened that night… and the events of two days later…
Potter…
Corking and storing the last of the modified potion, which he called the Philter of Contemplation, a combination of the Wit-Sharpening Solution and Draught of Peace, Severus sighed grumpily, remembering Potter's eyes when the Headmaster told him that both Miss Granger and Pettigrew were likely dead.
According to the investigating Unspeakables, a Time-Turner being made into a Portkey had only been done once before; interestingly enough, that person had been an Unspeakable who'd been in a "sticky situation" and had to make a quick escape. The incident in question occurred nearly two hundred years ago, about a decade after Time-Turners had been invented.
The Unspeakable's horrifically mutilated corpse turned up three days later in the middle of a stone circle near York. Whatever killed him hadn't been quick or merciful.
Despite this, Potter and Weasley vehemently refused to believe Granger was dead without a body; Severus, despite his distaste for everything Potter, had found himself grudgingly agreeing with them, mostly based on his observations of the trio over the past year. The bookish Muggleborn had all but killed her two male friends in a training regimen that would've made any fresh Auror recruit pale in fear and Mad-Eye Moody giggle with glee, crazy bastard that he was; even with a Time-Turner, both himself and Minerva were additionally surprised when Granger's tests placed her not just at the top of her year, but third in the whole school, edged out, if only just, by the Weasley Head Boy and Cedric Diggory. The lass was tough, Severus gave her that, so he figured she'd survive whatever killed the unfortunate Unspeakable.
Then Albus, the utter bastard, called himself, Minerva, Potter and Weasley to his office and showed them Hogwarts' Book of Enrolment.
Hermione Granger's name had been magically erased, which only happened when a student died before they took their OWLs.
Severus thought he knew everything about grief; Minerva crying into his shoulder was, while mortifying, expected, as was Weasley's despairing rage… but to see the light in Potter's eyes nearly go out at the sight (or lack thereof) of his love's name…
He shouldn't have been surprised when, the next day, instead of enjoying a glass of scotch while the horde of brats made their way to London, he'd had to assist Poppy in bringing the boy back from the edge after Potter slashed his wrists in the Quidditch showers. Rolanda Hooch, who'd been making sure everything was tip-top in her domain before starting her own vacation, had been the one to find him.
Personally, Severus had, at first, been furious; Lily didn't die so the brat could go and top himself over some girl, especially when there were literally dozens of witches (and wizards) who'd throw themselves at the brat for the asking! Merlin knew he'd have to break up enough attempts by various older students at starting a coven for the boy in the past three years!
Granted, Potter and Granger, from his and Minerva's observations, had been quite serious about their budding relationship; so serious, in fact, that there was little doubt in the Deputy Headmistress' mind that the two would be married right out of Hogwarts, if not in the first three years following, and had put in a sizable bet with the Terror Twins to such effect. That didn't excuse Potter's suicide attempt, however, not in Severus' eyes; he could have gone his entire life without seeing the distraught expression on Minerva's face at the news.
Two days later, after countless attempts by just about every member of the staff (seeing as Black was likely to spend the next six months in St Mungo's for long-term Dementor exposure) in getting Potter to break his melancholic silence, the truth had come out in full: Granger, in Potter's mind, represented freedom. From those blasted Muggles he'd lived with, mostly, but also from the expectations placed on him as the Boy-Who-Lived, the events surrounding Quirrel and the Chamber not helping the boy's mental state in the slightest; according to the grieving boy, their relationship hadn't had any demanding expectations, beyond Granger's reasonable, in Severus' eyes, insistence Potter get the best grades he could and a well-paying job upon graduation. Despite this, Potter couldn't see his future without the bushy-haired Muggleborn in it; when she'd been petrified, there'd been hope. Now…
Well, now, nearly a month after one of the worst days of his life (and that was saying something), Severus brought the case of specially-made potions out of his lab and into his sitting room, glancing at his sofa and its sleeping… occupant.
Glasses slightly askew, Advanced Potions and Brewing resting open on his polo-clad chest, one leg on an armrest with the other on the floor next to an advanced Magical Theory book, formerly tanned face slightly pale, Severus would've thought the boy dead (again) were it not for the rise and fall of his chest; a thin, white scar marred the inside of his left arm, starting at his wrist and ending halfway up his arm. His right arm, with the hand resting on the Potions text, had a matching scar, though Severus couldn't see it due to the angle.
Grumbling and walking to his front door, placing the case next to it and making a mental reminder to take Potter along when he made the delivery to Gringotts' Curse-Breaker Department tomorrow, Severus still couldn't believe Albus had convinced him to take the boy in for the summer months.
Though, the fact that the boy literally had nowhere else he could go, what with the Weasleys dealing with their youngest son's own depression and Potter's Muggle 'relatives' hardly fit for dealing with a suicidal teenager, Lupin's condition making the man hardly fit for being a caregiver and Black hospitalized, not to mention Albus invoking Lily's name and memory (a low blow if Severus ever heard one) had much to do with Severus agreeing, very begrudgingly, to put the boy up for two months in his small flat.
Three weeks.
Three bloody weeks of Potter walking on eggshells around him and Severus carefully choosing his words so the brat didn't break down in sudden furious tears or worse, go dead-eyed and quiet for hours on end.
Three weeks of keeping the lad busy with Potions tutoring (a truer test of patience for them both, there wasn't), the odd practical Defense lesson (Potter was much better than he was letting on, if now lacking confidence) and menial chores (Severus mentally blasted the Dursleys for treating the boy like a House-Elf, though his back garden did look quite smashing these days).
Three weeks of trying to help this broken child recover, and all Severus could think, looking at the boy sleeping on his couch, was that he'd be best served by spending a year with an experienced Mind-Healer; but oh, nooo, Albus couldn't have his precious weapon's suicide attempt made publicly known, because that would just be tragic.
Suppressing an audible snarl and some of his father's choicest obscenities at the Headmaster's irreverent manipulations, Severus strode to his crackling fireplace and picked up the bottle of expensive gin he kept for worse days or special occasions; a Yule gift from Fillius, it usually lasted from one Yule to the next, Samhain in a bad year. From what he could tell, though, the current level indicated it might make it to September First if he paced himself.
Pouring two fingers into a handy glass, Severus re-corked and stowed the bottle behind a photo of his mother, the only one he had left after his bastard father burned the rest. Letting his gaze wander, lest he dredge up too many unhappy memories, the former Death Eater found his eyes resting on the picture of Lily dancing in the snow, partially hidden behind his Mastery certificate and a photo of baby Draco.
The gin went down like water, despite its burning tang. Severus glanced over his shoulder as Potter grunted in his sleep, a frown appearing on the lad's face. 'Another nightmare. Wonderful,' he thought sarcastically, looking back at Lily's picture and smiling face, 'I'll do what I can for your son, Lily, but… Merlin, I wish you were here for him.'
He blinked, rubbing his searing eyes with his left hand; damn potion fumes. He'd have to check the ventilation charms again-
Pain.
It felt like someone had rammed a white-hot rusty icepick through his left forearm, "Gahhh…" if he hadn't been an Occlumens and used to such pain in that area, Severus would've no doubt woken the whole neighborhood with a howl of pain as opposed to the quiet groan that left his lips. Setting the glass down before yanking up his sleeve, the man's heart nearly stopped in terror.
The Dark Mark. It was vivid, black as the void and sizzling with potent magic. The pain seemed to be receding, though-
PAIN.
Or not. "Ah!" Falling to his knees with a thump, two things went through Severus' mind: one, this was half as bad as the Dark Lord's Cruciatus, and two, his Mark was leaking magic; painfully purple raw magic was flowing steadily out of it, reaching for his fingers as the pulses of pain came in a steady beat.
"Professor?" Whipping his head back around at the quiet voice, Severus found Potter halfway sitting up and looking at him with hesitant concern; a second later, the Mark started giving off a crackling whine, the Potions Master feeling a worryingly large amount of magic building up in his hand.
"Potter! Get out!" But before the boy could do more than stand to give reality to his Professor's pained order as the man drew his wand-
BZZZ-SHAA! The purple light shot out of Severus' hand, flying into the fireplace and tossing the man backwards into the coffee table next to the couch, banging Potter's shins as the tall man struck the heavy furniture with enough force to knock it into the boy's legs.
Blinking away the stars and ignoring the boy's swearing, Severus brought both eyes and wand to bear on the fireplace, whose flames had roared up as though a Floo connection had activated, though the flames were purple and black rather than green. Also, his Mark was still burning, though that was mitigated slightly by Severus raising his Occlumency shields to full bore.
It was then that a cultured female voice came out of the flames, sounding like it came from far off, "I've got a connection! Serana!"
Another voice, also female, but younger, "On it! I'll stabilize it while you open the Gate… in three…"
"Boy," hissed Severus to a shocked Potter, "Get upstairs, now."
"Two…" the voice was getting closer!
Potter darted into the kitchen as Severus quickly got to his feet, wand trained on the roaring fireplace with a grim expression, searing left arm held to his chest.
"One… Do it, Drevas!"
Koooom… With the sound of a distant avalanche, the flames parted, creating a circular doorway and revealing…
At first glance, Severus thought he was looking at the Dark Lord; bright, blood-red eyes narrowed in concentration, set in a sharp, ash-grey, noble face weathered by time and hardship. Short white hair covered his ash-skinned head, a pair of pointed ears arresting Severus' attention for a moment, before the being's attire sent a chill through him. Gleaming midnight armor trimmed with gold accents, a red lion painted over the heart, it covered the being from the neck down, clawed gauntlets pulsing with the same eldritch energy that had flowed through his Mark mere moments before. A massive bell-ended mace hung from the being's waist, the attached belt sporting a strange color-coded brass dial on the opposite, left side.
The air in the doorway rippled for a moment before settling, the flames creating an arch around the… 'That voice, it called this a Gate… but from where?' Severus kept his wand aimed at the strange being, who had lowered his hands and was now inspecting the edges of this Gate, even as confusion and not a little fear swept through him, 'Is… did the Dark Lord already regain a body?'
Before Severus could worry himself further, the being spoke to someone out of sight in a hoarse growl, "How long do I have?"
The first woman's voice came through, tinged with mild strain, "We should be able to keep this up for a half hour, at best. Be swift, regardless."
Nodding, the (no doubt Dark) being turned those red eyes on Severus, glaring hard at the younger man and making him shiver; he'd seen that look before, on Albus' face when the ancient wizard was particularly angry about something. What this being's gaze held that Albus' didn't, however, was the promise of a painful, ignoble death if crossed; it was like being before both the Headmaster and the Dark Lord.
Nevertheless, Severus quashed his fear through Occlumency and leveled his wand at the creature's face before snarling, "Identify yourself, now."
The being sneered, before flicking a golden coin through the Gate; it landed with a clink in front of his fireplace. Nodding to itself, the being finally addressed him in a tone like steel unsheathed, "My name is Drevas, fetcher, and you're another servant of a certain corpse-humping piece of shite that goes around putting magical leashes on people. Question is," it put a hand on the black hammer's haft, "do you serve him still?"
'He's talking about the Dark Lord… Pettigrew.' Shaking his head, Severus lowered his wand slightly; he wasn't about to trust this violent-looking stranger enough to let his guard completely down, but he needed information, "No. He's been… mostly dead for the last thirteen years," movement at the corner of his eye showed Potter hadn't listened to his orders and was lurking at the kitchen's entryway, wand drawn; Severus ignored the boy and sneered back at the armored being, "Now for my question: how do you know of him?"
This Drevas shrugged, gaze softening slightly, "We figured it was a necromancer based on the spell pattern on this," and reached his left arm out of sight, picking something up and producing…
Pettigrew's severed arm. Ice dripped down Severus' spine even as Drevas continued, "Granted, he was already dead when I found him, but that's not why I'm bothering you," and those red eyes looked Snape up and down, narrowing in a wariness that showed in the question, "Does the name 'Hermione Granger' ring any bells?"
"Hermione?!" Severus mentally blasted Potter for being unable to hold his tongue while he gathered information from this strange being; as it was, the Potions Master simply glared at the desperate-faced boy, stopping him in his tracks before he made even more a fool of himself. To Drevas he said evenly, "Yes. She's one of the students who attends Hogwarts; I am Severus Snape, the Potions instructor at said school."
Drevas nodded, face relaxing as he addressed one of the hidden beings, "Back in a flash," and he stepped through the Gate with a confident stride, while Severus' wand snapped up (Drevas was a good four inches taller in those boots than Severus, who was by no means short) to the Dark being's face and Potter made a small noise of shock; looking down at the dark haired wizard, Drevas calmly said, "You mind pointing your wand somewhere else? Or would you prefer I rip off your arm before telling you of your wayward student?"
Narrowing his own eyes, Severus aimed his wand at an armored shoulder, the Killing Curse at the front of his mind; as much as he didn't like the boy, he wasn't about to leave Potter to the devices of what was clearly some alien Dark Lord, "Before we go there, what exactly are you?"
"Dunmer, or Dark Elf," Drevas grunted, glancing briefly at Potter, who was standing stock-still halfway between the kitchen and front door, watching human and Elf, wide eyes tinged with fear and a smidgen of hope, "Not that that'll mean anything to you," he quietly added before continuing in an easy tone, "One last question, Mr. Snape: do you know a… Harry Potter, by any chance?"
Of course, Potter doesn't give him a chance to respond, speaking quickly and hopefully, "That's me! Is Hermione okay?! Did you bring her with you?!"
"Easy lad," began Drevas while Severus ground his teeth quietly, but Potter was not to be deterred so easily.
"Where is she?!" the stupid brat looked about to raise his wand!
"Potter! Be silent!" barked Snape harshly, making the brat flinch; sighing, Severus returned his gaze to find the Dunmer looking at them neutrally, "The lad's distress aside, however…"
"Right. In order of the boy's questions: she's as okay as she can be while suffering from amnesia, caused by a blow to her head," Severus winced while Potter paled, but Drevas was ruthless with his matter-of-fact tone, "No, she's not with me, as the place behind me isn't for children," he gave Potter a pointed look before finishing, "Finally, while I don't know exactly where she is at the moment, I ensured she'd be in safe hands before leaving her at my house. On a lighter note… Harry," the boy, who'd been getting more despondent by the second, looked up at the now smiling Dark Elf, "She may not remember much of her life before coming to my world, but Hermione remembers you, and she's working constantly to find her way back, as am I. Have faith."
The younger woman's voice spoke up cheerily from the other side of the Gate, "We're doing whatever we can to bring her back, Harry! I promise, she'll be back before you know it!" Drevas nodded in agreement.
Potter nodded, his expression brightening ever-so-slightly at these declarations, before asking quietly, "But… why… why isn't she-"
"Because I'm not in the world she's in, at the moment," the Dark Elf gestured behind himself, "That place is actually between our worlds. Through that fire, there's no food, no water, no life. I had to sacrifice part of my own soul just to enter the place. There's no way, in all the sixteen hells, I'm about to bring Hermione through there, and if either of you took even one step through, you'd be dead in seconds. But," he continued, "if either of you can tell me how the fuck she came to my world in the first place, I'm fairly certain I can find a way to bring her back to you."
Severus frowned at the being's language while looking into Drevas' expectant eyes, extending a gentle Legilimency probe, as he felt doubtful as to the Dark Elf's true intentions; after all, despite what he'd seen through the Gate, the strange being didn't seem like an accomplished wizard.
Granger, dressed in a leather and steel kit, hair cut brutally, scarring on her temple, standing over the corpse of a strange, green-skinned being in a snowy clearing, holding a crossbow in her shaking hands.
Granger again, hair still short but with a neater trim, obviously happy as she discussed something with a black-haired woman on the floor of a house, grinning as she gesticulated wildly to her nodding audience.
Before Severus could get any further, he was yanked into the air by his neck.
"Keep your mind magics to yourself, s'wit," spat the Dark Elf, eyes glowing dangerously, while Severus choked around the vice-like grip, wand falling from his hand as he grabbed at the offending gauntlet; with one last growl, Drevas effortlessly tossed him onto his couch.
Sighing exasperatedly, Potter pocketed his wand ('Fool boy!') and spoke to the Dunmer, "Sorry about my Professor, he doesn't trust easily," Severus didn't respond, as he was still trying to decide if his trachea had been crushed or not, "Um, the other guy, Pettigrew? You're sure he's dead?" at Drevas' swift nod, Potter went on in a hard tone, "He's the one who did it; Hermione was wearing a Time-Turner, and Pettigrew turned it into a Portkey after taking her hostage," the raven-haired Gryffindor's tone went pained at the end, "We… we thought she was dead… The only other person who did that, they were found dead, ripped apart…" Severus groaned internally, no doubt the boy was still blaming himself for the events of a month ago.
Blinking, Drevas said evenly, "She damn near did die, lad, but that's no fault of yours; blame the s'wit who got her into that situation. Though… what in the name of Akatosh is a Time-Turner? Or a Portkey, while we're at it?"
Having recovered slightly, Severus managed to reply, if in a furious and hoarse tone, "A Portkey is a spell that can be used on any mundane object; once activated, it will transport anyone touching it to another point in space. As for the Time-Turner, it is an artifact that allows the wearer to go back in time in pre-set increments; the one Granger was wearing, when turned once, would take her back in time by one hour. Is that all you needed, or do you feel like assaulting me more?"
Drevas, however, had gone stock-still, staring blankly at a point slightly to the left of Severus' head; after a moment of silence where Potter shifted uncomfortably, the Dark Elf finally said, in a flat tone, "Time. She…" He let out a frustrated snarl, running a hand through his hair, "Gods-damn it. Alright, I can work with that, but getting her home will take quite a bit longer than I thought it would initially."
"How long?" asked Potter, nearly whining to Severus' ears.
It must have sounded similar to the Dark Elf, as he gave the boy an unimpressed look, "I don't know. No one in my world was ever stupid enough to go messing around with space-time magic; at least, no one who did so and lived. The last time that happened, it nearly broke the world."
"Drevas!" came the younger woman's voice beyond the Gate, which was starting to distort, "Time's up!"
Nodding curtly, Drevas tossed Pettigrew's arm onto Severus' coffee table, "You can keep that," then to Potter, "I'll give Hermione your love, lad," then he was through the Gate before either of them could respond.
Bare seconds later, the Gate closed, the flames taking on a red hue and returning to their normal height as the interdimensional spell ended with a low hiss.
For a few minutes, both boy and Professor simply stared at the fireplace; well, Potter did. Severus was looking between Pettigrew's severed arm and the bottle of gin on his mantle, wondering if he could postpone the report of this event to Dumbledore long enough to get truly plastered.
"Professor?" he looked over at Potter, who was standing there, pale and shaking slightly, "Hermione's going to be okay, right?"
Scoffing and struggling to his feet, Severus snarled, "Potter, if she's thrown in with a being like that, I'd be more worried about what Granger will do to you when she gets back and finds you tried to off yourself."
Potter nodded, a distant expression forming on his face, looking at the scars on his arms and murmuring, "Never again…"
"I should hope not," straightening his robes and rubbing his bruised neck, Severus looked at the pensive boy for a moment before snapping, "Well?! Go get washed up and lay out your good robes for tomorrow! We have a delivery to make… and… Weasleys to visit." His sneer toward the end told the boy what Severus thought of that.
"Yes sir!" and Potter actually smiled before rushing up the stairs to do just that.
'The wonders a little hope can bring,' Severus mused, shaking his head and deciding to wait until he dropped Potter off at the Burrow before informing Albus of this latest development; right now, he had an arm to Transfigure for safe transport… and a quarter bottle of gin to demolish.
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Afternoon, 28th Rain's Hand, 4E201
Breezehome, Whiterun City
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'Finally,' I blissfully thought as I eased myself into the tub in Breezehome, a rapturous moan leaving my lips as the searing hot water caressed my aching body.
Three days. Three long days, the first of which involved my kissing Serana for the first time and becoming reacquainted with Master Drevas after they'd been gone for nearly a month; honestly, their absence felt like much longer; years, decades even. I'd missed them terribly, and had been daydreaming for several days of our happy reunion; no doubt there would be a feast, sitting around Breezehome and regaling each other of our adventures with happy tears and lots of drinking. However, the first thing Master said to me, after getting briefed on recent events by Farkas, was:
"What the Nine did you do to that armor, girl?" While it was said jokingly, the horrors of Shriekwind were still fresh in my mind, hence my heated reply of:
"What in Molag's hairy stones did you do to your face, old fart?" I didn't stop there, but I was really hacked off, so most of what I said to him wasn't exactly… nice.
Luckily, Serana was able to keep me from Shouting my arse of a mentor into a pile of ash by asking me to show her around Falkreath Proper; as far as first dates go, it was… actually pleasant! No one got freaked out by the female vampire getting dragged from one shop to the next by the 'Griffoness of Whiterun', a moniker that I couldn't stand and had Serana giggling cutely every time someone brought it up, which was fairly often. Silly nomenclatures aside, I still got to watch Magnus set on a small hillock west of the town, sitting between Serana's thighs with her face in my hair, her arms wrapped around my shoulders while our hands got re-acquainted with each other, her fingers gently tracing new callouses on my palms as I took comfort in the strange warmth of her undeath beneath my fingertips; a blissful way to end our date, by any stretch of the imagination.
Once the day had, unfortunately, drawn to a close, Drevas took me aside and apologized for being insensitive; apparently, Farkas hadn't given him all the details behind Shriekwind. I apologized back… and then my fellow Dragonborn proceeded to tease Serana and I, all through dinner, about our new relationship, Farkas smirking in the wings behind his mug of mead.
Gods, for all he was annoying, but it was good to have Master Drevas back in my life. His strange sense of humor and irreverence for other's feelings aside, not only did I owe him my life, but I owed him my survival in this mad world; so I took the teasing in stride and innocently asked Serana if she'd found him any lady-friends in their travels. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and it was worth the two-day forced march back to Whiterun just to see (and laugh at) Master's sour expression when Serana airily implied he'd gotten quite well-acquainted with a female Briarheart on their way back. Farkas was still chuckling when we made camp the next night.
The news of my own world was a good bonus, the greatest prize I brought home from my adventures in Skyrim's southern forests.
Purring to myself, I ran a pumice stone over the stubble on my legs as I thought of both Serana and Drevas' impressions of one Severus Snape, who I could barely remember beyond greasy hair and potions fumes, and… Harry.
What I wouldn't give to have him here with me, now; yes, now, cleaning the dirt and grime of three days on the road and nearly a month of bathing in a river from my nude body. And not just because I needed someone to wash my back! It was good to know he was safe, if worrying himself spare over me; hopefully, he wouldn't get himself hurt while I was away. That seemed to be a recurring theme in my nightmares of late, though why my Harry would jump onto the back of a runt giant was beyond the ken of everyone in the party.
Speaking of going spare, Lucia's greeting on my return a few hours ago still brought a quiet laugh to my lips as I washed my hair.
"Hermione!" the young Priestess cried, darting down the steps next to the barracks as Drevas haggled with Mrs. Avenicci over the price of ebony arrows a few feet away; was she waiting around for me to come through the gate? I couldn't blame Lucy, honestly; she didn't have many friends. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back in one pi-what happened to your face?!"
"Huh?" oh, right, new scar, "Oh! Haha," I rubbed the back of my head and grinned, trying not to think of how dinged up my armor was, "I sorta ran into a Werewolf; they got a lucky hit in toward the end. Honestly, I forgot it was there!"
My friend looked like she'd like to have a go at Drevas for a second, but managed to pull herself up and ask worryingly, "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want Sister Danica to have a look?"
"Probably later, Lucy; right now, I'd just like a nice long bath, a home-cooked meal, and nap for a few days!" around our laughs, I commented offhandedly, "Falkreath was one wild adventure after another, I tell you; in fact, if you're free later?"
She nodded, bangs flopping into her bright eyes as she grinned, "Meet up by the Gildergreen before dinner?"
"Yeah, tomorrow might be better though," laughed I dryly, "This lanky arse," I jerked my thumb at Drevas, who didn't notice, so deep in conversation with the local smith was he, "decided to force march us through the night; granted, there was a dragon roaring near Bleak Falls, but no worries. It buggered off west toward morning."
Huffing, Lucia gave her two drakes on that, "I thought I heard something down south last night, but that wench Braith didn't believe me. Good riddance! Better the Forsworn and bandits than us," sagely nods and vehement agreements were had by all before we bid our farewells, me to this nice, cozy tub, and Lucia back up to the Temple.
Drying myself with a quick spell and throwing on my robes, I levitated my weapons (still in their harnesses) and made my way back into Breezehome's cozy main room; Master Drevas and Lydia were having a quiet argument about something at the dining table, letters and maps spread out between them. Serana was already upstairs, having stated the desire to get out of her armor and into some nice, comfortable clothes; after having spent nearly a month swanning about in medium armor myself, I was in total agreement with my… girlfriend?
'Huh. Harry's my boyfriend… Serana's my girlfriend… Is that even allowed, having two significant others?' I mused to myself, bringing up the memory of that book on social decorum that I'd read in… Blackreach; my thoughts were quickly derailed by those strangely distant memories. Gods, it felt like years since waking up in that black pit, but it had only been a little more than a month. 'Wow… I wonder how much my amnesia's changed me, compared to the person I was before. Should I be worried? Will Harry still love me, the person I'm becoming, when I get home?'
"You alright there, Hermione?" blinking, I became aware of my surroundings once more; I was standing at the foot of the stairs, Drevas and Lydia now looking at me in concern.
Shaking my head, I smiled at them, "Yeah, just… woolgathering," a brief pause, "Drevas?"
"Hmm?"
"Happy anniversary," grinned I; he raised an eyebrow, but then Lydia clapped her hands and smiled brightly.
"Oh, it's been a whole month already, hasn't it?" I nodded as Drevas' face brightened, though there was a little quirk in his lips, like he couldn't quite believe it either.
"Wow," the Dunmer said slowly, "So it has; Azura, it feels like it's been ages, hasn't it?" at my slow nod, he smiled without restraint, "We'll have to do something special tomorrow to celebrate, maybe take over Jorrvaskr for an evening," he finished with a mischievous grin that I quickly matched.
"Maybe Farkas'll help us," yawned I, starting up the stairs, "but right now, my bed's calling me. I'll see you both in the morning."
A "Sweet dreams, Hermione," from Lydia and a "Have fun," from Drevas followed me as I reached the upper landing; Lydia's door was still intact, if now with a small needlepoint message hanging in the middle of the door: KNOCK FIRST. I snorted at that before turning to the guest room, the slightly ajar door letting the blissful sound of Serana's humming a tune drift to my ears. Smiling, I strode to the door and pushed it wide.
She was sitting on the bed, running a comb through her hair, already in that oversized blue shirt she'd been wearing that first night here in Breezehome; setting my gear next to the door, I shut it and observed wryly, "Great minds think alike, I see."
Stopping her humming, Serana smiled back at me, "I don't sleep much, being what I am, but… well, it's hard to explain."
Climbing onto the bed and taking the comb from my Serana, I pecked her lips and started running the implement through her silky hair for her, smiling all the while, "Try me."
Laughing as she sighed, my girlfriend obliged, "It was… difficult, growing up in a cult to Molag. I got into the habit of being a light sleeper; after… well, after, I found I could go weeks without sleeping. It's still a bit of a problem for me, actually, though," she laughed lightly, making something in me grow warm, "taking a two thousand year nap might have something to do with it," I chuckled softly, enjoying the feel of Serana's soft hair in my hands as she continued, "I didn't sleep at all that first month, mostly because I had a lot of catching up to do, but also because I didn't feel safe amongst the Dawnguard."
"Those vampire hunters Drevas joined, yeah?"
"Mmm," Serana hummed contentedly, leaning a little closer as I continued my ministrations, "It's funny, actually… I can sleep just fine in moldy ruins and dank caves, or even out under the open sky, and the Sun is only mildly annoying… but," she looked at me, glowing eyes tender as they gazed into mine, "I haven't ever slept peacefully, night or day, until you came along."
Setting the brush aside, feeling my whole body break out in goose-pimples at Serana's fond words, I reached up a hand and caressed her cheek, happy tears rimming my eyes as I replied in a loving whisper, "You chased my nightmares away, that first night; I don't know what I'd have done if not for you, my Ana."
I leaned up as Serana lowered her lips, chaste presses of our lips slowly becoming more heated, wanting; an arm wrapped around my waist as I moved to sit in her lap, straddling her thigh and wedging my knee in her groin, my hands tracing the natural lines of her face, committing them to memory: her distinguished cheekbones and slightly hollow cheeks, her straight, unbroken jaw, even the rims of her temples.
Her own warm hands ran through my hair, sending a delightful tingle across my scalp; Serana returned her left arm to my waist, holding me close, while her free hand caressed my features, mimicking my own ministrations which, if the soft, breathy moans against my lips were any indication, were greatly appreciated.
'I could get used to this…'
I broke away briefly, partly to catch my breath and partly to look into her glowing, wanting eyes, fingers tracing her lips and running through her hair as a warm hand stroked the back of my neck and held me gently.
Serana's breathing was shallow and heated, flickering spiderwebs flushing across her pale features as she huskily spoke, "'Mione… are you-" I silenced her with another heated snog, drawing a mewl of pleasure from her. Encouraged, my left hand drifted from her chin, traced the hollow of her neck, to-
She caught my hand, breaking the kiss with a quiet laugh that was somehow both happy and fearful; confused and a little hurt, I whispered, "What? I meant what I said, Ana!"
She cupped my face with one hand, still smiling as she shakily explained, "As did I. I'm… just afraid, I suppose. Your blood… it's like Drevas'… it smells so good to me, when your heart beats like that; if we do this, I…" silvery tears welled at the edges of her eyes as she whispered, "I don't want to hurt you, my 'Mione."
Breathing in deeply to steady myself and letting it out in a huff, I decided to figure out a few things before we both started bawling, "Okay… okay… You, um, how is vampirism passed on?" sure, I was trying to distract us both, but I needed to know, so I could figure out how to make my Ana feel better!
As it was, Serana blinked and shook her head, "It's a conscious decision, 'Mione; you can catch normal vampirism just from breathing the dust. I, on the other hand… I'd have to bite you, and… well, there's a gland in my gums, behind my fangs. If I work that gland…" she shrugged, averting her eyes, though her hands didn't leave my body. 'Okay, so now I know how I'll be turned, if it ever comes to that… but…'
I nodded, assured, and asked with an edged voice, "But you control it, right?" at her hesitant nod, I grabbed her hair and made her meet my eyes, growling, "So what's the problem here, Ana?"
Gaping, she gently grasped my shoulders and implored, "I could still bite you, Hermione!" 'Ah. So that's what's wrong.' "If-if I lose control of myself, for even a second, you'd be drained…"
"I trust you."
Serana sighed, shaking her head, "Mione, I want to, so badly, but Drevas would kill me."
"Serana," she met my eyes again, glowing orbs tinged with slight fear, the ridiculous woman, "I trust you," caressing her face, I continued in a caring tone, "When's the last time you fed, love?"
The shiver that ran through her body as her eyes widened in realization nearly had me giggling in humor and arousal, the latter due to bringing such a reaction from my Ana; gulping and wetting her lips with a pink tongue, she replied in a dry-sounding voice, "Ah… um, a week ago, maybe? I-I-I can get Drevas to brew me a blood potion-"
"No." Ignoring the small voice in my mind that said this was a bad idea, I rolled up a sleeve on my robe, holding my right forearm up to my hungry-eyed and still hesitant girlfriend, "I'm here for you, just like you're here for me. Now drink."
That ample chest of hers, so familiar to me by now, heaved in combined desire and anxiety, the light scent of nightshade tingling my senses even as she gulped again, her whisper fearful, "What… what if I can't stop?"
I giggled, "Ana, I'm Dovahkiin. I'll just use a Shout on you… now," I breathed huskily, taking the back of my Ana's neck and guiding her in like a babe for nursing, "Drink, my Ana."
Sliding a wet pink tongue over those soft lips, Serana opened her mouth hesitantly, baring those sharp, silvery fangs; she met my eyes one more time, silently asking for permission. I just smiled and applied more pressure to her neck; her eyes became lidded, taking hold of my arm at wrist and tricep to hold the limb steady.
Her mouth slowly closed over my wrist, fangs parting my skin with a gentle prickle of pain; I could feel them, a coldness that was at odds with the rest of her, as they entered a vein. A shudder ran through her, my Ana's eyes rolling as she moaned in sanguine pleasure at the feeling of fresh blood running over her teeth…
And she started drinking. "Ah," I gasped, feeling a numb coolness around her gently sucking lips, the chill making me break out in goose-pimples again and bringing my nipples to full hardness; I kept my eyes on hers, watching those glowing suns darkening from a pyrite gold to a deep copper, the change accompanied by that coolness touching my magic as I shunted some into my blood, mitigating how much blood I'd loose in this feeding by offering up my magic in succor.
It seemed to be enough, as after only a dozen or so seconds of feeding, Serana withdrew her fangs; dark red blood pooled in the two small punctures, overspill from the offered vein. A warmth that had been building in my nether regions turned into a wildfire as my Ana's searing hot tongue ran over the bloody dots; biting my lip to keep from keening in pleasure, I carefully wrapped the spot in a well-practiced Restoration pattern, the two spots healing over with thin skin, the pink bumps quickly deflating as Serana licked her bloody teeth with a lidded, satisfied expression, savoring my flavor like it was the finest wine.
Snatching my arm back suddenly, my poor, surprised Ana's eyes widened in confusion as I used that arm to push her onto her back, asking with a soft giggle, "Enjoy your meal, then?"
"Hah…" she gasped, still coming back to herself, red spiderwebs crawling down her neck and beyond, "Ahem… that… oh Gods, 'Mione… that was amazing."
"Mmm, much better when it's given willingly, hmm?" purred I with a coy grin, moving my hips a little on her thigh as she smiled shyly back, "Well then, Ana, if you thought that was satisfying…" I leaned down, brushing my lips over hers before moving to her ear…
"Imagine how good it'll feel when I take my meal from you." I wiggled my knee in her groin for emphasis, breathing a laugh in her ear as she shuddered in barely restrained want.
"Oh 'Mione, you don't know what you're doing to me," her voice was heady and unfocused, and a total lie; I knew exactly what I was doing to her, having fantasized about this more than a few times in Falkreath. Good thing Farkas wasn't a heavy sleeper and preferred hunting at night to sleeping in our room, or he'd have gotten no sleep at all those weeks!
"Oh, I don't?" breathed I in mirthful challenge, sliding my right hand down toward those ample breasts and grinding my knee more firmly against her moistening sex, "Shall I show you how much I don't know?"
I saw her bite her lip in lust, a purred non-question on the tip of her tongue, right before someone knocked on the door.
'FUCK! FUCKING PISS-BRAINED, BAD TIMED, THRICE DAMNED, NINE-FORSAKEN ROOMMATES!' Serana's frustrated growl showed she was just as furious as I for having our moment interrupted; letting my forehead fall onto her shoulder with a thump, I snapped irritably, "Who is it?!"
"Your illustrious Master, my fledgling apprentice," great. He sounded like he was buzzed on ale again, "You two decent, or do I have to break out the Frost spells?"
Fighting down a few dozen curse words Farkas taught me, I propped myself up on an elbow, left hand holding my head up and lying lengthwise across Serana's right side, a bare leg straddling her thighs while my right hand settled for stroking her belly, which was unfortunately still clothed; getting with the idea, Serana began brushing her fingertips over the light stubble above my knee, her right hand resting on my hip, gently kneading part of my bum through my robes.
Satisfied with our respective positions, I called airily, "Come in, then!"
The door opened, revealing Drevas in burgundy finery trimmed with fur, a gold and ruby amulet around his neck and glittering rings on his fingers; he looked like he was going to some hoity-toity to-do, as Farkas would put it.
The look on his face was bloody priceless as he took in Serana and my positions on the bed, red eyes blinking over and over again like he was trying to dispel the illusion before him; at least until Serana gave a demure giggle. Then he sighed, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms, "Why am I not surprised?"
Snorting lightly, Serana replied cheekily, "Don't blame me, Drevas; she started it!"
Grinning and not taking my eyes of Master Drevas, I snarked, "I didn't hear you complaining… much," my mind howled with laughter as Drevas visibly shuddered, that 'I'm not thinking about this right now' look dominating his face.
"I've created a monster," Serana and I giggled at the older Dragonborn's whispered observation; shaking his head, he went back to being all business, "I'm heading down to the market to get some supplies, as we'll be leaving in four days' time; did either of you want anything, or would you two prefer some privacy to rut those days away?" the great ashskinned arse finished with a grin of his own.
Serana hummed in thought beneath me as both older adventurers ignored my paint-stripping glare; actually… now that I thought about it, "Could I get a basic Alchemy set, Master? I've been looking forward to learning, you know."
He hummed, looking thoughtful, "I suppose… Arcadia should have some spare equipment lying about, and I've got a few recipes you can learn from. I'll get you some ingredients while I'm out, just make sure you open a window if you're going to brew." I nodded enthusiastically; yes! I was going to learn Alchemy! My scattered memories said it was the most difficult branch of magic to master, but when has that ever stopped me?
"I can show you a few things, too," my Ana put in from beneath me, much to my joy; more time spent with her! Jackpot! "Oh, and Drevas? Pick up some rings; I've got a few ideas I'd like to bounce off Hermione here, and… um, you don't have to make as much Blood Potions as last time," she gave my bum a firm squeeze; turning a grin on her, I ran a finger down the center of her muscled abs. Oh, if only that shirt wasn't there!
Drevas, on the other hand, "You're using my apprentice as cattle?" he deadpanned with an angry undertone.
"No, Master, I offered Serana my blood when I found she hadn't fed in a week," I slapped her stomach lightly, chiding my Ana for neglecting her health; after she 'eep!'-ed at the action, I turned my attention back to Drevas, "Also, I found that shunting my magic into my veins mitigates blood loss."
My mentor blinked in surprise as Serana murmured, "I wondered what that was…" A couple seconds later, he shook his head and grouched, "Alright, as long as you're both being safe about it. Just… whatever you do, don't tell Isran," the last he said to Serana as much as me. 'Who?'
Serana waved him away; once he'd left, I relaxed onto my Ana again, cuddling up to her side and sighing, "Bloody arsehole, killing the mood."
"Hush, my 'Mione," Serana purred lightly, "You look a bit tired. Get some sleep," she pulled me closer, my face now in the crook of her neck, "We'll continue once you wake up."
"Mmm, kay," breathed I, making sure as much of my body was touching my Ana's as possible before whispering, "Night, love."
"Night hon," she whispered back, sounding like she was drifting off herself.
And though we slept till next morning, we didn't get a chance to continue our… ahem, physical activities, a celebration at Jorrvaskr and magical studies taking precedence to any heavy petting, though we did manage to sneak a snog or two, between potions.
…And then there were the events of the night after…
. . . . .
Late Evening, 30th Rain's Hand, 4E201
Whiterun City, Jorrvaskr, The Underforge
. . . . .
"Do we really have to be here?" asked Aela, brow furrowed as she looked at Kodlak, whose gaze was for Drevas alone.
Sighing, the Dunmer replied in a strained tone, "Strictly speaking, no. The only ones who need to be present are myself, Hermione," his apprentice, in her mages robes and the leather boots he'd given her in Blackreach, looked curiously about the room from her place at his left, trying to avoid looking at the rough-hewn stone basin in the center, "Farkas," whose arms were crossed petulantly, glaring at the floor and ignoring his brother's questioning looks, "and Kodlak. The rest of you don't have to be here, though the Pack showing solidarity would make this go more smoothly."
Skjor growled, "I don't like this. I'm loyal to the Companions, to the Inner Circle, but Kodlak, this is madness, what this Dunmer is trying to drag us into."
The great Nord in question didn't break his frowning almost-glare, directed at Drevas himself, as he answered in his quiet baritone, "The only way this isn't going to happen, Skjor, is if Farkas or Hermione accept the Huntsman's token. Well, Farkas? It is a great honor, you know, being Favored by the Huntsman."
"I'd sooner piss glass than wear Sinding's hide, Harbinger," was Farkas' gravelly response, making Drevas himself suppress a groan.
"You know my feelings on this, Master," whispered Hermione, eyes on the ground beneath the basin and sounding like she'd rather be anywhere else, preferably between Serana's breasts if recent events were any judge.
Accepting both responses, Drevas cracked his knuckles before addressing Farkas in a mild tone, "I'd suggest not saying that, once we're underway-"
"Have you been listening, Dark Elf?" Skjor snarled; Drevas barely restrained rolling his eyes, because, for fuck's sake, he'd known the man when he was still a wet-behind-the-ears brat that barely came up to his chest, and how dare he take that tone with him, "We're not talking atronochs or daedroths here, you're seriously suggesting we summon one of Them, inside the city walls. Haven't you read about the Oblivion Crisis, you-"
"Think very hard about what you're about to say, whelp," retorted the Dark Elf in question, though his neutral expression didn't change, which probably made him look all the more scary; the furious Nord's expression of rage didn't change, but he remained silent, so Drevas spoke gently, "If I didn't know what I was doing, I wouldn't dare attempt this."
"Besides," his apprentice actually spoke up, sounding hopeful, "It's not like we're trying for Old Dagon or Herma Mora, here. The Huntsman is one of the nicer Princes, isn't he?" Aela nodded grudgingly at that, though she didn't stop playing cat's cradle with a worn leather cord, a tic she'd had since showing up on the mead hall's porch, a mere ten winters old… her father's dried blood flaking from her cheeks, eyes wide with hope and bravery and fear.
"Take care what you say, girl," Skjor bit out with a sneer, shaking Drevas from his reminiscence and making him wonder if a blood sacrifice would be a better medium than what he had in mind; before Skjor could dig his grave, however, Kodlak broke in.
"Silence." It may have been one word, and it may have been whispered, but from Kodlak it was like Shor himself had lain down judgement: Skjor's mouth clicked shut, Aela stopped fidgeting, Vilkas stood up a little straighter, and Farkas uncrossed his arms, shifting his weight in Hermione's direction.
All the while, the aged Harbinger didn't take his eyes off Drevas; an eternal minute passed before Kodlak asked quietly, "Is there no other way?"
Drevas sighed; they were both old men, now. He remembered when the lad across him had hair orange as the rising sun, which darkened over the years, from battle and smoke and flame and life, into a ruddy crimson that ensured no shortage of admirers or women. Now… they were both grey and weathered, but still strong, still standing…
One slip-up this night, and Whiterun would only know of their ends from Hermione's soul-wrenching screams of madness as she ran blind through the streets, eyes gouged from her skull and drenched in the blood of the Companions and Last Dragonborn.
He shook the thought from his head; it wouldn't happen. He knew what he was doing, and Hermione knew better than to play with matters beyond her ken. The others…
"If there was, Kod, I'd do it. But," Drevas shrugged, lips quirking in sad wryness, an expression matched by his old friend on the other side of the basin, "given time constraints and the difficulty of bringing about other rituals, in addition to the fact that Hircine's nearest alter is in Cyrodiil…"
Kodlak nodded in understanding, then gave out a weary sigh before asking, "Any advice than, Dre?"
Ignoring the nervous shifting of the Companions and the quiet gulp of his apprentice, Drevas approached the basin where the Savior's Hide rested, "Keep your eyes on the ground and don't look up no matter what. Do not speak unless spoken to. Be respectful, but not pompous," he glanced at Vilkas when he said that, drawing a round of anxious chuckles and grunts from the young man's fellows, "If any of you have old business with Hircine…" Drevas gulped softly, continuing hoarsely in a serious voice, "Speak your piece now, as all our lives will be at stake otherwise."
Silence, save the crackling of the room's torches.
"Very well." Drevas' voice was like a bell tolling. Raising a hand and calling on his magic, the flames of the torches flew to his hand. He snuffed them with a gesture, plunging the room into darkness.
Swallowing once more to steel his screaming nerves, he drew a glass flask of clear water from his robes, along with a thin black box which he laid on the rim of the basin. Without hesitation, he opened the box, uncorked the flask…
…and began the Chant.
I give you water, taken from the Niben.
I give you the string, from a poacher's bow.
I give you a feather, dropped by a raven.
I give you a needle, by which flesh was sewn.
I give you the blood of a betraying coward.
I give you the wrappings of a vengeful wraith.
I give you a Circle, in silence, heads bowed.
I present the Hide, Gifted in good Faith.
And I give you Fire, the first Divine Gift to Mortal Kyn. Yol.
A wisp of flame left Drevas' lips, landing in the basin. He stepped back quickly to his place in the circle, bowing his head as flickering light lit the cavern and he continued the Chant.
I call upon Hircine, God of the Wild.
Whose Blessed do run, wither they may.
Come down from the stars, stay but awhile.
Beneath the Twin Moons, shining bright as Day.
"Come. Come. Come. Come." The words were taken up, spoken calmly in unison by all those present, even Skjor, as the ritual compelled them. Drevas himself realized, as a foresty scent filled the grotto and the sound of distant howls came to his ears, he couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.
After twelve repetitions, Drevas continued alone:
Here in the Darkness we call you.
Here in the Darkness we pray.
Attend to your Faithful, Hircine!
Answer your Circle, hear what we say!
"Here in the Darkness," Hermione's voice shook with trepidation.
"Here in the Darkness," Farkas' growl was tinged with eagerness.
"Here in the Darkness," Vilkas' tone was dry with fear.
"Here in the Darkness," iron had nothing on Kodlak's resolve.
"Here in the Darkness," said Skjor through clenched teeth.
"Here in the Darkness," Aela's pitch made her sound like a child again.
"Here in the Darkness," and Drevas' voice was sure as ever.
"Here in the Darkness," spoke the Circle in unison, "COME!"
Golden, prismatic light flared in the basin, temporarily blinding Drevas; as he blinked away the spots, he heard Aela whispering, "Don't look up, don't look up, don't-"
"Be silent," hissed Drevas, watching as the shadow of the basin took on a deeper hue, a black void speckled with points of white light beneath the swirling radiance reflected on the floor of the Underforge in a psychedelic mosaic of greens, blues, yellows, browns and all colors between, shifting like a living stained-glass window, giving the impression of a grand forest set in fields of gold. The baying of war-hounds and wolf-kin mingled with the cackle of hyenas and jackals, coming from the swirling shadow of the eldritch light…
As the shadows of all standing, save Drevas, inverted, their heads touching the basin rim in defiance of all logic. One by one, again starting with Hermione and ending with Aela, the shadows resolved into the shape of a different canine, which sat at the edge of the haloed void. Shepherd(Hermione), Mastiff(Farkas), Foxhound(Vilkas), Hyena(Skjor), Jackal(Aela), and Husky(Kodlak); each prowled about each other along the void's edge, the silhouettes' appearing to have eyes of their own as they looked at each of the Circle, judging the gathering's worthiness with slits of white light.
All save Drevas' own shadow, which the hounds gathered about, three by three…
…and howled.
A gasp of surprise ran about the Circle as their heads were forced to remain bowed, held by an invisible force; claws raked down Drevas' spine as, in the wake of the hound's call, the sound of galloping hooves resounded about them, though, in terror, the Dunmer found the sound was also inside his head. He wasn't alone, if Vilkas' quiet whimper and Skjor's gasp were any indication.
As the gnashing teeth in Drevas' soul and the frantic primal drumming in his heart reached a crescendo, the moment broke, perfect silence falling over the gathering.
Like oil on water, Drevas' shadow detached from his feet, the legs soon forming into antlers springing from an elaphine head, a powerful, masculine body following, gird with a furred kilt; the scent of freshly spilt blood and the musky odor of wild beasts filled the air as a wickedly barbed spear formed in the shadow's hands, which was quickly driven into the ground with an earth-shaking boom and Drevas fought with all his considerable will not to drop to his knees in worship.
Because this Daedra had no use for supplicants or the bowing and scraping of civilization, and only had respect for the predator, the Hunter, those who took with their hands and teeth. Primal, pure, menacing, merciful.
Such was the disposition of the God of the Wild.
The Shadow's eyes opened, white pits amidst the starry void of its being, before seeming to narrow at Drevas in annoyance. Then the antlered head tilted to the side in seeming curiosity.
Drevas of Mournhold. What a surprise… though I suppose it shouldn't be, given who and what you are.
The voice was both around them and within, Hircine's voice, the call of elk and the roar of bear, the tread of mammoth and the hiss of an eagle's wings; that it was tinged in humor didn't help the feeling of standing before a presence that could crush them with less than a thought.
Still, manners must be observed, and Drevas' lips quirked a little as he responded hoarsely, "Lord Hircine, well met. Please, excuse the sparse accommodations, I had little time to prepare."
Nonsense. All of Nirn is my palace. To tell true, you could have done worse, the Daedra replied, folding his arms, looking about with bored interest and continuing airily, Why, it's not even my Summoning Day, and you use the Chant of Calling successfully; no doubt Potema would be jealous, were she not serving as a footstool for my brother, Molag. No matter. Why have you summoned me, Mortal? Speak!
Gulping reflexively at the totally unwanted information, Drevas complied, "Two of this Circle presided over the death of your Shamed Champion, Lord. It is regrettable, but they see the Savior's Hide as a reminder of a Hunt better left forgotten. To wit, they wish you take the Hide back with their thanks, without ill will or insult to yourself."
As Drevas spoke, the Shadow of Hircine moved to stand between Farkas and Hermione; once the Dunmer finished, the Daedra began stroking his chin as though in thought, the Shepherd shadow moving about his legs and watching Hermione, the Mastiff sitting before Farkas and staring impassively at the Nord.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Hircine spoke, Young Lavinia, the younger Wolf you slew, insisted, Hermione Granger, that you be gifted with an appropriate token of my favor for freeing her body and mind from my Shamed's… violations, Hermione shuddered, for too many reasons in Drevas' opinion, but Hircine wasn't finished, Most who gain my favor would be happy to wear the hide of their hated foe, yet you refuse. Speak your mind to this Circle, Hermione Granger: why do you refuse my Favor?
"I would rather your Shamed's name, deeds and legacy be ground into dust by Time's millstone than give him the dubious honor of wearing his skin as protection, milord," was Hermione's furiously whispered response; in Drevas' opinion, it wasn't a bad response, but there were better ones. He just hoped Hircine didn't take offense.
So you would have poor Lavinia be forgotten? Hircine barked, the hounds growling at his feet.
"No." Hermione replied, sounding close to tears, "She is with you, Lord. I have ensured she will never be forgotten… an example of your mercy to those you Favor and Bless, if that is your will."
Silence again, though this one was tinged with a feeling of pleasant surprise.
She agrees, Hermione Granger. So be it: Lavinia shall be raised by Myself in the Hunting Grounds as an Avatar of My Mercy. Although… the Shadow stroked an antler while the Hyena chuckled quietly, there is still the matter of your payment to consider. I will not be held in debt to a Mortal, girl! Hircine's voice was a stampede of giants and a screeching horde of Cliff Racers descending on them, as he cut across Hermione's protests, strangling them before they could be voiced, Farkas, the Hound of Jorrvaskr, will be rewarded in the fullness of time, so long as he lopes at your side, Griffoness of Whiterun. You, on the other hand… you will need a more lasting token of my Favor, that I may express my pleasure at finding a Mortal whose ideals so readily match my own.
Father, the Shepherd spoke, looking up at Hircine, if I may?
The Shadow knelt, putting a clawed hand that reeked of a fresh kill on the hound's neck as they conferred quietly for a few moments; Drevas took the opportunity to check on his apprentice. Her pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and she'd worried her lip raw. Glancing in the opposite direction, he saw Aela wasn't much better off, fingers incessantly playing with that leather cord, eyes wide with fear. He really couldn't blame them, the smallest part of himself, the orphan, whimpering with abject terror in the Daedra's presence.
Yes. I agree, the Shadow spoke suddenly, standing while the Shepherd turned its gaze to Hermione. Folding his arms again, Hircine addressed Hermione directly, You realize, Hermione Granger, that in refusing my Gift, I am within rights to bestow you with whatever I wish? Hermione nodded jerkily, still pale and fearful. That fear peaked in Drevas' own heart at Hircine's next words, Then I bid you appreciate, Mortal, that should you refuse my next Boon, you will regret it.
"I understand, milord," murmured Hermione, the steadiness of her voice at odds with the anxiety he could feel coming from her.
Tilting its head back, as though looking down its nose at the younger Dragonborn, the Shadow spoke, Kresh. The Shepherd looked up at Hircine. From this moment henceforth, until battle takes you or my Favored releases you, you are her shadow. Show her the loyalty of the pack, and aid her however you wish, until her greater task is completed.
I hear and obey, Father, the Shepherd responded before leaping from the rim of the void, attaching to Hermione's feet; from the corner of his eye, Drevas saw her shadow reconstitute, appearing human, but with a sharpness that wasn't there before. She also let out a startled 'meep!' and twitched as though freezing water had been poured on her.
Once done, Hircine spoke again in a softer tone, Never before have I placed one of the Wild Hunt in the service of a Mortal, whether Favored, Blessed or Champion, Hermione Granger, my Most Favored. However, I see a great Doom before you, and you have touched me with your merciful actions. Therefore, I give what aid I can, and let it never be said I, Hircine, am without compassion.
"Thank you, Lord Hircine," the young girl squeaked, no doubt shocked at receiving such an honor; and an honor it was, at that! Drevas hadn't ever heard of the Wild Hunt of Hircine being used for anything besides hunting down rouge Hunters that had evaded His Mortal agents.
Nodding, Hircine hummed a moment, Now, for another matter, and the Shadow turned to Kodlak, Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions of Ysgramor… For your deeds in life, I will allow you to continue with your plan to remove the Curse of Glenmoril, and my Blessing by extension, but know this: should your actions include invoking one of my brethren, even if it is one such as Azura, you will know my Wrath. Drevas heard Kodlak gulp from where he stood. Are we clear?
"Y-Yes, Lord Hircine. Perfectly clear," despite the slight stutter, Kodlak's tone was still strong; 'Good. Wouldn't want Skjor to get the wrong idea,' mused Drevas as the Shadow walked back to stand before him.
It regarded Drevas for a long moment before speaking, Boy. Don't ever use this ritual again, especially with her present. Hircine nodded his head toward Hermione before continuing, There are forces at work that even such as you can barely comprehend, and not all have your interests in mind, or are as vulnerable to your powers as the Dovah are. Be wary.
Drevas nodded as much as he could, bowing slightly at the Daedra's warning, "Thank you Lord Hircine, I shall be vigilant. Fare you well."
And just like that, it was over.
The torches flared, the prismatic light vanished, their shadows returned. Lifting his head, Drevas found the Underforge to be completely unchanged by Hircine's presence, save the absence of the Savior's Hide in the central basin.
"Um… Master?" he looked over at his apprentice's worried tone, finding her frowning up at him with an… odd expression on her face, "This… um… this feels really weird. Like… I have a sudden urge to scratch my ears with my feet!"
"Yeah, we've all gone through that," Vilkas reported calmly, shaking hands producing a wineskin, "It'll go away in a day or so… maybe. No one's been Blessed like you, before," and he took a few healthy gulps before passing the skin to Farkas, who began chugging it with abandon.
Kodlak let out a strained sigh before saying to Drevas, "I'd ask that you leave her with us for a week or so to acclimate to having a… Blessing of Hircine… as a part of her, but it'll probably be better if she discovers how it works in the Wild. Oh, and Farkas?" the hulking Companion passed the wineskin to Hermione (who shrugged and took a gulp of her own, shuddering as she passed it to her frowning Master) before grunting questioningly at the Harbinger, "For making all this Daedric shit necessary, you're being placed on salary pay; from now on, you're a part of Thane Drevas of Mournhold's retinue, if you'll have him that is?" The last was said to Drevas, who had just passed the strong wine to Aela as Farkas sighed in resignation.
"Fine by me, Kodlak. I could use an extra bit of muscle out there," he and Farkas nodded to each other, the Nord a little more hesitant, "Now, if no one minds, I'm going to get my gear ready for tomorrow before getting very drunk and fucking that Redguard bint in the Mare's kitchens till she's cross-eyed. Toodles."
And, sharply about-facing, Drevas strode away to the door to the Underforge, mind entirely on the coming adventure and a certain set of mocha-skinned breasts, Hermione travelling uncertainly in his wake with the Companions' raucous laughter ringing at their backs.
"Err, Master?" ventured Hermione once they were outside and making their way around the Mead Hall.
Turning, Drevas found Hermione slightly hunched over and looking like she was struggling to remain upright, "You okay there, Hermione?"
"Oh yeah, brill," she snapped irritably, "Just wondering if the urge to move on four legs is normal," and his apprentice fixed him with a withering glare.
'Well…' he mused, looking at his struggling apprentice neutrally, 'This should be entertaining, if nothing else,' "Ask Serana," Drevas replied, turning away as Hermione made an angry noise, "And tell her to check my box for a book on the Wild Hunt. If you can't find anything tonight, well…" he shrugged, "We'll figure it out while we're on the road to Riften."
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A/N:
Gonna have to cut it there. We'll see the Dawnguard next chapter.
Sorry that took so long, I got distracted by a something shiny.
In looking about the FFnet archive, I found something interesting:
THIS IS THE FIRST AND ONLY STORY WITH A Hermione/Serana PAIRING! WHOOOO!
I'll try not to let you down on the romance scenes!
A couple explanations for parts of this chapter that may seem… controversial, to some readers:
Firstly, in the first section, remember who you are beholden to. Snape, for all that Fanfiction tries to redeem as a misunderstood guardian angel (when he's not being paired with literally everyone), is a colossal, whiny dick. That's his personality, both in canon and in this story.
Secondly, Harry's suicide attempt. *sigh* It was hard writing that into this story, but ultimately necessary. Look at it from Harry's point of view: he'd just spent ten years as, basically, a slave. He finds out he has magic, and makes his first friends. Then, one year after another, he's thrown into situations where his life is at stake. Three years into this, he reaches out to one of his friends, asking for more. She agrees, they become close, share their lives with each other over five months. The boy who was a slave sees the light, believes he can be happy.
Then it all gets ripped from his grasp in one terrifying moment.
Now, from what I've gathered, both in study of the human mind and my own… experiences… two things could happen: that boy, who has only recently known the comfort of others, becomes bitter and hateful, his heart darkening to the blackest steel. Or… having known love, and lost it, he sees only one way out of this painful existence… and takes it.
I've known and gone through both, and it was hope that brought me out of that awfulness. The first scene isn't really allegorical, but it's as accurate to this story as I can make it.
Thirdly, if you have something wrong with the age difference between Serana and Hermione, tough. They're not in Western society, the idea of Christianity doesn't exist, and the closest the denizens of Tamriel get to Victorian values of romance is the practice of monogamy and courtship. Which, when you take their chaotic history into account, kind of makes sense; for five thousand plus years, an entire continent has been in a struggle for their very souls, so the idea of 'love who you love and damn convention' seems like something the Nords, at least, would promote in a world where Necromancy, banditry and Daedric shenanigans are very real threats.
Having said that… what do ya think of their lemon-scented scene? It's not really my strong point, romance, but I think I did well…
If you have any further questions, leave a review; unlike James Stormcaller, I respond to reviews for this story in PMs.
Thanks for reading! Till next time,
~Baked
Next time: Bonding, the Dawnguard (for real this time!) and too many moths!
