Summary: SSHG, AU, The desert holds many untold dangers

Beta Love: Dragon and the Complicated Bunnies, Dutchgirl01 the Early Morning Cheese Eater, Flyby Commander Shepard

A/N: I'm brain-dead. Don't expect coherency.

The Dangers Below

You can increase or decrease the distance between yourself and an obvious danger, but the tragicomic thing here is that when you increase this distance, you approach another danger simply because everywhere is full of dangers, clear or hidden!

Mehmet Murat Ildan

Hermione stood upon the blowing sand as the dunes sang, her curls entangled in her head scarf as the Death Eaters aimed their wands at her.

It was no new thing, these unwelcome visits.

Not since the prophecy of that lunatic had driven her far away from Hogwarts, her home, her family—

She couldn't say friends because they had abandoned her as quickly as a camel could spit, probably faster.

Harry was so glad not to be the focus of prophecy for once; he couldn't shove her away fast enough. Ron was so glad to have Harry all to himself that his shoving her towards a troll in the bathroom by "accident" seemed like hearsay. Of course, Ron wouldn't do something like that, oh no. He was Harry's best mate after all. Good ol' Gryffindors.

The price on her head was enormous.

She was certain that Ron had seriously considered shoving her down the moving staircase in the hopes that he could cash in the hefty reward to make his life more comfortable like the wealthy pureblood he believed he should be.

Mummy issues, her father would have said.

Hermione wasn't sure what made people take anything that Sybill Trelawney ever said seriously. The woman was a perpetually drunken fraud whose chicanery both behind and in front of her crystal ball seemed so blatantly obvious to Hermione. Her breath was always heavily laden with cream sherry and her predictions were every bit as vague as that of a doctor who said your condition was idiopathic—that was to say "uncertain or unknown" with a word that seemed official but basically said "yeah, I dunno." Mind you, at least in the medical field in the Muggle world, idiopathic didn't necessarily mean that your doctor was an idiot. Trelawney, however— there weren't enough words to describe just much of an idiot that woman was.

So, instead of sending Trelawney away somewhere very sunny and sandy, they'd banished her instead.

Not even officially, either.

Dumbledore implied, of course, that Harry Potter's life was important and thus hers not so much—rather he said that her continuance at Hogwarts would endanger more students unnecessarily—

And when Hermione realised the attacks on Muggles near her family home in Hampstead were actually Death Eaters looking for HER, well, she immediately had her parents placed under protection, sent off to Australia and settled there, making sure that even she didn't know where they were.

And when she was ready to just wait it out in her parents' old home, one ray of light came in the form of a shark tooth placed in a bed of sand whose only clue as to the identity of the sender was a familiar scent she knew all too well.

The sand was, as far as her magic had told her, from the Sahara. The tooth looked a lot like something she'd once seen in her father's prized fossil collections—something she'd stared at many, many, many and many more hours just imagining a world where a great and vast desert had once been underwater. Where gigantic sharks and prehistoric beasts were much larger than any life on earth in modern times. When even the modern elephant looked small by comparison—

Her magic told her where these things had come from. Her nose told her who they were from, but neither could tell her why it was sent.

And could she even trust the person she THOUGHT it was from after all the history they had?

Dumbledore had always told them that Snape was to be trusted, but in the end, she couldn't even trust Dumbledore himself to have her back. Not even a little.

But something he had said came back to her—

Something that had seemed to be meant as a slight against Viktor at the time.

"Sharks are everywhere, Miss Granger," Snape said, his black eyes fathomless and cold. "Be sure you know which ones won't eat you the moment you begin to bleed."

She strung the tooth to hang around her neck, transfiguring the sand into a cord, hastily packed up her things, sold her parents' home and dentistry with tears in her heart, moved every single asset into a high-security vault within Gringotts, and then she vanished into the Sahara.

What little she did catch from the magical world seemed to indicate that her disappearance was seen by and large as good riddance to bad rubbish.

Even Trelawney got onto the bandwagon to slander her as "an impossibly mundane girl with no gift," while Ronald Weasley was quoted as saying, "All the bint ever did was nag and show off but she was nothing special, just a little Muggle poser. And did you see that mad hair of hers? She's a ruddy horror!"

So Hermione Granger disappeared into the desert, unknown and unmourned. She wandered the desert for many moons, living much like a waif and outcast, but gradually she picked up the language, and when she did it seemed more doors were opened to her. The nomads would take her in for a few days and help her go in the right direction or at least what they thought was the right direction for her, which gained her a lot of experience learning the desert but gave very little sign that she actually was on the right path.

She learned how to herd camels. How to forage in the desert. How to find the wells or the rare oasis—many asked her why she was not with family, and the expression on her face must have told them enough that they realised she had no one she could turn to.

They looked at her with pity, most times. For even the nomads had family. Family was very important to them. And after a year or more of this seemingly aimless wandering, it seemed while the Wizarding World of Britain had written her off, a teacher had found her.

"They say that you wander the desert like a ghost," the woman said with a chuckle. She wore the abaya that covered her whole body, save for her hands, feet, and head, but like most women, she wore the scarf over her head. She passed Hermione the rosewater to wash her hands and tea to ease both her thirst and mind. "How would you like to truly become a part of the desert rather than haunting it like an outsider?"

Hermione let out a soft sigh. "I would very much like to be less—inept."

The woman chuckled. "You are not inept, or you would not have lasted this long. See? You speak to me in Arabic. Not your mother tongue. You understand, yes? This is more than most could do when faced with the sea of endless sand. Magic means nothing if you cannot live to use it. And while you have magic and the ability to create water, I see you trying to learn how the people of this land do it. Yet, you are compassionate enough to magically provide water to those far from help whether camel, bird, or person. I have you learn customs foreign to you. I've seen you honour them, regardless of your upbringing. I've seen you share food with those less fortunate than you, even though you may have had very little to share. When you find a date tree, you share its bounty with the wanderers rather than keep it to yourself, but you are wise enough to keep the desert's more fragile secrets, lest its splendour be abused by the very cancer of humanity's greed."

"You've been watching me," Hermione whispered.

"Since you made your very first steps here, Hermione Granger, I have watched you," she acknowledged. "You wear the whisper of the desert around your neck. Every day you clasp it, hoping to connect to meaning. Your life. Why things are. Things many have contemplated since the beginning of all things. But—if you wish to take the desert's magic into your soul. If you wish to remain here and make it your home, then I can help you. But all you think you know will be but sand in the great desert. If you choose to embrace it, it will change you irrevocably. It will be the very heart of your soul. You will not be able to leave anymore than the whale can leave the ocean."

"Are there many out here that have learned this path?" Hermione asked.

"Many have tried," the woman said solemnly.

"Tried and failed?" Hermione asked.

"Tried and died," the elder woman replied. "Many who seek the power of the desert do not wish to pay the price. There is always a price for power. Wiser ones leave before they start, knowing the price is far too great. Foolish ones think they can cheat the balance, but magic is not so easily swindled here. Many have sent people by proxy to gain the secrets, and they perish more often than they survive. Again, the wisest of such quit while they are ahead. There is no shame in realising your limitations or that some other magic calls to your soul."

"And how will I know?" Hermione asked.

"That is between you and magic," the woman said. "But, to start, I would give you a very special tea. You would sleep, and you and Magic would share a vision of each other. When you wake, you will know. Should your path lay elsewhere, I will lead you out of the desert. Should your path be with the magic here, I will teach you the very heart of desert magic. The deep magic."

"I suppose that's fair," Hermione said. "When do I begin?"

"Now," the elder woman said, handing her a cup of tea.

Hermione found herself in a strange jungle—

The air was thick and humid, and the air was different. Heavier to breathe. And there was an ocean—a great vast ocean.

And animals the likes of which she had never seen—alive.

Skeletons, perhaps. Books. And even those paled in comparison to the colours and massive bodies that moved around her—so very much alive.

The primordial sea seemed both dark and deep, but there was also vibrant colour.

Was this the Sahara, she wondered. Long before it was a verdant wilderness—even longer before that green turned into a sprawling expanse of sand.

She saw massive beasts rise and fall—creatures so supremely large that they made modern whales seem small. She saw them being born, growing up, and dying. Some never lived long enough to grow up. Lives fed other lives in a desperate struggle to survive.

But there were things that lived amongst these great creatures that the Muggle record of science did not record—

Great beasts of magic whose bodies imitated life in shape and function, but they were made of a greater, deep magic. Magic so pure that it sizzled as it past her—

They looked like enormous sharks, snakes, catfish, invertebrates, mammals, and the strangely familiar crocodiles as if to prove they hadn't changed all that much throughout time if but for size. But these great beasts rose and fell, other species took their places, as prey became faster and predators had to adapt.

But even as all these things happened before her eyes, she saw the magical creatures evolving too, and as the fallen succumbed to those that were bigger or more cunning, their magic forming the beginning of the greatest of ley lines, the beginnings of the concentrated magic modern magic users only barely tapped into by building their magical buildings over them, in them, or around them.

Hermione realised that the beginning of magic as witches and wizards knew it was raised on the death throes of these ancient, unknown creatures.

She watched as the great beasts fell to hunger or each other, and their energy went into forming the ley lines much as their bodies and other organics went deep into the earth to create both fossils and fuel the modern world used.

And—like the modern Muggles burning fossil fuels, modern witches and wizards were tapping into this ancient magic as if it would never waver—never be exhausted.

But they weren't putting anything back.

So the Earth began to change areas—making the climate more inhospitable for the life that tapped into magic but did not surrender their magic to the cycle.

Cold.

Heat.

Extremes.

Places where the great magical beasts could still live out their invisible lives—live, grow, die—but also thrive.

But magical people found new ways to create power, twisting the forces of magic and creating magic through death—Dark magic. But unlike those creatures born of the Dark, they perverted the natural cycle to serve their own ends, corrupting even more of the magical energy around them, depriving the cycle of even more magic.

So ancient magic created creatures out of this Dark—Darker things with a Darker purpose—to predate upon the unnatural Dark magic users and purify their tainted magic back into its natural form, but over time, these Dark creatures lost their way. They needed—guidance. Protectors.

Someone to protect and guide their path to keep magic flowing back into the primordial pools.

Each biome had its own reservoirs. Each had their own protectors. Necessary, lest the Dark creatures meant to keep the balance between Dark and Light lose their way. Lose their purpose.

The tropics had Lethifolds.

Britain had Dementors.

There were others, of course, and some even crossed habitats, but the Dark had lost its way. Instead of purifying the unnatural balance, they had begun to serve the human defilers.

And magic was fading.

Magical people were less and less.

Magical creatures were seldom seen.

And the great magical beasts—were not seen at all.

What did the Sahara have?

Hermione's hand warmed as it went to the tooth around her neck.

Oh.

Idiot.

Sharks.

Sharks of magic roamed the ancient seas of magic underneath the protective layers of sand and rock.

Help me.

She heard his voice.

Help me come back home.

Tears flowed down her eyes as many voices joined his.

Help us.

Bring us home.

Please.

Please.

Hundreds—countless voices joined in the soulful plea.

Sharks of a hundred, thousand different shapes and sizes. As Dark and beautiful as space, but their colours muted as they had lost their way and their purpose—even their shape as it should have been. Their shapes were fading along with their purpose. Sadly, some had already perished—so disconnected from their true nature that they had died believing themselves to be that which was only a guise.

She stared at the shark tooth in her hand and saw so many colours that she'd never known existed. Magic she had been blind to.

Her soul ached to right the wrong—not just for the one who had given her his tooth in the hopes that she could do what so many others had failed to do—but because this was what she was born to do.

This was her purpose.

This was her reason for being.

Harry Potter.

The Dark Lord Voldemort.

Ronald Weasley.

Sybill Trelawney.

Albus Dumbledore.

They were but drops in a bucket of sins against Magic.

A great beast shark greater than the horizon was wide floated in a sea of magic before her.

Are you ready, my child?

"I'm ready," Hermione said.

With your death, you shall be reborn, my daughter.

Hermione saw the wall of endless teeth as the vastness of space swallowed her.

"Have anything to say for yourself, Mudblood whore?"

"I fear you have me mixed up with someone else," Hermione said, her expression utterly serene. "I have no blood, and since being a whore requires you to have a bit of how's your father, well, I'm not one of those either. Perhaps, your lovely female companion with an unsettled mind. She's pregnant, by the way. I'm not."

The dark-haired wizards both turned to stare at the curly, black-haired witch, casting a quick spell as the glamour over her swollen belly evaporated.

"WHOSE IS IT?!"

The woman looked at them with wide, wild eyes. "It is my great honour to carry the Dark Lord's child!"

"You FUCKED him on our marriage bed?" the one wizard roared, "while you denied ME even the consummation of our own marriage?"

Hermione waited impassively as the Dark wizards and witch ended each other, and the moment blood and magic spilt upon the hot Saharan sand, sharks rose from the sand like water and tore their fallen bodies to pieces.

"I guess they didn't know," Hermione said as her hand caressed one of the passing sharks. "My mistake."

Hermione found the rate in which to summon the Dark Lord's cronies almost comically easy. She simply sat in the sand and said, "Voldemort", and they came right to her.

It was, she realised, quite cathartic to say the name. Sometimes she screamed it over the sand just because it felt good not to care. Then, a squad, gaggle, confusion, horde, or other such grouping would arrive, the blowing sand would cause minor cuts on their unprotected skin, the blood would drip upon the sand, and the sharks did the rest.

Gleefully.

The sand and sharks swallowed the bodies, purifying the magic that stagnated in their hollow shells of skin and bone, and the desert's magic grew ever stronger.

The hungry leys from other biomes begged for a share, and for once, the desert was full aplenty. It generously shared with its neighbours as the continent grew strong both in magic and with the restoration of the natural balance.

And rain fell upon the parched lands where endless years of drought had unmercifully tortured the living.

Thump.

Hermione squeaked as a playful "young" sand shark rose out of the sand and tipped her over. Its mouth opened as if to laugh at her, its shining teeth glistening in the sun.

The only reason she knew it was young was because she knew what old "felt" like in her predatory charges. This one also had some playful spunk in him that was a lot like a kitten that considered everything a toy.

You know, the sand-surfing kitten the size of trolley with teeth the size of her head—

They were all bigger, now. Even the youngest ones. They still came in a variety of sizes and shapes, but more Death Eaters, assassins, snatchers, and all-around horrible examples of humanity came to turn her into paste, the more magic returned to the desert. Great magical beasts the size of which made her think of her imaginary dragons as a child, all larger than life, and it was like being surrounded by prehistoric beasts that only she could see.

As each day passed, and as each bit of magic returned to the sands, it was a feast to them all, and they were rising to the surface again, no longer content to be buried in the sand in torpor. They were born or hatched, lived their lives, and died—some to predators or the desert's new and more powerful magical storms.

The desert had become a different place—even if only she could see it. A place where fantastic beasts thought long dead walked, flew, and swam in magic that fed the veins of the Earth's ley lines.

And with each return of magic, another Dark creature returned to the desert, freed of its confusion and lack of purpose, no longer lost.

Hermione had asked her Mother if the other biomes across the Earth would heal as the desert did, but she was honest that it would require someone like her—someone willing to give up their freedom for responsibility for that to happen. To give up their mortality. To give up—the cycle of life and death. To forever be an outsider to a world that would never understand her or the world they protected.

Hermione had already given up her life with her parents when she'd sent them off to ensure their survival—already knowing that their being alive and well was more important than spending happy holidays together. She had her memories. Of good times. It had been those memories that fed her reason to let them go—and why responsibility was ultimately more important than a few years of Christmas, she'd had to give up anyway due to the hefty price on her head.

It was fine, she reasoned, that her parents were alive and well.

Alive was better than knowing where she was and being dead soon after.

And becoming the guardian of the Sahara's magical reserves gave her a great perspective on the gift that living in the cycle was. The finite wonder of life.

Not that she didn't have certain wonders—like riding on her Mother's back as she swam through the dunes as they sang out across the sands. She wouldn't trade that for anything. Or the spirits that would teach her the ancient magics, singing to her soul the intricate weaves of energy and life. Far more intimate than any teacher she had at Hogwarts.

The desert magic was, very truthfully, the purest and closest to the deepest and oldest connections through time, but the price for being able to wield it was being intricately bound to it. She would never be able to leave its embrace.

But then, she wouldn't want to.

She felt at home in this place of magic, life, and death. And the Dark would always be there to both defend and keep her company.

She smiled. It was a good life. It was her life.

Uninvited guests had begun to show up more and more frequently—contracted murderers all. Hermione wasn't sure where this "Dark Lord Voldemort" was getting all the human fodder to throw at her, but he was definitely determined to take her out by any and all means possible short of showing up at her doorstep himself .

Occasionally, she would find a lost owl flopping around in the sand—now that the desert was healthier, its vortex of protective magic rattled the poor owls' sense of navigation. She would tend the owl until it was well again, read the news if it brought a paper, and then sent it along its way from the edge of the desert along with its slightly used newspaper.

While she was still enemy number one on Voldemort's hit list, it seemed that things at Hogwarts weren't going nearly as well as Dumbledore had implied they would if she was gone.

While she had learned how to survive in the desert and become adopted by the desert itself, Ron and Harry had been attacked by one of Hagrid's "'armless beasts" during a detention and crippled for life. Hagrid had subsequently been prosecuted for breeding dangerous illegal hybrid animals, and he and all his animals had been gathered up and ported to Azkaban, right down the very last Acromantula. Apparently said Acromantulas had no problem noshing on the prisoners, and a steady stream of magic came back to the desert along with—homeless hungry Dementors.

Dumbledore was under fire for having consistently championed Hagrid, and even the Weasleys were pressing for his expulsion as headmaster after Molly's "darling Ronniekins" had been crippled for life and made a sterile eunuch by Hagrid's rampaging arachnids. Harry had managed to keep his bits, but he had lost an arm before they had found and rescued him.

"Mother, are Acromantulas Dark creatures? Like the sand sharks?" Hermione asked.

"No, child," her Mother said. "They are arachnids corrupted by the corruption of magic itself, but they were not actually born of it. They were once normal spiders—albeit quite large ones. Wizards once tampered with them to make them more intelligent—trying to make a perfect guardian for their things. They were eaten, and then the spiders escaped into the jungle."

Hermione considered then that maybe Snape's constant badgering not to take information found in books as the word of law might have been a bit more accurate than her book-loving heart could possibly admit.

She touched the tooth that still hung around her neck. Even in this new life, she had kept it close.

"Call him home, child," her Mother said gently. "We are strong now. You are strong now. It is time."

Hermione closed her eyes and looked skyward, the desert wind blowing through her robes and curls. She took in a deep breath, pulled her headscarf off her head to expose her head and face and opened her eyes.

They glowed an unearthly gold as blackness swallowed them as space filled in where colour once was. Nebulae formed and swirled as clouds of cosmic dust moved with a deep vibrance. Black storm clouds formed on the horizon, hanging low over the sand dunes as an eerie coolness that so contrasted the daytime temperature of the desert that the animals froze in place, unsure what was happening.

Dementors materialised beside her, their hoarfrost extending over the heated sand as a roll of thick fog formed from the vastly different temperatures and increased humidity.

Hermione took the tooth from around her neck and snapped the cord as she pulled it. The cord turned to the original sand that had once cradled the tooth. She held the tooth in one hand, and it grew bright as the sun in her hand as magic poured into it and broke through the binding magic that echoed from its source.

"Severus," she said as the tooth in her hand became pure shadow. Pure concentrated Darkness. "Time to come home."

The tooth turned to sand in her hand as shimmering particles of magic shot off into the sky toward Europe—to Britain.

One tear of cosmic plasma trickled down Hermione's face, landed in the sand, and disappeared.

The great and "merciful" Dark Lord Voldemort stepped onto the sand with a hiss of annoyance, the blistering heat of the desert angering him instantly. He was tired of some insignificant little Mudblood whelp making utter fools of his knights.

He yanked Severus forward by the magical chains wrapped around his throat, jerking them harshly with an impatient flick of his wand.

"I'm tired of being played for a fool, Severus," Voldemort snarled. "No one who is so lucky to not die no matter what I sent them to can possibly be anything but a traitor."

"You think that because I haven't died yet that this makes me a traitor?" Severus said hoarsely, blood running down his face to the sand in dark splotches.

"No one is that lucky, Severus. No one but I could ever be so skilled," Voldemort said. "Is this not true? Am I not the ONLY one so skilled?" He jerked the chain, and dagger-like teeth dug deep into his skin from the chains.

Severus choked as it constricted. "No one but you, my Lord," he sputtered.

"Am I not—merciful?" He jerked the chain again, digging the prongs into Severus' throat deeper.

"M-most merciful, my Lord," Severus choked out.

"Actually, I think you're an arse."

Voldemort's head jerked up to see a slender wisp of a girl standing on the sand, the wind blowing hot sand vortexes around her feet.

"You," Voldemort spat. He cast a series of quick spells that had her tumbling into the sand, her body wracked with spasms of Crucio in between cutting hexes in between multiple curses that had never appeared in any textbook.

Her blood soaked into the sand as she tumbled like a rag doll across the dunes.

As the Dark Lord smiled cruelly as she lay still in the blowing sand, he kicked her hard in the ribs. "I would have just done this myself had I known you were going to be such an easy kill," he taunted.

Hermione looked up, her face a mask of blood as her bloody hand fell onto Severus' foot. "It's not about my death," she said serenely. "It's about what happens after."

"You're free," she whispered.

Her body went limp and turned into sand, blowing away in the wind.

Voldemort shoved his foot into the sand and stomped it. "I was never anything but free," he scoffed.

"No, my Lord," Severus' voice intoned—deeper, clearer, stronger.

Voldemort spun to see Severus standing without his chain or collar. His eyes were as black as space, the whites missing.

"But, I am," Severus said, and his lips pulled into a dark smile as he exposed rows and rows of pointed shark teeth. There was a great ripping sound as his body suddenly exploded out of his robes as a great black shark and his jaws opened impossibly wide before crushing down upon Voldemort's screaming, thrashing body.

The surface of the sand exploded with movement as hundreds of sand sharks surfaced, each eagerly tearing into pieces of Voldemort, ripping away their share of flesh just as violently as possible.

And yet, Voldemort's body did not die.

His horrified eyes remained moving as his head, even detached from his body, seemed fully cognizant of what was happening to him.

A locket fell from the sky, landing in the sand only to be promptly devoured by a sand shark.

A goblet.

A diadem.

A snake.

A ring.

A diary—

And a screaming messy-haired, one-armed man clutching a mop and bucket with the Hogwarts logo stamped on it.

The sand sharks swarmed all over the screaming man, devouring every last scrap of flesh and magic to be had, and then the Dementors floated over to the Dark Lord and fed upon his tattered soul as the lights in Tom Riddle's screaming head went forever out.

Man-Who-Scrubbed Mysteriously Disappears While Mopping Hogwarts Corridor

The Edges of the Sahara Seemingly Turn To Dense Rainforest Jungle Overnight

The Nile River Widens Dramatically, Flooding Its Banks, Boundaries Reminiscent of Primordial Forest From Prehistoric Times

Every Attempt To Cut Down And Blaze Path Through New River Forests And Jungles Mysteriously Destroy Any And All Cutting Equipment!

Newly Formed Great Lakes Found In Satellite Photos of Africa!

All Electrical Power Equipment Taken Into Sahara Fails Inexplicably!

All Expeditions Into Saharan Jungle and Forest Disappear With No Contact!

Nomads Refuse To Share Secrets of How They Roam In And Out of Sahara Safely!

Severus stood under the shade of the pristine oasis where the animals and nomads came on their way across the vast desert.

While not all of the Sahara had turned lush and verdant, pockets of green had appeared in many of the ancient places to provide shelter and water for both the wild creatures and the nomadic people that had lived there for untold generations.

And the nomads did not share their secrets with outsiders, coming and going much as the Romani did, holding their secrets as close as they did their family. They fed and watered their goats, never staying so long that the land was unduly taxed but also finding that the lush grasses were far more filling to their livestock than ever before. Their goats and camels produced richer and more nutritious milk, and they lay about resting more often than eating the land bare.

The nomads seemed to recognise this as a great gift that was to be protected and kept amongst themselves, and as long as they did so, the land did not bar them entry or send them in endless circles.

As long as the secret was kept, the Sahara did not close its doors. Food was plentiful if you knew where to look, and the look of health Severus saw in the nomads in general was much greater.

And the animals, especially.

The once scarce desert giraffes were becoming more common, Addax antelope were making a comeback, Dorcas and dama gazelles were so plentiful you couldn't not trip over one. Egyptian tortoises had been nearly extinct but were now flourishing. Spotted hyenas were now roaming the night, pangolins were plentiful, endangered vultures and ostriches were having successful broods, and predators like the Ethiopian wolves, African wild dogs, and Saharan cheetahs, too, seemed to be doing well. There were far more animals than Severus even knew whether they were endangered or not, but whatever was living in this pocket created by the return of magic was thriving.

And that didn't even count the massive amounts of magical beasts that also roamed the land—invisible to all but those like himself.

"Wool-gathering, love?"

Severus smiled as Hermione pulled him down for a kiss. "I might be," he confessed as he gathered her in his arms and pulled her into a hidden spot to Apparate back to their secluded (well, more secluded) hideaway in the magical jungle. He devoured her mouth as if she was air, eliciting a squeal from Hermione as she half-heartedly attempted to remove the enthusiastic suckerfish from her neck.

"Have I thanked you recently for saving my life?" Severus asked.

"Not todaaaHEY!" Hermione gasped as he affixed his lips to the other side of her neck.

"Am I—being thankful enough?" Severus rumbled.

Hermione panted slightly. "Maybe."

"Hn," he said with consternation. "I see. I will have to—work. Harder."

"OhmyGAHHH!" Hermione squeaked as he pinned her to their shared bed, and a couple of sand shark pups swam hastily away from their now discovered hiding spot.

"Why do they have to hide in OUR bed?" Severus said disgruntledly before going back to kissing his mate utterly senseless.

"They like to hide wherever we are," Hermione chuckled in reply

Severus touched her cheek with his hand. "I am completely and utterly thankful that you saved me from both myself and my lost state of being in Britain."

"I'm just thankful for you," Hermione said, touching his lips with her fingers. "I wouldn't be here if not for your tooth to lead the way."

Severus' black eyes met hers. "I had little hope that anyone could help me, but if anyone could—it would have been you."

"So you threw me into the desert," Hermione said with a chuckle.

"It worked, didn't it?" Severus said, a smile filling his impossibly black eyes.

"Mother is out teaching our pups how to hunt Dunkleosteus and coelacanth."

Severus looked at her suspiciously. "What are you up to?" he asked.

"We have some time alone," Hermione suggested, purposely looking away from him.

Severus pulled her chin back to stare her in the eyes. "Then we should strive to earn ourselves an O in everything, I think."

"Everything?" Hermione asked.

"Evvverrryyything," Severus drawled, drawing out his word like he was slathering it on a crumpet.

Hermione's eyes went wide just before her very determined, sharky mate pounced her into the bed and reaffirmed just how grateful he was they were both alive together.

Meanwhile, a gathering of sand sharks chased each other both under and over the sand as they wove in, out, and around the huge magical beasts that towered over their sanctuary.

And the ancient, deep magic thrummed in approval from deep within the Earth.

And somewhere, far, far away, a troubled Ronald Weasley woke up screaming to a recurring nightmare in which he was a tiny, terrified clown fish being chased by a giant, hungry shark.

And they lived sharkily ever after.

A/N: I tried to murder everyone, but Dragon refused to go to bed when she originally intended so I was not able to obliterate everyone as planned. Hogwarts caretaker Harry had a suitably sharky-end though, so part of my murderous heart is happy. You're welcome!

Thank Dragon and the Rose for staying up a little longer and preventing me from committing global genocide.

(I swear the next time she goes to bed, everyone is going to die horribly!)