Summary: There will be 31 days of mayhem, but I'm not sure there will be 31 actual stories. That would require more brain than Corvus has.

Beta Love: Dragon and the Cold Water Bottle Torture, Dutchgirl01 the Busiest Bee that Ever Buzzed, Commander Shepard the Winter Soldier

A/N: Each story will be a separate chapter to feed my laziness and desire not to post that many new stories for the same event.

Kindness

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

Aesop

Prompt: Kindness never looked good on me.

It never looked natural on me—kindness.

I never wanted anyone to know my—secret weakness.

I'd had enough of weakness. Too many knew of the one I did have—Lily.

Every Slytherin wouldn't let me forget it.

The Dark Lord manipulated me with her.

Dumbledore would never let me forget my sins.

Scowls were easy.

Spite was easy.

Bitterness was all too easy.

To sacrifice my "life" at the end of the war—easy.

What did I have to lose anymore?

Nothing.

Lily was long dead.

Her son was a delusional boy who believed his parents were perfect and faultless heroes, coasting along on Granger's talents and blaming her when everything didn't go perfectly as if she was expected to fix everything.

Dumbledore made it terribly easy for him to stay so twisted in his own head.

Irresponsible.

Denying that he had to make up his own damn mind instead of surfing on Weasley logic and bias.

He was just like his bloody father—only he didn't have a gang to help him harass others and get his jollies stringing hapless Slytherins up in trees.

No, he took my old textbook and tried to murder Draco with it. Then he tried to murder me with my own spell.

Ah, but I am the bad guy. Always.

The look on his face when he realised Dumbledore had been raising him like a pig for slaughter.

It would've been worth it if it hadn't been so bloody pathetic. As if suddenly his entire world deflated. Every lie he told himself—gone.

I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn't been bleeding out by Nagini's fangs.

It's hard to enjoy another's pain when your own is so much more imminent and mortal.

I closed my eyes to the world when Potter left me to bleed out, taking my memories of so many truths with him.

I'd expected to die. It was a perfectly logical assumption given my blood was escaping even faster than my will to live.

And what did I even have to live for?

Spite?

That was a horrible reason to live, even for me.

It was then, in that moment when more blood was out of me than in that I saw them—

Glowing red eyes in the dark of the Shrieking Shack.

The vampires had found me.

Of course they had.

The Dark Lord had wanted them hungry and willing to do anything for their next meal.

No matter who it was.

They stared at me, their eyes flicking from me to my blood. I could see the tension in their bodies because for some reason—they weren't simply falling upon me like a pack of starving dogs.

A young-faced vampire I had never seen before at the Dark Lord's meetings stepped out of the taller gathering of vampires. He looked, perhaps, fourteen, but his expression was not that of a teenager. It was an expression befitting someone with age and experience and—someone accustomed to being obeyed.

He sniffed once, his crimson eyes flashing gold for but a moment. "That is the one that my daughter wishes to live. Take him to the Nation, and do not let him perish, or I will personally perish every one of you with immense pleasure."

The "younger" vampires cringed, and suddenly I was pulled away into blackness.

I woke—alive—to find a Muggle IV stuck in my arm as blood travelled into my veins from a plastic bag. The room was dimly lit save for the electronic readouts on the IV infusion pumps.

"It seems that you will survive, human," that voice said, and I tried to suppress a shiver unsuccessfully.

The "boy" cast his eyes downward for a moment and then they flicked back to stare at me. They were no longer crimson on a field of black, but brown and quite human-looking. But there was no mistaking that eerie predatory stillness. This being—didn't even bother to fake breathing. Every movement was accentuated because the time between such things was filled with the utter stillness of the grave.

Power smouldered underneath the being's skin. It was the kind of thing no one could ever hope to fake. It was what the Dark Lord simulated with mere bursts of such power—but had never maintained.

"Lord Gizzal," a taller vampire said bowing deeply. "Your daughter has returned from the war and wishes to let you know she has arrived shortly before Lord Sanguini—erm—"

Lord Gizzal stared, unblinking, at the younger vampire, his eyebrow arched.

"Reaffirmed his mating bond to his eternal love?" the "boy" vampire offered.

"Y-yes," the younger vampire said, cringing as if Lord Gizzal would punish him for something I couldn't even fathom it would be.

Gizzal snorted lightly and waved him off. "Send word that she can meet with me for debriefing after Sanguini is done reassuring himself that a decade away hasn't withered him to impotence."

The other vampires scurried away as Lord Gizzal stared at me again "Kids," he said, a flash of fang reminding me he was never to be underestimated. "No matter how old they are, they will always have familiar insecurities."

He sighed heavily. "And what shall I do with you, Severus Snape?"

He said my name with an accent I was not familiar with. It made my name sound—exotic. Less like Cokeworth trash. "What is it you want for your life now that the two most annoying men of the Wizarding World are now very dead?"

Truth was—I had no idea.

"I—" I knew lying to this being was not a good idea. I wasn't that much of an idiot. "I honestly have no idea. I did not plan to live this long."

"An honest answer," the "boy" said to me. "Perhaps, in a week or so, you will have an answer for yourself and for me." He clucked his tongue. "Until then, you are under my protection here. Quarters will be provided for you to recover, and you will be expected to check in with your healers once a day until they are certain you are not relapsing. The venom of your serpentine attacker was quite insidious and magical—twisted by some foul sort of soul magic that should never be touched by the hands of mortals. It must be monitored. Should you feel strange for any reason unknown to you, you are to report here forthwith. Am I clear?"

I immediately bowed. "Yes. You are perfectly clear."

A key hovered in front of me, clutched between two clawed fingers. "Your key to your home, for now," Lord Gizzal said. "I have assigned you an assistant that will assist you with settling in, scheduling, and managing whatever entanglements you might have tying you to the mortal world. They will keep your secrets safe—and you. I do not recommend that you attempt to leave the Nation until these things are—resolved."

With that, he swept from the room so fast I could have hallucinated him entirely.

"Father!" I heard a familiar voice call out from the nearby room.

Curiosity, bane of all Slytherin self-preservation, reared its ugly head, and I just had to follow it.

Granger threw her arms around the "boy" that was Lord Gizzal with her face alit with happiness. "It's so good to see you, Father."

She immediately tilted her head to the side, and Lord Gizzal's fangs flashed quickly as he sank them into her neck. He pulled back after a moment, his hand having cradled her against himself. He smoothly drew a claw across his neck and drew her to it, his eyes glowing a malevolent red. Granger took from him what he had taken from her, and then her crimson eyes flipped back to dark brown.

"You've been busy, my daughter," Gizzal said, his face puckered. "And I see your mate couldn't wait but a few minutes for your blood to touch my lips to confirm your adventures."

Granger laughed, and her face did not look the same as I remembered. There wasn't the insufferable need to prove herself that I remembered—that expression that looked so much like she wanted to cry.

"Mihail has been very patient with me until now," she said with a chuckle. "He just couldn't be patient forever."

"Hn, well—" Gizzal said with a shrug. "Perhaps, now you can work on giving me some grandchildren."

Granger flushed. "Father, I only just returned."

"All the better to get busy," Gizzal said with a wave of his hand. "The deaging elixir has finally put you back in your proper age group as it were, so no one has to think Lord Sanguini is a pervert seducing young girls to his bed."

Granger huffed. "He was perfectly proper at Hogwarts."

Gizzal chuckled. "I am sure it was maddening to have you so close and not be able to touch you as befitting a mated pair. I know when my dear Erish goes on her little missions to help mortals pull their heads out of their collective arses, it is—uncomfortable."

Granger's expression softened. "Do you think he regrets asking me to fill this role?"

"Oh, I'm sure he does, but— he also knows it was necessary. You were the most appropriate choice—and you destroyed the Horcruxes Riddle was creating, and that will please Lord Hades if nothing else."

"I do not envy Tom Riddle that conversation in the Afterlife," Hermione said, her face grimacing.

"If he gets that far—those that meddle in such magic tend to leave a piece of themselves trapped in Purgatory—eternally neither alive nor dead. Hades does not entertain cheaters, and even vampires must follow His rules. Lest they become far less immortal and more vulnerable to their mistakes."

Gizzal's eyes flashed. "Please go share blood with the Council. They are eager to gain an update on the state of modern magic and the mundane world from one who lived it—and the drama will entertain them for centuries, I'm sure."

Hermione sighed heavily. "Must I?"

"Go, miscreant!" Gizzal said with a loud sniff. "Do not make me compel you to obey."

Hermione smiled at him, kissing his cheek. "I've missed you."

"I did not miss you in the slightest," Gizzal claimed, tilting his head away.

Hermione placed something in his talons. "Well, then don't open this."

She exited the room in that same amazingly fast manner that had me doubting she was there to begin with, and it made me realise that all the vampires that had been under the Dark Lord had either been very weak or else—withholding their true power.

And I had no idea which it was.

And the person I had thought was Hermione Granger—was probably the biggest lie of all.

Here I was thinking she was the biggest pushover and a fool to keep babysitting Potter and his red-headed tumour.

Her guise—was probably the most effective of them all.

"How old—is she exactly?"

Lord Gizzal smiled at me, amusement in his eyes like crimson clouds. "Younger than me. As old as Sanguini. They have been thick as thieves since they were born. By the time Mihail bled, no one was surprised as to whom it was for. Which is fine. They are insufferable without each other. Sanguini pouts like a professional, and everyone around him withers in sympathy. Hn, She is waiting for you to escort you to your home, mortal. Do not keep her waiting."

I blinked. "But—she just—didn't she have to give blood to the elders?"

Gizzal laughed. "It's not like a blood transfusion, child. It takes but a few seconds per elder, for all they need is one swallow. Long blood offerings are gestures for feeding the children, love between mates, or—healing in times of crisis. There are other reasons, but those are the main ones."

I knew at that moment that if I were to speak of such things outside of vampire society, my life would be very much forfeit. He didn't even have to say it. I didn't even have any doubts.

Yet—why would he speak of it at all?

Was he that used to being all the threat anyone ever needed?

Well, it was all the threat I ever needed—and I didn't even know them for more than—however long it had been.

"A tip for you, child," Lord Gizzal said as his eyes flashed a brilliant gold for but a second.

I tried hard NOT to stare at him and gawp like some firsties' goldfish.

I mean, I was a grown man, for gods' sake…

I think.

"If a vampire bleeds from the eyes and tells you they love you," he said with a stone face. "They mean it. Blood never lies."

With that, he was gone, and I was gawping at thin air like he was still there.

Was this normal?

What was normal?

And what the heck did the elder vampire mean?

When I walked out of the clinic, feeling like I was walking out into a forgotten village that time forgot—it looked much like Hogsmeade, only more spacious, and magic mingled with Muggle technology as if to spite the "rule" that magic and technology did not get along.

"You survived my father," Granger said with an amused smile. "That's good."

I turned to look at her and she was dressed in silken robes with a hint of the Orient. She wore a light cape that hung about her shoulders and seemed to flutter without wind. It had a distinctly Dark aura about it—it was alive!

"This is Walter," she said. "Walter, this is Headmaster Snape."

The cape rose up and stared at me. I suddenly realised it was a Lethifold—a carnivorous cloak.

"Pleased to—meet you, Walter," I said awkwardly to the cloak.

I could swear the thing gave me suspicious eyebrows before settling about her shoulders once more.

Hermione smiled. "He's mistrustful of strangers, but do not worry. He will not attack guests unless they are trying to murder me."

"That shouldn't be a problem," I said. I mean, what could I say to that, exactly?

Hermione smiled at me, and it was that amused sort of look that you'd see parents give their children when their kid was trying to do something that they knew wouldn't work, but they'd let them do it anyway for the experience since it wasn't likely to kill them.

We walked together—talking about things that I'd never expected to talk to anyone let alone Granger—it was like talking to someone I'd known all my life without the stigma of feeling like that same someone probably shouldn't know everything about me.

"He put you in an impossible situation," she said as we slowed our walk. "And he threw you from the frying pan and into the fire for his own ends, making you think he could help you if only you swore yourself to his service. There are many who have tried such things with the Sang, and it doesn't end well for them. We tend to have very long memories. And a rather harsh sense of justice."

"This is your home for as long as you have need of it," Hermione said with a tilt of her head. "I will guess that it will take some time for the truth to be set free and your name to be cleared. It is my hope that it has everything you require to occupy your mind during this unexpected in-between time. If it does not, Johanna will gather whatever you might require for supplies as well as see to your private affairs should you require it. She will not tell anyone, including myself, unless you permit it. She will not kill for you on command, but she will defend you with her life and she will take a life to defend you. This is—a safe place for you, Headmaster."

"My Lady," a brown-haired woman said as she came out of the residence. "Master Snape, I am Johanna. "It will be my pleasure to tend to your needs in the household while you are staying here. I have settled my things in the seneschal's quarters. Your bed is turned down, and your bath is waiting. Your dinner is on the counter under stasis, and a variety of drinks are in the refrigerator, should you prefer the more Muggle line of fizzy or otherwise drinks. When you are more settled, we can discuss your choice of housekeeper and what rooms you prefer to tend to yourself."

I stared at her, stunned.

Hermione said something quickly in a fluid language I did not recognize, and she handed Johanna a token. The woman took it as though it were the crown jewels, and clutched it to her chest. "They're alive."

"They are safe, Johanna," Hermione said. "I keep my promises. I set them up in a safe house. That is the token you may use to get there when Headmaster Snape decides to give you off days."

"Severus," I said suddenly. It felt terribly odd being called Headmaster here of all places.

Hermione's lips twitched upward and she nodded to Johanna.

"Please, tend to your family," I said suddenly, knowing how hard it must be to be apart from someone you actually cared about while not knowing how they were. "We can speak further when you return. When you are confident they are safe."

Johanna's face lit up with pure relief. "Thank you, Master Snape. I will tell you immediately when I return."

She fled quickly, but not as quickly as I'd seen Hermione and her father—

"She will not forget that kindness," Hermione said, her lips curved in a small smile.

"I recognised that look of desperation—she's—not a slave here?"

Hermione chuckled. "No, Johanna is not a thrall. She is Kindred—related to the Lines of our people but not a born vampire and has not been Turned. Her citizenship, as it were, is with the Sang—the Undead Nation. Her loyalty is to my father's Line, but she has free will. She chose this job to assist you with settling in, and I promised to find and protect her family from the Dark Lord's ambition. And keep her children safe—they were lost in one of the Muggle raids and the great fires of Western London when the first attacks began. They hid themselves very well, and it took some time to find them. I could not risk moving them until I was sure I had rid them of every person that was looking for them for darker purposes. They are fine. They are healthy. They are well. Many were not so fortunate."

"But you made sure they were fine," I said, reading between the lines.

"I promised her," Hermione said grimly. "I always keep my promises as best I can. But what I do is duty. To my people. To my Line. To my father. To my mate. What you did—it was kindness, and that she will hold in her heart forever."

"It was nothing," I said awkwardly.

Hermione smiled. "It was everything to her."

She blinked frantically and her finger touched the corner of her eyes and came back bloody. She grimaced and huffed, gesturing to the house. "Since Johanna is not here, I will stay a moment while you check that you have everything you require." She blinked again, her hand brushing against her eye as a drop of blood stained her finger again.

Whatever could that mean? She seemed embarrassed by it—then again, I was hardly one to cry in front of someone either.

As I walked across the threshold of the home, I felt the wards waver as they recognised me and then they solidified. There was a security panel by the door—apparently in case I wanted the more Muggle security system.

As I saw the very comfortable and expansive sitting room awaiting me, a connecting kitchen, a hall going down to bedrooms and what I assumed was the loo, I realised that this was no cheap hovel I'd been thrown into as a bandage until they could be rid of me. This was meant to be a living space. A safe place.

They'd told me as such, but as usually, I didn't believe them—

"I suppose this is where I eat crow," I said idly.

Hermione tilted her head.

"Your father told me this would be a safe place. You did, but I did not believe you."

Hermione shook her head. "After what you have been through, I am surprised you didn't try to hold me at wandpoint and make me drink Veritaserum."

"Are you mad?" I blurted. "I've seen your father!"

Hermione laughed genuinely. "He does have that effect on people. "He was Turned during a time when twenty years was considered a ripe old age. An irresponsible child was often soon a dead child, and my father was a born survivor. He does, however, expect those younger than him to possess the same determination to live."

"And who is younger than him?" I asked.

Hermione smiled. "Almost everyone. Except for Grandfather Lord Aku—he's Akkadian. He bought me my very first horse, taught me archery, and insisted I learn to wield a sword and shield before literature lessons. I fear mortals do not know much of the true empire that was Akkadia. The Sang are amongst the few that remember such things. Akkadians and Sumerians were—rivals. There was much war. Shorter tempers. Arguably more stupid decisions. When you hear the elders talk of the ancient peoples they wonder how people survived the Dark Ages when those like the Romans had running water and plumbing long before them—It wasn't perfect, but they at least knew drinking water from the same place you had shite was earlier was probably not the best idea, yet you had people in the modern world of the Brontës drinking water from a graveyard. It is disturbing how much modern society forgets what the ancients already knew. Rediscover it like it's brand new—only it isn't."

"And your people—the Sang—cannot exactly bring it up. You have let us mortal idiots figure it out—again," I mused.
"Like the fact that magic and technology can coexist."

Hermione tapped her nose. "Exactly. Our Kindred live amongst us and shake their heads over it all the time. Because here in the Undead Nation, we haven't forgotten. Mind you, we have traditions and rules that date back to before the Dark Ages, and they are often seen as very—barbaric—but we are also a society of ancient people with vast power. Without rules, we are but monsters unchained."

I managed to look over the place that was given to me, and there was absolutely nothing missing. I couldn't have asked for anything more because everything was miraculously there. Even Nirnroot. And a first edition of Moste Potente Potions. The magnificent library would have made Madam Pince sob in envy—

"I will leave you to settle in," Hermione said. "I hope you find it a comfortable place to stay."

"Thank you," I said.

"Whatever for?" she asked, tilting her head.

"People are not usually—kind to me. Not without wanting something," I said.

Hermione gave a small smile. "You bury your kindness within, pretending it looks unnatural upon you, but I hope, Severus, that your stay here allows you to realise that it looks quite good upon you. Far more natural than what you have been told. Or even what you might tell yourself. Johanna will not forget yours, nor will I."

She brushed away a bloodied tear from her eye and bowed her head to me, disappearing with that unnerving quiet of instant speed. Her absence felt like a chasm, and my heart was not quiet within its prison under my ribs.

Sucking in my chest and my breath, I let it out to steady myself and head to the bath that was waiting for me.

Tomorrow would be another day.

And tomorrow, I would greet the world anew. Not as a Death Eater or Headmaster but as Severus Snape.

Maybe, I would finally figure out who that was in this place away from the rest of the world.

The Ambiguous End (because word limit—sorry.)