Summary: Short stories for 31 Days of Flash Fiction

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

A/N: Artfight and Terraria is eating my soul… x.x death.

Shards

Every man has a right to his opinion, but no man has a right to be wrong in his facts.

Bernard Baruch

Prompt: He picked up a shard of the broken glass, speaking low words to it so that it reflected the scene from immediately before it shattered.

Severus picked up the small shard from the scene of Diagon Alley with a look that many would agree could curdle milk just from exposure to its sphere of effect. He whispered softly to it as if revealing a deep dark secret and scowled. He turned to the wide-eyed man that had the dubious honour of being the one left behind to mind the shop while he was away doing errands.

The image in his mind's eye was hazy, but the front of the store blew out with a most impressive blast of magical force. All else—was unclear. Diagon Alley had too many people—too many scents blowing about for even his nose to decipher them.

The man gulped, grimacing as if expecting violence.

"Snape!" an all too familiar voice yelled. "What happened?"

Severus scowled deeper, giving the mop-haired Auror an expression worthy of Death Himself.

"You tell me, Potter," Severus said, his voice barely able to manage words. "I was in the Muggle district. Buying a pie."

Harry gawped at Snape as if he'd grown a second head. "What?"

"I," Severus said, elonganting each word as if it pained him. "Was buying—a pie."

"You eat?" Harry babbled.

"No, I exist on photosynthesis," Snape snapped. "Of course, I eat. Do you? Or are you a figment of everyone's hallucinatory trip?"

"Master, he's gone!" the shopkeeper hissed.

Severus jerked his head around.

"Who is gone?"

"The hound!"

Snape's head jerked slightly. "You lost my dog?"

"'Mione, you know you can't have a dog! Mum doesn't want any pets at the Burrow!"

Hermione, her hand giving the dog a smile and scritches. "Then, I won't live at the Burrow, Ronald."

"But we have to live at the Burrow!" Ron protested. "Mum wants us to stay there and help rebuild, so she can plan the wedding!"

Hermione froze. "What wedding?"

"Ours, of course!" Ron exclaimed. "You can't go around being a loose witch after all we've been through! You had your fun playing favourites with the Ministry. It's time to settle down. Have kids. What's important."

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. "You know what? You're right."

"FINALLY!"

"I DO need to take charge of my life," Hermione said. "And I'm starting with telling you NO. Hell no. And NEVER in your life."

With a crack, she and her dog were gone along with every bit of her belongings that remained in the Burrow.

"I'm here for my dog," Snape said coldly, his tall frame standing in the Weasley's doorway.

"We don't have your bloody dog," Ron threw back at him, pointing his wand at him.

"You'd point a wand," Snape said slowly. "At me?"

"This is MY home!" Ron accused. "Get out!"

Snape traced the edge of the Weasley's front door. "This is not your home, Mr Weasley. It is mine. Unless your parents finish paying me off for the loan they took out to put it back up."

"Wut?" Ron stared at his mum accusingly.

"We didn't have any money, Ron," his mum said with a tortured expression. "He was the only one who offered to help after Gringotts turned us down."

"WHUT?! WHY!?"

"Seems there was that matter of you smashing through the bank with a runaway dragon," Snape answered, staring at his nails. "Miss Granger spent the last few years making restitution with the Goblin Nation. Something I think you accused her of doing nothing worthwhile. In front of the goblins. Not very smart."

It was at that moment that Ronald Weasley, Hero of the Wizarding World, lost his everloving mind and cast a curse at Severus Snape.

Blood dripped down Snape's face where the cuts criss crossed his skin.

Ron looked utterly victorious, but as Snape pushed his hair back from his bloodied face, the blood seemed to reverse back into his body as the cuts healed without a trace before their eyes.

"Tch," Severus growled. "You are truly—an idiot. I am no longer under the thumb of some old man's game at playing god to repay a debt. I am no longer beholden to two mortals playing in the same sandbox trying to smash each other's castles. So I will ask you again. Once more. Where. Is. My. Dog?"

"Go ask the ungrateful bitch," Ron hissed. "I offered her marriage to a good family. Good magic, and she'd rather keep that stupid dog that found her in the Ministry instead of giving it to someone who actually wants a dog!"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "So, he was here."

"Just tell him what happened!" hissed Molly.

"Nuh!" Ronald scoffed. "If that was really his dog, he'd have put a chain on it, so it couldn't run away!"

Snape closed his eyes, his jaw tensing. "You do not chain a hellhound, stupid boy. If the hound left, he had a very good reason—so either he was pursuing something that was stolen from my property, or he was protecting something important. Now, I will ask you once again."

He took one fingertip and dragged it against the hardwood as a small curl of wood spiralled upward as if it were nothing but balsa or soft pine. "Why was my dog here?"

"You don't deserve her," Ron seethed.

Snape snapped his hand out, and an ornately carved box burst out of Ron's pants, ripping a hole through his trousers as they went. His lip curled in disgust even as Molly's eyes tried to bulge out of her head completely.

"Ron, what did you do?!"

Snape tapped the box with one claw, and it radiated Dark plasma as it cleaned itself off. It opened to expose a shimmering black opal whose fire gleamed in an array of rainbow colours as magic danced over the ornately carved dragon that was perfectly set around the opal with a protective curl. The two stones, perhaps, to the untrained eye, seemed to be carved of one unit, but the rare black jade was not something found with opal. The integration was seamless, and the flawless magic of its craftsmanship was matched only by the pulse of magic of the piece itself.

"Ah, Mr Weasley," Severus rumbled darkly. "I see you have my betrothal gift. We shall be married forthwith. In front of the Council of Elders. As our tradition demands."

"W-WHAT? N—" Ron screeched as Snape's eyes glowed and he snapped his fingers.

They promptly disappeared in a whorl of black aether.

"The betrothed had the choker on his person?"

"I AM NOT—HRK!" Ron's eyes bulged as the pale man beside him jerked the bindings around his body.

"He did," Severus said darkly.

"I fear there is not much we can do once the offering has been touched and held close to the body," the elder said. His face was youthful, but he wore an aura of antiquity. "He must face the test of faith that binds us to our mates as per the ancient ways or the magic inherent in the gift will destroy him." The elder jerked his head. "Take him to the mountain, and let his heart be tested by his love and strength of will."

The elder took the choker with his long fingers and clasped it around Ron's neck. "May it protect you with the strength of your love as it has tested all that have come before."

Ron's look of absolute panic was the last thing they saw as he was dragged out the door.

Ron chattered his teeth as he was set, alone, on the top of the great unknown mountain. The air was astonishingly bitter and thin, and he could feel his eyes freezing.

Crafting in ornate carvings of ice and snow, a wedding arch beckoned on the ledge, and the drop was so far that the ground was hazed in mist.

He had no idea where he was.

He was dressed in some sort of formal silks the like of which he would never have been able to afford, but any thoughts of escaping and selling them left as he was set upon the mountain top without a wand and a bunch of stupid words chanted over him as people chattered about how much of an honour it would be to set foot upon the sacred mountain summit.

To be married to Snape!

No!

This wasn't how it was supposed to be!

Some strange magic was lingering on the silk, providing a small respite from the cold—but where the silk wasn't touching, he was bloody freezing to death.

Let the mountain judge you worthy of the skies.

What the fuck did that mean?

He saw the carvings in relief of people throwing themselves to the skies.

There was no way he was going to commit suicide off the side of a mountain.

No!

But how was he ever going to get down?

The sun was blinding in the sky and even worse against the snow.

Harry would rescue him.

His mum would tell Harry.

He just had to wait.

He could wait just a little bit longer.

Severus waited on the sacred landing on the opposing peak, his black eyes unfathomable. The granite stand, speckled with spots of natural azurite, glowed as the choker appeared back on it—just as it had been before he had taken it to give to his intended mate.

Before Weasley had taken it.

But ancient traditions could not be denied.

He had touched the sacred choker.

He had to be tested by the sacred mountain.

The mountain decided whether to let you fall to Earth or lift you into the skies.

The pedestal shook with the mountain, and snow avalanched down the sides with the mountains' disapproval.

Weasley had been found unworthy.

It was hardly surprising to one such as Severus. He had seen the rise and fall of many civilisations, never expecting to find someone willing to embrace—well, him.

He had a mirror. His features were not—ideal for the time.

A Dark rumble shook the pedestal, and a ball of plasma consumed the choker there in magical fire, and tendrils of dark and cold swirled together to form another choker. This one was plainer—subtle, but the detail and glimmer was unmistakably the mountain's will. It also combined stones that worked in great combination but would never have been found together in the ground.

He lifted the choker into his hands and clasped it to his chest, closing his eyes.

This time, he would not let it out of his sight lest he find himself married to another weasel.

His eyelid twitched, and he disappeared with a crack.

Hermione sat in the meditation area, the one last stop before she entered the one-way chamber to the threshold of the mountain ledge—the very summit of the great sacred mountain. The wind had been bitter, and the sun was already setting. She was expecting it to be high in the sky, but there had been some commotion ahead of her.

She was secluded as was the tradition, to meditate on the great heart of the mountain—to make peace with her choices. Her life.

But Hermione was no mere firstie when it came to life and death choices. For the first time, however, she was making a choice of her own free will. She was not being pressured to save the saviour of the Wizarding World.

Whine.

Hermione's expression softened as she pet the hellhound affectionately. His radiant heat made the cold seem trivial. Her first test—had been him.

He had found her up to her neck in paperwork and tomes of research in the bowels of the Ministry, and he had laid his head in her lap taking up the entire space Crooks had once used with his entire body. Those molten eyes stared into hers, and she had been lost.

Imagine her surprise when his "owner" came looking for him and found her shacking up with his hound while watching musicals on the tele at her parent's house.

"You didn't notice there was something different about him?" Severus had asked incredulously.

"The horns were a bit intimidating. And the second mouth on the spaded tail was a bit startling, yes," Hermione confessed, "and he burned somehow without burning me or the curtains, so I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt!"

He had stared at her, gawping like a goldfish out of water just before he burst into genuine laughter.

And that had been the start of a friendship that had turned into something more.

More because the hound hadn't allowed them not to—

Every time Severus had tried to push her away and hole up in his store, the hound would escape and find her, follow her around dutifully until he was forced to come by and visit—

But it hadn't been so bad after a while.

No, there was something deeply captivating about him.

The way he moved. The way he didn't. The way he cast magic. The small movements of his fingers—the rumble of his voice. The thrum of his power hidden behind iron control to the gentle touch of his hand against her cheek and the softest brush of lips against hers. Then, there was that shiver of almost painful pleasure as his magic explored hers when they kissed.

The moment it had happened—she knew there could be only him.

No one else could make her feel so alive.

He made her want—more. She wanted—him.

There could be no one else that caused her heart to skip a beat and her legs to weaken, and she realised that she wanted to feel safe with him. With him.

"Are you ready?" the familiar voice rumbled.

Hermione looked up to see Severus standing in the doorway looking rumpled and rather put out.

"Did I do something wrong?" she fretted outloud.

Severus closed his eyes. "Forgive me. I—there was some drama ahead of you."

"Who knew there would be so many people wanting to get married today," Hermione said, face scrunching slightly.

"I think the one before you had cold feet," he said with a frown.

"Well, hopefully before they opened the box you've been guarding so zealously," Hermione said.

The hound licked her hand and wrapped his tail around her waist, radiating warmth.

"This box hasn't left my sight," he said with a grimace.

"You make it sound like a living thing," Hermione said. "Prone to wandering like a stray cat."

Severus sighed. "If only it were so simple." He gingerly opened the wooden box to expose the carved choker.

A sleeping black dragon curled around a ring of opal, but set inside was a shimmering moonstone that seemed to catch all the colours in one direction before settling on a deep, radiant blue.

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Of course." His fingers worked against the clasp and he lay the focus stone against her neck as the lines of beads wrapped around her neck like radiant planets. A nine-eyed dzi bead dangled from the centre, shimmering with warm magic.

Hermione closed her eyes as he finished clasping it to her neck. "I guess this is it, huh?" she said meekly, unsure even after being the very opposite not so long ago.

Severus placed his forehead to hers. "I believe in you."

Hermione brightened. "I love you."

"And you will prove it," he said. "And no one will ever doubt it again."

Hermione took in a deep breath, squeezed Severus' hand once, placed a steadying hand on the hound's head, and walked into the ritual chamber to what lay beyond.

The wind was fierce, and she could barely see her hand in front of her face. The weather had changed, but it was too late to turn back. Whatever the weather was, this was the time she had to face the final test of a tradition that outdated Britain itself.

They called it the Mountain's Embrace.

One way or another, her life would change here.

She stood on the ledge, her back to the setting sun, her face toward where she had come. It was the last she would see of it.

She clasped the choker's dzi bead in her hand, and it pulsed with warmth, and then she felt the radiant heat of the hound wrapping around her, the feel of his sinuous tail tucked about her body. "This is it, boy," she said to the hound. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to."

The mountain was called the Mountain of Sleepers to some. Some went to sleep here and never woke. Some succumbed to the ice and cold, their bodies swallowed by crevices so deep only the gods and the mountain knew where. Some called this mountain the Mountain of Graves.

Unknown to Muggles, it was the greatest sacred mountain unknown to most everyone. Even the magicals didn't know of it unless they had reason to.

The hound stuffed his nose and muzzle into her hand letting her know that no matter what, he was coming with.

Hermione spread out her arms as if to greet the sun.

Great mountain.

I am but a small person.

A grain of sand lost amongst the mountain.

I have survived much, but I know this means little.

I am here because I love him.

I am here because I feel a pull so great to him, it can be nothing else but the right thing.

I am here because I must put my trust in your judgement.

That I am worthy of him.

That I am worthy of you.

It is to you, I give myself.

To judge me worthy of living the life I believe lies with him.

She took in a cold breath of thin air, closed her eyes, and stepped off the ledge of the Summit of Faith of the great sacred mountain.

The Mountain of Sleepers.

The Mountain of Graves.

She closed her eyes and cast herself into the invisible hands of the mountain, disappearing into the haze of the clouds like a falling meteor.

For that was what she was.

A streak of flames and smoke disappeared into the already dense clouds.

When she opened her eyes, Severus looked upon her with such a tender expression it melted her insides.

The black aura about him moved as great wings unfolded from around her like the opening of a flower's petals. "You did it," he said in a bare whisper.

Hermione moved and startled as wings burst from their cramped confines being pressed against her back, and she gave a surprise squeak as she clung to Severus, her tail lashing with her excitement.

Severus cradled her against him. "Breathe, love," he said.

Whuff.

The hound was licking her hand, and she stared at it like it was someone else's hand. Dark claws twisted from her fingertips as she flexed her fingers. Her skin was the colour of the mountain—greys and whites, bits of black, and strangely vibrant blue spots that seemed to get brighter as her emotions spiked. She touched the foreign appendages that were her wings, feeling how hot they seemed to the touch compared to the cold she had felt not so long ago.

"W-what are we?" Hermione whispered with wonder.

"We are as old as the mountains," Severus said. "We have no name amongst us but the names the Mountain gives us and the names we take on to blend into the human world but for a time."

Hermione stilled for a moment as a name came to mind.

"Sunfall-to-Clouddance," Hermione whispered.

Severus nodded. "That is the name the Mountain whispered to you as it gave you new life. I—am Nightfall-in-Moonlight, for when I made my first fall off the Sacred Mountain, it was night and the moon was full. We can count ourselves fortunate you did not end up like my cousin."

"He didn't survive?"

"Worse, he did," Severus said with an arched brow. "Falls-into-Pigeons. And his best mate, Topples-to-Yaks."

Hermione burst into laughter. "Really?"

"The Mountain gives us life and our new names, but it has a wicked sense of humour," Severus said.

"You look like Chernabog—the demon from the top of Bald Mountain," Hermione said.

Severus grimaced.

"It's super hot in real life," Hermione confessed heatedly.

Severus startled. "It is very good, then, that we have a comfortable space in which to—explore each other."

She looked around, realising that she had no idea where she was.

"We're in the heart of the Sacred Mountain's choice of mountain where it carved out our home," Severus said. "Our kind tend to wander until they have a mate, then the mountain sends them to their new home—a place to make our own and protect from the exploitation of those that might defile it. Some of our kind sleep within the mountain until the noise on or around it wakes them, and their awakening causes the mountain to erupt—but I don't see us hibernating any time soon." He gave her a very masculine look and sent shivers up her spine.

Whuff!

Hermione turned to see the hound wagging his spade tail as he lay invitingly next to the comfortable-looking bed in his own miniature bed.

She looked at Severus. "I think he's trying to tell us something," she mused.

Severus captured her mouth with his. "I have learned it is futile to argue with the dog," he said with a pucker of lips. "Shall I show my beloved the depths of my devotion before we take our first flight together?"

"Please do," Hermione purred against his chest.

"As my lady commands," Severus murmured as his great wings folded around her and pulled her close.

As the two mountain guardians entwined together within their new home, the hellhound curled up, nose to rump with his spaded tail grasping his favourite lava bone—a reward from the Sacred Mountain for a job well done.

Meanwhile, in a place far away, shrouded in the clouds that hid it from the eyes and minds of many, the Sacred Mountain—the Mountain of Sleepers, the Mountain of Graves covered yet one more unsuccessful pilgrim with the Oblivion of ice and snow.

Fin.