Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

In the Darkness in Which We Are Made	By : corvusdraconis Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 24666 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: HP world still not mine. HP characters not mine. Alas. I still play in JKR’s sandbox. Rita Skeeter is still a daft cow. I'm not making money off of this.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Beta Love: fluffpanda, who wrangled her tablet out of the paws of Northwoods beavers to beta this story.

Chapter 7: In the Darkness In Which I Passed the Past:

The Battle of Too Many Potters
As Severus answered the summons to the Dark Lord’s gathering, he placed on the mask he had perfected after many years. Now that he and the demon merged to be one, however, he took pleasure out of feeding off of the fear around him. Fear of the Dark Lord’s driven insanity, Bellatrix’s complete insanity, and the almost contagious need to do whatever the Dark Lord required lest something “even more horrible” befall them.
His impassive face was no longer just a mask. He wore it because it was familiar, but, in truth, he had no emotion for any of them. He met gazes only when expected to, but did not linger. He looks uncomfortable at appropriate times, but inside he was a placid lake. His demon took away all connection to human concerns, making it even harder to read him, to the point where Legilimency no longer worried him.
Severus smiled inwardly. When he was newly Changed, he had come to Tom Riddle’s summons. His wish was to have his distracting feelings for Bellatrix and his growing lust for her to be taken away. He had asked for the knowledge of Occlumency in return. Voldemort, knowing he could not read the demon’s mind at all, not that he hadn’t tried, figured it had been a safe bargain. He had agreed. The demon had fed upon his memories of Occlumency and bestowed them upon his human counterpart. The process of feeding on them, however, had done the demon version of Obliviate— the kind of Obliviate there was no return from. Voldemort had unintentionally given Severus Snape the key to protecting his mind from the Dark Lord’s powerful Legilimency and would not remember having ever had the knowledge to begin with. It was perfect.
Severus’ eyes flicked down the table to where Lucius was shrinking under the Dark Lord’s regard. His fall from the highest echelon of Death Eater hierarchy had caused his ancestral home to become the headquarters for the Dark Lord’s meetings, condemning his son to try and save his fallen parents and the family’s fallen honour, and turned the once proud and arrogant wizard into a unshaven emotional wreck. None of the Malfoys looked proud or happy any more. Severus had heard Narcissa arguing with Lucius during one of his private meetings with the Dark Lord, about how Lucius had allowed the proud Malfoy name to be sullied, by the rape and pillage of their ancestral at the hands of younger Death Eaters.
Draco, who once seemed to have a permanent insufferable smug demeanour in his younger years, had become a haunted young man whose many poor choices were only now coming back to bite him on the arse. Whether it was too late for him, however, remained to be seen.
After Severus had agreed to save the boy from himself and killed Dumbledore to do it, Draco had become even more disenchanted by the call to be a Death Eater. It was too late, however, for second thoughts now that the Mark writhed under his skin like a living parasite. Severus could have told him that, had the boy thought to ask, but the young Slytherin had been convinced of the rightness of his bigotry thanks to his father and even his family’s way of thinking.
The Malfoys had always been a needy family. They wanted far more than they deserved or worked for. What they did work for only put them deeper into the quagmire that had brought them exactly to this place and time— under the rule of a half-blood tyrant who had someone convinced them that he could lead them to the path to glory and power. They were all misled. The only one Voldemort cared about was Voldemort. Severus had fallen into the same trap so many years past, and paid for his stupidity. The young, idiot, misguided young boy that believed all the propaganda was no more.
The only one at the table that was happy to be there was Bellatrix, but what could anyone do to judge happy for the insane? Bellatrix had never been healthy in the head, but her miscarriage of Tom’s love-child, if one could call anything Tom Riddle did as an expression of such an emotion, had broken her beyond repair. Her marriage to Rudolphus LeStrange had never been one of love, and he seemed perfectly content to allow Bellatrix to throw herself at the Dark Lord. Perhaps, it was his hope that the more Bellatrix did so, the less the Dark Lord would pay to any of them.
Even the oldest and most “loyal” of the Death Eaters were starting to question Voldemort’s path to glory, but all of them seemed to realise that the time when they should have put a stop to Riddle was long past. They could not emerge from the war smelling like a rose now that the brand was set on their skin. No one would believe them if they did.
Unfortunately, not all of those that were capable of horrible acts were as easily identified as Death Eaters. There were many dangerous people that had no such markings, and had Tom Riddle not lost so many fragments of his soul to start looking like a possessed snake, he would have looked like the dashing young man who charmed and influenced so many people back before the First Wizarding War. Perhaps, if evil caused humans to break out in pink polka dots and sing God Save the Queen in a falsetto voice, people would take it more seriously… or less seriously, depending on how one viewed pink and falsetto.
Evil often wore a face that belied the truth. Albus Dumbledore had hid behind his facade of doddering old fool, and Harry Potter was blessed with James Potter’s charm and presence that made people trust him.
There were, of course, demons to contend with, but demons such as Severus’ line were not prone to taking over the world as much as preserving it. Humans were such great food, after all. The world would be so tasteless without their woes, emotions, and memories to feed on. There were others, he knew, that lived for the destruction of said world, but thankfully, those species you could also kill. There was a cosmic balance of sorts.
Severus watched Riddle snatch Lucius’s wand and break off the tip of the cane that held it. It was really a pity. The snake carving that had housed Lucius’ wand had been specially crafted for that purpose, blending perfectly with each other. Breaking it seemed like such a waste of fine workmanship. The cast aside snake head lay on the table, forgotten by the Dark Lord, but Lucius looked at it as though Voldemort had run over his favourite puppy and then fed it to Nagini. Bad enough the Dark Lord had stolen his wand, a wizard’s sense of identity in many ways, but breaking the mount that had housed it for so long was probably as personal as being flayed by the Cruciatus.
Voldemort was obviously annoyed with the fact that Harry Potter’s wand shared the same core, which was understandable when something that seemed so minor keeps you from taking over the world all the more faster.
“To those of you who do not know, we are most recently joined by Charity Burbage, who most recently taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Voldemort lectured.*
The Dark Lord continued his tirade, bringing out the jeers from the Death Eaters that still agreed that no witch of wizard worth their salt would ever breed with a Muggle. Still, even in their fear of the Dark Lord, the syphocants groveled at the Dark Lord’s robes, hoping for scraps from his mighty table.
“S-s-severus please!” Charity pleaded. “We’re friends!” She choked out the last words.
Severus stared blankly at the Muggle Studies Professor, his face as stone cold as ever.
“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort yelled, and the lifeless body of Charity Burbage fell upon the dining room table.
It was then, that Severus looked up, his senses tuned into something that did interest him. The moment Voldemort had let the Killing Curse leave his lips, a fragment of his fractured soul broke free.
Severus reached out towards it with his power, and devoured it.
He had expected the wizard to sense the demise of his soul fragment, but it was not so. The Dark Lord seemed extremely happy— ecstatic even. For a moment, Severus pondered if the man hadn’t gone the way of Bellatrix. He caressed Nagini with his inhumanly clawed hands and whispered to her, “Dinner!”
Severus immediately felt the same “feel” of soul magic he had siphoned off of Ginny Weasley flowing through the giant serpent. Experimentally, he siphoned some of the energy off the snake, and Voldemort grew even more excited and, scarily, deliriously happy. Nagini was obliviously devouring the corpse of Charity Burbage. Emotions were being flung in all directions from the various Death Eaters, and Severus found himself in the middle of an unexpected feast. The soul magic, however, is what interested him most of all. Nagini, he could feed off of for weeks, and that would mean weeks of added layers of fertility. He repressed a purr that was threatening to escape his throat.
Dinner was served, but not to whom the Dark Lord thought.

-o-o-o-o-o-
27th of July, 1997
Summer was the coming of the Death Eaters. Summer was also the beginning of the end of of a very intense trial by fire in Becoming a Demon 101, Demon Social Orders and Proper Etiquette, Summon and Sacrifice: The Dos and Don’t’s of Summoning Demons for Power, Tails and What They Mean to You, and 666 Things You Never Knew About Ichor. All and all, Hermione felt pretty good about the basics, but she had to admit to a bit of a fuzzy area when it came to the last four-hundred things about ichor. She stopped paying attention at around two-hundred or so.
As she stood in the once living room of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, she had expected a lingering tendril of emotion. This was, or at least had been, the house where Harry had been forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs and then only given Dudley’s “second bedroom” later in life. Strangely, even after knowing she still had some pockets of human emotion left to her, she could not seem to scrounge up the slightest bit of emotion for Harry Potter’s plight.
She remembered feeling sad and angry that her friend had been forced into such an unfair life, when she had received nothing but love and care from her parents. Yet, when she tried to focus on those old feelings, she came up with nothing. Nothing tugged at her heartstrings. There was no regret, no pity, and no empathy. Unlike the parting emotions she had felt with her birth parents, she and the demon felt nothing towards Harry Potter. There was no twinge of emotion, not even righteous anger for her sacrifice.
Hermione’s nostrils flared and she smelled Tonks next to her. The Auror was pregnant. She wasn’t showing yet, but Hermione could smell it like the subtle hint of perfume. She was pregnant— with a boy child. Satisfaction flowed between her and her demon. Good. She and Remus deserved to be happy. They deserved the joy of sprogs… er, children. Pups? Her bookworm mind started to list off factoids that werewolves did not produce werewolf children. The disease did not transfer from parent to child and so on and so forth. Hermione shook her head as if that action would derail the train of thought by force. It seemed that Hermione managed to hold onto a bit of empathy or at least tenderness towards Tonks and Remus, but she really didn’t know why.
Kind to you, the demon answered. Helped you survive to join with us.
Hermione blinked. Why nothing for Harry?
Not loyal to you. No connection of worth.
Of… worth? Hermione shook her head. Sometimes, trying to read too much into why demons didn’t connect to human emotions yet had significant pools of emotion of their own made absolutely no sense, but when it came down to it, she trusted her demon counterpart, and that trust made them stronger. She could quibble over how odd it seemed in the free moments, but if there was a battle, they were one in mind and spirit. That was what made them strong.
Severus had left Hermione in Minerva’s care when he had been called to the Dark Lord’s side. The Death Eaters had taken over the school, and Voldemort had used his influence to made Severus the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Before it became official, Severus had explained to the elder Animagus that it was imperative that Hermione be taken to Alastor Moody and allowed to move Harry Potter to safe place.
Unlike Albus, Severus had sat down with Minerva and explained everything he could. He gave her a few vials of memories and the pensieve, and told her to keep it safe. The vials were specific. One was the plan in case anything went wrong, one was specific instructions on how to secure the halls to the Room of Requirement to save as many students as possible if things got “bad,” and one was lessons on how to shield her mind using Occlumency. He gave her other vials with important instructions, but she was not to view them until she mastered his lessons he left for her. He would test her, silently, every day. When he gave her the snide comment “you smell like a wet cat, Minerva, take a shower,” she would know that her shields were good enough to watch the rest.
Minerva had hugged Hermione tight, knowing that she was embarking on a dangerous mission with Harry and Ron, and wished her the best of luck and skill to do what she had to do. She gave her a small shrunken set of books and lessons for her journey, telling her, if she ever needed a break from being a hero and just wanted to study like she used to, she would have that to keep her occupied. Minerva had the utmost faith that if anyone could prepare for her N.E.W.T.s and save the word from a tyrant wizard overlord, it was Hermione. Hermione had burst into tears and hugged the Animagus tight.
Hermione smiled at the memory. She was probably the most teary eyed demon in the history of Modron’s line, and she hoped that the elder demon didn’t scold her for being unseemly.
When Hermione had shown up at the Burrow to gather for Harry’s transfer to Grimmauld Place. Hagrid, Bill, Fleur, Ron, Moody, Tonks, Remus, Fred, George, Arthur, Kingsley, and the shady man from Knockturn Alley were all gathered about. Hagrid had brought a few Thestrals for transportation since all types of magical locomotion were out of the question due to the trace.
Molly was running around fretting about her sons, husband, and daughter. Ginny really wanted to go with, but both Weasley elders snapped at her. She was underage, and it was out of the question. Ginny tried to reason that Hermione and Ron weren’t of age either, but Molly screeched at her that Hermione hadn’t come out of her womb, and that gave her rights over Ginny while she was a minor. As for Ron, he had turned seventeen in March, and Molly said as much as she didn’t like it, he was of the age where if he wanted to go help save his mate, it was his choice. Hermione had popped up saying, technically, she was older than both Ron and Harry. Ron had muttered something about his sister failing at arithmetic, but all were silent when Moody started barking orders.
Hermione found Fleur’s scent pleasing. There was something about her that accented the smell of her skin.
Part veela.
Ah, so that was the reason.
William Weasley, who had introduced himself as Bill, was a tall man with the characteristic red hair of his family, but his piercing blue were was calm. He had a sharpness of his face, but a softness about his energy. Where Ron was almost too emotional, Percy too proud, the twins too much the jokesters, and Charlie too socially inept to anything but dragons, Bill was both calm and collected. He had an intelligence about him. He gazed down at Fleur with a softness that she recognised: love. He stared into Fleur like she was his sun and moon, and that was all Hermione needed to see or know about the two of them that mattered. Love for one’s mate was something demons could respect, even if they couldn’t fathom anything else without translation.
Hagrid was assigned Harry for moving him to the new safe house. Hermione was paired off with Kingsley Shacklebolt and introduced to a Thestral that Hagrid called “Snowflake.” Hermione was privately wondering what drug Hagrid had been under the influence of when he came up with that name for the almost dragon-like thestral, but was happy, at the very least, that the thestral didn’t seem to mind her in the slightest.
Ronald was paired with Tonks. George was with Remus, Fred went with his father, all of which had brooms. Fleur went with Bill and teamed up with a thestral, and lastly Alastor kept a wary eye on Mundungus Fletcher. Hermione found herself longing to spread her wings and let them carry her into the night, and she envied the Thestral’s opportunity to use his. To touch wings with her mate and feel the moon’s kiss upon her skin as the wind held her aloft would bring her a joy her heart craved. They had not had the time to fly together yet, and the remnant of human loathing for the thought of flying on a broom paled in comparison to the longing to soar the skies under her own power and challenging her mate to chase her through the clouds and prove his stamina and dexterity.
Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed to be a man who was very collected. He did not startle quickly, jump to conclusions at the drop of a hat, nor did he think that every shadow was a Death Eater waiting to happen like Alastor Moody. Admittedly, Moody had good reason to think Death Eaters were a danger that could be anywhere, but if Kingsley believed it, he did not try to force his convictions on others.
“Alright, you lot!” Moody barked. “Mount up and head to number Four Privet Drive. Remember to land somewhere the Muggles can’t see you. The last thing we need is gaining attention from that front when we’re trying to defend against the others. Move!”
Kingsley was already astride the thestral, and he offered Hermione a hand. Hermione closed her hand around his and allowed him to pull her up behind him.
The thestral whickered and moved quickly, taking a few bounds before leaping into the air and spreading its wings to carry them towards Privet Drive.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
“I don’t trust you, human,” Fenrir growled, sounding more beast than man.
Severus turned to face Fenrir, his face impassive. “We all have our tasks given to us by our Lord,” he drawled, resisting the temptation to show Fenrir what a real growl sounded like.
Fenrir was sniffing the air like a hound, and even in his human form, he had a cruel beastly look about him. Some said he embraced his wolf’s passions so deeply that the change crept into his human body, but Severus knew that, if anything, the man’s perversions had corrupted the wolf. Fenrir was a child rapist and would both hump and harm in equal measure. It was well known that Fenrir likes them so young that they couldn’t help but cling to the monster for guidance after he savaged them, allowing the horrible man to mold them into perfect little loyal soldiers to his cause.
Not all of this soldiers came out the way Fenrir wanted. Lupin had been one of his more blaring failures of werewolf ferocity. Lupin had managed to cling to his humanity the majority of the month, and was, despite Severus’ habitual opinion of him, a good person. Lupin had been kind to Hermione when she really needed a friend, something that Severus himself had not and would not have at that point in his life. Severus was far more willing to look upon the werewolf more kindly, knowing that he’d done his part to protect his future mate— even if he didn’t have a clue as the extent of what he had done for the Potion Master.
Severus refocused his attention to the werewolf in front of him. Fenrir was pacing like a wild animal.
“You don’t smell right,” Fenrir said with a baring of his teeth. “You should stink of the fear the other humans do as they piss their pants in the hopes the Dark Lord favours them.”
“And you, wolf?” Severus commented. “Are you piddling yourself in the hopes it appeases our Lord?”
“I bow to no human, Death Eater,” Fenris snarled at him. “I want only what was promised to me.”
“And what, pray tell,” Severus asked, “would the Dark Lord promise you?”
“Many potential pack mates,” the werewolf said with a deranged happy grin that seemed to twist his half-wolfish face into a parody of beauty. “You smell of a female,” the werewolf noted with a feral grin. “Funny, none of the others seem to think you would ever find a good bitch to fuck. Is she young? Tender? I like them young and tender.”
“You are disgusting,” Severus said stonily.
“Heh, maybe after I’m done with you, I’ll go find your little bitch. Visit her as the moon grows full and have my way with her. Shouldn’t be too hard to find her, seeing as she’ll be the only one who smells like you. If she survives, I’ll make her my bitch. She’ll carry my pups in her belly.” The werewolf bared his teeth in threat and anticipation, irises bleeding gold as the wolf rose supreme.
Severus curled his lip. The werewolf’s animal form was pleasing for the demon to look at. The human form was simply one face in a sea of similar faces. The mixtures of human and werewolf features, however, seemed almost profane to him. There was no merging of spirit between the werewolf and the man that was natural. Unlike a demon who molded their physical body to what they required, the werewolf was trapped living with two minds and two separate bodies with only a painful transformation in between. The longer they existed like that, the more insane the werewolf became— no longer truly a man and no longer truly a wolf. It was like the unfortunate grouse that mated with a pheasant. Something just wasn’t right with the offspring. They would be forever trapped in a world thinking they were a pheasant but strutting around like a grouse.
Fenris was the hybrid abomination at its best, or worst, depending on how you looked at it. His human side was so far from humanity that he was a beast among men. His wolf side was so confused and tortured that it was savage and unnaturally violent, hungering for the soft meat of children as its prey. Then, as if to regift the human side, that warped sense of hunger leaked back through to the human side and made it all the more dysfunctional. Fenrir was a twisted mess, both as human and werewolf. There was no beauty to him at all.
Severus let his lips part as he bared his teeth at Fenrir, knowing exactly what it would do to the werewolf. His inner wolf was too close to the surface. The wolf wouldn’t care that Severus looked human, and Severus didn’t want him to. He had a hypothesis to test. Modron had gifted him with his own set of memories, and one thing her lessons had bestowed was the knowledge that demon blood did really horrible things to other magical creatures that ingested it. Much like how drinking the blood of a unicorn cursed the person who drank it to a horrible half-life, a magical creature who drank demon blood would find themselves severely messed up. How was the question, and Severus did always like a good experiment… for science, as Mr Granger had mentioned.
The werewolf leapt at him, snarling, his mouth open to tear into him, and Severus smiled as he shoved his bare arm into the werewolf’s mouth, letting him choke on his softer human flesh. Fenrir was in a rage, his mind clouded with the need to attack, challenge, and tear him to pieces, and Severus watched the man-beast tear into him. Blood, so dark red it seemed almost black, seeped into Fenrir’s mouth, and the werewolf swallowed it eagerly as madness sealed itself into his fate.
Fenrir fell back, eyes glazed. He panted, his jaws snapping in involuntary convulsions. He stared at Snape, but it was a blank, confused stare.
Severus leaned in closer staring into the werewolf’s eyes and fed off his memories. After a few minutes, Severus stood up straight, turned on his heels, and left, leaving the panting, whining, confused werewolf to whatever fate he had brought on himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Harry wasn’t sure what to think when saw Hermione standing with Ron and a handful of Order members. As Moody blew past him with a huff and almost snarl, he made it clear that there were more important things on his mind than the conspiracies theories floating in Harry’s head. Apparently, he only had enough room for the conspiracies in his own mind. It made sense, really, considering how many of them there were in there.
Bill Weasley was chatting with Hermione with a calm voice and smile, and his fiancée seemed to be enjoying something Hermione was saying. The Weasley’s hadn’t exactly been the most kind to Fleur when they had found out about the engagement. They had made fun of her accent as if her heavy French accent somehow made her less intelligent. Hermione had seemed to make her own opinion, and it was such a Hermione thing to do that he found himself wondering if Hermione really was Hermione and the demon he summoned was just using her voice and knowledge to mock him even more.
It would have made perfect sense, if he hadn’t seen Hermione’s lifeless body cradled in the demon’s dark embrace. He had been the one to sacrifice her, after all. Yet there she was— so human and so vulnerable looking. Wasn’t Moody’s eye supposed to reveal illusions? Wouldn’t he be able to see if Hermione was a demon? It wasn’t like he could ask Moody anything. What would he say? How could he even explain such a question?
It was bad enough that even Muggles thought he was completely mental now that he had assaulted a priest down by Kings Cross Station and gotten himself plastered all over the news all across England. He had been “lucky” according to the inspectors that had handled his case that the priest had held no desire to prosecute. He had been equally lucky that he was still considered a minor in Muggle law.
If anything, Harry’s temporary “insanity” had made it easier to convince the Dursley’s to move away and leave Privet Drive for good. Too many people knew them now, or as they put it, knew their stupid nephew. They were altogether happy to abandon their old residence and leave Harry on his own. Vernon had accused Harry of doing it on purpose just so he could have the house, but it had been Petunia that had grabbed Dudley in an embrace and told Vernon they needed to leave. That had been the deciding factor.
Now, even Ron looked at him like he wasn’t sure what to do with him, and that made him worry that he might talk to Ginny and turn her against him. With the threat of that over his shoulders, he decided to treat Hermione like he would treat… well, Hermione— at least to her face. There had to be some way to confirm whether she was really his old friend, some spectre that was there to haunt him, or the actual demon itself. Maybe he could slip her some holy water in her drink and see if she burst into flames or something. Holy water purified those that were unclean and unholy. He recalled Trelawney mentioning something about holy water properties in that stuffy Divination classroom.
Harry played the mollified friend and apologised to Hermione in front of Ron and the other Order members for attacking her back at Hogwarts, saying he was mad with grief and wasn’t right in the head. Hermione stared at him as though weighing his truth, and he had a flash of realisation that his actions had driven her into the protection of Severus Snape: the murder of Albus Dumbledore. As if setting her up to be sacrificed wasn’t enough, he had put her into a murderer’s care. If, and it was a big if, this person in front of him was the real Hermione, he had traumatised her so badly that she’d felt safer with Snape than anyone else at Hogwarts.
It was actually Professor Lupin that had finally managed to bridge the truce between Harry and Hermione, and Ron stopped glaring at Harry like he wanted to fry him like bacon for Sunday morning breakfast in Molly’s cast-iron skillet. Ron had long been dating Lavender Brown, but he still had this strange protective almost jealousy when it came to Hermione that never quite fit in the right shaped hole in the puzzle box. Hermione had finally gotten over trying to catch Ron’s attention in the relationship department, and many had suggested the only reason it took so long was because every time she started to get over it, she’d catch Ron and Lavender snogging in broom closets during her patrols.
After seeing Snape and Hermione’s picture together in the Daily Prophet, Harry had been convinced that Hermione was the demon feeding on Snape. And while he did believe Snape was a murdering bastard, he also didn’t want the demon to gain power by feeding off of one of the most powerful Dark wizards he knew, short of Voldemort himself. That had been the reason he flung himself at who he had though was Hermione and Snape. The very thought of Snape, however, had caused him to focus all his anger on who he had thought was Dumbledore’s murderer, and the tabloids had taken care of the rest. Maybe he really was lucky to get off like he did, like the Chief Inspector had said.
As Harry stared into the living room and saw the six identical copies of himself— which was somehow going to protect his flight to the safe house— Harry had a sinking feeling that many bad things were going to happen. Part of him wanted to just call the demon and demand a safe departure, but now that the Order was here, there was nothing he could do without getting himself into a serious amount of trouble. Alastor Moody was there as well as Auror Tonks, and if that wasn’t enough to get him dragged off the Azkaban for demon summoning, there was a good chance that Professor Lupin’s enhanced werewolf senses would sniff out trouble as well.
As Moody barked last minute orders, everyone walked back outside to where they were going to depart in unison. He just hoped he would survive it to hold Ginny in his arms again. Hagrid swore he would get him safely out, but there were many more Death Eaters than Order Members. The most he could hope for in the regard was that the the enemy didn’t know he was being moved that night.
As he sat down in the bucket seat of Hagrid’s motorcycle, he set Hedwig loose to fly on her own accord. He knew the owl would be frantic, being trapped in a cage if things went pear-shaped. He reminded himself to give her a nice plump frog as a treat when they got to their destination.
On Moody’s yell, they set off— each Harry Potter headed towards a different safe house in the hopes that the real one arrived at Edward and Andromeda Tonk’s house. The thestrals took off with a few hurried bounds, and brooms whooshed away around him. Seven Harry Potters fled into the night towards whatever fate awaited them.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Harry was a complete and utter wreck of a wizard as Edward and Andromeda Tonks pulled him out of the blackened pond water that he had crashed the bike into. He was wailing Hedwig’s name, struggling and crawling to get to Hagrid’s still limp of a form as he laid eagle spread upon the sandy shores of the pond, while simultaneously scan the sky for signs of Voldemort’s wispy figure and red eyes glowering at him in the dark.
Harry spat out a tooth, blood trickling down his chin from his mouth. His arm hung uselessly at his side, and his ribs stung him as he tried to breath. Visions of the fight swirled in his head, most noteable the blank, staring face of Stanley Shunpike as a Death Eater and the Death Eaters yelling “He’s the real one!”
Somehow he had given himself away. Had it been Hedwig? No… all of this decoys had an owl cage with them. Visions of Hedwig falling to her death caused a pain unlike anything he had ever known to fill him. It was emptiness and despair. It was like someone had cut a piece of him out and thrown it to the ground and stomped over it. Faithful, wonderful Hedwig had been murdered. He would never hear her soft hoots and gentle nips upon his fingers.
A small part of Harry rose up, telling him he had no right to grieve over Hedwig when he didn’t even shed a tear over what he had done to his best friend. The other part of him screamed that Hedwig was his familiar. She was a part of him.
I supposed you think trusting best friends just come around every weekend like new, aye? Replacing each other as you kill them off.
Shut up!
You made the choice to sacrifice her. You deserve what you get.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Hedwig loved me!
So did Hermione.
Not like Hedwig!
Oh, so it’s about how much someone loves you? Are we on a rating system now?
Shut up! Hedwig was special. She kept me company every summer. My only connection to the Wizarding World when I was trapped at the Dursleys!
So, because Hermione didn’t fit in a cage and eat frog legs out of your hand or fondle your bits in a darkened classroom like Ginny does, you think her not as important. You deserve every bit of pain you get, Harry Potter.
No! Voldemort must be destroyed. She died for the cause!
She died because of YOU!
Harry clutched his head, his scar burning, his mind reeling, and his body trembling from shock.
He screamed that it wasn’t true.
Yet there was a small voice in the pit of his stomach that knew that Hedwig’s death was only 1 part of the three-fold he would get back for what he had done to Hermione.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The glowing hairbrush portkey had taken Harry and the recovered Hagrid directly to the Burrow, but that was only the beginning of Harry’s problems.
Professor Lupin had his wand pressed to his throat, even as his hand grasped tightly against his side. Blood trickled down between his fingers and there was a yellow tinge creeping into his eyes as his wolf neared the surface.
Hagrid was yelling at Lupin, demanding that he let Harry go, but Lupin’s demeanour was all out of listening. “What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?” he hissed, jabbing his wand into Harry’s neck. **
“A, a grindylow!” Harry choked, “in a tank. It was in a tank.”
Lupin dropped his wand and staggered. Tonks yelled as Remus crumpled to the ground, clutching his side.
“Had to ask,” Lupin groaned. “Have to be sure.”
“Remus!” Tonks yelled, touching his shoulder but hovering as if afraid to touch him anywhere else.
“We were betrayed,” Remus gasped. “Somehow they knew. Somehow they pulled away. They knew George wasn’t the real Harry. They came after us, blocking us, I swerved at the last minute, right into one of their spells. It got me the most. Clipped George on the side of the head.” Remus was rasping now, his eyes were rolling back, body convulsing.
“Remus!” Tonks was frantic. Hagrid scooped him up, carrying the werewolf like a ragdoll back towards the Burrow. Tonks followed behind, wringing her hands.
“George?” Harry asked. “What happened to him?”
“It was all messed up, Harry,” Arthur explained. “The Death Eaters were testing us. They knew that each Harry could have been an imposter. The KNEW!” Arthur’s voice choked up. “As soon as they figured Fred wasn’t the right Harry Potter, they pulled off, sending a slew of curses in our direction, but then left us. Kingsley and Hermione haven’t made it back yet. Bill and Fleur haven’t made it back yet. Ron is inside with George. Dammit, Harry. Somehow they knew.”
“They summoned Voldemort on top of me,” Harry said. “Somehow, they recognised me.”
“How, Harry? How!” Arthur was determined to know what they had could have done that tipped the Death Eaters off.
“I—” Harry tried to think back. “A lot of them were coming towards me. One of them, I recognised him. It was Stan, er, Shunpike. The Knight Bus conductor. I tried to disarm him, and they were all yelling ‘It’s the real one! Summon our Lord!’ and they all pulled back. Then Voldemort was there—”
Arthur looked white in the face. “Harry, you conscientious, foolish boy. They knew the moment you tried to Disarm him that you were the real Harry Potter. Your habit of using Expelliarmus is what told them who you were. ”
“What? How could that—”
“It’s your signature, Harry,” Ginny said from the door. Her face was lined in worry. There was blood on her hands, but whose it was, Harry couldn’t tell. “People know you have a habit of using Expelliarmus instead of a proper stunning spell.”
“Stan was innocent! If I had stunned him, he could have fallen to his death just as effectively as a Killing Curse!” Harry argued.
Oh, now you’re all conscientious. His inner voice mocked him with disgust.
Shut up!
“And what good would all of them… my brothers, Fleur, the Order, Hermione!” Ginny argued. “What good would would it have served for you to die out there because you used a Disarm and gave yourself away? What if, instead of pulling back once they found out, they killed them all?” Ginny’s voice was almost a screech like her mother’s. “What if they did kill… what if they didn’t make it because of your…”
Arthur was trying to go to her, comfort her, or offer some solace, but Ginny shook her head and ran back into the house, wringing her bloody hands.
Harry’s heart fell into his stomach as she left him.
Molly’s head popped around the door. “Any sign of Bill, Arthur?” she asked worriedly.
Arthur shook his head. Molly made a face, her expression strained, and then retreated back in the house.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Kingsley landed the Thestral in the clearing with surprising smoothness as Hermione’s death grip around his waist loosened and she began to fall off the back of the gaunt looking beast.
Moody, who had been riding behind Hermione, made up the third passenger, but the Thestral didn’t seem affected by the weight. The ex-Auror cursed a chain of epitaphs that seemed hardly English as he stumbled off the Thestral just as Hermione slumped against Kingsley’s back.
There was a cry from the front of the yard as Arthur rushed forward just as Hermione slid off the Thestral. The young witch’s grip was slack, and her face was pale. Blood seeped out from her clothes where her body had been sliced, hexed, cursed, and otherwise maimed during the battle. Moody caught her in his arms, cradling her as Kingsley slid off the Thestral’s back and gently pried the wand out of Hermione’s hand and stashed it safely away in his robes. Her knuckles had clutched the vinewood wand so hard her knuckles had taken on the colour of bleached bone.
“Kingsley! Alastor? What happened?” Arthur exclaimed, rushing up towards them. Any thoughts of confronting the two wizards with questions of security left his mind as he saw Hermione bleeding out in front of him.
“Mundungus turned yellow and fled,” Moody snapped as he field dressed Hermione’s wounds so they could move her into the house. “Granger saved my life, but she took hexes and curses to do it. She deflected most of them, but they weren’t pulling any punches. They knew she wasn’t Potter.”
Arthur assisted them with Hermione, casting a few spells to make Hermione easier to move as Moody and Kingsley both tended her side to make sure she didn’t suffer any more unforeseen injuries as she was being brought inside.
“Harry tipped them off, Alastor,” Arthur said as they guided her floating body into the Burrow. “He tried to disarm them instead of attacking them.”
“Idiot boy,” the ex-Auror snapped. “He’ll be the death of us and himself, and then the Dark Lord will just walk up and laugh in our faces saying ‘thanks for making it easier for me’!” The stern face softened slightly as he eyed Hermione’s injured body. He stared at her as his lip curled up. He growled. “Let’s get her patched up. Even if I have to sit over her all night and feed her blood replenishers… she saved my life, and I will not let her bleed to death after that.”
The three older wizards hustled inside the burrow, bringing the young witch inside the Burrow and, hopefully, to safety.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Wake up.
Hermione groaned softly.
We must feed. Our strength is weak from the curses we intercepted. If we do not feed, we will not be able to maintain it.
Hermione opened her eyes blearily and immediately regretted it. A candle lantern was gleaming across the room. For a human, it probably would have been a dim glow, but Hermione found it painful.
The demon within sent her warmth and support, offering the full merge to help her get her bearings, and she relaxed into it, allowing the full blend that brought both comfort and balance. It wasn’t that they weren’t “together” all of the time, but there were levels of how tightly they were merged at a given moment, and the more human part of Hermione admitted that the feel of the full merge was second only to the feel of when it was combined with sensation of her mate’s embrace and loving attention at the same time.
She winced as her human form ached and complained bitterly of the abuse she had underwent in order to save Kingsley without revealing her true nature. It had been imperative, in her mind at least, to see Kingsley survive. The man was talented, calm under fire, and dedicated to those he considered friends. She knew there would come a time in the future when having someone like Kingsley vouching for her would be crucial, and so she had taken one or two curses for the team to save his life. Sadly, it had also meant she was in no condition at all to save Alastor Moody when Mundungus flaked out on him.
She hadn’t been, but she had done it anyway.
Kingsley had doubled back towards Moody the moment he realised that the Death Eaters had pulled back. Somehow, they knew where the real Harry Potter was. It shouldn’t have been possible. They all had their decoy owls and perfect looks. They were all on perfectly acceptable paths. Something must have happened that allowed the Death Eaters to realise who was the real Harry Potter, but what could it have been?
Thoughts for Harry’s safety had been secondary to the need to keep the other players in the war alive. The goal was to keep as many of them alive as possible because strong allies provided a safer environment for the future sprogs. Severus had warned her that he would be fighting “on the opposing team” that night and that had been a delicate dance to choreograph. Demons did not attack other demons. Demons did not mess with another demon’s things.
As a mated pair, their situation was slightly different. What was his was hers, and what was hers was his. They had permission to “mess” with each other’s things because their things were shared, but even so, they could not or would not fight each other, even in mock hostility. To fight another demon was not done. To fight one’s mate was inconceivable. Due to this, Severus had known exactly where Hermione was at all times, and she had known where he was. They had made sure to avoid each other by all means possible. Doing so was its own form of torture, and the last thing either of them wanted to be was farther from each other. The war, however, had begun long before they had been Sired, and while they didn’t start it, both of them intended to finish it on their terms.
“Hey, how you feeling?” a soft female voice said from the couch nearby.
Nymphadora Tonks looked up at her from an armchair nearby. She was sitting beside Remus, who was still and covered up with a quilt. He looked very pale, and Hermione could smell the weakness about him. Even the otherly scent of his “wolf” seemed weak and barely noticeable. The scent of his blood oozed out from under his bandages, and judging by the disheveled look about Tonks, Remus was not in a good place.
“I ache all over,” Hermione confessed. “Even my brain feels like it’s aching.”
Tonks nodded. “Careful moving too quickly. Kingsley said you took quite a few curses for him, so many that they started to break through your shields. He said you didn’t stop fighting until you got to Alastor,” Tonks said with some admiration. “It was very brave, what you did. I know Alastor wouldn’t want to admit that someone so young saved his life, but Kings… he said some very great things about you.”
Hermione flushed and looked appropriately embarrassed. “It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.”
Tonks shook her head. “It wasn’t nothing, Hermione,” the young Auror said. “Mundungus disapparated and left Alastor to die. If you hadn’t set those Death Eater brooms on fire, he wouldn’t be reading Harry the riot act on the other side of the Burrow.”
Hermione arched a brow. “Harry?”
“I’d tear into him too, if I could,” Tonks confessed. “It was because of him giving himself away that switched the battle to killing the people they knew weren’t the real Harry Potter. A Death Eater threw a nasty slicing curse at George. Remus swerved at the last minute, but he took the brunt of the curse, and George lost a good part of his ear. They’ve been trying to heal it, but the curse is preventing healing. Potions aren’t working. Both he and Remus—”
Hermione touched Tonks on the arm. “It may do nothing, but,” Hermione began, “I would try something.”
Tonks frowned, perhaps unsure what Hermione could do that all of them had not already tried.
“When I was… attacked,” Hermione explained. Professor Snape was responsible for my recovery. He taught me some spells, gave me some salves, and taught me how to make them.”
“Hermione,” Tonks began, unsure. “Harry says Snape killed Dumbledore. He saw it.”
“And Harry threw a Dark curse at me, Tonks,” Hermione answered darkly. “In front of Gryffindor House and countless other witnesses. Do you think that Professor Snape, if he meant to kill us all, would he have taught me these things just to keep appearances? No, he would have shoved me back into Professor McGonagall’s hands the moment I was able to walk again. He would not have taken the time to drill the spell into my memory until I knew it by heart.”
Tonks’ jaw worked up and down. She had seen the aftereffects of Harry’s attack first hand. She knew that Hermione had every reason to favour the protection of the one wizard that would have no quibble over putting the infamous Boy-Who-Lived in his place. Tonks had also seen something in Snape’s protective and watchful eye that she felt was genuine. It was a gut feeling that told her that Snape would have done everything he could have to protect Hermione, and if that was true, could that same man simple murder Albus Dumbledore? If he had killed Albus Dumbledore as Harry had accused him, would there have been a hidden reason that explained it?
Tonks frowned. Snape’s protectiveness of Hermione had been the first gut feeling she had read off the Potion Master. Back when she had been his student, he had been completely unreadable, and she admitted that reading him was not any easier as a trained Auror. Yet, at the same time, despite his lack of giving tells, she felt that Snape’s protective vigil over Hermione had not been fake. That had been the first and only feel she had been able to gleen on him. Hermione seemed to trust him, and Hermione was not known for being the impulsive one of her friends. Hermione hadn’t rushed headlong to the Ministry of Magic to rescue his godfather only to end up being the reason his godfather had come to the place of his death.
Tonks fidgeted. It would be so much easier to focus on whether or not to trust a spell Snape had taught Hermione if she wasn’t so focused on Remus’ condition. “I can’t… I can’t lose him, Hermione,” she blurted. She trembled. Her hands shook; her eyes filled with tears. She placed her hand on her stomach and gazed at Hermione meaningfully.
Hermione took the hand she was absently chewing on and covered Nymphadora's with it. She rubbed her finger along the edge of her hand and stared into Tonk’s face, watching as her pupils blew out and her eyes fluttered.
Feed. Yes!
Hermione looked deep into Tonk’s eyes and searched for the panic and desperation that was threatening to overtake her mind. There was pain and need, and a host of other emotions, but Hermione went through them as one would sort through different coloured pieces of clothing in order prepare them for the wash. She took the most exquisite and painful emotions and drank them in with a soft, pleasured growl. She fed on the Auror’s agony at the very thought of losing her husband so soon after finding out she was pregnant, and the blackened tip of Hermione’s inhuman tongue slithered out from between her lips teeth and ran across them with a deliberately slow lick.
The merge overcame her, and she and her demon became one in the feed, enjoying the thrill of the flood of human emotions that had become identified as food. She drank in the despair, the panic, and the worry for Remus, savouring each as a different flavour, leaving her with just enough to remember it was there but not enough to be crippled by it anymore. It was a deep feed, and Hermione fed well upon the Auror’s excess and overflowing emotional state. Energy stories restored, Hermione withdrew, licking her teeth as though to savour her favourite ice cream. Dark ichor bleed into her human saliva, and she knew she would have to tend to her wounds before Tonks woke up from being fed on or anyone else came in.
Setting Tonks back against the nearby chair, she watched the Auror’s eyes close as the lull of Hermione’s feeding sapped her energy. Her arms ached slightly where bandages had been wrapped around her arms and part of her chest where hexes and curses had slipped through her shields and cut into her. Her blood seeped from some of the wounds thanks to the curses, unable to heal without extra help.
Hermione saw her traveling cloak slung across the nearby chair and searched it. She pulled out her beaded bag, fished out tin of salve and clutched it in her hand. The salve was a combination of Dittany a few custom healing ointments that Severus had drilled into her before he had reluctantly “allowed” her to leave on her crusade with Harry. She knew how to make quite a few useful potions and salves thanks to his tutelage, but the he had taught her both the Wizarding method and the daemonic way, allowing his ichor to transmit the memories she would require.
She licked the wounds on her arm, tasting the blood that seeped from the wounds on her human body. Her ichor flowed across her skin, crawling across the surface and into the wounds like a sentient thing, seeping into her tissues and helping her human body heal. She was surprised to note that her wounds were already healing. The feed had jumpstarted her energy pool and allowed a sustained merge so she could heal without a shift into her demon form. Still, she figured helping it along would not hurt, so she bathed her skin with long licks of her elongated, blackened tongue, feeling the tingle as her flesh mended together. She immediately missed Severus’ dutiful attention to the spots that were so much easier to reach when you had a partner to assist. Full demon form was far more flexible and able to reach areas her human body refused to allow her to reach. Then again, if she just shifted into her demon form, her wounds wouldn’t have been an issue to begin with, but that was hardly going to help her gain allies at the Burrow.
Her blood and ichor mixed together in her mouth and, pausing a moment to glance around to see if Tonks and Remus were still unconscious, opened the tin of salve and allowed it to drizzle into the salve. Her combined demon blood and ichor steamed gently as it hit the salve, and she used one taloned finger to stir it together.
Modron had bestowed fascinating knowledge about demon blood and ichor. Ichor, much like magic, had the ability to do a wide range of things— far more than just serve as an aphrodisiac to demons and make humans more susceptible to daemonic influence. To demons, at least, it healed. Demon blood nullified non-daemonic magic. It was possible that the combination, while very helpful to a demon, in mixed in the Wizarding salve, could serve as a decursive agent. If it worked, Hermione could use it on Lupin and George without having to have a specific counter-curse. It could also be easily attributed to the mixture of properties in the base salve. The ichor and the blood would lose their properties shortly after leaving the demon, making the properties wonderfully untraceable.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. Untraceable was ideal.
She flared her nostrils, taking in the werewolf’s dual scents. Lupin had been kind to her. Tonks had fed her, albeit unknowingly, when she needed it to hold her human form. She owed the werewolf what she could do to heal him. Even if the ichor and demon blood did nothing, she could use the salve and sing the counter-curses she knew to hopefully allow his body to heal itself. Ideally, the salve would work immediately.
Hermione pulled the quilt off Lupin’s sleeping form, lips pulling back from her teeth as the scent of cursed magical infused blood leaked out from his bandages. If the Wizarding counter-curses didn’t work, she could always feed off the curse in the traditional daemonic way: sucking the curse out of him. She would prefer not to do such a thing with possible witnesses around. It could lead to… complications of diplomacy.
Lupin was quite pale and unconscious, and it seemed as though he looked even more ragged than after his transformation. Her eyes scanned him, the black of her demon nature seeping into her eyes as she took in his energy fields. She was going to have to work fast. His auras were dull and almost colourless.
Unwrapping the bandages quickly, she dipped her free hand into the salve and smeared it over the wounds and then pushing the bandages back over it and applying pressure. She held it there for a few minutes, eyes flicking over his body as her nostrils flared. When his scent changed slightly, she lifted the bandage and looked closely. The salve mixture was working. The curse was lifting and allowing the healing to accelerate.
Encouraged, Hermione methodically lifted the other bandages, smoothed in more salve and then reapplied pressure. As each wound was treated, Lupin’s scent became stronger, and the scent of his cursed wounds faded. She grabbed a blood replenisher potion from the nearby table that Tonks had apparently been feeding him to keep him from dying as he was bleeding out. She shook the potion, unstoppered it, sniffed it to make sure it wasn’t something else, and put it to his lips, slipping it into his mouth little by little. She stroked his throat with her hands to encourage his swallowing reflex and sighed as a few weak swallows managed to get the potion down.
His body seemed respond well to the return of fresh blood to his arteries, and his colour improved, scent evened out, and breathing became deeper and stronger. Hermione applied salve to the last of his wounds, waited for the skin to knit together, and pulled the remaining bandages away.
Pulling the wash basin over towards her, she poured water from the charmed kettle that Molly seemed to keep in every room. Dipping in a clean washcloth, Hermione cleaned Lupin’s body, knowing that the physical washing would do his health better than a hasty cleaning spell.
Her demon curiously searched her memories, hunting for the history of the werewolf’s personality and deeds and sent a rush of warmth as their awareness blended together. Hermione’s eyes closed slightly, enjoying the merge as she cleaned Remus’ skin. She gently patted him dry, smeared more ointment on his healing areas, and wrapped him lightly with clean bandages. His colour was already much improved, and his breathing was now deep and even in sleep. It was a good sign.
She sniffed his skin, taking in his scent as she lowered her nose to his healing flesh. The scent of his pain was faded, but there was something else that caught her attention. The heavy shared musk of man and wolf had altered into something that smelled of rich chocolate with a hint of mint. It reminded her of the small patch of chocolate mint Professor Sprout hid away in the back greenhouse for her special mint tea. Every so often during one of her classes, the wind would pick up just right, and the scent of the chocolate mint patch would waft in from the back. More than half of the females in the class would start craving chocolate by the end of the period. She realised, with some curiosity, that Lupin’s base scent was transformed completely from what it had been.
Fascinating.
He smelled appealing, for a human— far less offensive to her demon senses. The sense of duality that bespoke of ill balance was fading. That, above all, was far more interesting. Daemonic duality was different, well, at least it was for a healthy one. Those like Severus had walked a delicate line of ill health having not fully embraced the full transition, but that was no longer an issue. Even when he had been torn into two opposing halves, Severus never had the stench of ill-balance that werewolves tended to gain the older they were, or rather, the longer they were infected. Werewolves were, by nature, unnatural. They were neither truly wolf nor fully a man, and due to their inability to shift at will, there could never be balance. There could only be fights for dominance of will forever… at least until a random demon came along and managed to get their blood and ichor into them.
Hermione wondered if the effects of the blood and ichor were temporary or permanent. She would have to watch Lupin carefully to find out. If it cured him, it would both free Remus of a curse he had been living under since childhood and give her and Severus a way to ensure that Voldemort’s legion of werewolf allies was nicely taken off the playing field.
Hermione pulled the quilt back up over Remus, and he stirred. Bright green eyes, wholly human, stared into her face. His nostrils flared, and a strange confusion that bordered on wonder crossed his face.
“Hermione,” Remus whispered lowly. His voice was a low but soft. The low growl that was imperceptible to human ears was missing. There was a rumble to his voice, but it was wondrously singular.
“You’ve been through a tough scrape, Professor,” Hermione said gently. “Please rest.”
Lupin’s eyes flicked to where Tonks was passed out on the chair. His face softened with emotion.
“She hasn’t left you the entire time,” Hermione said with a half smile.
Relief crossed Lupin’s eyes, and his hand touched Hermione’s. “You saved me?”
Hermione tapped the tin of salve with her finger. “Professor Snape’s salve. He taught me how to make it.”
Lupin’s eyes flickered. “He is… better than we ever gave him credit for,” Remus said thoughtfully. “Albus implored us to trust him no matter what happened, yet at the word of one boy, the entire order was willing to throw it all away. And because of our shared… history, Severus was forced to keep my secrets due to Dumbledore.”
Hermione frowned. Lupin had never spoken of his past with Severus before. It had always been a topic that caused the Potion Master to scowl hatefully and the once DADA professor to shamefully change the subject. To be fair, all the times before, Hermione had not had any connection to the Potion Master where he would have shared such things, nor did she have a reason to pry into Lupin’s life anymore than he was willing to volunteer.
“Back when I was younger than you,” Lupin began with a soft voice. “Sirius did a horrible prank. He was convinced that Severus had to be taught a lesson to not stick his nose into what he considered our business. He lured him to the Shack on the night of a full moon, intentionally made a show of how he got past the willow, and then shifted into a dog and darted out as Severus went in. James, having realised what Sirius has done, went in to save him, yanking him out just before I… I almost got to him. He could have been killed or turned. I had no idea of Sirius’ plan. I was horrified when I found out the next day.
“Dumbledore swore Snape to secrecy. We, that is, James, Sirius, and I got off without punishment. Albus said that our remorse was sufficient punishment,” Remus continued. “Severus never forgave and never forgot. He was right to do so. He could've been killed for a stupid teenage, thoughtless prank, and no one, no matter how many grudges we may have fostered between us, deserved to be savaged by a werewolf for such real or imaginary crimes.”
Hermione was silent as Remus seemed to be thinking far away.
“That was the first time James truly began to see that the pranks he and Sirius were doing were dangerous,” Remus said after a while. “It was the first time he realised that what he and Sirius were doing to Severus was only compounding a bad situation. None of us were truly innocent, but none of us should have let it come down to that. Sirius blamed Severus for everything, whether the wind changed directions or if his motorbike blew a gasket. Somehow it was always Snape’s fault. James, however, I think that incident seeded a small hint of maturity. It didn’t truly come to a head until much later, but it was when he started to grow up that Lily began to pay him attention. By then, James had every reason to keep growing up, and Sirius, well, he blamed Snape until the day of his death… even his own personal failures.”
Remus’ eyes looked into Hermione’s. “We all paid the price of our arrogance in one way or another,” he said with a sad expression. “I see now that Severus had done right by you. Through you, him—I owe you both my life. I am not sure what magic lies within that salve you used, but I have never felt so clear in my head.
Hermione grasped his hand and nodded. “You should rest. I should go see if I can help George.”
Remus held her hand tightly. “Your eyes are like his,” he said. “Distant and Occluded. Pray it was not me that caused this in your eyes. I could not bear it if I caused one more person to be—”
Hermione shook her head. “No, Professor,” Hermione answered. “It was nothing you did. I swear it.”
“Did someone hurt you?” Remus’ green eyes were hardened with resolve to pull himself off the couch and throttle someone.
“It is in the past, Professor,” Hermione said honestly. “What’s done is done.”
“Did Harry—?”
Hermione squeezed his hand and shook her head. “It is not what you think.”
Remus looked into her eyes, perhaps searching for answers. “Please, call me Remus. I am not your professor any longer. I would prefer it if you called me as a friend.”
“You may call me Hermione then, Pr—Remus,” Hermione said, weaving in the music of her Name as she tested his ability to hear it.
“Thank you, Hermione,” Remus said. There was no music, nor was it her Name, but it was full of warmth, and that was enough.
Hermione patted his hand and stood up straight, pulling the quilt over him as he closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
“You get the fuck away from George, demon!” Harry screamed into Hermione’s face. He slammed into her at full speed, knocking her down. The tin of salve went spinning across the wooden floor. “You think I’ve forgotten what you are, you piece demon shit? You stay the fuck away from these people! They haven’t done anything to you!”
Harry flung Hermione into the nearby table, knocking over the pan of changed dressings and scattering George’s bloody bandages across the room. Hermione clutched her face where Harry had hit her, and bright red blood seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He snarled into her face with his fury. “You keep your filthy hands off the people I care about, you fucking imposter!”
Harry slammed Hermione into the wall, using his arm to pin her to the door. His wand was at her throat, and Hermione’s eyes looked directly into his face as she made choking sounds.
“Expelliarmus!” Alastor Moody yelled as Harry’s wand went flying off into the room.
Fred slammed into Harry, knocking him off of Hermione with a yell and a series of curses that made Harry’s earlier profanity seem like baby talk. “What the fuck are you doing, Harry?” exclaimed Fred as he gained his ability to speak English again. “She was healing my brother’s ear!”
“That’s not Hermione!” yelled Harry, struggling against him. “Don’t let her touch him!”
Kingsley was ushering Hermione out the door in a rush while Alastor blocked the way with his bulk. “What hell is going on here, Potter?” he raged. He picked up the tin of spilled salve that was mostly dumped on the floor, ruined. His magic eye flicked over it, scanning it and the area around them. “What could possibly possess you to raise your wand to your friend with at least three Aurors here to witness it?” He sniffed the salve and and set the end table back up so he could set the salve back on it.
Ron, Ginny, and Molly came rushing down the stairs as Tonks and Lupin staggered in from the adjoining room. Bill and Fleur came staggering in blearily from past the kitchen, drawn to the commotion, wands out. All of them gaped at Harry as he writhed like a wild animal to get out from under Fred.
George groaned, sitting up from where he had been recovering on the couch. He held a bandage to his ear with one hand. “Wh—what happened to Hermione? She was helping me with my cursed ear—”
“That wasn’t Hermione!” Harry yelled, wiggling free from Fred as he was distracted by his brother’s voice. He avoided Moody’s tackle and flew by him, ploughing through the door at top speed as he went after where Hermione and Shacklebolt had gone. “It’s an imposter!” Harry huffed as he left, leaving the people in the room looking even more baffled just before they took off in pursuit.
Harry was halfway to Shacklebolt and Hermione, and Shacklebolt placed himself between Hermione and Harry with his wand raised. “We went through a lot of pain to get you here safely, Harry Potter,” Kingsley said evenly. “Do not make me regret it.”
Harry was fixated on Hermione, his eyes wild. “She’s fooled you too. She’s fooled everyone! That isn’t the real Hermione!” He continued to run towards them.
Kingsley shot off a stunner, and Harry dodged it, making to do a flying tackle to bring Hermione down once more. Yelling was coming from behind him as the group from inside was running out to assist, even though they seemed unsure who was needing the assistance and who was needing to be taken out.
Hermione, however, had a very familiar look of fear in her eyes as the crack of her Disapparate carried her away to places unknown.
A number of the gathered stared at the place Hermione had disappeared in shock and disbelief.
Ron, whose face had gone from pale to red in a matter of seconds, glared at Harry. “What the fuck, mate?”
Kingsley grabbed Harry by the collar and glared down at him. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Mr Potter,” he said evenly, his eyes boring into him without warmth. He pushed Harry in front of him to drive him back towards the Burrow.

-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione knew she was in trouble the moment she Apparated into the forested area closer to Devon and further from Ottery St. Catchpole. She wasn’t splinched, which was a relief itself, but the exact time that she had touched ground, she knew she was in another demon’s territory, and she had unintentionally neglected the proper announcements and formalities expected of her.
While at the Burrow, she hadn’t paid much attention to whether the area itself was claimed by another demon, and that had been foolish and rude. It had been very human of her, some remnant of her human self that was too used to considering the Burrow a place of safety to pay attention to where it was now that she was a demon. Now that the Burrow was far away, she felt the signature of another demon’s energy, and she knew she had to rectify her mistake before whoever owned this territory took it out on her face.
Immediately, she and her demon were one, and she shifted into her true form with a low growl. She knelt down on the grass around her and tilted her head back and bayed the song of announcement mixed with the song of permission, begging for an audience from the demon whose territory she was unintentional invading.
“I am Hermione,” she sang into the winds. “I mean no disrespect as I enter your territory without permission. I beg your tolerance of my intrusion, for I did not know this place was claimed.”
An answering howl came from across the moors. “I come. Stay where you are, Hermione.”
Hermione knew better than to attempt to flee the other demon’s scrutiny. If the demon was younger than she was, there would be the possibility of challenge when one demon interloped on another’s territory. Physical fights with other demons were unheard of, but territorial disputes were settled with the comparisons of power. An older demon did not always take over a younger demon’s territory, even if they wanted it. It all depended on what they saw during the mutual introductions. Mated pairs were usually left their core territory where they made their home due to the need for a stable place for potential sprogs, and all demons valued the next generation of sprogs. A young demon who was too ambitious and attempted to take more land than they required, however, was often put in their place very quickly. Hermione knew the last thing she wanted to be mistaken for was a young demon looking to expand her territory beyond her means to defend it.
A low roar rumbled across the sky, and Hermione looked upward immediately to see the span of enormous wings blocking out the sliver of light of the waning moon. The male was enormous, the waves of his power were unmistakeable, and beat of his wings were like the rumble of distant thunder. He made no attempt to hide his presence. The true form of a full demon was not visible to most humans, even the Wizarding folk. There would always be exceptions, and Hermione wondered if Luna Lovegood was one of them, but unless there was a contract between demon and human, the full true daemonic form was naturally disillusioned. The show of size and power of this elder demon was for Hermione alone.
The demon circled above her and then glided down, touching down on his extended, glistening talons. His wings flapped a few times before folding across his back and disappearing. His skin was a dark and almost emerald green with crimson mottling like the spots of a nectarine indicating his excellent health. His golden eyes swallowed up his eyes sockets where Hermione’s and Severus’ were black. His pearlescent horns jutted out from his head, but unlike the line of Modron, his horns spanned to the side of his head like a steers and curved up. His hair, bound with topaz beads, was bright crimson, even in the moonlight— a shade that would put even the Weasley family to shame. His ichor, which was a bright orange, dripped from him blackened and jagged fangs as his bright orange tongue slithered out to lick his teeth. He bared his fangs at her, jaws parted in the formal greeting. “I am Radovan of the line of Namtar,” he rumbled. “Come, and let me taste of your Lineage and your Name.”
Hermione parted her jaws as the elder demon pressed his muzzle against hers, their ichor pooled together as it seeped between their fangs. His tongue slid against her teeth, tasting her ichor as he took in her scent and the song of her Name.
Knowledge crept into Hermione’s mind—a gift from Modron—and she let a concentrated packet of her memories pass to the elder demon that contained the history of her Change, who had brought her through the Transition, and what Lineage she descended from. Mixed within, was the boundaries of her Home territory, those that were her Chosen, and which humans she was entangled with and those she protected. Amongst demons, nothing was too much information. Demons knew each other intimately, some even physically. It was necessary in order to not unintentionally mess with another demons “playthings.” The depths in which they shared information was strangely opposite of the way humans liked to horde information like power. Demons were very transparent to other demons. To others, however, they guarded their secrets with fanatical fervor.
Radovan pulled away slightly, lips pulling back from his teeth as he scented the air using the scenting glands at the rear of his mouth. “Hermione, mate of Severus, child of line of Modron who herself is the line of Namkuzu, I bid you welcome to my territory.”
“I apologise for my hasty arrival, Radovan,” Hermione answered respectfully. “The last I was here, I had not undergone the Change, and my knowledge of territory was lacking.”
Radovan growled softly, but it was not a threat. “You and your mate are welcome to hunt within my territory, young Hermione, for I have tasted your Names and partaken of your memories. You must leave the wizards who clad themselves in blue robes within the areas of my territory, for they are mine, but all others you may feed as you please. If they are stupid enough to roam around without their robes, I will not fault you for their ignorance.”
Hermione bowed her head. “I thank you.”
“You are far from your home, Hermione,” Radovan said, and Hermione found herself enjoying the sound of her true Name from the demon’s voice. “I see your summoner has botched his contract with you not even a month into his year.”
Hermione nodded. “He is both obsessed with the power I may give him and with the way of my death.”
“Such is the way of human summoners,” Radovan grunted. “The ones who create a new demon even more so, for a part of their soul assisted in your rebirth. He will forever crave and loath you in equal measure. He will wish to bury himself within you and then hate himself afterwards. The loathing and conflict, lust and desire, and self-righteous fury could feed you for long as he lives—an endless supply of torment and self depreciation.”
“He was once my friend,” Hermione said after a while, tilting her head.
“Yet you feel nothing for him, do you?” Radovan asked.
Hermione shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You find it odd that you once felt so much as a human but now so little, yes?”
“I still feel, but,” Hermione puzzled out loud, “not for him, and not for most humans at all.”
“Pay attention to the ones that do invoke emotion, Hermione,” Radovan said. “Those are the ones who become our Chosen to be protected and utilised. They are rare connections to a life we have all but left behind. I have a Chosen who dwells within the area humans call Ottery St. Catchpole. As a child, she lived there in a house that was shaped like a rook. When her mother died, her eyes became very open, and she ran screaming into my forest. She ran into me as I was watching over my city, hugged my knee and called me Bartholomew. She said the Nargles were afraid of me and that meant I was good. She refused to leave me until her father came calling for her in the middle of the night. I fed on her despair for her mother and sent her back to her father. I watch over her because she reminds me of someone from my old life.”
“Luna Lovegood,” Hermione said with wonder.
“You know her?” Radovan asked, tilting his head.
“I attend the same school I do or did, rather,” Hermione said, confusing herself. “She is… was a friend, I think.”
Radovan smiled, showing his glistening black teeth. “It is confusing in the first century of life. It will get less so.” He turned his head up to stare at the sliver of moon hanging in the sky.
“I will share with you what I know, young Hermione,” Radovan said after a time. “Use it to protect my Chosen if you should run across her in your travels. I do not leave my territory but rarely, for its leylines attract rude mortals who seek their power for their own use. I ask this of you as payment for allowance within my domain in the future without need to announce your presence.”
Hermione nodded. “I shall.”
The elder demon growled, parting his jaws, and Hermione licked under his jaw with her black tongue in supplication. He opened his mouth and covered her muzzle, sharing his ichor with her and the knowledge contained within.
Hermione drank it in, absorbing the flow of Radovan’s vast knowledge, and he, too, packaged it in smaller digestible packets as Modron had done. She, in turn, completed the covenant by sharing her knowledge of the “newer age’s” magic, culture, subtleties, and language, helping Radovan further assimilate both the Muggle and Wizarding world as she knew it. As the elder demon parted from the exchange, he licked his teeth with low growl of pleasure.
Hermione, knowing her place, tilted her head to the side in submission, and his fangs were pressed to her neck in a flash of movement. His sharp fangs drew a drop of her blood, but he drew his tongue across it, allowing his ichor to heal the insignificant wound.
He pulled away and nodded to her, accepting her formally. “May the winds favour your wings, the blood of your enemies bathe your talons, and your sprogs bless our number soon, Hermione. It has been long since I have had the pleasure of teaching sprogs. It would please me if you brought them to me once they old enough to travel. There are many things I would enjoy teaching the young.”
Hermione bowed her head, baring her teeth with pleasure. “I shall.”
Radovan spread his emerald wings and flapped them a few times. “You know my Name, Hermione of Severus, child of Modron, and Lineage of Namkuzu. You may call it, if ever you are in need.”
“Thank you, Radovan of Namtar,” Hermione replied, bowing her head low, teeth bared. “You know mine as well.”
Radovan took off, his great wings carrying him aloft and across the forest treetops. He roared the music of his Name as he soared off into the distance, and the land of his territory sang in resonance.
Hermione felt the vibration of the energy lines that ran through Radovan’s territory and realised why he had chosen it as well as why he defended it fiercely. The elder demon had lived in the area so long that the leys resonated with the music of his Name. She chuckled as she realised that part of the reason people loved living out in the “idyllic” countryside was the demon’s feeding on the populous. He fed on their fears, pain, doubts, and suffering, leaving them feeling better than years of professional therapy. It was no wonder tourists came in a steady influx in the Muggle areas and pockets of Wizarding folk so appealing. People would be drawn to the place, hearing how good it was for the health, and mysteriously it would be like the land itself took in their pain and left them happy. Radovan had a steady influx of feeds, people who were willing to fight tooth and nail to preserve the wild areas and pastoral landscapes, and plenty of places where a demon could walk amongst the people and leave no one the wiser for his presence. A part of her wondered if the reason that the Weasleys and those around them were so blissfully happy despite all their hardships was directly due to the demon whose territory they lived in. There was a delicious sort of irony in that.
Hermione realised that in opening his territory to her, she and her mate now had access to one of the largest expanses of land of southern England and an ally in one of the oldest demons of the area. His Name resonated with the song of his Sire, Namtar, and that was as far as it went. He was old and he was powerful. His request that she look after Luna if she were to run across her was a small request in exchange for the power of their alliance.
She would eventually have to return when the Order started sending out people to find her, and she would allow herself to be found and convinced to come back. She would make nice with Harry, again, making it look like she pitied his “temporary bouts of insanity,” and forgive him with the seemingly blind loyalty that Hermione Granger was known for. Perhaps she would show a growing doubt to whoever came for her, making a show of her rising fear of his growing violence. And, when Harry did succumb to the call of power once more and attempt to summon her, she would answer his call and extract yet another payment that would bring she and her mate closer to sprogs. Hermione licked her teeth, thoughtfully.
Radovan had gifted her the knowledge of the other demon-held territories of note in the U.K., with Modron’s full territory being Scotland. Urash held the southeast of Scotland, ranging from Northumberland to Yorkshire. Ntchwaidumela and Mandevu, both “children” of Urash held the counties east of Urash from northern Cumbria to southern Cheshire. Azgaedor, a demon who had been “courting” Urash for several centuries unsuccessfully, held Nottinghamshire down to Suffolk. Tanaquil, a fierce demoness who carved out a the territory of Surrey, Kent, and Western and Eastern Sussex, valued her close proximity to the neutral territory of Greater London, giving her social access to visitors without having to travel far from her home territory. Wales, Hermione was surprised to note, was neutral territory. It was the equivalent of daemonic Switzerland. Demons who did not wish to be bothered with holding territories, young demons, and partially transitioned demons made their home there. It was a place to learn from other demons who did not wish to brave confronting the elders such as Modron, Radovan, Urash, Tanaquil, and Azgaedor face to face.
All the other territories were held by those considered too insignificant to remember by name— young demons bickering over a scrap of territory here and there stretching from neutral Greater London towards Wales. The territories were so small that they didn’t even encompass an entire country, and most of the elder demons ignored them as one would ignore an enthusiastic puppy bouncing up and down against one’s knee as they came through the front door. At best, it was like a child coming up to a parent with a drawing of a house and the family but the most anyone could make out was a box with a triangle on it, a sausage with legs, and stickfigures while the parent patted the child on the head and told them how special they were before pinning it on the refrigerator door.
Strangely enough, Hermione realised that her first two encounters with elder demons had gone very well. Perhaps, she figured, it was her Lineage. Getting to know Modron was expected as it as Modron was one of the key demons of her Lineage, second only to Namkuzu, the beginning of their line. There had been other demons before Modron, but she had gathered extensive power while others of the line had not. Her name, save that of Namkuzu’s, was the only other names that mattered. Radovan’s support of Hermione and her mate was a great boon. It put two of the oldest lines of demons behind both she and Severus, and that was no small thing.
One area, however, interested Hermione, and she unfolded her wings experimentally. Cornwall, Radovan had shown no desire to conquer, and it’s location was almost idea for sprogs. Tucked up against Radovan’s territory, they would be up close to their ally with the elder demon guarding all the land paths in. The coastal location offered a feast of tidal energy and wind, and just enough scenic vistas to bring in a steady flow of tourists to feed on. To add to the bonus, there were plenty of isolated areas where two young demons with a healthy family of sprogs could go unnoticed if they so chose. There was a chance that a demon did hold the territory, and if that was the case, Hermione would be in for the first “fight” over territory. The only question was how powerful said demon was and if Hermione was up for the daemonic energy flexing so early in her daemonic life.
Hermione took to the air, allowing the wind to provide her extra lift. Shared knowledge from Modron, Radovan, and Severus came to her mind and the skies called to her. She answered the call with a low rumble, and she relished the feel of wind under her wings. She felt the vibration of Radovan’s territory beneath her and the whisper of his Name in the energy. No longer hostile to her, the land welcomed her, whispering her Name as it recognised her passage through. Like the silken strands of a spider’s web, her travel through Radovan’s territory would be noted by the elder demon, but now that she was accepted and had bowed to him in submission, she would no longer register as an interloper.
The moment that she passed the last boundary to Radovan’s territory, the change in the very air was like a bucket of cold water being thrown at her. She felt a tingling about her very skin, and she twirled in the air as she flew. The land beneath her was almost wild and untamed in comparison. The land was unclaimed or at least so weakly claimed that she could not tell the difference. It did not sing the name of a demon.
Severus, she called to her mate, sending the image of the sprawling coasts, flowering hills, and small towns nestled in the crags of the landscape. She sent the images of sprogs running between their legs and hiding behind their wings and the entwining of tiny miniature tails spiraled tightly around theirs. She sent the feel of the seawater and ocean breeze on her wings and skin as she pirouetted in the sky.
Desire surged through her body to lay claim to this most marvelous territory. It was far from eyes of Tom Riddle, deemed too insignificant in population to be a threat to his claim to power. It was a place predominantly populated by Muggles—easily overlooked as an idyllic tourist spot rather than a Wizarding mecca. The small fishing villages were full of people, but not so much became overbearing. There were areas of beach that were chock full of tourist crowds, but there were far more isolated places and expanses of beach that were untouched or hardly settled. Rivers sprawled towards the sea, the moonlight shimmering off their surface as she passed over them.
“We are Hermione!” she roared her combined Name across the skies. “Who lays claim upon this land!”
No resonance answered from the leys of power that ran through the land. No Name answered her, nor did the roar of a demon protecting their territory.
Ours! she sang, sending out a pulse of power with the music of her Name she shared with her mate.
Suddenly there was a roar nearby her, and black demon wings that seemed to absorb all light cast upon them spread across the skies, blotting out the waning moonlight.
“We are Severus!” roared her mate, his great wings flapping as he caught a thermal and jetted through the clouds, crooning their joined Names like the thunder of an approaching storm.
Her mate!
Hermione spun in the air, extending her wings out so the wind blew her up higher, and she folded her wings tightly so her speed would increase. She crowed a clarion call to her mate, calling him, daring him, and taunting him to chase her through the skies.
She wanted him, but he would have to prove his prowess now that she was not limited to the ground! Even though she had never flown before on anything other than inside an airplane or on a broom, primal memories flowed through her, telling her muscles what to sense and how to move. She relished the feel of her muscles moving her wings forward and back, up and down, and all manner of positions in between.
She screamed out a challenge, knowing that her mate would be worked into a frenzy in the highly unlikely event that some other demon would come to test their mettle against him in the hopes to impress her. Her body was on fire, energy rippling up and down her skin as she flew, she rose through the clouds and then dove back down, tendrils of vapour sticking to her body like a lover’s caress.
Severus roared an answering challenge from within the cloud cover, and Hermione banked sharply away from the sound, determined to lead the chase as long as possible. Her pheromones were in high gear, leaving an enticing trail for the male demon to follow, and no manner of banking and zigzagging was going to deter him from her trail.
She dove towards the coast and dodged the night waves, zipping around the surging waves as they rose and fell around her. The tips of her wings barely touched one of the faster moving swells, and it almost knocked her off balance, but she corrected, flapping upwards to shoot across the breakers as they plunged and spilt across the isolated beach.
Severus’ wings were making a low droning noise as they beat in the air, the sound of wind across the membranes whistled as he gained velocity. He was gaining on her, and Hermione doubled her efforts.
Thunder was rumbling through the clouds, and a sudden summer squall was pelting the shore she was heading towards. Too late to change direction, Hermione continued on, swept into the changing winds that blew her off course with the power of the storm.
Rain pelted down on her skin, some of it warm and some of it cold, alternating between a pleasing thrum and a slightly icy sting. Lightning flashed across the horizon and danced between the clouds, and Hermione zoomed to and fro between the flashes, her dark daemonic skin blending into the dark of night to add to her mate’s frustration at trying to head her off.
Her wings ached, and her muscles complained as she snapped her wings into formation to bank sharply towards land, using the darkness after the flash of lightning to conceal her movement. The knowledge of how to use her wings had been gifted to her, but she had not had years in which to practice flying stamina, and her body was starting to complain despite her need to keep going.
The need was contradictory. She both wanted to to lead the chase as much as she wanted to be caught, craving the feel of her mate’s arms pinning her movement as his wings folded around her at last. She desired the feel of his jaws clamped over skin of her neck as he laid his claim upon her skin as the scent of him drove her into madness of another sort, but before the capture lay the chase!
The rain was beginning to ease up, and droplets of water went zinging off into many directions as her wings flapped. She gave great heaves of her wings to bring herself higher, shooting back into the clouds to where the stars beckoned.
The sound of Severus’ roar echoed off the shoreline, placing him further behind than she expected. Disappointment shadowed her mind as she crowed her Name to the stars.
And suddenly, there was a boom of Severus’ unfolding wings as he dropped down from above and onto her, his arms entwined around her body, pinning her against him as his great wings encased her in a leathery prison.
Tricked! TRICKED!
Severus had been crafty, using the landscape to bounce his voice to appear further behind than he was. She had led him right to her with her crow, and he had been waiting!
The heat of his wings enveloped her, and his teeth pressed into the flesh of her neck, applying just enough pressure to set every nerve to life, and she spasmed against him wildly and then went limp, giving off a soft whimper as he gripped her firmly between his teeth. Severus’ wings unfolded as he gathered her body against him, cradling her against his body as they plummeted to the ground. His wings snapped out, acting like breaks. He glided slowly down into the coastal forest. He flapped through the darkened canopy and landed on the mossy ground, the spongy plants squished slightly as his talons sank into damp foliage and earth.
He lay her back against the strangely comfortable moss, the rain having softened the already soft plants into something akin to crushed velvet. He tilted back his head and bayed a thunderous howl that echoed off the distant shores even as the low frequency of his droning claim of both his mate and the land around them hung in the air.
He collapsed into the moss beside her, lungs heaving after his long chase. Drawing her against himself, his wings wrapped around her body as he crooned her name softly and locked his wing talons together to keep her in his embrace.
Hermione, however, was not attempting to leave him. She snuggled against his body as though they were going to merge and become one being. Her mind sang to him as her arms wove around his waist. “Severus,” she purred. Their tails entwined together in a tight corkscrew.
“Hermione,” he crooned a reply, snuggling her as the exhaustion from their flight across almost the entire length of Cornwall ended in contented double snore.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
“What the hell were you thinking, Potter? Moody raged down upon the younger wizard, his eye darting crazily in multiple directions before finally settling on Harry’s face. “Aside from the fact that you using your wand for any reason before your birthday will bring the Death Eaters down on us like a swarm of locusts, why the hell would you attack Ms Granger?”
Harry’s face was read as he blurted, “That wasn’t Hermione! She was trying to hurt George!”
George, who had been listening to various people interrogate Harry over the course of the last few hours, rubbed his healing ear. It was sore, but it was in tact. The piece of his ear that had been sliced almost completely off had finally stopped bleeding and healed. Bright pink, new skin drew the pieces of his ear together once more as the cartilage underneath had fused together all over the course of the last hour or two. The salve that Hermione had put on his wounded ear had done more than just nullify the curse’s horrible effects, but had also allowed his body to heal itself much faster. George was beyond grateful. Fred had told him that they had fed him and Lupin almost twenty blood replenishing potions between them before Hermione had used her salve on the both of them. Nothing else had been able to stop the bleeding, and even more importantly, nothing had allowed either of them heal until the curse’s effects had been nullified.
“Harry, she asked me if she could try the salve on my ear,” George explained again. “She’d already helped Sir Howls-a-lot before she got to me, and she save his bloody life, for Merlin’s sake. Hell, she saved mine. I would still be bleeding out on the couch with my ear dangling by a piece of skin. Come on, Harry.”
“No, she was trying to hurt you. That wasn’t the real Hermione!” Harry said adamantly. “She had to be stopped before she hurt him!”
George rubbed his nose and shook his head, exchanged glances with his twin. Fred stared back at him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “I know they say we’re the crazy ones, Fred, but I’m think we’re starting to look pretty sane, don’t you think?”
Fred nodded grimly.
The twins left Harry to be dressed down by Moody, excusing themselves to join the others outside the Burrow.
Bill and Remus were chatting around the fire, and Fleur was asleep against Bill’s shoulder. None of them had truly managed to get a restful sleep after the battle, and now that all of them were at least not bleeding out all over the various couches and floors, Harry had managed to drive Hermione into Apparating to places unknown with his attack.
“Moody took a good look at that salve, ya?” Bill asked Remus.
“Yeah, and I threw quite a few diagnostic spells on it myself,” Lupin answered. “There was nothing hokey with the salve, and just look at what it did. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it was meant to heal.”
“Good thing she had already applied the stuff to George’s wounds before he slammed her into the wall,” Nymphadora said with a shake of her head. “There was hardly anything left in the tin after he knocked it out of her hand.”
“Where’d she get that salve, anyway?” Fred asked as he and his brother sat by the fire with them. “Never known something that could work on curses as well as heal.”
Tonks waved her hand at them. “Hermione told me that Snape taught her how to make it after Harry attacked her back at Hogwarts. He apparently taught her quite a bit before she was recovered enough to join us for moving Harry out of Little Whinging.”
“Snape, huh?” Fred said thoughtfully. “I’m starting to think that maybe we’ve been wrong about that greasy git. I mean, he’s still greasy, and he probably still hangs by his toes from the rafters like a bat, but maybe he really is working for the Order like Dumbledore told us he was.”
George rubbed his eyebrows. “Harry told Ron that Snape murdered Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower.”
“Harry has said a lot of things lately, brother,” Fred said grimly, “and I’m not feeling the faith like I used to.”
“If anything I know about Severus,” Lupin said after a while, “it’s that he holds his secrets close. The only one who was better at secrets, however, was Dumbledore. If the old goat had a plan, he would have only told the people that needed to carry it out, and to those people, he would only tell the bare minimum of things. He believed it was better if we put our trust in him rather than know too much.”
Bill snorted. “That’s a backwards way of trying to run an operation where people are suppose to trust each other.”
“I’m just saying,” Remus said. “If Severus really did kill Dumbledore, and that’s a big if right now, I’m starting to think that Dumbledore may have told him to.”
“What?” Tonks balked.
“No, really, listen,” Remus said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “If you put a spy into the ranks of the reigning Dark Lord, and you have a teenager trying his best to murder you. Don’t look at me like that, Dora, we all know that Draco tried at least twice to kill Dumbledore and failed. One failed because it accidently went to Ronald instead of Albus. The other failed because that innocent girl, Katie Bell, touched the cursed necklace by accident and ended up cursing herself. If you know that someone is trying to kill you and you need your spy to be beyond reproach, what’s the only way to guarantee that Severus would be trusted?”
“Kill Dumbledore instead of Draco,” Bill said.
“Exactly,” Lupin said with a nod.
“That makes no sense,” Tonks sputtered. “Why would he throw his life away just for that?”
Lupin shook his head again. “I don’t know, but, if I know Albus, if he had a plan or a reason or both… he probably ordered Snape to do it. He was the only one who could get Snape to do things he didn't want to do.”
“What do you mean?” George asked.
“Back when I was still in Hogwarts,” Lupin explained. “Dumbledore made Severus swear to not reveal that Sirius Black had lured him to the Shrieking Shack to be attacked by me when I transformed. He forced him to keep my secret. It is… part of why he loathed me, my friends, and the ground I walked on.”
“I had no idea,” Bill said as he stared into the fire. “I’m sorry, Remus.”
Lupin sighed. “It was a story that needed to be shared. What I’m trying to say is, after seeing him protect Hermione back at Hogwarts, and learning that he taught her his healing salves and potions—that is not the actions of a man trying to kill us all. I think he’s still working for the Order, but he’s even more trapped now that You-Know-Who has taken over the Ministry and the school.”
There was a crack as Arthur and Molly Apparated in. Arthur look in the sight of them sitting around the fire with relief. Molly looked fretful.
“We couldn’t find her,” Arthur said. “Kingsley back?”
“No, he hasn’t returned,” Bill replied.
“I just hope she hasn’t splinched herself,” Molly worried, “lying somewhere injured—”
“She’s a fine young witch, Molly,” Arthur placated. “Highly talented. If anyone can Apparate in a panic and arrive in one piece, it’s her.”
“If Kingsley returns without her, I will send out a Patronus with a message asking her if she’s safe. Then I will ask if I can go to her and see if I can get her to return. I think we can all agree that making sure she’s safe comes before rushing out to rescue her?”
Nods went around the gathered.
They all stared quietly into the fire, each of the trying to process the confusing events that had occurred within the course of one night.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione woke nestled against Severus’ chest. His wings had finally released their death grip around her body as if to keep her from sending him on another merry chase across Cornwall. The young demoness, however, was hardly wishing for a repeat after the thrilling but exhausting chase through the skies. Her mate had more than proved his stamina and cunning during his pursuit of her, and she was more than content to bask in his prowess and his warm embrace. Her cunning mate had kept his sharp mind throughout the chase and used the cliffs to trick her and it pleased her.
A mischievous tail was slinking up the length of her tail, moving up towards the base and very gently rubbing the sensitive skin there. Her eyes fluttered and she gave off a low growl of pleasure. Severus answered her with a growl of his own, his teeth nibbling on the skin of her neck. Ichor dribbled down the line of her neck.
Hermione whimpered softly, turning her head to lick the bottom of his jaw in supplication, and he obliged her, covering her mouth with his and allowing the flow of his chi to seep into her mouth. She joined hers with his, rejoicing in their reunion as his tail let it be known just how happy he was to be with her again.
She gasped into his mouth, groaning in pleasure, making soft whimpering noises as her body struggled against his—anything to be pressed up close to his seductive heat. His scent was strongly tinged with bergamot, and he tasted of rich cream. She licked his muzzle against and again as her hands clasped his back.
Severus flipped his wings back and slid her hands off his back and pinned them down in the moss with the pads of his hands. He growled lowly, descending upon her breast, breathing heavily against her flesh until her body arched into the arm in desire to make contact with him once more.
His black eyes glistened, ichor dripping from his mouth, drizzling over her skin, and his tongue black tongue traced around her breasts, one and then the other. His tail undulated against hers as he breathed into her ears, the black tip of his tongue tracing the sensitive flesh of her outer ear before plunging inside it.
Hermione cried out, her body arching, her arms straining to be free, but he held her firmly, keeping her from the much desired connection. She snarled in frustration, and he crooned, sucking on her neck to reward her. She moaned softly, panting, her tongue lolled outside of her muzzle as it twitched, pleasure removing her ability to control her finite muscle movements.
With dexterity she didn’t know he had, Severus pinned her wrists with his wings and moved down lower on her body, his tongue slithering across the base of her tail and sliding across the most sensitive skin until Hermione bucked and writhed under his ministrations. She snarled, snapping her jaws, and whining, and Severus crooned a reply, causing her to pause in her struggles but whimper in her desire for more.
He used the tip of his tail to probe between her legs, testing her readiness, and he was not disappointed. She mewled in need, and Severus was not one to fail at providing for his mate.
Positioning himself above her, he pressed his length against her nether lips and released his hold upon his mate, and roared as he sheathed his entire length all the way up to her cervix in one fell swoop. Her claws raked down his back as she thrust herself against him as her tail entwined with his and vibrated against his so forcefully that all of Severus’ hard won control went flying off under the moon.
With a primal roar, he thrust in tandem with her, their bodies pressed together as their wings and bodies entangled. Their tongues met, ichor shared, and minds surged together as one as they simultaneously climaxed. They let out an unearthly howl, the sound hanging in the air like a tangible mist, and the land itself responded. The ley lines that had remained dormant, flared brightly as they woke, singing the signature of their combined Names. The energy novaed outward, using Hermione and Severus as its epicentre, blasting its way out in a circle, stopping only as it came up to the borders of Radovan’s territory and the more distant neutral shores of Wales.
“We are Severus!”
“We are Hermione!”
This land is ours! Ours for our Home! Ours for our sprogs!
Distance low-frequency howls answered from across the island, matched by rolls of power that were as distinct as the demons that made them.
We, Modron of the Northern Reaches, recognise your claim. Be at peace, my children and allies, and may none refute your claim.
We, Urash of the Northeast, recognise your claim. Be at peace, your prey plentiful, and may none refute your claim.
We, Azgaedor of the East, recognise your claim. Be at peace, your sprogs many, and may none refute your claim.
We, Tanaquil of the South, recognise your claim. Be at peace, your power vast, and may none refute your claim.
We, Radovan of the West, ever your ally, recognise your claim. Be at peace, and know I shall forever guard your front that you may guard my back. May none refute your claim.
We, brothers Ntchwaidumela and Mandevu of the North, recognise your claim. Be at peace, and may all who challenge you fall under the weight of your power.
We, Severus and Hermione of the Southwest Reaches, sing the song of our new Home. May our sprogs grow healthy under our combined might!
The leys surged with with the song of Hermione and Severus’ name, answered by the combined songs of the elder demons that held territories on the island. There were whispers of recognition from the neutral areas, and softer trembles of the smaller territories that made up the area between Greater London and Wales, but with the blessing of the elder territory holders, Severus and Hermione’s territory was as good as theirs. None would oppose them unless they were vastly more powerful or exceedingly arrogant, and due to the value of sprogs, no elder demon would deny them a safe place to call their home territory, provided they did not expand too quickly or make unreasonable nuisances of themselves. The songs of their Names wove together, solidifying the boundaries that identified each demon’s territories as a peaceful lull drifted in the wake of the sound off.
Severus collapsed next to his mate, sides heaving as his lungs expanding and contracted and his wings curled around Hermione in a tender embrace. Within the course of a night, they had chased each other across Cornwall, consummated their mating bond, and claimed a new territory. It was far time for a good sleep. They both deserved it.
Severus’ eyes shot open as Hermione’s tail undulated against his, sliding her soft underside of her tail against his. Her wings shot out, pinning his wrists down into the moss as her fangs fastened into his neck, as her hand roamed every lower down his stomach and between his legs causing him to groan in response.
“What’s fair’s fair, lover,” Hermione purred into his ear, her tongue tracing the sensitive outer lobe of his ear.
Severus shuddered beneath her.
Sleep was for the weak.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione awoke to see Severus poised on a nearby outcrop, lips pulled back from his jagged teeth as he scented the air. His onyx skin glistened with daemonic health, and the mottled spots and stripes that ran down his back shimmered in the remaining moonlight. The sun would be rising soon, and the natural time of demons would be set aside for those who preferred the day.
Severus was sending out tendrils of awareness through the ley lines, getting a sense of their new territory, and even now, Hermione could sense the boundaries clearly. She could sense the presence and health of Radovan’s territory, and took comfort in their strong ally guarding what was, for all intents and purposes, the front gate to their territory. While it was true that if some interloper could come and land on their shores from Wales or the even further Ireland or France, the chances of that happening were slim. Demons liked their home territories and being close to their Sires and allies. The only places young and territory-less demons would come from nearby was Wales or Greater London. Ireland kept to itself, as did the other countries. It was rare for sired demons to leave great distances from their Sires. Sires were the greatest ally a Demon could have, and breaking away from an elder demon meant that they had grown so much in power that they felt confident to fend for themselves. Even when this was the case, it was still rare.
Modron had sired many demons, but she was also very good about sheltering her “children” under her vast wings. Her huge territory of Scotland was shared communally with her younger children. All of her children assisted in the defence of their Home, and tolerated their presence as long as they respected her authority. She was, however Modron, and there wasn’t one of her sired children that didn’t respect her authority.
Hermione knew that she and Severus were welcome within Modron’s territory whenever they chose to visit or conduct business there. Severus and Hermione both had fresh contacts there due to their human lives, and Modron was no fool about how important it was to fade their lives there in order to draw less attention to themselves. They both had Chosen there that they wished to protect.
Modron had quite a few “fledglings” as it were that remained in Scotland with her, and it amused her, somewhat, that she had been summoned enough times in the area that she’d have so many children. On the Muggle side, of things, Scotland was hardly the demon summoning capital of the world, yet there were quite a few demons to prove that she had indeed been summoned on a number of occasions. Modron was far too ancient to be summoned and held in a circle if she didn’t want to be there, so doing the math on how many Sires she did do against how many she hadn’t was an imposing bit of math.
Those younglings that did break off to find new haunts all seemed to break off from the area altogether rather than try to stand up to the likes of Radovan, Azgaedor, and Urash. Ntchwaidumela and Mandevu were both children of Urash, and thus their territories hugged hers. All the other of Urash’ children shared her main territory with her, much as Modron’s did. Azgaedor’s children, while somewhat plentiful, did not show the craving for territory on the scale of their Sire, and instead squabbled over small patches of territory in the stretch between Greater London and Wales with the other young demons.
Those that did not wish to remain under the wings of their Sires, however, had few options: live in Wales or Greater London, risk trying to carve out a territory in the UK somewhere between Greater London and Wales, fight one of the Elders for a piece of their territory, or travel to North America where the entire continent was considered neutral ground. Most, from what Hermione parsed from the packets of knowledge given by Modron and Radovan, chose North America— the Land of Free Demons, or at least, it was known as that amongst demons.
South America, however, was a different story. Ancient demons resided there that many demons believed predated human civilization so far that they were the original Sires of the elder lines. If it was true, they weren’t telling. South America was off limits to all but the most powerful, and even those as old as Modron warned their fledglings to give that area a wide berth. Rumour had it that the rule of demon not killing another demon did not apply there, and none of the younger generation of demons were either brave or stupid enough to test the hypothesis.
France and a few of the other European countries had their own species of native demons which were not the same species as those that dominated the U.K. Most of them were akin to the demons of Christianity, followed a different set of rules, had an obnoxious tendency to possess humans and wreck havoc on families, and seemed far more focused on Muggle society than Wizarding. They were also, while hard to kill, ageless but mortal. Their lines could be killed, and they were — usually by their own mechanizations rather than anyone elses. That particular species of demon was highly susceptible to holy water and religious paraphernalia, and, oddly enough, it was because of that weakness that humans throughout history believed all demons were weak against holy water and religious items. The elder lines of the U.K., which were collectively known as Apocryphal, found the entire holy water and religious artifacts laughable. The effect of such things on the Apocryphal had a very amusing effect—drunken lascivious disorderly conduct.
China, Japan, and the Far Eastern countries were the homes of warlike demons who varied in species as the animals they resembled. Fox, dog, crow, serpent, spider, seahorse, cloud, frost, and a host of other types of demons made their home and their wars upon each other there. The clans of demons that resided there were so insulated and protective of their pockets of people who both feared and worshipped them that they warred constantly. They bred often, raised their spawn to make more war, and died only to pass on the mantle of war to their children. Somehow no one clan ever seemed to dominate over the others. They continued to war, and elder demons of the U.K. left them to it, having no interest in claiming territories in such a physically violent warzone.
Hermione realised that, save the trouble with fertility, of all the species she could have ended up, she was grateful that she was of Modron’s line. Her, Urash, Azgador, Radovan, and Tanaquil were all of the same species under the blanket of the Apocryphal, which had been often referred as the “true demon.” While there were, technically, many species of demon, the Apocryphal were by far the most ancient of the lines with traditions that spanned through antiquity. Hermione found the rules of the Apocryphal far more appealing than scraping out a small territory somewhere in the Far East, breeding often to insure many heirs, only to hope you live long enough to pass on your knowledge of war so when you died, your children could continue the fight. To each their own, she supposed, but Hermione found she rather liked the alliance dances versus a lifetime of war. One Wizarding war had already killed her once, and once was enough. And when she found herself wondering what would happen if every time she saw a holy object she burst into flames or was beset with agony, the appeal was lost somewhere in translation. Whatever Dark God was smiling down on Severus when Modron Changed him and then blessed them again by having Severus be the one to Change her, she owed them a cookie— a soul encrusted cookie with Dark magic sprinkles but a cookie none the less.
Severus was staring at her, his dark eyes meeting hers with a tenderness that seemed so obvious despite his snarling muzzle and dripping fangs. Hermione smiled, finding amusement in the irony that at one time, she had thought reading Severus’ human expression was next to impossible. Now, as she gazed upon her mate, she adored the curve of his horns, the fierceness of his snarl, the length of his teeth, the spread of his wingspan, and the very attractively talented tail.
Hermione purred as she admired his tail from afar.
“Are you,” Severus rumbled, “staring at my tail?”
“Yes,” Hermione replied. “Yes, I am.”
Severus growled lowly, and Hermione smiled at him, showing her teeth with an appeasing flash of fangs. She looped her tail in her amusement.
He had her scooped up into his arms in a flash of movement, pressing her into his chest as his wings folded around her. He pressed his teeth to her neck, breathing against her skin. “I do not like being parted, but it comforts me that we now have a place in which to call Home.”
Hermione snuggled into him. “I miss having you close to me.”
She could feel his face twisting in a daemonic smile. “Irony not lost on me,” he whispered into her ear.
Hermione shook her head. She nipped at his ear, causing him to hug her tighter. She sank into it with a sigh of contentment, enjoying the feel of her mate being close even though she knew that eventually she would have to return to the Burrow to be a good little Hermione Granger.
Severus’ head snapped up and he bared his teeth, growling. At first, Hermione had no idea what had alerted him, but then, she, too, felt the tremble in the ley lines. There was a demon within their new territory, and that demon was not announcing their presence.
They were both aloft in a manner of seconds, simultaneously sending out a joined roar of proclamation. They gathered their energy between them and sent it zinging out in a pulse, combining their Names with their fury and intent to drive whoever they found out of their newly claimed territory.
“We are Hermione!”
“We are Severus!”
The land told them exactly where the the intruder was, and they streaked through the clouds, wisps of vapour clinging to their wings as they beat their wings in perfect synchronisation. Severus roared a challenge through the leys, and Hermione echoed him, joining her voice to his as they would entwine their bodies.
“Golchobhar!” a quiet, meek voice answered them. “I am Golchobhar. No harm. No offense! Lived here, I have. Many years. Never bothered great Radovan. Mean no offense to you!”
“We come!”
The pair banked their wings together, turning sharply inland as the trail led them to a small coastal village. They honed in on a boat drifting off the coast, making a point to buzz by the craft and send it off kilter as they banked together, doubling back in order to land in unison on the small fishing vessel.
Wings fanned out to their maximum spread, the pair glowered together at the new demon. He was not so small, but he made himself out to be, making a point to hide his wings, bow his head, avert his eyes, and trembled appropriately at their arrival.
Making a show of their solidarity, Hermione yielded to Severus’ lead, moving in synchronisation and mirroring his movements.
Golchobhar practically threw himself down at their hooves in a very human groveling position, which caused Hermione and Severus to exchange confused glances. His actions were not those of a typical Apocryphal. Hermione gestured to Severus, tugging on one of her hair beads. Golchobhar had no Lineage. Either he never bonded far enough with his demon aspect so he could be given a Lineage, or he was never deemed worthy enough to be bestowed it in the first place. Judging by his very human instead of daemonic demeanor, Hermione was putting her money on his never bonding completely with his demon. From the thoughts in Severus’ mind, he was apparently thinking both. Even Severus had been given a Lineage, and he had hadn’t been fully bonded to his demon aspect at the time. The word “dunderhead” flickered into her mind, and Hermione had to dig one of her talons into her palm to keep from laughing into the poor demon’s face. She did her best to remember the worst expressions Severus had ever given her during her time as a student and plastered a similar expression on her face.
Golchobhar was in human form, showing no signs of wishing to scent greet or do any of the typical formalities that Severus had drilled into her before meeting Modron.
Severus bared his teeth, parting his jaws, allowing his ichor to drip from his lips in invitation for the other demon to do the same so they could “introduce themselves properly.”
Golchobhar just groveled even harder at Severus’ hooves.
Severus gave Hermione a pained look that seemed strangely similar to the one he used to address Neville Longbottom.
Now what? he whispered into her mind.
Try words, Hermione suggested genuinely, unsure what one did when greeting demons as a demon didn’t work. Maybe he really doesn’t know? When all else fails, try the human way!
Severus gave her a look of such loathing that she was half tempted to start calling Golchobhar Neville instead. Neville was, at the very least, easier to pronounce.
“Why are you here?” Severus growled.
Golchobhar stared at Severus’ hooves. “I am a fisherman, my Lord,” he grovelled, his accent thick with an Irish lilt. “I was once a farmer serving my lord on his lands, which I and my family did faithfully. My family fished when we were not working the fields to put food on the table for the youngins, for we had many a child and only so much allotted to us by our Lord. The work was hard, my Lord, but it was a good life. We made it our home.”
The prostrate man paused in his tale and then continued. “We lived many years with hard work, but our Lord provided shelter for us and never took from what we could fish up on our own. He insisted our children be educated, to which he paid for on his own coin. The children, they grew, and moved on, settling here in Cornwall. I and the wife, couldn’t have been happier, but then the Lord did take ill and did not survive the convulsions. His son, took over the lands and demanded more of our families for tolerating our children. He took our fish, saying it was his by right. He quarrelled with other influential families, and one night, in the Witching Hour, he dragged me and my wife from the bed. He had his way with… with my my wife in front of me and killed her. Then, he sent me into the circle and sacrificed me for power over the other families.”
The man looked up at Severus and Hermione, conflict in his eyes. “The demon asked if I wanted to live to see the man who raped my wife and killed her die, and I agreed. The man was impatient. My Change was hurried, and he the moment I had made the transition, he did call upon me, ripping me from my Sire’s embrace and somehow preventing him from aiding me.
“ I served him for nine months and two days before he sent me off to kill his enemies kin. No payment I demanded of him phased him. He willingly gave me anything and everything I required for one more murder or one more increase in power or influence, so when he sent me off to do his dirty work, it was a request like any other. Something happened while I was gone, however. I began to remember who I was. I saw what I had done, and I fled. I returned to him only to find him dead, murdered by his adversary with a knife to the back. It had freed me. I could not bear what I had done—I had murdered women, children for him. I fled here and made my life as a fisherman,” Golchobhar finished his lengthy tale of pain, happiness, and loathing. “I did live to see him die,” he said bitterly.
“How long have you lived here?” Hermione asked.
“Long enough to see my children’s children have children of their own,” Golchobhar replied, “though they do not know who I am, or rather, who I was.”
“How is it that no one else has challenged you until now?” Severus asked.
Golchobhar shook his head. “Radovan guards the territory to the east. He always left Cornwall alone. I think it was because he was daring someone to try and take it. No one ever dared,” Golchobhar said, eyes going wide as he realised what he said. “Not that you are not worthy!” he amended. “Please, my Lord, my Lady,” he entreated. “I keep to myself. I live only here around this village, feeding as demons do but rarely. The people think I am but a lonely old man who lost his family to the seas. I leave them with pleasant memories. I swear I have done no harm since the day I was freed!”
He is a puzzle, Severus said to Hermione in her mind.
He could be… useful, Hermione said.
Oh? Severus was curious. Do tell, my mate.
Someone to keep watch over our territory and not be suspected, Hermione elaborated. Someone easily overlooked.
Severus purred into her mind, approving of her idea. You may not have been sorted into the proper House, but you make a glorious demon.
Hermione snorted. If I hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor, I would never been friends with Harry, and we wouldn’t be having sprogs together.
Tch, Severus quipped. Fine. I will concede that Gryffindor was better for us in the long run.
Hermione grinned at him mentally, and refocused on Golchobhar.
Our sprogs will be sorted into Slytherin, Severus added, sneaking in the last word.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Do you and your demon not… speak?” Hermione asked gently, truly curious. Her demon sent her a rush of warmth, and Hermione’s eyes fluttered. She couldn’t imagine not being intimately connected to her demon aspect. Without her, she would terribly alone and confused. She would be… like Golchobhar.
The Irish demon looked confused. “I deal with the craving maybe once or twice a month,” he replied. “The feeding, you know, if that’s what you mean.”
Hermione looked into Golchobhar’s eyes, and saw none of the inky blackness that would indicate that his demon was close to the surface. It was like the demon slept, completely oblivious to the human sharing the body with him.
Modron had imparted a bit of knowledge about the “lost children,” having considered them very sad demons that either barely survived the change, or were failed by their Sire in some way to bring them into balance. Modron, for example, had been patiently allowing Severus to exist in her territory until the time he was healthy enough to partake of her vast stores of knowledge— something he would not have been able to do in the fractured state he was in until Hermione came along and gave him a really good reason to merge. That was the weakness of their species. Without the full merge and the Lineage, Apocryphal demons were susceptible to undemonly emotions, disease, and a host of other issues that often ended with death.
Modron had specifically bestowed the Lineage upon Severus despite his not being fully merged due to the risks of him running around without one. Once he had allowed himself to fully merge, he had ascended into full demonhood, and that was when Modron had given Severus the full knowledge on how to bestow the Lineage upon Hermione—to protect her child’s choice of mate and to insure that Hermione was considered a full demon to all that mattered. All that mattered were the elder demons of the Apocryphal: Modron, Urash, Azgaedor, Tanaquil, and Radovan. That had been the reason why the elder demons had accepted their territorial claim. They were, in all the eyes that mattered, full demons and worthy of their Lineage.
“Do you not, desire to join with your demon aspect, Golchobhar?” Hermione asked. “Ache to spread your wings and feel the night kiss your true form? Are you not… lonely?”
“This be the form I was born into, my Lady,” Golchobhar puzzled. “Though I admit, I ne’er did feel a sense of rightness about what I am. Once I was summoned to serve, my Sire left me to my own, saying if I was demon enough to be summoned, then I was a demon enough to carve my own path.”
Hermione flinched. With all the bad things that had happened during her Transition, had Severus not been as dutiful as he was and her demon as tenacious as it was , she would never have completed the bond with her demon either, and that horrified her. Sensing her discomfort, both Severus and her inner demon sent a flood of warmth through their bonds, swearing she would never be left alone to such a fate. Her demon would never let her go, and Hermione knew it was a good thing. Severus, too, would remain at her side, and it was no small comfort. She felt a sense of overwhelming pity for Golchobhar because he could never be truly human again, nor could the demon exist without the imprint of Golchobhar to anchor that which was demon to the physical realm. He had apparently existed for so long in the separated state that his demon was giving up, and if that happened, Golchobhar would succumb to true death.
I am suddenly very glad that we found each other, Severus whispered into her mind, sharing her train of thoughts almost exactly. I am also glad that I got the sense beat into me.
Together! her demon purred into her mind.
“Would you wish to?” Hermione asked.
Golchobhar gave her a confused look.
“You feel empty, don’t you?” Severus rumbled. “Alone. You are surrounded in these people, even your old family, but none of it feels right. You remember that there is something you need, but it slips away the more your think on it. It seems alien, and a part of you struggles against it, thinking it wishes to consume you.”
“How did you—” Golchobhar turned his face up to look at Severus.
Severus’ lips pulled back from his teeth, and Golchobhar averted his gaze immediately.
Flighty as Neville Longbottom, Severus observed.
I find it endearing, Hermione chuckled into his mind.
You would, Severus gave her a mental snort and glare.
Hermione’s tail wrapped around his, and his gaze became immediately hungry, raking over her daemonic body with barely contained desire.
Severus’ attention snapped back to Golchobhar, his irritation radiating off him that he was forced to deal with him rather than ravage his mate’s alluring body in front of him.
Fortunately, Hermione was on task, and she had removed the soft fleshy part between her index finger and thumb from her mouth. She held out her hands to Golchobhar to take, and he did so, seemingly automatically.
The moment he took her hands, the ichor slithered across his skin and soaked in. His pupils blew wide, and his mouth parted in a soft pant. Dark green and red began to bleed into his eyes, and the scent of demon became stronger as his demon began to uncurl from its hibernation, attracted to the rush of power given off by Hermione and Severus.
Red and green eyes, Hermione said with wonder.
Not one of the elder Apocryphal Lineages, Severus noted, his mental voice curious. Urash’s line is sulfur yellow. Azgaedor’s are bright green. Tanaquil’s line are crimson, Radovan’s are amber, and our line is black.
Who Sired Golchobhar, then? Hermione boggled.
Not the Apocryphal, Severus decided. Perhaps one of the North American demons, whose rules and bloodlines are so convoluted that even the demons do not know their own Lineages.
Hermione frowned. If they do not impart their Lineages, how do they… survive?
They do not, Severus answered thoughtfully. They probably think it is entirely natural to live and die like a human with only a long lifespan to differentiate the two. With what I have gleaned from Modron, there are a number of demons who do not wish to challenge the elders or the main lines for the right for territory but also do not wish to settle here. They choose North America because it is neutral to all demons of all species and because they need not bow their heads to the old.
Hermione seemed to be chewing on a packet of information passed down from Modron. I cannot imagine living in a place where I can never call a place larger than a house and yard truly home. To imagine living at the house in London as the only place we could be would be maddening.
Believe me, I understand. Spinner’s End is hardly the place I would wish to consider my only home for even a few years let alone a daemonic lifetime, Severus said thoughtfully. Hogwarts seemed better, in comparison, and the school was infested with horrible, giddy, blathering dunderheads.
Hermione gave Severus a mental scowl as he added, Present company excluded.
Hrmph, she replied, turning her head to the side as she let her tail, which had been warmly twirled around his, fall away.
Severus, who noticed her tail’s absence immediately, corkscrewed his tail back around her and pulled it back, sending her the equivalent of mental apologies for his unintentional insult.
Hermione, who couldn’t remain mad or straight faced for long, re-entwined her tail around his with a mental purr.
Golchobhar was teetering on his legs, and Hermione eased him down to the deck of his fishing boat, her hooves skidding slightly on the damp surface as she caught him. His eyes stared off into the distance as a low moan escaped his throat, and he began to pant audibly. His hands were clenching and unclenching as pale semi-transparent claws were pushing out from his fingertips as an ichor so light it was almost clear trickled down the side of his mouth.
“We are Hermione,” she said formally, interweaving her name with Severus’, “of Modron, descendent of Nankuzu the Wise and Clever. Share with me your ichor and your name that we may… get to know each other properly.”
Golchobhar moaned, his eyes rolling back as a tiny hint of a muzzle began to form on his face. Tiny points formed on his teeth as he panted, jutting out from his newly forming muzzle. He began to thrash, his new claws tearing at his worn shirt to expose his chest. His skin was turning pale as alabaster, and small tan markings began to creep across his skin. His tongue elongated, yet remained a strangely human colour as it darted out to lick Hermione under the chin in supplication as she had once done to Radovan.
Hermione felt the daemonic chi-laden ichor fill her mouth, and her jaws parted over Golchobhar’s forming muzzle, allowing the black, oily ichor to flow into his waiting mouth.
Golchobhar lapped eagerly, groaning in pleasure as his demon aspect surged into the forefront. So long deprived of other demon contact, his body was now greatly reminded of the pleasure of being a demon and how he had been Turned in the first place. The connection he had both needed and required in order to balance his two aspects was now being provided by two demons that were, ironically, younger and more balanced than he was.
Hermione pulled away from Golchobhar, and her tongue slid against Severus’ lower lip, appealing to him to contribute to the process, and he obliged her, opening his jaws to feed her his ichor. She fed from him eagerly, taking in his chi and combining it with her own, storing it away in the glands in her mouth before pulling away. She looked into his face for signs of approval or displeasure, but Severus had the detached air of acceptance about him. It was clinical, of sorts, and he knew that it was simply the way demons worked. Bringing Golchobhar into the change and willing to accept his demon again would give them an ally, and ally making was something neither of them could afford not to do.
Hermione leaned back over Golchobhar and allowed their combined ichor to drizzle into his mouth. He lurched in his eagerness to taste of the ichor again, and this time, he took the full dose of Hermione and Severus’ ichor mixed together. Hermione transferred a slow stream of demon etiquette to the oblivious demon, practicing the slower and more focused lesson transfer she would eventually give her sprogs rather than the concentrated packets of information the elder demons had gifted her. What she fed him wasn’t intended to be sexual, but the arousal the neglected demon was feeling as he and his demon were starting to hash out terms and merge for the first time in decades was, as she know from experience, very sensual. He had probably not been fed ichor regularly, save during his creation, and apparently that had been a bare minimum. He would not be in the situation he was in if his Sire had imparted the proper knowledge during his Transition.
Golchobhar feed from her eagerly, drinking in her combined ichor as though it were the only feeding he were to ever get. Hermione felt a tinge of pity for him. He probably hadn’t truly fed in many years. White fur was spreading over his pale skin. His ears twisted and jerked outward into long furry elongated funnels. Light brown horns were emerging from his head as his face pushed out into a short muzzle with a small twitching nose. His body arched on the deck, seemingly struggling to reach the point of no return when the entire shift would consume him.
Severus noticed the small beginning of a tail forming at the base of Golchobhar’s spine and smiled knowingly. He knew exactly what to do with a tail and set to work.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
*Direct Quote from HPatDH1
** Direct Quote from (HPaDH 69)
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In the Darkness in Which We Are Made