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In the Darkness in Which We Are Made	By : corvusdraconis Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 24670 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
Summary:
Severus and Hermione gain an adopted sprog.
Hermione has some trouble with her Patronus after her Transition.
There is a family gathering at the old house of Granger.
Beta Love: No beta *cry* Okay, I wrangled in The Dragon and the Rose for emergency beta-ing. Love her! I do.
To PiffyEQ: Their human forms are residual images of self. Severus didn’t fully embrace his being a demon until Hermione came along. He could, technically, appear as a range of looks (see the scene when he appeared as a random boy for Ginny.) Since he’s a demon, his shift is not a glamour as much as it is “want he wants to appear as.” Hermione accepts him regardless of form.
A/N: This story was on hiatus due to having no beta, and I feel really bad about taking on a new beta just for one story in mid-go.

In the Darkness In Which We Are Made
Chapter 8: Family Gathering

Judgements prevent us from seeing the good that lies beyond appearances.
Wayne Dyer
Golchobhar was passed out, face-first on the deck of his fishing boat, his wings draped over the sides of his vessel like an exotic deck cover. For the past few hours before dawn, Hermione and Severus had brought him into his change and perhaps the first time the neglected demon had ever truly been merged with both aspects of his nature at the same time.
That had been remedied, however, with the neglected demon's blessing. Golchobhar, having suffered alone for far longer than either of the young demons had been alive, embraced his demon like a long lost lover and allowed the transformation to swallow him up completely and wholly, body and soul. His ecstatic cries as the Change carried him into sheer bliss was matched only by his pure rush of joy and relief as he finally realised he would never be alone again.
“Well,” Severus commented as he sipped tea from a quaint little spotted enamelware mug he had confiscated from Golchobhar’s boat pantry, “at least we can safely presume he enjoyed the experience.” He ran his pale fingers across his human face with a soft sniff.
“Enjoyed?” Hermione asked, staring down at the demon who was so caught up in the flood of his demon’s embrace that he was still in his demon form after sunrise without even intending to. “I’d say more than enjoyed.”
Severus snorted, passing Hermione another enamelware mug of tea. “He seems to have only Irish tea in his pantry, however, it seems to be quite good,” Severus quipped.
Hermione grasped the mug and nodded in thanks. She gazed over the contentedly passed out North American demon with no little amazement. “I have no memories of his ilk,” she confessed, tapping her head as if to explain. “Neither Modron nor Radovan have memories of such traits in a Lineage.”
“Rabbit ears, antelope horns, and silky white fur,” Severus commented. “I think our elders would remember seeing something like that. It must be a purely North American species, yet, he responded to our ichor and there are certain anatomical similarities, so they must be related to us, at least on a species level.”
“His ears and tail are so cute and fluffy,” Hermione cooed. She reached out to rub Golchobhar’s rabbit ears and grinned as his rear leg kicked involuntarily even while he was completely passed out. “Can we keep him?”
“He swore fealty to us,” Severus said with a little wonder. “I had expected… I don’t know, to have to persuade him with threat or… something suitably Slytherin.”
Hermione tilted her head. “We both know how powerful the full merge is, and now, so does he.”
“He wishes to be Marked by us,” Severus said idly, drinking down the last of the tea. “Did you hear him beg for it?”
Hermione nodded. “I wasn’t really sure what he meant,” she admitted. “Modron’s knowledge hasn’t seeped in for me in that area just yet.”
“He wishes us to bind himself to our service,” Severus grunted. “Service in exchange for protection and a home wherever we find ourselves.”
“Because of his lack of Lineage?” Hermione asked, knowing that not having one was the equivalent to an eventual death sentence.
Severus tapped his head with one talon. “Modron left me the way to Mark him as ours. For if he was Marked by us, he would survive.”
“I’m sensing a but coming,” Hermione replied, eyebrow lifting.
“Hn,” Severus grunted. “I would have to incant about fifty chains of formal binding words as I craft a series of beads from our combined blood and ichor.”
Hermione blinked at him. “Is that all?”
Severus gave her a long-suffering look.
Hermione waved her hands in placation. “The knowledge Modron gave me hasn’t caught me up on the binding, Severus. I can only presume that it is fifty chains of long formal binding words rather than fifty recitations of God Save the Queen, yes?”
Severus nodded. “I would be unable to do anything else until it was complete.”
“But he wishes it?”
Severus nodded again.
“And do you wish it?” Hermione asked with a chuckle.
It would behoove us to have allies beyond reproach for loyalty, Severus said to her in her mind. We need someone to watch over our territory while we are dancing with Potter and the Dark Lord. If we do this, it will help us become stronger in the eyes of those who might think of testing themselves against us.
Hermione placed a hand on his, squeezing it. “Just tell me what you need, and it is yours,” she said with a fleeting smile.
Severus looked towards the blissed out jackalope demon. “I will need you to feed him for the first part,” he said in all seriousness. “Then our mixed blood and ichor for the next, and then it will be up to me to say the words until the bond takes.”
Hermione nodded. “Daylight is burning. I have no idea when they will start sending out Patroni to come look for me.”
Severus nodded. “Time to wake the bunny,” he said, staring down at Golchobhar, who was snoring peacefully.
Hermione exchanged looks with him. “He’ll thank us later.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione sat on an outcrop overlooking the ocean to the sound of her mate incanting the ancient words of the equivalent of daemonic adoption over Golchobhar. Until the end of his days, the North American jackalope demon would be tied to their essence, basically their adopted sprog. The main difference would be, however, that while she and Severus had been able to leave out from under Modron’s wings, Golchobhar would not. He would forever be bound to them in order to survive, not that he was complaining.
With the fervor of a House-Elf desperately trying to serve and please, Golchobhar wanted nothing more than to be useful again. His entire life had been serving in one sort or another, and it was a part of him. She had seen the memories of his past life when she had feed him, and she understood that when he made the choice to bind himself to their bloodline, he was doing it freely and gladly. They were giving him something his true Sire could not— acceptance and a Home.
She found it comforting that feelings of affection were not limited to herself and Severus. She hadn’t been sure what it would mean after she lost the ability to empathise with human feelings. It was far more comforting to know that “normal” feelings would remain between herself and the other demons. She could still enjoy her growing maternal feelings towards Golchobhar and appreciate their depth. It gave her a greater respect for Modron’s tender, yet firm nurturing of her daemonic “children.”
Severus had been chanting and forming beads out of their combined blood and ichor for hours now, and she had a greater admiration for the tenacity and dedication of her mate, proud that he had chosen her when so many others could have come his way.
Their territory had already begun to thrum with the feel of Home, and she laid back in the sun, reveling in the feel of it on her skin in combination with the ocean breeze. Her inner demon stirred, and they merged together.
The demon was a naturally Dark creature, but Hermione was slowly giving the Demon the taste of the enjoyment of daylight pleasures. Each time they blended and enjoyed a sensation together, their bond grew even tighter, and the pleasure of it reminded her of exactly why Golchobhar had thrown himself into his demon’s embrace once he realised what he had been missing. Once Severus was done with the formalities, Golchobhar would have plenty of time to get to know his other half, and vice versa.
Feels good, her inner self purred. Sunlight on the skin feels so warm, like our mate.
Hermione smiled. Somehow it always came back to her mate. If he wasn’t currently knee-deep in ritual chanting, he’d probably appreciate that her thoughts always ended up orbiting around him.
Her eyes closed sleepily. She hadn’t had a truly restful sleep since she left Severus to join with the Order of the Phoenix to rescue Harry. It wasn’t to say that she wasn’t sleeping, but the elusive, almost catatonic sort of blissful sleep had avoided her. She was already half asleep, the sounds of the surf beating against the shore sounding like it was deep within a tunnel when Remus’ voice started talking to her.
Hermione shot off the ground with a yelp and stared at the wolf-shaped Patronus with a glare.
“Hermione, are you okay?” the Patronus asked. “Kingsley, Arthur, and Molly were out all night looking for you, searching every place you might have been. We can’t risk sending out owls because of the possibility of interception, and we’re hoping the Patronus goes under the radar due to its speed and the time of day. I sent it at high noon, when it would be hardest to see. Please, Hermione, let me know you’re okay?”
The wolf-shaped Patronus shimmered and faded out, leaving Hermione a little startled by its appearance. She knew it was going to show up, but she hadn’t expected it at that particular moment..
Noon? No wonder she was so tired.
Sighing, she pulled out her wand and prepared a message in her mind to send back to Remus. She spun her wand with the proper wrist movement as she brought up the happiest thought she had always used and incanted “Expecto Patronum!”
Nothing happened.
Hermione tried thinking of her dream of having a grand library filled with endless tomes of knowledge and tried again.
There wasn’t so much as a spark from the end of her wand.
She fidgeted nervously, trying hard not to panic.
Hermione twitched and tried to think of something overwhelmingly happy as she said the words again. She tried to think of all of her wonderful O’s on her finals the last term, but her wand didn’t even even offer the slightest response.
Her demon, sensing her distress, offered comfort, and Hermione immediately felt better as a sense of joy at being together filled her. Taking a cue from that, she tried to summon her Patronus again, but this time, her daemonic magic responded, infusing into her need, and there was a FWOOP as something materialised in front of her.
Hermione’s eyes widened as a large, nightmarish creature with stiletto fangs, glowing red eyes, skin like a thestral’s, a skeletal wolf-like head, and an uncounted number of whiplike tails stood before her. Slime covered its body, dripping off it. It had wings folded across its leathery body, but the membranes were tattered, making it look like they could never hold it up if it actually wished to use them. Wicked spines protruded down the length of its armoured tail. Bat-like ears swiveled forward and back and its large nostrils flared from its skeletal nose. Its rear paws resembled the legs of a great cat, the claws sheathing and unsheathing as it paced. Its front legs however, sported what looked like twisted hands that were used both to run and to manipulate objects. It woofed at her, giving off a soft croon as it snuffled her.
Hermione stared at it in shock for a few minutes before her face lit up with delight.
“You are so CUTE!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the nightmarish beast like a normal person might oogle over a kitten or a puppy.
The beast wagged its multiple tails, drooling as it licked her face with its tentacle-like tongue. She rubbed down its slimy skin with delight, smiling as it growled happily and leaned into her, making soft growly and happy noises in its monstrous throat. It lapped under her chin, and Hermione felt the instinctive response in her throat. She opened her mouth and let her ichor spill from her lips and down into the beast’s muzzle, and he lapped up her daemonic chi eagerly.
The moment it took her offering, Hermione felt a strange tenderness to the beast and knew, from now on, it would come to her call whenever she desired. She rubbed its ears, kissing it gently on the muzzle, and making the same noises one would while loving on a favourite pet.
“Aww,” she cooed. “What shall I call you?”
The beast looked at her curiously, glowing red eyes flickering with inner flames.
“How about Bruce?” she asked the creature, rubbing his ears as the slime dripped from his teeth into a little puddle on the ground. He headbutted into her with an adoring whine.
“Bruce it is,” she said with a shrug. She rubbed the side of the creature’s muzzle, getting her hand coated in slime, which she found strangely endearing.
“You’re so… adorable!” she gushed, loving all over the nightmarish creature.
Bruce slobbered on her with a happy woof.
Hermione sighed. “I guess I need to figure out why I can’t get my Patronus to form,” she told the demon beast, not even thinking twice about how her concept of cute and adorable had changed to drastically that her idea of happiest memory could have changed as well.
Bruce sat down with his head in her lap, looking up at with with his glowing red eyes. His multiple tails wove around her waist in a pseudo hug.
Hermione stilled her mind, tried to bring up another happy thought, and waved her wand again.
“Expecto Patronum!”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Severus dragged himself out of the secluded thicket in the woods with a weary expression even as he looked satisfied for his lost hours of ritual chanting and the weaving of beads into the jackalope demon’s hair.
Golchobhar was following behind looking far healthier… well, as demons go. His white fur was glossy with health, his horns were shiny as though freshly oiled, his hooves were uniform and uncracked, and even his little pink nose was moist and healthy-looking.
Severus was glad that the bond had taken, though Golchobhar had hardly been unwilling in the ritual. He found that he felt a strange sense of paternal affection for the jackalope demon now that it was done, and Golchobhar seemed to look towards Severus and Hermione as his new “parents” as though he had been born to them as their biological sprog.
Severus found a strange sense of comfort in having a sprog bound to them. In demon society, sprogs, regardless of how they came about, were cherished commodities.
Though Golchobhar would never be able to leave on his own like his future brothers and sisters or even other Sired demons that Hermione and Severus would have, he seemed perfectly content with that.
Even more oddly, Severus found that he didn’t mind it, his sense of human children having to “leave the nest” at a certain age didn’t seem as important now. Demons liked having their family and allies close, even with the formalities of territory that came up now and then.
Severus found himself quite beside himself as he found his mate sprawled on the ground on her back with at least five slavering daemonic beasts slurping at her face, tattered wings fluttering as their multiple spiked serpentine tails waved in the air in amusement.
“Argh!” Hermione gasped, panting for air as she laughed. “Why do you have to be so freaking adorable?” she bemoaned.
As Severus froze to look at her, Golchobhar made a soft burbling sound, and three out of five heads from the pile of beasts looked up and they bounded over to the jackalope demon and pounced on him mercilessly, sending the poor North American sprog flat on his back into the undergrowth, giggling hysterically as long tongues and copious amounts of slime attacked him into submissions.
“Ack!” Golchobhar managed to say before he was pinned below the wriggling mass of beasts. The sounds of his giggling contradicted the visual that the was being swarmed to death.
One of the three beasts let up on Golchobhar and padded over to Severus, giving a small whine of supplication. Multiple tails wagged back and forth.
Severus stared down at the nightmarish looking beast with approval, petting the creature between the ears. He knelt down to ruffle the beast’s scruff with his hands. The beast slavered copiously, sending rivulets of thick slime dripping towards the ground as he stared up at him with glowing red eyes and bared dagger-like teeth.
“You’re adorable,” he confessed, causing the beast to lick under his chin, and like Hermione before him, he automatically coughed up his daemonic chi-laden ichor to feed the beast.
His eyes flicked over to where Golchobhar was being playfully mauled into giggles. The jackalope demon was dribbling his now greyish black ichor out of his mouth in between laughs, and the daemonic pups were lapping up at it as fast as he could dish it out, completing the bond between their new daemonic family and the beastly familiars.
Well, at least we know he can produce his own ichor now, Severus said with some amusement. I can’t leave you alone for a few hours, my mate. I come back to find your buried in daemonic familiars.
I was trying to summon my Patronus! Hermione whined at him pathetically. Her mind voice was distressed, even though she obviously adored her new terrifying and slobbery friends.
Your Patronus?
Remus sent out a Patronus to check on me at noon, Hermione groaned, her head beating against the ground. This is all I’ve managed so far. I’ve tried all the things that made me happy before, but I just can’t get my Patronus to form. Then, when I think of something really happy, I get… Bruce, Raymond, Warren, Oswald, and Wilhelm.
You named them… Bruce, Raymond, Warren, Oswald, and Wilhelm? Severus asked turning his head to keep the beast that was feeding off his chi-laden ichor from taking more than was needed.
Do you see them complaining? Hermione asked, chuckling.
Well, no, I supposed they don’t truly care, Severus acquiesced.
Hermione sighed audibly. “What am I going to do, Severus?” she moaned. “I need to send him back a Patronus or he’ll get even more suspicious as to what happened to me. It’s already been hours since his Patronus arrived. I’ve never been so late sending one back before! I mean, if I had any problem at all, it was finding that happy thought for my Patronus to begin with, but… well, watch this!”
Hermione waved her wand and incanted, “Expecto Patronum!”
Severus frowned as nothing came forth from Hermione’s wand. Hermione was hardly the type of student who couldn’t do something once she put her mind to it. She would most likely lock herself away until she could get it right, and that worried him.
He pulled out his wand and waved it, saying “Expecto Patronum!”
Nothing. It had always worked before. The doe that had mirrored Lily’s Patronus for untold years did not come forth. Severus swallowed hard. There was a part of him that still held onto Lily’s memory as the sole bright spot in his childhood. It wasn’t that he valued Hermione any less because of his memory for Lily, it was that the memory of Lily no longer invoked something that had become inherently familiar to him.
Slowly, another memory crept into his mind—the memory of Hermione in his arms as they had become one in both body and soul, both they and their demons unified in perfect harmony, and it filled him with a sense of pure and utter bliss. He waved his wand again, saying, “Expecto Patronum!”
There was surge of daemonic magic and a faint FWOOP sound as one more demon beast fell out of the air and landed in front of them.
The other five woofed a greeting to the newcomer, nose snuffling and tail wagging together.
“Can we call that one, Augustine?” Golchobhar asked from his supine position on the ground.
Severus and Hermione rubbed the bridges of their noses together.
“Merlin’s hairy balls,” Severus cursed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Don’t like it!
Hermione’s inner demon didn’t care for her idea at all, and Hermione wasn’t liking it much either, and it was her idea.
I don’t really care much for it either, Hermione reasoned, but if I can’t get this Patronus out, they are going to know something is up. We cannot risk being found out. It risks Severus. It risks Golchobhar. It risks our sprogs, territory, and our allies.
Hermione’s inner demon grumbled, and then seemed to come to a decision.
Won’t be long? Just long enough to cast the spell?
Promise, Hermione swore.
Her inner demon was resistant to leaving her. Their bond was tight, but leaving Hermione “alone” was likely to traumatise the both of them. Their relationship was now symbiotic, and being without the other was likely to be very discombobulating if not painful. There was a very good chance that the shock could break something in Hermione. It had been Severus that hypothesized that the possible reason they were failing at their Patroni had been because they were no longer human. They were Dark creatures. Their inherent magic was Dark, and Dark creatures did not cast a Patronus.
Severus looked at her with concern, the black bleeding across his eyes as he stared at her.
Even Golchobhar, who had known her for less than two days, was wiggling his head under her arm for her to soothe his ears, providing both comfort for her and himself at the same time.
Severus, who looked like he wanted to do the same but being far too practiced at restraint, grasped her fingers, allowing his forming talons to gently run against the softness of her palm.
Hermione closed her eyes, and let herself go, and for the first time, purposely pushed herself away from her inner demon. It was liking being stuck in a bramble bush where it was nice and safe and protected on the inside of the bush, but getting out of it was murder. Her mind desperately wanted back in that warm and comfortable place, but she knew she had to push away to get that message out to Remus or else everything… everything would be in danger of failure. Everyone close to the human Hermione knew she could cast a Patronus. If she could not, they could start to believe Harry, and that was the last thing that needed to happen.
Oddly enough, the familiar feel of Severus’ talons rubbing the softness of her palm and the feel of Golchobhar’s soft and furry ears was calming. She could not sense them, in her head like she should have, but their physical presence was still there. She pulled away even more, mentally, trying to retreat into the parts of herself she remembered to be the most human. She focused on the person she was before Harry had betrayed her: the lonely, swotty, know-it-all, who had no mate, and no one that had truly understood her. She had been so naive and trusting of Harry. She had been so blind to have never suspected her best friend, not even once, of being able to accomplish such a horrible thing as sacrifice a friend to a daemonic sacrificial circle. She had never known Severus. She had never known what it was to find someone that completed her.
Suddenly, she was alone—truly alone. She was vulnerable and lonely. It was hard to think of something happy when the world seemed to utterly bleak. She opened her eyes and saw Severus’ black, alien eyes looking her and she felt nothing of the bond between them, his emotion, or even a trace of connection she knew should have been there. His talons were still rubbing her palm, but she couldn’t sense him or connect to that piece of empathy that had seemed so natural before.
Golchobhar was watching her intently, his green and red bloodstone eyes staring at her in what might have been sympathy had they not been so utterly alien to her senses as well.
She choked down a sense of despair, trying desperately to think of the happy thoughts that had powered her Patronus every time before. Parchment! The first time she cast her magic! Her parents! The glorious library! The wonder of seeing Hogwarts for the first time as she crossed the Black Lake in the boats! Getting her Hogwarts letter! Feeling her parent’s warm embrace before she left on the Hogwarts Express for the very first time.
Hermione felt the stirring of warmth those happy memories gave her, and she quickly moved her wand in the right pattern and cast her Patronus.
Her otter sprang forth from her wand tip, playfully swimming around her as it waited for her direction. She quickly gave it her message to Remus, envisioned his face clearly in her mind, and sent the otter on its way with a pang of heartache.
Unsure as to if the Patronus would fade without her being “entirely human” she fidgeted, pulling her robes around her with her hands as though she were cold. She waited for the reply, praying that he didn’t take as long as she did out of some anger for her taking so long. She shivered, and she felt Severus open his arms to her. She knew he couldn’t “feel” her, but he knew she was his mate. He would go through the motions he would for his mate, even without feeling the connection, for her sake.
She sank into his arms, allowing him to stroke her back, and his wings were suddenly around her, pulling her into his heated daemonic embrace where his scent was still familiar and welcoming. His bestial growl rumbled against her, and he licked her gently. She imagined he was feeling just as confused not being able to connect with his mate as she was not being able sense him. They still had the physical reassurance, and it seemed that while she gained comfort from his embrace, he was taking in her familiar scent to reassure himself that she was still with him.
A few agonising minutes past, and a wispy wolf ran into the clearing and began to speak in Remus’ voice.
“Hermione!” the Patronus cried. “Thank Merlin you’re okay! I know you may have been debating on answering me, and that’s okay, I understand. I think we have everything under control now, and Moody has Harry back on his calming draught. He apparently stopped taking it after he left Hogwarts, and that was obviously a really bad idea. Please, Hermione, it’s safe to come back. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you, and I’m not the only one who will leap to your defence if he has another paranoia attack. Kingsley said he can meet you wherever you need if you don’t want to arrive at the Burrow alone. Please let us know, Hermione. We’re so worried about you.”
Severus’ wings unfolded from her and she reluctantly left his warmth. She looked at his face, and he nodded, and the gesture seemed so terribly cold without the emotions behind it. It was so easy to see why Professor Snape had been such an easily cold and detached personna.
She summoned her courage and her happy memories, and cast her Patronus again, sending Remus the message for Kingsley to meet her at her parents’ old house in a day’s time. The otter went flitting off with the message, and Severus’ wings pulled her against him once more. She trembled against him, feeling a horrible chill settling in as though it were winter and she didn’t have a warm coat. She had to give her Patronus enough time to get to Remus and deliver the message, just to be safe.
When Remus’ wolf Patronus returned one last time with only a short message asking her to be safe and to tell her that Kingsley would meet her at her parents’ home in London, Hermione finally let herself go, allowing her demon to reintegrate with her. There was a flood of welcoming warmth and joy from her demon as well as relief from her mate, Golchobhar, and the six demon beasts that had been assimilated into their collective.
She whined softly, licking at her mate’s jaw in supplication, and his mouth covered hers immediately, allowing her to feed and regain her strength directly. He nuzzled her tenderly, projecting his distress at the temporary parting. As she pulled away, her eyes were completely black, and she sighed with relief as she felt complete again. She gazed into Severus’ eyes with tenderness.
“That was,” Severus admitted, “quite disconcerting.”
Hermione nodded in fervent agreement.
“I suppose we will both have to practice it in the case we need to send a Patronus that is obviously a Patronus,” Severus said as he rubbed her neck and shoulders. “I do not look forward to it.”
Hermione frowned but nodded. She leapt into her mate’s embrace, and he pulled her down into a cuddle in the soft moss. It was more for comfort than anything else, and Golchobhar snuggled up against Hermione as she snuggled up to Severus.
The newly dubbed Bruce, Raymond, Warren, Oswald, Wilhelm, and Augustine curled up around them as the newly-cemented daemonic family dozed during the remaining daylight hours. Just as Hermione’s eyes began to close completely, startling tuna-breath snuffled her face and her eyes opened.
“Crookshanks!” Hermione exclaimed, cuddling the half-Kneazle in between them.
Crooks yawned lazily, showing no sign of caring that he was surrounded by demons. He tolerated the curious snuffles of the the demon beasts until Hermione pulled him against her as she settled in for the afternoon nap with her new family.
She and her inner demon would figure out what they needed to do in order to summon a Patronus again later. For now, it was time to revel in getting some much needed rest with her mate and family, and the rest would wait until she was recharged.
As Severus’ wing curled snugly around her, Hermione happily walked into the arms of sleep.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione’s mum’s coffee machine had never been so appreciated as it was on this particular evening, nor had her parents’ house ever been so full of demons or otherwise.
Severus had deemed it wise to bring in Modron and Radovan for a conference of sorts to meet the newest adopted sprog, and that had started a sort of demon phone tree that had all of the main territory holders coming to join them for “coffee and ichor.”
Each elder demon had greeted Hermione and Severus with the formal ichor-swap, each exchanging dumps of information freely between the elder and the younger generation. The younger gained quite a bit of skills and information that each elder saw befit to give them, and they, in turn, gave their elders all the “current up-to-date information” of Muggle and Wizarding society that would help keep each of the territory holders in the know of the latest trends, customs, language nuances, and the like.
Golchobhar was poked, prodded, oogled over, and petted as well as given quite a bit of ichor-teaching, and the newest adopted sprog was bristling with excitement at being taught so many new things as well as finding out that he wasn’t the only “inexperienced” demon in the bunch.
Urash had a new convert, a young demoness named Natalia, that Urash was taking her time in fully bringing through the transition. The young demon had been the victim of a botched summoning somewhere off the coast of North Yorkshire, and by the time Urash had arrived, Natalia had been the only survivor, having been trapped within the sacrificial circle as all the people around her fell upon each other as some sort of chaos magic had torn them to pieces.
The excess of souls had allowed Urash to bring the girl into her family, but she was waiting for her to “grow up” the first time before going through the full transformation. Still, the girl believed Urash was her “real mum” and all her relatives had hooves and wings, and she pestered the elders by tugging on their wings and asking when she would get herself a set of her own. She mixed and matched all the various demon bloodlines, wanting wings like Modron’s, the emerald eyes of Azgaedor’s get, the violet skin of Tanaquil’s Lineage, and the pearlescent horns of Radovan.
When Natalia had set eyes on Golchobhar, however, all bets were off. She flung herself at the jackalope demon with a squeal of happiness, petting his hears and affixing herself to him like velcro, licking the bottom of his jaw for a feeding.
The young jackalope sprog eyed Urash with panic, wondering if somehow he would offend the elder demon by feeding her sprog, but Urash’s golden eyes sparkled with amusement as she licked her fangs with her rose-coloured tongue. She nodded to Golchobhar in approval, and the young demoness gleefully fed from “fluffy Golchobhar.” Natalia entwined her tail around Golchobhar’s in a tight corkscrew and wouldn’t leave his side the entire evening, causing Urash and Azgaedor to chuckle as they poked Hermione’s mother’s coffee machine for cappuccino. Despite a few enticements from elder demons to come and feed, Natalia had found the love of her life, or as much as one of her age could find, and she simply refused to be parted from him. The fixation seemed to heal something in Golchobhar, and the part of him that once could only remember his human family, was finally replacing it with appropriate demon attachments.
Ntchwaidumela and Mandevu, brothers and most powerful of Urash’s sired children, finally convinced young Natalia to play hide-and-seek as long as Golchobhar was allowed to hide with her.
The two demons agreed, helping teach the youngest demoness how to stalk and be silent without her realising it was anything but a game.
None of the territory holders in what was called the “contested territories” came to the meet and greet, perhaps due to thinking if they left for any amount of time, their territories would be taken by another upstart. Tanaquil, who held the Southeastern corner of the U.K., said that the little territories the young were trying to carve out of the neutral band going from Greater London to Wales was a constant annoyance. None of them, so she said, were strong enough to hold more than a few acres of land for themselves, and they were too busy bickering amongst themselves to create alliances.
The main children of the elder demons, however, did arrive, though many did not stay long, and shared news, coffee, and ichor respectively. Many of them still shared territory with their Sires, and they returned to keep the peace along the borders. All and all, it was an effective “who is who” amongst the demon social order, and Hermione and Severus bared their necks in submission to the elder demons despite it being “their home” in token respect, and by the time the night was done, none of those who came would mistake either Severus nor Hermione for one of the interloping contested territory demons.
Bruce, Raymond, Warren, Oswald, Wilhelm, and Augustine were not idle either, meeting with the demons of note and recording their identity as they snuffled and garnered pets from those gathered. Modron had laughed when she saw them, commenting, “you tried to summon a Patronus, didn’t you, my lovelies? Aren’t these darlings so much better?” Hermione and Severus hung their heads simultaneously as the other elder demons chuckled around them.
“We’ve all done it at one point or another,” Azgaedor said with a chuckle. “They are wonderful for helping guard the territory when you are tending to other matters.”
The other demons agreed, nodding.
“Mandevu summoned twelve of them before he realised nothing but demon beasts were going to come of it,” Ntchwaidumela commented, poking his brother with his wingtip. His brother glared at him but laughed in the end.
Radovan put a taloned hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Do not feel embarrassed, child. A child of mine ended up with a handful of them rampaging my territory before I figured out how useful they were. Until I did, people started making up stories that there were ghostly hounds roaming the moors. ‘The Hounds of Baskerville’ and the like.”
Hermione blinked. She would never look at Sherlock Holmes stories the same way again.
“Hermione,” Azgaedor rumbled from the sliding door to the porch. He had a tall iced coffee in his talons, making Hermione silently thank her mother profusely for the gift that kept on giving. “Come and share with your elders your joint plan for sprogs.”
Hermione blushed slightly but nodded, allowing herself to be ushered out the door into the backyard, where Azgaedor, Tanaquil, Modron, and Radovan were gathering, sipping their iced coffees with interest. It was made all the more comical by the fact they were all in their true forms and using their long tongues to lap at the caffeinated beverage.
Severus eyed her nervously, unsure what to expect, but Modron chuckled, shooing him off to mingle with the other demons. “Be at peace, child,” she chuckled. “It takes a village, as they say.” Modron’s black eyes sparkled with mischief and warmth, but unlike one Albus Dumbledore’s, her eyes were expressive and telling. There was true comfort in her eyes, and Severus could take it for what it was: genuine comfort.
Natalia chose that moment to glomp onto his knee and reach up to paw at his tail for attention. He stared down at the young demoness with confusion. He looked around to see what had happened to Golchobhar and almost spit out his coffee as he realised his adopted sprog was passed out like a light in front of the fireplace, looking like a jackalope skin rug.
Demons, apparently, were not immune to the boundless energy of youth sucking all of the energy out of their elders. Severus filed that information away for future use.
Natalia reached her arms up to be held, and Severus found the irony that the young demoness, who was still so young that the only demonic features she had were her golden eyes and the tiny points of coral horns peeking out from her brown hair, wanted to be held by a full demon who looked far more bestial than human.
She stroked his tail again in appeasement, holding her hands up for him to pick her up.
Sighing softly, he leaned down and pulled her up into his arms, laying her across his shoulder. She fastened her arms around his neck and licked the bottom of his chin.
It was automatic, the impulse to feed a young sprog— almost as smooth as the desire to feed his mate, only the young demoness only needed a few gulps of his daemonic chi-saturated ichor before she was sated. She wriggled in his arms after, like a cat wanting to be set down, and he obliged.
He watched her run over to where Golchobhar was sprawled, wiggle under his arm and wings, and snuggle in for a nap.
Severus shook his head, unsure whether to feel used or amused.
“Don’t feel bad, my demon brother,” Ntchwaidumela said, handing him a fresh iced coffee. “She had always had her favourites. Usually she is affixed to Mandevu or one of our Sire’s younger children. She comes to me to feed, and then runs off affix herself to my brother’s leg.”
Severus snorted at the mental image. It was comforting, however, to know that no sprogs were neglected in demon society. They were all valued.
“My brother says you and your mate are trying to become fertile,” the lionish looking demon continued. “I hope for all of us that you succeed. The time is ripe for success. War looms in this Wizarding World, and there will be so many deaths to encourage your likelihood of success.”
Severus nodded. “We thank you,” he said.
“Do not worry,” Mandevu said as he approached. “Our Sire and the other elders are likely filling your mate’s head with every possibility so she will not miss any opportunity to gain fertility. If it is one thing that brings the elder lines together, it’s sprogs.” He gave a bestial grin, showing his pearly teeth and rosy champagne ichor.
“Our lines have always struggled for progeny,” Ntwaidumela said with a nod. “Some say it is the price we pay, as Apocryphal. Our lives are not like our short lived daemonic brethren. “We rely on humans to be stupid to have children, and we rely on them to be even more stupid and kill each other in order to set the table for our sprogs.”
“Good thing humans are, especially in great numbers, capable of random acts of mass stupidity,” Severus commented.
“Ah, hah!” Mandevu laughed. “It is true. So true.”
“Capable of great things and horrible,” Ntwaidumela said with a snort, “then again, so, too, are we. It is one of the few things we retain after the Change, yes?”
Severus and Mandevu nodded together.
“If I may ask,” Severus questioned.
“Please, by all means, brother,” they two brothers chimed.
“How is it that you were both Changed together?” Severus asked with curiosity.
“Where we came from, there was much black magic, brother,” Mandevu said. “One tribe’s witch doctor would always try and outdo the next’s plan to save their people. Sometimes, whole villages would be sold off to slavery across the ocean.”
“Some,” Ntchwaidumela said, “would gladly sacrifice the warriors from another tribe’s raiding party for power. That was us, Madevu and me. A neighboring tribe’s witch doctor turned us into lions and stole our wands, made us fight each other until only we remained, then sacrificed us for power.”
“Urash of La Magiri,” Mandevu said with a tremble of respect. “She came to us as a great lioness, offering us life and the chance to avenge our people. She took us to her teats and suckled us like cubs, and we did Turn.”
“And we did serve, as our contract did demand, but like most mortals who think only of the now and power, he did make a mistake,” Ntchwaidumela elaborated. “He refused to pay our due when the assassinations he wanted were done, and we were free to murder him. Thus we avenged our people.”
“We fed off the grief and despair of our old village and returned to Urash of La Magiri, and she took us under her great paws as a lioness to her cubs, and so we have stayed at her side ever since,” Mandevu said with a chuckle. “It has been many, many cycles of the sun and moon since we left the lands of our birth, but we remain with Urash and guard her western borders with our territories that she may never be taken unaware from at least one direction.”
Severus nodded.
“And you, demon brother?” Ntchwaidumela asked. “How is it that we are blessed with you as our brother and your mate as our sister?”
Severus looked over to watch Natalia snuggle into Golchobhar in her sleep. A quirk of smile played about his bestial face. “In the first war, a war between wizards and witches, have you heard of it?”
The two brothers nodded. “Urash makes us pay attention to the goings on of the magic and Muggle world as she calls it. She says both are equally prone to the stupidity that makes demons possible.”
Severus snorted and inclined his head. “Towards the end of the first war, I was young and stupid. I let that stupidity lead me to service under a wizard who promised greatness in exchange for servitude. I let my peers convince me it was the only choice to survive. He did take me under his Mark, and then he did sacrifice me to Modron for power.”
“Tch,” Ntchwaidumela clucked his teeth. “This is the same Tom Riddle who is currently stirring up trouble again?”
Severus shook his head in agreement. “He thinks me safely under contract to serve him.”
“He denied your price?” Mandevu grinned.
“Many, many times,” Severus smirked.
“I look forward to tales of your glorious revenge, brother,” Ntchwaidumela said with clear anticipation. “And what of your mate?”
“Her best friend sacrificed her for the power to defeat Tom Riddle,” Severus answered. “He sacrificed her to me.”
“You’re not even kidding, are you?” Mandevu blinked as he chewed on the information.
“Full circle,” Ntchwaidumela said, “as the mortals are so prone to saying.”
Severus agreed. “I had not known at the time that she was my mate,” he confessed.”I had known her since she was eleven. I was… her teacher, but as a demon, I felt nothing for her. As a human, I was too busy running from myself to feel anything for anyone but myself. The moment she was in that circle, I knew.”
“Our Sire tells us that it was because of her that you made the final step in the full Transition,” the two said together.
“She is,” Severus trailed off, “priceless.”
The two brothers smiled, showing their glistening teeth. “One day, we shall find our mates, and our sprogs shall frolic with your sprogs. We can only hope that when we do, they are as well loved and accepted by our elders as Hermione.”
Severus boggled slightly. “Well, I know she is exceptional, but, I was under the impression that I am biased.”
Mandevu pointed his wing towards the back porch where the elder demons were having a powwow with Hermione. “Trust me when I say, the times when the elders came together so easily was not a thing when I and my brother were presented, nor for young Natalia, though she has grown on the elders due to her youth. Most young demons are a bit of an embarrassment to our Sires. We were no exception.”
Severus flushed, knowing that his introduction to his elders had been a bit horrible due to his refusal to merge completely with his demon aspect. He could not share his knowledge through his ichor, and that made demon socialisation fairly impossible. It had, thankfully, been remedied on this particular evening, and it seemed that all was well now between the Lines of Modron, Urash, Azgaedor, Tanaquil, and Radovan.
“She hungers for knowledge, brother,” Mandevu said with a chuckle, “and she leads by example. I can see how your sprog follows her every movement, and the elders take notice of it. Even Natalia, as she is clinging to Golchobhar, tries to mirror her movements.”
“She will make an excellent mother,” Ntchwaidumela agreed, “much like Modron.”
Severus sighed with relief. To be compared to Modron was a great compliment indeed, and he was glad that Hermione was being accepted into her new life far better than he had been due to his personal hangups.
“It is a compliment to you, brother,” Mandevu said, as if sensing that Severus blamed himself for many a failure in demon socialisation. “Had her bond with you not been so steadfast and true, she would not have had the confidence to embrace what she was so fully and so easily, nor would she be sitting out there chatting easily with our elders. It reflects well upon you, brother. Do not think yourself less for it. Think of yourself as more.”
Ntchwaidumela smiled. “It may have taken you longer than some to embrace your true self, but when you did, you did it for all the right reasons. One need only see the swatch of contested territories held by young demons who are still half in one world and half in other to see that.”
“Or look at North America,” Mandevu commented with a snort. “They have no rules there, no elders, and no structure. How else could one of their number come here to these lands, Sire a demon, and then leave him without a Lineage and cast him to the Four Winds like an orphan?”
“Did you know of him? His… species?” Severus asked curiously.
The two leonine demons shook their heads. “Not until we met him this evening. Urash said a long, long time ago, back when the elders were still young, a few of the then-young Lineages broke off and moved across the land bridge and settled in North America,” Ntchwaidumela described. “Back then, or so it is said, the Lineages were not as well-cemented as they are now. True demon shapes were malleable to the minds of what the local people found to be the most frightening. While we can, now, take whatever form we wish to be the most… terrifying, back then we were limited in our true form to what the people around us found the most fear inspiring. That was how we fed.”
“We have, since then, evolved,” Mandevu continued, “but our Lineage’s true daemonic forms are remnants of the time when what we appear to be are what the people of time our Lineage began feared the most.”
“You’re saying that somewhere in North America, an entire group of humans were stricken with terror at the very thought of a jackalope coming for them?”
Mandevu gave Severus a disarming smile filled with sharp demon teeth. “Somewhere, yes. Enough that it cemented a bloodline of those that look… just like Golchobhar.”
Severus looked horrified.
“See? It does work!” Ntchwaidumela laughed, patting Severus on the shoulder.
Severus rolled his eyes as though dealing with a first year student who had blown up a cauldron.
“It should tell us something of Modron’s line that all of you are as black as night,” Mandevu said. “Her line was borne at a time when darkness and night was the thing humans feared more than what they could see. Urash’s line traces back to when the cave lion was what people feared the most, so we resemble that. Azgaedor’s line came from where many things that were scary came from the marshes, so his line retains the green, almost scaly appearance. Radovan came from a rainforest where the most dangerous things were brightly coloured, so his tongue and ichor are a bright day-glow orange.”
Ntchwaidumela nodded and continued.
“Tanaquil’s line was solidified back when blood was the colour of disease, back when you were ill and people would bleed out from the eyes, ears, and nose. Her line was strong during the times of plague, when disease claimed normals more than any other danger. Her line all has the crimson eyes, purple skin like a bruise, sanguine ichor, and that deliciously violet tongue.”
Mandevu shoved his brother. “Stop lusting after her violet tongue.”
“What?” Ntchwaidumela protested. “It’s very becoming.”
Severus and Mandevu snorted together in solidarity.
Ntchwaidumela looked resigned, mumbling.
A blur of orange padded in from the hall, and Severus and the two demon brothers stared as Crookshanks padded in imperiously from the darkness of the hallway. He rubbed up against Severus’ ankle, then Mandevu’s, and Ntchwaidumela’s, then zig-zagged around the demon beasts that were laying around the fireplace. He wiggled underneath Golchobhar’s wings and into Natalia’s arms, allowing the young demoness to wrap her arms around him like a furry pillow and pull him tight to her chest. The half-Kneazle yawned fitfully and closed his eyes as if it was perfectly normal.
The two demon brothers stared, jaws partially dropping.
“That is Hermione’s familiar,” Severus tried to explain. “He’s always been… prone to make his own decisions on who and what is proper and worthy of his attention.”
“Natalia will never want to let him go,” Mandevu stated. “She tries to pick up the cats in our Sire’s territory, and they run away from her. She smells like… a large predatory lion to them.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Merlin only knows what Modron’s line smells like to a cat, and it doesn’t phase that fluffy orange furball.”
The two brothers shrugged together.
“If we ever find ourselves plagued in obnoxious orange furball miniatures, I’ll be sure to send them all to Natalia,” Severus said with a sniff.
“She would love you forever,” Ntchwaidumela chuckled.
“Glorious,” Severus replied with a sniff, but there was no venom in his voice.
“We said this before in the formal exchange,” Mandevu said, “but you and your get are welcome in our territory whenever you wish. None but our Chosen are under our protection, and those you will recognise by their scent.”
Severus nodded. “You are also welcome in ours,” Severus replied.
“We are both the western guards,” Ntchwaidumela stated solemnly, “for only we and the neutral lands of Wales and the children of Modron in northern Ireland guard the west.”
“Modron’s children keep an eye on the Irish clans of demons—the Dearg-due, the fomori clans of old Balor, and the like,” Mandevu noted.
“They are not Apocryphal?” Severus asked.
“Nay,” Ntchwaidumela answered. “Old, as demons go, but their lines did not evolve to suit the changing times. “Humans developed their lands, and they had not the ability to change into something more suitable.”
“Dearg-due,” Severus pondered. “Female demons who drink the blood of those who wronged them once a year?”
The brothers nodded in affirmative.
“Not a very appealing dietary restriction,” Severus opined.
Ntchwaidumela laughed. “I’m sure they think our devouring of emotions and memories is just as strange, if they spare us any thought at all.”
Severus’ gaze returned to the young demoness sleeping by the hearth with Golchobhar. “How old is she?”
Mandevu tilted his head. “As humans count the years, I believe she is just under five years. She was so young when Urash found her that she does not remember any mother but Urash. She knows no family but our kind.”
“I didn’t not realise the change could be delayed for so long and yet be… healthy?” Severus commented.
Ntchwaidumela shook his head. “The very young are different. Mentally she is eager to learn and willing. When the demon fully awakens inside her, they will most likely merge quickly and easily, but since she is so young, it will not be until her body is physically capable of surviving the complete Transition.”
“She must have a fully formed sense of self,” Mandevu said, “or the demon has nothing to anchor to. Both the physical body and the mind must be ready and mature, or she will forever think she is… five.”
Severus shuddered at the thought of being trapped forever as a five-year-old.
“Small things are okay,” Mandevu explained, “or so Urash tells us. “She can take the feedings, which is the most important. We provide her with human foods so she remembers how to eat like a human would and disguise ourselves to take her to parks and human social areas. The hardest part is reminding her why she needs to know how to be human when being a demon is ‘so much more posh’.”
Severus snorted, getting a smile out of the demon brothers.
“She knows how to call us if she is troubled,” Ntchwaidumela said with a small smile. “She knows all the little things a sprog should know. She knows her Name, which is all-important.”
“Any danger from other demons?” Severus asked with some concern.
“Not within the Apocryphal territories, at least,” Ntchwaidumela stated. “Even the Contested idiots would know by her name that if they harmed one hair on her head, Urash would banish them across the ocean to fend for themselves.”
Severus found himself letting out a sigh of relief. Concern for sprogs was practically coded into their daemonic DNA as he was finding out. It didn’t matter whose sprogs they were. It also meant that now that Golchobhar was officially his and Hermione’s sprog by choice, other demons would come to his defense rather than ostracise him, and that pleased him.
The sliding door opened, and Modron shambled in, making a beeline towards the coffee machine.
“This thing makes just makes different flavours of heavenly ichor, I’m sure of it,” she said, brushing back her dark, black hair. Her skin had taken on the appearance of a golden tan. “Why do you look at me like that, child?” she chuckled, stirring her coffee with one wing talon.
Severus cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen you in that form since you brought me through the Change.”
Modron sipped her coffee and laughed. “I have grown fond of my ‘bland human disguise’ in the last few years. It helped me blend into the crowds. Sometimes, however, it is good to be back in this one. You, too, have your favourite human appearance, no?”
Severus nodded. “I am not sure this is my favourite appearance, looking scarred and having crooked teeth with horribly oily hair.”
Modron snorted. “Residual image of self. You allowed your human appearance to age, even though you do not. Most demons would not be so subtle.”
“Helps to be in denial of what you are for a good decade,” Severus said with a sigh.
“Ah,” Modron noted kindly, “Well, at least your mate has helped you come into your own, child. I and the others have made sure to assist in her education as one of us.” Modron looked at the pile of Golchobhar, Natalia, and the demon beasts all snuggled in together. “I will confess as to the adorable factor.”
Severus looked out towards the back porch and tilted his head, wondering if Hermione was being drilled for information or being taught.
“A little of both,” Modron said, reading his mind.
Severus blinked, unused to being so transparent.
Modron tapped her head. “I’m your Sire, youngling. I always know what my children are thinking.”
Severus arched a brow.
“Urash and Tanaquil are teaching her how to manipulate soul magic and fragments to best influence fertility as well as manipulate her pheromones with greater precision,” Modron chuckled. “They do not trust me to tell her all the proper demoness secrets.”
Severus’ eyebrows arched into his hair completely. Modron was ancient. It was hard to imagine her being negligent in her teaching of Hermione.
Modron grinned. “If you ask me, they are just giving her love advice on how best to drive you mad with desire.”
Severus sputtered as Mandevu and Ntchwaidumela pounded him on the back.
Modron tapped his forehead. “But she already does that now, doesn’t she, my child?”
Severus blushed furiously.
Modron laughed, sipping her coffee as she slipped back out in the backyard, leaving Severus to look utterly embarrassed next to the other demons.
“You will have to give us pointers, brother,” Ntchwaidumela said, patting him on the back. “When I and my brother find a proper she-demon, we will come to you for advice.”
Severus glared at the two brothers. “I recommend your getting to know your tail on an intimate level, since you obviously don’t know where not to stick it.”
The brothers slapped him on the back and nodded their heads at him in approval. They slunk over to the coffee machine and began to tinker with it in earnest, and part of Severus wondered if Mr and Mrs Granger, had they not been Obliviated and sent off to Australia, would handle the knowledge that their coffee machine was being adored by every major territory holding demon of the United Kingdom and Scotland.
“Dad might have taken some time to get used to the idea, but I think mother would have taken it all in stride, strangely enough,” Hermione said as she came in from the backyard. She had a tired but genuine smile on her face. She washed her coffee tumbler and put it on the drying rack before walking over and snuggled into him without further ado. Severus, strangely okay with the public show of affection as long as it was in front of demons and not humans, enfolded her with his arms.
“Urash and Modron wish to take the sprogs out hunting tomorrow morning before Kingsley is supposed to come and pick me up and take me back to the Burrow,” Hermione said with a soft smile. “They say it will do them some good to practice their hunting skills and us some good to grow eyes on the back of our heads.
Severus frowned. “I worry they mean that literally.”
“Look at the benefits,” Hermione said, grinning back up at him. “You’ll never be surprised by some random maniac sneaking up behind you.”
“No,” Severus said grimly. “Most of the people in my crowd of lunatic Death-Eater peers prefer to stab people equally from the front or the back.”
Hermione shook her head. “And people think demons are scary?”
“We are,” Azgaedor said cheerfully as he approached from the porch, “admittedly scary.” He washed out his coffee glass and set it on the drying rack before coming up closer.
Most of the demons had settled on some combination of human and non human characteristics, but Azgaedor somehow managed to look like a crocodile even when he wasn’t in demon form. It was, perhaps, the rows of fine reptilian scales down his neck and at his hairline, or his almost inhuman emerald, reptilian-coloured eyes. Some of the other demons said it was he so so old that he didn’t really care how others saw him in his human form. At many points time he had posed as a “circus freak” for a traveling circus, and found it far easier to have food come to him back in his younger, traveling days. Now, at least, he was far too old to roam Europe and tread through various territories like a youthful vagabond. He had far too many Chosen and sired children to worry about not to settle down in one territory. As one of the known elder demons of the Apocryphal, it was his duty to remain conspicuous and easy to find in order to protect his large number of progeny.
“Children, I must bid you good evening,” Azgaedor said, giving them a toothy and predatory smile. “I need to return to my territory before the children attempt a coup and cause Norfolk and Lincolnshire to float off into the sea and become the next Atlantis.”
Hermione looked at him with wide eyes before the elder demon laughed.
“Worry not. I truly leave only because contested territories regularly test my boundaries thinking that if I am ‘not home’ that they are free to poach off my territory. I seem to have the most wayward youth at my borders of all of us here.” Azgaedor chuckled.
“Unlike the pair of you, who at least waited until you were fully Transitioned, mated, and securely bonded before trying to take territory, the Contested areas are full of those that are still so young that they are mortal. They seem to forget that, like most of the perpetual youth of any species that hit puberty and believe that they are impervious and omnipotent.”
“I am truly sorry if I offended you with my youth, Azgaedor,” Hermione said, flustered as she knew her physical human age had not even broken her third decade before becoming a demon.
“Nay, child,” Azgaedor replied calmly. “You have followed every rule. You have paid proper respect to your elders, and you have accepted our drilling you for hours as we abuse your coffee machine. Believe me when I tell you, I hold you no grudge against your youth. There is foolish youth and the youth of inexperience. You will leave your inexperience behind soon enough, and I am happy that I do not have to pound manners it into your skull like many demons who have yet to reach their first century. Come, let our ichor flow together that there be no secrets between us.”
Hermione gently licked the bottom of the elder demon’s jaw and his mouth covered hers, his knowledge flowing into her. Severus did the same, and once the exchange was complete, Azgaedor let himself out the back door and leapt up into the sky with the spread of his darkened wings.
“It’s so odd, thinking about these exchanges of knowledge,” Hermione said as she snuggled into her mate’s shoulder.
“Hrm?” Severus asked.
“The demon elders now know more about me, my entire life, and the Wizarding world to this point than even my parents did,” Hermione said a little sadly. “I kind of feel like I just let the ancient primordials read my diary.”
Severus coughed. “Our combined diaries at that,” he said with a strange look.
“Look at it this way, child,” Radovan said kindly as he came in to wash outhis mug, hanging it on the peg over the sink with his wing. “You will always be able to say that your elders truly understand you.”
Hermione flushed and tried to bury her face into her mate in a sad attempt to convince herself that if she couldn’t see him, then he couldn’t see her.
Radovan used his wings to rub Hermione’s back, causing her to stop burrowing into Severus.
Hermione gazed at Natalia curled up with Golchobhar and smiled. Affection for sprogs was practically encoded into her demonic DNA. She knelt down and soothed the two demons on the head with her hand.
"Our first sprog," Hermione said with a soft sniff. "So proud." She soothed Golchobhar between the ears, causing the demon's rear leg to thump against the ground wildly even in his sleep.
Severus' expression softened. "We didn't even have to go through the terrible twos and worry about him sticking forks into the electrical sockets at five. I approve."
Hermione's expression twisted into a happy grin. "And we don't even have to have the birds and the hippogriffs discussion when he gets older."
Severus' eyes grew wide. "Thank Modron."
Hermione’s fingers touched the Lineage bead in Golchobhar’s, eyes glazing over as she listened to the litany. She opened her eyes and looked up at Radovan. “How is it that the demons in the Contested Lands are so violent to each other? I do not feel obliged to treat them as I do Golchobhar, Natalia, or even any of the daemons here tonight.”
Radovan shrugged his wings as he tilted his head in thought. “You will occasionally run across young demons who wish to test themselves against others and set up their own territories out from the shadows of their Sires. You will find, however, that most of those in the Contested Lands are demons who forfeited their bond to their Sires once they believed themselves strong enough,” the elder demon sniffed.
“Instead of bowing to their Lineage, they choose to throw themselves into the winds of change, trying to become strong enough for form their own Lineage instead of continuing their true Line. The believe the rewards will be much greater if they do this, but in doing so, they open themselves up to becoming like Golchobhar once was. If they do not succeed in coming unto their own, they must swear allegiance to a demon who has, or else they will die. It is… unnatural for an Apocryphal demon to not have a Lineage, as you have seen for yourselves.”
Hermione and Severus nodded.
Severus seemed to read something between the lines. “How many of these demons who forfeit their bond to their Sires manage to survive to head their own line?”
Radovan’s teeth glistened as his ichor dripped from his teeth, his bright orange tongue flicking across his teeth. “None.”
Hermione flared her nostrils. “Well, that explains quite a bit.”
“And those in the neutral areas?” Severus asked.
“Those demons are neutral by choice, but they still have a Lineage,” Radovan explained. “There are a few who fight for territory in the Contested Lands with a Lineage, but— they tend to be rebel children who try to ignore that without their Sires, they would be nothing in the demon world. Tanaquil’s hatred for the Contested Lands is mostly because of such shameful disrespect.”
Hermione shook her head. “I cannot even imagine… not having the sense of those who came before me, now that I know what that feels like. To renounce Severus and Modron… it would utterly break me.”
Radovan nodded. “See? You understand. Those in the Contested Lands do not. They will live, fight, and destroy each other for tiny scraps of land only to die alone and unable to Sire.”
Hermione lifted her head, lips pulling back from her teeth in a half snarl. “You do not tell them that this will be their fate, do you?” she said, her tone strangely matter-of-fact.
Modron touched Hermione on the shoulder, rubbing her wing blades. “To even think of dissolving the bond between the Sire and the child is… an atrocity. It is to renounce the lines going back to the Founder. For us that is Nankuzu the Wise. For Radovan’s Get it is Namtar, Keeper of Fate. Those who break with their Lineage are deserving of such a mortal fate. It is only through their usefulness to those of us that remain true to our Lineage that they may remain living.”
Hermione’s eyes were half glazed over as Modron massaged her wings. She would have been willing to do anything the elder demon asked of her.
“And to those like Golchobhar?” Severus asked. “Cast aside by their Sire?”
Modron and Radovan shook their heads darkly. “That is a different matter,” Radovan said with a nod. “That is when the Sire neglects the child. The child has not chosen to be apart from their Lineage. That is when the Sire has withheld the Lineage from the child either on purpose or out of deliberate neglect.” Both elder demons looked disgusted. Their lips both pulled back from their teeth in a bared snarl.
“One that you solved quite well, children,” Modron said in agreement, after a moment. “Now Natalia will work her own tender magic upon his healing.”
Hermione was practically burrowed into Modron’s arms, her wings fluttering in pleasure as the elder demon soothed her wing blades. “It amazes me that such peace can come from something that is… undoubtedly violent and cruel.”
“It is the way of our kind to survive even the worst things and come out on top,” Modron said softly. “In the earliest times, our kind were outcast from other demons. While others fed on blood and bone, we were kept from the table due to our smaller number. We evolved to sup on the emotions and memories of our prey, but in so doing, we learned exactly what was within the minds of those we hunted. We learned to feed each other. One who successfully fed, learned to feed others. We learned to pass on our knowledge through the feeding because it was uncertain when the next we would meet another of our kind.”
Radovan nodded. “While other species were content to simply terrorise and devour, we became more. We have never forgotten our beginnings. It is why those who survive are so close. And because our numbers were so small, we learned to utilise the magic that bound us to service to make others of our kind. We the outcast learned to be strong. We then take the victim and teach them to be even stronger, and so it continues down the line.”
“Enough history, my brethren,” Urash purred as she walked in and deftly washed out her coffee mug and placed it on the high drying knob. “There is nothing that our combined ichor will not filter into their linked consciousness soon enough. She eyed the pile of sleeping demons and daemonic familiars. “Perhaps we should take some lessons from our sprogs.”
She smiled, licking her teeth with a thoughtful tilt of her leonine head. “Tomorrow we teach our sprogs how to hunt, but now, we shall rest and let our bloodlines find comfort in each other.”
Minutes later, the pileup was joined by both Severus and Hermione as well as the remaining elders. Just as Natalia curled up against her favoured Golchobhar, the two demon brothers curled up against Urash, Severus and Hermione curled up against Modron, Tanaquil sheltered the two sprogs in her wings, and Radovan cast his great wing over them all.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Natalia used Golchobhar as her base of operations, already skillfully knowing how her age never failed to take her targets off guard. Though she was young, she was being raised by demons, and the knowledge of the generations was being filtered into her head in a slow stream of ichor. While not fully Changed, she was already more than human, and Urash’s family kept an eye on her as a lioness would watch her cubs.
Ntchwaidumela and Madevu had returned back to their territories, but Urash, Radovan, and Tanaquil remained to watch over the sprog outing into London. Their territories were stable, their allies vast, and their borders rarely trespassed on, so they could spare the time away for a detour into the city.
Natalia singled out a depressed-looking man who was drinking by himself under an umbrella-covered table by the pub. Much like the typical five-year-old she resembled, she hopped up onto the young man’s lap and gazed up at him.
“Hi!” she greeted.
The scruffy-looking blond with sunken eyes and gaunt features seemed both startled and apathetic.
“I’m Natalia!” She tugged on his suit coat with smile. “You look sad. Would you like a hug?”
Before the man could say anything, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, laying her head against his chest. “What’s your name?”
The man mumbled something under his breath.
“Are you a dragon? Like the constellation? Can you change forms and fly? I want to fly. Maybe, when I’m bigger, I’ll have giant wings too!”
The man fidgeted, turning his head away in his discomfort.
The young partial-demoness licked her hand, letting a measure of her horded ichor she had gathered from Golchobhar and the older full-demons leak onto hand. She sneakily put her arms around the young man’s neck and placed her ichor-laden palm on the skin of his neck.
The young man’s pupils went wide and he slumped forward.
A couple passed by the pub and made a disapproving sound.
“What is this world coming to these days?” the woman muttered.
“Bringing your babies to the pub so you can get drunk? Where are the cops?” the man with her grunted. “Emma, get on your mobile and report that drunken fool.”
Golchobhar walked up nonchalantly as people passed by them. “ There you are, Natalia. What have I told you about running off from the park without saying anything, hrm?”
Natalia beamed up at him, holding her hands out. He scooped her up into his arms and a smug smile.
“Did I do good, Uncle Golchobhar?”
He smiled at her. “You did, little one,” he cooed. “I think our friend here has perhaps had a little too much to drink.” He plunked down a few coins to cover the food that remained on the table. “Let’s help him up, shall we?”
“Okay!” Natalia said, sliding down Golchobhar’s chest and bouncing on her heels.
Golchobhar slung the dazed young man over his shoulder and carried him towards the less conspicuous park. He sat him down on the bench, wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulder and pointing out towards the small point as though he were teaching Natalia about the waterfowl. He fed off the young man’s overwhelming memories and excess emotions. He pulled away after a few minutes.
“Draco? Natalia, go fetch Hermione and Severus. They know this one, and he has many interesting stories to tell.”
Natalia nodded her head eagerly and scampered off.
Golchobhar eyed Draco’s skin on his arm, lifting the sleeve of his arm to see the skull and serpent tattoo emblazoned on his flesh.
“Well hello there,” the jackalope demon purred, “now aren’t you a tasty morsel just begging to be devoured?”
Golchobhar’s eyes eyes bled green and red as he blinked. His lips curved upward in an unnervingly satisfied smile.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
“You say he has these on all members of his… inner circle?” Radovan asked, his talons tracing the black ink that writhed under and on Draco’s flesh. “It is Dark magic, indeed, even for humans.”
Modron leaned in, her black eyes staring into the mark. “Dark indeed for human magic. I thought this sort of thing lost to darker ages of humans. It was from a very time long ago, when we, the Apocryphal, dined often and well.”
Draco was dreamily gazing off into nowhere, his silver eyes glassy.
“Perhaps we shall use this as a teaching opportunity,” Urash noted. “If this pleases you, Hermione, Severus. While we are not in your territory, he is, at least, someone with connections to you.”
Severus and Hermione shook their heads together. “By all means.”
“Natalia, come,” Urash called, waiting as the young partial demoness scampered up to attend her matron mother. “Tell me what this is.”
Natalia dropped the pinecone she was inspecting and stared at the Dark Mark with curiosity.
“Pretty!” she cooed. She pressed her fingers to it. “It’s connected to someone.”
“Indeed, my child,” Urash encouraged. “What else?”
“It’s feeding off him,” Natalia replied slowly, “like a leech.”
Hermione eyed the Mark, her eyes bleeding into pure black. Tendrils of magic swirled around Draco’s arm, burrowing into his body and his energy like a parasite. Yet, even as she stared at it, she knew while it was feeding off Draco and offering him nothing but torment in exchange, the Apocryphal demons could feed off it too. It was human magic and thus human energy. That was food.
“It is a very fat leech, isn’t it, love?” Urash cooed, petting Draco’s Dark Mark like one would a kitten, “and it is being so unkind not to share.”
Natalia nodded her head excitedly.
“Now, what do we offer our food in exchange for feeding us?” Urash asked.
Natalia’s face scrunched up as she pondered the question. She stared at the Dark Mark, putting her chin on her hand in the the most stereotypical thinker pose imaginable, causing Urash to smile.
“Being without?” she asked.
Urash shook her head. “Think deeper. If we take what is horrible from one that is suffering as he is, what is left? What would be left?”
Natalia pondered again. “
Relief!” she said after a while. “Like kissing an ouchie.”
Urash gave a predatory grin of approval. “Yes, my child. Now, what are the three main types of food?”
Natalia bounced on her heels and thought, biting her lip. “Emotion, desire, and memories.”
“And what do we remember about each?”
Natalia tilted her head, fidgeting. “Emotion is better because they are easily replaced and renewed without damaging the prey.” She paused, thinking hard. “Drives are both… good and bad. If you take too much or the wrong desires they will not want to do anything, and they will make horrible food.”
Natalia made a face, trying to remember the third part. The older demons waited patiently.
“Oh! Memories are last resort because they cannot be given back. They feed us longer, but they will never remember them again.”
Urash nodded. “Yes, Natalia. Very good.”
The young almost-demoness preened happily.
“Reminds me of another young know-it-all,” Severus quipped, a quirk of a smile on his lips.
Hermione huffed at him, making a face.
He pressed his fingers to her jaw with a gentle smile on his lips—an expression that she had come to adore as much as it had fascinated her from the beginning. There had been a time, not so long ago, that seeing an expression other than a scowl was grounds to pinch herself.
Radovan nudged Severus with his shoulder as he watched over Natalia. “She will make a powerful demoness in time, but, for now, she is also a human child, so encouraging her to be that know-it-all is not so bad a thing.”
Severus nodded.
“Tell me, Severus,” Radovan asked. “Is your arm, too, emblazoned with his human magic?”
Severus pulled up his sleeve and showed his arm, exposing the now familiar skull and serpent tattoo.
Hermione stared at it. “It does not feel the same.”
Radovan smiled knowingly. “Demon magic devours most human magic. It probably fed you well for the first few years , even without you being fully Transitioned, hrm?”
Severus nodded. “It actually helped my inner demon become stronger faster. It allowed the demon to become more dominant without my human side knowing.”
“Perhaps that was a good thing for you, then, Severus,” Radovan said. “it is an empty thing now—powerless and only mere pigment that you identify with as part of your human self. It allowed you to survive in that dual state until you found Hermione.”
Severus tilted his head. “I did not think of it that way,” he replied, now thoughtful.
Hermione squeezed his hand, radiating contentment that things worked out how they did. Hermione seemed to realise something. “Natalia is not able to feed herself, correct?”
“Nay, not yet, Hermione,” Radovan confirmed. “Until she is fully mature, it will be up to us to insure she is properly fed, but that will not stop Urash for teaching her the proper technique.”
“She’s such a little charmer, Hermione commented with a smile.
“All of Urash’s line is known for their convincing charm as well as their deadliness,” Radovan chuckled. “Just as Modron’s line is known for wisdom, fearsomeness, and an affinity to magic. She will grow strong, and by the time she is grown, she was be a strong demoness and ally to all the allies of Urash’s line.”
“Are there really any foolish enough to oppose the Line of Urash?” Severus asked with all seriousness, “let alone the founder of her Line, La Magiri the Unsubmissive? From the memories given to me, I can hardly see any being stupid enough to want to to piss them off.”
Radovan licked his teeth with his bright orange tongue, which managed to look unsettling on his human face.
“Only the Nyegere Lineage,” he said quietly, “and those are rare outside the lands that became Africa. They have always been a stubborn Lineage. Long ago, when the Apocryphal learned to feed of emotions, they refused to leave behind the diet of fear. While we learned to subsist on a spectrum, they clung to the old ways.”
Hermione and Severus frowned, sorting through the information they were gifted earlier.
Radovan chuckled. “Do not feel badly that you do not recall the histories of that line immediately. We do not run into them often outside of Africa, so knowing their ways is not so common.”
Urash joined them. She jutted her head towards Golchobhar, who was feeding off Draco’s Dark Mark, and, in-turn, feeding Natalia. “You should be proud of your sprog, Hermione, Severus. He is a fast learner, and he does not fail to take good care of our youngest generation.”
Hermione and Severus nodded and smiled.
“As for the Nyegere,” Urash said. “They were once our comrades back when we fed on the raw fear of the tribes that roamed the land. Yet, while the other Lineages learned to sup upon all emotion and memories, the Nyegere stubbornly refused. Fear is the only food they eat, and they cannot sup upon any other. If we were to attempt to feed a Nyegere, they would starve to death. They have no taste for the subtlety of the mind— or rather the subtlety of emotions—as food.”
Natalia gave an excited squeal, drawing their attention back to where Golchobhar was feeding her, subtly appearing as though he were comforting her to the outside eye. She bounced happily, and Golchobhar looked healthier than ever. His human face, once old and weathered like the stereotypical old man and the sea, was unwrinkled and more youthful. He still had the silver in his hair that mirrored his white fur, but his eyes were bright with health. His aura was brimming with energy.
Natalia, too, had shared in the spoils, the special infusion of Draco’s Dark Mark’s magic thanks to Golchobhar, had her practically radiating good health as well.
Urash smiled as her sprog slammed into her, jumping into her arms.
“Did we do good, mum?” Natalia asked her demoness mother.
Urash smiled at her genuinely, a flash of her pink tongue licked her sprog’s forehead. “You both did very well.”
Natalia beamed. “Does that mean we get to go for ice cream?”
Radovan chuckled, the low rumble of sound echoing his larger, daemonic form. “Yes, dear one. It means we get to go for ice cream.”
“Yay!” she crowed, throwing her arms around Urash’s neck and giggling. She then reached out towards Radovan, and the male demon chuckled, pulling her off Urash as she squirmed and snuggled into him.
Her contentment to be with Radovan, much like her attention span, was short-lived, and she slid down him to affix herself back onto Golchobhar, petting his white hair over his head as she would have his fur.
“Young sprogs always have the fascination to the soft and furry ones,” Urash clucked, making a soft tsking sound with her tongue. “It isn’t until later that they have a healthy respect for the slime-covered, fanged, and beautifully terrifying.”
Bruce, Warren, Raymond, Wilhelm, Oswald, and Augustine wagged their many tails as if they knew they were being talked about.
“The Auror— Kingsley Shacklebolt— he will be coming to pick you up tomorrow, yes?” Urash asked.
Hermione and Severus nodded together.
“I will pose as your mum, then,” Urash said. “Radovan, if you wouldn’t mind becoming Mr Granger?”
The emerald-skinned demon nodded. “I will.”
“Thank you both,” Hermione said, bowing her head in appreciation and respect.
“And what shall we do with him?” Severus asked, jutting his jaw towards the unconscious Draco. “He has unwittingly fed an entire line of demons with his Mark.”
The two elders tilted their heads, seemingly in deep mental discussion with each other. Draco’s Mark had been utterly drained of all its Dark magic, and his connection to the Dark Lord was now entirely in his head but not, as he believed, his soul.
“Would his life be useful?” Radovan asked, the tip of his tail twitching as the elder demon thought.
“Probably,” Severus answered. “He is the son of a pureblood family— dysfunctional as it is.”
“But he is not one of your cherished ones,” Urash said rather than asking.
“His father was the one who lured me into Riddle’s clutches, once upon a time. Whether he knew I was to be sacrificed to Modron was or is debatable. I am not sure what either Malfoys believe now that the true face of the Dark Lord is starting to wither from beauty and power.” Severus tilted his head. “I think he would be useful and perhaps even grateful to be free of that Mark.”
“It is this thing called a Life Debt, yes?” Urash said.
“Does that even apply to demons?” Severus asked.
“Perhaps not in the way that magical people would see it. His fate is bound to your line because it was Golchobhar that first fed upon him, but he also fed Natalia— and we also fed upon the Mark’s most delicious Dark intent. So, technically, he is indebted to at least half of the Apocryphal.”
“That is a lot of debt,” Hermione boggled.
Urash smiled. “We have a great many indebted to us, but we seldom call upon them. However, when we do need them, they are there.”
Radovan grunted, his glowing orange tongue slithering out to lick his teeth. “I will have one of my sprogs take him to a safe place where he can wake up and remember nothing. He can then do whatever he wishes until one of us needs something of him.”
Severus bowed. “Thank you, Radovan. You honour us with your kind indulgence.”
The ancient demon smiled, all fang.
“We should prepare the house to look like humans live here,” Urash said, her tail lashing back and forth with irritation.
They looked at the pileup in the middle of the living room where Natalia had already tuckered herself out and thusly tucked herself in next to Golchobhar. The beasts had already distributed themselves around them, woe to any interloper that might have tried to threaten the youngest sprog of Urash.
“Ice cream will have to wait for tomorrow, after this Kingsley comes for you, Hermione.”
Hermione smiled. “I don’t mind. There will be other times to share in such pleasures. She looked to Severus, her tail curling around his and pulling it close to herself. “Going back to be around Harry, on the other hand— that will be much harder. Being apart from my mate, even more so.”
“So soon after your Transition, yes,” Radovan frowned, sympathetic. “Normally you would have a year in which to become secure with each other before any forced partings. I can only sympathise and tell you that we will all be listening in the case you need to call upon us. My territory is open to you if you require an escape.”
“As is mine,” Urash said. “Tanaquil and Azgaedor have said much the same, as do my Ntchwaidumela and Mandevu. I would worry only for if you should stray into the Contested Lands where manners are often forgotten for a free-for-all. In a pinch, you can always seek refuge in the neutral territories such as Wales, Greater London, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, Dublin, and Paris.”
“Paris, huh,” Hermione pondered out loud. “I didn’t expect that.”
“There is too much vivid history to fight in such a city,” Radovan replied. “Though, usually, the bigger the city the more likely it is to be a neutral ground. Prague, Rome, Amsterdam, Venice, Barcelona, Berlin, Madrid. Even in foreign lands far from our territories, there are many neutral places, even the surrounding territories are confusing and the rules more so.”
Hermione slid her eyes to the side as she parsed through the memories that had been gifted her. “Confusing is right. I think I’ll stay out of some of those cities, neutral or not.”
Urash laughed. “I am glad you have sense enough to be wary.”
“Come, rest and we will prepare in the morning for your pickup from your conspiratorial human friends.”
Hermione let out her breath slowly and nodded.
Within minutes, all of them were curled together around Natalia and Golchobhar in a protective nest of wings and tails. Hermione snuggled tightly against Severus, imprinting the feel of his skin against hers, his warmth, and his scent.
“I love you,” she whispered against his skin. She coiled her tail more tightly around his.
“And I you,” he rumbled, rubbing the area between her shoulder blades. He pressed his face into her mane of curls, breathing in her familiar scent of parchment, ink, cinnamon, and fresh grapefruit.
“Always.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A/N: Yeah, I know it’s been a long time since I updated this, but hopefully this appeases the itch for those of you who had been patiently waiting.
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In the Darkness in Which We Are Made