Summary: Lily summoned herself a "friend" as a child, innocently enough and unbeknownst to her. Later, she chooses to forget the true nature of her friend, no longer believing in "imaginary friends." When she repudiates her friend in their fifth year, she "gives" him to Dumbledore to make him stop following her around. That was how a teenage Severus Snape first became the slave of Albus Dumbledore— until Hermione Granger's first year when she inadvertently frees him from the ties that bind to allow him to have a real friend.

A/N: Inspiration is a very fickle beast.

A/N 2: This story has an extra helping of crack with a double scoop of Dark caramelised nuts and a cup of strong Scottish tea to wash it all down.

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose (she's not here yet, but I'm sure she'll find me eventually)

Until then, I'm publishing unsupervised! Muahahaha!

(Not for long! - Dragon) See! She found me again!

Warning: Dark!Hermione, demons, some things that aren't very nice. Blood, gore, violence, and burnination.

The Ties that Bind

A CorvusDraconis Short

Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness.

Thomas Carlyle

Little Lily Evans could never have known that her childish wish for a friend, a protector, would have been answered even as she was fleeing from her older sister Petunia's spiteful harassment, but indeed it had.

She couldn't have known what dark powers she had channelled, quite innocently. Lily had occasionally seen pictures of magical circles that summoned "powerful familiars" for the user and had mixed it up with a child's desire for a friend.

She hadn't known.

But she did.

And then Severus Snape had abruptly come into being—

Unwanted, unloved, and shoved into a recluse family that had been attempting to hide away from Wizarding society.

Forced into a family whose Muggle father sensed that his "child" was somehow wrong and took it out on him daily— took it out on his wife, daily.

Severus Snape was a demon forced into a human shape, all for wish of a young child whose accidental magic and remarkably detailed memory of a magical circle written in sidewalk chalk had bound him to her as a forever friend— at least until the contract was either met or broken.

At first, Severus admitted, he had been amused by the pretty ginger child, and she had grown on him over time. Then, he had come to care for her in his own way, showing her bits of real magic to prove she wasn't, as her sister said, a freak.

But she never seemed to realise after that contractual day that she had bound her own life to a demon. Each day slowly erased that childhood wish, and Lily Evans innocently believed that Severus Snape was just another boy from her neighborhood who happened to grow up with her.

And every day, she began to forget their contract— their bargain.

She forgot he was a demon.

She forgot that she had summoned him, albeit innocently, with Dark magic.

She had forgotten she had subjugated him under specific terms.

A deal.

She'd forgotten that if she had ever tried share him with anyone that her life would be cursed to end badly.

That was just the way it worked with demons.

Oh, they could bend rules and read things creatively, but they could not, would not break a contract.

And yet she had done just that.

She had told him to leave her… thrice.

Over a mere word said in anger and humiliation.

She had told Dumbledore to keep "Sev" from bothering her.

She'd forgotten all that he had done for her.

Looks.

Popularity.

Making her look like a glorious young queen when compared to his sallow skin and greasy hair— something she'd found endearing as a child and then distasteful and ugly as she grew up.

She had let Albus Dumbledore hijack their contract by muddying the lines— by having her order Severus to serve him as if Dumbledore were her.

Oh, but only as human.

Because she didn't believe in him anymore.

She didn't believe in demons.

She had subsequently died not believing in demons.

And now, he was forced to serve the bumbling human meddler until a real summoner actually figured out how to free him… or until Dumbledore died.

Not bloody likely.

Even the great Dark Lord Voldemort himself didn't realise what had been right under his rapidly shrinking nose all along: a real demon of the Dark.

Now, he was forced to do a wide variety of menial, yet dangerous tasks such as "help protect the Philosopher's stone, Severus" and "go check on Fluffy, Severus."

Doddering old coot.

Snape sneered, his crooked, yellow teeth flashing.

He tired of this weak mortal body.

He longed for his great wings and claws, his fangs and forked tail.

He wanted to fly, not walk along the ground like a sodding monkey.

Damnable monkeys.

They should never have come down out of the trees and learned magic.

SWIPE!

Pain—

Oh, for the love of Baphomet—

He was bleeding profusely.

Again.

This accursed frail, human body, eugh!

The three-headed menace snarled and snapped at him furiously, having never trusted anyone except Hagrid, and even then—

Somehow, the huge cerberus had managed to fling him hard against the far wall and separate him from his wand, and he couldn't very well shift and take the hellhound down a few pegs—

Rules.

Always fucking rules.

He couldn't even kill himself to be freed, no, and bloody Dumbledore seemed to know he could get away with anything short of actually killing him—

So now he had to fight for his life against this damnable cur as a weak human whelp.

This was really going to hurt—

And it did.

It always fucking did.

"Bad dog! Sit!"

Snape could barely see through his curtains of bloodied hair. His ears were working, though, thank you very much.

Whinging, canine style in triplicate—

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A tail wagged so hard it moved the floor.

Ow.

Even that hurt.

"Move back a little. You're huge," a voice said, sniffling.

Crying?

Someone was crying and ordering a cerberus around?

"Oh, professor!" he heard that familiar voice— young and unsteady.

Warm, tender hands touched his leg, and it spread throughout his body like a coating of warm oil.

Healing magic.

Demon-healing magic.

His eyes shot open widely. His body trembled. He felt true power— POWER— returning to him.

Claws replaced dull human nails.

His skin turned black as night, thick and impervious.

His muzzle jutted out through his mane of blood-soaked hair, filled with sharp yellow fangs.

Great black wings burst out from his back— oh free, FREE again!

His long, spaded tail lashed, slamming against the wall.

Fire covered his body, first blue, then purple, then a brilliant, searing white that burned away the blood and—

His clothes.

Whoops.

He panted, the intense roll of power was as forcible as an orgasm. His long tongue slid out and touched his teeth and nostrils as if taking an inventory.

Dark gods below—

Finally, he was free.

He immediately felt the warmth of her small hands leave him, and the first heady rush of power faded to something a bit more normal— or what normal would have been in ages past, before he had been subjugated by a mere child into a child's form and a human body—

He looked into the wide-eyed gaze of first-year Hermione Granger— Gryffindor swot extraordinaire.

What?

She was a Summoner— and just as Dark as the demons she could command— and a Gryffindor too?!

How was that even POSSIBLE?!

Wasn't there some kind of unwritten rule that stated Gryffindor house would spontaneously combust at the very thought of being infused with a Dark witch or wizard?!

She sniffled, still crying, even after that intense blast of magic, and she stumbled back from him and sat against the cerberus' front leg. She was obviously still upset over something, but it wasn't HIM she was directing it at.

In fact, his transformation didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

"I suppose you'll want to punish me now," she said gruffly, swiping at her runny nose with one sleeve.

His jaw dropped.

She was sitting next to a ruddy demonic hound that could snap her up in a single moment, right after healing her Potions professor who had turned into a demon in front of her eyes, and she was worried he'd— punish her?

He growled lowly. Such tremendous power did not align with sniffles and tears.

"Why would you think that?" he managed to ask, his voice both velvet and venom. That had been the one thing he had kept— his voice. He had been so very glad to "grow up" and get his proper voice back.

Hermione laughed, but it was completely devoid of humour. "I'm in the west wing. That's expressly forbidden. Then I went and touched a teacher without permission."

Severus blinked.

She was right—

But—

"And I might have stolen someone's dog too," she finished with a sigh. She was petting the enormous hound's middle head while heads number one and three nuzzled and licked her assiduously.

Snape could barely form a single coherent thought in the face of this young Summoner, who demanded nothing of him and whose very touch was like a drug.

Just that one simple touch had freed him from abject misery—

For she was real, not just some random innocent child (though, he admitted, she may yet be innocent) who had no true power.

She wasn't like Lily at all.

"You have freed me," he said, unable to lie in the face of the one who had released him. "I owe you one boon."

Hermione sniffled.

He waited. Patience was oddly much easier when he was in his true form. The irony of that fact wasn't lost on him.

"You owe me nothing," she said, dismissive. She seemed so fragile, even resigned.

Surely she knew what she was? What he was? Would she really free him and expect nothing in return?

Severus growled. "You must make a wish of me, or I will be forced back in servitude."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Slavery?"

She was worried about enslavement? Fascinating.

He nodded.

"I must be in a contract, or I will revert to serve my old one. Only a true summoner can free me of it."

"I am not a summoner. I'm just a freak. Everyone says so."

That angered him. She thought herself a freak when she should be powerful.

"Can you not just be my friend," she whispered so quietly against the dog's leg.

"I must be in a contract," he said. "Rules."

Hermione was silent.

"Who hurt you?"

Hermione stared at the floor. "Everyone."

"I could remove them for you."

"Everyone?" She seemed horrified. She shook her head. "I don't want them dead."

Pity.

A little carnage would have been quite… pleasurable. The souls would be delicious.

"Could I ask you to make it so this didn't happen?"

Severus curled his muzzle, baring his teeth. "You could, but then I would be, again, enslaved."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I don't want you to be a slave."

Could she truly mean that? Some would call her mad to parlay with demons and then ask nothing of them. Those that called upon his kind were usually for want of many, many things.

She fascinated him.

"May I touch you, professor?"

He tilted his head. "Yes."

Why had he agreed?

Her small hands touched his muzzle, his teeth, his space between his eyes, and even his curving horns.

"Your skin is very soft," she said, the warmth of her touch singing of the Dark and Dark places long forgotten. "Beautiful," she said reverently.

Now there was a word he wasn't expecting.

He was no incubus, that was for certain.

Hermione's expression seemed determined. "Then, I wish for you to make a contract between us that benefits us both equally so that no harm can knowingly come to either of us, for as long as you desire to exist."

Severus' eyes widened, his muzzle twisting into a genuine smile.

Oh, she would be good.

He would make her into a true master.

He would have freedom.

He would teach her.

And she—

She would never be forced to run away in tears from mindless cretins who were far, far beneath her ever again.

"Your will be done," he replied formally, and the Dark tendrils of the formal binding erased the memory of Lily Evans, Albus Dumbledore, and that of Lord Voldemort from his body, mind, and soul.

"You did what?"

"You are hardly illiterate, Headmaster."

"An apprentice?"

"As the contract states."

"But— you haven't taken on an apprentice in—"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I am well within my rights to do so."

"But she's—"

"She's what, Albus?"

The headmaster fidgeted, obviously discomfited with how Snape's dark gaze seemed even darker and a hundred times more inscrutable.

"Well, she's a Gryffindor."

"And her House failed to protect her from the relentless bullying she experienced at the hands of her fellows, didn't it? Her House may have failed her, but I will not." His voice was deep, dangerous and quiet.

"But an apprenticeship will take her out of Gryffindor Tower," Albus protested. "She won't have her friends any longer."

"She has no friends in Gryffindor," Snape retorted, his face twisted with fury. "That was made abundantly clear to her when she was driven to flee, crying her eyes out, into a girl's lavatory and was subsequently nearly murdered by a bloody troll! Where were her valiant and brave Gryffindor friends then? Nowhere. Because she had none. They were all busy cowering, shaking in their shoes, under the common room tables."

Albus frowned. "I must protest, Severus. To take an apprentice in these dark times."

"It is especially in these times that an apprentice needs to be taken," he snapped. "Someone has to be ready to take the reins when I should happen to die."

He let the ominous word hang in the air between them, the large, imposing elephant that it was.

Dumbledore sighed. He signed the parchment somewhat angrily. "I don't approve of this choice, Severus."

"It is my choice to make, not yours."

Albus shook his head. "It taxes the finite resources of this school—"

Severus' lip curled disdainfully. "Pull the other one, Headmaster. You know as well as I that there resources of this school that have hardly been tapped, especially given the dearth of apprenticeships during your tenure."

As if to express her agreement, Hogwarts shuddered, shaking the castle from ramparts to dungeons like a sudden earthquake.

Albus paled as Fawkes squawked loudly in alarm, the phoenix having been unexpectedly deperched from his swing.

"Fine," he muttered ungraciously. "Since I cannot seem to dissuade you from this decision."

Snape cracked his neck and turned in a swirl of his robes. "No, you cannot."

He disappeared out of Albus' office in a billow of black woollen robes.

"He knows about your use of the apprenticeship funds to fuel your little Order, Headmaster," Phineas Black sneered from his portrait.

Albus waved his wand, and the entire wall was covered with a thick red curtain.

"The wand is a mere toy— a tool for weakness used to put a yoke around those with greater ability and bring them to heel with unnecessary limitations," Snape said as Hermione pulled out her wand to practise her spells.

She looked at him with wonder. "But sir, Mr Ollivander said the wand chooses the witch or wizard."

"True," Severus agreed. "And perhaps for the usual mundane spells that everyone expects you to cast, you can continue to use it, but we both know that there are spells you can cast that require no such limitation."

Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded.

"Those of my kind are beings of cause and effect. We are often instruments in other's karma but free of our own, for we are immortal. Immortals— true immortals— live by rules, not karma. Even the cruelest among us must follow them. Just as you must follow it now."

"But I'm not immortal!" Hermione squeaked, her hand combing her curls in a rapid motion.

Snape's smile was both malevolent and smug. "Aren't you? Did you not say 'a contract between us that benefits us both equally so that no harm can knowingly come to either of us, for as long as you desire to exist'? Would your dying serve me in any way seeing as what benefits me most is to be bound by you and only you in this wretched world?"

"I'm going to be twelve forever?!" Hermione cried in distress.

Snape snorted. "Don't be daft, girl. You must age into your magic and your own skin. Only then can you do such things as immortals do, setting things into stone." He smiled darkly. "But that does not mean we cannot have some fun along the way, hrm?"

Hermione perked at this, always eager.

He could always count on her eagerness to learn, no matter the topic. No matter the test.

"Now, summon your familiars and think of those that drove you into that bathroom in nothing but tears. Feed them with your anger and your tears. Succor them with your rage and wrath and release them to find their fun. This way it is their choice to do what they will. Yours is only to focus the glass upon the memory." Severus smiled darkly. "This satisfies your need not to enslave, yes? This is but another freedom and gift given for a time on Earth— a window of sorts. There are those of us who will never forget such a gift, even a few minutes at a time."

Hermione nodded and sat down on the floor, her legs crossed, her hands on her knees, and her fingers pinched in a meditative stance that she must have picked up from one of her library books somewhere.

Snape rolled his eyes, but there was nothing to correct. There was no rule regarding what focused the mind, and if it worked for her, then it worked for him too.

The colourful flare of her power warmed him like the blessed fires of Oblivion, and he hissed in pleasure as she called upon it.

Lesser demons quickly came to her call, all of them eager to bask in her power and Darkness— eager to be set loose if but for a relatively short time, empowered by her power and magic to leave the Realm of Demons and visit upon Earth. Lesser demons always needed a Summoner to empower them—

Greater demons did not, but they were always bound by contract— the price of holding such grand power.

The more she learned from him— the more she trusted him— the more tightly they would be bound together. Each spell she cast, each touch she gave, each embrace she allowed, they would become closer— the dream of every greater demon.

For if she grew into her own and allowed him to remake her, she would become his mate and they would never need to worry about being summoned by some mortal idiot again, for their Names would be merged together in a tangle that no written page could unbind.

But that time was far from now—

For now, baby steps.

Summon her familiars and wreak havoc upon Gryffindor.

Feed on the chaos and the fear.

He licked his teeth in anticipation as the dark, tendrily spiders crawled out of the ether darkness to crawl on Hermione— to bask, to abase themselves upon her Dark power.

The ecstasy of her touch—

The gift of freedom.

The sheer intoxication of a Summoner who wanted not to enslave but to ask—

They would have access to so many ignorant, simpering souls who wished for stupid, fanciful things with no thought for the price.

And each soul they devoured would empower them all.

Her armies would become Legion.

Willing.

Eager.

"Ours," Hermione said in a moment of lucidity after the Summoning. Her hand curled around his seemingly gigantic thumb and claw.

She slithered into his embrace, incredibly tired as her young body worked to recover from channelling so much magical energy and gifting much of it to her familiars to permit them to stay on this plane for but a bit of time.

He growled protectively.

Yes.

Yes, this touch, this embrace.

More.

He felt her power flare with his contact, recognising him as hers, the ties that bound them strengthening.

He enfolded her with his wings, his maw of dagger teeth bared in elation as she sank into his Darkness, trusting— so very trusting of him.

Had it been anyone but her, it would have been a fatal mistake.

But it wasn't.

He heard the shrill screams of panic in the halls as Hogwarts students fled in terror from the "giant spiders."

He held her close, smiling.

His Hermione.

His Dark mistress.

His apprentice.

She was already allowing him to remake her into total perfection.

Severus smiled.

When Minerva had come bursting into his classroom to find Hermione busily brewing and Severus seated quietly behind a mountain of scrolls, she could only gape a little at the unfamiliar sight.

Never before had Snape ever taken an apprentice.

Never had he shown patience for anyone, grown or not.

Gryffindor tower had exploded in giant spiders the size of Quaffles, and she suspected the infamous Weasley twins had let a prank get away with them.

Ronald, their little brother, was nearly comatose with fear in the infirmary. Potter had been found hanging upside down, wrapped head-to-foot in spider silk underneath the moving stairs—

There were a few others, of course. Victims of wanton acts of arachnid mischief—

And really, it had been mischief. No one had been hurt directly by the huge spiders, only by their own frantic attempts to escape them—

Dumbledore had said it was surely an amusing but perhaps overdone student prank.

Minerva wasn't so sure, but—

It wasn't like she had anyone she could blame.

And Hermione—

She was such a delicate girl, often hiding behind Severus' robes and intimidating figure whenever other students came around. She was getting braver as time passed, as long as her master was near, but—

Minerva couldn't help but worry.

She hadn't seen the bullying, but she had recognised the evidence of it in Hermione's shy, almost fearful demeanour.

She so wanted to help the young girl, but she had to admit Severus was effectively covering all the bases in her education and protection. Hermione sat with him at meals, attended his every class, took in every lesson he gave—

Much to Gryffindor's horror.

Much to Slytherin's baffled whispers.

Even now, Gryffindor's house points were swiftly tanking, thanks to losing Hermione's constant study and her answering every question in class— if anything because Snape didn't dock points from her for doing so anymore, either.

"Everything alright here, Severus?" Minerva asked lamely, having no other reason for which to be checking in.

Snape glanced up from his scrolls. "If by 'alright' you mean are the students writing just as deplorable as they do every year, then yes, I am having ecstatic fun decorating their dismal parchments in red ink in the glorious epitome of 'alright'."

Minerva sighed.

Git.

Always such a git.

She turned around and left the classroom, missing the dark smile that spread across Snape's mouth as a demonic cat hopped out of Hermione's cauldron, curled up on her lap, and purred riotously.

Hermione frowned as the cat had been covered in some icky kind of hel-slime, and it made her fur smell like sulfur.

Severus chuckled.

Felines of any kind were just— felines.

They didn't give a damn what you thought as long as your lap was theirs.

"I'm Tazith," the demoness-cat purred. "I am honoured to serve you, Lady Hermione."

Hermione looked up at him in a panic, perhaps not quite sure how to react to being called a Lady at the age of twelve. The silly humans bestowed such titles only to those of great wealth and fame, and she was only a child.

He nodded at her to accept the word that was both title and endearment.

Demons only gave respect when it was well-deserved, whether in truth or out of fear.

Tazith was purring loudly, kneading Hermione's lap ecstatically.

No, fear was definitely not Hermione's superpower.

Snape smiled.

Yet.

Tazith showed up once a day for about an hour at a time, not having the greater power to anchor herself to the plane for any longer, but when she did, she did all manner of feline things from chasing catnip mice, devastating the local rodent population, and charming young students into giving her their soul by whispering to them in their dreams.

She was disgustingly good at it too.

Damned cat.

With each soul, she stayed a bit longer each time, but she didn't overdo it. Severus had seen to that. They were not ready to expose Hermione to a grand inquisition that would out her as a Summoner, and no bloody cat, demonic or otherwise, was going to endanger Hermione on his watch.

Each day, she practised her summoning to get used to the drain on her body and magic. Each time it finished, she curled up in his wings and napped, allowing his Darkness to fill in the empty spaces that were depleted.

The ease with which she touched him reminded him how terribly neglected he had been as Lily's friend— for even friends touched.

She had not.

At times, Lily seemed to forget entirely that he had been summoned to be her friend. He wasn't just some normal everyday bloke—

He wondered what region of the human Hell she currently languished in as a contract breaker—

He wondered if Potter had realised at any point that he'd never share an afterlife with his supposed lover of-the-light wife.

Contract-breaking Hell was a strange place he had never seen personally. It was restricted to beings who had broken contract— populated by demons and humans alike, even those beings weren't really either. It was ruled over by Kan'du'nath the Unforgiving, who tailored his domain to suit each individual breaker, much like in Dante's Inferno.

Only idiot demons ended up there. No greater demon was stupid enough to break a contract.

Some would argue that only idiot anythings ever ended up in there, but sometimes Severus wondered if Lily was entirely to blame. She had, as it was, summoned him innocently enough as a child.

If anything she was guilty of being a horrible excuse for a friend, but he'd seen enough outrageous adolescent behaviour to know that she was not or had not been the worst the world could offer with regard to simple selfishness or obliviousness—

He wondered where Dumbledore would go when he died, too.

He wasn't a contract-breaker but rather a contract-usurper.

But Lily—

She had personally handed Dumbledore the key to his enslavement by ordering him to serve Albus instead of following her around.

As a human being, no less.

No, Lily knew, deep down, exactly what he was. She had just tried to pawn him off on Dumbledore to ease her guilt of having her own personal act of Dark magic following her around the castle.

Whether Dumbledore knew what he was, truly, was irrelevant.

Hermione knew what he was. That was all that mattered to him.

She knew what he was— and accepted it.

She accepted him.

There was a lot he would do for souls, but he would do so much more for her.

Because she didn't demand it of him.

She would ask, and he was free to choose whether to do so or not.

She treated him as a true friend, an honoured mentor— and he…

He chose— her.

Quirrell had an unnatural eye for Hermione.

He watched her intently through a half-lidded, supposedly distracted gaze.

His leg had been torn to shreds, undoubtedly by a certain cerberus.

The turban-wearing wizard tried to hide his limp, but Severus recognised the signs all too easily. He'd had his own unfortunate run in with the half-wild three-headed canine before Hermione had tamed him.

Well, tamed him for her and Severus, at least.

Severus taught her a selective hearing charm to practice on her new canine friend.

Specifically to tune out music.

Quirrell must have found out… the hard way.

Oops, sorry, mate.

Not.

They let Hagrid continue to believe that he was still the only one who could get close enough to feed him. It kept up appearances until Hermione could successfully Disillusion herself the point where she could do it in her sleep with her hands bound while she hung upside down like a bat.

It always paid to be well-prepared.

And Hermione actually enjoyed hanging upside down like a bat.

Who knew?

She could slip out of bindings faster and faster with assiduous practice, too.

She trusted him to put the bindings on and not leave her to hang forever if she failed to get out. She did get out, though.

Bloody Houdini.

The other first years had nothing on her because she learned so fast. She had no scruples to unlearn. No lessons she didn't learn directly from him instead of the books.

No.

Books were simply for entertainment, not application.

They would read them together, and he would then pick them apart.

She would laugh, snuggling into his side as she listened to his lesson. She'd remember it all, though, just in case the other teachers might ask her a question to test if she was learning things "properly."

Psh.

Of course, she was learning properly.

Severus taught her how to shield her mind and trap it so whoever attempted to access it got a nice taste of Oblivion.

The falling forever kind.

The forever on fire kind.

The trapped in the coldness of space but can't seem to die kind.

Then there was his personal favourite: the trapped alone in a room with Sirius Black when he thought you were "Snivellus" kind.

That was enough to make anyone find religion.

Truly.

It didn't last forever for her, yet, but she'd learn.

A few minutes of that particular torture would be enough to stave off any casual scans of her mind. It would be enough to alert her that something was wrong. More importantly, it would be enough to alert him that something was wrong, and he would defend her properly until the day she could very well do it herself.

Then he could watch.

Or join in.

And it would be a great time to be had by them both.

Fortunately, Quirrell seemed far more interested in staring at Hermione than actually doing Legilimency, or else the bumbling stutterer needed a wand to do it. Severus didn't really care as long as he kept his gaze neutral.

If the wizard tried to mentor her, Severus would tear out his gullet and make a musical instrument from his innards.

Hermione was his.

Her hand gently curved around his thumb and squeezed under the table as she shifted her eyes to avoid Quirrell's gaze.

He allowed it.

Every touch made them even stronger.

It made others uncomfortable.

Good.

She alone could withstand his fire, and only she was welcome to bask in it just as he basked in hers.

He knew the very moment Quirrell when touched her.

It didn't matter that it might have been benign or not.

Severus felt the intrusion as clearly as it had been a hand on his wrist.

The last he had left her, she had been taking a break in the courtyard to enjoy the sun. She still was partial to it, despite her growing Darkness.

In time, he knew, that would fade, but she was young and tolerant. It was a gift to the young to be flexible.

He arrived in time to see Quirrell holding tightly to his turban like he had a massive headache even as he ran full-tilt towards the infirmary.

Something, however, wasn't helping his progress.

He was on fire.

The white hot flames of his Get told him all he needed to know.

Quirrell had attempted to touch what was his without her express permission. He had tried to dispel their Contract— disrupt their bond.

Hermione was buried into his side and hiding under his robes within seconds, her soul radiating pure distress from the unwanted attack.

His Darkness flared to swallow her up in its protective succour.

She calmed almost immediately, her breathing slowing down to a more normal pace.

It pleased him to know she ran towards him and not away. She embraced their bond rather than try to evade it. She accepted the Darkness because it was a part of her— no longer bound by immature beliefs that one must be Light and good to be accepted.

With a mental tug, he guided her into a wandless, silent spell.

Quirrell had dared to invade their privacy.

He had touched them both without permission.

He had tampered with something that wasn't his.

He had tried to turn them against each other.

He felt her summon her power as she surrendered to his guidance, allowing his mind to lead her where it needed.

Good girl.

The Darkness flared up inside her, black and swirling like a growing black hole.

Severus smiled as he pictured Quirrell's fat turban bursting into flames.

The flighty man screamed shrilly as his cloth-covered head was suddenly consumed in the hungry fire, and he hurriedly tore it off, flinging it onto the ground, smacking frantically at his hairless head in a futile attempt to dampen the agony.

By the time he was no longer smouldering, Quirrell had developed other, rather more pressing problems.

All of the other teachers were gathered around him as they discovered another man's face glaring out at them from the back of Quirrell's bald head.

Well, then.

Hermione peered at the grotesque second face with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

He had to agree.

"Albus!" Quirrell cried, his pale eyes mad even as he seemed compelled to draw his wand and start flinging spells at the aged headmaster.

Shrieking children went diving for cover as others tried to watch the confrontation over the window ledges. Their teachers drove them back to safety even as Albus began to fight spell after spell.

Attack. Counter.

Attack. Counter.

The courtyard was full of flames and water, ice and sand, and even a random lemon meringue pie.

And a banana.

Really?

A banana?

Severus backed up against the wall, pulling Hermione to his side as he sheltered her from the flying spells, using his wand to protect the other students as his job demanded.

He saw a sudden flash of movement—

Potter.

He'd recognise that wild mop of hair anywhere.

Too much like James Potter. Too much like his father.

Quirrell spun about, grabbing Potter by the neck, perhaps to use him as a hostage—

And then burst into ash—

A malevolent cloud with a face rose up from the ashes, twisting and screaming in rage. It blew outward toward Snape!

Severus stepped aside, taking Hermione with him, feeling her trust as she fell with him onto the flagstone floor to avoid the cloud.

Good girl.

The cloud smacked a gobsmacked, terrified Ronald Weasley square in the face as it shot up his nose and mouth.

Ronald Weasley promptly fell to the floor, convulsing madly.

A speechless Harry Potter, fellow Gryffindor, devoted best mate and Boy-Who-Couldn't-Quite-Figure-Out-When-to-Dodge, promptly fainted dead away.

Dunderhead.

Hermione was still smashed against his side between his arm and body. "Sorry, Master," she said, quietly apologising.

"My dear, you have nothing to apologise for," he purred, sitting up and then standing to pull her up too.

As the Aurors began to dash onto the castle grounds from the front gates, the resultant chaos inevitably descended upon Hogwarts.

Severus smiled.

Excellent.

The summer after the Boy-Who-Fainted "vanquished" or rather "banished" the Dark Lord into the body of Ronald Weasley was surprisingly quiet and perfect for the kind of teaching he preferred to give his apprentice. At least at Hogwarts, which seemed to be quite agreeable to having both he and Hermione together, things were going smoothly.

Hogwarts, much like the mixed bag the Founders themselves had been, wasn't quite as "Light-aligned" as many thought. Balance, perhaps, was more Hogwarts; style.

Life outside Hogwarts was a chaotic whirlpool of buzzing activity, confusion, fear, and blaming— something he liked to make kettle corn and watch from afar with Hermione reading her lessons nearby.

The Weasleys were not happy that their youngest son was now enjoying Her Majesty's Pleasure deep in the bowels of the Ministry holding facility, due to being possessed by the Dark Lord.

Potter was apparently being sequestered in his aunt's home like a pet hamster in a cage, and Albus was trying to figure out a way to keep him protected by some rare family sacrifice magic blessed upon the boy when his darling mum had thrown herself in front of a killing curse for him.

Hermione, of course, wanted to know all about such magic, and he had to admit that amongst their kind such magic was ultimately unheard of. Demons didn't die in the normal sense as mortals did, so a dying blessing over a loved one was hardly normal.

He had to admit that Lily had accomplished a great feat in protecting her son as she had. Pity it had been her only one of such power.

Hermione was eager to learn about it anyway, and he taught her what he could. Her curiosity was nigh endless, or so it seemed, but he had nothing but time. He could be patient. He could teach.

Hermione was still young, and Severus knew she had to be able to experiment to find her true calling, even when she harboured a calling as strong as hers to the blessed Dark. She was just too talented not to try, and he let her, warning her not to attempt anything new without asking him first.

She never failed to.

It was a refreshing sort of thing to feel her devoted loyalty to their bond, and while she often struggled to grasp the lesson in the teaching when it did not go the way she expected, she never did anything reckless lest it expose him to the world.

He was her best friend above everything, and she did nothing to jeopardise that.

Severus found that so utterly alien to what he had been used to.

Her compassion as well as passion—

Her devotion as well as care—

When she summoned her first Patronus, it had formed in eerie glowing vapour the colour of his demon-fire. It had come immediately, her happy thought the foremost on her mind as easy as breathing.

It was also a Ra'ta'ha— the demonic water-weasel that liked to play in rivers and streams and tie weeds around people's feet to see if they would drown. It also looked remarkably like an otter, so no one would suspect otherwise. That was probably for the best. An otter was acceptable, and he worried that maybe she would summon a Patronus of something that looked a bit too much like he did in his true form— utterly demonic and alien.

Patronus, he admitted, was a bit of a falsity.

Her Patronus, like they were, was Dark, but the energy looked close enough that no one would suspect otherwise. Any Dementor worth their Darkness would recognise it as being kin, and they would bow out in deference to the territory.

"What did you think about?" he asked, curious.

"Being wrapped in your wings, Master," Hermione said, smiling up at him.

He blinked at her.

Truly?

That was her happiest thought, the very first thing she thought of?

"Is that the wrong thing to think about?" Hermione asked, sensing his conflict.

"No, child," he answered, extending his talons to her. "It was a very right thing to think about. It just surprised me."

Hermione beamed at him, taking his talon in her hand, her small fingers wrapped around his deadly claw. "What are we going to learn tonight, Master?"

Severus thought as they walked together.

"I think it's time we went on a field trip to Knockturn Alley," he said. "There are some artefacts there that should be experienced in person that you may be able to tell them apart."

Hermione perked up, always interested in field trips. "That sounds wonderful," she replied.

"Hold onto my arm," he instructed as he took on his human form. "Take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Three, two, one—"

Crack!

They were gone.

Hermione looked a little green after the side-along, but she clung to Snape's robes a little tighter before she regained some of her colour. "Is it always like that?"

"No, usually just the first time or so," he replied.

They passed a few people before coming to a cluttered looking shop, but no one dared make eye contact, and even fewer dared to look at Hermione too closely lest they bring down the ire of her guardian.

"Master Snape," the man behind the counter simpered. "How may I assist you today?"

He stared at Hermione and lifted her chin to look the man in the eyes.

Unbeknownst to her, her eyes bled into black, mirroring her master's, and the man took an involuntary step backwards.

"Allow her to pick a bauble," Snape directed.

"Of course, Master Snape," the man said, bowing slightly. He pulled out a drawer of trinkets and jewellery.

Snape scowled. "The other baubles."

The man's eyes widened. "Of course, how forgetful of me," the man said, pulling out a drawer within a drawer in a cabinet inside a cabinet. He placed the drawer on the counter with a nervous smile.

Severus narrowed his eyes and then leaned down to speak into Hermione's ear. "Touch nothing until you to speak to me first, but find one that speaks to you."

Hermione nodded obediently and pulled up a stool and stared into the box of trinkets and jewellery, a look of pure concentration on her face.

Severus sat at the counter, his fingers steepled together as he stared at the man behind the counter unwaveringly. "Mr Borgin."

"Y-yes, Master Snape."

"Stop staring at my apprentice. She will not filch your items."

"Of course, Master Snape," the man said, attempting to both meld into the shadows and fail utterly at staring without looking like he was staring.

After about forty minutes of intense concentration and tolerating Mr Borgin's restless leg syndrome, Hermione pointed to a hairpin crafted to look like a nesting bird. Gems and intricate inlay made for a visually stunning piece

Snape ran his hand over it just above the surface, then he ran his wand over it and made sure Borgin was watching.

"You may pick that one up," Snape said.

Borgin looked like he was going to protest, but Snape shot him a glare that froze him like a first-year in Potions class first day.

Hermione picked it up, and a rush of heat flared from the piece as tendrils of Darkness emerged and trailed up Hermione's fingers and wrist— tasting her, exploring her energy. Her eyes fluttered as the sensation of pleasure filled her as their compatible energy rewarded her.

A small smile tugged at Snape's lips. "It was a good choice, apprentice," he said. He tucked the hairpin into Hermione's hair, and it instantly wove itself into it, sending tendrils of magic around her wild curls and taming them into a more controlled shape. The moment it did, the Darkness of it merged into her magic, disappearing completely from detection.

Borgin was staring.

Snape gave him a side-long glance, wrinkling his nose. Borgin had clearly expected Hermione to keel over in his shop and then he'd have some explaining to do to the Aurors.

Snape put a small sack of galleons on the counter, not even asking the price of it.

Borgin quickly counted out the coins, unable to resist making sure he wasn't getting cheated.

Snape, however, knew exactly what it was worth. It was useless to those not of the Dark in their blood save as a showpiece unless you wanted to murder someone.

Borgin had obviously expected it to be used for the later, not for a little girl to weave it into her hair and then walk away alive and well.

Murderous pieces cost more, but he could hardly argue the price when Hermione was obviously wearing it without any harm. The man probably thought he mislabeled it, now.

Good. Let him panic and second-guess himself.

"Master?"

"Hn?"

"May we go for ice cream?"

Snape furrowed his brows. "I suppose."

Hermione beamed at him.

Suddenly, ice cream seemed like the only good idea in the world.

Hermione looped her arm around his, instinctively seeking his touch in public to anchor her anxiety.

Snape guided her out of the store as Borgin hastily called out for them to come back soon.

Lucius Malfoy was standing outside the store with his son at his side. Draco had his face plastered against the glass as he tried to stare inside.

"Severus," Lucius greeted. "So the rumours are true."

Severus lifted his chin and stared Lucius in the eye. "That would depend on just what rumours you have been listening to."

"That you have been saddled with an apprentice—and that it was not from Slytherin or at least one of the prominent families."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Surely that is not the only sort of rumours you listen to, Lucius. I have heard your albino peacocks have an unnatural taste for human flesh. Should I put stock in that as well?"

Lucius waved him off negligently. "You and I both know that it is in the blood or isn't. So tell me. Is it?"

"Hold out your cane, Lucius."

Lucius' eyes widened. "You cannot be serious."

Severus leveled his gaze at him.

Slow, Lucius extended his cane to Hermione. "Touch my cane, child," he said, his expression schooled into neutrality.

Hermione shook her head. "I cannot."

Lucius frowned.

"You have not given me express permission," she said. "It is bound to your family."

Lucius' eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I give you my permission to touch my cane, clever girl."

Hermione looked up at Severus and saw his nod of approval. She reached out her hands and grasped the head of Lucius' cane.

Ssssssss.

The cane came to life and hissed, rubbing up against her hands like a feline seeking pets. She gently stroked the serpent's head, and it curled around her wrist.

"Hello, handsome," Hermione whispered, smiling.

"How can this be?" Lucius whispered, pulling his rather affectionate cane back to himself as Draco observed the scene through very wide eyes. "She is just a little Mudblood chit-OW!"

The snake-cane bit him on the hand and froze in place, just a cane again— albeit one now permanently embedded in Lucius' hand.

Lucius was trying very hard not to look pained, but it was obvious that he was sweating heavily now.

"Apprentice."

"Yes, Master."

"Attend to Mr Malfoy's hand, if you would."

"Yes, Master."

"If you will allow me, Lord Malfoy," Hermione said sweetly.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth.

Hermione leaned down and touched the snake-headed cane lightly. "Come, my lovely. You don't want to be stuck there forever, now do you?"

The cane came to life again, this time extricating itself from Lucius' fleshy hand and it seemed somewhat sullen and tired.

Hermione tilted her head in response. "You may feed, but only enough to replace what you have lost. No more." She held out her hand.

The serpent struck at once, and Hermione closed her eyes with a slight wince. Her blood dripped from her bitten palm and trickled down the serpent's blood groves. The small emerald eyes glowed softly and the serpent withdrew, tenderly tongue-flicking the bite marks on her hand.

They healed right before their eyes.

"You're welcome," Hermione said kindly as the cane returned to its more natural, inert state.

Lucius took it back quite gingerly, perhaps unsure of what to make of it now.

Draco shot Hermione a swift appreciative glance along with a strangely encouraging little smile.

Hermione managed to find the wherewithal to not smile back, keeping her face schooled to perfect neutrality in front of Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius was silent for a good five minutes or so.

Then, at long last, he said, "I… stand corrected, young Lady Apprentice." His tone was very formal, careful.

Hermione looked up at Severus and took a deep breath, attempting to remember the manners he had thoroughly drilled into her. "There is no offence taken, Lord Malfoy, when none is given."

Lucius' shoulders relaxed minutely, and he placed his cane at his side.

"We are going to Fortescue's for ice cream, Lucius," Severus said. "Will you join us?"

"I have business inside—" Lucius said, gesturing to the storefront. "If you do not object, I will give Draco my permission to go with you."

Severus tilted his head. "I have no objections."

"Draco."

"Yes, Father?"

"Go with Severus and Lady Apprentice Hermione. Do not embarrass yourself."

"Of course, Father."

Lucius' eyes flicked over to the store, and he nodded, walking inside.

Severus cracked his neck as he wondered what other drama they could possibly stir up before ice cream became a reality.

Hermione laughed as the enchanted chocolate chips in Draco's mint and chip ice cream leapt up to bop him on the nose. He tried to bite at them, but some escaped across the table, jumping to their "deaths" on the pavement with a tiny splat.

Draco frowned at the escaped confections, sighing.

They ate their treats together in silence, but the tension they might have had before the confrontation with Lucius had been replaced by a calm acceptance and perhaps even gratitude on Draco's part.

Draco had never seen anyone other than Severus stand up to Lucius let alone have his father's cane come to life and bite him—

The cane had been a family heirloom for centuries, with tales of it coming to life only for the most worthy of magical folk.

Until now, he had always assumed that meant only the very purest of the purebloods and that the tale of it coming to life was only a simple bedtime story to enchant his early childhood.

His father had never admitted fault before.

Never called a non-pureblood a Lady or by title.

It was a lot to take in. It was, even more, to ponder over.

Always before, Hermione had been just some Gryffindor refugee that Severus had been forced to take underwing. He'd never thought he'd done it because the witch was just that powerful.

Slytherin had left her alone because she was indisputably Snape's, and to defy Snape was to dishonour Slytherin House, something no Slytherin worth their salt would ever even dream of doing.

Only now, he was beginning to remember that the huge phantom spiders had only attacked Gryffindors. And he was starting to realise just how very fortunate he was to not have called Granger a Mudblood—

Things were different now, though. Draco knew what she was really capable of in just being able to control his father's infamous cane.

One thing was for sure, Draco would be spreading the world to the rest of Slytherin that Severus' apprentice was utterly beyond reproach.

If they messed with her, they would deserve to get a snake to the face—

Draco flinched as he noticed Severus staring at him.

Gods, did his gaze get even more intimidating?

He licked his ice cream. Better to focus on what he could actually control and make his alliances known now rather than later.

He had enough of a Slytherin sense of self-preservation to know when he was going to put his galleons on the right Abraxan.

A flying horse named Hermione Granger—

As Draco licked at his ice cream, he didn't notice Snape's brief turn of lips into a dangerous, approving smile.

Hermione's second year began with a clutter of terrified spiders gathering under Hermione's bed.

Severus caught her staring under her bed, and she looked up at him with confusion in her whisky-coloured eyes.

"Hermione?" he asked quietly.

"Master, there are a bunch of spiders hiding under my bed."

"Spiders do tend to hide there from time to time," Severus said, frowning.

Hermione scratched her head. "But these are a lot of spiders," she said.

Severus summoned a Lumos and peered under the bed to see thousands of terrified spider eyes staring unblinkingly at him.

Severus stood up straight. "I stand corrected."

"What should I do with them all?" Hermione asked, scratching her head again with a bit of a nervous twitch.

Demons? No problem.

Non-demonic spiders?

Then she twitched.

Severus had to admit to a little amusement at his young apprentice's expense.

Everyone had to have certain weaknesses, he supposed.

"Have you tried asking them why they are hiding under your bed?" he asked

Hermione frowned and looked under the bed again. "Why are you all huddling under my bed?"

Severus shook his head. Sometimes she took things a little too literally.

Hermione looked up again, frowning. "Um, they said they're hiding from a basilisk."

Severus froze. "What?!"

Ironically, serpents were not really his thing, Severus admitted. He was always more at ease with the language of Chiroptera. Bats, he reasoned, he could understand with ease. Serpents were a little too hissy, and they had a sort of lisp-like quality to their speech that made his ears hurt to process it.

Hermione had taken to sleeping with him on the couch, snuggled up under his wings.

She refused to sleep on a bed over a few thousand plus spiders.

He didn't mind, really. Each time she did so, the bond between them cemented even further, but he did worry about his poor little summoner being afraid of spiders when she could fall asleep against a demon.

It just—

Well, it was kind of laughable.

Severus sent Hermione to the library's restricted section to research basilisks to see if they could get ahead of the game before they actually saw one. He gave her a small mirror in case she had to do any peering around corners, but he hoped they had time to do something before a giant snake petrified all of their potential souls or shut down the school completely.

Well, if that buffoon, Lockhart, didn't kill the majority of Hogwarts with his blatant stupidity alone.

How that man had been sorted Ravenclaw, he'd never know.

Watching people fawn over the man like he was Merlin's gift to magic made him sick to his stomach.

He wondered if he could convince the spiders under Hermione's bed to go hide under Gilderoy's bed instead. That would be a win-win situation for sure.

Gilderoy would be having nightmares befitting his huge ego, and Hermione could sleep in her own bed again instead of the couch.

First things first, though.

He had to figure out if Gilderoy had Contracted with another demon. Killing off another demon's contractor was considered really bad form, and Gilderoy's fame was a little too suspiciously huge to be the sole work of one person.

Snape's claws dug into the other demon's neck as he slammed the simpering imp against the infirmary wall. "YOU CALL THIS NOT INTERFERING?!"

Snape's form was human, but only just. His claws had formed from the tips of his white fingers, and he dug them deep into the wriggling imp.

"I didn't do this!" the imp protested. "Never! Never hurt another contractor! Never!"

Hermione lay petrified, mirror still in hand, on the infirmary bed, and when Severus had seen the imp that was not "theirs" he immediately knew it had been Lockhart's demon.

Imps were great at the more superficial magics. Looks, inspiration, confidence— you just couldn't ask them for anything a greater demon was required for such as actual power, the teaching of old magic, secrets buried for thousands of years. They didn't have the memory capacity for it. Their little brains got filled up and they leaked out the ears. It was why people summoned imps for single tasks.

Single tasks an imp could handle.

Severus' claws loosened around the imp letting it drop to the floor.

The imp grovelled, kissing his boots. "Never hurt Lady Hermione, ever!" he cried. "Swear it. Swear!"

Severus pulled himself together, trying to quell the impotent rage he felt at being unable to protect her from the basilisk's gaze. She was still mortal, fragile.

Of course the mandrakes weren't ready to be harvested, and he couldn't very well use demonic magic to assist her after so many people had seen her petrified. Too many questions would arise from it—

He cursed inwardly, pressing his clawed hand against her petrified one.

At least she wasn't dead. At least she had been clever and used the mirror to avoid looking it directly in the eyes.

She must have been so scared.

Severus frowned as a tickle touched his palm, and he tugged on a piece of parchment stuck in her hand.

He unravelled it, knowing she must have cried a little on the inside for having defaced a library book.

And there it was—

A page on the basilisk.

Cock crows kill it.

A small colour charmed paper had a temporary sticking charm on it with arrows pointing to the way to kill the basilisk.

Severus yanked the imp up by the neck and shook it. "You will assist me in this since your sodding buffoon of a contractor cannot save us from his morning porridge."

"Of course, Lord, of course!" the imp simpered, eager to make things right to keep a greater demon's wrath from his neck.

The dead body of a basilisk was found in the hallway next to a petrified Mrs Norris. A petite bantam cock strutted on top of the basilisk's dead body, crowing his little heart out for his hens. The hens mulled about pecking, seemingly oblivious to the fact they were pecking at a corpse.

Aurors came with Unspeakables from the DoM to "clean up the mess," and Dumbledore was up to his wrinkled neck answering questions on both "where it had come from" and "what he was going to do about the petrified people and cat."

Gilderoy was, of course, claiming the roosters were completely his idea, and only the fact that he was under Contract with another (admittedly lesser) demon kept him from being spontaneously combusted through sheer will and daggered glare.

The idiot was posing with his foot on the basilisk's head in a heroic stance.

What a moron.

Severus turned to leave, having potions to brew to restore the students back from petrification.

And his brave, brave little summoner.

A cry came from the fawning crowd, and Severus turned to see Gilderoy had somehow moved the blindfold that had wrapped the dead creature's eyes and taken a nice direct look at the beast's dead (open) and petrifyingly deadly gaze—

"His foot slipped!"

"The eye opened and—"

"Merlin! Is he dead!?"

"He's dead!"

Severus hissed out a curse and sent out a spell to bind the serpent's dead eyes once more. "Imbeciles! Get out of this hallway immediately! And call the Aurors back here. Why did they even leave to being with? GET OUT NOW!"

Mortals.

Did they all have death wishes?!

Hermione spent the next few weeks glued to his side, partly because she was completely exhausted from her ordeal and partly because she'd had quite enough adventure for a while. She was never one to bravely press forward without a reason and throwing all caution to the wind.

At night, she remained glued to him, snuggling into his wing as she read her studies, even using his wing as a writing desk, much to his amusement.

If she knew just how much tighter it drew them, each little touch, each time she slept in his wing, would she continue?

Severus wasn't sure.

Damn, if it didn't feel better than any drug.

Her power, her warmth— it was imprinted on him. No other summoner had evoked such a feeling from him.

Had Lily given him even a fraction of such care, he would have moved mountains for her. Fame, fortune, influence— he would have made it happen had she asked.

Hermione never asked for such things. She wanted him near. She wanted a friend— a safe place.

And she would have it.

And it wouldn't even be against his nature, as much as he hated to admit it. He was a real softy amongst demons in that he formed real emotional bonds with his contractors. It was a weakness to most, but to him, it empowered him with both drive and rage—

Most demons wouldn't know how truly powerful that was, thinking that emotions were a weakness to be culled and purged.

Oh, but had he been able to release his true self upon those bloody Marauder bastards…

Rules.

Always stupid rules.

They both protected and chained those of his kind, much like the genie in the bottle.

Hermione moved against him, snuggling deeper into his warmth and even pulling his wing over herself like a beloved duvet, her book forgotten on her lap.

He chuckled softly, pulling the book out and placing it on the nearby desk. Her scrolls, however umpteen feet of them, were all tied neatly in a stack. He had no doubt at all that they were more than adequate.

He watched the tendrils of Darkness extend from his body and explore hers. Some of them had begun the process of burrowing into her to fuse their energies together even closer. Never too fast. Never overwhelming— just enough to reinforce what had already been forged and add a little something.

One day, if she fully surrendered to his final gift, she could be free of this horrid, unappreciative life. He both looked forward to and dreaded that day, for then and only then, she could choose to release him from her side, forever.

What good was his own freedom if it was to be bound again (eventually) to some other contractor that would never, ever be like her—

He had had so many, countless—

But none with her warmth that kindled the Darkness like a purring cat, allowing it freedom and asking only politely—

As her fingers clutched the mane of fur that travelled down his back and sides, she snuggled closer, sighing contentedly.

Dark Gods below, please let him never fail her— let him never lose this wondrous moment.

Albus was coming unglued.

Personally, Severus thought that was a bit of a normal thing for him, but he was doing it much more obviously.

The old man was pacing back and forth, muttering lowly, mumbling more.

Riddle's diary had been found by the Aurors as they disposed of the basilisk, trapped between the fangs of the great beast.

It had been a Horcrux, the Unspeakables had said. Hissed more like. They were a bit like artificial Dementors dressed in flowy white instead of black. Badge of office, or so they said.

Severus figured they were probably envious of Dementors, so they chose to emulate them.

Now that Tom Riddle was exposed as the infamous Lord Voldemort, and it was proven he was (sort of) still alive in the body of Ronald Weasley (poor sod) so there were questions, so many questions.

Questions about how many Horcruxes the madman had made—

Questions on how the diary had ended up impaled on the basilisk's fangs to begin with—

Questions on how his identity had remained a secret so long—

Minister Fudge was already trying to quell the anxious masses of Britain, telling them not to panic, not to evacuate, not to board up their houses and ward them to the teeth ahead of the oncoming apocalypse—

Any attempt to deny the Dark Lord's appearance was utterly useless anymore. He might as well suck it up and simply admit it was happening.

The bright side, if one could even call it that, was that as long as the Dark Lord was currently possessing the body of Ronald Weasley (stuck like a fly on flypaper, more like) he could not materialise anywhere else. So, it behoved them to keep Ronald Weasley comfortably confined, thoroughly warded, et cetera for at least as long as it took them to rustle up any other Horcruxes that might be waiting around.

A knock on his chamber door caused Hermione to awaken quite startled, her hair practically standing on end as she scrambled out of his embrace in the case she needed to look "proper."

Severus growled, taking on his human form.

Someone had better be dead to interrupt—

As he opened the door to his shared common room with Hermione, Alastor Moody, git, malcontent, Auror, and all around royal pain in the arse, stormed in with Dumbledore at his heels.

Moody glowered into the room, spotting Hermione tidying up her scroll pile and putting away her books on the shelf.

"You let him take an apprentice?!" he bellowed accusingly.

"It is my right," Severus answered, his expression set like stone.

"He's a sodding Death Eater!"

"Ex," Albus said. "Alastor, I've told you more than once. He's on our side."

"I don't care what you say! As long as he has that ruddy Mark on his arm, he's untrustworthy and unfit to even deal with children let alone make an apprentice out of some flighty little lass!"

Tazith hissed furiously from the "cat tree" near the bookcase, having curled up there for an evening snooze after having nommed on some soul-food earlier in the evening.

Albus shook his head. "Alastor, he's been keeping Miss Granger out of trouble since the first day he took her on. Even I must admit that. If anything, the only trouble I've been having is keeping the rest of Gryffindor from tearing each other apart or exploring forbidden places or whatever else they get up to."

"A leopard cannot change its spots!" Alastor accused, poking Snape with one gnarled finger.

Severus used every control he had not to break his hand.

"Look, Alastor, I agreed to allow you here to prove that Miss Granger is fine and your worries are unwarranted. Miss Granger, are you suffering any maltreatment here under Professor Snape?" Albus asked.

"Of course not!" Hermione said, indignant. "He's been nothing but inspiring. He gives me lessons that challenge me, and reminds me not to recite book knowledge when I forget!"

Her words came out with such adamant righteousness that even Moody barked laughter. "I see, lass, but do you know he's not a kind man. He's Dark as they come."

"Of course he's not a kind man," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "He's my master. His job is to teach me everything he knows, and mine is to learn regardless of his tone."

Demon hung unspoken in her stance. He wasn't a man at all. She was playing on words, despite what she thought of him in truth.

Clever girl.

Everything he knows, gods, she wanted everything he could teach her, and she just put it right out there to Alastor Moody.

She'd already picked up on his personal mannerisms, too, the little witch.

The raised eyebrow, the crossed arms— even the narrowing of her eyes.

Just wait until she started growing in her fangs and claws—

If she kept this up, it would happen sooner rather than later and he would have to teach her demonic shape-shifting to allow her to remain looking like a young human witch.

His heart fluttered at the thought—

If she embraced his gifts so easily, perhaps they would not be parted when the time of Choice came.

Moody was not appeased at all, and he grabbed Snape's left arm. "Look, you foolish girl. See the Mark of Damnation upon him!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I see nothing."

Moody pointed to Snape's arm, digging his fingernails deep into the other wizard's arm. "HERE!"

Hermione gave Moody a look that clearly said "You're completely mental" and it was taken straight out of Snape's own playbook.

Hermione puckered her lips in a way that had her looking very much like Professor McGonagall at her most disapproving.

Moody was staring in total shock at Snape's left forearm.

Severus' expression was utterly deadpan. "Lose something, Auror Moody?"

Dumbledore was openly staring too.

"Perhaps, Albus, you should tell Auror Moody that you, in fact, ordered me to take the Mark so I could spy for the Order and ease his poor tortured mind." Severus' expression did not change one whit, but he knew that the second revelation would be far worse than finding no Mark on Snape's arm.

Moody's head jerked up to see Dumbledore's face pale— perhaps in some repressed guilt or even shock that Snape could say anything about it.

Perhaps it was both.

Moody's reddened face suddenly drained of blood as he caught the unmistakable tells that Dumbledore had so easily hidden before.

"You made him take it?!" Moody accused, visibly furious.

"Alastor—"

"All this time you led me to believe he took it willingly!"

"It was willing—"

"Under your ORDERS?!"

Chaos then descended upon Snape's chambers as Severus leaned down to whisper into Hermione's ear. "And so ends our lesson on manipulating a conversation to your benefit."

Hermione's face brightened as she wrapped her small hand around his thumb. "Fancy a bowl of popcorn, Master?"

Severus smiled malevolently. "You know where all the supplies are kept, Apprentice."

Hermione bounced off to get the kettle for making popcorn, some coconut oil and the kernels.

Snape smirked.

Excellent.

The summer before third year, he allowed Hermione to go enjoy the hols with her parents. They remained blissfully oblivious to her unique inborn talents, and he was glad of it. She dutifully kept them secret, summoning Tazith in the back garden to look like a stray cat she was feeding, and never casting spells with her wand to alert the Ministry of anything fishy.

He wondered, privately, if the true reason that Hermione had been blessed with Dark power was because her parents may have desperately wished for a child— that she was conceived not in the womb but from the very Dark itself to grant the Grangers their wish.

He had no way to prove it, though.

That sort of magic wasn't specifically demonic even though it was most definitely Dark in nature.

There were many flavours of Darkness, after all.

Demons were only one of many.

There were Elder Gods and ancient powers, fallen angels, corrupted avatars, and cursed immortals from the age of Cro-Magnon man.

Not all demons were fallen angels, either.

He gave Hermione a few projects to work on while she was at home, namely manipulation and influence. Her parents were off limits, of course. You didn't shit in the same place you slept, after all, anymore than demons did not touch another demon's stuff.

Rules.

Hermione seemed very accepting of rules, oddly. Guidelines helped her to focus. She never broke them on purpose, even though she did need practice in bending them without breaking them.

She was just so enthusiastic!

He couldn't get mad at her for that. He remembered what it was like to be young and full of himself, and yet she was hardly full of herself. She was just very eager to please.

She sent him weekly progress reports that practically weighed down the poor owl, and Severus was amused that she also sent the owl with a pouch of food to reward him for his hard work, just in case Severus forgot.

She never stopped caring for her charges, summoned or otherwise.

Third year brought with it drama by the name of Sirius Black.

Somehow, he had managed to escape Azkaban.

Dumbledore was struggling to keep Harry Potter safe from his supposed godfather— the man who betrayed his best mate and Lily Potter.

The Hogwarts Express had been invaded by Dementors, and Hermione had been stuck in the same compartment car as Potter and the new DADA professor: Remus Lupin.

Severus growled at the thought of Lupin.

He owed Lupin a sizable pound of werewolf flesh, that was for certain.

Hermione said the Dementors "tickled" after they had found her with Potter.

They had stopped feeding off Potter to come and inspect her— poking her with gnarled hands and tasting of her magic and power.

She admitted to being a little envious of them being able to float instead of walk. It seemed it would make one less apt to trip on things that way.

Severus had to laugh at that.

Lupin had driven off the Dementors with a Patronus, and it had caused Hermione to shriek from the sound of the Dementor's screams and the agony of having her magic scrambled by a Light Patronus.

Lupin thought he had saved her, though, so it ended off better that way.

It would have been— troublesome had they figured out the Patronus had actually caused her pain.

The cerberus was waiting expectantly at the forest edge for her, and she was immediately attacked, slobbered on, and nuzzled until it was almost dinnertime. She gave him a fond hug farewell, fed him, and scratched his ears before they left.

The first lesson was cleaning charms that didn't shrink clothes before they took their place at the Head Table.

Lupin was staring at Hermione, probably not believing old Snape had an apprentice any better than anyone else did.

Dementors floated around the school— outside of course.

Dumbledore wasn't about to let them roam around inside the castle.

Pity, it would have been quite amusing to watch.

He idly wondered what new stupidity would descend upon Hogwarts during Hermione's third year.

Only time would tell.

Hermione's first death came in the face of being strangled by none other than Peter Pettigrew as he attempted to escape Hogwarts after being outed by Lupin and the insidious Sirius Black.

It had been the wrong person to take hostage.

Hermione had, Severus realised, always been emotionally sensitive, but the moment Pettigrew's dirty, clawed hands wrapped around her throat, Severus felt her power flare.

She felt Snape's rage at her being touched by anyone without permission.

She felt her own wrath at herself for being stupid enough to get caught.

Fear mixed with utter desperation even as she felt the foul touch of Pettigrew's filthy, dirty mind and what he really wanted to do to her.

He'd already attacked the distracted Lupin and gotten lucky with Black. Both of them were completely buried in the rubble of what had been the Shrieking Shack.

Pettigrew had seen him coming though, and Hermione had briefly been distracted by one of Hogwarts' teachers being in the ruined shack—

He'd promptly seized the opportunity and grabbed her. He probably had no idea she was his apprentice.

No idea what she really was.

Before he could even try to do anything, Hermione pulled on their mutual fire, dug her hands into Pettigrew's arm—

Dark claws tore free from her fingertips and buried deep into his flesh. Her eyes had gone black, so very black— just like Home. A dainty set of fangs jutted from her petite mouth, flashing a pristine white in a coat of her own rebirthing blood— the first changes were always the most violent.

She hissed like a demoness, her teeth bared as all the emotions pooled together and fueled her incandescent rage.

Fire burst from her hand and consumed them both in Hel-fire and demonic ire.

A cloud of Dark demon-bats swirled around them and viciously attacked Pettigrew's body, ripping gobbets of flesh from his burning body even as he proceeded to scream himself hoarse.

Dementors were floating in now, irresistibly drawn to the Dark and the screams and the terror and the pain.

Hermione's hair was a wild mane of Hel-fire, blazing white and black and a strange, swirling purple.

Her claws reached up to Pettigrew's neck. Her eyes closed as she looked away, and then they tore out his throat.

He gurgled as he still tried to scream even as she threw him away from her.

The Dementors swirled, eager, needy.

"You may devour him, if you desire," she growled, her eyes blackest of black, her voice filtered through clenched fangs.

What a glorious Dark Lady she was— even in her rage she asked and didn't demand.

She suggested.

She gave permission.

She never ordered.

They didn't need to be told twice.

They split his soul between them, a hundred and some each.

A while later, Hermione told him privately that it was hard to not bite her own tongue with her fangs.

Severus took her into his embrace of wings and talons. "I will teach you about this and more, my Dark Lady."

That and how to shapeshift so she didn't freak out all of Hufflepuff every time she walked by.

She'd seemed rather disappointed that she wouldn't get to enjoy that.

Severus smiled.

There would be plenty of others to terrify. She could be quite sure of that.

Hermione was incandescent with fury as she stormed up to Sirius Black in the Headmaster's office even as the Aurors gathered.

"By right of your life debt to me in saving your pathetic life, you WILL treat my Master with the respect that he deserves. If you cannot seem to fathom precisely what that is, you will treat him with the respect that I think he deserves. This is my wish. This is my request to even the magical karma."

Oh, you little glorious summoner. Your wrath tastes like sweet drops of honey upon the tongue of my Dark soul.

Karma was hardly a thing for those of his kind, and it was not going to be a part of her for long, but—

He could feel the binding chains of the Life Debt wrapping around to subjugate his most hated enemy.

And all she had wanted was respect to be shown to him, Severus Snape.

No falling on a sword.

No fatal task.

No riches or monetary gain.

No.

She simply wanted that immature cocksucker to suck it up and fucking well grow up.

Minerva was looking at Hermione with no small amount of awe.

Hell, even the Aurors were looking at her with a bit more than awe.

How could someone so tiny hold such fury and still be perfectly reasonable?!

One of the Aurors was looking decidedly ill at the sight of the miniature box with Pettigrew's shrunken, burned, and soul-drained corpse. Miraculously, his head was perfectly preserved and unburned as if Hermione had somehow planned it that way.

Thankfully, the burned flesh concealed the many thousands of demon-bat bites that had whittled him down while he was still alive.

They couldn't doubt his Summoner's story, either, heavily edited for public consumption as it was.

"I was so scared," she had said. "And my body got really, really hot and— then he was burning. I threw him down, and the Dementors— they were so hungry. I just stepped away!"

It wasn't even a lie.

And that was the very best part of it.

Sirius owed her much more than his life, too. He owed her a debt of honour for clearing his name of murder.

Remus owed her too—

She hadn't revealed his furry little problem.

She hadn't told him that he liked to play fetch by moonlight, either.

Snape wasn't telling him. It was far too amusing to watch.

Oh, his little Dark Lady was turning into a right power to be reckoned with.

Even now, her fingers pressed against the soft skin of his wrist to let him know she was asking for his comfort now that the bravery was done.

He gently pressed his fingers to hers in response. She could nestle in his wings later. She had totally earned it.

Oh, Blessed Dark Baphomet.

Hermione was a true force of nature and innocent happenstance.

She'd accidentally blown something up in the DADA classroom when practicing her shielding and—

Severus belted out uproarious laughter even as Dumbledore scratched his head and the staff milled about in celebration.

Hermione Granger had blown up the one desk an insidious Dark jinx had been anchored to—

The jinx that had guaranteed no DADA professor ever lasted for more than a year.

Gods.

Alastor stared at the little witch and sighed, "Why is it always you?"

Hermione gave him innocent eyes. "I've been asking myself that for quite some time, Auror Moody."

Severus looked at the calendar. Ah, the full moon. Good. They could watch the three-headed menace and Lupin play tug of war with the world's largest rawhide chew.

Things were really looking up.

Fourth year was a damnable mess.

Truly.

Three schools housed under one roof.

Testosterone.

Oestrogen.

Utter chaos, and not the good kind.

Severus Snape had one bastard of a headache.

Somehow, bloody Potter had gotten his name entered in the damned Goblet of Fire too. It probably wasn't even HIS fault, either. The boy was simply not capable of a high-order Confundus spell. He could barely levitate a sodding feather without vocal tutoring. Apparently, he couldn't pronounce Diagon Alley, either and had ended up in Knockturn Alley a year or so ago. Truly— what?

While he was sure Potter wasn't quite as dismal a failure as say, the Longbottom twit, the stupid boy would far rather dream of Quidditch glory than study, and it showed.

Hermione had a sizable gaggle of Durmstrang following her around the castle, too. They apparently sensed what most of Hogwarts couldn't: that she had real command and power and that they should be on her side rather than against her.

She worked the petty, childish jealousies like a virtuoso playing an instrument, turning them to making desperate wishes that things were other than they were—

Making them prey.

Demons were feasting on the rich banquet of adolescent jealousies and heartfelt (not to mention utterly asinine) wishes for bigger breasts, more impressive cocks, and greater suave with the opposite sex.

They made their wishes, not caring of the price. Not caring of the Contract— only in the end result.

Oh, and they did get their results, even if they didn't get precisely what they thought they wanted.

What good was a horse-sized cock if you couldn't bloody walk or even get out of bed?

What good was having breasts the size of a Quaffle if you couldn't walk through a door without braining yourself and getting stuck? Might as well transfer them to your arse and, um, get a little joy when you sat down—

Poppy must have had an interesting "owl to the parents" after that incident, seeing as no spell could seem to reverse it. There was talk of removing the oversized organ, just so the boy could walk again.

Hermione had gathered hundreds of new demons to her banner while barely even lifting a finger, feeding them so easily that no one even noticed it in the swirling chaos of adolescent lust and want.

He had no doubt that his young summoner was the talk of the Demon Realm, with demons eager and more than willing to flock to her summons— knowing that she offered something no other summoner had or did.

Most of Durmstrang was already her devoted thralls— eager and willing to do anything she asked of them if she would but ask.

But, like always, she asked for very little: simple companionship and perhaps a friendly little debate on the latest Potions Weekly or Transfiguration Today articles. Her favourite was Viktor— a kind and devoted sort who said little and was perfectly content to watch her do her thing.

He was also the only one she allowed to touch her outside of Severus himself, and the boy never once abused her trust.

Hermione seemed to admire him, not just because he was so talented as much as because Viktor was an entirely self-made success. He didn't do anything crazy or over the top to find fame and fortune. It had just found him because he was exceptionally good at something. It never seemed to go to his head. Off the Quidditch pitch, the boy was brilliant at his studies— the kind of champion Durmstrang both needed and loved.

"You shouldn't be here," Hermione said, her voice both curious and suspicious.

"Just checking on things, girlie," Moody grunted as he turned to leave.

"Then why do you have the lacewing flies and shredded boomslang skin?"

Moody instantly froze in place. He turned slowly back to her. "Professor Lupin asked me to check on some things for him."

"In my master's private store cupboard?"

"I have security to attend to, girl," Moody said abruptly, hobbling off.

"Auror Moody," Hermione called out after him.

Moody stopped, mid-limp. "What, girl?"

"Have you met my dog yet?"

Moody turned and stared at her. "What?"

"Auror Moody is a bastion of Light, as annoying as that may be," Hermione said. "It leaves distinctive marks upon the Soul. My dog knows to leave them well alone."

Hermione's smile twisted into something utterly malevolent. "You. Don't. Have. Them."

Hermione's smile did not stop when Auror Moody looked up to find three enormous canine heads staring down at him, each one drooling profusely.

"Fetch, boy," Hermione said, pitching her voice to sound high and excited.

After dropping the potion ingredients to the floor, Alastor Moody didn't stop running until well after he was no longer looking anything like Auror Alastor Moody. He dropped face first into the dirt right in front of Bartimus Crouch, still wearing Moody's oversized leather coat and jerking eye.

The real Alastor Moody was found tied to a tree deep in the forest and suffering from multiple Acromantula bites.

Fluffy was declared a hero and built quite a palatial doghouse on the grounds (albeit with large warning signs warning everyone to not attempt to pet the dog.)

Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory tied for the Tri-Wizard Cup that year. Everyone seemed quite relieved that no one had died.

Pity that, Severus thought.

Fifth year became known as the Year of Pink thanks to the invading troll named Dolores Umbridge who was eagerly taking advantage of Dumbledore's hunt for Horcruxes with the DoM to "make sure all the Ministry rules were being followed properly at Hogwarts."

Minister Fudge was deeply buried in helping Dumbledore and the DoM with keeping the Dark Lord restricted to Ronald Weasley and making sure he couldn't come back, but that left Undersecretary Umbridge with a slack leash and entirely too much time on her hands.

Evaluating the teaching staff, for instance.

Miserable bloody toad.

Severus had a feeling that the woman tasted terribly foul, and her soul probably tasted like hippogriff bottom. Even being a virgin wasn't helping her case any. It wasn't worth biting through all that nastiness just to get to the chewy virgin centre.

Maybe if you boiled her for a few days, while changing the water a few hundred times.

Then threw out the contents and simply ate the cauldron.

It had to say something when even a demon didn't want your sorry-arsed excuse for a soul.

Umbridge tried to separate Hermione from him, standing that their apprenticeship wasn't official and she was better off learning her lessons from multiple teachers.

Hermione proceeded to answer her every question in five different languages, citing five different sources, and then tore apart the question for being illogical and antiquated.

She'd been silent since then— simmering and smouldering with fury, no doubt.

Now, she was inspecting his classroom, sticking her nose into cauldrons that she had no business fooling with.

Gods only knew what the potion fumes alone would do to her amphibian head considering that they happened to be brewing potions to counteract vivid hallucinations. Knowing his students, their creations would produce the exact opposite effect because very few of them could read their textbooks, let alone follow even the most explicit directions.

Speaking of—

Hermione was giving him sideways eyes, indicating that he should be looking over there and not—

Oh, for the love of—

Umbridge was backing away from the cauldrons, screaming.

"Wh-w-w-ahat in Merlin's name are you brewing in these cauldrons! AHHHH! You're birthing DEMONS IN THE CAULDRONS! MONSTERS! GET AWAY! I'll report you for this! You'll be FIRED!"

She fled screaming for the door and promptly knocked herself out cold on the low-hanging coat rack.

Severus watched the actual invisible-to-people demons frozen in shock on the edge of his students' cauldrons. Their eyes were comically wide, thinking they had been caught by mortals whilst committing acts of unholy mischief (as if his students needed any help in the area of royally fucking things up.)

The children went back to brewing, totally oblivious, and the demons breathed a sigh of relief as they slinked off into the cracks and hidden places.

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ten points to Hufflepuff for brewing a stunning hallucinatory vapour."

The students actually seemed to work even harder.

Well, miracles never ceased.

Hermione walked outside to "clean up the mess" for him, and he nodded to her in silent gratitude.

Dolores found herself staring at a student who was floating in the air, her student robes just barely touching the ground.

"You!" Dolores shrieked at the bushy-haired witch.

Hermione tilted her head. "Me."

"You're using illegal magic!"

"Oh, I assure you that Levicorpus works very well in this case," the girl said, her eyes blinking slowly, languidly. "I haven't quite figured out how to propel myself forward like a Dementor, but I'm sure I'll get it soon enough."

"How dare you speak to me in that manner!" Umbridge screeched.

"Oh, I presume it will be much worse soon enough," Hermione said cheerfully. She exposed one long claw on her index finger and sliced down her palm, letting the blood drip. "Oathbreaker. Contractbreaker. Did you think I could not smell the betrayal beneath the stench of your perfume?"

"W-hat?!" Umbridge cried, trying frantically to get her wand out and point it at Hermione.

"Blood magic is illegal! I'll have you put in Azkaban!"

"There is no magic here," Hermione chuckled, giving Umbridge a weary, talk-to-the-slow-child sort of expression. "Only blood. It just so happens, there are things about that like blood. I won't even have to do anything. Say… anything. Ask anything."

A wide variety of Dark creatures were forming in the rising mist of the dungeon hallway, seeping out from the cracks. They formed into monstrous beast-like "things" as their tongues lapped at Hermione's blood— hungry, so terribly eager.

"You see, I'm actually saving you—" Hermione said calmly. "As long as they are feeding on me, they won't remember that you exist and drag you off to the pits of Ar'gahn'hi in the Domain of Kan'du'nath the Unforgiving— where all the Oathbreakers and Contract Betrayers languish with the damned."

Hermione's whisky eyes had become blacker than black, her smile utterly vicious. "How many children did you bleed with your stash of cursed quills gifted to you by your devoted demon, hrm? That alone, I could not punish, for you are the contractor of a demon, make that a pair of demons and there are rules, Dolores, always rules—"

"Until you broke them—"

"Ordering them to do your dirty work without paying them in kind. Contracting with another demon while still bound to another— greed is what that was all about. Greed for more power than one demon could give when you had already made your choice once." Hermione's eyes seemed to glow. "Thrice you have done it. The magical number. The first unintentional. The second, a mistake. The third— quite deliberate, intentional. Smugly believing that your actions would go unnoticed once more."

"Demoness!" Umbridge cried, her eyes full of dawning horror.

Hermione snorted. "I am just a girl— with a lot of— interesting friends."

Hermione's eyes fluttered in pleasure. "You might want to start leaving now, Dolores. My wound is already starting to heal." Hermione gave the wide-eyed Umbridge a calm, half-lidded, pleasure-filled stare as the Dark creatures licked assiduously at her blood and skin.

"And I am not allowed to use magic against a teacher."

Umbridge's face went white as she fled down the hallway, screaming hysterically.

Hermione's eyes closed even as her wound did. "Never run away from anything immortal, Dolores. It only attracts their attention."

The Dark creatures finished licking the blood off Hermione's healed hand, chirring in disappointment. Then, they seemed to become more aware of what had just left. They screeched in excitement, sending out a howling call to their brethren as they began their pursuit.

A pale, gaunt-looking demon materialised beside her.

"You avenged my honour and my contract, Lady Hermione. Should you ever need of me, call for Xaraz, and I shall come."

"You owe me nothing, Xaraz," Hermione said, touching his cheek with her palm. "Come to me as a friend or do not come at all."

Xaras smiled, all fang and malevolence. "Lady Summoner Hermione of Severus, you are all I have heard tell of and more. Call me as a friend, and I shall come. This I swear to you. My bond."

"In Darkness, we shall meet again," Hermione said formally.

"In Darkness, we shall thrive," the demon replied and disappeared in a wisp of black smoke.

"You are evil," Trelawney accused, pointing her finger at Hermione. "Evil! You are a bad influence on Severus! You should be taken away from here!"

Hermione eyed Trelawney's accusing finger. "Oh, I'm sure there are far more evil people than me out there, Professor," she answered calmly. "How about you sitting here in the protection of a school, teaching nothing but shoddy parlour tricks while touting your family's gift— a gift you share but once in a blue moon."

"You vile little hussy! I am a true Seer! You are the ungifted! You have no idea what it is to bear the burden of Prophecy!"

"No, I suppose I wouldn't know what it is to be a true Seer," Hermione said calmly, "but at least I don't drink myself stupid and then teach children utter nonsense while completely knackered."

"How dare you! You shouldn't even be here! Why are you here!"

Hermione set down a basket of vials. "Your hangover potions, Professor. The ones that you ordered from my Master." Hermione smiled sardonically as the classroom full of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs gasped as one in response.

With that, Hermione turned and walked back down the stairs, her black robes billowing behind her in an unnervingly familiar manner.

Trelawney looked like she was going to call after her when her gaze fell upon one of the crystal balls and she saw—

"No! No no no no no! He's MINE!" Trelawney cried, throwing the crystal down the staircase where it thunk-tink-tonked down the stairs and struck a passing Professor Dumbledore square on the head as he strolled by the Divination Tower's stairwell.

Later that evening, Severus curled his wing around a dozing Hermione as he read the Daily Prophet's seething report on how Professor Sybill Trelawney was summarily relieved of her post for being a drunkard and attacking the elderly Headmaster with crystal-ball violence.

Her protests that demons were trying to steal the love of her life fell on deaf ears.

Skinny knackered windbag that she was.

He couldn't have done it any better himself.

His clever, clever Hermione.

The sixth year of Hermione's formal apprenticeship, she gave a gift to him and to the three other greater demons that had formally allied themselves with Severus.

Horcruxes.

Four to be exact.

A ring, a cup, a locket, and a diadem—

Each with a fragment of a shattered, nicely fermented soul. Aged to perfection.

Dutiful, overly hyper, ecstatically happy demonic spiders cheered for a job well done, having worked very hard indeed to find and bring each object back in pristinely cursed condition.

Curses were especially delicious when they were fatal.

Severus wasn't sure if she realised just how much power she was sealing between them by forging such an alliance between himself and three other greater demons, but again, it wasn't about forcing her hand. She knew the Horcruxes had to be destroyed, and she happened to know four hungry demons that happened to really like highly cursed, well-fermented soul fragments.

She couldn't have known the kind of loyalty that would guarantee her— even after all their lessons. That was the sort of thing that went unspoken. You simply couldn't teach that. If you planned for loyalty, it would invariably backfire, and she had just gained three permanent allies against whatever foes she might face in life.

Three greater demons with entire armies of their own—

"You did this— as a school project?" Venozar asked as he supped on the Horcrux like a human with an oyster.

"More like a side project—- to surprise my master," Hermione said modestly.

Olgomoz laughed as he devoured the cup, belching out a cloud of impotent soulstuff. "Severus, old friend. She's killing me. She does this as a side project?"

"She always was an overachiever," Severus replied, eyebrow cocked fit to launch.

Hermione crossed her arms, huffing at him.

Sagoneth yawned, showing her fine rows of pristine fangs. She breathed in the soul and curse vapours from the locket she was holding with clear relish. "I have no complaints, Severus. Nor should you."

"Oh, I am not complaining at all, Sagoneth," Severus clarified. "My Summoner is both an apt student and exceptional provider. Look how easily she tames the demon hordes of spiders and bats, keeps them all well-fed and roaming this world to spread their chaos and destruction far and wide."

The hyper demon spiders and bats chittered in fervent agreement even as Tazith bopped one over the head with her paw to the tune of AC/DC's Highway to Hell.

Sagoneth extended her taloned hand to Hermione. "Please come to me, my darling summoner. Let us take you in, in all of your glory."

Hermione placed her hand in Sagoneth's. The elder demoness pressed her muzzle against her temple and hissed softly, her Dark energy flaring as it explored Hermione's power.

Hermione's eyes fluttered, and she took in a deep breath as the elder's demonic power washed over her. Hermione gasped as her form shifted, instantly adapting to the flood of demonic energy so her fangs and her claws erupted. Her body shuddered as if trying to continue the transformation but was unsure how to go about it.

Sagoneth hissed and glared at Severus. "You are a very naughty boy, Severus. You have not brought her into the Change, but her body craves it. She is ready. Her body desires it."

"She is not yet fully mature," Severus said, glaring daggers. "It is not time to bring it about. If she comes about it herself, that is different. You know this. She must choose it. Willingly. If I am to be the one to bring it about."

Sagoneth tutted, soothing Hermione's forehead as the summoner drifted in half-sleep of the inbetween. "I think you quibble over mere anthills, Severus," she replied. "The bond between you is already so strong that none of us here can see where one ends and the other begins. She has already willingly bound herself to your very essence. What is a bit of pleasurable mating to seal the deal?"

Severus flushed, wings twitching. "She is not yet ready."

"She?" Olgomoz asked quietly. "Or you?"

Venozar touched Hermione's temple, closing his eyes as his Darkness explored her, seeking, questing. "Turn her before she dies on you, Severus. Before you lose everything out of the fear of losing everything. The bond must be sealed to burn away her mortality. That she has already experienced a partial Turn is only more evidence that it should happen sooner rather than later."

"Once the bond is sealed, it matters not what body she had or what age it was when she walked this earth," Olgomoz said. "She will be immortal. One of us. She can take on any form, and her mind will never stop evolving."

Severus was silent, staring into the hearth.

Venozar pressed his muzzle to Hermione's forehead, and a glowing rune formed and disappeared. "Do not let what happened to Moggik happen to you, Severus. He has never been the same since his summoner's death. He waited too long to Turn her, and his betrayal of her trust in not telling her sooner could never be mended once she died."

"You are too used to walking in a mortal body that has a defined age, Severus," Sagoneth said. "It will not matter for her or in the end. You are immortal. Timeless. To quibble over a year or two— it makes me think you do not what it."

"Of course I want it!" Severus hissed. "I would be utterly mad not to want her by my side for the eons!" He clenched his fist. "But she must choose me over a mortal life filled with power and influence! A life with rules that mortals cannot fathom! She has barely lived a mortal life, and you ask me to ask her to give up a great and glorious mortal future for a future she cannot even taste but in words and stories!"

The three elder demons shook their heads together.

Sagoneth gently handed Hermione back over to Severus after pressing her muzzle to her forehead and impressing her mark upon her forehead. "Take care not to wait too long, old friend. There are those who would happily rape her, if only to keep you from her power boost. And we all know that it is not demons you need worry about. It is her own kind."

Severus paled even more as he protectively wrapped his wing around Hermione. She snuggled into him instinctively, pulling his warm wing around her like a blanket.

Like she always had.

Gods below and ancient—

Let it always be so.

"How far the mighty have fallen, Black," Greyback said, sneering at the last remaining Black. He took the hefty satchel of galleons. "Seems you're not so far from your murderous kin, after all."

"Just take out that little bitch so I can take out Snivellus once and for all."

"Laid low by some young pup," Greyback snorted. "Pulled on your leash, eh, did she?"

Sirius slammed Greyback into the wall, but Greyback only laughed even harder. "You may come to regret this, Black," Greyback said gravely. "I may be the one gaining pleasure from this, but you— you are the one with the life debt to the chit, and even I know that magic hates an oathbreaker."

"After all I've told you, all that we've been through together, you would keep this from me?!" Hermione was seething, her power came to her beck and call as easily as her rage. Her hair rose up like the serpent hair of Medusa, and she panted in an effort to quell her turbulent emotions.

Severus stared at the scrawled bit of parchment on the table.

I'll see you soon, girlie.

Another was beside it.

Virgins make the very best fucks before a killin'. I promise that you'll be screaming for more.

"You're safe at Hogwarts!" Severus yelled.

"How dare you," Hermione said, clenching her fists. "How dare you presume. I have never once held anything back when it endangered our lives. Our power together. Together! That is what we are, aren't we? You think just because you've been around a few years that no one can possibly do better than you?"

Severus towered with his own anger. "I am your Master, and you will do as I say. You will stay out of my business, my drawers, and my pockets!"

Hermione stood, stunned, her hair seeming to freeze in place. It was clear on her face. Never once, even in frustration, had one ever ordered the other to do their bidding. Not as summoner, not as master to apprentice. They had always asked.

She squared her shoulders, her Occlumency shields coming down like the sliding of a great window upon her soul. "I now see where we stand, Master," she said coldly. "Be at ease, for I will not trouble you about your business any longer."

She flung a scroll at him and stormed out of their shared common room, a swirl of fabric twirling in her wake.

Severus felt his gut seize the very moment she left, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. His fingers touched the scroll she had flung at him, and he carefully opened it.

He had just wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep her safe—

Why had it all gone pear-shaped?

Hermione's N.E.W.T. scores emblazoned the official parchment, signed and sealed by the Ministry for Magic's Mastery Office— detailing countless patents on the potions that she had completed to obtain her mastery qualifications. One could not file unless one had successfully completed their N.E.W.T.s, so she had obviously taken the test to get such annoying formalities out of the way.

She was probably the youngest master potioneer since—

Him.

Severus groaned. He had pretty much told her exactly what every other stupid mortal had: she was too young to take care of herself— that he knew better.

He hadn't given her a choice.

They had always stood together before.

She had always given him a choice—

And now he had chosen to treat her like some common, ordinary witch her age.

With true panic in his heart for her safety, he reached though their bond to feel for her, touch her power, entreat her for forgiveness—

… and he felt nothing.

Oathbreaker.

No, no!

Breaker of contracts.

He hadn't meant it like that. He hadn't meant to repudiate their bond!

No, please, no.

Don't leave me in the cold without your fire—

Severus fell onto his knees to howl out his anguish, and the very foundations of Hogwarts shivered in sympathy for the sheer depth of his agony.

Fenrir thought he had struck an easy, easy prey when the stupid girl had just sat down in the forest with her back to him.

His vice-like grip took her down from behind, and he was eagerly relieving her of her robes, grunting like a wild beast in his need to despoil her and make her scream.

She didn't even resist.

Was she broken already? Had he hit her on the head?

Unfortunate—

Well, she didn't really have to be conscious for him to get the job done.

He smelled blood. It excited him.

"Trying to turn me on, girlie?" he rasped. "Your blood is making me so hungry."

Her voice was eerily calm. "The blood isn't for you."

"No other werewolf is going to take you while I'm here, girl. No rescue for you. I was told exactly where you'd be. I get you, and old Snape gets his."

She seemed utterly, unnervingly still.

"So, worried about Snape, eh? Ah, well, soon all you'll have left to care about is pleasing me. Then Black can get his pound of greasy flesh off Snape. See? Win-win, girl. Give us a little scream first, hrm?" He dug into her skin with his ragged, dirty nails, drawing even more blood.

It trailed down her arms and splattered onto the ground.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

"Tazith, demoness of indifference, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

"Sagoneth, Mother of Monsters, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

Xaraz, demon of seething hatred, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

"Olgomaz, demon of jealous wrath, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

"Venozar, demon of spite, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

"Giglen, Queen of Spiders, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

"Mazakath, Lord of Bats, I call you in friendship to this world."

Drip.

"Jugmon, Lord of Hel-hounds, I call you in friendship to this world."

Her voice seemed to grow weaker, and a confused Fenrir tried to choke her voice away and stop her nonsense, for everyone knew that summoners weren't real.

Her eyes fluttered. A single tear trailed down her cheek.

"Severus, Lord of Anguish, I call you in friendship to this world."

Her lifeblood was pooling underneath her. Her eyes were closed. Her wand arm hung limply.

She fell to the ground, Fenrir dropping her body in shocked horror as nine demons rose up, blackened flames rising from the very ground, burning, burning, burning in unholy wrath as their great wings unfolded. Fang-filled muzzles parted, acidic venom dripped, claws flashed, tails whipped—

The mighty roar of the Lord of Hel-hounds shook the ground as the SCREEE of Mazakath summoned a cloud of bats so thick that it blotted out the moon.

Sagoneth's bestial muzzle snarled with double maws, each glowing with Hel-fire of a different colour. "He has touched our Lady Hermione. Tear this mongrel to shreds."

There was no sound at all as Fenrir was torn to pieces and his soul devoured amongst the Legion— as even his terrified screams were devoured utterly and completely.

"Hermione!" Severus breathed as he cradled her body in his arms. His wings shook with strain. Her blood painted his talons—

Blood to feed the Legion.

With no sacrifice to give but herself—

His fault.

His fault.

Hermione's small hand gently touched his muzzle. Her whisky eyes met his. "It was Sirius. He wanted me out of the way so he could get to you."

Her voice trailed off as she coughed weakly. Blood stained her slender chest where Fenrir had dug his gross and twisted nails deep into her flesh in a crude attempt to make her scream.

"Hermione!"

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Stay with me, please," he pleaded. "Trust in me. I beg you."

Her eyes were sad. "You didn't trust me."

"I always trusted you," he groaned. "But I didn't trust myself."

Hermione's face paled and slackened as her eyes fluttered. "Idiot."

"Your idiot, if you would have me," he whispered painfully, his head touching hers, his muzzle filled with yellowed fangs seeming so fragile against her small, human face. "I offer you the Choice. A Choice. The Choice. A life of fame and power in mortality with everything your heart desires— or an unending life, immortality with me."

"You're brilliant, but sometimes you can be so thick," Hermione mumbled. "It's you that I choose. It has always been you. You are what my heart desires."

"Not to be a spoilsport here, boy," Sagoneth said tartly, "but you really need to fuck her brains out and seal the bond before she dies on you."

Hermione coughed out a laugh, a trail of blood trickling down her chin from the corner of her mouth. "How terribly romantic."

Severus' talons cradled her head as his tongue slid into her mouth to initiate a kiss, his body shrinking into a much more manageable human form.

The other eight demons, clutter of demonic spiders, cloud of agitated demon bats, and the gathering of Hel-hounds circled all around them like a protective wagon as Severus proceeded to demonstrate that his talent for anguish did not apply to his love-making.

Hermione's whimpers turned to moans and then ecstatic cries of her mate's full hundred-some word name merged with hers as their magic and Darkness bound them together—

Demons would speak of her Turning for untold centuries— often embellishing it to make it even more exciting, but to those who were there to witness the transformation of Lady Summoner Hermione Jean Granger into Hermione, Demoness of Vengeance (or Demoness of the Karmatic Bitch-Slap as Tazith liked to call it), none could deny it was a match made in Darkness, as pure as the infinite depths of the vacuum of outer space tucked snugly within a black hole.

Sagoneth filed her talons industriously as the demon Severus ensured that the bond between himself and his mate was well and truly sealed, a very smug, demonic smile plastered on her muzzle.

Lady Hermione had called them all to Earth with her power as a summoner, but she had been turned before their time on Earth had expired.

Her once finite energy was no longer finite.

All of them now had free reign on Earth for as long Hermione existed— and they would never see her harmed again.

Everything was perfect.

"Well, shite," Olgomoz observed, having come to the same conclusion a bit belatedly.

Sagoneth snorted. Males. They were so slow sometimes.

"So, when do we get to sup upon the oathbreaker-dog?" Jugmon asked, idly scratching one ear with a hind paw.

Hermione rose from the ground as her muzzle opened to expose rows of pristinely brushed and flossed demonic fangs. Her wings unfolded as her wing spur scratched her hair. "How about now?"

The gathered demons smiled together.

"Nothing like a little wedding evisceration," Giglen said rather gleefully.

The demons all disappeared with a silent poof of blackened smoke, leaving Fenrir's bones where they had fallen, completely stripped of every scrap of flesh.

Later, as Alastor Moody and his squad of Aurors found the pile of bare bones that had once been the notorious werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, the old Auror scratched his head and sighed.

"Couldn't have happened to a more deserving piece of shite."

"But what the hell happened to him, boss?" the younger Auror beside him asked as his trainee Auror partner turned away hastily to throw up in the bushes.

"Karma," Alastor said, completely deadpan.

The younger Auror twitched. "Remind me never to do wrong by anyone ever again."

"Start by writing your report and having it on my desk first thing tomorrow morning, Carstairs."

"Yes, sir."

"And you stop throwing up on my crime scenes, Hoggins."

"Yes, sir!"

Carstairs tried very hard not to notice the deep, distinctly inhuman footprints scattered around the haphazard pile of bones as he sat on a downed log and began to write up his report.

No one would believe him anyway.

Well, maybe Muldhar and Skulley over in the DoM.

Maybe.

Sirius Black Found Completely Unresponsive in Family Home

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore found the unconscious body of Sirius Black in his Islington home yesterday afternoon when a pre-arranged dinner meeting between friends caused the group to realise that Black was missing.

Headmaster Dumbledore found him sitting in an armchair, his face frozen in terror, paralysed, completely unresponsive, and barely breathing.

Many believe that Sirius Black simply couldn't cope with life outside of Azkaban and that the stresses may have finally caught up to him in the wake of his arduous twelve-year ordeal.

As Mr Black is completely unable to respond, his entire estate and all personal holdings falls to the young witch who saved his life and cleared his name only one year previous in the same incident that revealed Peter Pettigrew as the true culprit of the Muggle murders a decade ago.

Muggles that live nearby claim they heard strange howling coming from next door on the night before.

"Aliens!" a neighbour exclaimed as he carried a bag of groceries into a nearby townhouse.

Master Hermione Granger states that she will set up a long-term care fund for Black, now a permanent resident of St Mungo's Janus Thickey ward.

She has plans to renovate and expand the Black townhome with the intent of gifting it to the Somerset Orphanage as a half-way house for endangered magical youth who have nowhere safe to stay during the Hogwarts summer hols.

No one really was surprised when Master Granger and Master Snape tied the knot. Most people at Hogwarts were so used to seeing them together that it would seem very odd to not see them together.

Oddly enough, no one accused them of impropriety, either.

Though, unlike so many others caught snogging and fondling out of wedlock, the newly married Snapes had never once been discovered in acts "so hormonally adolescent."

Post-marriage, however—

Well, many were quite jealous of the Snapes.

Both Snapes taught Potions. Hermione taught pre-O.W.L. fundamentals and remedial, and Severus taught O.W.L. to N.E.W.T. level potions. No one ever accused Hermione of being easier than her husband.

No one dared go to their N.E.W.T. level class unprepared, either.

When they weren't teaching, they were busy brewing for the Hogwarts infirmary and St Mungos. When they weren't brewing, they were often deep in research together.

When they weren't doing that, they enjoyed a little of each other and did their very best to populate the world with their sprogs.

Their eclectic extended "family" came to visit often, helping to raise the "little demons" up proper. What the humans around them didn't know and all that—

Hermione remained a summoner— creating new friendships and alliances as they built their armies right under the noses of clueless mortals. They even set Minerva up on a date with Mazakath, and things were looking very good indeed for their family to expand even more, and very soon too.

Thankfully, felines were prone to be neutral beings, so Minerva's future "conversion" wasn't quite so far-fetched as, say, attempting to Turn the likes of Alastor Moody.

Now that was a challenge no one wanted.

Severus worried they would soon find themselves up to their eyeballs in demon-bat-kittens, but Hermione seemed to think the idea was positively fantastic, delightful even.

While immune to being summoned by force, every so often Severus and Hermione would respond to one out of pure curiosity.

Nothing surprised them more than when Molly Weasley did so for nothing other than to "free her youngest son from the wicked Ministry's clutches."

Ronald Weasley's freedom lasted for all of five minutes before the Aurors and DoM came crashing into the Burrow and had him bagged, tagged, back in stasis and Portkeyed back to his heavily warded cell in the DoM.

And then Molly Weasley was arrested for illegal magic.

Arthur Weasley was now a single father.

Strangely, things seemed much better after all that.

What had they gotten in return?

Beautiful, tasty chaos— enough to make Hermione fertile again.

Oh, yes.

As Severus enfolded his beloved mate in his great wings, their tails corkscrewed together as they tenderly rubbed muzzles and snuggled on the couch. Their sprogs were off tormenting poor Lupin (their most favourite mortal babysitter, Minerva didn't really count since she was almost-family) and they had the whole evening to themselves.

"Beloved," he whispered.

"Severus," she whispered, their combined name in her breath.

"Any regrets?" he asked.

"Only that you didn't shag me senseless earlier than you did. Minerva is going to have a litter and beat us in sprogs."

Severus sputtered, giving her a tender lick. "Well, we can work on that, I suppose."

Hermione smiled at him. "Promise?"

Severus pulled her close. "Always."

And they lived happily in Darkness ever after.

(Taking over the world, obviously.)

Dne Eht

A/N: Uhhhh… I hope you enjoyed this Dark!Hermione fic, Corvus Draconis style. *Eyedarts*

Please thank The Dragon and the Rose for putting up with my peculiar shenanigans and odd hours and… SQUIRREL!

This story was inspired by a title I saw on fanfic dot net called Hermione Granger Demonologist by BrilliantLady. I didn't read it because it was a Hermione/Theodore Nott pairing, but still I was inspired by the title itself. Any resemblance to her story is completely unintentional.

Back to work again. *cry* Save me.