Crowley wasn't a normal demon. Most demons lacked the conniving, treacherous taint of humanity that Crowley still carried around with him. It was what made him so good at his job. Besides, whoever said demons lacked the ability to love had evidently never actually talked to one. Demons were callous, cruel, vicious...evil even. But they were the children of Lucifer, an angel whose only real crime, it could be argued, was loving his Father too much.

Demons could love.

They just chose not to.

"Daddy?"

The little girl twisted the letter in between her fingers as her father combed her hair.

"Will I be okay at Hogwarts?"

Crowley sighed and laid down the brush he'd been using to try and tame her hair. Much like her spirit it rebelled against any form of conformity. He couldn't help but approve.

"You'll be fine, princess."

"What if people don't like me?" She asked quietly.

There was a pause as Crowley remembered all the times he'd come home to find his daughter sobbing because of some bully. Or because of Lilith, who was really the Queen of Bitches had taken the day's frustration out on her. She had reason to believe people wouldn't like her.

"I'm sure they will, sweetheart. I like you and I don't like anyone." He promised, ever the salesman.

She giggled and smiled up at him angelically.

When she came home after her first year he wasn't Daddy anymore. His little girl had grown up in the ten months since he'd last seen her. She'd recognised him despite the meat suit he'd been using to pick her up from the train station and run straight for him, leaving two bemused boys in her wake. Something had happened. He could see it instantly. There was a look in her eyes he didn't like, as though someone had shown her the darker side of reality. Which, for the daughter of a demon, was saying something.

The second year her letters stopped after Christmas. He told himself not to worry, that she was off having adventures with her friends. She'd simply forgotten about him.

"They wouldn't write to you." She told him, brown eyes wide. "They think I'm muggleborn and the school rules say that they don't have to notify muggles in the event of a magical accident. I'm sorry Dad. I'll be more careful."

Crowley had taken his rage out on the next unwitting crossroad demon to step out of line. She'd been in a coma for months and no one thought he was important enough to tell?

Flesh would burn for this.

Third year wasn't as bad. He suspected that his heart might give out (if he had one) when she told him about riding a bloody Hippogryph. At least she hadn't been running from werewolves, he told himself, filing another contract.

Crowley tucked the moving picture of Hermione and her friends dressed up to the nines for their school dance into his pocket and scowled at her.

"Why do they want you to go to this secret hideout anyway?" He demanded.

"To keep me safe." She mumbled, not looking at him. This was probably because his eyes were red and, after spending so long with humans, she found the sight slightly unsettling.

"Safe from what exactly?" Crowley growled.

"Does it matter?" She asked innocently.

Crowley prayed to Lucifer for patience. She was his daughter through tenacity and stubbornness alone, if nothing else.

"Yes, lass, it matters."

Hermione sat at the foot of her bed and sighed, tapping the toes of her trainers together.

"There may, may, be a Dark Lord on the loose in Britain who may or may not, want Harry dead."

"And that has what to do with you?" Crowley demanded.

"I'm Harry's friend..."

"And that places you in the firing line." He sighed. It was what he would do. Can't fault a Dark Lord for being thorough. "Can't you just stop talking to this boy? Or we could send you to a different school?"

Hermione gave him a wide-eyed look of horror.

"Dad!" She said reproachfully. "Of course not. Harry's my friend. He needs me!"

Crowley scowled.

"Don't they think I can keep you safe?" He complained.

"Dad, they think you're a muggle." She smiled gently, knowing she had won. He couldn't say no without drawing attention to her and that was the last thing they wanted. They'd take one look at her parentage and either run her through or steal his daughter away. A daughter he'd barely seen since she'd started school.

"Fine."

That year his daughter came home with a scar on her chest, a trunk full of healing potions and fear in her eyes.

"Why can't you be normal?" He demanded, watching her pack.

Again.

She was always packing.

"Where'd this sense of obligation come from?" He insisted, resisting the urge to tear at his hair. "Because it wasn't from me!"

"By normal, do you mean demon normal?" She asked calmly, folding her clothes. He didn't like the shadows under her eyes. Or the fact that she now looked more like a woman than a little girl. It felt like she'd changed in the space of a blink.

"Obviously. Sometimes I wonder if your mother wasn't an angel." He shuddered in repulsion. "It's just not natural. You're the Princess of the Crossroads."

"Only you call me that." She pointed out, stacking her books neatly.

"My point stands, sweetheart."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look.

"Fine."

She snapped her fingers and her trunk packed itself.

"Happy?"

He hummed approvingly.

"Very. Your telekinesis is improving."

"Mmm. I hate doing that." Hermione closed the lid of her trunk on her perfectly stacked belongings. "Why?" He asked, curious as he was with everything to do with her.

"I always end up with considerably more black clothing then I started with." She pouted slightly.

He laughed.

"Demonic rebellion, darling. Nothing better."

"You're not staying." He stated quietly, setting himself down beside her.

She looked torn.

"Harry needs me. They'll probably die if I'm not there. It's just...I'm going into a bloody war. I'm nearly eighteen but I'm just... I'm scared, Daddy."

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

She laughed weakly.

"You know your sales pitches don't work for me. Besides...they need me."

"Yeah, you said." He considered telling her that he needed her, couldn't cope with the idea of losing her. "If you need me, anything at all, I will move armies to get to you."

Hermione sighed quietly, unwilling to leave the shelter of his home.

"I know, Dad."

The next time he saw her, she'd collapsed onto the marble floor of their manor home, thin, exhausted and broken. He carried her to her bed himself, summoning the house demons to watch over her. When he saw the scar on her arm, the bellow of rage rattled through hell until it reached the soul of Bellatrix Lestrange who shivered in fear.

"I want to go to school." She said one morning over breakfast.

They've moved to America and, at his request, she'd cut all ties with Wizarding Britain. It meant she was safer and there is less chance of someone finding out that the King of the Crossroad's daughter is a pioneering war hero for the light. If Lilith found out...Didn't bear thinking about. She barely tolerated Hermione as it was.

"We tried school." He pointed out, sipping his scotch. "You remember how that turned out."

"We tried it in Britain." She set down her knife and fork and leaned towards him. "I would like..."
Why can't she just demand things like a normal person? He thought to himself.

"To attend University. As a muggle."

"In America?" He queried.

"Obviously."

Good. At least he can keep an eye on her there. Which she had probably taken into account already. When did she get so good a negotiating?

"On two conditions. You need to learn possession."

Her shoulders drooped.

"Do I have to?" She complained.

He spluttered.

"It's a demonic write of passage. Like learning to drive! Everyone does it. I don't understand where this...hesitation came from. You're a demon!"

Hermione scowled. "I might not even be able to do it." She pointed out hopefully. He chuckled into his whiskey.

"Yeah...right. And you take that bloody monster with you."

Hermione scratched behind the cat's ears. Crowley's not sure how a hell-cat found his daughter, he's just glad that it did. Even if the thing is pure evil.

Crowley can't decide what's funnier.

That his daughter is masquerading as a human or that she's studying theology.

Because of the large demon protection contingent at Stanford, Crowley knows the instant Sam Winchester appears on campus. He leaves him be. Hermione doesn't approve of hurting innocents and there'd be hell to pay if she found out. The last thing he needs is a furious witch on his hands. It's just as well that she graduates and moves to New York for her doctorate years before Azazel shows up on site.

If he has his way, she'll never be anywhere near the Winchesters and that shit show ever again.