Author's Notes:
I know, I know, another fic, I'm a horrible person. Not [entirely] my fault. Alexander Skarsgard is my Lucius Malfoy fancast, and one of my wonderful readers mistook an upcoming Lumione fic aesthetic for a HP/TB crossover . . . and here we are.
1) This is a vampire fic, so do expect there to be a fair amount of bloodletting & blood drinking. Additionally, this is Eric coming into the HP world, so do not expect the other TB characters to make an appearance.
2) Eric's opinion on female figures is taken more from the book series than the HBO drama.
3) Story Timeline: 2007 (one year after vampires 'came out of the coffin,' according to the series) As stated in the summary, this is AU-ish, so the events from TB won't have an affect on this story.
4) Chapter lengths may vary wildly (some may be 5k words, some may not reach 2k). Updates will be sporadic (there may be a week of 5 back-to-back updates, or no update for [at least] a month, and very likely some mix of both).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, True Blood (Southern Vampire Mysteries/Sookie Stackhouse Novels), or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.
Chapter One
"Just once," he said, the faintest smirk curving his lips, "I do wish we could meet under more . . . pleasant circumstances."
Minerva smiled in spite of herself—he could always be so charming when he wanted to—and sipped her tea. Setting down her cup against its saucer, she responded, "I wasn't sure if you'd come, yourself, or send someone in your stead. I understand your position is fairly important."
With a sigh, he looked about the Headmistress' office. "Important? Yes. But often not very exciting. Not like what is happening in your little corner of the world. Besides, Pam is more than eager to take the reins in my stead. More fittingly, she is capable."
The witch wouldn't say it, but she was glad he'd not sent his Childe in his place. Oh, she liked Pam's no-nonsense attitude the few times they'd met just fine, but they were too alike in some ways, and there was only so long they could put up with one another.
She doubted very much the person who'd have to take her place would tolerate Pam any better.
"Besides, it has been a bit long since we last saw one another. I was eager for the opportunity to catch up in person. Your people are so interesting." He let it go unsaid that she'd aged. Unsaid that he was glad to hear from an old friend who could've very well been dead by now for all he'd known.
Witches of Minerva McGonagall's sort were many things, unfortunately-close-to-human among them—their lives just as fragile and only a little less fleeting. Oh, if he did not adore her kind so . . . .
"We can catch up after the more official part of this reunion is handled, Eric."
Snickering, he nodded. Yes, yes, there she went, all business. Even as a teenage girl so many years ago, she'd had an ability to put aside feelings and focus that he'd admired greatly.
He nodded, waving one long-fingered hand in a movement that seemed almost too graceful for a man of his stature.
"As Keeper of the Covenant, I implore you to assist us in finding the culprit behind these crimes." Her expression severe, she nodded before going on. "However, I am aware that I am past the age of viability for renewing our Covenant. Being without children to pass on the duty, I have asked one whom I trust, one whom I look upon as my own daughter, to take up the Covenant in my stead."
Arching a brow, he pursed his lips for a moment. "With my approval, of course."
"Of course," Minerva echoed with another nod.
"Very well. I will meet her."
Minerva placed the scroll down beside the copy of the Daily Prophet, its headline screaming across the front page Vampire Terrorizes Wizarding Britain. Hermione only watched the elder witch as Minerva settled back in her chair on the other side of her desk.
"As you know, one year ago, vampires made their existence known to the entire world. Our world, on the other hand, has always known of them." Minerva folded her hands neatly before her upon the desktop. "When they . . . 'came out of the coffin', as they call it, they took with them secrets. One of those secrets being the existence of our world."
Hermione frowned, her movements tentative as she reached for the scroll.
"When the Muggle world thinks of witches, they think of some tree worshipers, or something out of a fairy tale; wizards something out of fantasy. Our existence is kept secret only by the discretion of those . . . shall we call them other magical species who've made themselves known. But the reason why they see fit to keep us secret is because we have had a 'we do not bother them, they do not bother us' arrangement."
"And yet, here's a vampire in our world, murdering teen-aged witches and wizards."
"Precisely the point I'm coming to. We can reach out to them for aid, when necessary. However . . . ." Minerva nodded toward the scroll as her former student's fingers closed around it. "The way their world works, most common vampires don't actually know of us beyond stories. The ones in power do. The ones who would deal directly with us in such a circumstance, their official title is sheriff. Yes, yes, like the Muggle law enforcement position."
"And so we're to expect one of these sheriffs?"
Once more, Minerva nodded. "Now, the issue there being that Wizarding Britain is not just one of their Areas, but covers several. Normally, the sheriff of a particular Area would find the culprit and take him or her before their magister. They don't know this is happening. Our secrecy is actually our problem in times such as these. In order to keep contact to a minimum, thus maintaining the aforementioned arrangement, we cannot reach out to every sheriff who would normally be alerted to this sort of situation."
Hermione swallowed hard, holding the scroll, unopened, still. She could only guess that magisters were those to whom these sheriffs deferred. "So what do we do?"
"As it happens, there is a particular sheriff with whom I have a personal history. He doesn't have any sort of jurisdiction here, as his territory is across the pond, but they don't adhere to strict human ideals in such matters. He would be able to come here, investigate the matter, and report it to the proper magister on our behalf."
"How do I figure into all of this, Professor?" Hermione was a professor in her own right, now, but still she could not shake the old habit of referring to Minerva McGonagall by that title. She didn't believe she'd ever be comfortable calling her Minerva. "Am I to act as some sort of liaison for this sheriff?"
"You needn't call me Professor any longer, Hermione. You are my subordinate, but we are colleagues, now." Minerva's mouth quirked upward at the corners, though it wasn't quite a smile. "But, in a manner of speaking, yes. The scroll in your hand is a Blood Covenant. Once one is formed, it is typically passed down in a witch or wizard's family line, binding them to a particular vampire. Many years ago, the village where I was born required vampire assistance. I created this Covenant with him, but they have a . . . shelf-life, if you will. They are only good for a span of fifty years, and cannot be renewed until the full five decades have passed, ensuring the Keeper of the Covenant cannot abuse the vampire's offer of assistance by calling on them often." She shrugged. "Often as a comparative term, of course, given that these are exceedingly long-lived creatures."
The younger witch's brow furrowed as the meaning sank in. She was both flattered that she was who the elder witch thought of in lieu of a child of her own, and deeply unsure of just what was being asked of her. "You want me to take your place as Keeper?"
"Yes. To ask assistance after those fifty years have passed, the Covenant must be renewed. However, the binding can be . . . taxing. We both know that as a witch, I still have a long while ahead of me, but my dear, I am seventy-two years old. There's but so much this old heart can take."
Hermione sighed, weighing the scroll on her palm. She literally did not want to open it. She couldn't recall a time in her life when she'd wanted to read something less. "And renewing the Covenant . . . since these are vampires, should I even guess what that means?"
"You would have to exchange blood with him."
Her gaze darting about, touching the varied items on Minerva's desk as she puzzled over that, Hermione asked, "I'd imagine it would be painful, but is being bitten by a vampire really so taxing?"
A sparkle lit Minerva McGonagall's eyes, one that Hermione was sure she'd never see before, as her thin lips moved in a half-smile. "Oh, no, my dear. It's what his blood might do to you."
Hermione stood outside the Headmistress' office, the door to the spiraling lift closed as she waited for Professor McGonagall—Minerva, for Minerva—to call her. For the umpteenth time, she rotated her shoulders and made sure she held her head high. Minerva had told her that it was due to her Covenant, and her high standing in the Wizarding Community, that the Ministry had allowed her to handle seeking vampire aid. Had warned her that her acceptability as the new Keeper was a decision that rested with the vampire. Warned that his first appearance could be rather intimidating if he was in a mood to be intimidating.
Oh, and that for a person in good health, the taste of his blood—just a single drop—could have a euphoric effect. A euphoric effect that could last hours.
Holding in a weighted sigh, she buried her face in her hands. Just her luck, her first meeting with this person she was supposed to work with in some fashion and she might make a damn fool of herself because of the effect his blood might have on her.
Brilliant.
"Hermione, come in, please."
Exhaling long and slow, she nodded to herself as the door opened. She stepped inside, offering the elder witch a warm smile. Almost of their own volition, her eyes drifted over to lock on the man seated in one of the armchairs that faced the Headmistress' desk.
That warm smile slid right off her face.
Hermione had no idea how anyone could sit in another person's office and somehow manage to affect an air like they owned everything in sight. She could tell from the width of his shoulders and the length of his limbs that he must be quite tall when standing. Long, pale—almost Malfoy-blond—hair brushed the shoulders of his black leather coat, a dusting of slightly darker gold lined his jaw and around his mouth in only the most faintly obvious five o'clock shadow.
But it was his eyes that truly caught her. Something in those blue eyes was so sharply closed off that she couldn't put it into words.
Oh, yes, she could imagine he had it in him to be quite intimidating, if he chose. Possibly quite a few other things, too, but she wasn't going to begin to let her mind wander in that direction.
She was acutely aware of that closed-off gaze moving over her in a long sweep. Acutely aware of the smirk that curved his lips as he returned his attention to Minerva.
"Do you not feed this one? I have seen saplings with more breadth to them."
Hermione's jaw fell. There was a disdain in his voice just now; she'd never heard anyone make being thin sound so much like an insult before. If not for the cognizance of Minerva waving a silencing hand at her, she might've snapped a barbed retort.
He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, registering the way the younger witch squared her jaw and damn near visibly bit back a response—she didn't need to know he'd be trying to gauge her reaction. Well, perhaps she'd give him reason to overlook her slight stature.
Minerva folded her lips inward, her attention flicking back and forth between the two of them. Perhaps she should've been a bit more emphatic and detailed with her warnings to Hermione. Of course, she didn't truly believe any amount of warning could brace anyone for him.
Had she mentioned about witch's blood earlier? Oh, Merlin, she couldn't recall just now.
Shaking her head at herself, Minerva cleared her throat. "Hermione Granger," she started as he unfolded himself from the armchair and rose to his full height, "this is my old friend, Eric Northman."
Though she tipped her head back to hold his gaze, Hermione kept her features carefully schooled, the only change to her expression being the rather severe arch of one eyebrow—a look she'd clearly picked up from the elder witch. "I know it's a common turn of phrase, but how old is old?"
He made a face, then, that she thought was perhaps him trying to hold in a laugh. "Are you looking for an exact figure, or will an approximate estimation suffice? Because I should tell you that after a time, the years begin to blend together a bit."
Hermione tried to hide the way she reflexively forced a gulp down her throat, but the flicker of his eyes toward her neck for the briefest second told her she'd failed. "Approximate is fine, then."
"One thousand."
"What?!"
"Hermione," Minerva hissed in a warning tone as Eric's brows shot up.
The younger witch had turned on her heel to pace the room, seemingly not hearing Minerva at all, as she shook a finger at no one in particular. "Are you joking? A thousand? A thousand years old! I'm . . . I'm just going to need a moment with this, all right? This was all just sort of tossed on me, and I just roll with it, now. Like Harry and bloody Dumbledore, we've become, I suppose? Honestly! Vampires? Fine. Blood Covenants? Okay. Letting a man who just insulted my figure make the decision about whether or not I'm even acceptable as a substitute? Sure, why the bloody hell not! But he's as old as the castle we're standing in! How is any mind supposed to process all that and just keep going?"
"Miss Granger," Minerva said, her words slipping out from between lightly clenched teeth. "I understand your need to . . . vent, as they say, but if anyone's mind can process all of this and 'just keep going,' we both know it's yours."
Hermione scowled, halting midstride. Minerva was right, Hermione knew she was. It was just a lot to take in, even if she had already processed it. She still needed to let off steam about the entire thing.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, the younger witch turned back to face them. Minerva watched her with a tense expression, clearly worried for the impression she was making on the vampire. The vampire, on the other hand, had an arm folded across his chest and one fist curled under his chin as he stared at her.
His eyes narrowed, holding her gaze for a long, quiet moment before he looked to Minerva. "Yes, she's acceptable."
Obviously they'd both thought he would find this Hermione's display a turn-off, because the look of surprise on both witches' faces at his words nearly forced a laugh out of him.
"Well, then," Minerva said after she collected herself. Bracing her palms against the desktop, she stood, nodding toward the scroll in Hermione's hand. "I'll leave you to it, then. The scroll will tell you what you need to say to begin the renewal process."
Hermione blanched as the other woman rounded her desk and started for the door. "You're leaving?"
"I'll be back when the signing is done. And trust me." Minerva leaned close, whispering in Hermione's ear as she went by, "I speak from experience. You'll not want an audience for what comes next."
Though he probably hadn't meant to let the sound slip out, he snickered just then. Hermione snapped her gaze from the retreating witch to look at him. Bloody hell, vampires had sharp hearing, didn't they?
Once they were alone, he dropped his arms to his sides. "Shall we?"
I can't believe she talked me into this, she thought in a sour tone as she gave herself a shake. It wasn't about who'd asked her to do what. It was about not letting anymore children die, and since the Ministry's attempts at investigating the murders themselves had been exercises in futility . . . .
With a deep, steadying breath, she nodded. "I hope you know what you're getting into in choosing to deal with me."
He narrowed his eyes in an appraising look as he stepped closer. "I imagine," he said as he eased the scroll from her hand and placed it on the desk, "you think yourself quite the handful."
"Oh, it's not just what I think. I'm sure given time, you'll think it, too."
One corner of Eric's mouth plucked upward. "You are interesting, I will grant you that much. But you should know this is a two-way street. I can call upon you if I need your assistance. For the next fifty years, we will be connected."
"You always speak in such a finite way, don't you?"
Arching a brow, he frowned thoughtfully before nodding. He opened the scroll, directing her attention to the words.
Hermione turned, hyper-aware of his presence at her back as he loomed over her shoulder. She jumped a little at a sound like bone clicking against bone, inadvertently bumping into him.
Swallowing hard, she looked up at him. He appeared to have been waiting for that, as his gaze captured hers the moment her eyes reached his face. She had no idea their fangs made a sound when they slipped free.
"What?" he asked as he noticed the way her brows furrowed.
"I just always thought . . . I thought vampire's fangs would be extended canine teeth. The reality of their placement is jarring, is all."
"You are an odd one."
Marshalling her focus, Hermione turned her attention back to the scroll. "An odd handful you're about to be stuck with for fifty years."
"Ready?"
She nodded, remembering the procedure Minerva had explained. Holding up her left wrist, she tried to brace for what his fangs sinking into her skin might feel like.
"As Keeper of the Covenant, I, Hermione Granger, implore you to assist us in finding the vampire committing murders in Wizarding Britain."
He clasped her wrist in one, surprisingly gentle—if cold—hand. "As the vampire bound by this Covenant, I, Eric Northman, hear your plea . . . and accept."
Rather suddenly, she found his other arm around her. The sleeve of his coat pushed back to his elbow, he reached out to take the quill Minerva had set down not far from the scroll. He turned his bared wrist, and she could see the twin puncture marks in his skin.
His blood dripped down, darkly crimson and entirely too thick looking, to spot on the scroll over the place he'd originally signed five decades before. Dipping the quill into the droplet of deep red, he wrote his signature anew.
Pressing the quill into her waiting right hand, he lifted her wrist to his mouth with his left. She jumped, hissing a breath at the shock of pain through her body as his teeth pierced her. If not for his assistance—moving her arm over the scroll and turning her wrist so the blood dripped down—she might've forgotten the next step in that moment.
Taking a breath, she ignored that the pain was somehow oddly gratifying. She nodded to herself, touching the quill's tip to her own drop of blood. Forcing herself not to hesitate—difficult, knowing what would come next, the step without which the Covenant would not be complete, the step Minerva had warned her about—she signed, sure her fingers were trembling as she set aside the quill.
She squeaked out a sound of shock as she found herself moved backward. Impossibly fast, it seemed, Eric was seated in the nearest armchair with her deposited on his lap.
Her chestnut eyes shooting wide, she turned her head to meet his gaze.
Those closed off blue eyes holding hers steadily, he simply said, "Trust me."
Hermione only watched him as he lifted her bleeding wrist toward his lips. His eyes on hers, still, he let his lids drift shut as he closed his lips around her wounds.
A shivering breath caught in her throat at the feeling. The sensation of his tongue stroking her skin around the punctures, of his mouth drawing out her blood in slow pulls, caused her pulse thrum in her veins and sent a sweet tremor through her.
Once again, she nearly forgot herself in the moment, only remembering that it was not yet complete when he lifted his wrist to her mouth. His wounds nearly closed, now, she realized she would only get a few drops before it sealed entirely.
Worried whether or not that would be enough to bind the Covenant, she dragged herself back to her senses and ran her tongue over the pinpricks of blood dotting his pale skin.
Just as fast as she'd found her senses, she lost them again. Every inch of her tingled sweetly and she slumped against him. The colors of the room around her swirled and flickered and she closed her eyes to block out the dazzling wash of illumination.
He kept himself in check, no small feat with the decadent flavor of witch's blood. He drank just until he was sure his blood was in her system. There would be time later, time she might again willingly offer it to him.
She was only very distantly aware that he'd pulled her wrist from his mouth. Only distantly aware of him cradling her against his chest in a shockingly delicate hold.
Somehow, in that swirl of color still dancing behind her eyes and blissful sensations zinging across her skin and coursing through her limbs, she managed to find her voice. "You did tell me to trust you."
Eric chuckled softly, resting his chin atop her head as he waited for her to ride out the high from his blood. "In the days to come, you will learn I am often right."