A/N: QLFC. Captain of the Wimbourne Wasps. Round 11: Typical HP Trope: Vampire!Snape.
Death had come to many at the Battle of Hogwarts. Many had read the lists naming the brave wizards and witches who had lost their lives during the darkest of moments in the school's grand history. Most notably, one person had been lamented more grievously than others. Severus Snape. However, if it had not been for three young students who explored a cave hidden within the Forbidden Forest, some startling information regarding Snape's nature would have remained lost.
Amongst the leaves, animal carcases and roots, were the rotting remains of a journal. Its binding was almost completely destroyed by weathering, and many of the pages were beyond legible. The students took it back to the Gryffindor common room, and set about deciphering what remained. Below is an excerpt of what they found.
Memoirs of the sentimental. And undead...
Death. For many, the final chapter. For others, another adventure. For the benefit of whoever is unfortunate enough to find this, I will, of course, begin by introducing myself (in case you are too stupid to read all the way to the bottom and find the name of the author). I am Severus Snape. Wizard, professor, fool, and vampire (recently sired vampire, might I add).
As the last line suggests quite vividly, providing, of course, that you are bothering to read this properly, I wasn't always a member of the undead club; I was a normal wizard, suffering the daily misery of attempting to teach the filthy little snot rags of Hogwarts how to at least appear like they can contribute to society... But, thanks to that drunken buffoon Slughorn—and the company he likes to keep—that got royally screwed up.
It was my own fault really; I always had a nasty habit of keeping a close eye on those I took a dislike to. I always knew it would drop me in it one day, but I could never help myself. Truth be told, I had a penchant for trying to urinate on the bonfires of those I despised. Screw or be screwed—that was my motto (and still is, just to clarify).
Seeing as you had to be nosey enough to pick this up, I suppose I will have to explain where the vampire bit came in... Unless of course, as I suspect, you have the attention span of a two-year-old, and can't read more than ten words without your mind wandering...
Horace Slughorn had decided to throw one of his little 'parties.' Well, he called them parties, but in fact, it was just an excuse for the old sod to get wasted publicly without anyone raising an eyebrow (Yeah. Like we'd never work out he was a drunk. Such a shock).
As usual, he'd invited half of the known wizarding world. Pretty much anyone who gave him the time of day outside of the castle walls was suddenly his friend, and was invited along. Most, of course, were repelled by the overpowering stench of booze on his breath, and would politely decline. The rest, however, like him, seemed to revel in an excuse to drink themselves into a stupor, and would turn up.
Being misanthropic, I didn't really want to associate with anyone I had the misfortune of having to share my personal space with, but Dumbledore liked to encourage these so-called 'inter-personal relationships,' and would often draw one of our names out of the hat to be in attendance to save the old git's face. Guess who drew the short straw of the last one.
He'd invited some questionable characters that particular night, but the one that really seemed to make my flesh crawl was a rat-faced little creep who called himself Sanguini. He'd spent the whole evening knocking back sherry like it was water with Slughorn matching him drink for drink. By the eighth glass, Slughorn was well on his way to re-upholstering the carpet with vomit—Sanguini, however, was as sober as a judge.
His shifty little eyes were practically undressing every female in the room, especially one particularly dense blonde female, who couldn't have been more than twenty. She'd barely said two words to him all evening, but by ten o'clock, she was sneaking from the room with him. It could, of course, have been something simple, like them realising what a boring tosspot Horace was, and decided to sneak away before their brains leaked from their ears. Many did. But me being me, I decided there was something more sinister at play, and followed them.
It didn't take me long to find them; her voice certainly worked better than her brain. I had expected to find them trying to rob the place blind, and her distressed bawling being the result of having been caught up in one of the castle's enchantments. As I walked around the corner, I saw that the little rat had backed the girl into a corner, and was closing in on her. At first, I was going to turn back. The thought of watching them trying to eat each other's faces made me want to regurgitate my dinner. But then, I caught her eye, and saw genuine fear. Looking closely at Rat Face, I noticed he had sprouted fangs.
Of course, being smarter than most, I realised immediately that Slughorn had neglected to tell us he had brought a bloody vampire into our midst... but knowing what he was like, he'd been too wasted to even notice that small, albeit vital detail.
My misanthropy told me not to give a monkey, and let him drink her dry: one less oxygen-stealing waste of space in the world... But on the other hand, being a professor of a school meant I couldn't just sit back. I would inevitably have to act.
I had always fancied myself as a bit of a twinkle-toes, and incredibly light on my feet: a skill I thought I had developed after years of catching the little snot rags of the castle up to no good. Alas, not on this occasion. Bloody vampire hearing...
I was able to run off to get reinforcements, and hopefully get back before he could kill her. I rounded the corner towards Slughorn's quarters, and came face to face with Rat Boy (I will add at this point, seeing as you are most likely of limited intelligence, that a wand is useless against a vampire's speed, let alone the fact that he is already dead. Just a precaution before you come out with the 'you could have pulled out your wand and Avada Kedavra'd him' excuse).
Words had not been necessary. He'd dispatched the girl on a one-way ride to the spirit world, and knew what I was about to do. He was on me and sunk his fangs into my neck before I'd even opened my mouth to speak.
As I felt the life draining from me, all I could remember thinking about was that I was about to become a seven-course meal for a colony of worms. It didn't happen, instead, I awoke about two days later, smelling like moth balls, and with a mouth as dry as Gandhi's flip-flops. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of wherever the hell I was, I noticed a figure standing over me. It was Rat Boy. A trifle confusing, to say the least...
He introduced himself by name, and explained that he had decided very kindly, to spare me, and sire me. Apparently, my disdain for my fellow man had intrigued and amused him, and he added that I would be a useful asset to him.
Oh, yay for me.
He explained that he was looking to gather some loyal soldiers of death for his army, to spread his metaphorical wings by taking control of Hogwarts first, and the Ministry second. After waffling for what seemed like an age, he finished his monologue. I think he was expecting me to break into rapturous applause, and pledge my unfaltering loyalty to his cause. However, the look on his face when I gave him the finger, then head-butted him, made having to endure his diatribe almost worth it.
Pissed off and a little bewildered, I stormed out of the castle. Dying had not exactly been prioritised on my to-do list for that day. Or any other day, for quite a number of years yet. I had no idea what Sanguini had meant when he'd said I was now an undead, but was too busy being annoyed to ask for the manual on how to be a semi-corporeal ghost. Yet again, my superior intellect meant that it hadn't taken me long to discover the benefits of my forced change of employment.
I could touch things, move objects with my mind instead of a wand, and appear and disappear at will (the fun I had scaring the crap out of Sprout and Flitwick whilst practicing my newfound abilities provided countless hours of entertainment, let me tell you, but that will be in a separate journal... Just hold your breath while you wait for me to bother to write it).
Going off topic for a moment, if you do happen to have been a former student of mine, or have known of me, you may think that this does not sound like the Professor Snape you knew. Apologies for bursting you fragile little bubble, what with the profanity, and revealing my true thoughts, but the two old codgers I consumed while out on my travels had, unbeknownst to me, had a skin full of brandy, and as a result, I am somewhat inebriated, but will try to ensure your tiny mind can keep up.
Apologies for cutting this short, but my level of intoxication has led me to need to vomit, and undoubtedly pass out. So I'll leave this here, whilst I tend to matters of a more pressing nature.
However, before I cut this off, I will leave you with one final thought. They say that life and love are eternal... But there is one other thing that is far more everlasting. And that, my friends, is death.