Part 1: Burn
Have you ever lent in close to a warm fire and stayed there for an excessive amount of time? Until you felt your skin begin to slowly tingle warmly and then burn on your cheeks, nose, forehead, or hands?
Well this… this was almost like that.
Except you could feel it… all over your body.
And that burn... turned out to be more like being put into an iron casket and thrown into the very pits of hades.
The pain; that's the first thing she remembered.
And what was this pain you may ask? This pain that burned like no other; this pain that coursed through her veins as every nerve, every fiber of her very being was pushed to its very ends. Well that is simple to explain. Her body is dying.
But, let us go back a ways.
A few hours or days at most. Back to the battle; the battle between good and evil, dark and light, life and death. The battle of Hogwarts. The battle to end all battles of this war against a man by many names…If you can even call him a man. More like a monster if you ask most. Who was this man? His name was Voldemort. A foul creature of darkness that wished to send the world as we knew it back to the dark ages. And give merit to muggle's fear against those things which go bump in the night that, as far as they knew, were something from a story book. While others fought against his ways to keep the peace.
Men, women, and even children fought the good battle and many perished while others lived on to see a new day. As most battles one would read in a story, it took place at a castle. Though Hogwarts was not just any castle; it was also a school. A school of magic for magical folk. And yes, there were beasts of all sorts in this battle. From centaurs to giants, ghosts to goblins, from witches to wizards; both evil and benign. Filled with magic spells and sword fights. But, there was something very different about this battle, this war. This was very much real.
That is what it was but, where our story begins is when it is all over. The Dark Lord was vanquished and the castle lay in ruins. Smoldering cinders still filled the night air from fires that had yet to be put out caused by falling shields placed up by magic. A desolate sight compared to its former glory. Bodies still lie scattered across the grounds. Bodies mutilated from spell damage. A testament adding to how much this war had cost them.
Here, among it all, a lone figure could be found making its way through the ruins of one of the far off corridors within the castle. The figure was clad in scorched robes of emerald green; now stained with sweat, dirt, and blood. Coal-black hair streaked with grey was strung up in a now very loose bun compared to the tight one it is usually seen in. A wand made of fir wood still clasped in the right hand. Its tip lit up to help guide the way in the darkness. A striking pair of bottle green eyes scanned to and fro. Who was this figure? This figure was one of the most iconic witches in the Wizarding World. A veteran of now three wizarding wars, an animagus, and one hell of a witch. Her name is Minerva McGonagall. A Scottish born witch who taught at the school in which she would now become the Headmistress of, should the school reopen as planned. She was making her way through these lower corridors in search of survivors. Perhaps someone who may be trapped beneath rubble in need of medical assistance.
And so her search had finally led her here. To those lower corridors away from where much of the population was currently.
As she searched she happened to notice movement on the ground a few feet in front of her. Cautiously she made her way forward toward the movement. As she neared she could clearly make out the shape of a person in the dark with her slightly enhanced sight due to her animagus form. When she was close enough she could see that it was a man who was gingerly sitting up from the rubble. His black clothed back was to her and she could see his ebony hair shinning in her wand light as she drew nearer.
So as not to startle the man Minerva spoke, "Are you alright?"
When the man did not answer, Minerva frowned in worry before carefully reaching a hand out to place on his shoulder as she repeated her question.
That proved to be a mistake…
Before she could blink the man had stood up and whipped around toward her. One of his pale hands had shot out and gripped her round the throat as the other knocked her wand from her grasp before taking hold of her round the waist. His sharp finger nails biting into her aged, porcelain skin; forcefully tilting her head to the side. It all happened so fast that had anyone been watching the scene, it would have seemed like nothing more than a blur in their vision.
Minerva caught a glimpse of his sharply featured face that was covered in half of a silvery, rigged, bone shaped mask before his face was pressed into the side of her neck.
And his teeth sunk into her jugular.
There was no time for shock, no time to even panic. Minerva's thoughts shuddered to a halt as her arms came up to grip and claw at his shoulders. A strangled gasp leaving her parted lips.
Her years of training in battle, her oh so careful ways of approaching people, did nothing to prepare her for this assault. No wand and hand to hand combat was utterly useless in such a compromising position. She never saw it coming. Constant vigilance went out the window at this moment. Her strength failed her.
The witch could feel her blood flowing out of the incision in her neck. Some of it going down the front of her chest in rivulets of crimson, soaking into her robes and staining her flesh. Her eyes wide and seemingly terrified.
As her life blood drained, Minerva could feel her pulse slowing. The once steady thrum in her veins nearly non-existent at this point. Her arms now lax slipped dully down to hang by her sides. Her once porcelain skin now ashen in pallor.
But just before her heart was able to pound to a stop, the man pulled back with a satisfied intake of breath. As he allowed Minerva's nearly lifeless body to slip out of his arms onto the ground where she landed on her back with a light thud.
"Oh my my my, I truly needed that. Absolutely refreshing." The first few words were growled out then finished in a silky voice that would put even the most handsomest of English gentlemen to shame.
The man had his head thrown back, gore shining along the lines of his pale lips before a pastel pink tongue slipped over them to lick away any traces.
After a moment his sharply angled features, cast in shadows, peered down at Minerva as she lay barely breathing; swallowing thickly every few seconds. He kneeled down next to her and his long cold, white fingers brushed the inky locks of hair that had fallen from its bun, out of her eyes. And as Minerva gazed up at him through a haze of pain her eyes widened further in horror. The man reached up and lifted the mask from his face as he looked down at her with sadistic curiosity. His eyes had shone in the darkness like blue fire. Sharp and clear and full of ice. Minerva could swear she had never seen something so terrifying and entrancing at once. His face bathed in partial moonlight was like a statue; chiseled and angled to manly perfection with a youth that flouted the age that lined his voice and radiated in his eyes. A hand reached down once more toward her face. Brushing the backs of his hand down its left side; from brow-line to pointed chin. Minerva felt tears prick the backs of her eyes and release. Only to trickle down the sides of her face and into her hair. Her mind was screaming to her to flee as any animal instinct would when faced with a fierce predator.
He cupped her chin turning her head slightly so he could properly gaze into her eyes. A flash of recognition flew fleetingly through his icy orbs.
"I know you." He said breathlessly, "Oh dear, it would be such a waste to allow you to die here amongst all this, so undignified as is. Perhaps something could be done about that. It'd be a shame to let you be just another casualty of the war." His fingers trailed down to her neck that was still slowly leaking blood, "And a waste of such sweet nectar."
He looked as though he wanted to say more but, the sudden sound of distant footsteps made him look up quickly. And then like a shadow, he disappeared into the gloom that surrounded them. Minerva's head lulled to the side. Her thoughts growing fuzzy and her eyes weary. The last thing she saw was the stone fixtures in front of her. The last things she heard were fast approaching footsteps and a worried feminine voice ringing in her ears before she slipped into unconsciousness.
"Minerva!"
Hermione Granger; brains of the Golden Trio and the brightest witch of her age, waited nervously by the bedside of Minerva McGonagall.
The young witch was one of the hailing heroes of the war against Voldemort. She had seen the Headmistress go off on her own to look for survivors and when she had yet to return come midnight the young woman felt a strange urgency to go in search for her. Minerva had been her mentor and within the last few years Hermione had come to call her a friend. Like being led by an unknown force, Hermione had ended up in the lower corridors where to her dismay she had found the Headmistress lying in a pool of blood. A cry left her throat as she ran towards the fallen witch. After feeling a faint pulse from the woman's cold wrist, Hermione had cast a careful levitation charm on her body before making her way as swiftly as she could to the medical wing.
When she had arrived, a flood of people had come to help take care of the elder witch. She was examined until the morning hours and the sun had finally begun to arise along the horizon before she was left to rest. She had severe blood loss and abrasions that the medi-witches chalked down to being due to the battle.
Hermione had waited patiently and anxiously for word from the head healer Madam Pomfrey. When she was finally approached the first question to leave Madam Pomfrey's mouth was, "What happened?"
Hermione had shaken her head, looking close to tears, "I don't know. She had gone off to look for survivors and hadn't returned. I went to look for her. She was alone when I found her."
And so here she was, sitting by Minerva's bedside. The woman's cold hand clasped tenderly in her own. Hermione looked the woman up and down; she looked frail in comparison to her normal strong stature and her pasty skin a contrast to her natural porcelain tone. Hermione's dark brown eyes locked onto Minerva's face as she brought the hand she was holding up to her mouth.
"What on Earth happened to you, Minerva?" she whispered against the back of her hand. Her chestnut hair shrouded her face as she leaned forward in her chair slightly.
As if she had spoken some code word, Minerva's eyes fluttered opened. She looked confused for a moment before she closed her eyes as though to get her bearings. Hermione felt elated and a smile began to make its way across her face at the sight of her mentor coming to.
Just as she began to stand to go and fetch Madam Pomfrey, the unthinkable happened.
Minerva's eyes snapped open and she shot up like a rocket. The terror wrought on her face and embedded in her eyes was staggering. The scream she emitted was like that of a banshee.
The sound carried through the medical ward and out into the halls, causing portraits and ghosts alike to freeze.
Madam Pomfrey came running out of her office to see Minerva sitting up in her bed screaming and Hermione standing beside her stunned. She bustled over, pushing Hermione lightly out of the way before gripping Minerva by her shoulders.
"Minerva! Minerva relax!" Poppy yelled over the witch's screams, "Minerva please, you're alright!"
Minerva struggled against her hold as though she was some sort of assailant.
Poppy looked over her shoulder at the young witch behind her who was still standing in shock, "Hermione! Help me! Hold her down!"
Coming out of her state of shock Hermione rounded the bed and took hold of the struggling witch the best she could as Madam Pomfrey let go. Poppy quickly went over to the cabinets at the end of the infirmary. Shifting through the draws she pulled out a muggle syringe and a vial of a clear liquid. Hermione watched her for a second before her focus was brought back to the witch she was holding against the mattress. Bottle green eyes were looking above her; wide and frightened. Madam Pomfrey came back to the bed and injected a dose of the clear liquid into Minerva's arm as Hermione pinned it down. After a moment Minerva's screams quieted to whimpers as the sedative kicked in. Hermione lifted her hand and pressed it against the woman's cheek and those green eyes flashed in her direction.
Minerva was panting. She was scared. When she had first woken up she hadn't realized where she was or what had happened. Then everything came back to her in a rush of images and agony. Unable to stop herself, she did something she never would have done before. She screamed.
Minerva panted heavily as she looked into the eyes of Hermione Granger. Tears slipped down her face and into Hermione's palm as just another thing to surprise her and the medi-witch, who had known the venerable woman for some fifty years. Hermione looked into those frightened eyes and could feel her heart breaking for the witch lying in the bed.
"Those eyes. Those horrible eyes." Minerva whimpered her voice raucous and her Scottish brogue thick with emotion.
Hermione and Poppy looked at one another with furrowed brows before turning back to the witch in the bed who was still staring at Hermione and sobbing. Acting on impulse Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Minerva up and into her arms. Minerva's hands fisted in her pink sweater as she buried her face in the young woman's chest; seeking comfort. Hermione stroked Minerva's hair that was in loose waves down her back.
"Sh. It's alright, Professor. It's alright." She repeated this over and over as she held the sobbing woman, looking helplessly at Poppy who was just staring at them in worried confusion.
"Just stay with her until she is asleep." Poppy whispered to her, not knowing what else to really say. "That sedative should relax her enough to sleep. Then I suggest you go and get some rest yourself. You can come back later today if she is awake and ready to talk."
Hermione nodded as she brought her focus back to Minerva who was crying softly now. 'What has scared her so much?' Hermione wondered to herself.
Sometime later, Minerva finally dropped off into a restless sleep; strangely comforted by the young woman's embrace. Hermione gently placed her back into the bed and tucked her in as though she were a child who had woken from a nightmare. Then, with one last look, she left her to slumber as peacefully as she could to get some much needed rest for herself. It was going to be a long night.
Hermione was never able to make it back to Minerva that day. She had been elected by a group of others to help begin reconstruction on the castle. So her day passed with hard work and sweat. Yet through-out the time she kept getting distracted. Her mind repeatedly wandering back to a certain green eyed witch who was being held in the hospital wing for further observation due to her episode earlier that morning.
The day passed and soon night came. Hermione wanted nothing more than to go visit with Minerva but after a quick shower, her exhaustion caught up with her and she fell into a deep sleep.
As night fell over Hogwarts and the inhabitants of the old castle began to dowse their lamps, a shadowy figure slipped into the hospital wing.
Unseen and unheard.
Minerva lay still sleeping in her cot. Throughout the day she had been woken to take potions or to be examined then was left to rest. If it had been any other situation the Scotswoman would have argued and raised hell about being kept in the wing. But at this point she was just too weak to argue with her friend Poppy or another of her other colleagues.
The moon sent muted light to streak into the hospital ward in ghostly beams. Its only occupant lay sleeping in her bed curled up on her side, not even the slightest bit aware of the danger that approached her from behind.
Minerva was jerked out of her slumber as she was flipped over onto her back. A familiar hand covering her mouth as it opened to scream. Her eyes connecting with a frightfully familiar set of orbs that came into her view. A lengthy, muscular body covered hers; pressing her into the mattress causing springs to dig into her spine. Her breasts were crushed against her under the sudden weight. Struggling quickly became more of an effort along with breathing.
Minerva shook her head violently dislodging his hand for a moment and she snapped, "Take your damn hands off me!" Breaking free one of her arms, she scraped her nails across the pale hide that was his cheek. Three long scratches scored his flesh which bled for mere seconds before the tissue healed over. Leaving no traces of the markings she had caused. And then his hand returned to its place, covering her mouth more firmly.
"Tut tut, my angel," said the silky voice above her, "We'll have none of that now. Be a good little girl and stay silent for a spell." He leant his face toward her and pushed his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply as he did so. Her scent tickling his senses like a shark that had just smelled freshly spilt blood in the vast ocean waters. Minerva cringed in disgust. She could feel her heart rate increase and he could hear it. This only caused the man to smile with malice. "Your fear is intoxicating as is your fragrance. But you know as well as I that is not what I returned for, no?"
His skin was so cold against her own and Minerva could feel herself shiver. 'This can't be happening. Gods please, let this just be a nightmare.'
Dry-ice lips caressed the pale skin of her neck that was just visible above her white hospital gown. Minerva shut her eyes together tightly. His eyes of blue fire peered down at the teal vein on the side of her neck that was pulsing with every beat of her racing heart. Drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He glanced at her and noted the closed eyes so he paused. Waiting. A beat later, Minerva opened her eyes when the pain didn't come. It was then that his large incisors plummeted into her jugular once more. Her yowls muffled by his large hand. She tried to struggle but, the feat was next to impossible. Her struggles only caused blood to streak down her neck onto her gown and mattress beneath her. Pristine white sheets turned scarlet. Blood dripped into her coal-black hair with few streaks of grey, coating it in a layer of the sticky substance. Minerva grew weary and her struggles slowed and finally stopped.
Once the man had drained her nearly dry he pulled back.
Leaning down once more he hissed against the shell of her ear, "I have drained you to the point of death and now give you an opportunity that you shall not refuse." He pulled back from her and sat up slightly knowing that the witch was now in no state of self being to put up a fight. Raising his own wrist to his mouth he slit the flesh with his sharp teeth. Bringing it down to float above Minerva's own mouth and stated simply, "Drink." His cold blood dripped down onto McGonagall's now blue lips. Minerva shifted her head to the side; droplets of his blood trailing across her cheek with the movement. He gripped her chin and yanked her head back into place. "I have gazed into your eyes and seen into the very recesses of your mind; your very soul. There is someone you long for in the depths of your thoughts and your heart." Minerva's eyes grew like saucers. "Yes, I know. It was a surprise, of course. For you Professor, to long for someone so young…So innocent." He pressed his open wrist against her mouth, "You. Will. Drink." When she hesitated, he fisted his hand into her hair, "Drink I say!"
With only one thing in mind and against her better judgment, Minerva lifted her head toward the cold liquid and she drank. Minerva's hands came up and wrapped themselves around his forearm, keeping it in place. After a minute she could see pain flit across his face as he snatched his arm back, "Enough."
The blood she ingested ran through her organs like poison.
And with the poison came the burn. Her hands clenched and unclenched against the scarlet stained sheets that surrounded her. Minerva gritted her teeth; her breathing was now erratic. Her head pounded against her skull. Her heart beating so much she feared it would burst out of her ribcage. She could feel her body seizing as her back arched from the bed involuntarily. It was worse than the cruciatus curse. Like being bathed in acid and yet she emitted no sound other than the breath that seeped through clenched teeth and parted lips.
And so here is where it all happened.
Her body was dying.
"The pain shall pass in a moment. Try not to pay it any attention." The man said as he stroked her hair. He then stood up straight and said to her in a voice that demanded heed, "I have no use for pets. So as your creator I release you. You are free to do what you will. But understand this; this gift I have bestowed upon you is a reminder of your moment of weakness. So willing to help those in need. Pathetic. And if this world cannot return to darkness then let this so be your punishment from me; a sovereign of the twilight. Trapped in the night, my dark angel. Forever." He gave her a smirk as her watched her body writhe in the sheets muddied by her own blood. Then like a bad dream, he faded into the night.
Minerva's back arched from the bed a final time and dropped back where her body stilled. Her heart ceased to pound and her eyes fell shut. Her lashes creating black crescents against her skin. Skin that suddenly grew firm; ageless. Her grey streaked hair became blacker than a raven's feathers and fuller though still partially matted by dried blood. Fingernails lengthened from the short nubs they were. Her breasts became firm and her body slimmed. Incisors pointed slightly more behind closed lips. Her porcelain skin like that of a china doll, shone in the faint moonlight.
It was with a gasp that her eyelids flittered open to reveal a pair of striking eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness as though they were jewels. Bright pale, forest green orbs; cat-like in comparison.
TBC…