Greetings All! Here's another short story, just in time for Halloween! So turn off the lights, put on some spooky music and grab some candy!
Darkness and despair had descended upon the wizarding world and brought with it the heavy fog of oppression and fear. Much the same way dousing a lamp extinguished all light, the once bright hope for the future had been snuffed out. The infamous war between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort, the war of the ages, was over.
There were numerous deaths. There were countless prisoners of war. There were hundreds taken as slaves. An innumerable amount was on the run, scattered about like marbles tossed from a jar. Unfortunately none of them were Death Eaters or any of Voldemort's other followers.
Harry had been killed.
There'd been three days of dueling. Three days of suffering and dying. Three days of struggling to survive. Three days of pure unyielding hell.
As Hermione shifted her hips on the rugged tree limb she sat on (her most current hiding spot), she fought tears that stung her bloodshot eyes. One third of the Golden Trio, the only one still alive, had found camouflage high up in trees every day since the war ended. She could cry, after all there was no one around to hear her, but she was still somewhat numb from the gruesome events of the past five days. It still seemed like a hideous nightmare, one that she desperately wished she could wake from, but the harsh truth was that she was wide-awake. This was now her reality.
Just two days ago on Voldemort's command, Harry's broken body had finally been displayed so all could see him. Hermione snorted in the dark at her own thoughts. Displayed was too kind a word. Death Eaters had paraded around his naked body as if he were a trophy. There was no question, by the large amount of dried blood and bruises discoloring his fair skin, that he'd been tortured and beaten repeatedly before being hoisted into the air like the Quidditch cup. She supposed he was a trophy to them in a way, but it had devastated her heart and spirit to witness such a sick celebration. In fact, upon seeing what had become of one of her best friends, she'd promptly emptied her stomach onto the ground before fleeing into the forest. She'd run as far as she could as fast as she could and hadn't stopped until she'd collapsed from exhaustion and lack of air to her lungs.
Death Eaters had taken most of her close friends and many members of the Order when Harry was defeated. Age and gender had been two main factors that had determined their fate. Ginny had been taken as a wife for one of the Death Eater's sons, namely because she was from an old pureblood family. Luna had been taken as a sex toy for another. Hagrid had been taken for manual labor because of his size and strength. Neville had been taken as a prisoner of war. The list went on and on. There were a few, like Hermione, that had managed to escape, but had nowhere to go now. Anyone not confirmed dead or captured had their homes being watched should they try to return. There was even a list of those believed to have escaped and, if caught, were to be taken to Voldemort instantly. Hermione didn't even have to think about what would become of anyone taken to him. Death was certain, but it would not come quickly or without intolerable volumes of pain.
At first Hermione had been hiding out with Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil, but during a chase they'd split up for safety and had not been able to reunite. Hermione hadn't seen anyone since. At this point, she didn't trust running into anyone either. It would be all too easy for Death Eaters to brew polyjuice potion with all the prisoners they had now, so she chose to remain alone.
Hermione often thought of her parents and wondered if they'd been sought out for information, or worse. Her eyes filled with tears again, but she refused to let them fall. She wondered if she'd ever see anyone that she'd known ever again. Where was she supposed to go? And how? She had no money, no wand, no clothes, no food, no nothing.
By observing the sun during the day, usually from perching high up in a tree, she knew she was traveling north, but had no idea where she was. She knew she would eventually find herself in Scotland though. Actually, she planned to leave Great Britain and never return, but that day was far away. She'd settle for Scotland for now. The further away she could get from her old life, the better.
After a lifeless sigh, Hermione climbed down from her tree perch to begin her nighttime journey. Of course she was scared. She was terrified. But she was more frightened of being caught and killed than trekking through the forest alone at night.
The journey to Scotland had not been kind to Hermione. Water and food had been scarce. One night when it rained, she purposely got soaked so she could take off her shirt and wring it out into her mouth. Another night she'd found a discarded water bottle floating near the edge of a small pond and had actually cried from relief. She'd taken the time to drink her fill of the murky water and then clung to the bottle (containing water for later) as if it were made of pure gold.
She hadn't fared much better with food. When she was separated from Dean and Parvati, it was two days before she finally stumbled upon some trees bearing apples. Yesterday, she'd found some raspberry bushes. Unfortunately, after eating a pile of them, she threw up and then proceeded to cry in anguish.
Because of her malnourishment, Hermione had suffered with diarrhea and muscle cramps (which was not fun in the forest). She was also extremely weak and exhausted. She'd had a headache for almost five days and was beginning to experience tingling in her arms and legs. Her mouth felt like cotton and she fought chills more often than not. Hermione knew if she didn't get somewhere soon, she could die.
Four days later, Hermione found herself in Melrose, Scotland and wandered around the tiny village for a couple hours. After what she'd been through the past number of days, she felt awkward and out of place around the Muggles. She wasn't sure what she should do first; find a clinic or try to get a job. She knew she needed medical attention (since replenishment potions were out of the question), but she had no money to pay for it with. A job would provide the needed cash, but who would hire her in her current state of duress? She smelled horrible. Her clothes were filthy. Her hair was shiny from the oil coating it. Her teeth felt like the skin of a kiwi fruit. Her complexion was pale and sickly.
Trudging along the dreary cobblestone streets, arms protectively folded across her body to ward off the impending chill of the night, Hermione tried to ignore the disdainful looks she was receiving. She was damn lucky just to be alive and barely at that.
As she leaned against a lamppost, deciding what to do, she heard shuffling footsteps behind her and was startled.
"What's a little lassie like you doin' out here all alone?" she heard and whipped around to see who had approached her on the grungy street. The man looked to be in his early forties with stringy hair and wearing wrinkled clothes. His uneven swagger revealed his level of intoxication, but it was the gleam in his half lidded eyes that concerned her most.
Taking a step back and crossing her arms even tighter around her shrunken frame, Hermione stared at him wide eyed. She didn't suspect he was a Death Eater. More than likely he had no family and spent every evening in the bar until he staggered his way home, but that didn't calm her apprehension.
"What's the matter?" he asked, clumsily reaching for her arm, but unsuccessful in touching her. "Cat got your tongue? I bet it's a doll of a tongue too."
"I…I've been traveling," Hermione finally said, glancing around for someone that maybe she could call out to if necessary. "For quite a few days." There didn't seem to be anyone within thirty feet of them though. Damn.
"You're looking awfully peely-wally," he commented, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and sunken in cheeks. "When was the last time you ate, lass?"
She searched his expression for sincerity, but wasn't sure if that's what she saw or not. "I had some raspberries yesterday," she told him truthfully. "And apples a couple days before that."
"Findin' yourself brassic then, yeah?" he asked, the evil gleam back in his eyes with a twisted smirk on his pockmarked face. When he saw her blank expression, he added, "You need money, aye?"
She nodded and shivered under his scrutiny, noticing how his eyes crawled over her body. "I do," she answered truthfully. Need was putting it mildly. She was beyond desperate and this man could read her like an open book, though she didn't think he did much reading at all.
"I am a bit radgy tonight with some needs myself," he breathed, inching closer to her and stroking her cheek with a cigarette stained finger and ignoring her flinch at his touch. "You're a bit mockit, but you be no besom, so perhaps we could come to an agreement."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it promptly. She might have been young and inexperienced, but she knew exactly what he expected in return for his money. If she'd been approached just two weeks ago, she would have slapped someone for such a suggestion. But, given her dirty clothes, queasy stomach, deteriorating health and lack of money, her desperation won out over her pride.
She started to name a price, but quickly realized she had no clue what her 'price' should be. "Make me an offer," she told him, hardly able to believe she'd said the words. She didn't even sound like herself. Her once bright and cheery tone was now monotone and subdued.
The man grinned, revealing his yellowing teeth. "One hundred pounds," he told her, stepping closer.
Hermione knew he'd lowball her. "Three hundred pounds and a room for tonight," she counter-offered, her stare unwavering. Merlin. Is this what her life had come to in a matter of a couple weeks' time?
The man laughed and shook his head before slipping his arm around her waist and forcibly pulling her against him. "Two hundred," he told her with finality in his ragged voice. "You can take some of the cash and buy food."
Hermione sighed and inwardly cringed, as she smelled the combined scent of liquor and smoke on his breath. "Fine," she agreed, her voice shaking. "Where?"
"My hame's just down the street," he answered, gripping her arm tightly as they began to walk. "I'll be havin' herry pie for dessert tonight."
Later, when Hermione sat in the pub with a steaming bowl of fife broth and some baps in front of her, she told herself it was worth it. She told herself that desperate times called for desperate measures. She told herself that she did what was necessary to survive and that there was no shame in it. She wasn't sure whom she was fooling though. She'd never felt more worthless in her life. Never in a million years had she ever thought she'd sell her body for money. The Hermione Granger that had once been was officially no more. All the promise of a wonderful future for the "brightest witch of her age" had been extinguished harshly with no hope of ever being rekindled.
Without thinking, Hermione made an attempt to cross her legs as she sat at the small table in the corner of the dimly lit pub, but immediately winced at the reminder of what provided her the means for the food and cash. Fucking git.
The experience hadn't been pleasant, obviously, nor had she assumed it would be. The man's flat had been dirty and littered with trash. His mattress had been on the floor and covered with pit stained shirts that he'd kicked aside before roughly shoving her down. He'd smelled like sweat, sun and liquor and she'd been unable to watch him drop his pants before crawling on top of her. As she'd laid there on his gritty sheets in the faintly lit room with her face turned to the side and her eyes squeezed shut, she'd imagined it was Ron's sweaty body sliding against hers. And when he'd pierced her innocence with his relentless thrusts, Hermione told herself she'd given it to Ron in her heart years before, though she was certain she'd still cry herself to sleep tonight anyway. The man never kissed her, and for that she was extremely thankful, having no desire to taste the awful breath that had warmed her face. He'd been rough with her, certain she would have bruises scattered across her body tomorrow, and if he'd recognized that she was a virgin, he'd said nothing. He'd treated her, she thought, as a common whore. And for tonight, she supposed that's exactly what she was.
When she finished eating what she thought she could keep down, Hermione inquired of a room for the night. The barmaid, who gave her a look of both pity and suspicion, told her of an inn just down the road that she could try. With a somewhat full stomach and destroyed spirit, Hermione limped down the road to the inn, relieved to still have money left over after paying for her room. She planned on using some of the money left to buy some new clothing (since hers were nearly in shreds and bringing unwanted stares) so when she went out to get a job, she wouldn't look so repulsive.
After bathing for over an hour and finally feeling somewhat human again (though dinner didn't last long in her system unfortunately), Hermione crawled under the sheets on the soft bed and cried until her throat was raw. She cried for the loss of her friends and family. She cried for the loss of her innocence, harshly given away to the first man with cash in his pocket. She cried at being all alone. She cried in fear. She cried for the future of the wizarding world. She cried for the life she'd once had, for she knew she'd never have it again.
It was also the first time Hermione thought that being captured and killed might not have been so bad. At least she wouldn't hurt like she was now.
Hermione didn't wake the next day until lunchtime, not having slept properly in well over a week. She did feel better, though her sex was still sore from her method of payment and her body displayed bruises. She shrugged it off though. It was done. It didn't matter now anyway. She couldn't undo it.
She spent most of the day wandering about and bought a few pieces of clothing (including shoes) and long overdue toiletries, happy to discard the torn shreds from her old life. Hermione found a bench to sit on late in the afternoon and numbly watched life happen around her. There was the young mother with two small, bickering children. The older couple holding hands as they strolled past. The young man jogging. The woman on the bike. The man delivering food and spirits to the tavern. All of them carried on with life as if everything was fine.
Hermione wanted to yell, to scream at them to open their eyes to the evil around them. They were all blissfully oblivious though. These Muggles had no idea about her world and the reign of terror that was now beginning and how it would, eventually, bleed over into their world. Unfortunately, she knew she couldn't tell them for they wouldn't believe her. It was far better that she kept to herself.
After thinking all day about what her options were, Hermione finally came to the conclusion that she would head to Glasgow and work until she could fly far away. She was considering Australia. She should be safe there. It's not really where she wanted to go, but alive and safe was preferable over dead, though she did have moments when she questioned that. She even thought about changing her name and maybe her look, realizing she'd probably never stop checking over her shoulder. Paranoia would follow her like a dark ominous cloud for the rest of her days.
When the sun had set, elongating the shadows around her, Hermione decided it was time to head back to the inn. What else did she have to do? As she stood up, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and swiftly turned her head. That almost looked like…no it couldn't have been, she thought, noticing how her pulse quickened. He died.
Still, the fleeting swish of dark material and view of stringy black hair piqued her curiosity. Who was it that had instantly reminded her of him? Perhaps if she could just see his face, she'd realize it wasn't him and not give it another thought.
Hermione wandered around the side of the tavern where she thought she'd seen him go, but saw no one. Her heart began to pound even harder. What if it had been a Death Eater and he'd just apparated back to tell of her location? She shook her head. No. She wouldn't still be there if it had been. She would have been taken immediately. Maybe it was someone who worked at the tavern? Or someone dining there? She tried to tell herself she was being silly. A black cloak was not uncommon. Neither was black hair. She was looking for something that wasn't there.
She hadn't eaten yet and decided to have dinner at the tavern in the hopes that maybe she'd see him. After entering and glancing around, she saw no one that even looked close. Dammit. Had her eyes been playing a trick on her? Was she so paranoid that now she was seeing things? She ordered and ate, but her eyes were fixed on her surroundings.
Night had completely fallen as she walked back to the inn. She kept her eyes open along the way, but saw nothing. Hermione chalked up her reaction to fear and neurosis. She told herself that tomorrow she'd inquire of work so that she could pay for transportation to Glasgow and get on with her life. There was nothing left for her in Great Britain but sadness and horrible memories.
Two nights passed. The only place that would hire Hermione was the pub she'd eaten at the first night. She didn't care where she worked as long as they paid her. Mainly her duties consisted of cleaning up tables and washing dishes. It didn't matter. It was cash she could make without having to lay flat on her back again and that was preferred.
On the third night, when she was taking out trash behind the pub in the dark alleyway, she heard a rustle and whipped around in time to see what she thought was the same person she'd seen the other night disappear around the corner of a building.
"Hello?" she quickly said, rushing over to where he'd been.
Nothing but the sound of crickets greeted her. She was certain she'd seen him this time and a bit more of his face. This man definitely looked like him. Part of her told her he could be a murderer for all she knew. But another part of her was intrigued. And why did she never see him during the day? There weren't that many people around to begin with as she already recognized many faces.
Hermione took cautious steps until she could peer easily in between the buildings, but saw no movement or any person. Where did he go? And how did he disappear so quickly? She turned around, but no one was in the alley with her. What the hell?
When she walked back inside, Hermione asked the barmaid if she'd ever seen a man sneaking about in a black cloak. Nessa's face blanched and eyes widened.
"You'd do well to pretend you never saw it," she warned, turning away from the young girl as she continued wiping the counter. "There's a wheen amount of evil out there, Heather. Pure evil."
Still bristling at the use of her 'new' name, Hermione wanted to ask what she meant or try to find out what the woman knew, but the tone of her voice told her that she wasn't going to get any information. Unfortunately, it just fascinated Hermione all the more. How could there be anything more evil than Voldemort?
When she returned to her room and was bedding for the night, Hermione allowed her mind to drift back to her days at Hogwarts. Since fleeing, she'd done her best not to think of it because the memories were just too heart wrenching. But this person that she'd caught a glimpse of twice now was a haunting reminder of one teacher in particular and she allowed the visions of her past to surface freely.
He hadn't been her favorite, but she hadn't disliked him either. She'd found his class to be rather challenging, and she'd always enjoyed that. It's true that his loyalty had been questioned constantly, but she'd always believed that he was on their side.
Truth be known, somewhere in the darker recesses of her mind, there had been a time recently where she'd found him oddly attractive. She hadn't admitted it to anyone, of course, and assumed it was a hormonal phase that would pass as quickly as it had arrived. Often she'd found herself staring at him during his lectures, watching how the corners of his mouth would lift when he said certain words, and wondering how his deep voice would sound in the black of night. Then there were his eyes. She would catch herself gazing into his obsidian orbs, imagining the intensity with which he taught with, peering back at her in unbridled desire. And then there were his hands. Sure they were scarred some, but they were precise in their movements. She'd watched as he'd prepared ingredients for potions and wondered if they'd be as skillful upon her body as they appeared to be in the lab. She'd touched one of his hands, accidentally of course, and while it had been a bit on the clammy side, it had also been soft and had sent her mind reeling for more than one night.
As she snuggled under the covers, Hermione reminded herself that he'd perished and that when she finally did see this elusive person that had black hair and owned a black cloak, she'd see that he looked nothing like her professor. This time when images flashed through her mind, she didn't push them away.
A week passed. Hermione worked all the hours she was allowed and saved as much money as she could. She conversed with Nessa and Dougal, the owner of the pub, and aside from the occasional idle chat with a regular, Hermione spoke to no one. Nor did she care to. Kenna was the other barmaid that had given her the suspicious looks the first night, and who had continued to be leery of her, especially when Hermione offered only vague answers as to her past. It wasn't their business anyway.
Hermione spent quite a bit of time wandering about in the hopes of seeing the man in the cloak. She told herself it was stupid. She told herself it could be dangerous. She told herself it didn't matter if she found him or not. Regardless, she searched. Perhaps it was because it gave her something to focus on. For the past seven years, there had always been something to read about, plan for or study for. Now she had nothing. The quest to find this man somehow gave her purpose. She surmised it was better than nothing.
A couple times as she traipsed through the darkened alleys, Hermione had turned around hastily, feeling as if someone had been behind her or watching her, however, she'd seen nothing. She'd shrugged it off, knowing she was too distrustful for her own good.
It was Saturday night, close to midnight, and Hermione had been in Melrose for three weeks, and not too far away from having enough money for a plane ticket. She worked every day but hadn't seen her mystery man again. She still searched for him, but only every couple nights. She'd almost talked herself into believing she'd made it all up.
Hermione had got off work at eleven and thought she'd take the long way back to the inn in the hopes of maybe seeing something tonight. And, of course, she didn't. She was getting close to giving up. Obsession was never healthy.
As she walked in the chilly night air, working her way in between the buildings and mentally going over her work schedule for the next couple days, Hermione didn't notice the person that was suddenly behind her until his cold hand covered her mouth and arm grabbed her around the waist.
Hermione screamed and fought against his hold, but it remained. He said nothing, but quickly dragged her into a side door nearby, pushing it open with his boot and throwing her to the floor inside.
Having landed mostly on her arms, she gasped and then groaned, slowly lifting her head to see a black pair of boots. Her eyes traveled up, scanning the black material, until she reached his face.
"You!" Hermione exclaimed in shock, not sure if she was happy, relieved or scared. "But you…you're…how…"
"Draegan," he said calmly, crossing his arms across his chest. "Leave us."
"But Sevrin, we need to – "
"Go!"
The man that had grabbed her wasn't happy, but obeyed.
"Professor?" Hermione said, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. "I thought you died. What happened?"
When she began to get up, he said, "I didn't say stand."
Frozen and confused by his statement, Hermione remained seated as she peered up at him. Somehow he was different, but she couldn't place a finger on it exactly. He almost appeared younger than she remembered. "It's me, Professor," she said, thinking that somehow he didn't recognize her. "Hermione Granger."
He turned to take a couple steps over to a wooden crate and sat down, remaining silent.
"Who was that man?" she asked in confusion. "Why am I here? What's going on?"
"Miss Granger," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Don't you ever tire of asking questions?"
She shot him a look and crossed her arms where she sat. "Do you even know what happened?" she asked. "Are you aware that Voldemort won? That people have been captured? That others of us had to flee? Our world was destroyed!"
"You'd be surprised at just what all I am aware of, Miss Granger," he stated, unfolding his arms to sink to the floor and slowly crawl to her. "What I would like to know is why you've been wandering around in the dark the past couple weeks. It is not wise for a young woman to do such a thing, unless she is looking for something…less than respectful."
She backed away from him as he continued towards her, searching his eyes for a clue as to what he was doing here and what his intention was. "I…" she began. Was she supposed to tell him she'd been looking for him? That sounded crazy. But then she thought about what he'd just said. "Wait. How do you know I've been wandering around?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
The corners of his mouth turned up into a smirk. "Because I've watched you," he answered. "You'd do well to leave this place, Miss Granger."
Admittedly, Hermione was a little scared. She stood, but he was up and pressed against her in seconds, her back having met the wall of the dirty storeroom fairly hard causing her to grunt in reaction. "What's going on?" she asked breathlessly, eyes wide in alarm. "Why did that guy call you 'Sevrin'?"
Towering above her, he inched closer until he could lower his lips to her ear, inhaling the vanilla shampoo she'd used that morning. "Do not ask questions you do not want answers to," he quietly warned. "And I can assure you, you do not want these answers."
When he lifted his head, Hermione looked up into his black eyes poignantly. "And I can assure you that I do," she confirmed, trying to put up a brave front. "I'm not the same girl you taught. I've watched friends die. I nearly starved for a week. My first night here I had to…" But she stopped. That really wasn't information he needed.
One eyebrow lifted in curiosity as he continued to invade her personal space. "Go on," he breathed. "Tell me. What did you have to do?"
Hermione felt the length of her body pressing to the wall as she gazed up at his pale face, the intensity of his stare sending shivers down her body. "I…I was in shreds for clothes and famished," she said quietly, lowering her eyes. "And a man offered me money if I'd…if I'd have sex with him. So I did." Lifting her head defiantly, she added, "It gave me a meal, a couple nights at the inn and some much needed new clothes."
His lips formed a sly smirk at her explanation. "You know, Miss Granger, the brothel at the edge of town would pay you more than the tavern owner," he quipped, black eyes dancing over her face. "Perhaps you should consider it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I should slap you for that," she seethed.
"But you won't," he said smugly as his smirk disappeared.
"How do you know?"
"You can't."
She waited briefly and then lifted her hand, intending to strike. He seized her wrist in lightening fast speed, faster than he should have been able to move in fact. "How did you do that?" she asked, glancing at her wrist still in his grasp and then back to his face. She was too shocked to remember to be angry.
"Be a smart girl and go back to your room at the inn," he told her, finally releasing her wrist and stepping away. "Midnight is the playground for evil."
"I'm not scared," she told him, ignoring how his velvet voice made her quiver. Just like in school, she thought.
"You should be."
"Professor, please…"
"Stop calling me that!" he exclaimed and turned from her. "I'm not your professor!"
His outburst silenced her momentarily as she peeled herself from the wall. "What am I supposed to call you then? Severus? Mr. Snape?" she asked sarcastically.
He turned around quickly and gripped her upper arms. "I am Sevrin," he told her through clenched teeth, anger flickering in his eyes. "You will do well to remember that."
Her resolve broke as he continued to squeeze her arms in his frustration. She didn't understand any of this. Why was he behaving in this manner? "You're the only person from the school that I've seen," she admitted quietly. "Everyone else is either gone, taken or in hiding. I can't reach anyone and wouldn't trust them if I did. Why can't you tell me what's happening?"
He recognized the desperation building in her eyes and let go of her arms. "Do you truly want to know?" he asked quietly, wondering why he was even considering this. He couldn't deny that she had been one of the few students he'd actually respected and knew he would be able to trust her. "It's an ugly truth. And it's a dangerous truth. Having the knowledge alone is precarious."
Sensing his apprehension, Hermione asked, "Isn't my life an ugly and dangerous truth anyway? I can't walk ten steps without looking over my shoulder and I'll probably never be able to again. If I'm ever found, I'm as good as dead and we both know it."
He couldn't argue with her and had a good idea of the horrors she must have endured. He sighed and said, "Leave your window open tonight."
"My window?" Hermione repeated. "But I'm on the second floor."
"You heard me," he hissed, baring his teeth. "Now go before I change my mind!"
When he barked his command, Hermione squealed and promptly bolted for the door. She flung it open and ran all the way to the inn. She was thoroughly confused, but made sure to leave her window open as he requested.
Two hours passed and Hermione had fallen asleep waiting for him. She was unaware of the presence in her room until she woke to find a body pressed against hers. She tried to move, but the arm over her waist prevented it.
"Do you still want to know?" she heard, his breath caressing her ear.
"Yes," she breathed, her heart racing. "I do."
"Turn towards me," he instructed. He held himself up with one arm and placed his other palm to her mouth in anticipation of her reaction.
What Hermione saw made her scream, though his hand muffled it. In fear, she tried to get away from him, but a leg on either side of her prevented it. She clawed at the hand over her mouth, but soon found both of her wrists being squeezed in his other cold hand.
"Stop it!" he hissed. "Stop it or you'll regret it!"
She stopped screaming, but was still alarmed. He tentatively removed his hand as she continued to stare up at him in fear. "You…you're…oh god…," she stammered. This was nothing like what she'd anticipated.
"I'm a vampire," he stated. "Say it, Miss Granger." He knew it was a shock to her, but he also knew she was capable of accepting his condition.
Gazing up into his eyes, noticing his skin tone was lighter than earlier and how the tips of his fangs rested on his bottom lip, Hermione shook her head in response. She couldn't believe it. Was she dreaming? She must be. Professor Snape a vampire?
He squeezed her wrists in both of his hands as he leaned over her. "Say it!" he growled, his tone warning her he would not tell her again.
"You…you're a…a vampire," she whispered quickly, not wishing to flame his anger.
"Good girl," he whispered. "And being a vampire, it's time to feed." He secured her hands above her head and descended until his lips almost touched hers. "And if you try to scream, I might accidentally sever a vein. So remain still."
"Oh god," Hermione breathed, her body trembling beneath his. "Prof - er…Sevrin, please! Don't do this!"
His lips grazed hers before he whispered, "Turn your head, Miss Granger."
Hermione bucked under him, but his strength was much too powerful. "No," she pleaded, tears filling her eyes. "Please don't kill me."
"Kill you?" he repeated, amusement in his voice. "Silly girl, this won't kill you. But if you don't do as I say, there could be an…unfortunate accident." He touched his lips to her unresponsive ones. "You know, there are some women that find immense pleasure in being fed from."
"Pleasure?" she repeated. "How?"
He rolled his eyes. "Turn your head," he repeated. "I will not tell you again."
Hermione thought she was drowning as her trepidation and longing were fusing together and pulling her under. Her initial fear had passed, but she wasn't sure what it had been replaced with. Her heart was racing and wasn't sure if she was even breathing. His erection grinded against her hip, but she didn't know if that was from excitement or from his…condition. Unable to completely process all that was happening, she turned her head to the side as he'd commanded, leaving her neck exposed for whatever he was going to do.
Clenching her muscles and squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione prepared for instant pain. Instead, she felt his lips place gentle kisses along her neck, up to her ear and back down to her collarbone, unaware that his hands no longer held hers down. She relaxed as she concentrated on that mouth of his dancing along her neck, causing her to writhe under him, and was oblivious to the hand that now gripped her shoulder and the other on the side of her head. The tips of his fangs gently pricked the sensitive skin all along her neck as she squeezed her thighs together and whimpered.
Then in a flash, his body pinned hers to the bed just before his fangs pierced her flesh. As she froze in place, Hermione gasped and cried out in surprise. At first, she was numb, assuming from the intense shock, but then her senses returned. She felt the weight of his body on hers and the tight grip of his hands on her head and shoulders to hold her still. The location where his fangs punctured her skin was causing white hot flashes of pain to register in her brain, yet it wasn't excruciating. The gentle sucking was soothing and it was as if she was sinking into the bed. Merlin. It is pleasurable, she thought. He was right.
When he moaned against her flesh, Hermione did as well, aware that she was highly aroused, which she hadn't expected. Lifting her arms from where they still rested above her head, she reached for him to pull him closer. She shifted her legs and he followed her lead, placing his on the inside of her thighs so his length aligned with her heated center though they were still clothed. When he began to grind against her, Hermione groaned and wrapped her legs around him, wishing they were naked so he could slide inside her.
"Sevrin," she breathed, her tone heavy with need as she clawed at his body. She was going under in the torrent of her own need, overcome by the waves of lust that were crashing against her. Any coherent thought was being swept away in the undertow and leaving her breathless. That horrible first man hadn't awakened any desire in her whatsoever, but Sevrin had not only awakened it, but was driving it to madness.
Finished feeding, knowing he should not take anymore from her, he removed his fangs and licked the tiny circular wounds closed. He was not surprised at her physical reaction to him. Most women became aroused quicker from a feeding than from any foreplay he could perform. Her needy scent filled his nostrils and caused him to push his hips to hers to show how much he wanted her. And if she was willing, he would take her.
Holding himself up on one arm, Sevrin slid his other hand over her breast and down her hip until he gripped her leg. Hermione's head was spinning with desire and began reaching for her waistband to unfasten her pants. His hand stilled hers before snapping his fingers. A rush of cold air caressed her body as she realized they were instantly naked. In the back of her mind, she wanted to ask about him being able to still practice magic, but when his hot mouth claimed hers in a possessive kiss, any thought she had disappeared.
Hermione tasted copper and knew his mouth was still wet from her blood, but she didn't care. She tightened her legs around him, feeling his cock brushing her opening, and placed a hand on either side of his buttocks to pull him to her. There was no hesitation or uncertainty as she succumbed to his will, and her own, delving her tongue deeper into his mouth as his met hers in a frenzy. She was unaware he'd reached down between their bodies to guide his cock into her wet heat until he thrust into her hard.
Breaking their kiss, Hermione pressed her head back to the bed and cried out as his hips slammed into her. There was no tenderness or gentle caresses. She was his to take and somehow she knew he was cognizant of that. Her entire body burned with lust that needed satisfying and wasn't interested in taking her time. She lifted her hips and met every thrust of his, groaning when his mouth fiercely claimed hers again.
Hermione watched in awe as he lifted his upper body from hers to reach for her wrist. His fangs glistened in the moonlight shining through the window before he sank them into her wrist, causing her mouth to open, but with no sound coming forth. As he pounded into her heat, he drank from her wrist and dropped his other hand to the apex of her legs to play with her clit, bringing her to orgasm quickly.
It was only seconds before Hermione shattered from his touch, crying out and whimpering as the core of her body pulsed around his cock, her wrist still at his mouth. He made sure to seal the second set of puncture wounds before his orgasm overtook him, growling his release and slowing his thrusts, his vampire visage disappearing as well.
Panting, Hermione couldn't believe what she'd just experienced and watched in awe as he fell to the bed beside her, his lips still stained with the red tinge of her life force. He looked feral, but she wasn't repulsed or scared. He hadn't hurt her either, though where his fangs had pierced her skin still tingled. After her first experience, she'd thought sex would never mean much to her. But now, she realized the power of passion and just how exciting it could be.
He was still catching his breath and ran a hand across his wet mouth. Recognizing there was still blood there, he sat up, intent on making a trip to the bathroom to clean up.
She noticed and reached for his arm. "Don't," she quietly requested, chest still heaving. "Please. Just talk to me." She had so many questions.
Sevrin hesitated before turning towards her as the moon continued to cast a bluish glow over them both. "This does not disgust you?" he asked, smeared blood on his hand. "Or frighten you?" Many women, while turned on during a feeding, often did not want to see their blood staining his mouth afterwards.
"It probably would have months ago," she admitted, sitting up, not bothering to reach for the sheet. "Not so much now." She paused. "Was this your choice? Or…"
With a sigh, he leaned back against the headboard, knowing she deserved answers and willing to provide them. "It was my choice," he confirmed, as she sat beside of him. "I've been a vampire for two years, but it wasn't my first choice."
"What was?"
"I approached Lupin about turning me," he explained. "I knew my time was coming to an end and it was the only logical conclusion I could come to if I wanted to continue living, if you can call this living."
"Lupin refused, didn't he?"
"Obviously," he answered, contempt in his tone. "I was furious. So I sought out an old acquaintance that I hadn't seen in years and handsomely paid him to embrace me. I knew it was the only way I would survive Voldemort."
"And that guy tonight," she began. "He's a vampire as well?"
"He's my fledging," he explained. "I embraced him."
"Are there others around?"
"Hundreds."
"Oh." She paused. "So you were…you were a vampire while teaching? Did anyone know?"
"I was," he confirmed. "And no one knew."
Hermione was confused. "What about…aren't there issues with sun light?" she asked. "And food?" She didn't know much about the problems of vampires and tried to remember the little she'd read.
Sevrin turned to give her an incredulous glare. "Did you forget the subject that I'd been forced to teach all those years?" he asked. "Do you think I'd actually be subject to my condition?"
"Well…I…um…"
"I had a plethora of potions designed to effectively hide my truth," he explained curtly.
"I understand," Hermione said, wishing to change the subject. "So do you feed often?"
"Every day."
"Just from women or…"
"Women, men," he answered with a nonchalant shrug. "I do have a select few donors of each gender I visit regularly that are entrusted with my secret."
Hermione experienced a sudden pang of jealousy twist inside her stomach. "Do you bed them afterwards too?" she asked, sounding more jaded than she wished to.
He turned towards her then. "Do not disillusion yourself that vampires are all heterosexual or monogamous," he said dryly. "To us, feeding and sexual intercourse go hand in hand much like dinner and dessert do for mortals."
"I see," she said, instantly self-conscious and reaching for the sheet. She wasn't sure why it bothered her. Maybe after being used in exchange for money, she had hoped his desire for her had been genuine.
He quickly snatched the material away from her.
"Do not cover yourself," he told her.
"Why not?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.
"Because I said so."
"What if I don't care?" she asked defiantly. "I'm not your fledgling to command."
He smirked and lifted an eyebrow. "If you didn't care, it wouldn't have mattered to you if I'd bedded those I fed from or not," he pointed out. "Leave the sheet where it is."
Hermione couldn't argue with him as they continued to sit in the darkened room. "So now what?" she asked.
He looked at her and was confused by her question. "What do you mean?" he asked for clarification.
"This," she said, gesturing between them. "Am I just a temporary feeding source for you or what?"
"That's a rather crude way of putting it," he pointed out. "But basically yes. From what I hear, you won't be setting up home here anyway."
"No, I hadn't planned on it," she agreed with a sigh, glancing towards the window. She wanted to ask him how he'd heard of her plans, but realized it didn't matter. "Have you ever turned someone you fed from?"
"On accident?"
"Or on purpose," she added.
"I have," he answered simply, but did not define whether accidentally or purposely.
Hermione nodded and turned back towards him. "Would you turn me if I asked you to?" she asked before her brain had time to decipher what she was saying.
"Why would you want this?" he asked. He was not surprised though. The question was asked often.
"My life's already been destroyed," she reminded him. "And I don't want to spend the rest of my life fearful of being caught."
"So you'd choose to spend an eternity with your fangs sunk into someone's vein to survive," he quipped.
"You did."
"You're beguiled by the Kiss," he said, shaking his head. "Everyone wants to be embraced in the aftermath of a feeding. The haze will clear and you'll wake up tomorrow glad you're still mortal."
Hermione slid to the edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side, and crossed her arms. She didn't know what she thought. She'd prostituted her body for money. She'd deserted her family and friends. She was essentially an outlaw and would be for the rest of her life. Was she truly considering becoming a creature of the night? Was she that desperate?
"You don't understand," she whispered, overcome with grief and biting her lip to stave off the tears, ignoring the derisive snort she heard behind her.
"How could I possibly?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. "I was only a Death Eater and a spy for half my life. I only acquired thousands of wounds from Voldemort's hand when he was displeased with me. I only feared for my life every single second of every single day. Even now, I only have to hide my true nature from virtually the entire world. So you're correct. I don't understand."
Hermione lifted her head, trying to keep the tears from falling. She understood his life had been hell and wasn't perfect now either, but at least he was powerful. At least he could defend himself if necessary. What could she do to protect herself?
"I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm terrified actually."
"Being a vampire doesn't eliminate fear," he said softly. He understood what she was saying and why, so he couldn't ridicule her. Neither of them could ever have a 'happy and normal' life after what they'd been through.
"But you're not afraid now like you were," she said, feeling the bed move under her. "You don't fear Muggles…er…mortals."
"I am more powerful," he agreed, kneeling behind her.
"You never had to sell your body – your innocence – for money," she said, aware of his presence close to her.
"I can drain him if you wish," he offered, sliding his hands along her arms and up to her shoulders. "And you could watch as well."
She shrugged. "He didn't rape me," she reminded him. "And I was the one that told him to name his price."
"I see," he said, breath warming the soft skin on the back of her neck. "So you've accepted sacrificing your virginity and feel no anger towards him whatsoever because it was necessary for survival."
Hermione's head dropped as the tears finally fell. "I hated it," she cried. "That's not how it was supposed to be."
"Ah, so you do harbor anger for him," he surmised, wrapping his arms around her.
She nodded. "I'd kill him if I had my wand and could get away with it," she seethed.
He smirked, extending his legs on either side of her. "Perhaps you'd like to drain him yourself," he said, allowing his fangs to extend and pricking her shoulder with them lightly. "You could watch his life slowly slip away."
"Don't patronize me," she told him, breaking the hold of his arms so she could wipe her face. "I'd have to be a vampire and you said you won't turn me…er…embrace me."
"No I didn't."
"Well you…" she began, but realized he was right. He hadn't said no. "Does that mean you will?"
"I will consider it."
She sighed. "Well, thanks, but I'm not planning on staying around for the next few weeks while you decide whether you will or won't," she said wearily.
Faster than her brain could keep up with what was happening, he'd wrapped an arm around her body, effectively trapping her arms, while his free hand had slid up into her hair and gripped tightly.
"If you're going to be my fledgling," he hissed, scraping one fang along her tender skin, causing her to whimper. "You'd do well to mind your attitude."
"Yes…Sir," Hermione stammered, not sure of what to call him. She was frozen where she sat, not only by his hold, but also by her fear and anxiety. Was he going to do it now? Had he already decided? Was she truly ready for this?
"Ask me properly," he whispered.
Hermione swallowed. "Sevrin," she said purposely. "Will you embrace me please?"
"You're ready to turn your back on all you've known?" he asked, subconsciously licking his fangs. He was more than willing to bring her into the brood and quite possibly take her as his mate. She was extremely intelligent and attractive as well.
Hermione's heart pounded. Images of what she'd gone through the past number of weeks shuffled through her mind like the Muggle slide projector she'd seen when she was little. "I am," she answered breathlessly.
"I will be your sire," he told her, his grip tightening. "You will remain with me until I have confidence in your control. Do you understand?"
"I do," she agreed, ready to shed her old life as a snake sheds old skin and accepts a new one.
"You will do as I say, when I say and how I say," he continued. "Is that clear?"
"Yes Sir," she said again. "Please take me from this life, Sevrin." She was more than ready and would not question her decision.
"Say you're mine," he breathed in her ear. He always had been a little selfish.
Closing her eyes, Hermione relinquished control and relaxed against him. "I'm yours," she whispered.
When his fangs pierced her neck again, Hermione gasped, but didn't fight him. He drank from her for quite some time until she began to feel lightheaded and weak. When he switched to the other side of her neck, it wasn't long before she slumped against him, completely unconscious.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open slowly as she licked her lips. Thick liquid was sliding down her throat, quenching her thirst better than water or tea ever had. She saw the bit wrist above her and reached up hungrily to bring it to her mouth, instinctively sinking fangs (that she didn't realize she had) into the soft skin. The warm metallic essence called to her and she could not control the urge to gulp greedily.
"That's right, my young one," Sevrin soothed. "Drink, but just a little for now." Hermione needed no encouragement, eagerly sucking the blood from his offered arm until he pulled it away.
He closed the small puncture holes and asked, "How do you feel?"
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked around to see they were still in the dark. He'd apparently laid her on the bed when she'd passed out. Her tongue traced her fangs and realized that all of her senses had heightened dramatically.
"I guess I feel okay," she answered, sitting up slowly. She was amazed at what she could hear. There were two men arguing in the next building. She could hear dogs barking and crickets chirping as if they were in the same room. "Everything is so loud," she commented.
"You'll learn to control it," he assured her. "Do you feel sick at all?" He had hoped her embrace would be an easy one.
"I don't think so," she answered, becoming more aware of her body. "Actually, I'm feeling better than I ever have." She smiled in relief. "Thank you for doing this."
"Showing me would be appropriate," he said, a smirk appearing on his pale face as his fangs extended.
"Is that so?" Hermione asked playfully.
"It is."
"Maybe later."
With a growl, he pressed her to the bed. "You'll show me now," he commanded.
Adrenalin flowed through Hermione as she easily pushed him over to his back, her fangs instantly bared. "Yes my sire," she growled before sinking her teeth into his neck.
"Yessss," he hissed with pleasure. "That's my girl."
Two months later.
"Is this the man?" Sevrin asked, shoving the disgusting mortal to the floor near her feet.
Herminia grinned. "It is," she answered, devilish gleam in her chestnut eyes. "May I drain him, Sire?"
"You may," he answered proudly, nodding his head. "I'll even assist if you'd like."
Ignoring the man's groveling, Herminia's fangs extended as her eyes lost their color, causing him to cry out in fear. "No, Sire," she told him. "This one's all mine."
Sevrin leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He watched proudly as Herminia stalked the lump of a man that had stolen her innocence and was glad that he'd embraced her. She would be a powerful vampire in time, just as he'd suspected, and together they'd be a formidable pair.
Hungry for his blood as retribution, Herminia easily pinned the man down on the floor and harshly bit into his neck, unleashing all of her pent up anger and hurt as she savagely sucked the life force from him. No one would be able to hurt her ever again. No longer would she walk the streets in paranoia. She was Sevrin's fledgling. They shared a bed, usually their freshlings, and she'd never been happier.
Herminia never went to Australia.
Now, admittedly, I've never written a vamp story before, so I might have messed up a 'term' or two. AND, I've never been to Scotland, so I tried to look up some words that I could use. Are they completely accurate? Well...if you're from Scotland...you can let me know!
Here's what they mean:
Peely wally - sick, ill
Besom - loose woman
Brassic - broke
Hame - home
Herry pie - female genitalia
Mockit - filthy
Radgy - horny
Wheen - large amount
Hope you enjoyed! Have a safe and scary Halloween!! (And maybe vamp Sevrin will come visit you in the dead of night...*insert evil witch cackling type laugh here*)