Full summary: Voldemort has more than just wizards on his side during the Battle. He's been making creatures - half natural, half magical creatures - like werewolves and inferi. Oh, and not to mention vampires. Hermione, wounded during the Battle has a run-in with a vampire who is crazy about her, and the event changes everything.

Hello reader (who I bet is skipping my little authors note here), I know that this first chapter is deadly short, and not very interesting, but bare with me, the next chapter is better and a hundred times longer. I'm sure that there are a few extra 'the' s somewhere and a lowercase 'i' or some other spelling mistakes, but my excuse is that I have a zillion ideas and only ten fingers to type them with.

So, on with the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

All he could smell was her.

A deep desire filled his soul, for her, her touch, her scent, her blood.

He turned a corner, a hopeless feeling settling in his stomach. The desire was so strong – something was wrong, and he wasn't there to help her.

He ran down a corridor and up a flight of stairs, practically flying by the fighting people he passed.

Someone called out to him – a death eater who recognized his trademark, blonde hair – but he ignored them.

A blast came from his right and he threw up his arms to protect his face from the flying shrapnel.

The battle was reaching its end, with the Dark side loosing – he knew, Voldemort had already fled and the few death eaters that remained were sure to be picked up and chucked behind bars. That meant that he had to hurry, if he were caught now, no one would give him a chance to explain.

He barrelled around a corner, crashing into someone who threw a curse after him. It hit the wall to his right, just missing him. Thankfully, they didn't give chase.

He climbed up another flight of stairs and he was finally alone. He focused upon her scent. A right and two lefts, a flight of stairs up, then two corridors to the right - and that was when he found her, laying in a pool of her own blood.

The animal inside of him fought for control, a thirst for the thick liquid building up in his throat. He held his breath and drew his wand, scanning for a wound.

He flipped he onto her front, glassy eyes met his steely gaze. She was dying.

She gasped something, too weak to make more than a squeak. Her breathing was laboured as he looked over the deep slashes were made across the front.

Fenir? Or sectumsempra? He couldn't tell.

She wheezed again closing her eyes, he took a moment to dive into her thoughts – once a game for him, she had such interesting thoughts, but now a chore.

Oh god, kill me now. I've suffered enough. Just be sure to have someone find me, I don't want to rot here in this hall forever.

He sucked in between his teeth, the desire to bite reaching its peak.

Whether it was the desire, or the fact that she wouldn't survive such wounds, he made his decision.

He bit.