darkisrising (my muse has come back. hoping for a refuge could see an update. --V dearest, were you being sarcastic?--)

lovely, dark and deep

beginning compulsions

Burning. Everything was burning. Violent, bright orange and red exploded across the landscape. Screams emitted as the living tried to flee. But it did not bother him as he stood amongst the flames consuming the village around him. He had seen it all before.

It certainly did not worry her as she pushed another limp body roughly away, letting it fall to a heap on the ground, soon to be over taken by the fire. Her pale hand reached up to wipe at her mouth. Though his excellent eyesight could not see it through the momentary haze, he knew that it would be streaked with crimson.

She turned around; her once black eyes changed back to their original shade of blue. Black meant hungry which she was no more. Suddenly she was upon him as if she had been next to him the whole time. A wintry hand laced its way around his, a stark contrast to the pressing heat.

A slow smile lit up her devastatingly beautiful features as she said, "There you are, dear. Have you had your fill as well?"

----

REMUS LUPIN sat wearily in a hard, wooden chair in the dining room, waiting on the Order meeting to convene. His skin still felt hot; he could not shake the scalded feeling that hung about him, only his hand remained cold. Smoke continued to fill his senses even after having awakened from the dream hours ago. More disturbing to him was the woman and her words. Because he had felt as she had indicated.

It made him feel sick all over.

Suppressing a shiver, he glanced over the equally silent occupants that filled the room. Not even Tonks, usually jubilant to be in from a mission, seemed not to have much gusto for cheerfulness. He lingered on Hermione, remembering her confession of nightmares. She looked dead on her feet, pale and was scribbling on some parchment with an absent look in her eyes. It seemed she faired no better than he.

His thoughts were broken by Minerva sweeping into the room. Dark circles ringed her eyes. After Dumbledore's death, she had been the natural choice to head the organization, a tiring job indeed. Of course, her job as headmistress no longer existed. The night Albus died so did the school. Not only did most of the defenses fall with him, but students were taken out in large numbers by their parents, fearing for their safety. As if hiding away in their homes was any safer. As if Voldemort could not sniff them out.

Palms spread out on the table in front of her, Minerva scanned the silent group in front of her. "I want to hear reports on our current operations starting with Shacklebolt."

The large man leaned forward and solemnly reported that Death Eater activity had slowly decreased in the shady part of London he was monitoring. Nothing new was to report. Tonks was next. Although, they did seem to be planning, no one knew as to what and the front had become so scarily quiet she even questioned that knowledge as a bluff. Around the table, people reported the sudden silence from the enemy, eerie in its consistency as if the group was trying to melt into oblivion.

"I don't like. I don't like it one bit. It can only mean they are planning something major, something huge." McGonagall adjusted her glasses before peering over them once more. "I want you to get in closer and see exactly as to what they are conjuring up, but I do not want you too close as to get burned. Do you understand me? Tonks?"

The woman jumped at her name, but nodded. A few ops back she had nearly been caught after crossing a Death Eater held line and getting lost in their terrain. An absolute nightmare.

"What could they be doing?" pondered the older witch aloud, voicing the entire table's thoughts. What could require such manpower, such concentration as to pull back most of the ground force? "Merlin, we certainly won't want to know when we find out."

The grim faces did not lighten as the quick meeting was adjourned and some of the Order members scampered out hastily into the night. Several stayed, glad for the actual bed and a Molly Weasley meal. Remus rose from his seat near last, stretching his aching muscles. Casually, he walked behind Hermione on his way to the kitchen. He glanced down at the petite witch, drawn up into her chair, still putting the quill to the parchment. A single name was written on the paper.

Julius.

Repeated over and over again in different scripts and sizes, but still the same.

Julius Julius Julius

Julius Julius Julius Julius

Julius Julius

"Hermione," he said gently. She stopped in mid-l and snapped the quill in two from the halt. Sharply, her eyes shot up, an oddly frenzied look still about her. She almost seemed mad for the interruption. Continuing, Remus coaxed, "Molly has supper ready. It's time to eat."

At that, Hermione appeared to remember her surroundings and roughly pushed the broken quill and paper away from her. Her drawn face forced a smile as she replied, "Alright, I'll be there in a second."

Remus returned the smile before moving into the kitchen. When she did not immediately follow him, he peered around the doorway to see her tossing the writing supplies into the nearest fireplace. Her blank face watched the flames lick around the items before consuming them. Then she shuddered, not as if unexpectedly chilled, but from something that crossed her mind. Thereafter, she dropped her face into her hands in a tired expression before dashing up the stairs.

He could only stare after her as she made her disappearance, wondering whether or not he should see if Hermione was alright. Molly beckoned him toward the table. Remus hesitated. If this strange behavior continued, then he would most assuredly try to find out the problem. Surely the idea of not being able to look for Horcruxes was not plaguing her again? He did not know and turned to sit at the table.

Hermione did not come back down for supper or for the rest of the night.

No one questioned it. She was oft for taking to her room whenever the mood struck her. She hardly ever left after the accident that barred her from any further soul hunting and the lack of her friends had driven her to extreme loneliness. In seclusion, she stayed for the rest of the week. Remus did not intrude upon her privacy; they all explained to him that this was how she dealt with things. Frankly, it didn't seem healthy at all to him. He would ask her. He would.

The entire week Hermione sat in front of the full length mirror in her room. Sometimes, she would reach out and trace her reflection, expecting it to waver and become something else. But it never did. Marguerite. The name flowed flawlessly from her lips. Yet as she sat there staring at her own wide brown eyes, the name came again and she jumped back from the mirror as if burned.

After that, she decided she had had enough of wallowing in her room and that damned mirror. Plus she was getting hungry; sneaking around in the kitchen was not as filling as an actual meal. Weary smiles greeted her return to the table, several days after the invitation.

"Good to see you out and about, Hermione," chirped Mrs. Weasley cheerfully. "How about a nice steak? A little celebration for Remus' upcoming birthday," the man scowled at her at the mention, "and they were on sale. How would you like it cooked tonight?"

Without hesitation, Hermione answered, "Rare."

All the necks swiveled around to look at her. Those few and far between occasions they had managed to get steak, Hermione had never asked for it rare. Medium, medium well, yes. Bloody, never. She looked shocked by her own request and looked down at her empty plate.

"Are you sure?" asked Molly.

Hermione bit her lip and furrowed her brow, fighting an internal battle. Slowly, she nodded, "Yes, I'm quite sure."

"A record," the older redhead muttered, "two rare steaks in one night."

Hermione side glanced down the table and found the other culprit. Remus was devouring a steak that looked as if it had barely touched the grill. The slab of meat sat in a pool of its own blood that was making Tonks queasy as she tried to shield her eyes from it.

"Wotcher, Hermione," she mock whispered down, "make sure when you get yours it's not still mooing like the one Remus has."

Once again, he scowled in her direction, making a grunt of dissatisfaction, and continued cutting at his meal. The sizzle of hers hitting the heat kicked Hermione's senses into high gear as the aroma hit her full in the face. The smell of the blood was dizzying, but not the in the I'm-about-to-be-sick sort of way. She reveled in it, licking her lips in anticipation. A few of the Order members found her rapt attention amusing, but that was fast wiped from their face as she shouted that her steak was done enough.

"It's barely been on there a couple of minutes," Mrs. Weasley protested as she prodded it with her wand.

"I'm sure it's fine. It looks fine." Hermione had a hysterical edge to her voice. The longer they argued over it, the more red was cooked out, the less blood. Hermione felt a sudden pang of nausea at the thought, but it quickly dissipated, overridden by the other urge.

Silas Thomson squinted incredulously at her outburst. "It'll be riddled with germs and bacteria." Clearly, a half-blood with a Muggle mum doctor.

All the voices and appalled faces faded away as she eagerly grasped at the plate, almost dropping its precious cargo. Within five minutes of setting the plate down, Hermione had devoured the steak with minimal cutting, even tipping the dish back to catch any left over liquid. Coarsely, she wiped her mouth in one swipe with the napkin, leaving it stained pink.

That taste, although tainted by cooking, of blood was intoxicating. She felt like she was on some sort of high after eating the steak. As she descended from it, the faces were all shock and surprise. That did not deter her next thought of actually eating it completely raw or even if she bit into it while it was still alive…

Her mind swiftly snapped as if shaken from the inside and she felt overwhelmingly sick. Her stomach churned and she clutched at it. It boiled and rolled. Why had she asked for it rare? Another gag reflex. Why? Jumping up from the table, she hastily excused herself and dashed off for the bathroom. Concerned voices echoed after her and a few chairs scooted backwards as she left her own.

No amount of heaving would expel the contents of her stomach. She leaned back against the cold tile, glad for the feeling on her flushed face. It was like she had dozed off in the kitchen, not asleep, still vaguely there, but then had abruptly awoken to that stark white licked clean plate and blood stained napkin. And what she had down hit her square in the face.

It wasn't that bad.

Shut up, she screamed internally, pressing her hands to her ears in vain for the voice was not coming in through there.

Admit it. You enjoyed it.

Hermione shook her head no.

He did not get sick, but you did. A weaker vessel could not have been chosen. I should have tapped around for leaks first.

You are just imagining this. It will go away. It always does. It's just the pressure. The worry. The stress. Imagination. Hermione repeated her mantra over and over, trying to drown out the cool, feminine tone that resounded in the mind.

As you wish. For now… for now be you. Just for now.

Then the velvety smooth whisper faded away back into the recesses of her brain. Hermione's eyes flashed open as it completely disappeared. She wished Harry and Ron would visit soon so she would not have to stoop to talking to herself. Which was what she was doing, right? She leaned her head heavily on her hand and thought. Someone had been talking to her…that was for certain…but…

Her crazed streams of thought were broken by a soft rap on the door. Reaching over, she turned the knob from her seated position and looked up. The shoes led to the slack which went with a shirt that had Remus' head on top. Remus, of course. How he fought back Molly was a mystery.

"Are you alright?" he asked genuinely concerned, looking baffled down at her face that was the same color as the white tiles. "Back there in the kitchen, I mean, it was so-"

At the word kitchen, Hermione's floodgate of a mind opened up and barraged her with images of the bloody meat and her carnal appetite for it. This time she heaved for real. She flung her head over the toilet and gladly rid herself of her supper. Remus moved forward and held her hair as she clung to the side of the basin. After a few moments, Hermione quieted and leaned back, eyes closed.

"Better?" Remus handed her a hand towel to wipe her face and conjured a glass for some water.

She nodded before leaning back against the wall. "How did you stand it?" Her voice was shaking. "How could you eat it like that? All the blood…"

"That's how I always get it." Remus' face became expressionless. "I always order mine rare."

"No, you don't," countered Hermione. "You get it medium rare. I remember, because you joked you'd rather have it leaning toward medium than rare."

His tone was stiff and he looked at her unblinkingly. "I do not need to remind you of what I am. That should be explanation enough. I'm not all man." The last came out as a growl.

Involuntarily, Hermione found herself leaning away. "Alright," she conceded, "alright. There's no need to get angry."

"Apologies, Hermione. I had no reason to be so short with you, but while we are asking, why did you get yours that way?"

An insatiable thirst roared up through her along with a high, piercing laughter. The blood; the warmth, the taste, the texture, the life. That was why. When the wave left her, she felt sick again and weak. "I don't know. Honestly, it was the oddest impulse. Let's just agree to disagree or whatever it is we are doing and don't bring it up again." Her eyes pleaded with him.

"Of course, but I can't promise that the others will do the same. You attacked the poor thing as if you hadn't seen food in months and then licked it clean."

"Merlin, I know, don't remind me. It's this house. It's this damn Black Manor. Drives a person mad!"

Remus allowed himself a slight chuckle at that before offering a hand to help her up off the floor. Her hand was like a block of ice in his and it brought back a haunting memory. "Aren't you cold, Hermione?" he asked, taking hers between both of his hands as if to heat it up.

"No." She shrugged. "Should I be? Is there something wrong?" she added after seeing his expression.

He released her hand. "Nothing. You just felt a little chilled is all. Now," he ushered her down the hall, "everyone else has retired so I'd suggest you do the same; you look beat."

"Thanks," she mumbled sarcastically as she stumbled down the hall and fell into her bed without even changing.

Then the screaming began again.

----

Eeny, meeny, miney, moe

Her fingers flicked rapidly amongst the group. She knew none of them could keep up with the speed at which her hand was moving. Much too fast for them. Finally, she settled on a broad shouldered man with a woman cowering behind him. Simpering, pathetic idiot she was.

She lit up a smile at the curly haired man, grinning suggestively. He came toward her with no objections, only a silly, lopsided grin. They were so easy, it was pitiful. An alluring blossom with the teeth of a carnivore. They only noticed the teeth until they were too close. She wrapped him in her tight grip, letting his neck fall loosely by her face, exposing the soft skin to her.

His wife started to scream again. What an annoyance. Shut her up, Julius, for supper's sake! His striking amber eyes found hers and he was way ahead of her, pulling the woman out of eyesight and soon the screams stopped.

She smiled again. Peace at least. Lovingly giving his jugular on last stroke with her finger, she lowered her lips to it before unleashing her sharp teeth onto his throat. The blood flowed freely now, but he did not struggle. They never did, paralyzed by her nature venom.

Red dripped down her bottom lip as he began to run dry. She let him fall to the dirty ground before surveying the crowd. Now they were terrified. With no where to run.

She wiped the excess blood off her face. No need to get messy at the dinner table. Julius walked back into view, covered in crimson. What a pig! Her finger trailed a line of blood still at the corner of her mouth. She grinned again, licking it off.

That was the appetizer.

Now for the main course.

----

HERMIONE BOLTED up in her bed, pressing her fingers to her bottom lip. Even in the dim light, she could see the blood coating them. The intense pain that radiated from her mouth told her that she had bitten down hard on her lip.

Biting back a scream.