To Give Satiety A Fresh Appetite

Harry stared at the door long after it clicked to a close behind the woman, all of his enthusiasm having gone with her.

Harry had been so focused on making it through, on surviving until his blood settled, he hadn't given much thought to what came after. But Cobbleshot was right. What had been done to him-been done to them-could not go unanswered. Harry had thought he was done with vengeance when he'd killed Voldemort. But something even more insidious had been done to him now than anything Voldemort ever conceived. Something more personal and premeditated in the extreme that had ripped away everything Harry had worked so hard to attain, that had rendered his many sacrifices meaningless. And the villains who had visited this fate on him were indeed owed a response; one just as well-formed and bloody.

But they weren't the only ones Harry owed, he realized. "You haven't changed yet," he heard Severus say from behind him.

"Oh. No. I got...distracted," Harry stammered, turning just in time to be enveloped in the man's arms. His mind was still whirring and the embrace made Harry feel uncomfortable. He returned it loosely. Once again, he studied the man who held him and the kind question in his tired eyes. Harry couldn't help but wonder, now, how many of the carelines he'd noted just before had simply gone unnoticed by him over the years and how many might be new. How many were the result of this past month's ordeal?

Harry eyed Severus' fresh scar again. He had hurt this man, and also the one waiting for him back at Grimmauld Place. The both of them had endured sleepless nights and bloody battles, all for him. And again, Harry had a hard time understanding why. He didn't feel worthy of their sacrifice, their devotion. He felt selfish and wrong to have burdened them, to continue burdening them.

"Is something wrong, Dearest?" Severus asked, brow delicately furrowed, his hand rising to Harry's face. Harry sighed, was overwhelmed by the ease with which the word fell from the man's lips now, as if he had always said it; as if he had always wanted to voice it and had simply been waiting for permission. It soothed and cut at the same time. The sudden insecurities that assailed Harry made him wonder if perhaps his blood hadn't settled after all, and Harry found he couldn't reply.

So much was wrong, and would always be wrong, and there was no way to articulate it to Severus right now. His thoughts and feelings were too amorphous for words. Severus studied Harry's conflicted expression and didn't press. He simply released Harry hesitantly and disappeared into the bedroom, returning a short time later bearing an armful of clothes.

"You have some things here still," Severus said quietly, holding them as if they were precious. "You took nothing with you when…" He left the thought unfinished. It was too painful to speak aloud.

Harry's anguish was stoked and shared as they both recalled that terrible night when Harry had fled in tears with only the clothes on his back. The night Harry had broken them with his infidelity; an act that was selfish and unearned, driven by unfounded suspicion. Harry reached out and took the shirt offered him without a word, his movements almost apologetic, but he made no move to put it on.

"You will feel better after we've hunted," Severus assured him quietly, laying a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "It isn't as terrible as you might imagine. I'll guide you," he promised, apparently thinking Harry's reticence was in response to what they were about to go do. "The blood does not quiet completely or all at once. Give it time. These moods will pass."

Harry nodded, moved to change into the t-shirt he held, but he wasn't convinced this melancholy was bloodborne. He couldn't shake the feeling that Cobbleshot was right. Harry would have to answer this wrong done to them, and it would take her guidance to accomplish it. Severus and Remus would not understand. They would not want him doing anything dangerous and would not help him hone the gifts given him for the purpose; and so once honed, Harry would have to leave them. And there was no guarantee he'd be coming back. In his heart, he felt it would be unkind to do so. Untamed by potion, his condition would simply be a drain on them all. As he slipped the old t-shirt over his head, Harry knew he'd made a decision, one that broke his heart but that he felt he'd made the instant Cobbleshot had shown herself out.

Harry would let the woman show him what he needed. And in the meantime, he'd find a way to bring his two lovers together. There was no better consolation he could imagine than that which they two provided. They could provide it to each other after he'd gone.

"And also, perhaps, this," Severus said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He held up one of his own robes in offering. "It will help you blend with the darkness."

Despite himself, Harry smiled at him as he accepted it. "So you're saying I should dress the part?" he asked.

"I like your clothes," the man said. "They suit you," he added, giving Harry a sweeping, appreciative look. "Though, I admit to wondering how you'd look in something more...traditional," he said with a contemplative lift of his eyebrow.

Harry slipped on the robe and ran his hands down the crisp linen. He realized, with satisfaction, it wasn't really too long for him anymore. Severus didn't know-perhaps not even Remus knew-that Harry had a robe exactly like this one stored away in the top of his closet at Grimmauld Place. It was the robe Severus had wrapped him in before they'd escaped the Malfoys' dungeon; to this day still covered in dirt and blood and semen. It was a bit gross if Harry stopped to think about it, so he just didn't. At the time he'd put it away, he hadn't known if Severus would return his affections. And in the event he didn't, Harry had wanted something to always remember the night by; something that might, for a while anyways, still smell like the man and like their time together. Though, it would likely just have smelled of dank stone and brackish water. Harry pulled the fabric he now wore to his face and breathed it in. It was satisfyingly steeped in Severus' scent.

Even after he'd managed to win the man, Harry never had been brave enough to wear his robe around Hogwarts, though he'd had every intention the first time he put it on. Harry took it out and looked at it occasionally with fondness. The memory should have been traumatic. But all the pain and the hunger had been worth it in the end. Even though Harry realized, later, he'd started to develop feelings for the Potions Master long before their captivity, if it hadn't actually occurred they would never, ever have been together. And then how very different Harry's world, and the world in general, might look now.

Harry decided he would wear this one. Severus wasn't getting it back. He grinned at the man and could tell Severus was pleased when he stepped forward to fasten it. When he was done, Harry stepped back and modeled it for him. "What do you think?"

"Promising. Of course, you don't pull it off as well as I do," Severus said dismissively but with a playful twist of his lips. "But that will come with practice. Are you ready then?" he asked, and Harry could have sworn he caught a sparkle in the man's eye. As much as Severus hated his condition, he could now share things with Harry he never could before; could introduce the young man to his world, which they now shared.

Harry was ready. He was heartened. The time would come that he would leave this man behind, but that time was not yet upon him. Severus loved him, the night was young, and it awaited them.

They flooed to Severus' offices and from there walked out of the Castle and to the Forest, their hands drifting toward one another to brush fingers as they went. Harry hadn't been properly outside in weeks, and his first steps into the wide world were a shock to his senses.

The wealth of information carried on the wind was overwhelming. He smelled everything, the whole world and everything in it: the soil disturbed by his shoe and the green gasp of the grass as it broke beneath his heel. Harry smelled the bark of the nearby trees and the deep moldy bite of their droppings, stirred to the wind by the creatures who burrowed beneath them. There were smells Harry could not identify but knew he would come to; animal smells, sharp and bitter and warm. Harry smelled the sweet of the last of the spring flowers, and the deep woody musk of flowing sap. So many living things. The world teemed with smell. And that was only one of his senses.

The world was not grey as it had been in the lab. It was silver, shimmering with the barely detectable moonlight that spilled from the sliver hanging high overhead. Harry turned an awestruck look to Severus who grinned back at him, delighting in Harry's delight. The man did so so seldomly, and the sight of it filled Harry's already burgeoning heart almost to capacity. He took Severus' hand properly in his own and laughed. He felt like flying.

He settled for running. And Severus ran with him, hand still tangled in Harry's own. Harry loved it, he had not thought the man would even keep pace but he did, in fact, seem to be racing him. Severus had always seemed so reserved, but this was not Hogwarts and he was not, at this moment, the Potions Master. They were two vampires, swift and strong and surefooted and free. The uneven terrain was no obstacle. They leapt fallen trunks easily, darted through the trees as if dancing with them. Harry was given goosebumps by the way his laughter echoed off them as he passed, making a kind of music. It was better than being on his broomstick, and Harry never thought anything could top that.

And scattered throughout the shining, silvered landscape were hearts, shining bright and colorful against the monochrome of their surroundings like warm jewels twinkling through cold stone. Harry saw birds and squirrels and even lizards and snakes dotting the trees, and owls sitting sentry as well. Harry slowed as he spotted a fieldmouse close at hand and snatched it up with only half a thought.

He stopped dead with it held in his hand. He wasn't even winded. Harry stared at it, loving the creature's soft rainbow glow and the warmth it radiated, the fluttering beacon of its fear-fueled heartbeat. It wasn't until the thing was halfway to his mouth that Harry realized what he was doing, noticed his fangs were extended. The realization startled him. He had been moments away from consuming the poor thing. Suddenly bewildered, he turned his questioning look to Severus.

But the sight of Severus startled him further. The man looked wilder than Harry had ever seen him: once again luminous, brown hair ravaged by wind, eyes wide and pupils large. And his gaze held a glint of something Harry had never seen before in the man, something Severus repressed, though it was something Harry knew rested somewhere close in Cobbleshot's expression. Even his fangs peeked from between his lips which parted slightly as in readiness. Severus had never looked less human. Harry could only imagine the picture he made himself at the moment.

Severus' voice, however, was as steady and reasoned as ever. "Well done," he praised. "But you realize it is too small to sate you." Harry looked down at the struggling creature he held, still fascinated but now slightly sickened. When he'd snagged it, he'd had no other thought than it was close and beautiful and he had wanted it. His body, however, knew better; had had other motivations. Severus seemed to understand his confusion. "Your instinct is to hunt, Harry. Those instincts, without discipline, seek out anything which pumps the vitality your body craves. This creature will, indeed, nourish you, but not enough. This is the question you're faced with, Dearest. You could collect more, but that means more killing. Or you could decide to bring down one larger thing. Something larger, perhaps, than we need, but which results in only a single death. The question is, Harry, how do you prioritize a life? Is this field mouse somehow worth less than that stag?" he asked, nodding toward a copse of trees nearby and the gorgeous, gleaming buck that peeked, unafraid, between the trunks at them. "How many hearts are you willing to stop to quench your thirst?"

Harry looked at him thoughtfully, then back down at the mouse squirming in his fingers, his recent joy extinguished as he recalled the purpose of their outing, which had been driven momentarily from mind by wind and moonlight. "Which do you prefer?" he asked Severus tremulously, finding it surprisingly difficult to speak around his fangs.

Severus shook his head patiently. "This is not a question I can answer for you, Harry. Tonight, you determine what constitutes a monster. Or rather, you determine what kind of monster you prefer to be."

Harry considered it, considered killing and was repulsed by it. How many of these beautiful little creatures would it take to slake his thirst? How many was he willing to dispatch? Harry had a feeling it was a thing he could only do once, if at all. After another moment's deliberation, he carefully set the fieldmouse back on the forest floor and watched it scamper away, straightening to look at Severus, giving him his answer. Severus looked pleased. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"The kitchens always appreciate the venison, anyway," Severus confided. That was good, Harry thought. Nothing gone to waste. "Though, I think not the stag," Severus added. The thing had wandered off regardless. "A doe, or a smaller buck perhaps?" Harry nodded his agreement.

Then the actual hunting began. Severus had him test the air where the stag had been, urging him to seek something similar, directing his sight to disturbances in the mud and leaflitter, to evidence of grazing along slender paths. It was a consuming exercise, and strangely stimulating. Still, as he searched he caught, from the corner of his eye, a familiar shape shadowing them at a distance.

"Loraina is following us," Harry whispered.

"I know," Severus sighed, more mildly exasperated than truly annoyed. "She has no confidence in my teaching abilities on this particular subject," he sneered. "Ignore her." Harry looked back at her one more time. She was close enough that he could not fail to catch her wink, then he did as he was told and devoted all his attention to locating their quarry.

It wasn't long before they crept up on a young buck, much smaller than the princely stag they spied earlier but still large. But Harry was at a loss. He knew he could catch the thing, but what then? He recoiled imagining the violence necessary to bring down such a large animal.

Severus removed the concern by drawing his wand and whispering a sleep spell at the creature, causing it to drift easily to the ground in deep slumber. Somewhere nearby Harry heard the unseen Cobbleshot scoff. Severus rolled his eyes as he stowed his wand.

"Loraina finds it laughable that I use magic to subdue my prey," Severus explained as they strolled easily over to the sleeping deer. "But we are wizards, Harry. Only Muggle vampires are resigned to violence. I find this much more humane. Don't let her convince you the only way to bring down a beast is to rip out its throat. Some Muggle vampires will indeed use guns or arrows to down prey, but magic allows us to take advantage of a beating heart, which will always provide you with more nourishment than a still one," Severus advised as they reach the sleeping animal and knelt beside it. Harry had no problems imaging Cobbleshot leaping at the beast as it fled, fingers like claws and fangs bared seeking its throat. Harry shivered. It may be a lesson he would need to learn from the woman, but not one he'd enjoy. He understood entirely when Severus said he didn't want to be 'that kind' of vampire.

"You see the vein where it shines brightest here in the neck?"

Harry took a shaking breath and nodded. He saw it, glowing faintly beneath the riot of browns and tans and reds of the creature's fur. He lay a gentle hand over it, feeling the pulse and following the shining trail with his eyes to where it met the glowing heart, large and slowly beating in sleep. Harry lay his other hand there and felt the gentle rise and fall of the buck's chest. It was such a majestic creature, so beautiful and so personal to Harry.

Harry suddenly wondered if his patronus would remain a stag. Severus' had changed he'd said. Had Harry's as well? And if it had, was this symbolic of something? Was he letting that life go by taking this one?

"He sleeps deeply," Severus comforted. "And the knife is sharp. He will never feel his death, Harry. This is not something you do with malice or even indifference. He dies so that you may live. It is the most natural thing in the world."

Harry nodded reluctantly and accepted the knife from Severus. He'd held the thing many times before, but it was always his own veins he'd opened, and his hand trembled now using it for this new purpose. Waiting would not make it easier, though. At a gesture from Severus, Harry took a deep breath to steel himself, then applied the razor edge of the blade to bright vein in the buck's neck.

It was easy after that. Once his body scented the blood that sprang from the cut, it moved itself. Harry latched his mouth to the wound, catching the fount, tasting the dust and oil and musk of the buck's fur, but mostly and most importantly Harry tasted its blood. It was different than human blood, more savory than sweet, but it burned just the same. Harry was vaguely aware of Severus taking the knife from him and making his own cut, bending to feed as well. Harry felt the deer's heart weaken, so that the blood was no longer pushed into his mouth but had to be drawn. And eventually the heart stopped altogether and Harry felt Severus' fingers on his shoulder, gently drawing him back.

Harry was not reluctant to do so. He'd never consumed so much blood at once and was a little sick with it. His whole body seemed to thrum with vitality. The swoon reminded Harry of drunkenness, and he fell back to lay on the forest floor waiting for the world to be still.

Harry looked over at the buck, but it was silver as the trees and bushes that surrounded it. All its light had been transferred to Harry and Severus.

Severus.

Harry gasped softly at the sight of him. His light almost hurt Harry's eyes. He looked ruddy and robust, sated and slightly ecstatic. He looked wanton and gorgeous. Harry reached for him and the man's black eyes found Harry's own, perhaps seeing in the young man the same erotic glow. No wonder Severus always wanted to have sex in the dark. Who wouldn't rather make love to this spectacle? This ravishing creature whose inherent luminosity was obscured by the light? Dark Creature seemed a very poor descriptor for what they were.

Severus fell on him, red-slicked lips seeking Harry's own, and they spent long moments tangled on the forest floor, carefully cleaning the red elixir from each other's mouths. It was glorious; more personal, more intimate by far than sex. And Harry realized this was theirs and theirs alone...for as long as he wanted it.

"I love you," Severus whispered, beating Harry to the confession by a fraction of a second. Harry answered by kissing him again, clinging to him with a moan.

Mine, he thought. This man is mine. And I am his. Harry had never felt more sated in his life. The moment seemed eternal and the future and whatever it contained seemed distant and wholly unimportant.