Author's Note: PLEASE READ FOR YOUR OWN SAKE
This is an Endgame Dramione. If you hate Draco Malfoy, then you won't like this story (and may need to ask yourself why you would hate the hottest fictional character of all time). HOWEVER, the Dramione is a slow burn and there is a love triangle with Sevmione. If you hate Severus Snape, then you won't like the relationship that is in the beginning of this story. If you hate Severus, though, you probably won't hate this story. But if you absolutely can't read him in any context that shines a light on his sexy sides, even if he's a very hot Phantom of the Opera-esque vampire, then yeah maybe sit this one out.
I am obviously not JKR and this is fanfiction.
P.S. There will be kink. If you hate kink, this is gonna be a weird time for you, lol.
SG
By the Pricking of My Thumbs
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The worn copy of the day's Daily Prophet burned under Hermione's arm where it was snugly rolled.
She really should stop reading the news. It was always so morose.
Hermione was foolish to think that in the twenty five years she'd been alive, she'd experienced enough bigoted terrorists to last a lifetime. It didn't seem to end.
No, in fact, it seemed to have worsened with time. As if taking on the role of Potions Mistress wasn't challenging enough, especially with the ever-imposing Ministry of Magic's involvement at Hogwarts, now she had to deal with this.
Hermione rapped her knuckles against the dark wooden door, the echoes of her knocks ringing in the silent dungeon corridor. The air fell still around her as she ran her palms down her dress and smoothed out her skirt.
After a full day of shifting from Potion station to Potion station, Hermione was relieved to change into something free from the stench of organic fumes, but it was futile. As soon as she'd step into Severus Snape's quarters, the scent of his brewing concoctions would inevitably cling to her.
None of that should have mattered. Since the release of the second Daily Prophet that day, she could hardly think about anything else. The bright red words, BREAKING NEWS, were embedded in her memory, stamped on the back of her eyelids, right alongside the brutal image of the attack itself. Amber flames, panicked Ministry workers fleeing the blaze, the sombre list of those found dead in the wreckage. Hermione banged on the wooden door, anxious to get the image out of her mind.
"Hurry up. For Merlin's sake, Severus…"
Finally, the door clicked open on its own, inching backwards to reveal the usual darkness that greeted her every evening. The familiar scent of molten metal, charred wood, and rotting meat hardly registered to her anymore as she whipped out her wand.
She conjured thick candles which floated toward the ceiling, lighting the room with a warm, flickering glow. Clouds of vapour rose from large pewter cauldrons, casting entrancing swirls that danced against the candlelight. It made the damp, shadowy space seem almost romantic.
"Severus?" Hermione called as she crossed the room.
She moved with intent toward the two hefty crimson armchairs, a coffee table, and an overflowing, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that looked as though at any moment it could crumble under the weight of the hundreds of texts it held. This was the only section that brought a sense of comfort in an otherwise meticulously industrious space.
"You're early," Severus called from behind the door of his attached bedroom. "I'll be out in a minute."
"I'll just be here reading," Hermione said, her tone forcibly steady and not at all belying her desire to call him to her at once.
Severus had a sort of un-moving demeanour that made even the gravest of news seem relatively uneventful. She needed that right about now.
She plopped herself onto one of the armchairs before reaching for the book she'd left on the table, still open to the page she'd been reading the evening prior.
Arsenia the Wicked was known in mediaeval Hungary for her use of metallurgical Necro… blah blah blah.
Barely a moment passed before she started to rapidly jig her leg as she read the same sentence six times. She knew all about Arsenia the Wicked. And Blavekin the Brave. And all the notable mediaeval witches and wizards–that was not what she was here for.
She let out a frustrated sigh as she tossed the book back to its spot on the table and reached for the newspaper that had been preoccupying her thoughts all day. She'd already read it four times, but the anxious urge to skim it one more time was overwhelming.
Aurors baffled by recent attack… Ministry of Magic, Muggle Relations Office… explosive Incendiary bomb... left in the desk of Ministry worker...
...attack was executed by known wizarding terrorist group, Puritas… branch of neo-blood supremacists...
Letters sent… Minister's office… threatening to increase terrorist activity until demands are met… call to amend controversial law… Prime Minister criticised and called to repeal the recent Muggle-Magic treaty…
"You're in a mood," Severus said, stepping into the room. He slowly wiped his long, pale fingers on a grey rag.
His burgundy eyes were already shrewdly analysing her, taking in her frown, the way she was hunched on the edge of the chair, hovering obsessively over the paper. She leaned back and let out a sigh.
"Yes, well."
"What's happened?"
Snape slipped into the chair next to her with a searching look before he delicately plucked the Daily Prophet from her hands. His forehead grew tense with the usual deep line of irritation or curiosity. She hoped it was with curiosity today; she was irritable enough for the both of them.
Hermione chewed on her cuticles as his weight pressed backward into the chair and his face disappeared behind in the pages of news.
"Interesting," Severus said, slowly lowering the paper. "When did—excuse me, stop that at once."
His tone was admonishing as he swiftly reached for her wrist and pulled her hand away from her mouth. Picking at her skin was a nervous habit, but it was—as Severus had put it many times—a disgusting display of anxiety.
Severus drew her hand toward him and began to inspect the skin she'd been gnawing. A small droplet of blood was starting to gather at the tear on her thumb. He ran his tongue over his lips as his dark eyes remained on the glistening crimson drop.
"You know better," he said with a disapproving shake of his head before he brought the wounded finger to his lips.
Hermione drew in a sharp breath as her thumb nearly grazed against his sharp fang and she felt the warmth of his mouth against her. He arched a curious brow at her, as if he had no idea the effect his vampirism had while he gently sucked. When he pulled away and pressed her newly-healed hand back in her lap, the look of disapproval had softened.
"Well?" Hermione said, slightly breathless as she glanced down at the newspaper.
"They've undoubtedly organised."
"That's what I thought." She let out a breath. "Harry's being optimistic; he thinks it was a lone wolf, but—"
Severus shook his head.
"It takes numbers and access to conduct an attack on the Ministry. Potter's sorely mistaken, or woefully blind; isn't he an Auror?"
"Yes, but with all the stupid new inter-departmental restrictions, he has no idea who got access to the different Ministry departments. Gods, Severus, how did they get into the Ministry?"
"Need I remind you, you've broken into the Ministry on at least two occasions."
"Well, yes, but we—"
"You're underestimating them."
Severus' words were curt, but they still caused her to bristle.
Was she underestimating Puritas? Until now, they were a careless band of disgruntled Purebloods, not an organized group of terrorists capable of this.
Though there had been several attacks prior to this—random murders of muggles, the slaughter of a muggleborn family of six, and a contamination of a water-treatment plant in Muggle Bristol which left dozens dead—all of these attacks were presumed to be done by individual witches or wizards. The infiltration of the Ministry of Magic, let alone getting an incendiary bomb past their security measures, was an entirely different level of cooperation. Godric help them if the group was organising.
Despite Hermione's vehement disagreement with it, the new law that the Minister of Magic had placed prohibiting the gathering of organisations without Ministry approval was making a bit more sense. This law, among several others he'd enacted, caused quite a stir. Rightfully so, Hermione thought. Things had changed, and clearly not for the better.
"So is nowhere safe?" Hermione asked.
"You're concerned about Hogwarts," he said, his eyes holding hers.
Hermione let out a heavy sigh as she rested her head in her hands. "I'm concerned about everyone."
"Your friends. Potter and Weasley…"
"They're alright. Ginny wrote to me after the paper dropped. They were both out of their offices, thank God."
"Hm. Right. Is this,"—he tapped the Daily Prophet—"why you came early tonight?"
Hermione shook her head. She buried her hand into her pocket and withdrew the other item she'd been dying to show him.
"What's this?" Severus asked as he reached for it.
It was a small scroll the size of a roll of sickles, adorned with gold leaf trim and tightly wrapped around a polished mahogany rod that looked quite ornate. She'd opened it once she received it, and was more than confused by its contents. Tucked neatly into the small scroll was a long, thin needle, and a message that read: Poke me to reveal my secrets.
"I was hoping you'd have an idea. It came with the morning mail and I've no idea who it's from."
"Hm."
Severus stared silently at the words on the scroll, his dark crimson eyes trailing ever-so-slowly, meticulous in their inspection. He turned the scroll over, then turned it back again.
He'd stopped breathing. He did that sometimes when he was too distracted or engrossed in an activity to remember to act human.
Hermione leaned toward him, quietly grateful for the opportunity to watch him in his element, a treat that had grown exceedingly rare given that he'd almost entirely stopped working around her. She knew it was because he wanted to give her his undivided attention and, for that reason, Hermione didn't feel comfortable letting him know she deeply enjoyed the opportunity to just watch—watch him read, watch him float from cauldron to cauldron tending to them like his own private garden, watch when he was deep in thought considering this or that philosophical concept or political stance.
While he may have been an acquired taste prior to his transformation, it was undeniable that vampirism had accented the haunting, mediaeval appearance of Severus Snape and intermingled the craggy careworn visage with a newfound boyish-beauty. His skin, paler since his transformation into a creature of the night, was a shade of moonlight and contrasted starkly with the darkened blood-toned lips that were thin and tense.
His eyes, the part of him that Hermione had developed an ability to read, studied the scroll with expert focus, accented under thin black brows on a subtle brow-ridge. The dark, almost-black irises of his human years had transformed into a blood-colour as well, not-so-subtly warning any unwitting mortals of what he most yearned for—well, no, what he yearned for more than anything was her. Blood, to him, was secondary. That, she knew with unwavering certainty.
Severus brought the scroll up to his face and took in a deep inhale.
"A male sent this. Perhaps mid- or late-twenties. Magical lineage."
"Useful to know." Hermione leaned back into the chair as Severus reached for the needle.
He slowly drew the long pin toward his face to inspect it. He stared at it for a minute, sniffed it, turned it this way and that, then—to Hermione's horror—pressed it into his finger before she had a chance to stop him.
"Why would you do that?" She stared wide-eyed at his hand, waiting for something to happen.
"It won't affect vampire blood, but..."
His hand hovered several inches over the blank scroll and he pressed the punctured finger with his thumb, urging a few droplets of crimson blood to fall onto the paper. As the blood hit the page, it hissed and sizzled, erupting into black smoke.
"Hm."
The words remained. Poke me to reveal my secrets.
"I believe it's meant for you."
"What if it's poisoned?" She asked as she waved away the remaining wisps of smoke.
"This is not poison."
Severus lifted the pin and held it towards her. The thin metallic needle appeared coated in a pale glistening substance that did not drip or move as he tilted it.
"It's protection for the scroll."
"For the scroll?"
"Likely a privacy matter; I suspect it will bind you to the page and it's meant for you and only you. You have no idea who sent it?"
"None," she replied. "The owl that dropped it looked like one of the Ministry's breeds, though."
"The Ministry?" He furrowed his brows with consideration, then placed the needle and the scroll on the table before her. He silently entwined his fingers on his lap and looked at her with an open, neutral expression. "So what will you do?"
"What should I do, Severus? What if it's cursed or—you never know, with the recent attack..."
"It's not cursed. I can't tell what it'll do, but there is neither poison nor curse on this needle. I would have felt it had there been either."
"I thought you said it wouldn't affect a vampire—"
"I did say that," he said.
She gaped at him, irritation creeping up her chest.
"You may withhold your judgement, Miss Granger, I'm significantly more immune to the effects of cursed objects, as you seem to forget."
"I didn't forget." She frowned.
Though recklessness was never a characteristic of his, his transformation into vampirism had fostered an experimental nature. He took his time and care in testing his limits. As he learned that his ability to endure danger, threat, and trauma were far from a mortal's threshold of tolerance, he leaned into it, testing potions on himself and collecting exceedingly rare artefacts that he intentionally kept away from Hermione.
Hermione willed her forehead to smooth as she let out a sigh, stuck in the muck of her thoughts as she weighed her options. It only took her fifteen more seconds before she reached for the needle and lifted it to her hand. She hesitated and glanced up at Severus for strength.
His lips were curved in a small amused smile as he turned over his hand, offering his open palm.
"Thank you," she said, her voice a soft murmur.
Hermione placed her hand in his before handing him the needle.
Severus glanced at her as the needle hovered above her index finger. "Is this what you want to do?"
Without threat of poison or curse, there was no chance that her curiosity would let her live in peace if she didn't at least try to gain access to the contents of the scroll. Stranger things had landed on her doorstep during her time as the Potions Mistress, and she was not one to shy away from solving a mystery if she could help it.
Hermione nodded.
She had already consulted her books on the effects of needle-based curses and didn't find any that weren't from fairy tales—ouch. The pin pricked deep into her skin as Severus withdrew and squeezed down on the pad of her finger until a shiny droplet of blood collected on the grooves of her fingerprint. Her shoulders shuddered in an involuntary wince.
"I've bitten you much harder than that," Severus said with the faintest amused smile.
Before she had a chance to respond or acknowledge the heat that rose in her face, a thick droplet of her blood fell from her finger and landed on the open scroll.
The blood seeped into the faded yellow parchment as though absorbed by it. Its previous message disappeared and new letters appeared in its stead, written in the dark red of her own blood.
The pair exchanged a look before glancing attentively at the writing as it appeared:
You have been invited to join the Circle of the Sphinx.
We are a secret organization developed to stop the rise of known terrorist group, Puritas,
and to maintain order within the Wizarding and Muggle communities.
Discretion within the Circle is of utmost importance.
"You've failed that already," Snape mused.
Hermione scowled and continued reading.
Safeguards will be placed to ensure the safety and anonymity of all Circle members.
Should you fail to attend, all memory pertaining to the Circle will be immediately and irrevocably erased.
While you were selected based on your individual talents, this invitation does not guarantee entry.
To attend the Initiation, bring this scroll to the following identified address near you:
Hog's Head
7pm
Wednesday, 24th of November, 2004
A day's notice. Fantastic.
It seemed like an impossibly short amount of time to ensure the recipient would be available. Lucky for them, Hermione had no plans the following evening. With the exception of visiting Severus, she seldom had any plans at all.
"Hm." Snape pressed a thumb into the cleft of his chin thoughtfully.
"What is it?"
"I've only just heard of this group. I had intended to reach out to them to see whether they knew about Deiffry's whereabouts."
"Deiffry? You mean, the man who planned your attack?"
"Indeed." The word came out with unveiled bitterness.
She pressed her palm against his knee and his fingers instantly sought hers, as though by instinct. His skin was cool like the room around them.
"Severus, how is it that you've heard about this group and I haven't?"
Though Severus was an avid reader, consuming upwards of eight newspapers and magazines per day, he'd been indefinitely sequestered to isolation in the two-room-and-a-pantry space in the bowels of Hogwarts castle, three stories lower than even the Slytherin Common Rooms. Headmistress McGonnagall had granted him accommodations at the castle as a kindness to Snape and to the late and great wizard, Albus Dumbledore.
At first his sentence of being bound to the room had come as a precaution to the students of Hogwarts, as the violent and taxing transformation caused the perfectly controlled and relatively reclusive Potions Master to turn into a starving, powerful creature in need of constant blood. It took months for his violent outbursts to calm and for a diet of human donor-blood to quell his starved hunger.
As he'd slowly morphed back into his normal, controlled ways, and as Hermione gathered hope that Severus may be able to have a somewhat ordinary albeit quiet life, the new Minister of Magic, with all his precocious yet militant policies, enacted a new law which stated all Magical Beings with a Ministry of Magic Classification of XXXX or higher were required to register with the Ministry and would be provided an Assessment of Civility and Assimilation to measure their fit within Wizarding society.
Suffice it to say, Snape found the whole law to be extremely offensive and refused to register, preferring the silent walls of Hogwarts castle than the garish judgmental world outside. Of course, Hermione knew her regular company had softened his reaction as her nightly visits were—by his own admission—the favourite part of his day.
"The walls do speak, Miss Granger," he responded.
Hermione avoided the temptation to roll her eyes at his vague answer. It was a wonder how she put up with him; she, a hound for seeking truths and answers, and he, an impenetrable vault of mystery.
"And what do they tell you?"
"All manner of secrets, particularly regarding the Potions Mistress…"
Hermione glanced up at the sound of his silken voice, trailing a bit too alluringly down her spine.
Vampirism definitely suited Severus Snape, though Hermione knew in that moment she would've fallen prey to his affections regardless of what mortal-state he was in.
"Oh, really?" She replied with a mischievous smile.
Severus leaned back into his chair and patted his lap.
"You'll never know. Come here, my sweet girl."
Hermione didn't need to think before she slipped into his embrace. She let her bottom rest against the tops of his thighs as she sat sideways across his lap, her legs dangling off the armrest of the chair. His hand snaked around her waist and held her snugly against him.
"What do you think you'll do?" He murmured into her hair before drawing a deep inhale.
"I haven't decided. What should I do?"
"Hm." Severus' hand roamed over her thighs as he mindlessly caressed her. "I'd be curious to know how the Circle is funded, perhaps by the Ministry or wealthy ex-Order members, though if the Order were involved I'd have heard about it by now. The mystery alone prevails me towards caution. The Circle of the Sphinx may be one way to prevent things like," —he pointed toward the Daily Prophet— "this from happening."
Hermione nodded, his reasoning ringing true in her ears, though the soothing circles he drew on her thigh were distracting and urged her to relax against him.
"But," he over-enunciated the word, "if it were me in your place, I'd avoid it altogether."
"You would? Why?"
"It's not a good idea."
She waited for him to elaborate and frowned when it became clear that was all the reasoning he was going to provide.
They sat in silence for a moment, allowing Hermione to sort through one potential question after another as she stared at the words on the scroll.
There were so many unknown variables. The obvious, of course: who was the scroll from? But better yet, what kind of organisation was mysterious and elusive enough that even Severus Snape hardly knew anything about them?
"You just said the organisation may help prevent things like today's attack," Hermione said quietly.
"It may. Or, it may get you killed."
Hermione frowned.
It was impossible not to wonder whether the Circle was an answer to her prayers. She'd been so bloody helpless as the world grew dark and perilous, and the Ministry did little to counter evil and terror in her world.
With all the Order of the Phoenix members married off, with children, in the comforts of their homes and with little fight left in them, there seemed little hope that anyone would be able to fight this up-and-coming terrorist group in time. How many deaths needed to occur before someone took action?
She hated it. She hated being in a world where, yet again, darkness was growing and nearly everyone in the wizarding world found it more convenient to stick their heads in the sand than to stand up and do something about it. She'd fought evil before; why not do it again? Who else would?
Hermione opened her mouth and glanced up to find Severus' eyes already on her.
"You've made up your mind," he observed.
"You're being unfair, Severus."
Her voice was harder than she'd planned, and she fought the urge to protest as Severus' hand dropped from her waist and he leaned back into the chair.
"You're telling me if an invitation to fight the Death Eaters fell into your lap at my age, you wouldn't take it? You did take it; you were a working spy for the Order."
Severus' eyes trailed to the side.
"And especially if I can help capture Deiffry and those monsters that attacked you—if I could get justice for what they did to you—"
"I don't need justice. I need you safe. Joining a secret society to fight evil is not you being safe."
"I'll be careful, I promise. I'll do my best—"
"I don't like it."
"But—"
"If you think I'd be overjoyed at the prospect of you being hurt, or worse, you're deluded."
"People are dying. Muggles, wizards—I have to do something. Someone ought to, shouldn't they?"
Perhaps it was the desperation in her tone, or the truth which rang with potency in her words, but Severus' jaw relaxed and he gave her a brief look of resignation.
"You'd better be careful, girl. I'm going to make sure you're properly prepared. If this organization is anything like the Order, you'll need to have constant vigilance and no stupid chances. You don't have Potter's dumb luck or Albus' connections to keep you safe this time."
Hermione's features softened at the surly Severus who stared at her through narrowed eyes. Menacing, and cold, but clearly operating more out of fear than hatred. He, of all people, had to understand.
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"I expect you to tell me all about it," he said.
All coldness and harshness had dissipated as Hermione nuzzled into his neck.
"Of course, I will, Severus. And I'll prepare as much as I can. Don't you think it's for a good cause?"
Severus shrugged, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead.
"This world doesn't deserve your help," Severus said, "nor mine, for that matter."
Hermione rolled her eyes. His overt negativity was nothing new, but she couldn't help but feel it had dampened some of her excitement. A secret society—an order to fight Puritas. She hadn't felt this intrigued in years.
"You need sun," Severus said as he brushed his lips over her temple.
His fingers had returned to their usual exploratory pattern, drawing up her thigh toward her navel. Hermione let out a soft exhale as she lifted her chin, letting her head loll to the side to bare her throat and neck to him.
"And what else do I need?"
He trailed long, hot kisses down her jaw and over her throat as his palm pressed into her ribcage and held her in place against him. Warm tingles rushed through her, manifesting in tiny little goosepimples that sprung on the tops of her arms.
Severus gently nipped at her throat, enough to elicit a pleased sigh as she anticipated more. A sting, a bite. The ultimate high.
"Iron," he breathed into her neck.
Severus pressed another kiss before drawing away, provoking a soft groan of protest from her. His eyes had grown dark, and she could feel the effect she had on him as she squirmed ever-so-gently in his lap. His grip on her rib tightened and squeezed, keeping her from moving further.
"You should leave your office and classroom once in a while, Miss Granger."
Oh, here it was: the list of admonishments and orders that the very particular vampire had for her. Couldn't he just give her what she wanted without making her work for it each time?
"I do!"
"The dungeons are hardly a source of sunlight or sustenance," he responded.
She could hear the faintest smile in his voice, something so subtle to an outsider's ear but something she'd picked up on in their quiet moments together. Learning Severus Snape was an art.
"You aren't hungry?" Hermione asked, tilting her head toward her shoulder to entice him with a clear view of her bare neck.
"Always for you, my darling."
The sanguine smile was visible now as she tilted her head to glance at him, waiting for him to make a move.
"But it would be reckless for me to take blood from you when you're in poor health. Get some sunlight, eat a real meal, and we shall see tomorrow."
"But—"
"And if you protest too much, we can instate a new rule for you. Would you like that?"
"No." Hermione's shoulders heaved with a dramatic sigh.
Even seven years after graduating from Hogwarts, he still found ways to instruct, admonish, and further enforce his authority over her. Most of the time, she enjoyed their dynamic but as she sat there near-begging him to feed from her and give her that rush of endorphins she had grown to crave, she wished he'd just loosen up and make a bad choice once in a while.
"There's no need to mope," his deep voice rang in her ear as he ran his palm over her calf, drawing her skirt up to brush his fingers against her bare skin. "Let's get to bed, my sweet."
"I still have Potions papers to grade."
"Ah, yes, a task I'd know nothing about."
"I would ask for your help with them again, but the students are wondering why my comments are ranging from extremely encouraging to—" she gave him a look, "— dismal and quite harsh."
"Perhaps if they applied themselves…"
"You only looked at the First Years' papers!"
"Those dunderheads can hardly differentiate between Acromantula Silk and Acromantula Thread."
Hermione frowned. He had a point.
Severus reached to press a kiss on her shoulder, letting his fangs barely graze her skin. It forced a shiver that started at the nape of her neck and dragged down her spine.
"Perhaps—" His voice dipped into a softer, deeper register. "—you should utilise—"
He let his palm trail up the inside of her thigh. His nails dug into the supple flesh and slowly dragged up, leaving long stinging red lines that caused her back to arch against him.
"—more practical techniques."
Hermione let out a shaky breath as his touch suddenly made its way between her legs where he applied pressure.
"Let's go to bed," he said with a throaty whisper.
Hermione sighed. The weight of the day sat heavy on her shoulders, and while anxiety almost always propelled her toward productivity, the handsome vampire on whose lap she sat made her want to eschew all responsibility and give in to carnal temptation.
"Fine." She could already see the subtle hint of victory in his features. "But I can't stay the night. I haven't brought a change of clothes."
"Well," Severus said, brushing a kiss to her jaw as he lifted her and himself from the chair, "next time you won't make that mistake, will you?"
Author's Note: Please review and follow if you are enjoying this so far!
SG