(Trigger warning. Someone mentions rape in this chapter.)

Snape had finally calmed down around 4 AM after a shower and another application of his lotions. It was far too early to call at an apothecary, or anything else for that matter. He might be representative of the worst sleep cycle ever, IE none, but most were not. As such he had time to kill. So, he finished his list of ingredients he needed from the recipe, as well as ones that had turned or gone bad in his own stock downstairs. He wouldn't be able to replace everything, but he honestly didn't need to. As he was not being asked to brew things like a multigenerational virility potion for pureblood elite, he did not need the testicles of a young man harvested after his first post coitus sleep. Thank Merlin for that. He had honestly forgotten that ingredient was down there, camouflaged as a bottle of pickled rat spleen which would have gone bad this year. If they were actually rat spleens. Since they weren't, it had been a rather bad trip down memory lane to when Rodolphus had ordered it before the insanity that was the Dark Lord's downfall.

He happily vanished the bottle and marked down that he did in fact need Two bottles of rat spleens, as he had thought the fake pickled one was his back up. Pickling them reduced the potency but increased shelf life by years, which in an emergency was acceptable. He very carefully searched through every bottle after that, having been far more focused on the Hogwarts stores than his own most summers. Summers were at the whims of fates who had developed a gambling problem. Each week a coin flip, sometimes each day. He could be in the middle of brewing for pleasure, or for Poppy, and be called away to investigate rumors of the Dark Lord or attempts to bring the man back. It was tiresome. He had one summer where he hadn't been called away at all and instead of a blissful lethargic time in his potions lab, each day had made him more and more tense as they passed without him being called on. He had returned to the school more on edge than ever.

This, what he was doing now, was most likely as close to a true vacation as he'd ever get. He might as well spend a few hours doing something for himself. He could order the ingredients this afternoon and have them by this evening, then brew through the night with his complete disregard for circadian rhythms.

So at 5 am he had decided he would work on his side project for a bit. It was now 6, and what the rest of the world usually considered morning, found him frowning at a tiny book. This was not unusual in and of itself, he frowned at the stupidity in many books. It was a recipe book, not unusual for a potions master, and he did often find idiocy in the pages of recipe books after all. You needed to crush half the things you were told to slice, and why anyone would stir a mixture of shrivelfig and daisy root counterclockwise when it was in a silver cauldron and expect to get anything that healed was beyond him. But this book didn't have any of that, which was unusual. He had no corrections to make and the book was not stupid. That was also unusual, but perhaps not, considering it was, after all, a recipe book for food.

He'd found the book after thirty five minutes of searching. He knew he had seen the recipe somewhere, one of the few books his father had from a long ago Italian ancestor that meant if pasta sauce wasn't made from this book, he'd know. He hadn't thought about the thing in years. The thin little book full of handwritten recipes was in Italian with translations for choice recipes jotted on random bits of paper and stuck between pages. It was indeed very old, the faded leather and hand stitching with animal gut alone attested to that. The other indication it was old was that despite him being mildly fluent in the language he had needed a translation charm because the language had changed so much from when it had been written he couldn't make heads or tales of some of the words they used. This was not assisted by the fact that Italian systems of measurement changed from city to city and century to century. He was sure that if he cared to he could figure out what city the ancestor was from based on the measurements in the book. If he cared.

He'd still felt smugly vindicated that he didn't need to go to the public library to track down the recipe he needed. Now though he had the book propped on the counter and he was scowling again. He'd known this was coming, it had to, but he'd pushed off accepting it until now. He remembered the last time he'd been out grocery shopping. It had been the week before he'd died. He hadn't bought anything besides potion ingredients and tea since. All that food had been donated to the local tramps, it would have rotted otherwise. So, no food in the house since then. The honey he had bought all those years ago was still in the cupboard after all, and only because it couldn't go bad. He sighed. He most certainly would have to go and buy ingredients.

He was not looking forward to this, but it'd be worth it. It better be. He sighed and grabbed a coat to cover his potions master jacket and grabbed even more muggle money. He also grabbed three cloth bags to carry the ingredients home in. He really did not want to go shopping for groceries, but he did very much want to make this dish. He sighed again, grabbed an umbrella for the early morning drizzle, and stepped out.

The sky was gray and crying small droplets as he locked the door behind him. He triple checked his wand in his sleeve and with a frown started to make his way to the corner shop. It was about a ten minute walk. He studied the clouds as he went. Thick and heavy with rain, but tumultuous; the occasional ray of sunlight broke through. He scowled, he'd have rather it be completely overcast.

He opened the door to the shop to the ring of a copper bell that had seen better days when he was 10 and headed toward the baking section. It was small, with few choices, but it was adequate. He grabbed chocolate, unsweetened of course, and some of the powdered cocoa as well. Sugar, flour, cinnamon, and vanilla were also selected. He had cloves at home, they were used in some potions after all.

He went over to the cold section and grabbed whole milk and lard. He also grabbed two oranges on the way to the counter, one for the zest and one for presentation. He went to the check out and refused to look at the clerk as he set things on the counter.

"You find everything alright?" The question was automatic, he could hear it in the young woman's voice. The daughter of the previous shopkeep; he vaguely remembered finding her attractive once. He risked a glance up. She still was, but the rather bright blue hair reminded him too much of a certain metamorphmagus.

"I did. What is the total?"

She looked up at his voice and her eyes widened.

"Severus?"

He shook his head as he set the last item down. The fact that she remembered him was rather surprising. They had interacted directly all of twice. "No, you have mistaken me for someone else I'm afraid." He set the empty bags on the counter for her to repack and as he did removed his wand from his sleeve. He returned his gaze to the woman as her face fell.

"Oh. I could have sworn, you look just like him, a bit older perhaps, but still."

It was true after all, while turned vampires may not age normally, or at all, or one of the numerous myths the books refused to agree on (most likely due to obfuscation on the vampires' part) he had been through quite a bit and that stress had aged his face. He supposed he should be thankful for it.

"My name is Stefan Miller, what was the total?" He asked, grasping his wand underneath his jacket just in case. She looked at him and smiled.

"No. No you're Severus Snape, I know it."

He sighed, he'd confund her as he left, remove his name, his mother's, and his father's, from her mind. His address too. Actually, it would just be easier to change who he was in the memory. Or remove himself from the woman's mind entirely. Unfortunately that took time, and he was not confident in his skill to do so.

"I changed my name. I just needed a new start." Not a lie, at least partly.

She nodded sympathetically. "I understand, I did always like your name though. Total is thirty four forty. What are you making?"

"Custard." He said as she rebagged everything and he handed the money over. From behind the bags he cast the confundus, then a memory charm making his old name, and those of his family and address, blur and be more inclined to vanish as old memories do. Days from now she would remember him, remember his name, but not remember what his original name was or that he had changed it, or even where he lived.

Having the bums know he had returned was one thing, but residents who remembered his face? He didn't like it. Not if he was changing his name. The Death Eaters and Order Members knew he lived here, he didn't need anyone else knowing. It was bad enough that most of the teachers knew of his condition; he'd barely managed to keep it from Trelawny and a few others; he didn't need even more leaks. He needed to cast that Fidelus as soon as he got back so there was no chance of his 'assistance' to the homeless camp leaking out. He sighed. He would not return to that store. Nor to any store he frequented in his youth. Not as himself at least.

He left as she blinked blearily and after heading back to his house to put the groceries down tried to remember a butcher he could go to, one that wasn't in town. He sighed. He could not. He hadn't really gone far as a child. There'd been no reason to, and no money to go anywhere interesting.

He took a moment and applied a glamour, brown hair, small nose, rounded cheekbones. It was good enough. Not fantastic, but enough to fool muggles. He headed out again, this time to the butcher. He frowned at the sky as the clouds began to clear. Brilliant. It might actually be a sunny day. Damn. He quickened his pace.

The butcher was a building like any other, cracked glass window and flickering sign proclaiming fresh cuts of pork. It had been there for as long as he could remember. He opened the door and nodded at the burly woman at the counter. The wife of the previous owner.

"Hey darlin. You're a new face." She said, barely looking up from her work behind the counter.

"Visiting a friend and making an old family dish. I require pigs blood. A bit under a litre."

"Smallest I can do is that." She said pointing to a rather large container. It had to be at least three liters.

He could smell it. It was odd, how animal blood just smelled like blood, and sometimes their food. Perhaps because it was mixed from many animals? Perhaps because it was not what he was meant to eat. He could smell the woman clearly. The scent of metal knives after being sharpened on a whetstone and the tang of buttermilk. He frowned, he'd ponder such things later.

"I do not need nearly that much."

"It's this or nothing hon. Got no other containers." She said finally looking up, hands on her hips.

"Fine." He spat out, annoyed and trying to figure out what to do with the rest besides throw it away, or maybe taste it. "How much?"

The woman grinned as he scowled. He paid quickly and left in the same manner. He was tempted to hex the counter so her meat would spoil.

He sighed as he closed his front door behind him, it had just started to get slightly warm, the clouds had begun to break up and he was thankful to make it back before they fully dissipated, however unlikely that was.

He strode to the kitchen, set the blood down, and began.

The ingredients were laid out, organized and prepped. He got the bowls, knives, spoons, and pots, and set the gas stove ablaze with a flick of his wand. He'd learned to cook here, learned to brew here too. Many hours with his mother while his father was away at the mill. Everything was always cleaned up and they were cooking dinner, when they had the food, by the time he got home. It was rather nostalgic, cooking here again. The clatter of metal bowls and measuring equipment. The smells soon wafting up from the chocolate, the blood. Stirring slowly to make sure the chocolate didn't burn, adding ingredients not at specific times but still in the right amount, the right order, the right speed. It was so simple, relaxing.

Two pots bubbled in front of him, filling the kitchen with warmth and pleasing smells. The mixture of coco powder and milk was pleasing, waiting for the two cups of blood from the prostitute. He folded the blood into the chocolate, stirring slowly as the chocolate became redder and redder. He was forgoing the ground cloves, cinnamon and orange zest in this batch, that would be in the blood. So he stirred, and stirred, and added butter and lard and vanilla extract.

He did the same with the other pot, adding 1 and ½ cup pig's blood instead of human's and then folding in the orange zest, ground clove, cinnamon, and the rest, including ½ cup of his own blood. He had a plan.

It was odd though. This plan seemed rather macabre even for him, but he knew it was his. Not something put forth by the red mist, which had been oddly quiet throughout this whole ordeal. It had not urged him to drink the blood meant for the dishes. It had not told him these niceties were unnecessary, that he should just shove his blood down their throats. That his want to protect them was a farce and excuse. That he was a monster and did not deserve such, could not feel such, protective urges. That such long term plans involving pleasing subterfuge were unnecessary.

No. The red mist had been totally silent. Why? He pondered this as he stirred. He had never gone 'searching' for the red thoughts, they alway came unbidden, unwelcomed. Could he find them if he looked? He thought upon his barriers, his mantras, and while they felt stronger, had fewer cracks, they were not perfect. And… they were not tinged with red need right now. There was no red fog leaking from cracks. His stirring slowed as he pondered this troublesome fact.

What was going on? He had not felt so 'at peace' outside of feeding, and now intercourse, for a long time. Where were the red misty thoughts that plagued him? How could he bring them out? Did he want to? He thought on Dumbledore, his current addiction. His veins itched only slightly, but no plots came to the fore. He had no need of them. He had some vials and a plan to detox so he could recover, gain strength, and in ten years or so perhaps have a sip without fear of addiction. It was not unreasonable to request the man add himself to the donation schedule. It would be glorious.

Snape continued to stir, switching between the two pots, using two different spoons of course. Cross contamination was unwanted just as much in the kitchen as the lab.

The smell was heavenly. This would be quite a treat. He had not treated himself in such a way… ever. Not outside of the occasional unneeded detention for his own amusement. Could he count his recent excess feedings as 'treating' himself? What about the sex? Perhaps, but nothing so decedent as this. This was wholly unneeded. He gained nothing from this that he wouldn't gain by just drinking the cups of blood straight.

Why was he doing this? Besides the fact that he wanted to.

He paused.

…He wanted to. He…He wanted to. And the red mist not being here suggesting alternatives meant it did as well… Was… was the red mist just his tamped down desires? Suppressed for so long they had become… feral? Was the red mist just his wants derived and twisted from more mundane, but still destructive, tendencies? What those tendencies were, and whether they were pointed at himself or others, he did not care to examine currently. Or ever. He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

He had never been a 'nice' person, after all. It would be unsurprising if the annoying cloying red fog was not just a manifestation of the curse that was vampirism, but himself. His own urges as a vampire. His want to live that he tamped down in favor of merely surviving until it was the right time to die. As a vampire the want to live was of course far more twisted and complicated.

For a vampire, blood wasn't just life, it was living. It was joy and experience, and of course it was flavor. So in denying that for so long …Merlin. Perhaps he did need a therapy wizard to untangle this. He had thought so three times over the past few days, so it must be true. He half smiled briefly at the thought and a tucked away memory of Lewis Carrol's 'The Snark' with Lily one summer under the tree brushed the forefront of his mind.

He shook his head as he stirred. He had not thought about that in ages. He did not let pleasant memories surface lest they bring a smile to his face where others could see and start rumors that he enjoyed being surrounded by blood traitors and such. Of course, the fact that he couldn't put his reflection lotion on his teeth and gums was also a problem if there happened to be a mirror nearby. Thus the only things that really brought a smile to his face these days were rather cruel and uncommon. He sighed. He doubted any other vampire got their trauma, coping mechanisms, and personas, so entwined.

From what little he had gathered the red mist came when a vampire was starved; either of blood or the act of hunting. He had had neither for nigh on ten years, it might take ten years worth of blood to make this mist go away. The red mist also theoretically came when a vampire was extraordinarily angry, but he had not allowed anger to fully control him for a very long time.

He turned off the flames and placed the custards in two containers and covered them, then put them in the fridge he had placed a cooling charm on.

He sighed and shook his head. So, perhaps the red mist, right now at least, was just him. Twisted from being suppressed constantly for nearly ten years his vampiric side was a bit… over eager. And hungry. Definitely hungry.

He sighed and raked his fingers through lotion filled hair. He was tired, no, weary was more apt. He needed a break, and sleep would provide him that, risk of unwanted memories be damned. At least it wouldn't be filled with this confusing and annoying introspection that seemed to drain more from him than his sire had.

He snorted at the thought as he cast an alarm for two hours, the custard should be firm by then. He let the ripple of anticipation run through him, and didn't hide from the roiling red want in his head, merely minded it be patient. No, told himself to be patient.

He headed up the stairs towards his room. He opened it and sighed at the interior. He had thrown out nearly every reminder of his youth after… Except books. One did not throw out books. Even the ones he had written in. Old diaries made from scrap parchment filled with notes on new spell ideas, potion ideas, the occasional poem. These books he kept in this room. Spelled to look innocuous and boring. He ran his fingers across them and the glamour vanished, the thick backs replaced with the poor stitching of a teenager trying to bind a book for the first time. Textbooks, ones he could afford to buy from the school when the year was done, sat next to them. There was an empty spot near the end for one he had been unable to afford and then lost before he could purchase it. Perhaps he could search for it now, inconsequential as it was.

As he removed his hand and the glamour reappeared, hiding his past with it. He looked at them on the shelf beneath the old bedside table and then turned away. He set his wand on a hidden ledge behind the bed and then lay down on top of the covers, hands on his stomach and staring at the ceiling. As his eyes closed and he drifted off into sleep he failed to notice the final cracks in his mental walls slowly mending. A red fog settled about, content to guard its fortress. A violent gaseous moat ready to rise up when needed.

….

Snape ran through the forest, wand gripped tightly in his hand as he threw out shields and counter curses behind him. They were gaining. He wasn't quite sure who they were at this point; aurors, or Death Eaters who felt he was a traitor. It mattered little. Knowing would only determine when he was dueling to kill. As a last result, or to rid the world of filth like Knott and the bitch Bellatrix.

He tried to apparate again and failed when his concentration was broken as a stinging cutting feeling rent flesh from his elbow. He skidded to a halt and looked at the ground at what had hit him. It surely wasn't a hex. A bit of shining metal glinted under the fading sun and he reached for it quickly. The yells from behind him were angry, and seemed vaguely familiar.

He picked up the metal object and hissed as his hand burned from the silver. He managed to hold on and get a glimpse at it, and suddenly, the burning didn't matter.

It was his mother's brooch. The one she had been buried with. The serpent wearing a crown made of raven feathers. The symbol of the Prince family. He gripped the item in his hand, ignoring his flesh melting around it. This had been buried with his mother. Buried. And the assholes had dug it, her, up… merely to taunt him!

He turned slowly, far angrier than he had been moments before. Green energy sparked from the end of his wand contrasting the red in his eyes. He hadn't been this disgusted or irate in a while, at anyone besides himself at least. The anger was familiar, sharp instead of bitter. It was the type he had directed at Black and Potter when they crossed a line at Hogwarts. He had never thought they'd sink this low though.

He stood and raised his wand and waited for the perpetrators to approach, his vision still tinged with red.

"Finally got you to stop. Eh boy?"

Snape swallowed at the voice and gripped his wand tighter in slightly shaking fingers that he stilled only with iron will.

"You're dead, old man. I killed you myself."

"None too kindly either." The man that approached glowed green. When he finally stepped into view from behind foliage Snape barely stopped himself from taking a step back. The space between the two of them seemed to shrink suddenly and he stood mere meters away from the figure with half its head missing, the insides glowing the sickly green of the killing curse.

"Tobias." He greeted.

His father stood before him. Clothes the same as the day he died. Eyes sunken and filled with the anger of a drunken fearful man. Skin yellow with the signs of liver failure.

"Sniveling boy. Killed me in my own home and thought I wouldn't return to get my revenge!" He snarled.

"I did worse than kill you," Snape sneered, "I used your wretched remains to make potions. Fetched a tidy sum, the most I ever got from you in one go in fact."

"Except for the ones you drank, and reveled in the doing of it! You're sick! I knew it since I set eyes on you as a child! I should've killed you in the cradle! Should have killed you when you first showed signs of freakishness! Shouldn't have let you grow into the vile man you are today!"

Snape's face was blank, his voice hard with the absolute surety of his statement. "I am what you made me."

"No, all that wickedness, and freaky magic was from your mother! I tried to beat it out of you, out of her! I tried to set you right, teach you to be normal, to do normal things like play music and football instead of brewing those freaky potions like that whore!"

He snarled at the man's condemnations. "You are all that is twisted and evil in my soul Tobias Snape, you filthy rapist pig. Mother was the only thing that kept me from killing you. You made a grave error with her death, not that you were sober enough to realize it. You removed the only thing keeping you alive, you idiotic excuse for a man!" Snape yelled, happy to spew verbal abuse at the man who meted it out on him for years.

Tobias Snape just sneered, and Severus recoiled at the familiar expression. He'd seen it too much in his youth, and whenever he looked in the mirror.

"Well it looks like I failed in teaching you manners as well as how to be a decent human being. But I'm back, and I can give you some more lessons, I can do it better." The elder Snape said, almost to himself, as he undid his belt. "I can save the world from your filth. And you don't have your wand to save you this time!"

Severus looked at his hand, realizing his wand was gone and panicked for a brief moment, then his lip slowly twisted into a smile. The world around him turned a darker red, the hues of green and brown gone in a shade far too deep to be associated with Gryffindor. "I don't need a wand to deal with you, old man. Not anymore."

He looked back at the man who had imparted him with one half of his being, and was happy to see the wound on his head was gone. The killing curse left no mark after all, that wound had been inflicted after. The green glow was barely there now, and his father's body was suffused with red. The wife beater he wore was stained with dried blood, blood he instinctively knew was his mother's. Maybe his as well. A drum, heart, beat in the forest, loud and clear. It was a war tattoo, calling him to action.

The man had his belt off now and curled around his fist, the buckle dangling at the end ready to bruise and break like it had for years during the summer. His father always made sure he returned to school with no impeding broken bones. Bruises, scrapes, things that could be excused as clumsiness or childhood roughhousing, yes. Never big broken bones, never breaks that would be obviously inflicted. Broken toes, fractured wrists. Never legs or ribs. Never the head. All things his magic would heal quickly. His father gave him as much of his smarts as his mother, even if he was a brute.

Snape fumed at the memories of the abuse, at his mother's broken wand and the fear and obedience beaten into her. Into him. The abuse that had led him to a want for violent protection and revenge when he had failed to find help elsewhere. He watched as the man who had no right to call himself a father or husband marched toward him, listened to the heart hammering in his chest, and salivated. And reveled in it. He may be a depraved vampiric wretch, but he would always be better than Tobias Snape. The man who beat and betrayed his child and abused and raped his wife.

"Sniveling child! How dare you stand your ground there with your back tall as if you aren't the scum of the earth! A worthless freak! An aberration of nature!"

"Father," Tobias stopped in his tracks, hand raised and clutching his weapon of choice in his hand. Severus hadn't called him father since he turned thirteen, and knew it would give the old man pause. "You have been wrong for most of your life. Wrong about my mother, a woman who loved you despite your anger and fear. Wrong about me, a boy who, once upon a time, just wished to please you. Wrong about magic, a natural phenomenon." Snape said silkily, pleased at how incensed his father was getting. "For once, you are right. In fact, you have no idea how god damn fucking right you are." Snape smiled, and that smile only turned into a grin as his father narrowed his eyes as he took his lord's name in vain and then blanched at the numerous sharp teeth that filled his son's mouth.

"M-monster! F-"

Snape cut off the stuttering fear laced insults coming from his wide eyed meal. "Yes. I am." And he rushed at the man, tearing, not the belt, but the arm holding it, away. Screams, angelic sounding in the relief they provided, split the air as he threw the appendage away. It hit the ground with the sound of a breaking violin, blood quickly marring its surface as the wound rained down red life everywhere. It colored the ground, his shirt, the arm, the smashed violin, the discarded belt, his face. Each drop felt like a little bit of revenge, of satisfaction and release as a knot of complicated emotional turmoil seemed to loosen slightly in his gut. It left room for something else.

He latched onto the man's throat, tore at the flesh and relished the screams. The taste, the bile that filled his mouth as an excuse for blood, was rancid. Rotting meat, the memory of death and a flash of green light, disappointment and the sour taste of fear that had turned into hate. He drank it greedily, ignoring the taste, happy to let the man struggle and watch his death inch ever closer. There were few who deserved it more.

He happily listened to the pleas, paying them no mind just as his pleas had been ignored long ago. They faded slowly, and the flavor on his tongue faded, replaced by fragrant flowers and the memory of bubbling potions and the sound of a mortar and pestle.

"Severus."

The voice was discordant, disjointed, but familiar. It was decidedly not his father. He let go immediately and stared in fascinated abject horror at the person he had been latched onto moments prior. His mother gazed back at him, limp and weak, but the eyes she looked at him with were not her own, they were a familiar stunning green. And her hair was that red he knew so well. What in the world?

"Severus, why? How could you?" The voice that emanated from the mouth was a mix of Lily's and his mother's, they wove together but at the same time seemed to be two different voices. They were both there, phantoms come to torment him.

"I…I. No. No. I didn't-"

"You didn't protect me…." The face flickered, and his mother stared back at him, then Lily, then his mother. As if his mind couldn't decide who he had disappointed, betrayed, more. Both there in one space.

"I'm- I'm Sorry. I was young. I avenge-"

His mother's voice rang out, the form solidifying into a familiar one. "You think I wanted that? I loved him…broken as he was. I loved him once…"

Snape felt like he had been staked for a moment, then his eyes grew dark. "He snapped your wand while you were asleep. He knew you wouldn't let me sacrifice my education for you, I couldn't protect you. The only thing that man taught me was how to be sneaky, and how to hide my wand. I lied, I did it for revenge. And I do not regret it for a second." As he hissed these words his mother's face blossomed with bruises and circles grew under her eyes. She looked like she had at the coroner. She flickered and her hair burst into red locks as if they had been lit aflame.

"You failed me, Severus. I'm dead because of you, my son is an orphan because of you." Lily stared back at him, pristine but twisted. Her lips moved but her skin was far too pale and he prayed that it wasn't his doing as her cold hands grasped his. "The son that could have been yours if not for your temper, is alone and treated like a house elf because of you, and you did nothing to help him. Betrayer. Traitor. Coward."

Snape gasped and dropped her as he recoiled from the truth flung at him. As she fell the light faded from her eyes. From both their eyes, as the form split and they fell through the air as if it was molasses. Their faces pale and bloodless like he never wanted to see, the wounds in their necks proof of his treachery. Whispers of blame echoed in the forest even though their lips didn't move. 'Your fault. Failed us. Monster.' The accusations hit him almost physically and he stumbled back. Snape reached for the first two people who had treated him as a human, as something more than a tool or an amusement, but his hand also seemed caught in time, moving even slower than theirs. He could not reach them as they fell into deep rectangular holes.

"Remember your promise."

"Live son, for me, I died because of you."

Lily's and his mother's voices echoed, and he scrambled forward to pull them from their graves, only to find them filled, and covered in grass. He was too late, years too late to save them from himself.

"No. No. NO!" He tore at the grass and moss on the forest floor. His nails grew ragged, as they had when he had first transformed.

Muffled words of forgiveness seemed to emanate from the dirt but were covered by laughter. Familiar and cloying. Snape froze, and looked up from his desperate digging. The Dark Lord, red eyes flashing as green as the death he dealt out, stood sneering over the unmarked graves.

A bell tolled in the distance, over and over and over, mixing with the laughter as a gnarled white wand rose and pointed at him. Green light building, a bell tolling. Snape didn't move, he deserved whatever was thrown at him. He may not be as bad as his father, but this world did not deserve to be despoiled by him. Far too many people had told him so for it to be a lie. So he waited as his ragged fingers dripped stolen blood onto the ground.

"Avada kedavra."

Light enveloped him, tore at him in agonizing sharpness. He felt on fire, sitting under a green sun. Sweating blood and shedding burning flesh. He twisted as his muscles spasmed. He should be dead. This wasn't how the killing curse was supposed to work! Why wasn't he dead?

The light faded. The pain went with it.

He remained.

"H-how?"

Another flash of green and agony. Emerald flames and lightning. He remained. Again and again until he was nothing but a pile of smoldering skin and bones filled with empty veins. The ever present hunger now a pain as sharp as the curse that hit him. The only thing available to fill him was a familiar sound. Laughter, that damn laughter.

His voice seemed barely human as he pleaded with ether. Dry, cracked, rasping. "I-I-I want- deserve. Why won't it work? Please..."

"You're already dead, Severus. You can't die. This… your punishment, is to keep living."

Green light illuminated the darkness, he could barely feel the pain now. He wished he could. He deserved it. If this was life, he deserved it instead of rest. He had failed, they were dead, he knew somehow, they were all dead. He turned his head slowly, opened his sunken dry eyes to a graveyard. Innumerable graves. Recognizable last names. Evans, Potter, McGonagall, Moody, Banderknott, Longbottom, Malfoy. They were just a few amongst untold numbers. All there, all because of him. His eyes settled on one and stayed, too weak to move again. The stone was cracked down the middle, cleaving the name in two, but it was unmistakable.

Dumbledore.

The funeral bell rang in the distance.

And the green light flashed.

Snape jolted up from the bed, his wand immediately in hand, ringing intermittently with a small alarm. Breaths came heavy and fast as he looked around.

He felt damp, a red tinged sweat sat on his brow. He frantically looked out the window. It was still day. He double checked the wards. They were intact. No one had entered the house while he'd been asleep. No one had cast a spell on him.

He'd just had a nightmare. But…that was impossible. He didn't dream or have nightmares anymore.

What had changed? What had changed? He hadn't had a dream or nightmare since he'd died, since the damn red mist invaded… He froze. Where was it? He physically looked around as if he might find it in the room with him. Where was the red mist? This was the second time today he'd not felt it.

Recently it always seemed on the edge of his thoughts, urging him to do things he…Well he couldn't say that he didn't want to do them, more that he knew that he shouldn't. That they were wrong, that he would regret his actions. It was different than not wanting to… He supposed it was like wanting to eat another slice of cake, or drink an entire bottle of whiskey, or hex someone who wouldn't shut up about their new broom. You wanted to, you really shouldn't. Or perhaps they were like those stray thoughts you had when you picked up a knife. You could indeed cut off your fingers. Or picked up an animal that you could easily throw. They were not things one wanted to do, but easily could.

He sighed and looked at his wand. The tip light at the tip pulsed red then green and blared a bell like noise to wake him. He cancelled the alarm then cast a tempus. He had slept through the alarm… for thirty minutes. He hadn't slept through Anything for thirty minutes since he first started to display signs of magic. What in the nine hells was going on? He swallowed. He did so again in an attempt to rid himself of his frayed nerves and confusion. It failed.

Resigned to an afternoon of contemplation and self flagellation, he stood up and decided he might as well be distressed while swallowing something more pleasant than his nerves, which had caught in his throat. The sanguinaccio dolce should have firmed up by now. He needed a distraction.

He headed downstairs and opened the fridge. He then removed the covering from the dessert and took a deep breath. Thick chocolate, a mix between a custard and a mousse, magnificent. Perfectly made. A singular aroma of decadence in which all the components melded together. He scooped out some into a quickly summoned dish and recovered the larger bowl before putting it back in the fridge.

He quickly acquired a spoon and cast a spell to warm the dessert. Not body temperature, but close.

He retired to the chair in the library and took another deep breath, enjoying the smell before dipping the spoon in and slowly placing the picture of vampiric decadence on his tongue.

He closed his eyes. He had not written poetry, or done anything remotely frivolously artistic in a long time. Not since his poetic apology to Lily and been ignored. Now he felt imagery swimming in his mind's eye. He sat on a porch whose white paint had faded with time. He sipped a glass of spiced wine, and swirled it in his hand as he rocked in the chair watching a summer storm roll in. An angry thunderbird may have called it home for the speed at which it moved above the land. Soon it was upon him, buffeting wind coaxing a warning screech out of a distraught weather vane. Lightning shot through the sky and thunder followed soon after, a roar of primordial scorn for everything that bowed before it. The sky rent open with the echoing sound and rained dark red drops over a field of cocoa trees.

The ground was littered with orange peels, discarded behind the burgeoning rose bushes where they would quickly become fertilizer in the summer heat. The fresh heady scent of the recently peeled citrus fruit mixed with the feel of potential in the air. It was sharp, the peels adding a hint of bitterness to the mix as if objecting to their disposal. It was a perfect evening… and a perfect dish. He had definitely chosen the blood for this well.

He sunk his spoon into the chocolate again and-

An alarm went off. He looked up, blinking out of his reverie, a twitch near his eye the only thing that betrayed his annoyance. Whoever was interrupting the first time he had enjoyed actual food since he'd died would be facing his displeasure. He set down the dish and picked up his wand which was pulsing orange. The clock nearby was flashing orange as well and emitting a screech like an annoyed squirrel, he flicked his wand and silenced it.

The proximity alarm. He scowled. That meant a wizard was nearby. Why did life always move fast when he wanted it to move slowly and move slowly when he wanted it to move fast? He flicked his wand to reset the alarm and went to the window. He cast a disillusionment charm and peeked through the break in the cloth, careful to not jostle it.

He watched the form move up the sidewalk from the right. It was wearing a green skirt and a brown button up shirt with a dirty brown vest and was walking very quickly with purpose. It was not tall like Minerva, but squatter and wider. Not short like Filius either. No beard, it wasn't Dumbledore.

Sprout.

Snape blinked. Of all the people to send he had not thought it would be her. Minerva, yes, Filius, of course. But Sprout? The plant expert who had impeccable aim but to his knowledge not much more? Her? He was surprised it had taken them this long to send someone, but Sprout? Now that he wasn't worried about escape or other professors showing up, surely they realized he'd eat her alive? Figuratively and literally? The problem of course was that then they would know he was here, besides the fact that he didn't actually want to kill her.

Snape stepped back from the window. He had two options. He could hide behind the wards and protective spells and they would know he was here, and he'd have to flee eventually. Or he could lower most of them and try to make it appear that he hadn't been in residence recently. He looked at the kitchen, and the fridge with what might as well be chocolate sex in it. He quickly made his decision. He wasn't leaving. He had a date later after all.

He cleaned and put away everything he could and just vanished the rest. He rarely cooked anymore anyway. He could transfigure whatever he needed, or buy more bowls and pans. He turned off the lights, conjured some dust to cover what he'd cleaned from his seat and then dropped the wards, shields, and even the newest spell, the one that made it very painful to unlock the door in case Lucius came back. He left up the anti-apparition charm, the alerting ward, kept the floo network closed, and of course the anti-muggle charms. He double checked his near invisible state, leaned against the wall, and waited.

He did not have long to wait.

The woman knocked, actually knocked, at the door. If he had intended to flee and had forgotten to cast alerting wards, this would have been all the warning he'd need. He held back a sigh at her innocence but she unlocked the door and walked inside as if she owned the place. Perhaps innocence wasn't right, incompetence was surely more apt.

"Severus?"

Snape bit back his snort, yes definately incompetence.

"Severus, I… Look. I just want to talk. Yes, Dumbledore sent me, but I have no intention of bringing you back against your will."

Snape raised a brow, that was interesting. It was also quite opposite from her intentions at the castle, so he had his doubts. He watched as she took a step inside and closed the door behind her. She exhaled and Snape tensed as she dropped a spell, but it was just a glamour. Her clothes regained a far more familiar appearance, sans her hat which kept her hair from flying every which way. She was covered in a fine dusting of dirt, as always, it seemed even the glamour couldn't rid her of that, her vest had been filthy.

She hummed as she looked around the house, but it didn't seem to be with much judgement. He followed silently as she entered the library and looked around, eyes landing on the chocolate dish. Snape cursed mentally. How could he have forgotten that!

Sprout just smiled and shook her head.

"I know you're here, Severus." There was, of course, no reply. She frowned. "Well, I'm going to get some of that chocolate if you're going to make me wait." She shuffled off to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Snape sidestepped her silently and then stood in the doorway and watched. He smirked as her frown deepened at the two bowls in the fridge. She looked between the two.

Snape prayed silently to all the gods that she'd choose the untouched one, the one with his blood. After a long moment, during which she sniffed both, and finding one spiced and much more scented, at least to a mortal nose, she chose that one. She looked at the other before closing the fridge, muttering about it most likely not being for humans. Snape watched with an invisible smile as she cast different detection charms for poison, venom, human parts, and more before dishing a small bit of the confection out into a bowl. At least they were a bit more cautious after the fiasco with Minerva.

"See that Severus? I'm more cautious than our feline friend." She declared, echoing his thoughts. "I swear if this is poisoned no one is ever going to accept food from you again."

Snape was honestly fine with that. Although, technically, it wasn't poisoned. He backed away silently as she returned to the library and conjured a small fluffy black and green vine patterned ottoman and sat down.

"I'd love it if you were to join me." She said to the air as she set her wand in her lap for quick access. Snape stayed silent and she sighed again. He watched as she conjured a spoon and placed it into the chocolate, let it go, and left it there. Snape scowled. He sure as hell wasn't going to show himself before she took a bite. She looked around at the numerous books and smiled sadly.

"You have quite the collection. I hope they keep you company, at least as well as my plants do for me. I am quite content with them, but neither of our collections talk back, Severus. Something I'd very much like you to do now!" She ended the thought in a grouse. "We may not be friends but we are colleagues and I like to think that means something!" She sighed and looked down at the bowl. "It means something to Minerva."

Snape perked up at this, interested in what the witch had to say about her friend. The two were close, he knew that.

"She's feeling fine, if extraordinarily miffed. She threatened to turn your wardrobe pink by the way. We had to convince her not to. Well, I did. Kettleburn thought it would be amusing and Dumbledore suggested polka dots when he finally showed up. She did do something though, it made Dumbledore smile, but none of us could tell what it was."

Snape frowned at that. That was very concerning. The witch was as creative as she was vindictive. Pomona continued.

"Trelwany needed a blood replenisher by the way; absolutely smitten, the fool. She always got crushes far too easily, and with the worst men. Her fiancé was an old fashioned misogynist, her last boyfriend was a scammer. This one takes the cake though."

Snape had to agree, how anyone couldn't see past Mr. Lee's facade was beyond him.

"Speaking of blood, that was a rude trick you pulled! Making us think you'd… you'd left Minerva bleeding out somewhere!" Snape watched as she threw up her hands and the bowl in her lap shook and nearly tipped. "Really! And with that-that ruffian about! You knew we'd be off doing damage control in various directions, didn't you!?" She said as she glared at various corners. "And what was with that goblet that Kettleburn touched? Why did you have such a cursed artifact in your robes? I hope you are planning on breaking it! What were you thinking?"

He almost flinched as Sprout gesticulated angrily and the bowl nearly fell a second time. He took a breath as it steadied.

So, all the teachers hadn't figured it out yet. That what it was doing was intentional. Dumbledore hadn't told them. Or at least not told them it was his. She sighed and looked up the stairs as Snape smirked silently.

"I really hope I'm not talking to myself here. I have a feeling I'm not, but still." She stabbed the chocolate and finally spooned up a bit and took a bite. Snape watched, feeling gratified when her eyes widened and she looked down at the dish. "Merlin, what…what is this?"

Snape considered appearing then, but decided to wait for her to take a few more bites. He didn't want his sudden appearance to seem related to her actions. She'd figure it out soon enough, might as well let her dig her own grave a bit more first. The dread would settle that much deeper then, perhaps she'd realize how out of her depth she was and leave of her own volition. Quickly.

She took another bite, took far longer swallowing than he had ever seen her eat anything in the great hall.

"This…this is heavenly." She took one more bite and Snape decided it was time, he didn't want his own dish to lose its firmness after all. He appeared in the corner and walked forward, causing Sprout to jump a bit in her seat, leaving the spoon in her mouth as she reached for her wand.

"Enjoying your stolen food?" He said walking forward to grab his own bowl and sit down.

"S-seberis." She said around her spoon, mangling his name.

"Yes, the bat is in residence. And made custard that he was enjoying before you interrupted." He said before taking a bite. It was still amazing, zings of citrus like lightning bolts in his mouth amidst copper rain and cocoa.

"Why did you wait so long!?" She said, her spoon now in hand.

"I wanted to see if you would feel guilt for stealing from my fridge and enjoying the food I made for someone else." He said and took another bite, closing his eyes and taking a breath before swallowing, drawing air over the chocolate like one would with wine or whiskey. When he opened his eyes Pomona was staring at him.

"Yes? What, pray tell, have you staring at me like I've decided to give a first year Gryffindor a passing mark?"

"I've never seen you…enjoy food before."

Snape smirked. "You've never seen me eat what I'm supposed to either."

"I suppose I should be thankful for that." His guest said with a frown.

"You should." He took another spoonful and briefly wondered when she would realize what that comment meant.

"Wait…"

Ah, not long at all. Snape watched as she looked down at the bowl in her lap, her face growing pale.

"What exactly is this?"

"You really should be more cautious about eating something from a vampire's fridge. In fact, why you people keep accepting food from a vampiric potions master who did a track specifically in poisons is beyond me." He smirked as she paled further. "It's sanguinaccio dolce. Chocolate made with blood, usually pig."

"Usually?" She asked as her voice cracked.

"Don't worry. Yours is not human."

"Ah. Good." She said and some color returned to her cheeks for a moment, but only a bit as she watched Severus take a bite. "And yours is?"

"What do you think?"

"Is… Are they… Alive?"

Snape raised a brow. "As far as I am aware."

"H-how? How would you get anyone to… Severus, you didn't imperio-"

Snape shook his head. "Most people walk into hell quite willingly. Vampire blood can be an aphrodisiac after all."

"Aphro… aphrodisiac?" She said, aghast.

"That's the best way to describe it. It's far more complicated. What it causes will depend on how the drinker sees the vampire. Pity, affection, safety, sometimes they just get high out of their minds. Lust is just the most common because humans are basically bags of water filled with hormones, as frequently proven by our sixth and seventh years. It basically activates in an emotionally charged situation, and it is why it is used in quite a few illegal emotion manipulation potions. This is one of the few things about vampires listed in the advanced Potions textbooks, I feel you should know this. Are you sure you're a teacher?"

Pomona rolled her eyes. "And this is all just to make the drinker pliable?"

"Why, Pomona, well done. Maybe you are smart enough to be a teacher."

Pomona snorted and shook her head with a small smile, then looked down at the custard. Snape smiled and wondered if she would make the connection.

"So… What type of blood is in my dish?"

Snape took a final bite and set his empty dish on the table. It had been delectable. He hadn't had chocolate he could actually taste, outside of a vein, for so long.

"You know Pomona. You just want me to say it."

She stared at the dish as it shook in her lap. "Yours."

"Mine." He watched and Pomona started to pick up her bowl to set it aside. "You should finish it."

She took another bite, and as soon as she did her eyes widened and darted to him.

He smirked. "Pliable, remember?"

"Why though? What do you want?"

"I would have thought that was obvious."

She paled further and took another bite, one large enough to finish the dish, obviously not caring to enjoy it further. She set it aside and then looked at the man who had turned the tables on her visit. "To…bite me?"

"No, not today at least." He couldn't resist the taunt, and managed not to smile at her shiver. "I mainly just don't want you telling anyone I'm here."

"Why not obliviate me?" She asked. Snape honestly couldn't tell if she was curious or attempting to buy time while she tried to figure out what she was going to do.

Snape scoffed. "And lead Dumbledore right to me? Do you take me for a simpleton? If he commanded you to come here and you returned with no memory of the event, it'd be rather obvious what had happened."

"How did you know he ordered-"

"You mentioned it, before saying you had no intention of bringing me back. Why is that anyway? You seemed quite determined to not let me leave earlier."

"If you went through all that trouble to leave, you must have a good reason."

"I do. It is for the safety of everyone at the castle."

"Mmm." Was her noncommittal response as she stood up.

"Sit." He said, and she did, her eyes wide. "I need to lay a few things down before you leave. For instance, you will tell the others that I was not here, and do so in a way that does not rouse suspicion. You searched thoroughly, but I had not returned to my abode after my last escape from the castle. There were a few strong wards, but you managed to slip past them and hide an alerting charm to tell you if I do arrive. You will not mention our conversation nor the dessert, in any form, until I return. Now you may go, Pomona."

She blinked, then glared lightly at him.

"I said I was going to make sure you couldn't tell anyone. You thought you'd leave before I got the chance?" He asked.

"No, I was hoping to make some tea, and then we could discuss what your plans are so I could convince everyone to leave you alone!"

Snape's expression was one of complete and utter disbelief, doubting the witch's intentions but impressed if she was lying. "While I enjoy tea as much as the next, all of the leaves in this house are…" Snape watched as Sprout reached into a pouch and pulled out a handful of crumpled nearly indistinguishable leaves. She pulled them apart and picked out five before putting the rest away.

"I'm assuming you at least have cups? Even mint tea requires cups."

Snape sighed and waved his wand to summon a Japanese tea set, black with silver vines and small mushrooms. He filled it with an aguamenti and another flick set the water inside to steaming hot before he lowered it onto a table conjured by Pomona.

"Severus, this is an exquisite tea set."

"It was my Grandmother's, she visited Japan frequently according to my mother. It's an assassin's teapot."

Pomona paused as she dropped the leaves in.

"A what?"

"A Muggle contraption. It allows the pourer to add poison to only one cup of tea. See, just by removing your finger and allowing air in here. My mother used it to add calming draught to our tea. I use it to add honey these days, on the rare occasion I have guests that I intend to let leave. I don't like honey in my tea anymore." He didn't like honey in anything anymore, not since it could mask his own veritaserum. Nobody but a potions master would notice the taste so it worked on most laymen, but for him, it would need to be added to something that already tasted of honey. Or blood if he was starving. After all the veritaserum tasted of literally nothing except that faintest hint, like honeysuckle more than honey. Most food was bland, but when it came to potions, that was different, there was magic in them. Still, it was difficult to notice even for him.

Pomona shuddered and Snape smirked.

"The honey is in the cupboard, if you want some you'll have to get it yourself."

She glared at him. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

"Mmm." He hummed his own noncommittal reply. "Now, what makes you think I'll tell you what I'm doing here?"

"I could have found evidence of your plans. I could even bring it with me and persuade them to leave you alone. I'm assuming it involves a potion or curse of some kind."

"Poppy gave me the recipe for the replenisher. I have not had a chance to make it."

"But you had the chance to make this?"

"It was a reward for my good behavior."

Pomona snorted and poured the tea. "I wouldn't call your recent actions good behavior."

"I would." He nodded as he accepted the shaking tea cup. He sipped. It was very strong tea. He could taste it for one. Trust Pomona to grow a mint plant so strong he could taste it. This was turning out to be a wonderful day for his palette at least.

"Really? Attacking your fellow teachers, tricking them, and fleeing the castle with out an explanation?"

"Pomona, I didn't take you for a cruel woman… I thought you cared for your students." He said as he took another sip and ignored her indignant look . "I must be mistaken if you are quite happy for me to be in the castle when I'm so… hungry."

"I'm sure Dumbledore has a plan." She said, sounding far less sure of herself, or the headmaster, than usual.

"Indeed, but I feel I was rather well behaved just leaving the premises. After all, I've managed to not kill anyone I didn't want to. Mostly."

"Mostly?" She said, her voice a tad higher than normal.

"Yes, I killed a muggle bandit who was about to beat up another me-man. I was hoping to leave him alive to follow him back to his den of thieves." He said, taking another sip between sentences.

"To…eat?"

"No, I was hoping to teach them potions as I dearly missed watching cauldrons explode." He drawled. Pomona rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I did find them, and then I accidentally killed them too." He said, taking another sip. "How do you get your tea so strong? I can actually taste this."

"I fertilize it wi- Severus. Killing muggles is illegal! How do you accidentally kill someone anyway?" She said a bit perturbed, at least by how she had her wand in one hand and her teacup in the other.

He gave her a pointed look. "I was hungry, they attacked. Also, I highly doubt the community that the gang was besieging is aggrieved by their deaths."

"Y-your not wrong. So that is what you're out here doing? Killing bad muggles?"

"In a sense. Not all of them are bandits after all, I'm trying not to kill those." Snape blinked. Why was he talking to her? He looked at the tea. "Did you lace this with veritaserum?"

Pomona shook her head before taking a sip herself. "Nothing of the sort. I water one of my mint plants with a modified calming draught though, amongst other things."

Snape paused, and set his cup down before looking at the Professor across him with a very scrutinizing gaze.

"The properties… are transitive? Pomona, why haven't you published that?"

"There are some modifications that have to happen. But let it become common knowledge? No thank you. I rather like having tea that I can pull out to help calm people down, or be more inclined to talk."

"And you're so sure I won't tell because-"

"You'd have to admit that a Hufflepuff pulled one over on you. What would your Slytherins think, Severus?" She said, sipping with a very self satisfied smile.

Snape stared and picked up his cup, then took another sip himself. It was quite good tea and he was already drugged. "That's positively-"

"Slytherin? I am loyal and hardworking above all else Severus, but I believe to control a house of students every head needs to be a bit devious. Now. You're out here… detoxing and developing your willpower again? By hunting?"

"You know, I do believe you might actually be a teacher, you certainly possess more deductive reasoning skills than most. I'm sure that is a must for dealing with a rowdy house such as yours."

Pomona rolled her eyes yet again. "Shall we set up something so I can bring this information back?"

"No, I doubt they'd rather approve of my methods. I'm surprised you do."

"I don't, but I also don't really see any other way to practice willpower than practice. And if it's between this and students, for me the choice is obvious."

"That's quite pragmatic, and ruthless."

"Loyalty is not always kind, Severus. I don't know where Hufflepuff got a reputation for being soft, but we quite like it."

"I see. Yes, I've heard some of your Hufflepuffs planning. Quite a little army you've got."

Pomona frowned, thumbing the handle on the teacup. "They shouldn't be planning outside the common room."

"They aren't, don't worry. I just have exemplary hearing. Now, it's time for you to go."

Sprout huffed, and Snape raised a brow.

"Unless you have other plans… I assure you, it is in your best interest to leave now if you want to leave at all."

"Y-you wouldn't." His guest said, her frown deepening.

"I can and I will. I don't very much wish to, but that is besides the point. I refuse to return while my willpower is less than perfect, and if you don't wish to leave that creates problems for me."

Sprout blinked. "That…that potion really messed things up for you."

He didn't even attempt to keep the annoyed grimace off his face. "That is the understatement of the century. Starvation is not something I actively enjoy experiencing, you know." Snape nodded at Pomona's sad expression. "I hope this gives the rest of you some grasp on why I'm so strict in my classroom. I may have failed more students than any other potions Professor, but I've also had fewer never return from the hospital wing."

"But, you have more explosions, and more children sent-"

"With burns, missing bones, cuts, and yes color changing maladies. Not missing half a heart, or having their veins slowly replaced with vines, or being eaten inside out by a living acidic compound. All 'accidents' that can happen at anything higher than O.W.L level. By the time they are making anything that could cause such reactions, they are properly terrified of the consequences to be careful!"

The woman had the audacity to smile after his tirade. "You're a good teacher, Severus. Even if you have killed a few muggles recently."

Snape huffed a slight laugh and smirked as he shook his head. Pomona stared.

"It was just a few, right?

"A few Pomona? Try twenty five." He should really stop drinking this tea, but he hadn't actually Tasted mint tea himself in years, and he was right now. Did she know about that? Of course she knew, she was friends with Minerva. He took another sip, it was very nice, he felt mildly… floaty.

"Twenty five! Snape! That is far more than enough to satisfy-"

"No. I'm a vampire Pomona. Vampires are absence, at least I am. Absence of life. Absence of blood. Absence of experience. Vampires often only get those things by stealing them from others. It's why there are so few of us I assume, they are killed by the ministry because many try to live by killing others, and glut themselves on it."

"And twenty isnt glutting?!"

Twenty five is why I'm not returning to the school yet. There are certain triggers that set me off. I doubt I'll find them in the school, but I'm not taking that risk. And addicted to Albus' blood? I'm only glad I don't feel the withdrawal effects right now, his blood is so potent." He paused. Godsdamn tea.

"Are you saying you take the magic and energy from the blood you drink and add it to your own?"

"It seems that way. Dumbledore has enough magic in him to power an army. Unless I smell his blood I feel no symptoms. I'm still on my second high it seems." He frowned and set the cup down. He'd ask her for some without any additives.

"And your… withdrawal is when you come down from that, almost less than before?"

"Of course…" He said slowly, wondering what she was working toward.

"So… are you saying your magical core doesn't replenish? You have to steal that too?"

Snape blinked and stared at Pomona, who looked back at him concernedly.

"You… hadn't considered that?" She asked.

"Of course not!" He snapped. "The ability to replenish their magical core is intrinsic to every witch and wizard."

"Every living witch and wizard, Severus."

He stood up and began pacing. "Fuck! It makes so much sense! It… Why is this not in any of the textbooks?!"

"Vampiric witches and wizards are rather rare."

"And you know this, how?" He queried, pausing his pacing.

"I have a cousin who works at the magical registry for beings and animagi and such. He has to do the duplication and filing of documents on witches and wizards who turn into beings. They need to be filed in two places. It's always a big deal because it happens so rarely."

Snape looked at her, suddenly acutely aware of how little he knew about his fellow professors. They were tools, fonts of information he had never made use of for fear of becoming reliant. Of them becoming liabilities. Of the disgusting idea of… opening up to someone. He'd need to talk to the headmaster after this, discuss how close he could get. Of course, it also depended on how close they'd let him get.

Pomona tensed under his gaze and fiddled with something in her pocket. He sighed and sat down. His hand itched. He rubbed it absentmindedly.

"Ah, well. I suppose that would help. Now, about you returning. I'd really rather you not share any of this information with anyone. I-" His hand was still itching, and now his arm was too, his veins. He paused and looked at it, why was this happening now? He swore he could smell lemon too.

"Severus, are you quite alright?"

"Yes Pomona, just a bit of spillage from-"

"I highly doubt that. It doesn't sound like you. What's going on?"

Snape frowned. "You know why I'm here. It's starting. You should leave soon."

"I think it might have something to do with this?" Said Pomona as she removed what she was fiddling with in her pocket. A vial, filled with red liquid.

Snape snarled.

"Liar, you came here with the hopes of bringing me back! That vial proves it!"

Pomona shook her head. "No. I doubted this would bring you back. But I hoped it, along with these, would help." She removed a bag from her pocket. From it she took numerous plants, potions ingredients. Snape looked on curiously, trying to ignore the itching. "I looked over the recipe for the new blood replenisher. It's quite complicated, but I did have most of the ingredients, the rest were in the school stores."

Snape ran through the ingredients, most were ones that had been used in the potion the boy had been making before it exploded. A few were not. It looked like the medi-personnel at St. Mungo's had refined it. He nodded.

"And you've brought them here because?"

Pomona smiled sadly. "Either it will help you manage this yourself, or it will fail and the more vials you drink, the stronger your addiction will be. You'll have to come back."

"And is this your thinking, or Dumbledore's?"

"It's not my thinking, it's fact. But Dumbledore doesn't know I brought these ingredients. I wanted to give you a chance to do this yourself, as you seem determined to do that anyway."

"I… Thank you, Pomona. Now, please leave." He said as he reached for the vial. "Unless you wish to risk being added to the menu. Once again, you will tell them nothing of our conversation, or anything but that I was not here and you set an alarm to alert you if I am. Finally I would like to request some more tea, preferably without additives. Or perhaps two sets? This would be helpful for all the heads of house."

Sprout smiled a genuine smile at his questions and pulled out a bag of green leaves and took out five. "We can discuss it when you return and are well again. And you know, I wouldn't have told them even if you hadn't…" she went quiet as she set down the leaves.

"Commanded you? Yes, but this prevents answers even if you're magically questioned. That reminds me. Try not to look the headmaster in the eyes until I get back. If he does legilimize you, you may tell him this afterwards." His eyes hardened and he saw Pomona shudder. "Tell him that anyone else he sends to try to recover me, will not return until I do, in liquid form. I brook no interference from him any longer, Pomona. Not in this. I left so I wouldn't hurt anyone, sending people after me defeats the purpose. I will Not be held responsible for what happens if someone shows up when I'm having a bad day." He snarled out the last two words and Pomona frowned, nodding. She looked far less scared than she should be.

"I understand, if he tries to send anyone else, I'll see what I can do. I wouldn't want to be held responsible for-"

"Get. Out." He demanded, the effects of the tea finally wearing off. How dare she poison him! How dare she coerce him to talk is if… as if they were close! She had only reached out because he was a threat, just like the rest of them!

She humphed, but stood up and nodded. He followed her and had a truly cruel thought, notorious gossip that she was with Minerva.

As she exited he stood on the doorstep and nodded.

"Good. Out in a timely manner. I have a date to prepare for later this week and want this potion perfected by then."

At that Pomona turned around, her eyes wide and Snape sneered.

"And you shall not tell anyone about the date, in any way, ever."

He watched as she nearly burst with questions then slammed the door in her face. Served her right for violating his privacy. Now she had information he was unwilling to share, and was unable to share it herself. She'd be up all night thinking about it, unable to ask or talk about it. Wondering who his date was and if they would be dead by the end of the week. He watched her trundle along from the window and smirked. Soon she was gone and he was alone again.

Alone and left to dissect far too many new pieces of information at once.

Merlin, he hated…whatever this was. When had he become capable of holding conversations like this? Even if it was under the influence of a potion. He had spent years happily alone in his dungeons and now he was talking to people? Perhaps all the human blood he had eaten was making him more human than he had been when he was alive. He snorted lightly at the thought. Severus Snape, more human dead than alive.

Somehow, it made sense.

He'd need allies to survive long enough to die when needed. He'd need allies to remind him of his human side, as long as he didn't get too close. Those red thoughts were more like intrusive thoughts than anything, as he had pondered before. The normal 'you could hex your hand off right now' and 'step in front of that angry hippogriff' had just been replaced by 'you could easily eat them all' and 'wouldn't they taste good?'

He was a vampire. Him. There was no other, no red mist except his own wants he had suppressed for decades. Perhaps a mental representation of his curse he had conjured to separate himself from it.

But he was a vampire. And he could admit he enjoyed it sometimes. Gods, did he enjoy it sometimes. But he loathed it others. It was no different than any other life theoretically; on occasions one loathed one's lot, and on others it seemed perfect.

For instance, flashing a fang at a student on occasion kept them in line. He quashed the rumors that spread from such acts so everyone would assume he was just grumpy about it. It really was quite enjoyable though, to see a student jump when he smirked or sneered or snarled or some other expression that started with the same letter as his name and was synonymous with him. To see them jump at the slightest bit of fang and then be castigated for spreading rumors about him a day later while he stood in the sun with completely normal, albeit crooked, teeth. It was amusing to say the least.

Yes, he was a cruel hypocritical bastard of a vampire, and he was perfectly content with that.