Chapter 3 Haunted

Hermione writhed in her sleep, her dreams filled with shadowy figures that became solid when she approached them; they offered her their blood, their bodies, all she could ever thirst for was at her fingertips. The rising moon woke her with a start.

"I'm hungry," she moaned. "So hungry."

"It is not time to feed," said the satin voice in the corner shadows.

"Yes it is!" Hermione shouted. "I'm hungry!"

"Then eat," Snape said as he pushed a plat of boiled carrots and potatoes towards her. She flung the plate against the wall and it shattered against the stone wall with a loud crash.

Hermione looked at the plate, aghast. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "But . . . I don't know what came over me."

"I know."

"They didn't look very appetizing."

Snape snorted. "Nothing will look appetizing to you. But you must learn to eat it."

"Why?" Hermione snapped.

"You must be able to survive in society as a vampire, much the same way Lupin has learned to survive society as a werewolf." The end of his sentence was punctuated by a large yawn.

Hermione rocked back and forth in her bed, sitting up now in the lotus position. "I don't want to be in society," she said. "I want to hunt. I thirst."

"You must learn to control your thirst."

"I can't," she said. She lay back on the bed and began writhing again and moaning this time. "So hungry."

She crawled out of bed and across the floor to the Professor. "Please," she said. "I'm so thirsty, so hungry. I don't have to kill you."

"No," he said.

"Please!" she begged him.

"No," he replied, more forcefully.

She slapped him across his face. "You don't know what it's like! To live with an eternal hunger! I'm hungry all the time, even after I drank Harry's blood, I was hungry. You don't understand!"

"I understand more than you know," he said.

"You're not one of us," she said. "I would have sensed it."

"Do not say 'us;' you are not one of them. And no, I'm not a vampire."

"I need to go to the place . . . the place with my kind," Hermione muttered breathlessly. "I need to hunt."

"No," said Severus. "You don't need to go there, you don't need to hunt."

Hermione glared at him over her shoulder before crawling back into her bed.

"I'm still hungry," she said.

She lay awake the rest of the night, ignoring the ache in her jaw, her teeth. "When can I get out of here?" she spoke about three.

"When you have proven that you can control yourself," Snape replied.

"I can do it," she said. "Just let me out."

"I don't believe you," said Snape.

"You never believe me," Hermione retorted. "How will I know when I can control myslef?"

"When you can see blood and not lunge for it."

"That day will never come," said Hermione. She sighed. "Do you have a nail file?"

Snape produced one from an inner pocket of his robes. Hermione accepted it and began filing her nails, the harsh scratching sound was the only one in the room.

"Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously, peeking around her door. Hermione sat up in her bed quickly. Was she going to feed again?

"You can come in, Harry, I won't hurt you," she said. "Besides, Professor Snape is in here to protect you."

Hermione was the only one who heard Harry mumble something about not needing protection from a greasy git, and she smiled.

"I would give you a donation," said Harry, "but Professor Dumbledore told me that I can only give every five weeks."

Hermione tried to hide the disappointment in her face. "It's all right," she said. "I'm not that hungry."

Snape snorted from the corner. Hermione ignored him.

"Where's Ron?" she asked.

"Oh, he, er, he had Quidditch practice," Harry stammered.

"And you didn't?" Hermione asked.

"He needs the extra Keeper training," said Harry.

Hermione looked her friend in the eyes. "Is he afraid of me?"

"No," said Harry truthfully. "He feels guilty."

"Oh for pity's sake, if he had stayed there, one of us would be dead right now, and other would be . . . in that . . . place . . . that place."

"What place?" Harry asked.

Hermione glanced at him through hooded eyes. "The place of my people."

"They are not your people," broke in Snape. "We are your people, not them."

Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded. "Tell him that I'll talk to him, soon, I'm learning to control myself, and the professors say that I could be out in a few days."

"That's good," said Harry, glancing hopefully at Snape.

"She has made progress," Snape admitted. "The three days in here have taught her to control her . . . appetite."

"What nice euphemisms you have, Professor," Hermione sarcastically voiced.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I could hardly be called the Big Bad Wolf in this situation, Miss Granger."

Hermione threw her head back and laughed.

"You're different," said Harry to Hermione.

"I am," she said. "You're just going to have to get used to it." Hermione playfully bit a finger.

Snape sighed from his corner. "I see we're going to have to take action soon."

"What action?" Harry snapped. "What are you going to do to her?"

"None of your business, Potter," said Snape. There was a minute of awkward silence.

"You should go," said Hermione, sensing his discomfort.

"Right then," Harry said, relieved to find an excuse to leave. "I'll see you later, Hermione?"

"Sure thing, Harry," said Hermione, almost like her normal self again.

"So how'd I do?" she asked Snape once Harry had shut the door.

"Adequately," he said. "You should be able to leave tomorrow."

"Hoorah," she said unethusiastically.

The ache in her mouth did not lessen with time, it grew worse. She longed to sink her teeth into pulsing flesh, to draw the very warmth out of someone. But she wouldn't, she couldn't. She had to be able to get out of that damn room and out of his damn presence.

"Well, Professor, I suppose this is good bye," she said. "I'll see you in Potions."

"No, Miss Granger," Snape. "You will see me every other night from the end of dinner at approximately six-thirty until approximately seven-thirty or one hour, whichever comes first, to discuss how you are adjusting to your new lifestyle."

"Oh fuck," she said, "and I was looking forward to not seeing you like this anymore. Well, I suppose it's all for the best."

"I suppose so," said Snape. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and she felt his warm breath against her cold body. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

She looked up at him, startled. Then she smirked. "What ever do you mean, Professor?" Then she walked away.

Hermione put her sarcasm back in its mental box. It served its purpose, but she didn't like it that much. But if she didn't have it, she was afraid what would come out of her mouth. She was so hungry, she could feel it all over her body, feel the Thirst burning through her. It was so hard to just keep moving past all those warm bodies in the hall, when they just begged to be touched, cut, sucked dry. So hard. She was so thirsty, so hungry. She needed to feed on warm flesh, not from a cold cup. The dead crave the living, that is the way.

She felt the Place calling out to her, begging her to come to them, to take her place as one of their people. She was one of them already, she just had to get there. Someday she would. Someday she would learn to hunt.

There was another ache inside, and ache that she knew only another could fulfill. One who was as cold as she was and didn't notice when her touch was icy, and had no reason to draw back from her. She wanted to feel his coldness pulsing inside of her, his need mingling with hers, their dry flesh scraping against each other. The longing was tangible and almost more than she could stand. But they told her she couldn't have what she wanted, what she needed. She needed her own kind, she needed to be at the Place. But they said no, he said no. Didn't they know that a cold cup couldn't satisfy her? Didn't they know that a warm man was worthless to her? She had the Thirst. There was no such thing as controlling it. There was only denial, or relief. Only pain or ignorance.

"Sorry, Hermione," said a small voice. The voice belonged to a body that had bumped into hers. She could feel the heart beating, feel the warmth seeping through the woolen clothes.

"That's all right, Neville," said Hermione with a forced smile on her lips. He was standing so close, she could just stretch her neck but a few inches and find relief, find satisfaction, find an end to her hunger.

"It's good to see that you're feeling better," Neville said. The hallway had become oddly deserted, probably because it was about dinner time.

"Thank you, it's good to see you again, too," Hermione said, eyeing the veins and tendons. It would feel so good to snap the delicate strands with her teeth, to see his head lolling to one side as she greedily drank from a wound of her own creation.

"You look awful pale, Hermione, are you sure you're all right?" Neville's hand reached up to her forehead, testing her temperature. Hermione heard every heartbeat that passed through the big veins in his wrist, she could see the blood flowing through the joint.

"You're so cold," Neville said. "Maybe you should go back to the hospital wing."

"No," Hermione whispered, her breathing labored. "I don't need to go back. I need -- "

"Hermione!" called Harry from the other end of the hall. "You're missing dinner."

"I'm coming, Harry," she replied, casting one more longing glance at Neville before following her friend to dinner.

A/N: Okay, I know not much happened in this chapter, but what did you think anyway? Review please!