The relationship between werewolves and vampires, and more importantly, the relationships between varying [I]types[/I] of werewolves and vampires was much more complex than Harry had expected, made no easier by the arcane, florid prose of Romulus Noxiadentum.

Most of what Harry read about werewolves, he already knew. Lycanthropy, or werewolfism, was passed on via a virus in the saliva coming into contact with an open wound, the primary side-effects being fairly obvious, but vampirism was, by contrast, a permanent, magical state of being, rather than a physiological one. The Ministry therefore made it's case that while being infected with LRS designated a wizard as a completely new type of creature, a magical state of being did not classify a change of species.

The only new bit of werewolf information that he gleaned was that werewolves had, at one time, been the slaves of vampires, up until the mass revolts in Romania, as recently as the late 1800's. He also found out why vampires and werewolves were prejudicially viewed as "dark creatures," in the wizarding, and Muggle world:

"It is common knowledge to even the least astute of laymen that Lycanthropes and Vampires in all their various incarnations are creatures in possession of a deep and instinctual Dark Magic which is considered definitive to their very being; yet all well-educated historians, genealogists, and well-educated members of the cloth can inform the reader as to precisely why: It is a well-known fact that Vampires and Lycanthropes are direct descendants of that most abominable and blasphemous of brothers, first made known to the world in the early verses of the Bible itself – yes, gentle reader, the murderous blight that plagues these woeful individuals can be correctly interpreted as nothing more or less than the mark of Cain itself. Oh yes, the more fool-hardy and self-congratulatory historian of the so-called 'Age of Englightenment' will be quick to dismiss this as superstition, or mere religious fervor – yet we of the old guard, say 'Let those modernist degenerates neglect the sanctity of their souls to the benefit of their intellects, and regret the sin of Pride when they are called to judgement!'"

Here, Lupin had scribbled, "[I]Superstitious, Victorian RUBBISH![/I]" in firm, angry strokes. Harry smiled to himself. If Lupin was a descendent of Cain, then Harry was a grindylow. Besides, vampires and werewolves were clearly not related – it did, however, explain why both the wizarding and the Muggle world tended to distrust them so instinctively.

Harry sighed, and sat up briefly, rolling his head on his shoulders against the crick developing in his neck. It seemed "instinctive distrust" was the general policy in the wizarding world these days – the humans and non-humans, the Muggles and wizards, the Pure and the Halfbloods...even moreso, now that Death Eaters had successfully punctured the Ministry's defenses. Of course, wrinkled old bigots like Romulus Noxiadentum, who waved copies of their own books in gnarled hands only further incited the madness.

Despite Dr. Noxiadentum's unfortunate prejudices, and even more unfortunate tendency towards long-windedness, Harry found himself gobbling up the pages, especially those concerning vampires. He'd never known, for example, that a vampire had to [I]choose[/I] to initiate a new vampire to their bloodline – first, they would need to drain the person dry, then have the victim drink some of their own blood. This would send the new vampire into a frenzy, or bloodlust, which was usually the worst feed of a vampire's long career, as they were less likely to slake their lust before draining their victims. After that initial feed, a vampire need only "top off the tank," so to speak, drinking small amounts of blood without needing to fully drain their victims. Only these, initiated deliberately into a long line of vampires initiated by a single sire, could be called true vampires.

However, there was another way to become a vampire – namely, to be born one. Being immortal came with a price – true vampires could not have children. True vampire women could never carry a child – the stasis of their immortal bodies rejected the growth of new life. There was only one important exception to this rule: A male, true vampire could father a child with a pure-human, pure-blood witch. These half-vampires, sired of true vampires and borne by pureblood witches, had many of the true vampire's abilities, with a few important distinctions. Half-vampires were only slightly more prone to sun exposure than normal humans, could not initiate new vampires, and most importantly – were not immortal.

Harry understood now, why Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-souris had referred to themselves as Snape's betters – he was willing to bet that they were true vampires, initiated deliberately, and could trace their "bloodline" all the way back through generations of vampires. He was willing to bet, by extension, that Snape was a half-vampire, and that would mean that the man he had killed was not his real father.

A half-vampire, bastard son...Snape had been despised in his own home, mocked by his own kind, and yet, still feared by the world at large.

Harry suppressed a shudder – he had thought that learning more about vampires would ease his anxieties about Snape, and for a long time they had – it was almost comforting to lose himself in Noxiadentum's archaic, turn-of-the-century prose. It made him feel as if the whole thing were quite removed from himself, like studying something Binns had assigned.

But he came to realize that it wasn't the fact that Snape was a vampire – no, that's not what chilled him the most – what truly made the hairs on Harry's neck stand up, was that he had [I]witnessed[/I] Snape committing murder. The image of the tall, dark, man, normally so menacing and brutish in Snape's memories, lying helplessly on the white carpet gushing blood, his eyes bulging in shock - Snape kneeling down to whisper his parting words...

"Wot're you reading?" Ginny asked, flopping on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Gaah!"

Ginny jerked her head back at Harry's startled shout. "Sorry, I thought you heard me come in."

"Err, no. It's fine, I was just...I figured I'd take your advice and do some studying."

"You're a terrible liar," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling as she snatched the book away from Harry, and dangled it teasingly out of his reach.

"[I]Give it back![/I]" Harry shouted desperately.

Again, Ginny's eyes widened in surprise. She handed the book back to Harry.

"Sorry. I'll leave," she said, standing and heading for the door.

"Ginny, come on!" Harry pleaded, "It's –"

"A secret," Ginny finished, meeting Harry's eyes, "I know." To Harry's surprise, she didn't even look remotely angry. Rather, she was smiling at him tenderly – he seemed to recognize her expression from somewhere else. And what exactly did she mean by, "I know?"

"You shouldn't be so surprised, Harry. You must know I've been watching you since I got to Hogwarts – and you and Ron and Hermione always have some big secret around this time of year. Only this year...it seems different, somehow. You've been keeping lots of secrets lately, Harry. Even from Ron and Hermione. I'm not," she held up a hand, to stave off his phoney denial, "I'm not saying 'shame on you,' or trying to find out what it is. If there's one thing I've learned from watching the Order work, it's that certain secrets you keep."

Ginny looked away from him, her arms crossed, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes seemed very far away, her cheerful mood having evaporated into a contemplative one. Harry noticed tiny details, like the freckles on the bridge of her nose, or the strands of hair that were too short to make it to her ponytail, that she'd tucked impatiently behind her ears. He felt his heart hammering like a trapped rabbit – what did she know? What was she just guessing? Had she heard about Snape? Or the Prophecy?

"I know what it means to have a secret that you can't tell anybody," she said finally, her voice sounding much older, and slightly unsteady, "And I know what it's like to share all your secrets, and have it blow up in your face. And I see you...pulling away from people. And it frightens me, because I know just why you're doing it. You want to protect people...and protect yourself."

She suddenly turned around to face him.

"There are some secrets that [I]ought[/I] to be told. Just...make sure you know which kind yours are."

"I –," Harry began, but Ginny again held up a hand to stop him, smiling gently.

"It's okay," she smiled, gently, "I'll let you get back to your book."

And with that, she left him, closing the door quietly behind her. From his empty frame in the corner of the room, Phinneas Nigellus let out a barely audible "tsk" of frustration.

"What's your problem?" Harry asked the blank frame moodily, as he lay back down on his stomach for more reading.

"It is an unfortunate circumstance of our proximity," sneered Phinneas, his black robes flowing as he sauntered lazily into his picture frame, "That your problems are my problems."

"And you have all the answers, right?" asked Harry angrily, having lost his place, and thumbing through the pages to find where he'd left off, "And I'm just a clod, is that it?"

"Your words, not mine."

"Look, it's complicated. You don't know anything about it," Harry said curtly, "And you don't know anything about me. So shove off."

"Of course, how unfeeling of me...you're [I]so[/I] misunderstood," Phinneas said, rolling his eyes, and stalking out of the frame again, "This is why I gave up teaching."