Light of His Life

Thursday, 25 November to Friday, 26 November, 2004

Hermione let out a long exhale as she pushed against the desk and sat back in her chair. Her eyes felt sore in their sockets. A rather vicious tension headache seemed to bulge and pulsate at her temple all the way to the back of her head. Though she'd only been a part of the Circle for less than a week, she was already tired.

It wasn't like Cassius or the Circle knew what her real-life responsibilities were. Not that Cassius seemed like the type to care. Immediately following the Pairing Ceremony, he'd hastily shoved a canvas bag in her direction and enlightened her about all the work she had to complete before they were to meet again three days later at five bloody o'clock in the morning.

And what was Hermione supposed to do? Tell him that she was a very busy full-time professor, part-time caregiver, author, researcher, and member of the Board of Governors for an elite wizarding school? That would have undoubtedly broken the vow of secrecy.

Besides, she'd signed up for this. It was a small price to pay for the changes she would make in the world, fighting evil alongside a group of organised knuckleheads.

Still, the fact remained: Hermione had little time to herself.

She was so disoriented from the entire ordeal of the Initiation ceremony that she even forgot to visit Severus the evening she returned, opting instead to collapse with bone-aching exhaustion into her bed.

"Perkins, sit down and work on your Shrinking Solution," Hermione barked without having to look up.

As the Fourth Years babysat their brews, she only had a few moments to complete some questions from the second aptitude exam Cassius had given her. This one was on Magical Artefacts and it was, honestly, quite a lot of fun. She hadn't been quizzed on magical subjects in years!

Hermione sniffled. A pungent, sulphur-like odour wafted in the air and made her lips tighten with disapproval as she put down her quill and folded the scroll. She glanced up, hawk-like, toward the source.

"Perkins!" Hermione snapped, her voice a specific sort of shrill she'd learned from McGonagall to instill terror and dread in her students. "What did I say?"

The Fourth Year's face was guilt-ridden as he turned away from his friend who he'd been wasting class time chatting with. Hermione flew like a vengeful spectre to his side, folded her hands in front of her chest, and gazed down her nose at the rotting potion that was supposed to have been a vibrant lime green but was instead a muddy brown.

"You've burnt it," Hermione shook her head, which pounded the longer she stood near the disgusting stench. "Five points from Gryffindor."

Perkins' jaw dropped. Perhaps five was a bit too much for insubordination, but the tension in Hermione's temples did not convince her to change her mind. She should have taken even more away, after the warning she'd given him! But she relented. It was too much trouble to fight the already whining Fourth Year.

Hermione waved her wand over the cauldron and the smell and sight of the disgusting potion disappeared just in time for class to end.

Hermione had completed exactly three of the six scrolls by the end of dinner. She decided, more out of necessity than desire, that it was enough. She still had three more to get through. On top of that, she should inspect the other mysterious scroll that was included with the rest of the paperwork and the half a dozen heavy keys held together by a rusty chain. Cassius had not addressed any of these items but, for now, Hermione was too tired to feel curious about them one way or the other.

She tapped the end of her quill to her desk. She was running late to visit Severus, but was hellbent on reviewing her answers one last time.

She was convinced she'd done quite well, not that that was the point… It was an aptitude test, meant to measure which subjects she excelled in and which could improve on. Still, Hermione never did outgrow the giddiness she felt when anticipating high marks on a test.

As soon as she was finished, Hermione changed out of her putrid work robes, threw on a comfortable nightgown, and tugged on a shawl before she hurried out of her quarters. She was halfway down the corridor when she encountered the glimmering pale hair of Luna Lovegood at the foot of the stairs. Luna was dressed in long, layered purple robes and a deep-mauve pair of spectacles that were perched low on her nose. Her eyes were wide and brows lifted high, as if in a perpetual state of surprise.

It was odd to see her in Gryffindor Tower late in the evening, so far from her own rooms in the Divination Tower. She'd been hired as Divination's Professor two years before Hermione had joined the Hogwarts staff, and was equally perplexing as any Divination professor should be. And, while her general odd behaviour and elusive ability to understand things 'beyond the veil' always bewildered Hermione, Luna was infinitely more enjoyable in her peculiarity than Trelawney had been.

"Oh, hello, Hermione. Good, you're still here."

"Yes—er, yes. Hi, Luna," Hermione said, her weight shifting from one leg to the next as she glanced anxiously over Luna's shoulders. "Just popping to the kitchens for a snack. Are you okay?"

"Don't you find all this mist disorienting?" Luna asked, glancing around the corridor.

"Er…." Hermione's brows furrowed as she glanced at the space around her. It was completely devoid of mist or haze. "Not sure."

"No," Luna smiled at Hermione, tilting her head to the side almost to the point that her ear touched her shoulder. "You don't seem to mind it."

"Are you alright, Luna?" Hermione asked, fighting the urge to glance down at her wristwatch. "Have you—er, consumed anything unusual lately?"

"No, just some relaxing apple seed tea. I haven't been seeing you lately. I wasn't sure what to make of it. Anyway, I s'pose you'll be leaving now. Goodnight, Hermione."

Without another word, Luna turned around and trailed down the North-wing corridor, leaving Hermione confused at her bizarre statement as she watched her old friend and colleague drift away as mysteriously as she came.

11:14 PM

"Shit," Hermione hissed as she saw the time on her watch. Hermione fled down the stairs all the way to the dungeons before she rapped her knuckles hard against the door. She didn't need to knock, really, the door was usually unlocked for her, but tonight did not feel like the night to do something different.

"Enter."

She winced at the tone, which sounded more curt and cold than usual.

"I'm so sorry, Severus—" she said as soon as she pushed the door open and began casting her usual illumination charms.

Blood drained from her face when she saw him standing on the opposite side of the island. He had both hands pressed on the marble counter and his head was tilted toward the floor.

"I got back very late, and I was exhausted, and—"

"And you forgot about me." Though the words were a soft rumble, barely audible above the simmering solutions in the cauldrons, they made Hermione's stomach squeeze.

"Of course, I didn't. Severus—"

"Don't—" His eyes snapped up. "—lie to me."

Hermione instinctively took a step back when she saw the reds of his eyes. Even the whites looked burning and bloodshot.

"I'm so sorry, Severus."

"You have no idea what you put me through. Every night, every night, you've arrived like clock-work. 8pm on the dot. So punctual, it's laughable." Severus shook his head. "I knew you would be late, but..."

His Adam's Apple jumped with a swallow.

"Do you have any idea what went through my head? You could have been killed. It could have been a trap. Puritas might have learned of our relations and chosen to take you from me. You could have been seriously maimed and I would've had no way of knowing, no means of saving you, and—"

Severus' words got caught on a trembling breath. He squeezed his hands into fists until his knuckles grew white against the dark counter.

Despite the quickening of her pulse and the way her hairs on her neck rose on end, Hermione flew to him. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and buried her face into his back. He stood unmoving as if he was made of marble.

"I'm sorry," she repeated the words, squeezing his waist and pleading for his forgiveness. "I know you're angry—"

"I'm livid."

"I didn't think. I was exhausted—it took all night. I was transported to the Isle of Skye for crying out loud and—"

"I don't care to hear your excuses, girl. The first night of joining that group and you already start to neglect our time together. I expected better from you."

"But—" She choked on the word as her throat grew tight. "But today, I had so much to do to catch up and prepare and—"

"And what? Tell me, Miss Granger, do I mean so little to you?"

Hermione winced. It bothered her how quickly tears welled up in her eyes. She always hated how easily she cried, it was something she'd tried so hard to control, but disappointment always got to her. It seemed to sting a primordial wound, this desperate need for approval which made it impossible to cope with letting a loved one down. Especially Severus.

"Of course not! I didn't mean to leave you alone. I didn't forget you, I-I would never—"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because you know me! You know I wouldn't—I-I wouldn't—"

It was at the sound of her audible sobs that Severus' tense shoulders softened. She could sense the cogs of his mind whirring, and the way he squeezed his hands even tighter indicated to her that he was fighting himself.

Finally, his chest fell with a heavy sigh and he ever-so-slowly moved to reach for her.

"I'm sorry, Severus." She said into his back.

Severus snarled. His grip tightened around her wrist as he turned and held her captive in front of him.

"This isn't a game, girl. You'll have to earn my forgiveness."

Hermione felt like she'd swallowed bricks, but she nodded anyway. "I know. I know that."

"Then you know what to do," he said, his tone sharp as he released her.

Hermione nodded, unable to quell the trembling of her lower lip as she pulled away. Her shaking fingers reached to undo the top buttons of her nightgown.

"Not here," Severus snapped. "I'm far too upset to touch you right now. Go to the bedroom."

Hermione let out a shaky breath and moved toward his bedroom. It was dim as always and silent as the grave. When she shut the door behind her with a click, it was impossible to stop the flurry of tears that erupted from within, pouring out of her uncontrollably as guilt, dread, and days worth of exhaustion intermingled into a concoction that resulted in hot, anxious tears streaming down her face.

Still, she quickly stripped and climbed onto the bed, curling against a pillow as she waited for Severus to come in and administer her punishment.

She was no stranger to his admonishments. Having been his pupil for so long, she knew he was a stern, severe man with high expectations that only seemed to foster her ambitions and, in turn, insecurities. And his lessons and consequences, when administered physically, intimately, even, had lit a sexual spark in her that she never knew existed.

But the fear was something to get used to. It was the look in his eyes she dreaded, when he'd tap into a sadistic side which she'd experienced early on in his classroom. It translated seamlessly into the bedroom. He'd built on that sadism in layers, showing her just what he was capable of while she endured whatever cruelties he saw fit.

The sheets were cold, like everything else in his quarters. The mattress was firm and made Hermione want to toss and turn in search of a comfortable position, but she curled onto her side and pulled her knees to her chest as she waited for Severus to come into the room. The backs of her eyes ached and her whole body already felt like she'd taken a beating from two consecutive nights with minimal sleep. Only ten minutes passed before sleep overtook her, whether she wanted it to or not.

Her head felt heavy as she stirred from the sensation of her arm being tugged away from her body, stretching her shoulder and forcing her spine to bend with the pull. She heard the soft clink of shackles and the cold bite of metal against her wrists.

"Sev?" She murmured, half-roused from her sleep.

Though the room was dark, she could make out his faint outline as his eyes captured the little remnants of light that slipped in from the other room. She could hear the rustle of his robes as he crossed around the bed and reached to take her other wrist. Hermione hissed at the sensation of his touch. His fingers were like frigid stone.

"You're freezing. You must be starving," Hermione said.

Severus ignored her words. He yanked on her arm until it reached the other shackle and bound her to the frame of the bed.

"Severus, have you eaten?"

"You're concerned about my welfare all of a sudden?"

The words struck her in the gut. She didn't know if it was guilt or anger that flared in her, but her spine straightened and she tugged on the shackles to leverage her body up into a sitting position. She was met with a firm grip on her ankle that held her still, forcing her to remain supine on the bed.

"That's not fair. You have reserves, don't you?"

Though Hermione had attempted to speak in a calm and even tone, her voice trembled. She had learned the hard way how vampires changed when they were malnourished or starving; the transformation quickly seeped away all civility and humanness from the creatures of the night. It terrified her to see Severus in this state—gaunt, cold, and slowly withering into the lifeless corpse he was.

"I-I brought you a gallon of donor blood—"

"I didn't have the stomach to eat, you stupid girl. But I intend to now. Hold still."

Hermione sucked in a breath at his words. She let her head fall back onto the pillows as she anticipated his bite and the rush of venom which would cause waves of euphoric thrill to crash over her. It was heaven. It was a drug she could not get enough of.

She let out a quiet moan as she felt his fingers on her inner thighs, prying her legs apart, though they would have fallen open with ease at the prospect of his bite. She widened them for him, her legs and core parting.

Hermione could tell by the cold skin that brushed against her feet and calves that he had undressed.

She heard him draw in a long breath.

"You're already aroused," he said, his words causing a trail of cold, then hot, shivers to wash over her. "We haven't even started."

"I'm sorry." She sucked in a breath as his lips trailed up her inner thigh.

He pressed a firm kiss, and she could feel the mix of his hot tongue and breath against her sensitive flesh.

"Oh, Severus…"

She whimpered when he pulled away and reached for something near her hip. With a gentle flick and silent incantation, the two sconces near the head of the bed erupted with light, illuminating the space around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as they burned brightly. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust.

Severus looked so gaunt up-close. His normally pale pallor was almost grey, and the circles under his eyes had darkened into hollow, skeletal grooves.

"Christ, you're starving. Severus," Hermione shook her head, tears stinging in her eyes again. "Please, feed. Please."

His dark eyes flicked to the edge of the bed toward a thin metallic item. He reached for it. As he brought it closer, ice coursed down her spine as she realised it was a blade. It was a thin, small paring knife, one of many he'd use for bisecting or peeling ingredients. The edge glistened with a yellow-hued substance that made Hermione instinctively tug against the shackles of the bed.

"It won't hurt," Severus said, his lips curving into a sneer again at her panicked reaction. "I'm not going to flay you and spill out your entrails. Stop it with the hysterics."

He leaned forward, resting one hand on her thigh while the other gripped the blade.

"But if you wish for me to feed…"

"What about—"

The look he gave her silenced her immediately. She knew what he'd say: you don't deserve my bite. You don't deserve the bliss I can give you.

"Relax," he said, though the tone he took was hardly one to elicit relaxation.

Still, Hermione willed her muscles to ease. The tension of his fingers softened with her limbs. She squeezed her eyes shut as he brought the blade to her thigh.

He was right. She felt none of it; not the blade, nor the tear in her skin. Whatever balm or ointment he'd soaked the blade in had caused the entire incision to be painless. All she felt was pressure.

She glanced down to see Severus' starved eyes on the small cut which caused a lone stream of blood to trail down the top of her thigh, moving inward. It dripped toward her bare cunt which already glistened with wetness.

His tongue caught the drop. His chin brushed against the spot that made chills and heat move through her. It caused her whole body to arch in response. He ran his tongue toward the incision before wrapping his lips around her supple skin.

Hermione winced as he sucked on the wound. It was a horrifying sensation. She couldn't feel pain in the traditional, visceral sense, but the sight of it was more than unsettling.

There was no euphoria to make up for the terrifying fact that her blood was being used for nourishment, even if it was her lover doing it. There was no seductive haze in her head from his venom to mute his growl which was both animalistic and enraged.

It caused her to cower against him, bound and helpless as he drank from her.

It took a long moment for Severus to drink his fill. Hermione's fingers had already started to tingle and her head had begun to grow faint when he pulled away.

The difference was stark: his face appeared to glow; his lips, covered in her blood, glistened; and his witheredness had transformed into a healthy virility that made Hermione's heart race.

It was with the same animalistic growl that Severus slipped on top of her without warning. Two hands pressed against the headboard and he captured her lips with his, metallic and sticky with her blood. He silenced her cry as he thrust into her.

"Never do that again," he groaned into her mouth, allowing her to catch a breath as he thrust with enough force to rattle her bones.

Though the bliss of vampire venom did not flood her veins, another sort of pleasure overtook her. She was already soaked for him. Her whole being had grown heightened with emotion and fear. It translated effortlessly into arousal as she squeezed around him and welcomed the punitive assault of this dangerous, unforgiving man.

"Never," he breathed into her cheek and jaw. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she breathed.

She tugged against her chains, arching her back as his hips moved with the force and agility of a being she'd never encountered before. No man could do this–and no man was Severus. He wanted her, needed her, like she'd never been needed before. In that moment, she needed him with the same unrelenting intensity.

"Say it."

"I promise, Severus." Her words came out as gasps. "I promise."

His lips trailed down her throat, fangs barely grazing her sensitive flesh. With the blood she'd already lost, he knew he wouldn't bite her, but she still let out pleading little whimpers, hopeful to tempt the untemptable man. He plucked at her nipples and pinched until her whimpers morphed into cries. He had her on the precipice, pleading for more than just his forgiveness.

"Beg me," he growled into her lips as he plunged into her, over and over, ignoring her cries.

"Please-please- please . I want to come." Her head was a dazed mess, full of hunger, need, and desire.

"Beg."

Severus' hair had fallen to the side of his face as his hands moved from the bed frame to her shoulders, holding her in place as he pounded into her. It made her wrists burn against the metal shackles as she strained against them. His whole body was so rigid against hers, each thrust bruised a different part of her.

"Please, Sev, I need you—"

He groaned into her lips. He shuddered against her, his whole body tensing as he bore himself deep into her with his climax.

Her heart pounded in her chest, whimpers still rolled off her tongue as Severus relaxed. He lay there for a while. She could feel him throbbing inside of her as his climax slowly waned. She was still aching from need when he finally, slowly withdrew and slid off of her.

He lifted his wand and extinguished the lights before she heard the door click open, then shut, leaving her alone in the darkness, sitting in a pool of her own arousal with dried blood crusting on her thigh.

Tears trailed down her cheeks. She didn't know why she was crying, but it was the only response that felt appropriate given how raw she felt–how exposed, naked, and helpless she was as he left her there, alone and shackled to the bed.

Her face was burning with tears when the door clicked open again and light poured in from the other room. She could see Severus' outline. He clutched something that dangled from his fingers.

He approached and pressed a warm, damp rag against her thigh, gently wiping the area where her smeared blood had dried. With a soft Finite Incantatem , her hands fell to her sides, heavy and cold.

"I forgive you," Severus said.

His words were brusque and cold, but they still managed to fill Hermione with relief. She knew him well enough to know his tenderness was hard to procure when he'd been wounded.

She lifted her leaden hands toward him. He hesitated for a moment, but she widened her arms even more, urging him silently towards her. He obliged and slipped onto the bed next to her, where she enveloped him and breathed out a sigh as his muscles, demeanour, and defences melted away into her arms.

Several moments passed in silence, with Severus wrapped up in her and she in him as she drifted in and out of sleep. She woke up again soon after with his fingers drifting down her abdomen, toward her sensitive core that had found no resolution from him. Her spine straightened when his fingertips trailed between her folds and he applied pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs.

"Now," he said, slipping two fingers in. "Tell me about the Initiation."