oooOOooo

Happens before chapter 29, on the last evening of August

Septimus

He felt hungry again and wondered if it really had been two weeks already since he had last had the chance to drink his fill. It seemed to be so.

Since he had come to the island with Vespasian back in the day as a soldier, he had rather liked the place and the people. As a third son he had never felt inclined to return home to Italy, and so he had stayed. Then he had run into the vampire who had turned him and had never looked back.

In the last hundreds of years he had travelled quite a lot, but he always returned to his favourite place. And even if he had not been one able to wield magic before, he now preferred to keep close to those calling themselves witches and wizards.

At the moment he walked down a street – dark and in dire need of a good repair and cleaning – called Knockturn Alley on his way to one of the pubs he was sure to find a snack in. Or maybe even a meal. There were always some people around the world could do without, and Septimus preferred those as full meals, not daring enough to chance getting the aurors interested in him. If he kept his killings to those that were harming children, almost no one objected. So this was what he was doing.

He opened the door of the pub know as "The Hag's Palace" and stepped in. It was a dark and dusty place. Today olibanum was being burned in the small bowl used for the different incenses that masked the smell in this place.

There were only a few people sitting around the room, and if Septimus did not possess a much better sense of sight than any human, he would not have been able to see much of them. There was a werewolf sitting alone at the bar, bent over a dish with mostly raw meat, and a hag behind the bar was cleaning the glasses. As filthy as the rest of the room was, the glasses were always sparkling clean. An odd contrast in Septimus' eyes, but one he appreciated.

"One glass of blood," he ordered and sat down as far as he could from the wolf. Not that he had anything against those changing into wolves on the full moon, but they tended to have a rather strong smell on them even outside the nights they transformed, and he had found in the past that he could not stand being near them any length of time.

A pint of blood – cow, by the scent of it – was placed before him, and he paid the sickle right then and there. While animal blood would not sate his thirst, it would take the edge off. Something he found useful, if he did not want to have a body on his hands to get rid of after his meal.

And so he was sitting there, sipping at his drink, listening in to the conversation between a few wizards sitting together at a table in the back of the room, hard to see behind incense smoke and dust in the air.

"I tell you, Dung! Really had a good opportunity at ma hands right there!" an oily-looking wizard boasted, waving his arms around in exuberant gestures.

Another wizard, this one exuding a rather strong aroma of tobacco and some cheap booze, nodded sagely. "Be happy that it didn't work. I heard what happened. You do not want to mess with that lordling's father!" Now the one with shabby hair shook his head.

Septimus listened only with half an ear after this. A wizard who had almost kidnapped a young wizard. A "lordling", so probably the son of a rich family. And by the way the oily one talked, it seemed the attempt had happened not so long ago. All of that matched rather well with what Carrow had told him. It was possible he had found the one that had tried to harm the Heir of Slytherin. He smiled fondly at the memories the name brought forward and sipped from his drink. Once he had had a friendship with a Slytherin. A young man, the youngest of three brothers, he had had a rather daring streak. They had called him the Gryffindor Slytherin.

But that had been in another time. Here and now there was a wizard on whose head there was a price. Gaining favours could be advantageous, especially when the one owing you one was a Lord on the Wizengamot and probably – most likely – the leader of a vast organisation. So he stayed longer than he had planned, ordering two more pints of blood and listening to two inane criminals gossiping about their last jobs and people they both knew.

Finally the oily wizard left and Septimus did not mask the fact that he intended to follow the man as he stood and left as well. The last few hours had made clear as the light of the moon that this man had no qualms against hurting and harming children. So the vampire had no qualms hurting him.

Through the warm night of London, Septimus followed the other for several streets. When he was sure that they were alone, he took a few fast and big leaps and threw the shady wizard into a wall.

"Bad luck, wizard," Septimus hissed into the whimpering man's ear, pressing down on him. He grabbed one arm, twisted it back behind the man's back, and used it as a handle. He would take a small snack and then contact Carrow. He certainly would have a way to get this bag of scum into the right hands.

Thanks to Jordre and Jake for helping to improve my spelling!

First published on the 4th of September