The Dance of the Damned

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The strobe lights pulsed, and the damned souls of the Underground pulsed with them. The music was not really music, but a constant, throbbing beat that drove its way into your very core and stayed there. Harry was among the many dancers, weaving his way through them with a grace that defied humanity. Ron was alongside him, and together they entranced those that saw them. Harry contorted and twisted in a way that looked almost painful and certainly impossible to do with human joints. Ron was the exact opposite, flowing and curving and liquid. The dance of the damned was theirs. Harry in leather and buckles and chains, Ron in a pair of torn up jeans and nothing else.

Harry touched Ron's arm and gave him a look, saying more with the glance than he could with words. Then he headed over to the bar, where blood and beer were served freely, and no one was ever asked to show an ID. The Bartender grinned at him.

"What'll it be today?"

Harry just waved his hand, not caring what he ended up with. A person sitting near the end of the bar suddenly got up and grabbed Harry by the arm. Harry looked up, angry. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm keeping you from getting infected with something unpleasant, Potter."

It was Snape.

Sneering, Harry pulled his arm back and grabbed the bottle of blood that had been placed in front of him.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," Snape pointed out. "I doubt you would find it to your liking."

"Wanna bet?" Harry snarled, before draining half of the bottle in one long gulp. He ran his tongue over his now very noticeable fangs. "What are you doing here, Snape?"

Snape was staring, almost certain that his jaw was hanging open. Harry smirked at his expression. "What? Something wrong?"

Snape shook his head. "Nothing, Potter, except for the fact that you appear to be a vampire."

Harry snorted. "No shit. You really think that someone would have noticed three vampires running around in a school."

"Three vampires?"

"Yeah. Me, Ron, and Hermione. Who'd you expect?"

Snape sighed. "I should have known. I'm assuming you bestowed your 'gift' on Granger as a sign of affection and she foisted it upon young Mister Weasley...?"

Harry's expression changed to one of deepest disgust. "Me and Hermione? Are you kidding? Nah, Ron noticed the fangs when we were...well, when we were busy. He's the one that changed Hermione."

Snape was too drunk for this. "So...you...what?"

Harry leaned forward, sweeping his eyes up and down Snape's body like he was measuring him. "You're kind of sexy when you're incoherent, you know that?"

Snape drew back, and tried to focus. "Potter. You shouldn't be here."

"Someone should have told me that before I got turned," Harry quipped. "Now it's just stupid. Of course I belong here. This is a vampire club. If anything, you're the one who's out of place."

Ignoring the impeccable logic of that statement, Snape tried to form a counter attack, only to have his thoughts interrupted by a very underdressed Ron Weasley throwing himself at Harry.

"Bloody hell, Weasley," Snape said, a bit too loudly. "I was hoping to go the rest of my life without seeing you topless."

Ron turned around so fast it was dizzying. "Snape. Here for some fun?" He waggled his eyebrows, making Harry laugh.

"No, he's just here to get drunk and bother me," Harry answered for him.

Ron shrugged. "Figures." And he went back to his throwing-himself-at-Harry thing. Snape watched for a moment, then turned away, disgusted.

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It was much later, and Snape was still at the bar, drinking. He had gotten tired of the beer and had moved on to straight vodka, and was rapidly approaching lethal levels of drunkenness. Harry slid into the seat beside him.

"Still drinking, hmm?" His voice was husky, and he sounded a little drunk himself, though if Snape had been able to process any information at that point, he would have realized that technically, vampires couldn't get drunk.

"Bugger off, Potter..." He slurred, waving a half empty bottle at the pair.

Harry laughed. "I would, but I'm almost afraid of what would happen if I left you alone here."

Snape sighed, dropping the bottle to the floor, flinching at the sound of glass breaking. "Probably get eaten. Merlin knows I've had it coming..."

His speech was so slurred it was almost impossible to understand, but Harry managed to. He nodded. "Right then. You've had enough for one night, I think."

He grabbed Snape and helped him off of the stool, then yelled something, and in a flash Ron was by his side.

"Help me, would you? He's piss drunk, and I think he might be about to pass out."

Ron nodded. He went to Snape's other side, and together they got him to the suite that Harry owned in the back of the club. Opening the door, they half carried-half dragged Snape to the bed and laid him down.

"Come on," Harry said to Ron. "Let's let him rest in here. We can go somewhere else for our...fun."

He pulled Ron after him, into the main room of the suite, where they collapsed together on an enormous couch.

Harry looked back towards the bedroom. "I just hope he doesn't throw up on the bed..."

Ron gave him a funny look. "He's just Snape, mate. You could have left him there."

Harry shook his head. "No. I couldn't. He was about to drink himself into a coma. I wonder if he was only in there to keep track of me, or if he actually goes there by himself..."

"The way he was drinking, I'd say he's a regular..."

Harry snickered. "Lets just leave some of that vile hangover vanishing potion for him and get out of here."

Ron immediately agreed, and soon they were leaving the suite again, heading out to the main dance floor once more, prepared for yet another in an endless string of very late nights.