"The doctrine of equality! There exists no more poisonous poison: for it seems to be preached by justice itself, while it is the end of justice."

Friedrich Nietzsche

--

His hands were shaking far too much for him to do this work properly, but Severus Snape desperately needed something to keep him away from the whiskey cabinet and the sweet, painful oblivion it promised. Instead he resorted to methodically sorting and relabeling his potion stores, a task which had been neglected far too long during recent events. The hard fact that nearly all his free time of the past few weeks had been spent drinking himself into a stupor made Severus scowl.

'Nightshade…Runespoor venom…belladonna…' Unlike many other masters he knew, Severus kept his ingredients and potions organized by use rather than alphabetical name. Such a system made it easier when he needed a copious amount of one thing, such as healing potions, and stalled those trying to steal from his stock by keeping them searching for something in particular while Severus set to investigate whomever had set off his wards.

A sudden colorful curse escaped when the bottle he held fell out of his shaking hand with a crash, smattering Snape's robes with harmless orange dye. Mindlessly he sank to the floor, staring at his trembling fingers. He should be used to this, as uncontrollable quivering was one of the many aftereffects of the Cruciatus….but he hadn't been under the torture spell this night - not even once.

"No longer can you keep a foot in both worlds, straddling the Light and Dark. You must choose."

And he had. He had chosen the side he'd been fighting and spying against for so long under the guise of his own hatred. But the hatred had not been the reason for what he was doing, rather, it was for what the Dark was doing that prevented him from protecting Lily's son - and what had prevented him from being true to his very nature.

"With you here, there really is no hope for the Light side, is there?"

How could he have not seen? Harry Potter had long gone over to the Dark, and Snape had been working for Dumbledore trying, futilely, to keep the boy safe. Severus felt like one of his thick-headed students; too stupid to see what was right in front of him. Years of spying were for naught - the Dark Lord had known all along what he was doing.

'Lily's son…Lily's boy is the Dark Lord's lover.' The thought made him want to laugh and cry and retch at once. Her son's alliance would go against all that she'd believed in, but suited everything that Severus had ever dreamed. Hard as it was to take in, Lily's child was safe with and, Merlin forbid, actually loved by the Dark Lord. The knowledge still made him quake in disbelief, but Weasley's continuing existence was proof enough that Severus should reevaluate his convictions.

The Dark Lord loved Harry Potter, and would obviously kill anyone who got in the way of protecting him without a second thought. Simple as that.

"I swear myself to you, my Lord."

'But there is no need for that loyalty anymore.'

Severus stood and one shuddering hand settled on a small jar of oleander leaves, but did not move to grasp it. With the Dark Lord's protection from those such as Dumbledore, Lily's son no longer needed the armor that Severus Snape had provided the past six years. Which meant that Severus Snape was no longer needed at all. (1)

Willing himself under complete control, Severus clenched his jaw and picked up the jar with solid determination. But then he froze, eyes of obsidian ice narrowing on the dusty footprint of a bottle on one tucked-away shelf. A very important potion was gone when Severus had not used it himself and his wards had not been broken. He set the oleander back in its place…

For in that instant Severus knew exactly whom had taken his Veritaserum and why.

--

Harry drooped at the sight of another flight of stairs. Though he'd been walking the route to Gryffindor Tower for six long years, his current exhaustion made the path seem endless.

Harry'd left Tom late the night before by his own choosing. Though he stayed to give the man reassurance that he was alive and well, Harry had missed far too many classes to skip another day without facing serious consequences, despite how much he'd rather spend time with Tom. In addition, the lord needed time to test the Dementor blood to ensure that it was truly what he needed. Harry desperately hoped it was. It would tear them both apart to have hope so neatly placed before them then snatched away.

A quick trip to Ron's room informed Harry that the redhead was already asleep. He wouldn't be surprised if upon return, he found Ron bound and gagged to stop the inquisition the boy was sure to unleash on Tom in the morning. Harry was glad he wouldn't be present for it.

Classes throughout the day went smoothly though Harry fought rapidly encroaching exhaustion. Even Defense Against the Dark Arts flew by, as Professor Snape ignored him almost entirely. Only once did Harry caught the man's eye, anxious to know how he'd handled the revelations of the night before. Snape's eyes simply narrowed and his mouth parted as if to speak, but he turned away at the last second and yelled at Parvati and Lavender for their loud gossip relating to the next day's feast.

And really, Harry didn't see the big deal in the Christmas Eve feast or Slughorn's party. He didn't want to go to either, but Slughorn's constant niggling voice rang in his ears, whining on and on about all the Slug Club meetings he'd declined invitation to, and how he would be ever-so-delighted if the 'Chosen One' would deign to attend his celebration. In the end Harry gave in, agreeing just to get the man's malodorous self away from him.

"Baubles," Harry let out with a relieved breath, hitching his bag up one last time.

"Same to you, deary," the Fat Lady smiled at him while her friend Violet tittered in the background. He sent back a wan smile of his own, climbing through the portrait hole and thinking of nothing more than the urgent need to go collapse into bed.

Such was not to be, for the moment he stepped through he was accosted by a girl he vaguely remembered by the name Romilda Vane. She smiled in a way that Harry supposed was designed to be cute, showing off teeth that could only have gotten so white and pearly through the use of magic.

"Hi, Harry! Fancy a gillywater?" She thrust a goblet out, and Harry blinked, taken aback for a moment.

"Er, no thanks."

She winked, not in the slightest bit deterred, and showed it by shoving a box into his hand. "Take these anyway. They're Cauldron Cakes with firewhisky in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them-"

Harry stopped listening as a curious scent caught his nose, tickling at the edge of his strained senses. It took him a moment for his tired brain to recognize the sweet smell of a love potion; similar to Amortentia, but far weaker. Gagging, Harry dropped the box without further ado - the girl was trying to enchant him! If Harry had taken even one bite, he would've been upchucking for a week - love potions didn't mix well at all with his own blood supplement, as Noir had so bitterly informed him one winter morn.

He could feel anger build up in his chest and Harry shoved it down harshly, but not very thoroughly. He sneered at the girl and the others who watched the exchange with avid interest.

"In case you haven't heard the rumors, I'm gay and apparently taken," he snarled at the stunned witch. "So you can take your Cauldron Cakes and those other poisons and leave me alone! I don't need some girl trying to bewitch me at every chance she gets along with all the other shit I'm dealing with," he kicked the box back to Romilda's feet and directed the last words to everyone. Harry couldn't bring himself to be surprised when a gaggle of girls and even a few blokes ducked their heads in shame or embarrassment.

'This isn't worth it,' he thought, precluding further yelling. Instead he stomped past the still gaping girl to his dorm and blissful sleep.

--

Harry stared into the mirror uncomfortably and adjusted the neck on his bottle-green dress robes. 'I'll have to get new ones soon, especially if Tom has anything to say about it,' he commiserated with a sigh, eyeing the several centimeters of exposed skin around his ankles. He could feel a headache coming on despite the refreshing sleep of the night before.

Tonight was Christmas Eve and the date of Slughorn's party, but it was also the night that Tom had decided to perform the ritual to heal his soul. Harry's face spilt into a grin under the effects of the joy he'd felt when Tom sent affirmation. The dementor blood was real and Tom would soon be human again.

"Did someone slip you a Daydreaming Elixir? You're pretty out of it," a voice called from beside him, snapping Harry out of his stupor so that he finally noticed the person standing next to him.

"Ah! Er, hi Neville. Didn't see you there…" Harry was even more surprised he hadn't heard or smelled him, but attributed that to his lack of attention. Neville simply smiled at him, the slight chub around his eyes crinkling. But Harry didn't fail to notice the way the other's gaze fixated on his face suddenly or how he stiffened. Neville's sudden intensity made Harry wary.

"Look, Harry, I'm just wanted to talk to you. I'm not going to ask what you were daydreaming about or why you're suddenly sporting fangs-"

He jerked involuntarily at the words, clapping a hand over his mouth as Harry suddenly realized that 'Shit,' he'd become too relaxed in his euphoria of the day before to remember to reapply one very crucial glamour - it was a miracle no one had noticed before now when he'd been walking around, teeth bare. Thank Merlin he'd at least had the presence on mind to change back his eyes and hair and cover the rings, as who knew what amount of trouble that could've caused! But back to the matter at hand…

"Er, Neville, I can explain, really I-" he started, but the wizard cut him off with a raised hand.

"Harry, I meant it when I said I wouldn't ask. I-I was just worried, you know? With everything that's going on with Hermione…and Ron…and all the rumors…" Neville's brown orbs held his steadily, but Harry could smell the nervous sweat wafting off the boy and couldn't help but admire the courage it must take for him to say all of that, especially after what he'd seen…

"I'm not as thick as the rest of them. I'm not listening to the rumors…I…I've seen you getting up at night and, well, I told Luna," he blushed as Harry simply stared at him in shock. "Uh, she said that as long as you weren't harming yourself or anything, she'd stick by you. I agree with her and…well, that's all I wanted to say." Harry blinked as Neville suddenly seemed to run out of steam and started to fidget more the longer he said nothing. The vampire didn't even think of fighting the smile that bloomed across his face, all the horror he'd felt at being discovered vanishing in an instant.

"Thanks so much, Nev. You have no idea…" he breathed, "One day, I'll tell you everything…you and Luna both." Neville smiled back, and both were caught in the moment until Harry suddenly remembered exactly why he was standing there. "Oh! By the way…want to go to Slughorn's party with me? I really don't want to go alone."

The other paled and shuddered. "Thanks, but no thanks, Harry. I see enough of the professor in class."

--

As soon as Harry stepped through the door of Slughorn's office, he groaned and wish he'd spat in the fat professor's face instead of accepting the invitation. The mixed scent of incense and packed bodies combined with the bright golden light and raucous noise was positively nauseating.

"That's it, I'm showing myself to Slughorn and getting the bloody hell out of here," he moaned, not sure how long he'd be able to take this before upchucking on some unfortunate witch's expensive dress robes.

"Harry, m'boy!" called a voice across the room, and Harry was torn between a sigh and a snarl.

'At least it'll be over quickly.' Slughorn dragged him along, clutching his arm so tightly Harry thought he might be cutting off his circulation, which in turn made him realize that his heart wasn't beating again and his skin must be rather cold. This time he did sigh in exasperation and trusted that the oblivious people around him wouldn't notice.

"Harry, I want you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires - and, of course, his friend Sanguini."

A man with bug-eyed glasses that reminded him disturbingly of Professor Trelawney grabbed at Harry's hand and shook it earnestly. He fought the urge to pull away, smiling weakly at the small man and wanting nothing more than to get away. Then his eyes slid past Worple, landing on the face of the other person Slughorn had introduced. A chill shot up his spine as Harry took in pale skin drawn over sharp bones; dark circles under equally dark, haunted eyes; and the pronounced shadow of teeth behind thin lips. Everything about the emaciated man screamed predatory, and with Slughorn's earlier words, it wasn't hard for Harry to identify just why. As he took in Sanguini's rather alarming state, an unbidden memory was suddenly prodded to life.

"The vampires of common knowledge are quite different from us, you see," Noir settled back in his chair, voice already geared in what Harry inwardly referred to as 'Lecture Mode.' "In fact, because of those differences they can almost be considered a species apart from ours with the exception of a few key similarities: they burn, shrivel, and die when exposed to sunlight; their wounds heal in a short span, but beheading - or a stake through the heart, for that matter - will kill them quite quickly; blood potions are easily accessible, but nothing will curb their cravings for blood; once turned, a vampire will endure his entire life reining back carnal desires. Sadly, a few give in, ravaging humans in their madness…"

The Ancient's gaze was sad and hollow, and Harry could barely stand to look at his mentor in such a state.

"It is for this reason that the Ministry of Magic views the vampires as far below wizards and only slightly more than monsters - in the same category as werewolves, in fact. Many wizards share that view, but tell me Aspen…do you know in what way the lesser vampires resemble us?"

Harry blinked, nonplussed for the moment and trying to guess. "Er, they drink human blood?"

Noir smiled wryly. "Yes, but not quite the answer I was looking for. The truth is simple: there are no born vampires. It is true that a great many were turned against their will, but all were humans once nonetheless; just like the Ancients. They were human - and those that keep their minds still are, in the deepest essence. They are alike to you and I, despite all conjecture. Consider that during your…revolution upon the world."

"Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!" Worple was still shaking his hand, and Harry finally had the presence of mind to pull away. He didn't know which of the three men was more shocked when he completely ignored the wizard's exclamations and offered a hand to the vampire, who blinked in astonishment. He heard Worple sputtering slightly in the background but disregarded it, focusing solely on the lesser vampire before him as Sanguini slowly freed a clawed hand from his heavy cloak and reached out.

The moment cold flesh met cold flesh, Harry knew he'd made a mistake.

"It isn't that hard for other magical species to recognize us, especially as we grow older," Noir tapped his chest. "My heart has not beat in nearly four hundred years. As a result, my skin is always chill to touch. Werewolves are easily able to smell the difference in our pheromones, both from lesser vampires and humans. Our scent carries something immediately distinguishable, I suppose. They know that our race is different, but most werewolves do not carry enough knowledge of our existence to know how. "

"Vampires… they're another matter. Somewhere far back in time our races became inextricably linked - perhaps they were even born together. They know us, Aspen. They know of our race, Line Traits, and all that we are capable of. The lesser vampires can identify us with the slightest clues and within mere moments. For that reason they can be dangerous to us - however, they have not yet revealed our society due to their great respect for our race…" the redhead frowned, staring at Harry gravely.

"You will undoubtedly meet many other races in your lifetime, but the lesser vampires are your closest kin, including even the humans. You will undoubtedly meet countless numbers, many of whom will be subservient to you - don't give me that look, Aspen. How they view their hierarchy is their own business. But you need to recognize their customs and know how to respond…"

Harry struggled for several long, torturous moments to get over the 'What in Merlin's name are you doing?!' feeling twisted up somewhere between his gut and his brain. The vampire - Sanguini - did not bow or speak or do anything that Harry might possibly have expected in this situation. Instead the vampire's chin tipped up dramatically, exposing a jugular within easy reach of Harry's own concealed nails and fangs. Sanguini did not move, locking his eyes into the wizard's and simply waiting in the lesser vampire custom of respect and submission.

Harry blinked once, twice, too stunned to react. Slughorn and Worple were staring avidly, the latter muttering on the vampire's strange behavior already. Harry came back to himself with a jerk, cursing mentally and knowing that he really couldn't afford to have any more suspicions cast on him than he already bore. Anxious and unsure, Harry inelegantly shook Sanguini's hand and gave him a stilted nod. The vampire immediately lowered his chin and threw a calculating look at the two humans on their left before coming back to Harry. There was something in the vampire's black gaze that made him relax - it was obvious that Sanguini immediately understood his desire to remain as "human" as possible in the eyes of Harry's fellow wizards.

As their hands parted Sanguini spoke. "It is a pleasure meeting one such as yourself, Harry Potter," the vampire's voice was raspy, as though long unused, but still as rich and deep as the caved hollows in the man's cheeks.

"The pleasure is mine," the words jumped out of his mouth before Harry could think them and he almost scowled. The heavy influence of Noir and Tom in his life was doing a number on his speech patterns.

Worple was babbling on about vampire customs and started to assault Sanguini with questions which the vampire seemed to barely tolerate. Slughorn was frowning though, staring thoughtfully right at Harry. Everything in the young wizard screamed at him to get away from the overly perceptive potions master. Right. Now.

"Er, excuse me, professor, I think I see someone I know over there," Harry hurriedly pointed in a random direction.

"Now wait, old chap-" Slughorn started to protest, but Harry was already gone, lost amidst the sickening press of incense-spiced heartbeats.

A/N: This chapter is unbetaed due to technical difficulties. If you notice any glaring mistakes please review so I can fix them. Updating is slow going - I feel uninspired to say the least, especially when I get reviews complaining about short chapters and lack of updates. I might take a break and work on Spiritbender or a Snarry or something unless I can pull it together. Please review.

1. Oleander is a decorative flowering bush common in warm climates (of the US, at least). Every part of the plant is extremely poisonous - though even more so when fresh. As such, it's fairly easy to figure out what's on Severus' mind.