Malfoy Manor – Wiltshire, England
5 June, 2001
Two days later, Hermione's potions lab was appropriately stocked. Upon the flat tables, she found everything she'd asked for, including Muggle textbooks on the subject of virology, bacteriology, cell biology, immunology, and microbiology from The Sir William Dunne School of Pathology in The University of Oxford's Medical Sciences Division, various Muggle lab equipment pieces, and notes that had been transcribed by a Quick-Quotes Quill from each of the Death Eaters in the house detailing their memories of the beginning of the zombie outbreak.
As she read through the notes first – research was always the starting place before any lab work could be done – she grew more and more horrified by a logical conclusion that began manifesting in her mind. Hours had passed by the time she'd finished all nine accounts. It was now half past eight, and she was running upstairs and down the hallway towards where she heard voices and the clink of glasses. They were in the dining room. Well, this couldn't wait! Her hypothesis was too important not to interrupt any late night supper party.
Charging through into the dining room, she was greeted with a surprising scene that made her stop straight away just on the other side of the door.
The nine Death Eaters were seated around the table, only none of them were actually eating a proper dinner and there was no actual food anywhere in sight. Eight of the nine of them were, instead, engaging in acts of lewd sexual congress with their slaves all over the room in a Bacchanalian-type orgy, taking sustenance from the women. On every witch's throat were at least two puncture wounds and some bruising. Some of the women had multiple bite marks on their breasts and inner thighs, too. All were naked or in various states of undress and none of them seemed to be acting themselves, as if they were actually enjoying the rough (stomach-turning in some cases) sex play, including Rosier's servant, who had vowed just that morning that if her Master touched her once more, she would try to find a way to kill herself – because he apparently was compelled towards violence with his slice of sex.
Were they all under the Imperius Curse now?
At the head of the table, the odd man out sat, his sugar-white hair standing out brightly against the backdrop of his black clothing and the dark green upholstery of the chair in which he reclined. The fire from the hearth behind him cast him into a sinister shadow as he unconcernedly sipped from a crystal goblet of red wine and impassively watched the others have-off with their servants.
When he glanced over and his eyes met hers, Hermione physically stepped back. Malfoy looked almost demonic. The normal grey of his orbs was transformed a dark crimson red. When he pulled the glass away from his mouth and put it on the table before him, he licked his scarlet stained lips and smiled at her, as if he was the cat that had finally caught his wayward canary…
…and it was in that moment that she understood why he and the other Death Eaters had chosen to remain behind here in England instead of fleeing. The trip to Azkaban where she was picked up, the bruises on the necks and body parts of the other women who worked here over the past few weeks, her not being required to serve Draco any sort of meals, and her Master's firm requests that she leave his bedroom every night before eight o'clock all now made sense.
He was a Vampire.
So were all of the other men.
Godric's rod, no wonder Rosier's servant was always so sickly and pale! He was draining her dry!
And Malfoy's request for her to find a cure to the zombie plague now made perfect sense, too. It wasn't just about keeping the Muggles and their weapons at bay. Vampires were undead, yes, but not necessarily (and if her new theory proved out, they were not at all) immune from the virus outside their gate. For certain, however, was the fact that the Vampires' fresh food source – that was, the women they'd brought here to serve their every need – could definitely catch the disease. Since Fanged Ones (as Ron had been so fond of calling them in their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes long ago) required fresh blood to subsist, and there was a distinct lack of that in the U.K. at the current moment, the men had to at least make an effort to protect their living servants – their immediate food source - from catching the virus.
Their trip to Azkaban to pick up her and the three other women they'd brought back with them now made sense as well. Where else could these men go that was relatively nearby and most likely safe from zombie infestation? Why, a prison island out in the middle of the Atlantic, that's where.
Son of a jackal, Malfoy had tricked her all along!
And Draco's denial to leave England was now completely understandable as well: he had, most likely, been Embraced by a Vampire belonging to one of the thirteen Vampire Clans that existed in the world. There were other factions out there, true, but the Clan Vamps were the most numerous and thus the most likely culprits of his change. If such was the case, then he'd be subject to the will of his Sire – the one who had turned him into a Vampire – as well as all of those above his Sire on his Clan's food chain. As a neophyte Vampire, Malfoy would basically become everyone's bitch - literally. It was a case of Vamp Politics 101.
Consequently, the same destiny awaited the other former Death Eaters living at the Manor House, too.
However, if the group remained here at the Manor House - in a land that everyone had abandoned out of fear – then these nine men had an opportunity to establish their own power base here once the plague ran its course. If the group was actually responsible for creating the cure to the plague, they'd be further revered, and their status within Vampire society would rise. In that case, they could set themselves up not to be overpowered by their Clan leaders and might even have the possibility of calling themselves independent and be left alone to their own devices to live in peace.
Now she could understand Draco's desperation to remain here in England: he was trapped between a rock and a hard place – between Scylla and Charybdis. If he did abandon his home in the face of the Muggle's threat of nuclear sanitation of the land, he'd be exposed. So far, only those here knew what he he'd been turned into; the outside world was ignorant of his Vampire status. He would then be required by Kindred law – which was universal amongst their society - to go declare his life and loyalty to his Clan leaders on bended knee. At that point, his fate would be no different for him than it had been under Voldemort's regime – most likely even worse. Staring that option in the eye, he'd obviously decided that it was better to stay hidden, and gamble his entire future on a dim hope that somehow they could stop the plague in time. If things didn't go in his favour, he was clearly determined to die here, under his own power.
Apparently, the same was true of the other eight Vampires, as they understood what she was up to in the labs in the cellar. Their talk in the library was proof of that much. She could extrapolate from that fact that the nine of them had chosen the very Slytherin way out of their predicament: they would manipulate the situation to get the outcome they desired, or they would die trying. They'd placed their faith in her hands.
No, he had, for she intuitively knew it had been Draco who had convinced his companions to commit to the plan and to trust in her to see it through.
How could he believe in her so much?
Speaking of the Devil… Malfoy was on his feet, walking towards her in a flash - and the smoldering desire in his gaze was impossible to misinterpret. Apparently, he wanted in on the action, too, and she – his slave - was his intended target.
Notes shaking in her hand, Hermione turned and fled as fast as she could, shutting out the sounds of moaning and groaning behind her, her feet taking her without thought to the front door of the Manor. Yanking on the old, iron handle was useless; the giant oaken portal was shut up nice and tight. In her panic, that fact didn't stop her from dropping her notes and pulling at it anyway, kicking and hitting the door with a closed fist, begging for it to open.
"It's locked with magic."
She whirled around and Malfoy was stepping down the foyer stairs towards her, completely unhurried, knowing his little bird was caged and would find no chance for freedom today.
"Tsk. Tsk. You broke one of my rules, Granger," he chided her, having reached the bottom now and gliding across the floor towards her. "Eight o'clock is your bedtime, remember?"
She backed up, terrified, seeing no other way out, and the only exit available required her to get past him. "Th-the notes," she tried to distract him, pointing to the floor where they'd fallen. "I… I think I know what's behind th-the plague. Maybe."
"Is that so?" he nonchalantly asked, stepping over the pile of papers at his feet. "You can tell me all about it later. Right now, I want to celebrate my birthday with you."
Shaking her head, she tried to dodge first left, then right. He moved so fast that each time, he'd blocked her before her foot even finished putting all its weight down. "Don't," she protested, putting her hands up to ward him off, knowing it would be futile as her back pressed into the opposite wall and there was finally nowhere left for her to run.
Her heart thumped a mile a minute in her throat and down her ribs. It was painful to be this terrified. Not even the Final Battle at Hogwarts, with all of those curses flying, and dodging Nagini, and watching people she loved fall in the shadow of green and red curses had made her feel like this.
Between one blink and the next, he was suddenly there, in her face. His eyes were as brilliant as twin stars, burning her with their scarlet brilliance. Moving very slowly, he raised his hand and touched her cheek. It was a reverent touch. "So beautiful, even with your hair like this," he whispered, tracing the freckles over her nose, his fingers running up through her short locks. "Do you know how hard it'd been for me not to touch you, to pretend you mean nothing to me when the exact opposite has become the truth?"
She blinked, confused. "W-what?"
He met her gaze with burning need. "In your endless thirst for knowledge, I assume you've read about the different Vampire Clans?"
She nodded once, very hesitant, fully aware of the tingle under her skin where his cool – not cold this time – fingers touched her.
"Then I know you'll understand what it means when I say I was turned by a Toreador Vampire."
She grasped for the knowledge in her fogging brain. "T-Toreador. Th-the Clan of the Rose. Kindred of that line are obsessed with b-beauty – especially the beauty of mortality."
He smirked at her, and there was pride in his gaze at her excellent recollection. "Go on."
"Your disciplines – gifts of the Clan's bloodline – are heightened senses and extended perception, speed of movement, and charm and attraction," she went on, speaking in a rush, her voice rising in pitch and panic-level as he bent his head to sniff the sensitive skin behind her ear.
He pressed a small kiss to her lobe, as his hands slid along the wall to either side of her, caging her between. "What else, Hermione?"
"You're known for Courtly Love and an appreciation for the arts," she breathily stated as he licked over her pulse and his knee rose to press her thighs apart, pushing with the slightest pressure up in between the vee of her legs. "Wh-what exactly are you looking for out of this lecture?"
He nipped her very gently over her artery and she cried out, grabbing onto his arms to keep standing as her knees shook and threatened to give. "I'll tell you a secret that wouldn't have been in those books you've read, Granger: the bloodline of Toreador is directly related to the Veela. Like them, we feed off of sexual energy, not just blood. We're the only Vampire Clan who can do this. And like our Veela primogenitor, we prefer to take a mate - a Concubine through the ages, a never-aging, mortal wife." He pressed soft kisses along her jaw. "Just one woman to complete us and keep our monsters at bay."
"That's… um, su-super interesting," she stated, trying to move away from his seductive mouth, to escape his charms.
He nipped her again. Hermione felt the skin pinch and knew he'd drawn blood. With a groan, he lapped over the cut. "So good," he moaned, licking her, savouring her flavour. "You taste so good, my witch… my mate."
His lips closed over the wound and began to suck, and Hermione was utterly lost. The power of his magic rolled through her mind and aura, causing her whole body to go tight, wet and desperate for him between one heart beat and the next. Her knees gave out, but his arms were there to catch her, and with an easy pull of strength, he had her up and into his arms, bridal-style. They flew then through the house at a speed that forced her to close her eyes, and within seconds, were in his bedroom.
Clothing was banished with a wandless, non-verbal spell, and Draco lay across her, their bodies touching at every conceivable point. There were no words and no further foreplay necessary as he parted her legs and entered her damp, aching body with a deep, powerful thrust. He moved with an expert, fluid grace over her, touching her in ways no one ever had, continually coaxing her natural responses with an elegant, lovely technique. Caressing in a perfect rhythm with the ideal pressure, he dominated her with affection, rather than force.
Hermione lost all sense of self and time in their coupling. Malfoy brought her again and again and… gods, yes, again!... never ceasing in his worship of her body, banishing all of the evil done to her before at the hands of other men. Her pleasure poured out of her in sighs and moans and little gasps, each sound released into his smiling, greedy mouth.
When, at last, she lay exhausted, her body sore and tired, Draco nuzzled her pulse and a moment later, there was a piercing at her throat as his fangs fully pressed into her, followed by another blissful shattering in the core of her being that broke her in half with a sob…
He was there to hold her through their bonding, drinking her blood up with rhythmic swallows that matched his surging pelvis, and when his seed finally released deep in her womb, his mouth let go of its lock upon her and he cried out her name.
In the afterglow, his lips murmured soothing, calming words of adoration in her ear, but not once was there talk of love.
X~~~~~~~~~~X
Malfoy Manor – Wiltshire, England
6 June, 2001
Hermione was awoken many times throughout the night and early morning as Draco left the bed and dressed, only to return an hour or so later, shed his clothing, and couple with her again. He seemed insatiable to cement their union, and to experience her in every manner possible.
He really was amazing at the sex thing. It almost caused her to forget her purpose.
This morning, as he lay sated and lightly slumbering, she got up and went into the bathroom, closing the door for her morning toilet. When she came back out, he was already dressed and across the room, sipping what looked like red wine from a crystal goblet.
"It's not wine," he stated, as he watched her eyes track the glass as he raised it to his lips and paused. "Vampires don't need food or drink in the human way. I can digest it, but doesn't settle well, so I prefer to stick to this."
She swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach, knowing he was ingesting the blood of one of the other women in the house. "Whose is it?"
He sipped, his eyes locked on hers until the glass was empty. Setting it aside, he licked every last taste from his lips as he approached her. When he was within touching distance, he reached out for her. Instinctually, she stepped away, crowding her body against the back of the in-suite sofa to keep him away.
Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking very nervous and agitated. "I don't want to drain you," he explained. "I took only enough last night for our bond. Anymore, and you'd be ill this morning."
"I am ill - at the thought of you drinking some other woman's blood after shagging me into incoherency last night and this morning," she countered. "So, I'll ask you again: whose blood have you been drinking since I came here?"
He dropped his head and clearly bit back his temper. When he had it under control, he was able to address her again. His eyes were as cold and hard as arctic icebergs, however. "Pucey's woman. His particular bloodline, an off-shoot of the Lasombre Clan, doesn't require much sustenance, so he's able to share his servant with those of us who have forcibly been without - specifically because we didn't want to scare our Concubine."
"Is she the one you've been sleeping with, too?" she countered. "Even knowing you supposedly had a mate?" At his scowl, she sniffed. "Don't insult my intelligence by even attempting to deny it, Draco. I cleaned your sheets and made your bed for weeks."
"You know what I am," he growled, losing a margin of his tightly-held restraint, his voice raising an octave. "Toreador are sexual Vampires. It's innate to us to need that connection. I didn't want to push you. I wanted to give you some time, because I knew what you'd been through in that bloody prison, but I had to have release, too – and blood." He stepped into her, and grabbed her arms in a tight hold. "If not for using the girl, I'd have fucked you six ways from Sunday the first night I brought you here." He pressed his erection into her and it was tight and thick against her belly. "I want you all the time, Granger. It's taken a great amount of discipline to keep my hands and fangs off of you for this long. Last night… I didn't want to say 'no' anymore."
She was quaking now, feeling the way he could easily manipulate her aura with his Vampire magic. Right then, all she wanted was for him to throw her down and take her again. "Why me?"
Now there was the ultimate question: why her, indeed? Just this morning, in afterglow pillow talk, Malfoy had told her that he'd been searching for her since he'd awoken as a Vampire months ago, and hinted that he'd finally found her through her dreams. She'd put it together that the fantasies she'd been having while in prison – of a silver-eyed savior who would come to rescue her - had derived from him. Somehow, he'd been able to locate her magical aura with his Vampire abilities, despite the distance, and to open a connection between them while she slept or was unconscious.
It had been his whispered promises of freedom that had kept her heart beating day after day. He'd given her hope.
When the zombie plague had struck and Voldemort's regime had collapsed, only then had he'd been free to make his move. He'd liberated her from Azkaban under the guise of finding a woman of his own, and he'd convinced the others to go along with the idea by tempting them with the same opportunity.
But why had he done any of it? Why her of all the women in the world?
He stared at her with a passionate concentration that melted her to her core. "I told you: I was drawn to your beauty."
She shook her head. "B-but I'm not beautiful. Passably attractive, I suppose." She shrugged. "But I'm much too ordinary to be more than that."
His arms encased her, drawing her into the circle of his body's warmth. The blood he'd ingested earlier was pumping through his veins now, making him alive again. "Modesty becomes you, but I disagree. You are quite lovely," he argued. "That's not what called me to you, however, Hermione. It's your beautiful soul I'm after," he admitted, dropping his mouth to hers and claiming it.
Her response was automatic: she kissed him back with an equal ferocity. Regardless of how she'd felt about him before last night, everything between them had changed the moment they'd bonded. Her magic felt different – almost as if it was in-tune with his, and her reactions to him were heightened. She no longer felt like a slave, but more an equal. She only hoped that belief would be true in fact once the ardor between them cooled, and not turn out to be a romantic fiction in her mind. It would be humiliating to return to the menial status she'd served in prior to last night after this.
Draco lifted her with an easy pull of muscle and took her to the wall. With a quick motion, he had his cock out of his pants and with a hard surge of his hips he was deep inside her again. Moving with driving, rolling thrusts, he had her gasping and gripping his white-gold hair, pulling him to her throat.
"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured with a shudder as his teeth scraped against her neck. "I'll only take a little."
She nodded and tilted her head to the side, desperate to feel his kiss again. "Yes, yes!"
He bit down very carefully, slowing his tempo to prevent injury to her. The moment the blood touched his tongue, he released his seed up inside of her with a deep moan. Even as he ejaculated, he kept moving, still very hard, the lock on her throat tight as he drank down her blood. Hermione wrapped her long, bare legs about his waist and held on as he rocked her from one orgasm to the next. When she became light-headed, he sealed the punctures on her throat with magic, and brought her to her final climax.
She actually passed out as she hit her high, so great was the pleasure.
When she awoke, she was on her back in the bed, and Draco was still balls-deep inside her. He lay motionless above her, resting on his elbows, watching her eyes flutter and waiting for full consciousness to return. When it did, he gave her a sultry smile and dropped his cheek down to rest against hers.
"Why you, you asked?" he whispered in her ear as he began pumping into her again, his rhythm the same as before. "Because you're perfection, Granger. You embody the best of all traits: Gryffindor brave, Hufflepuff kind, Ravenclaw brilliant, and" – he thrust hard, making her cry out at the thrilling sensation of his tip caressing the very back of her channel – "Slytherin clever. Everything you are is beautiful, inside and out… and a Malfoy only ever desires the best." He kissed her, tantalized her with his tongue, and drew her to him with playful licks and nips upon her bottom lip. "You've tempted me for years, my beauty, lingering in my thoughts even when I cursed you for it. It was my deepest, most private secret that I wanted you back in school from practically day one. No one ever knew, because I kept that truth hidden. Once I was Embraced, though, that desire for you grew and grew until I felt ready to explode with it. But you were chained up, and I was unable to go to you until Voldemort was gone."
He thrust deep again, every inch of his long, thick length driven inside her quim, making her pant with need for more. She dug her nails into his arms and whimpered her plea for him to stop teasing and to just take.
"It was agony for me to wait those long months," he continued on in the same provocative tone, totally in control of their love-making and his emotional responses to it, "so I met you in your dreams instead. I needed to touch some part of you, even if it was only your mind." He lapped at her nipple and then drew the taut point up into his mouth, suckling upon it for a bit before letting it go and returning to her mouth. "For almost half of my life, you've obsessed me to the point of madness, Hermione… even out of sight as you were for three long years. And now I finally have you, and I'm going to enjoy you as much as I can, my sweet, fuckable little mate - my beautiful Concubine."
She could hardly breathe for the pleasure he brought her. When he entwined their hands above her head and brought his blood-stained lips to hers, she tasted her life's essence upon his tongue: coppery, tart, but when mixed with his saliva, it was delicious. "You-you're… enslaving me," she protested, and they both knew she wasn't speaking of the 'slave' role in the way she'd been relegated to playing for the past few weeks, but in a way more emotionally destructive.
"Yes," he admitted without apology, kissing her again, thrusting his tongue through the seam of her lips and tempting her to play.
A mini-climax overtook her as he circled his hips at the same time as he thrust into her, and Hermione nearly swooned again. She'd sworn that the last time against the wall had finished her off for the day – that she'd be much too sore and sensitized for any more of this - but amazingly, Draco brought her back to this sharp edge of bliss for more and more, just as he had last night. This sexual ardor had to be one of the gifts of his Vampire heritage.
"Don't hurt me," she pleaded, knowing that fighting their relationship from this point on would be a difficult accomplishment. He had his hooks into her good now that he'd bonded to her, and her feminine intuition told her that there would most likely be no escape for her until his death. They belonged to each other now, and there was no going back.
He shook his head. "Never. Only pleasure for you," he promised, rolling his pelvis again, causing her to cry out with another mini-climax. They seemed to keep coming in little, warm waves, pulsing to life and retreating like ocean currents on cue with his wishes. This was definitely Vampire magic, for no mortal man could do to her what he was doing.
He brought her several more times in such a manner, causing beads of sweat to gather at every crease, in the smooth sway of her hind, at her hairline, and above her lip and brow. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a small, trapped bird as Draco placed her calves over his shoulders and rose up off her body onto his palms, staring her in the eye as he drove into her at that same, infuriatingly controlled pace. His body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat as well as he held back his strong desire to power into her, wanting her complete surrender. She could feel it. He was waiting, patiently, for her to drop every wall and give her heart over to him.
Hermione was too afraid to give this man – any man – that much control over her after everything she'd endured. And truthfully, Toreador Vampires were fickle creatures, easily distracted by beauty in all its forms. What if he decided at some point later that he wanted someone else? She wasn't sure she wouldn't want to die if he found someone else who sparked his interest in this same manner. The thought of him doing this with another woman…
She shut her eyes and turned her head. "I can't," she whispered, feeling her tears threaten to consume her.
"You will," he answered, very assured. "Someday, you will."
She wanted to deny it, but a little voice in the corner of her soul whispered: he's right.
Molten, silken heat bowed her spine and curled her fingers and toes as Draco proceeded to ravish her as he'd wanted to all along – with wild, insatiable pounding and lush kisses. Within moments, he brought her screaming in rapture, timing his release to her pleasure. As he fell into her embrace, emptying his seed deep into her body once more, he pressed his face against the bend of her neck and gave a reckless, venerate cry of her name.
X~~~~~X
Hermione made a mad dash to get dressed and get out of Draco's bedroom and back down to the one she shared with the other women in the servants' quarters the minute he stepped under the spray of the shower. She ached in every muscle as she ran, could feel his semen soaking her knickers as it slid out of her, and could swear she heard his knowing chuckle in her head, but she never faltered.
Once back in her temporary shelter, she slammed the door shut behind her and stopped to catch her breath…
The other slaves looked up at her from their various positions of dressing or preparing to leave for their daily chores. On the faces of all were curiosity and anticipation.
"So, the statute of secrecy is no longer in effect," Zabini's slave, Abigail Nicola, stated with her hands on her hips and a relieved look in her eye. The oldest of the females in the house, she had once been in Gryffindor, too, but had graduated the year before Hermione had begun her Hogwarts education. Truthfully, the witch intimidated Hermione a little, as not only did she boast a gorgeous complexion and a confident air, but she was also rather accepting of her fate, soldiering on despite her bad luck. "He's taken you, finally."
Pucey's servant, Sage Kelleen, a pretty brunette who was two years Hermione's senior and another former Gryffindor, looked up from tidying her bed with discernable guilt in her almond-shaped, coffee-dark eyes. She's slept with Draco, too, Hermione was forced to recognize as their gazes locked. The thought hurt her and brought the green-eyed monster of jealousy to the surface. The rational part of her mind told her it was stupid to think such things, as that relationship was done now, most likely.
She dropped her attention to the floor only for a moment before steeling her spine and meeting the face of every woman in the room in a sweeping glance. "I take it you were all told not to tell me what they are," she stated, a touch of bitterness to her tone.
Mafalda Bailey, the spunky, younger witch who could boast being the only Slytherin in the extended Weasley family (her Squib father was Molly's estranged second cousin), hurried to her side. Over the weeks they'd all been working together, she and the short, little redheaded woman had discovered that they'd had much in common, both scholars and tops of their years when they'd been at school. As a result, she felt a relative kinship to the girl who had been sorted during Hermione's fourth year.
"We're so sorry, Hermione, but we were all instructed in the strictest manner not to tip you off or to openly speak of our Masters around you. The punishment was death."
Hermione saw red. "Who threatened you with that?"
No one spoke, but the other women traded looks. It was obvious the culprit had been her lover.
"Did Malfoy tell you why you were to lie to me at least?" she required, walking to her bed, which was in the middle of the dormitory-style room. She sat on the edge and faced the others.
The women gathered on the bunks nearby, sitting next to each other, their attention on her. It was odd that over the last few weeks, she and these women had bonded in their own way, so much so that there was an unspoken code between them to help, not hinder each other. Odder still was how they often deferred to her, as if her one-time connection as Harry Potter's best friend and as a figurehead of the Order of the Phoenix – no matter its ultimate failure during the Final Battle – gave her a sort of unofficial celebrity status. Truthfully, the idea made her feel queer, as she hadn't felt very brave at all over the last three years.
The leggy blonde, Felicity Eastchurch - a former Ravenclaw who was one year older than Hermione and had been the woman Theodore Nott had taken from Azkaban the night Draco had fetched her - reached out across the bunks to take Hermione's hand in hers. Her touch was soothing, carrying a wealth of unspoken apologies. "None of us still know for sure, but by the end of the second week, when he hadn't touched you, but his eyes followed you everywhere, we all guessed. He's in love with you, isn't he?"
"I don't think I'd call it love," Hermione replied, trying not to let Eastchurch's words affect her. "More like obsession."
"You're a lucky bint!" Latisha Randal dryly snarked. The dark-skinned witch - a former Ravenclaw who'd been a year behind in school - rolled her eyes and sniffed with disdain, flicking her long, micro-braided hair over her shoulder. "Bole doesn't look at me like that. He only wants me for my pussy."
"And your mouth," Vicky Frobisher wryly bit. Although the attractive Latina had been in the same House as Hermione, she'd been two years above her, and they hadn't been close as a result. Truthfully, she still remembered the witch as having once been a bit fluffy about the middle, but over the past few years, she'd thinned out and was now model beautiful. "At least he kisses you sometimes. Goyle's an animal. All he wants to do is bend me over the furniture and fuck me like a dog with his huge cock. It may feel good, but I hate how impersonal it is."
"That's because he's Gangrel," Mafalda lectured. "They're closest to the beasts of all the Vampire Clans. And Bole and Derrick are both Brujah – anarchists, rabble-rousers." She pointedly looked at Latisha. "You and I keeping them happy will prevent them from becoming violent like the resident Ravnos Bloodswigger."
Her glance swung to Eleanor, Rosier's slave, whose delicate, forlorn features were wane this morning. "I hate what Evan does to me," the eighteen-year old, the youngest of them, stated sorrowfully. "Some days I just want to die."
"Shhh," she was cautioned by Patricia Stimpson, who was also a year older than Hermione. The witch belonged to Cris Warrington. "Some of them have exceptional hearing!"
"Which ones?" Hermione asked, considering all she knew of the Vampire Clans. "Who belongs to what Clans, aside from those already mentioned?" Perhaps if she was armed with such knowledge, she could best consider how to find weaknesses.
Mafalda was clearly one in the best position to answer, as her reading habits and retention of facts rivaled Hermione's own. "We'll start at the top: your Malfoy is a Toreador – in love with everything beautiful." She gave Hermione a knowing smirk. "He's also wicked fast and has the ability to entrance and make the others feel awe for him. That's how he retains his power over them. His second is Blaise Zabini, a Giovanni, an off-shoot Clan. He's got a powerful bite, can command and make you forget memories. Vicious, they are. Theodore Nott isn't a Clan Vamp, either, but another off-shoot: a Serpent of the Light."
"Of the Followers of Set," Hermione interrupted, somewhat in surprise. "Obfuscation and powers associated with serpents – mesmerizing stares, poisonous bite…"
"His bite isn't poisonous to me. It's actually quite pleasurable," Felicity admitted, blushing. "And he can change his skin to scales when he wishes – usually to protect it from the sunlight. I've seen him do it once."
Mafalda nodded. "Right. Bole and Derrick are Brujah, as said – fast, power-hitters, violent to the core when angered - perfect front-linesmen in a fight, all bad and buff. In bed, they're like puppies, though – all play. They were best friends before being made Kindred. I heard a rumour that once they turned, they started fucking each other like mad because they'd been repressing their attraction for years. I haven't caught them at it yet, but I've seen them watch each other as they shag me and Latisha." She made a face the quite resembled Rita Skeeter's when she'd stumbled upon a juicy piece of gossip. "How hot is that?"
Hermione huffed and smiled, unable to help herself. Mafalda had a charisma to her that was hard to resist. She was outrageous, snarky and brilliant.
"So, who's left?" the younger girl wondered aloud, and ticked off the Vampires she'd already discussed on her hands. "Oh, yes… Rosier. He's a Ravnos." She rounded her eyes and leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. "Nasty blighters, the lot. Animalistic, can withstand physical attacks with fortitude, and they have an added bonus of being able to cast illusions that seem so real, you'll want to tear your eyes out. Too bad they're also cursed to have a single vice that compels them to act, depending upon their character."
"Evan's is to want rough, violent sex with his blood drinking," Eleanor murmured, shutting her eyes with pain. "He hurts me, and then apologizes, and I can tell he means it… but then he hurts me again the next time. It's like he can't help himself." She wiped at the tears glistening on her lashes and sniffled. "If he was just cruel, I could take it, but the sincerity of his 'I'm sorry' hurts me worse than his slaps or his multiple bites. I hate him, because I know he can't stop himself, even though he wants to. I wish I could escape him!"
Abigail's soothing hand on the young girl's back rubbed circles, and Eleanor fell into her friend's embrace and let herself be held and rocked until her round of tears subsided. Hermione felt sorry for her. It would break something in her if Draco were to hit her after what they'd done…
"Greg Goyle is a Grangrel," Mafalda continued, compassionately deflecting everyone's attention away from Branstone's moment of weakness with the subterfuge of educating them all on a subject most, if not all of them, were well acquainted with by now – the nature of their Vampire masters. "The Clan members are all animalistic and wild. Goyle can call animals to him and calm them, and can change his hands into claws that can cut through metal. I've seen that first hand when he destroyed the bars of my cell in Azkaban for Derrick, who'd decided he'd wanted me. He really is a monster."
"Goyle's not that bad," Sage finally spoke up. "I saw him once summon song birds to his open hand to give them crumbs. He was very gentle with them."
Vicky snorted. "He's never once been gentle with me."
"Maybe that's because you're the only girl he's ever been with and he has no technique yet," Sage offered. "Also the beast from his Vampire curse makes it so that he loses himself in the sex. He can't be gentle." Everyone looked at her with surprise and growing suspicion. The pretty half-Asian was obviously aware of the scrutiny upon her, but she never lifted her gaze from the blanket of her cot. "He and I have talked," she offered in way of explanation. "Just talked - nothing else. I find him… interesting."
Vicky quickly moved to the other woman's side. "See if you can convince him to go to Adrian and trade us. I wouldn't mind your Master. He's gorgeous with that pale skin and those black eyes! And I have a weakness for very tall blonds, I admit."
Sage tilted her head, as if considering the idea. "He's a Kiasyd, an off-shoot Lasombra. That means he doesn't need sex as often as the other Fangs do. However, if you're seriously interested in him, you should know that he likes his women submissive and controlled."
"How so?" Frobisher probed, clearly interested in weighing the pros versus the cons.
"Ask me later, when we have greater time and privacy," Kelleen suggested. "But I will tell you this much: Adrian is a sexual dominant with a fetish for kink. He also has an incredible prowess, much like Malfoy. The shagging, sex play and blood drinking doesn't end until he wants it to, no matter how much his partner pleads for a rest or to altogether stop."
Hermione's chest ached at her casual description of sex with Draco. Again, jealousy flared in her heart. She tamped it down, and was mortified that she should be feeling this way at all for the man who was her jailer.
Patricia shook her head, clenching her jaw, speaking up. "Well, he can't be as scary as Warrington," she whispered in a hiss, clearly afraid of being overheard. "In between the feedings and sex, my Master performs blood magic on me to raise his Vampire abilities. I've seen him cut open a rat and kill it, then use his magic to heal it and resurrect the thing. He does the same to anything he can catch in the garden – birds, insects, spiders, slugs. It's so gross!" She coughed a few times into the back of her hand, having gotten herself so excited that she almost choked on her own spit. "Honestly, he scares me most of the time with how powerful he is."
A boulder dropped into Hermione's belly at the implications of that last thought. "Do you think Warrington will try to kill Malfoy to take charge?"
Stimpson shrugged. "No idea. But he's a Bloodswigger, so you can't trust him. I don't like him." She swallowed several times and coughed again, suppressing it behind her closed fist. "Embarrassing! Pardon me – just need to get some water." She headed into the adjoining bathroom and grabbed a ceramic cup, filling it with the tap water and gulping it down.
Mafalda ran a hand through her bright red-orange locks as they waited for Patti to get back. In an instant, it flashed white, then black, then back to its normal shade. Hermione nearly started out of her chair in shock.
"Oh, my God - you're a metamorphmagus!"
Bailey looked at her with amusement. "You're only just figuring this out? Did you really think this" – she pointed at her nearly neon-highlighted hair – "was my real colour? I'm an ugly mousy brown, no thanks to my Muggle mum."
"Watch the Muggle bashing," Abigail stated rather firmly, a frown of disapproval on her face for Mafalda's prejudicial comments. She was still holding tight to Eleanor, whose sobs had quieted, but whose frail body was too limp with emotional exhaustion to support its weight, and she lightly rocked the woman as a mother might do for her frightened and tired child. "I'm Muggle-born, as is Granger."
The only Slytherin in the group, Mafalda held her hands up as if to ward off criticism. "I am, too. My dad was a Squib. That makes me Muggle-born, technically."
That brought an interesting thought to the forefront of the discussion. "Is anyone in this room actually pure-blood?" Hermione asked.
Everyone shook their head.
"Half-blood," Vicky volunteered.
"Me, too," Sage commented.
Patricia, Eleanor, Latisha and Felicity each nodded in concurrence.
"Funny how none of us are purebloods, and yet all the men in the house are," she commented. "You'd think they'd have been looking for pureblood girls to be their food source… unless…"
"There aren't any female purebloods left," Mafalda finished the obvious thought.
No one said anything for a few moments as that sunk in.
"Wouldn't turning an entire generation of pureblood men into undead Vamps who can't breed children undermine the Dark Lord's campaign for pureblood supremacy?" Vicky asked the obvious question.
"Unless he was experimenting on them for another purpose entirely," Hermione spoke up, trying to fit the different logic chains together to form a coherent picture. As was often her way, she stood and began pacing, talking through the issue aloud to figure it out. "Something occurred to me yesterday, when I was reading the accounts of the nine Death Eaters in the house regarding the outbreak of the zombie plague. What if… just go with me here, but what if Voldemort" – several women cringed at the name, but Hermione ignored the reaction – "was looking for the secret of true immortality through Vampirism? Think about it: he was obsessed with control and retaining power, but as a mortal human, he would eventually grow old and die. And from what I knew of him through Harry-"
"You mean Potter?" Abigail asked, sitting straighter, as if the name alone of Hermione's dead best friend could still summon courage in others.
Hermione nodded. "He and Vol… You-Know-Who," she quickly corrected to prevent another cringe-fest, "were connected at the soul level through a series of magical events involving him as a baby. In any case, Harry often spoke of Tom Riddle – that's the Dark Lord's real name, by the way – and how the man's ego was astonishing. It fits that Riddle would want to try to find a way to live forever. He did try several times, in fact, when he went after the Philosopher's Stone during my first year at Hogwarts. The Stone was known to extend a wizard's life. He also engaged in drinking unicorn blood for a while." That elicited gasps from those in the group who remembered their Magical Creatures classes. "He failed both times to achieve immortality."
"I heard the Stone was destroyed. Did you and Potter do that?" Mafalda questioned.
She gave a sad smile as memories of her ginger-haired best friend rose to the surface. "Yes, but Ron Weasley, your third cousin, also helped. He was, in fact, vital to continuously thwarting You-Know-Who's plans with us. We couldn't have done any of it without him."
The loss of her first true crush still pained her. He'd fallen in the minutes after Harry had, once Voldemort began turning his wand on others.
"But those weren't the only two attempts Riddle made in his quest for immortality," she soldiered on, tucking her private thoughts aside for the moment to concentrate on the subject at hand. "He also tried to use a very ancient and dark magic to accomplish the same goal: he split his soul into seven pieces and put them into objects called 'horcruxes.' He did that by murdering people as sacrifices for the magic to take hold." She sighed, thinking of the loss of life at the hands of the egotistical monster that had looked to thwart Death. "Harry, Ron and I managed to find and destroy all of the horcruxes but one. That's how Voldemort" – again with the cringing – "was able to defeat Harry in the end. You see, Harry was the last. Once he was de-destroyed," she stumbled over the word for the pain it brought, "Voldemort became truly mortal again. I'm sure he was looking for a new way to fix that problem without going through the whole horcrux fiasco again, as that method had nearly brought about his end." She looked up at the other women in the room, meeting an interested and concentrated audience. "Hence, turning to Vampirism for a solution."
"You mean he infected Zabini, Malfoy and the others to test which Vampire Clan would be best for him to join?" Abigail asked, her face a mask of disgust at the idea.
"That's barbaric!" Sage stated.
"I think it's worse than that," Hermione confided. "I think he wasn't just looking for a single Clan to join, but was looking for a way to combine all of their best elements into one single bloodline that he could claim for his own. I think that's how the zombie plague started."
Everyone gaped at her.
"How is that even possible?" Mafalda finally broke the long, contemplative, shocked silence in the room.
Hermione met the younger girl's stare. "You seem rather read-up on Vampires, so you'll understand what it means when I say Cappadocian."
Mafalda stood up very slowly, and her shaking hands met her mouth. "The Clan of Death. But… they're extinct, killed off by Augustus Giovanni, the leader of the Giovanni Clan, in the nineteenth century."
"Not all of them," Hermione challenged. "The Premascines – a small group of Cappadocians – were allowed to live. They hide out in the canals of Venice." She held up a finger. "But even if that's just a false rumour, we do know that the Samedi aren't extinct."
Mafalda gasped. "Oh, gods, the rotting Vampires! I never considered… Slytherin's soul, it makes sense!"
"What makes sense?" Abigail growled, looking between the two witches with obvious confusion. "Let us all in on the joke, yeah?"
Hermione shook her head. "Unfortunately, this is no joke." She moved to her small dresser next to her cot and pulled out a clean uniform and knickers. Pulling her dirties off and tossing them aside for now, she hastily changed, unconcerned with her nudity, as there was no modesty in a dormitory setting. "You fill them in on the history of the Clans, Mafalda. I need to" – she swallowed, realizing where she'd have to return – "go see Malfoy and explain my working hypothesis. He's put me on finding a cure for this plague, and I think the key is the Samedi. We need to test the hypothesis."
"How are you going to do that?" Sage asked, sincerely interested.
Hermione quickly ran fingers through her short hair to tame it. It was a small vanity, and would have to do for now. As she reached the door, she answered her companion's question. "By capturing a zombie."
TO BE CONTINUED…
ADDITIONAL NOTES:
If you're a "Harry Potter" fan reading this story, and have no understanding of the Vamp stuff in this crossover story, no doubt it's confusing to you. I've included some info. here for you so you'll be able to better follow the story, though. See below.
If you're a "Vampire: The Masquerade"/"Vampire: The Requiem" fan reading this story, you're probably already aware that this is mainly a "Harry Potter" story with some elements of the White Wolf Universe interwoven into J.K. Rowling's Universe for a plot bunny. If you're confused by those "Harry Potter" references, check out the "Harry Potter Wiki" online for details as to the characters in this story.
... ... ...
Basically, Vampires in the White Wolf Universe are separated into three distinct classes:
1. Those belonging to the thirteen main Clans (they are named below).
OR
2. Those belonging to a lumped group of Clan-less Vampires called 'Caitiff' (these Vampires refuse to give loyalty to any blood line, regardless of their origins, and as a result are typically snubbed and sometimes even hunted down by those who remained loyal to the Clans)
OR
3. Those belonging to that single sect of freak human mages (called the Nagaraja) who managed to somehow turn themselves into Vampires without being Embraced, using only their magic to accomplish so great a feat (they're cannibals as a result, though).
The Dark Mother – The Beginning = According to the White Wolf Universe, Lillith was the first woman in creation (not Eve). She was willful, however, and was frequently denying Adam's affections and talking with Lucifer, whom she'd fallen in love with. Lucifer convinced her to eat of the Tree of Knowledge, and she was sent out of the Garden of Eden as punishment by God. She hooked-up with Lucifer and learned everything about darkness and evil from him. He corrupted her. Supposedly, every demon in existence comes from her mating with Lucifer. She eventually leaves Lucifer to try to build her own garden version of Eden, as she is desperate to have what she lost.
First Generation Vampires = Caine was Adam & Eve's firstborn son, he the man who murdered his brother, Abel in the Bible. When he is sent to wander the Earth forever by God for his trespass, he comes across Lillith in his wanderings in the Land of Nod. They hook-up and she teaches him everything she has learned from Lucifer about darkness and evil. This knowledge further corrupts his black heart and he becomes powerful. Together, they have many children. Their children become Caine & Lillith's first disciples, who are taught a few of the things about darkness and evil that Lillith and Caine know. This group of disciples call themselves 'the Kindred'. They are not Vampires in the traditional sense at this point, just humans, but they are dark and corrupted by the knowledge they are given. Caine grows restless over time and he leaves Lillith to go out into the world. He encounters the generational children of Adam & Eve. He has sex with many of the women of Eve's line and had children with them. He teaches these children all he knows of darkness and evil, too. This set of disciples are named 'the Kindred' as well.
Second Generation Vampires = One day, Caine returns to Lillith's garden with an army of the children he made from Eve's line, and he begins slaughtering the children he'd made with Lillith, seeing them as abominations. Lillith escapes the genocide, but where she went to, no one knows for certain. It is also unknown if any of her children with Caine survived the slaughter, although it is believed not. After this, the legend states that four angels of God come to Caine to offer him a second chance. The first, Michael, offers Caine the Lord's mercy, but is refused, and curses Caine with weakness to fire. The second angel, Uriel, offers him redemption, but is refused, and curses Caine to fear the sun. A third angel, Gabriel, offers him a third path to be saved, but is refused; he curses Caine to stand between the lands of the living and the dead, to hunger for blood and watch all he loves wither and die, and his children to war amongst themselves. The fourth angel, Raphael, offers him mercy, a way to salvation called Golconda, if Caine but seeks it. Caine mulls over Raphael's offer, but never gives him a response either way. Raphael leaves to return to Heaven. After this, Caine's new curses take effect upon him. He becomes the first true Vampire in the traditional sense, hungering blood, fearing the sun, and hating fire. He takes his three most loyal disciples (also called Kindred) - Enoch, Irad, and Zillah - and gives them the first Vampire Embrace, turning them into creatures like him. These and all generations of Vampires made by being Embraced after them are known as 'the Children of Caine' and they are cursed to the fate of warring amongst themselves, of craving blood, of hating the sun and fearing fire, too. Caine and his Kindred build the first city, Enoch, as a way of forestalling the curses of the angels against sun and fire, and as a place where all shall live so a blood supply will be plentiful and close at hand. God sends the Great Deluge to wipe the first city off the map. It succeeds, and nearly kills all of Caine's children. He and his three Kindred Childer survive and rebuild after.
Third Generation Vampires = Called the 'Antediluvians'. These Vampires were supposedly created by Enoch, Irad and Zillah from the human survivors of Eve's lineage. Lore holds there to be thirteen of them and from each of these vampires come the thirteen original Clans: Assamites (Antediluvian: Assam), Brujah (Antediluvian: Brujah), Cappadocian (Antediluvian: Cappadocius), Followers of Set (Antediluvian: Sutekh), Gangrel (Antediluvian: Ennoia), Lasombre (Antediluvian: Laza Omri Bara), Malkavian (Antediluvian: Malkav), Nosferatu (Antediluvian: Absimilliard), Ravnos (Antediluvian: Zapathasura), Salubri (Antediluvian: Saulot), Toreador (Antediluvian: Ishtar), Tzimisce (Antediluvian: Ynosh), and Ventrue (Antediluvian: Veddhartha). These thirteen were struck by the curse to war amongst themselves and kill, and eventually they turned on their Sires and killed all three of Caine's Childer. Caine cursed every one of them with a different failing, which is where each clan's weaknesses derives. Caine disappears after this, and no one knows where he went.
Fourth Generation Vampires = With Caine gone, the thirteen Antediluvians set-up their own sects of disciples – their Kindred. These are humans they Embraced and taught their knowledge of darkness and evil. However, the Antediluvians were smarter than their predecessors and never fully taught their Childer everything they knew, so as to make sure their Childer never turned on them (as they had on their Sires). Some of these fourth-gen Vampires gained knowledge through their own experiments, and formed their own off-shoot blood lineages (example: Lamia off-shoot from Clan Cappadocian; Mariners off-shoot from Clan Gangrel, etc.). These off-shoots have all of the same benefits and detriments as their parent Clan, but they usually have some interesting new power that their parent Clan members don't have, or have improved upon a power that the main Clan possesses (i.e. Lamia have the ability to infect a fatal disease to the men that they choose to feed on; the Mariners have fish or reptile attributes to their features [scales, gills, webbed hands/feet – any combination thereof], and their magic is strongest in a water setting). Some of these fourth-gen Vamps also figured out the secret of killing their Sires (i.e. diablerizing them), as was the case with the Giovanni, who diablerized not only Cappadocius, himself, but also Lamia, the female leader of the Lami bloodline under the Cappadocian Clan.
Any Vamps after fourth-gen have the same powers/gifts of their Sires, but tend to be weaker. This is the bulk of the Vampires throughout history.
THIRD GENERATIONAL CLANS (information provided for only those clans mentioned in this fanfic):
Brujah = The Learned Clan. Anarchists (think: biker gang members/punk rockers). Fiery tempered and violent when provoked - trouble-makers. Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole were both made into Brujah Vampires for this fanfic.
Cappadocian = The Death Clan. A Clan of Vampires who are extinct now in the White Wolf universe, but their discipline was on studying all forms of death and un-living, including bringing the dead back to life.
Gangrel= The Clan of the Beast. Closest to shapeshifters of all Vamps. Strong, animal-like, not too bright. Don't like the Ravnos, close to Brujah Clans. Not usually attacked by werewolves or other types of animal shifters, who recognize their ties to the wild. Gregory Goyle was made a Gangrel Vampire for this fanfic.
Ravnos= The Wanderer Clan. Seen as gypsy degenerates by the other clans. Criminals with a specific vice that drives them and that they won't deny if provided the opportunity to indulge in it (each is different according to the host). Evan Rosier III was made a Ravnos Vampire for this fanfic.
Toreador= The Clan of the Rose. Clan of Vampires who are inordinately beautiful and obsessed with beauty (this includes the mortality of humans, not just art, sunsets, music and the like). Draco Malfoy was made a Toreador Vampire for this fanfic.
FOURTH GENERATION / OFF-SHOOT CLANS (information provided for only those clans mentioned in this fanfic):
Giovanni= The Family Clan. An off-shoot family of the Cappadocian Clan. Tend to only embrace/turn others within their family branch only. Italian-based Vamps. Betrayal to the clan is met with swift justice. They tend to like anything having to do with death - and they like feeding on victims who are close to or just newly dead (natural causes, not disease). Their bite deals more damage than normal and makes it difficult for them to keep the same feeding victim alive. Their primogenitor, Giovanni, diablerized his own Sire, Cappadocius, as well as Lamia, the leader of the Lamia blood-lineage off-shoot of the Cappadocians. Blaise Zabini was made a Giovanni Vampire for this fanfic.
Kiasyd = The Wierdlings. An off-shoot family of the Lasombre Clan. Skilled manipulators, tempters and plotters. Create and control shadows. Have a unique discipline that allows them a talent for acquiring and retaining arcane and rare knowledge. They can easily detect other supernatural creatures, such as fae and shapeshifters, regardless of what magic they use to cloak themselves as normal humans. They are excessively vulnerable to Cold Iron (they take heavy damage from weapons made of this material). The irises of their eyes change colour upon their Embrace to sable black and their skin becomes chalk-white (it almost glows blue in moonlight). Adrian Pucey was made a Kiasyd Vampire for this fanfic.
Samedi= The Walkers of Death. Clan of Vampires who continually rot and seem zombie/corpse-like.
Serpents of the Light= The Sacred Snakes. A small blood lineage that derived from the Followers of Set Clan, but broke off from them, claiming full independence. Manipulation by seduction is the tool of choice for the Serpents of Light, who play a dangerous game of attack and counterattack against their rivals with mortal pawns. Members of the bloodline wield the weapons of addiction and decay. They are expert at discovering a target's weakness, and using that tool (be it drugs, sex, power or whatever) to gain control of the target. They are extremely susceptible to sunlight. Theodore Nott was made a Serpent of the Light Vampire for this fanfic.
Tremere = The Usurpers. Mages who have discovered how to use blood magic as a great weapon and have no clan curse, as the other clans all do. One of the youngest vampire clans, having just come into existence during the Dark Ages. In the little time since then they have made incredible inroads within vampiric society and are arguably the most powerful clan in the modern nights. This was due in no small part to their strict hierarchy, secretive nature, and mastery of Thaumaturgy (blood magic), the clan's trademark discipline. Included in that is Biothaumaturgy (the study of Thaumaturigical Forensics and Flesh Animation), Mastery of the Elements (water, earth, fire, air, plants, metals), Mind and Body Control of others and self in all forms (Telekinesis, Precognition, Transmutation, Spirit Manipulation, Teleportation), Conjuration of objects, and Technomancy - all of which brought suspicion, fear, and respect from other Vamps.
Changes I made to White Wolf Universe canon to make this fic work:
In this fanfic, I have made the Samedi bloodline an off-shoot Clan of the Cappadocians, where it might possibly have derived (no one exactly knows in the White Wolf Universe what Clan they derive from, if any; rumours place them as possibly Cappadocian, Nosferatu, Nagaraja, or some combination of the three Clans – or maybe not related at all, but something else altogether that is unknown at this time). To make this story work, I made them Cappadocian off-shoot Vampires.
In this fanfic, I changed a bit of Clan Toreador history to say that their founder was a female Veela, instead of a female human, and as a result, all Vamps from this line are very beautiful to look at, have a powerful sexual chemistry and a need for sexual congress, and are always searching for the right person to take as their mortal mate.
Concubine = In this fic, Toreador Clan Vampires take human mates, or wives/husbands. This is their official term for that role.
In this fanfic, I am stating that someone in Blaise Zabini's family lineage was a member of the Giovanni family.